Maybe they don't know who we are specifically (is there anything on the outside of the tribute trains that distinguishes them from other another?), but as we get in close to where the citizens of the Capitol are, walking, working, going about their business, people start to wave at us. "Woah," Beanpole describes his reaction to it. We laugh, and start to wave back. When I glance back at Apple, she seems to approve of this choice.
The cheery accolades come to an abrupt stop when we pull into the station. The whole place is blocked off, keeping the prying eyes of the public away again for a while longer. Two cameramen are the only ones, aside from the train station staff, to observe our arrival. Apple chats with one of them she apparently knows. They don't ask us any questions (they aren't reporters), content to film us as we get off the train and stare at the enormous station in awe. They won't bother to show all the footage taken of such a mundane moment as this, but, you never know, there might be some moment of pre-game commentary that requires a little filler. If one of us wins, there might also be some use for it then.
Someday in the future, there will be victors from every district. Some boy or girl who hails from each region is bound to be strong enough, clever enough, lucky enough to win sooner or later. The odds would back me up there.
But there haven't been winners from every district. Not yet. These are only the 12th Hunger Games.
When we have available victors from every district, they're going to be called upon to help coach the new tributes, the head game maker said on air. They'll be called "mentors." It will be official. District 4 has not had a winner yet. Perhaps it will be Beanpole. …Who's to say it couldn't even be me? -Not that I believe that will happen. I won't be holding my breath.
It's just that stranger things have been known to occur. Each time the game is played, I think it gets a bit trickier. I don't remember much of the actual events of the first Hunger Games as I actually saw them- I was only five years old at the time- but the echo of memory I have left of them is focused entirely on the brutality. There wasn't all that much strategy involved. Most of the killing was straightforward. It took a few years of watching as the rules were refined and the idea of the Games as not just a punishment for the Districts, but entertainment for the Capitol sunk in for more complex tactics to emerge.
The victor of the first Hunger Games won for mainly two reasons: he was strong enough to kill and he was willing to do it. You still see it on TV sometimes when they play highlights from the last eleven Games- Jack Umber, of District One, bruised and bloody, grinning into the camera, three dark spaces visible in his smile. He lost four teeth in his struggles with some of the bigger, wilder boys and girls- the ones you could tell were survivors. It was the impossible odds that killed them. Even equally desperate, only one could win.
The Capitol replaced Jack Umber's missing teeth. If he had wanted, I heard it said, the new teeth could have been made of gold or silver or inlaid with gems. If he had been Capitol, he probably would have. Some people there decorate their teeth that way in the name of some strange Capitol idea of fashion. Previously I knew this only from watching television. Now I know because of our coach.
"This is the man currently assigned to mentor the tributes from District 4," Apple explains cheerfully, "Aulus Strong."
"The name is kind of inspiring," Beanpole admits, which is his way of letting off steam. Humor can be a defense mechanism of sorts.
"You may not want to get too attached to that idea," Aulus gives us a neat little frown. His eyelids, I notice, are painted purple. I wonder if all men in the Capitol wear such bright makeup. I only know a few men in District 4 who do so and none of them proceed in such a brilliant manner- they're accenting something, not making themselves into peacocks. As a matter of fact, I don't know any women from District 4 who aim for this kind of look either. But his makeup doesn't make a difference. Whether he's any help or not, Aulus Strong is the man we've got. At least his arms and his chest, pressing against his tight lilac shirt, show some muscle definition. Our coach may not know much about killing, but at least he regularly gets off his couch.
"This is Jean Paul Mirande and Margaret Gaudet," Apple introduces us.
"He's Beanpole and I'm Mags," I add with a shrug.
The nicknames appear to cheer Aulus up again. "Who gave you those names?" he asks and I allow myself to believe that his interest is genius.
"Just people," Beanpole relaxes a bit, trying to be as casual as I am, "Around."
"My dad," I offer.
"I want a nickname," Aulus says.
"We'll think about it," I compromise.
"Maybe if you can help one of us win," Beanpole adds.
"District Four, you're going to run me ragged!" Aulus holds the door for all of us as we climb into the official car Apple has called. We're whisked off to our current holding place. Our "home away from home." The Training Center, where the whole fourth floor is ours. Riding in the elevator makes me dizzy.
There won't be any official training in the basement until tomorrow (we've arrived ahead of about half the other tributes), but if we choose to spend our leisure engaging in some light exercise, no one's going to complain. Aulus sets up a dartboard and coaches us in improving our aim. I doubt it's going to make or break either of our game plans, but it couldn't possibly hurt either. After our arms and shoulders tire of the game, we sit down and chat about tactical maneuvers from past Games, discussing what was done right or wrong in any particular situation. Water is important; fire can be a hazard or a help depending on the situation; be careful if you find any wildlife you think you can eat. Aulus is sort of funny in a way that makes me want to say funny things back to him. Eventually, Apple, who had business elsewhere (doing paperwork concerning our arrival, I think) shows up and summons us to dinner.
Beanpole heads off with her, but Aulus holds me back a moment. "In the arena, do you think you'll be able to keep up that attitude and shoot off a few quips?"
I shake my head. "Um, sorry, I don't know. I don't know what it will be like."
"You're a funny girl. Every tribute has got to think about what kind of image he or she wants to present. To the viewers here you'll be a character, not a person. So continuity of character is good." Aulus pats my shoulder and lets me go, owing along after me as I skitter into the dining room.
I wonder how my volunteering will be played in the upcoming recap. Am I brave or stupid or nice? I'm not funny there.
Apple has us arranged at the table so I sit next to her and across from Aulus. Yet again, the food is excessive. There's roast duck and spicy mashed potatoes, a salad of fruit bits and colored marshmallows, a bowl of red, jewel-like seeds that Apple has to tell me come from a pomegranate. No wonder so many tributes asked for their impressions of the Capitol talk about the food.
"Are there any strategic reasons to hold back when it comes to eating now?" I ask, pausing over a scoop of pitted cherries mixed into pink yogurt.
"I can't think of anything," Aulus shrugs, "Just try not to make yourself sick. Every tribute will be doing just as you are."
With his blessing, I surrender to the delights of the dinner table.
Our last scheduled activity for the night is watching the recaps. It's sort of funny when, as the first reaping is shown, Jack Umber, who was seated onstage for that very event, joins Jeff Zimmer and Longinus Bronze in their commentary in the studio. District 1 is close to the Capitol, so little time would have been required for transit, but I feel sort of sorry for the tributes who were left behind so Jack could do work in some television studio. If he spent more time with his tributes, would 1 have scored a repeat win by now?
Jack jokes about how hungover the mayor 1 appears, talks up how great he thinks the tributes from 1 are this year, and suggests fans of the Games get involved by writing the Gamemakers in support of fan sponsorship of players. Apple is, understandably I think, pretty much thrilled beyond belief that Jack Umber of all people just mentioned the project she's involved with during official Games programming. She squeals and squeezes Aulus' hand, but the show doesn't pause for her joy.
In District 2, the tributes look muscular and strong. The boy from 3 wears glasses. I cover my eyes with my hands as soon as I scream out that I volunteer. Was that only this morning? It feels like ages ago. Mr. Zimmer and Mr. Bronze comment on how unusual my action is, although technically the rules have always allowed for such a thing. The three men discuss whether or not I have a strategy in mind. Mr. Zimmer thinks I do, Mr. Bronze thinks I don't, and Jack thinks it doesn't matter either way because once you're in the arena there are too many unpredictable elements.
It makes sense that they have comparatively less to say about Beanpole after my wild performance. Mr. Bronze thinks it looks like we know one another and he likes that (he thinks it adds drama). I note that our nicknames have been listed with our names.
"I put in some additional paperwork for that," Apple explains, "After spending time with you, it was obvious that "Mags" and "Beanpole" are definitely the better monikers for who everyone will be seeing onscreen. Simple names are easier for the commentators too."
I'll die as "Mags" then, with everyone in Panem feeling like they know me.
"Bronze says our names so weird," Beanpole allows himself one carefully rationed chuckle.
The recap marches on. 5's tributes don't stand out. The girl from 6 is beautiful. The guy from 7 is huge. Apple makes a lot disgusted noises whenever the District 7 escort is onscreen. Past victor Pal Fields breaks form in 8 to engage in a bunch of handshaking and back-slapping with the District 8 boy, who he obviously knows (and must have a lot of faith in the abilities of, Jack points out).
The drama I witnessed live in District 9 receives a lot of attention, as I expected. Footage from Luna's victory tour is queued up to remind us that she is one of eight children. I can't imagine how anyone outside of the Capitol could manage to feed eight children if they weren't a victor themselves, but Mr. Zimmer acts like the Vetivers are some awesome shining example of family and we should all put the Dark Days behind us and make babies. Along with her seven siblings, Luna has fourteen cousins. Maybe big families are common in 9. I have none of either, but I'd venture that Beanpole is pretty much like my cousin. The importance of family is commented on further in regard to the strong response given to her brother's selection by a victor often described as cold as the frozen winter soil. Jack says something about how Laurence in the sibling Luna is closest to- I think- but Mr. Bronze talks over him about how exciting it will be when the children of past victors can be possible tributes.
Jack is thrown off by something for once. He gapes for a second as Mr. Zimmer teases him about getting married and having some kids, but recovers before it becomes troubling and laughs along with them. He then takes the opportunity to joke around with this further, shifting the burden to Kayta Hiro, who he thinks should propose to his longtime girlfriend back in 7 or stop leading her on. A photograph of Kayta at some kind of victor event, with his arm around a small girl who barely comes up to his shoulder, is put onscreen for our benefit. She has a flat nose and too many teeth, but the way Kayta is looking at her is practically adoring.
"Look, he's not so scary," I tease Beanpole, "He's in love."
The District 10 ceremony isn't notable, except maybe in the way Emmy Pollack refuses to stay in her seat because she doesn't want to let go of the escort, Ferdinand L'Guard. This apparently bothers the mayor of 10, but Ferdinand works around the inconvenience of the clingy victor. "Speaking of love," Jack tries to joke about it, but the men from the Capitol don't seem very open to the idea of anything between Emmy and Ferdinand. I don't think Jack means it the same way he did about Kayta and his girlfriend. We all got to see Emmy glued to this guy for her entire Victory Tour and it's still fresh in our memories. For some reason, she ended up very close to her escort. But as far as I could tell from the tour stuff, she doesn't have any family left. When she neared the end of her Games, the only family she had to be interviewed was a very pale and sunken-eyed mother. For all I know, Mrs. Pollack is dead by now.
During the recap of 11's reap in, Kayta Hiro calls in live from the tribute train he's on right now and tells Jack to, "Screw off, Umber! -Can I say "screw off" on TV?"
Jack has the good grace to act a little embarrassed over this. The two hosts of the program find this hysterical. Mr. Zimmer encourages other victors to call in with their thoughts.
Luna Vetiver responds to this invitation to go on record stating that she would prefer not to be invited to any wedding that might occur.
Pal Fields (who continues to recreationally engage in some aspects of the main industry of 8- textiles) seems to think the whole wedding thing has already been agreed on and offers to make the dress himself if they haven't picked out something from the Capitol.
A call is received from Emmy Pollack's line, but when they put it on, nothing but dead air fills the studio.
Whatever thunder the District 11 tributes might have had has been eclipsed by Kayta's call in. District 12 fares little better. From what I can see on TV, District 12 has a grimy look, like everything is covered in a fine layer of coal dust. If you brushed it off and swept it up, would it all be back before long?
After the anthem concludes the reaping ceremonies, the inevitable question of what tributes look promising based on the ridiculously limited information that's been given so far comes up. Mr. Bronze likes the guy from 7 and both from 2- he always likes the big, ferocious ones. Mr. Zimmer likes me and Luna's cousin- he always like the ones with drama. Jack expresses his undying support for his tributes, which he does every year, holding up a snapshot of himself with his arms around the pair. "Go District One!" he cheers, while Mr. Bronze and Mr. Zimmer tolerate his tacky ways (I'm not sure if they chalk it up to Jack's own particular personality or district ways- he's always seemed, with his easy television charm, pretty much Capitol-dyed himself).
"Well, kids," Aulus yawns, "I am calling it a night. See you in the morning." Together we sound off our good-byes.
The entirety of the fourth floor of the center is reserved for District 4. It's big. Beanpole and I each have a bedroom to ourselves. Apple tells us to settle in and make ourselves comfortable. Tomorrow morning after breakfast she'll take us to get looked over and made "TV ready" appearance-wise. Because neither Beanpole or I am "too ugly or unkempt" in Apple's words, she thinks it won't be too strenuous. The Capitol only wants to throw away so much in terms of money and manpower on the twenty-three kids who won't make it back. You've just got to be halfway presentable to become victor (I don't worry that I might not be good enough in that regard- they'll change me if they have to to make me good enough).
After Apple leaves I convince myself to take a shower. I'm sort of disappointed that the Capitol supposedly has everything but the room isn't equipped for me to take a bath. Are they worried I would drown myself? I find several sets of pajamas in the dresser. I fold my dress up and set it on top of the dresser, but I'm irrationally worried that it won't be there in the morning when I wake up, so I pick it back up and set it under my pillow. I turn off the lights and climb into the soft, cool bed. It's big for a bed intended for just one person. I stare up at the ceiling, which has been painted with tiny stars that glow a faint green color in the darkness. I fall asleep wondering if Papa is able to sleep under these circumstances. I should try and sleep, shouldn't I? It feels selfish, somehow...