"If you're not teamed up with the boy from Four, will you team up with me?" Sparrow asks me as we stretch out before engaging a bit with the punching bag. The atmosphere in the training facility has grown tenser than the last two days. The real battle is just before us.
"You really want that?" Beanpole and I may have a deal, but it's not to be a team, so I don't see any need to tell her about it.
"Yeah." Her words come harder as she speaks between puffs of breath and swings at the punching bag. "I like you, Mags. I think we could help each other. I don't think you'll stab me in the back."
She's right about that- I don't see that I could. "What happens though," I'm breathing just as heavily, "If it's just you and me?"
"May the best girl win."
I take a moment to think this over. I like her too, but I don't think I have quite uncovered the true character of Sparrow in regards to the Games. …Not that it's necessarily entirely fair for me to expect to get to know. "Okay," I decide, "If we get the chance to meet up again, it's an alliance." I hold out my hand and she shakes it delicately. "And we'll hammer out the details if and when in the arena?"
"That'd be fine."
Sparrow sticks it out to spar with a trainer and I slip off to examine the materials at the crafting station. "What are you interested in making?" the old-ish (by Capitol standards) man running the station asks me.
"Fishing hooks." I use a special pair of clippers to cut off a piece of wire then begin to bend it with the pliers. It's not going to be this easy in the arena; these are good tools, but what's the harm in starting easy?
The trainer gives me some tips on using the tools, but mostly he just sits back and watches. He can tell that I know what I'm doing. My first effort seems not only functional, but also sort of pretty. My second is considerably rougher and takes longer to shape as I increase the difficulty by taking the pliers out of the equation, putting pressure on the wire by pressing it against the edge of the table. I move to whittling a wooden hook after that, but I'm slow with the knife. It feels like it would be a bad sign to nick myself and shed any blood before the arena. …Of course these means I do. It stings and I stick my finger in my mouth to soothe it.
"Here, allow me," the craft instructor interrupts. I offer him my hand when he reaches for it and he dabs the cut with clear gel from a small tube. The cut heals up in a manner of minutes. We wouldn't mind some of that stuff back home, but, as is to be expected, the Capitol must be holding out on us.
Nerves are high at lunch and there's less rambunctious eating, but a similar amount of awkward silence.
"You should sing us something to get everyone's spirits up, Mags," Beanpole suggests. His very act of making this remark lets me know he's doing okay.
"Yeah, if you do first," I chortle.
First Clark, then Korona are called to perform. Neither returns to the dining room. Lunch stretches out uncomfortably long even though Jem, from 11, is the only one left eating.
"Archery?" I ask Sparrow.
"Yep," she agrees. We're as terse as a pair of snails. I wonder if we'll talk much if we meet up again in the arena. I've liked talking to Sparrow so far. …But, so far, I have to remind myself, is probably it.
4's turn comes, starting with Beanpole. "Hope it works out," I tell him. I don't know what he's planned, so I can't give any more detailed support.
"Happy fishing," Beanpole responds, miming casting with a flick of his wrist.
"What will you fish for?" Sparrows asks me when he's gone.
"This and that," I shrug.
It feels like a long time that Beanpole is away before the same clipboard-carrying aide returns to say my name.
I'm all alone in front of the Gamemakers once the doors close and all of them, more or less, are looking at me. The eye of the camera becomes invisible a lot faster than this assembly of Gamemakers sitting across from me. Maybe it's because people are used to ignoring machines.
The man in charge- Telerius Thrush- I know his face from television - shuffles his stack of papers neatly together and taps the bundle against the desk. Click, click. "Miss Gaudet," he addresses me, "You may begin."
Everything the Training Center has is available for use. As unexciting as it must be to watch, it's my best plan. I make hooks, just like I did earlier with metal and with wood. I partially unwind a rope to acquire fibers thin enough to thread the tops of my hooks with. I stick the hooks into my pocket and climb up to the top of the climbing wall. I sit on top and do my best to "fish." I pull in a sandbag, the remnants of the rope I used, and the pliers before my time is up. I climb down and take a bow, although I think I've hardly done anything to merit it. It's part of the show, I guess.
"Thank you," Mr. Thrush gives a little wave and dismisses me. The aide who brought me in walks me out to the hall where, beside the elevator doors, Aulus is waiting.
"How do you feel about it?" he asks.
I try leaning against the inside wall of the elevator, but that doesn't seem to do anything for the dizziness these rides always seem to get out of me either. "Okay," I shrug. It's hard to tell whether my hooks and fishing would be seen as tolerable or bad. I know the performance wouldn't rate as "good".
"Okay is okay," Aulus answers and I proceed, encouraged, to tell him the details of what I did.
Back on the fourth floor, Beanpole is lying on the couch, watching yet another past Games highlights reel. It appears to be generally organized around the subject of clips and the victors involved commenting on them. A funny montage plays of shots of the victors reacting to the initial official announcement of their wins. The question addressed is, "What were you thinking at that moment?"
I flop down beside Beanpole.
"Welcome back," he murmurs.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Sunny Lightfoot regards the picture of herself. "I'm not dead?" chuckles Jack Umber. "I'm going home," says Kayta Hiro and lets out some weird lumberjack whoop. "I don't believe it," Pal Fields rubs his forehead. His face is pink with embarrassment. The victor "victory moment" comments conclude as they cut to a clip of Pal at his recap. "Is this real? Is this really real?" he pesters Jeff Zimmer in this TV flashback, "I don't believe it!" …Someone remembers what he was thinking pretty well, it seems.
"Our new victor might not believe it either," Mr. Zimmer remarks in the present, "But he or she is somewhere in our Training Center right now!"
Beanpole flips off the TV and gets up. "I wish they would show District Four," he sighs.
"Are you thinking about your mom?"
"I wish someone had liked me enough to volunteer in my place."
"…Do you think I'm stupid?" I figure I might as well get that out of the way.
"No, just sort of crazy," he decides after a moment of curious looking at me. "But anyone too extreme seems crazy. Whether someone is too fast or too slow or too bad or too good." After that he retreats to his room. Aulus watches silently, not sure what to make of all this.
"What advantage do you think is gained by impressing the Gamemakers with some skill you have?" I quiz Aulus.
"If they like your skill, they're more likely to give you an opportunity to wow the folks at home with it. …Or, at least that's what I think. We don't have an official statement on it."
Apple shows up about an hour later. She has some nail polish with her, which Aulus and I turn into a quiet activity of painting tiny designs as perfectly as we can before dinner. Beanpole slinks back for that. There are some really tasty miniature fried shrimp and somehow we start flicking them across the table at each other until Apple is about to get mad.
A little after dinner, the scores are aired. Beanpole and I slouch onto the couch between Apple and Aulus. "Do they grade straight or on a curve?" Beanpole asks, but no one but the Gamemakers can really say for sure what their methods are. The highest possible score is a 12. But not one gets a 12, so maybe that answers the curve thing. I don't remember anyone getting an 11 either.
The scores are given in order. Beanpole nets a 5. I get a 6.
Luna Vetiver scored a 10; Sunny Lightfoot scored a 1. They're both victors.
Sparrow scored a 7. "She told me she was going to do archery," I comment.
"That's Mags' friend," Beanpole explains to our chaperones.
"It's easy, isn't it?" Apple remarks, suddenly appearing unnerved, "To befriend Mags…"
"Back home pretty much everyone likes her," Beanpole agrees.
"What? Huh?!" I don't believe they're lying, but at the same time I can't agree with what they're saying.
"Oh, Mags, I'm sure you'll give a very nice interview," Aulus pats my hand.
"That's not what I was talking about," I complain, but after that everyone just teases me, Beanpole included, until I go off to bed. Just because I'm so (apparently) likable doesn't mean I'm not lonely. I pick my old dress up off the top of the chest of drawers and hold onto it and drift off to sleep.
The following day is focused around the interviews we'll be giving in the evening. Apple knows the most about being on camera, so she tries to give us tips in that area. "Look at Mr. Zimmer when he talks to you. It's also all right to look at the audience. Erinne Cousla should be there, but I'll be in the back. If you notice the cameras, try not to look straight into the lens- that comes off a bit awkward."
"Uh, yes," I attempt to put all this to memory.
"Are you listening to me, Beanpole?" she challenges my counterpart as he stares off across the room.
"…Yeah."
They drag this whole thing out too much," Beanpole says over lunch.
"It's that movement toward making things a little more humane," Apple says.
"And entertaining," Aulus adds sheepishly. He sees things for what they are.
We get seven nights in the Capitol before going off to die. The tributes in the First Games got just two. Government-sponsored brutality is still government-sponsored brutality. It's hard to say whether or not this is an improvement.
After lunch, the design team shows up to work on us. I realize I'm slightly dismayed by the idea that they may take off the nail polish I put on yesterday. It was the first time I'd worn nail polish. But this concern is unfounded. Spring laughs when she examines it. "Are these squiggly things your idea of fish, Aulus?"
"Just because I know what a fish looks like doesn't mean I can render it well on a fingernail," he huffs.
There isn't really any common element between Beanpole's costume and mine for this evening. Mine is a slim green dress with a shiny texture reminiscent of fish scales. Some sections of the skirt are longer than others, which puts me in the mind of fins.
Beanpole gets a blue suit of varying shades, kind of- I think it's called "batik," with a starfish pattern in red and orange. He would look sharper if suits didn't make him act so uncomfortable. Full-on suites are often sort of wedding and funeral affairs back in 4 and we've been through way more funerals than weddings at this point in our lives.
"It's so fun to watch you work," Apple gushes to Spring, happy to get the chance to watch the styling as it occurs.
Once again, we keep to my personal hairstyle. Two hair ornaments of white netting and tiny green beads attached to real dried starfish fancy it up a bit. There's slightly more makeup this time as I'll spend more time visible in close up- pink lipstick and a daub of blush and elaborate green eye shadow. I think all of the green is part of the reason Apple likes my new look so much. She's toned down her own green today in favor of pale purples. It makes me think she knew about my color scheme in advance and didn't want to take away from my look any.
"So, so, so cute," Spring declares when all the primping and adjusting is done.
"It's good," Erinne proclaims calmly.
And when Beanpole is also proclaimed "good," we're off.
It takes a while to get twenty-four tributes all situated in a curved row in front of the stage where we'll sit when not having our turn speaking with "Mr. Fun-and-Games" himself, Jeff Zimmer. The girls go first from their district for this activity. As we're seated in the order we'll be interviewed, I have Petey from 3 on my right and Beanpole on my left. Before the assorted escorts, coaches, and mentors clear out this gives me a pretty good look at 3's victor, Beto Ernst. He doesn't say much to Petey, but lavishes his attention on Ada. Does that mean he thinks she requires more coaching, or does he like her better? I wonder if there's ever an instance of a victor not liking one of their tributes and putting everything into their counterpart. It's kind of a scary idea, but there could be some pragmatism in it too if one victor is mentoring two tributes- since only one can make it back. …It would be really awkward if the tribute they ignored made it back then.
At a certain point everyone has to take their seat. Apple and Aulus wish us luck.
I see Jack Umber in person for the first time. He trips n a cord lying on the ground and almost falls forward onto his face. Some of the escorts laugh at him, but none of the victors, as far as I can tell.
He's the last off our little stage above the crowd but slightly below the main stage. Jeff Zimmer passes him on his way in and they exchange a few words I can't hear. Mr. Zimmer is the "fun" host of the Games, instated during the Second Hunger Games. Longinus Bronze, the one who probably dreams of bloody one on one hand to hand combat at home every night, will just be a spectator for the interviews. Bronze wants you to die horribly. In contrast, Mr. Zimmer would like you to live marvelously. This bipolar mixture is a good way of understanding what the Games seem to be becoming.
So, what's the purpose of the interviews? Well, the people of the Capitol have to know us at least a little to want someone to win. If they can't somehow relate to or be touched or amused by us, why shouldn't we all just die? Why should there be any winner at all?
There were no interviews before the First Hunger Games. Jack Umber was forced to build himself a hopefully lovable, or at least tolerable, persona nearly from scratch. Based on his Games, his most remarkable trait at the time was just that he survived.
I guess it worked, at least to some degree. He's on TV more than any other victor or any other citizen of District 1.
"Welcome to my arena," Mr. Zimmer greets us with a florid wave of his arms, encompassing the entire enormous place. "Let's all play nice and have a good time, shall we?"
He heads up onto the main stage and takes his seat. The lighting crew makes final adjustments to their set-up. Microphones are tested. Our escorts and coaches will be stuck waiting for us in the back watching the proceedings on a screen, but the victors get good seats up front. I think it's so the cameras can get a few shots of them. The Gamemakers' box fills. The place gradually packs to the gills. The lights are hot and make me start to sweat. The interviews are part of the required viewing of the Games. I twist Faline's coral ring around and around my finger. The chatter of the crowd drops to a murmur.
On some cue I'm not aware of, Mr. Zimmer hops up and begins. It would be really hard to have to wait until the end, but I'm also glad I'm not in Korona's puffy pale blue dress and transparent heels. I bet Papa can tell how nervous I am, but I hope that other people can't. I'm trying to stay in control of my thoughts and my face.
Korona is poised and calm. Clark is enthusiastic, but clunkier. Mr. Zimmer is good at working with whatever the tributes want to say, though some don't seem to have gone onstage with anything special in mind. Padma, kicking things off for 2, is one of these, but Mr. Zimmer knows what he's doing and can come up with something decent to fill just about anyone's three minutes.
Wiley boasts, Ada Spelling asks to say hello to everyone in "Plant 8, Section 3" which is apparently where she works, and Petey remarks upon the many technological feats of the Capitol.
Then they're saying my name and something about that is really scary. I wish they could say "Faline Beaumont" and just get me again instead. It's easier to volunteer than be called.
Beanpole nudges my foot with his and I get up from my seat. It feels nearly as strange as my walk to the stage at the reaping, but their asking for me- me!- makes it that much scarier. I avoid the cord that snagged Jack Umber (they should have moved it- now I'm kind of worried it's going to get someone else and humiliate them on live television). I feel like I'm floating. Mr. Zimmer shakes my hand.
"Mags, so how about you tell us about your young friend."
I hear the words, but I don't immediately realize he means Faline. "She," I say slowly, stalling for time- just a second- to compose my thoughts. I touch the ring again and decide to focus on that. "She gave me this token," I hold my hand out to Mr. Zimmer.
"Oh, that's very pretty." I imagine some cameraman must be zooming in at my hand right now. "Is it made of some local product? I can see it's not metal."
"It is a local product- it's coral, which lives in the sea. Someone in Faline's family made this from a piece that washed up on the beach." …We use coral once it's dead. My, what a lovely image.
"And you volunteered for her," Mr. Zimmer goes on. This seems to have left an impact on him. I'm not sure if it would be conceited to say he sounds impressed.
"I couldn't let her go into the arena," I say. My reasons always seem weaker when switched from actions into words. I don't think a rehash of my impromptu speech in 4 would be an appropriate use of my time here either. Everyone in Panem might have heard those words, but they were intended to galvanize people in 4, not start any trouble. "It wouldn't have…" I struggle, "It wouldn't have looked good."
"Do you think you're a contender, Mags?" Mr. Zimmer prompts me.
"I don't know about winning, but you're right- I can, and I think I will- play a strong game."
"What do you think is your biggest weakness going into the Games, if you're willing to reveal it?"
"I get along with people too easily," I offer the flip side of the charge Beanpole, Apple, and Aulus leveled against me.
"Well, what about strengths?"
"I hope that it's also that I get along with people easily." I pause, grinning, and let the people laugh.
Mr. Zimmer knows what I just did. This is good, this is bad, they're the exact same thing; big grin. It's a classic Jack Umber television maneuver. There's this twinkle in Mr. Zimmer's eye. I know he knows, but he doesn't call me on it. From what I have seen in the Capitol, this style of joke is the truth of this glimmering metropolis.
"Maybe your sense of humor is also a strength," Mr. Zimmer suggests.
"I hope I can just laugh everyone to death then. I could win and still feel like I was making friends." I can't have much time left, can I, after we've said all that? I decide to be bold. "Mr. Zimmer, can you and I be friends?"
I've got him there. "Well!" we shake hands again, "Take note everyone," he addresses the audience, "This is my very first friend from District Four! And I'm wishing her the best of luck," he says, with gray blue eyes locked on mine, "Mags Gaudet, of District Four!"