The apartment in the Remake Centre is the same as last year, though you wouldn't know it from the interior. Blue walls have been repainted bright green, the white lacy curtains replaced with a multi-colored flower design and the artwork shows still life images of birds and bees and flowers. Even the tablecloth has a spiralling maze pattern.
"Well isn't this just lovely!"Gloria exclaims, throwing the flowery curtains wide to show the glitter of the city at sunset. "And I suppose you're getting a little peckish for some tea hmm? I know I am."
The flash of disgust traces its way across Elmett's face again; Allasan shoots her a confused look.
"But we just ate a little while ago?"
"Well you need to keep your strength up dear," Gloria trills, clapping her hands to summon the servers, who begin stacking the table. "And once we've finished the Reaping replays will be on and we can have a look at your competition. Isn't that exciting?"
She continues in this vain all meal, chivvying both tributes to "Eat up!" and "Don't stint yourselves dears!" apparently oblivious to their discomfort at consuming days of food in a few short hours.
I try to explain this to her at one point, but she doesn't follow my half-dropped sentences, and more than ever I'm missing Beetee, as Cupros doesn't seem to have even been following the conversation. Or he doesn't care. Finally, after forcing down the tangy gelato dessert we migrate to the lounge area for a better view of the wall-sized television screen. I drop into one of the couches and Allasan quickly slides in beside me with a nervous smile. Elmett settles on her other side, avoiding Gloria, who is perched on the edge of her own couch, already quivering with excitement. Cupros slouches into the armchair, hip-flask in hand, wearing his customary scowl.
Apparently I'm the safe one, the one they trust. I hope they're not too disappointed when I don't come through for them.
Narcissus Elkheart, the Games announcer, and Caesar Flickerman are jointly hosting the recap this year, each giving their own spin on the tributes for the Forty-ninth annual Hunger Games. As always they lead off with District One, showing the line of quivering older children readying themselves for the race to the stage as the names are drawn. "Mighty Jammison" and "Glimmer Isala" both step forward for replacements and when they pan across the front of the girls' pen I see a familiar face and shudder.
Jasper's sister, who spent the entire victory tour ceremony in One last year glaring at me looks keen and eager to shed some blood. When their Escort raises his hands she leads the charge forward and appears to be winning until the last few steps, where an even taller girl outpaces her to reach Glimmer's shoulder first. A stocky boy with an artistic fall of auburn curls joins her as the male tribute, both of them waving and pumping their fists in this minor victory while the girl whose brother I killed glares from the sidelines.
District Two, of course, doesn't lower itself to a madcap race to the stage. Their volunteers are chosen well in advance and leap to the stage in style. The inaptly named Flora Pendry, who looks as much like a delicate flower as I do a trained Career, glowers at the cameras and gives a throat-slitting gesture with a slow smile. The boy—man, really—Brutus Mannox appears to fit his name perfectly. A touch shorter than Halifax was, he's no less broad in the shoulders, and unlike his predecessor, has a glint of pure malice in his eyes.
Our reaping gets more speculation than usual, though they quickly write of Allasan's chances at following up my victory. Caesar spots the same quiet confidence that I did in Elmett and rates him as a 'dark horse' contender.
District Four has lost some of its party atmosphere this year. The male tribute is replaced by a lean and confident eighteen-year-old, but there is no female volunteer, leaving sixteen-year-old Halga Reyes looking shocked.
Nothing outstanding from Districts Five or Six, a sweet-faced thirteen-year-old boy from Seven that reminds me hauntingly of Sparrow, though he doesn't have the same aura of dangerous charisma. Their girl is stocky and eighteen, but a close-up shows her holding back tears. Eight's girl has a resigned smile, Ten's boy is taller than the man from Two, and nearly as muscular. Both tributes from Eleven are seventeen, dark-skinned and in shock. Both from Twelve look underfed and terrified.
Caesar and Narcissus sign out and the screen flickers off from the press of Cupros' foot. Gloria opens her mouth to begin a presumably detailed litany about her thoughts on the competition, but Cupros cuts her off.
"Looks like it's the regular lot to worry about. One and Two and that boy from Four. They might take the girl along, might not."
"The boy from Ten," Elmett adds, speaking for the first time, his voice soft and pleasant.
"Ooh yes, he looked tough, didn't he? " Gloria chimes in. "And I thought-"
"I think it's time for bed," Cupros cuts her off again. "We can talk it over in the morning, before you head off to your stylists."
He slouches out of the lounge towards his room, leaving me with two scared tributes and an overzealous Escort.
"What will our stylists do to us?" Allasan asks as soon as we hear the door snick shut.
"Well, they'll-"
"Oh you're just going to LOVE it!" Gloria chirps, her face lit up at the thought. "Don't you worry dear, they'll give you a full make-over and you'll be so pretty that your family and friends will barely recognize you! And they'll do your hair and your nails, and get rid of all that horrid body hair and grime from your skin-"
"How?" Elmett asks, cutting off her litany.
"How what dear?"
"Baths," I tell him, trying to draw the conversation away from Gloria's ramblings.
"Wax to remove….remove…..the…."
"Hair," he finishes for me with a wince.
"Does it hurt?" Allasan whispers with a slight shudder.
"Well, you know what they say dearie, no pain, no gain right?"
"A bit," I tell her honestly. "But it doesn't ….last for….for…"
"Oh no, it's all over in a flash! And after a few more scrubs in the tub you'll be fit as a bee!"
"But….won't I need to be naked for a bath?" Now Allasan looks horrified and even Elmett's bland demeanour flickers uncertainly.
"Well of course," Gloria says in the matter-of-fact manner of those who grew up with such practices. To her the thought of standing naked in a room full of strangers scrubbing and plucking your body is an exciting experience that proves your position of wealth and prominence.
"It's not like…it's…" I curl my fingers together to stop myself slapping the couch. This would be so much easier if I could just talk!
"It's like…dolls…dressing…"
Neither of them look any happier, and Gloria looks ready to jump in again with her own make-over stories so I give up and try a different tact. Yawning widely, I stretch and stand. "Bed-time."
Elmett gets the hint and leaps to his feet, heading swiftly to his room, Allasan trailing nervously behind him. I get to my door before Gloria realizes we're leaving her, quickly shut and lock it, and fall into the soft, spongy bed, letting my troubles drift away until tomorrow.
~xXx~
By the time I rise for breakfast, both tributes have already left to meet their stylists, or at least their prep teams for their initial clean-ups. I try to apologise to Cupros for not being there in the morning, which he accepts with a grunt and a wave to join the breakfast table, even going as far to offer me his seat. It's not until I take it that I realize I was the excuse for him to leave the animated conversation between Gloria and Lucia, one of our stylists. She generally only works on the male tributes, so I assume the teal-haired man with rows of piercings along his eye-brow ridges and cheekbones is taking over Dido's role for this year.
" Wiress, there you are dear. I thought you looked a little under the weather yesterday so I let you sleep in." She beams as though she did me a personal favour. I'd have rather her get me up, and make a mental note to set my own alarm in future.
"You know Lucia of course, she'll be styling Elmett. And this is Marco Untelle, who will be dressing up dear little Allasan. I'm sure you want to have a brief chat about the angle you'll be working for her, and then maybe you'd like to join me to go meet with some sponsors?"
I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing but this sounds reasonable, and Marco isn't insisting on talking about the newest hat styles, so I move to join him. Up close he looks younger than I expected, maybe late-twenties, though it can be hard to tell with all the surgery that these people have done.
"Hi," he says softly, and I automatically relax a little when I recognize the toned down accent that marks the 'poorer' residents of the Capitol. "I doubt you've seen me before. I was on the prep team for Five for a few years, then took a break to promote my line. Last year I got stuck with Six, but got a chance to switch. I figured you'd be getting some extra coverage, reigning victor and all, regardless of the tributes."
He smiles, but it looks a bit tight around the eyes. Possibly he regrets taking the switch now that he's seen what he has to work with. Even Dido, more understanding than most Capitolites I've met, had plenty of complaints about my looks and build. Allasan doesn't even have my height or pretty hair.
"I was going to try a different angle this year. Sort of based on Lucia's efforts from last year only more refined."
Lucia's efforts from last year made my district partner look ridiculous. He must see my wince because he smiles and reaches out to pat my hand reassuringly. I make a deliberate effort not to pull my fingers away.
"Nothing that bad, no fear. The robot idea is a good one though, and with a few modifications will work well. I have no doubt."
He flashes an unnaturally white smile and pats my hand once more before sitting back. I don't bother trying to question him further. Allasan has no hope no matter what she's wearing, and I should probably give the charming Marco a chance to prove himself.
Despite Gloria's previous eagerness to show me around the sponsoring procedures, she seems well distracted talking to Lucia, and when the pair vanish to look at shoes I decide it's a good time to dig out one of my detective novels.
Cupros appears to have vanished as well, probably to whatever bar he favours here. I hope Gloria knows the local drinking places as well as Carmenius did if she needs to find him. She doesn't return until after lunch, and spends the next half-hour babbling about designer footwear. Finally I get a few words in and she slaps her forehead dramatically and practically drags me out to a waiting car to drive across to the Training Centre. One of the long, low wings on the ground floor the building turns out to be the Sponsorship Hall, where each district has a booth for potential sponsors to meet with mentors, escorts or aides.
In between the small crowds at the Two and Four booths, ours looks lonely and neglected. There's a young man at the desk staring vacantly at the computer screen until he sees our approach.
"Ms Goldacre. Mr Armand Wallace left his card, said he'd put three thousand towards the boy if he reached day five. Two phone calls asking about the boy as well, but chose not to leave numbers. Oh and I've had seventeen calls and twenty-five walk-ups who wanted to meet Ms Ling, get her autograph, photos, interviews. The usual."
Oh joy. Though I'd take photos and autographs over reporters any day.
"And how many actual sponsorship deals?" Gloria asks, drumming her long, metallic nails on the counter.
The man frowns. "As I said Ms Goldacre, Mr Wallace left his card."
"Oh."
She seems to deflate a little bit as she looks around at the long queues on either side of our booth.
" But Cupros was here all morning, yes? He left early."
I try not to laugh too much when the man shakes his head.
"No, Mr Glint never visits the hall. Mr Chan does on occasion, when he is not too preoccupied with other…ah…engagements. And of course this is Ms Ling's first year."
"Well where is he then?" Gloria asks, her painfully cheerful manner falling away.
"Drinking," I tell her. "Probably."
When she looks at me I shrug and add, "Not sure..."
Rat-a-tat-tat. More fingernails drumming on the table as she frowns, then straightens her back, adjusts her ruffles—orange today—and clears her throat.
"Very well. I'll arrange for some aides to go find him. Perhaps some of the more experienced ones will know where to look. You dear should stay here. You may not like talking to people, but a sponsor is a sponsor and I will not have no sponsors in my first year."
She turns to go, then leans back, slapping her forehead again.
"Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you, there's a meeting for all mentors with the head Gamemaker at four in the meeting room back at the Remake Centre. I'll arrange a car of course. Don't be late."
With another finger-waggling wave she flounces off, leaving me at the mercy of the Capitol public. It doesn't take them long to find me. After two long hours of shaking hands, signing pictures and programs and forcing smiles for photos and we gain exactly three minor sponsors. All for Elmett, which I guess is a good thing as he's got a chance of making it out of the bloodbath alive.
As I'm starting the process of trying to extract myself to get to the meeting I spot a familiar face in the crowd and heave a heavy sigh. Plutarch Heavensbee waves jovially as he cuts through the press of people to my side, occasionally stopping to nod at someone or briefly shake their hand.
"Wiress, good to see you! Looks like you're keeping busy."
"You could say...that," I reply, hoping he's not going to insist on a long talk. I'm pushing it for time already.
"Yes, yes. Well. Beetee didn't end up making it? No I heard the poor fellow was ill. Terrible, terrible. For us as well as him. See my father's been having some trouble with a prototype engine for…well…I suppose I shouldn't discuss it in public. I was hoping he would be able to pop along and have a look at it."
He continues to smile pointedly at me, and it doesn't take me long to get the hint.
"I….I have a meeting…mentor meeting now…"
"Yes of course, I wouldn't dream of preventing you from fulfilling your duties."
He leans forward to pat my shoulder, oblivious to my unconscious flinch.
"And after…there's the parade…and strategy…tonight."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure you're very busy tonight. Tomorrow then? Say eleven at our Wisteria Drive workshop?"
Looks like it's time to start paying back my debt to the Heavensbees. I think I remember Beetee pointing out the workshop during my Victory Tour; it's only five blocks from here.
"Eleven tomorrow. I'll….I'll be….there."
"Good, good. And did I tell you—oh, sorry you should go. Until tomorrow then."
I take the opportunity to make my escape before anyone else can catch me, and with the help of one of the red-and-gold clad aides, find the waiting car. It takes less time to drive back as the central road-way has been blocked off in preparation for the parade, so that the only cars driving it belong to Peacekeepers or chauffers on official Games business.
As soon as I'm shown to the meeting room, I realize I shouldn't have worried about being late. It's just on four when I arrive to find three other people already there. Seeder smiles from the corner and waves me over to join her and Tolby, this year's mentors for District Eleven. On the other side a sharp-faced man glowers at us all before returning to his drink.
"Wiress, good to see you again. I heard Beetee is unwell. Pass on my well-wishes when you speak to him next."
"I… I will," I tell her, feeling myself relax. Tolby hands me a drink of something pale pink, and I sip it, grimacing slightly at the sickly sweet alcoholic taste.
The scowling man smirks, downs his own glass, and pours himself another.
"You remember Tolby? And that is Vikus Otello from District Two. I believe he's mentoring their boy. I'll introduce you to the others you don't know as they arrive if you like."
"That would be…"
I trail off as the door bangs open again to admit two more people, then another two, then a one as the mentors slowly trickle in. Seeder and Tolby helpfully name the ones I don't know and some come over to say hello to the newest member of their group.
The young man from District Six, Dominic Mender, seems a little odd until Tolby mutters to me that he's a morphling addict, and usually high on his drug of choice. Laurella Emmet, a sharp-faced blonde from One who is starting to lose her looks with age eyes us disdainfully and takes a seat on the far side of the table. Her male counterpart Glory Winchester, who I remember from a Games when I was younger is a little friendlier, and stops over to shake my hand, though he eventually joins Laurella and Vikus. Once a Career, always a Career I guess.
I recognize old Hans and Olivia from Seven, and Diya from Five from my Victory Tour, and Diya happily joins our group in the corner. I also recognize Pelline Smith from our visit to Ten, though I didn't speak to her then. Robin Miller from Nine, and his quiet, sly-faced counterpart Whisper Stalk, whose Games I remember vividly from three years ago.
Boyd and Wilf from Eight, the only victors their district has ever had. The sour-faced woman from Twelve, Marcie O'Malley, who doesn't look at or speak to anyone as she hobbles to the closest seat to the door, resting her walking cane on the table beside her. Morstan Wake from Four with their most recent Victor, Denissa beside him. She doesn't look at all happy to be here and I remember what Mags said about her house-fire and learning a lesson about refusing important people.
Cupros staggers in around half-past four, stinking of spirits. He wanders over to us and Tolby kicks out a chair for him which he falls into with a grunt.
"Did…did Gloria find…?"
"Hmmm? No?"
He crosses his arms on the table and rests his head down on them, straggly gray hair falling in a greasy curtain around his face. We let him be.
Ten minutes later the last two mentors and arrive with the Head Gamemaker Pontius Vellum, who quickly calls the room to order.
"Welcome mentors, good to see you all here. Nothing too much to go over for the Forty-ninth Games. We have two new ladies joining us this year for the first time, Ms Flow, Ms Ling. I have no doubt you will quickly get the hang of things. If you are uncertain, please speak to your district fellow, Escort, or feel free to contact Tyran Alvarsi, the head mentor aide this year.
"I would ask that you all take some time to revise yourself with the Mentor Protocols and Responsibilities; I can inform you now there have been no changes again this year.
"Interviews will begin at eleven tomorrow morning in the lower atrium meeting room with District One as usual. Your Escorts are aware of the schedule and will arrange the timing around any sponsorship meetings. I will remind you again that all mentors are required to attend these interviews, and should be prompt and presentable."
His eyes flicker around the table at this, with pointed looks at Cupros, head still down on the table, Tolby with his stained and crinkled shirt, and the pair from Eight who both raise half-empty glasses in reply. Pontius sniffs distastefully and continues.
"Unless anyone has business to raise I believe that will be all, and I'll let you get back to your tributes for the parade. Thank you and happy Hunger Games."
He rises and sweeps out, purple robe trailing behind while the rest of us sit a silence broken by Boyd from Eight, who finishes the glass in his hand and looks around at the other empty pitchers.
"Well M'out of booze. M'Gonna go get more."
He lurches out of his seat and gives us a mockery of the Capitol wave before stumbling out the door. Wilf shakes his head at his younger partner's actions and gets up to follow. Slowly the rest of the room follows suit.
Cupros gently catches my arm just outside the door and pulls me aside. I try not to recoil at the stench of liquor on his breath.
"Sorry 'bout this. Can't seem t'help it. It were shupposed t'be m'year off." He belches, frowns, and continues.
"You'll see'm at the charry-ets girl? I'm gonna go lie down in the Train...Trainin' Centre. I'll see you at dinner."
He belches again and we both grimace at the rancid smell. "Maybe," he adds and staggers off, waving at a nearby attendant for assistance.
"Charming," says a voice at my elbow and I turn to find Diya Patel watching Cupros' exit with distaste. The uptight older man at her side, who Tolby introduced as Nio Krauss snorts and mutters "Pathetic."
I'd guess him to be fairly similar in age to Cupros, though Nio seems to have kept in better repair.
"Well, I suppose we should get on downstairs," he adds, waving generally to the lifts with a hand that is missing two fingers. It reminds me again how lucky I was to come out of the Arena mostly whole. I'd take my speech problems over missing digits any day.
The first tributes have started to arrive downstairs as we enter, their stylists hovering around to add final touches or standing back to admire their handiwork. The stocky boy from One is wreathed in luxurious furs that complement his thick auburn curls. The pair from Seven sweep past us as we exit the lift, rustling in their customary tree outfits. The girl from Eleven looks lost in a spiralling green affair with various brightly colored fruits dangling at odd angles.
Diya moans when she sees her girl wearing a baggy silver jumpsuit with overlarge gloves and a faceless helmet that keeps slipping down over her eyes. I'm about to console her when I spot Allasan cowering behind our chariot, struggling to keep her head up under the weight of the metal cone perched precariously over her dull black hair. From a distance she looks more like a faulty chimney than a robot, coated from head to foot in dark silvery metallic hues. Her hands and face seem to have been painted then smeared with thin black oil and for some unknown reason she has a row of metal spikes down her back.
Diya and I share a look of miserable resign as we separate to go to our tributes. When I reach her I can hear Allasan sniffling, while Marco beams, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort.
"As I said earlier, with a few tweaks to the design…"
He trails off at my glare and I step between him and Allasan and take some of the weight of the headpiece in my hands. Through her tears she flashes me a shy smile.
"It's too…too…heavy," I tell him, and his smug look drops some more. "Next time show me…designs. I'll…"
I want to say fix them, but I don't want to annoy him too much. "I'll help … engineering."
He still stiffens a little at the insult, then snorts as he spots something over my shoulder. Hoping against hope I turn and am not entirely surprised to see Lucia and Elmett approaching.
"What is that supposed to be?" Marco mutters condescendingly, taking in the costumed boy approaching us. Strangely, I find myself disagreeing with his assessment.
Had it been an undersized boy like Stuvek wearing the odd array of mechanical chains and cog-wheels it would have looked a mess, but by some stroke of fate the strange rig seems to fit Elmett perfectly. The bronzed tinting on his skin and underclothes adds nicely to the effect to make him appear like he is made of clock-work. The only thing that throws it off is the clock-hand headpiece blocking most of his face.
"Doesn't he look marvellous?" gushes Lucia as they join us, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
"Yeah," I tell her, and she eyes me suspiciously, trying to detect if I'm being sarcastic.
"Really," I add with a smile and she relaxes. Elmett gives me a look of disbelief, and I wait until Lucia starts critiquing Allasan's outfit before muttering to him, "Lose the…hat. The rest is…is…"
He nods his understanding and winces with me as he watches Allasan's head drooping. As they are loaded onto the chariot I look around the room again, which has filled out in the last few minutes. The pair from Four are less elegantly dressed than last year. The boy is draped in a sea-weed cloak while the girl has on some translucent blobby hat that trails opalescent tendrils down her body to form a dress of sorts. On the other side the bulky boy from Two is mostly naked and painted like marble, bearing a stone shield and spear like an old statue. The girl's short hair is spiked up to match the rest of her outfit: brown leather and inch-long metal spikes all over. I'm not sure what she's supposed to be and judging by the loud conversation, neither are the rest of them.
Suddenly the anthem is blaring through the speakers and the doors open to release the first chariot, its fur- and jewel-bedecked occupants already waving and smiling. A clatter of footsteps behind me as District Two roll out the door announces Gloria's hurried arrival, and she gasps sharply, one hand holding on her skewed flower hairpiece as she catches her breath.
"Am I too late? Oh, look there they go! Smile children! Don't forget to be happy!"
I doubt they can hear her over the roar of the crowd and she gasps out her apology between excited observations of the other tributes while we watch them go.
"Oh, I'm sorry I'm so late. I was looking for Curros and none of the attendants could find him anywhere. Oh, look at that dress! And of course I'd forgotten to tell him—what on earth is she wearing? Anyway I'd forgotten to tell him about the mentor meeting, so I absolutely had to—oh the poor boy, that looks awful—and of course he was nowhere to be found. And then Tyran tells me—trees again? Oh but look at that lovely tartan. She looks magnificent!"
"He was…at…" I start and she cuts me off again.
"Yes, as I was saying Tyran told me he was at the meeting so then I went there to try and find him and make sure you both made it down here but you'd already gone and someone said they saw him leaving again so I…oh, they've done him up nicely. Big strong lad, I thought he looked good at the reaping."
District Ten's chariot rolls past, the tall, well-muscled boy wearing a tight leather vest and pants that show off his assets. His tufty brown hair sticks out under the broad-brimmed hat and he sports an easy smile as they exit the stables.
When the last chariot is out the door, its huddled occupants in their baggy miners clothes receiving Gloria's final criticisms an attendant calls out, "Cars at the door for the Training Centre. Please make your way to the cars."
We leave with the crowd, and I force myself to relax as I'm jostled at the elbows by excited stylists, curling my fingers in my dress until the panic passes. When I do look around, I see I'm not the only victor looking uncomfortable in the press of people.
Denissa from Four jumps and glares when Marco brushes past her. I try to give her an apologetic smile, but jump myself as the violet-haired stylist from Two bumps me in turn. Our eyes meet for an instant in shared understanding until their Escort drags her aside.
Gloria tries to do the same to me, and I pull my arm out of reach of her hand and follow Marco's bright hair towards our waiting car.
I really can't blame Cupros for abandoning me; I know he likes crowds and obnoxious chattering people even less than I do. As I settle back into the car, letting Lucia and Marco's smug conversation wash over me I find myself wishing again that Beetee were here.