5 - Capitol
The dining compartment door slides open, light glinting on the smooth metal, and the back of my throat burns as the sweet scent of pastries threatens to overpower me. I have not eaten since reaping day.
"There she is," Effie stands up to beckon me inside; smiling widely. She has completely recovered herself. "Well don't you look… tidy in those lovely clothes!"
I look down at myself, feeling suddenly ridiculous. The tailored trousers feel light against my skin, brushing the carpet beneath my simple leather shoes. I chose the blouse because it was the simplest thing in the wardrobe that fit into the compartment wall. Still, every move I make, the silk catches the sun, flowing weightlessly from my arms. Looking up, I see Gale seated at the table. He looks down to his food when I catch his eye, a line appearing between his eyes.
Effie pulls out a chair, patting it expectantly. I sit down with caution. A silver stand piled with pasties sits before me, and I look at it warily. Choosing a simple roll of bread, I look at Gale for guidance, but his gaze remains fixed on his empty plate, tracing a pattern into the placemat with his knife.
"Alright, you two," Effie begins. "We've got a big, big, big day ahead of us!" She looks at us expectantly, supposedly for some sort of reaction, but I am too busy examining the sticky syrup that has spilled out of my roll.
"That's honey, dear. It won't hurt."
I look up at her, and something in my expression makes her change the subject.
"Now, as you know, today is the Tribute's Parade. I explained to…this young gentleman over dinner, but as you were resting, dear, I thought I'd save the details for now."
I am struck by her avoidance of Gale's name.
"We have to decide an angle for the two of you," she continues, leaning back as if to get a wider perspective. "Sympathy gets sponsors sometimes."
"We can rule out sympathy," Gale interjects, finally speaking. His voice is rough.
"Alright then, we're getting somewhere," Effie pours herself some tea.
The roll tastes sweet, the syrup soothing my throat. I try to pace myself, but it is not long before I am reaching for another.
"Your prep teams will be working closely to make you look your best. The sponsors will be at the parade, so be gracious," she says pointedly.
We stay silent. I am beginning to understand how this is going to work. The door slides open again to reveal Haymitch Abernathy. I have only seen him on screen. I can smell the alcohol from here. There's a kind of fond distaste for Haymitch in District 12 – the only victor we've ever had, who is slowly disintegrating over time.
"Kind of you to grace us with your presence," he says to me, tucking a napkin into his collar and unscrewing a hip flask. "If you can't handle the reaping, sweetheart, you might as well just jump off the train. Although, to volunteer yourself, you must be crazy anyway. You'll be killed in the first-"
Gale looks at Haymitch squarely. "Are you going to give us any real advice?"
Haymitch takes a bite of a pastry. Whipped cream is entangled in his stubble when he says, "Stay alive."
Gale stands up suddenly and the table shakes. He strides across the room, and disappears behind the sliding door.
"Your friend has an attitude problem," Effie remarks. "You know, you have to be likeable at the interview tomorrow. People want someone to root for. And you want it to be you."
I am about to reply, unsure exactly of what to say, when I see the view from the window and feel a shock run through me. The Capitol. I have only ever seen snapshots of it in previous years, never quite appreciating its height and breadth. Each building reaches higher than our electricity pylons in 12, reflecting the water below. Mountains stretch behind it, their tips dusted with snow.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Effie remarks as we enter a tunnel. "This is what's so special about the Hunger Games. If you weren't here, you wouldn't have so many fabulous opportunities to experience everything Panem has to offer!"
We pull into a station. The tracks are in the open, and the train slows as a swarm of Capitol people crane to get a glance of the tributes. Effie Trinket is tame compared to them. The colours are so bright that I recoil, their unguarded enthusiasm almost animalistic, yet at the same time I feel like an animal, caged. I stand up to find Gale. There is a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd through the window.
"Well, sweetheart, I wish you luck. You're not the most charming tribute we've had." Haymitch takes a swig of his hip flask. Effie looks at a loss of how to react.
Gale is not in his compartment. The window there is open and I can hear the squeals of onlookers as they see me emerge. I quickly withdraw, heart pounding. It turns out Gale is in my compartment, a long blind drawn over the window. He looks up as I enter, and his expression softens.
"Hey, Katnip. Sorry about…" he looks in the direction of the dining car. "I just…"
I sit down beside him. He wears a crisp, grey suit, not unlike the one Haymitch appears to have been wearing since last year's Games. It's as though he's a different person; not quite from the Capitol, but there's a note of falseness that is so unlike him. Perhaps he felt the same about me.
"The Tribute's Parade," I mutter.
"So we spend the afternoon being prepped until we're raw, all so that we can look pretty before we enter the arena."
Gale is winding up to one of his outbursts that he usually reserves for the woods, where no Peacekeepers can hear us.
"Gale, we have to be careful," I keep my voice low.
"Why?" Gale's voice is low and forceful. "What's the worst they can do? Put me in the arena? They're already doing that. And to add insult to injury, they're putting you in there too."
"No, Gale." His temper fuels my own. "They can target our families. They can target everyone we love back in 12, you know they can. So even though we know we're not going home, we can at least keep them safe."
He looks at me, almost pleadingly, and I realise neither one of us has voiced the inevitable, our unspoken agreement to face our cannons together.
IIIIIIIIII
Everything is cold in the Capitol. I thought that District 12 was cold – no heating in the insubstantial houses, not enough wool for warm clothes in the winter – but lying on a metal table, having my hair ripped from my body, I feel chilled to the bone. It seems that I do not own myself anymore. My prep team are slowly moulding me into what they want me to be, and automatically I begin to distance myself from the unfamiliar aspects of my new body.
"I'm jealous of your figure," one of the team remarks, smiling through a row of unusually short teeth. "What's your regime?"
I am surprised at the question, and I take a moment to formulate an answer that won't make me sound like a savage.
"Mostly meat, and a lot of exercise."
This is true. The main source of food is what Gale and I hunt, and running through the woods has given me a lean physique that I always thought was more useful than aesthetic. I was a hunter, after all.
"Cinna will be right with you," one of the team speaks to me slowly, nodding as though I am a child.
Cinna, it transpires, is the head of my prep team. I have never seen him interviewed before. I approve of his style more than I do for most of the people I have seen today; simple gold lines over his deep brown eyes is the only thing that would set him apart from someone from District 12.
"Katniss," he shakes my hand. District 12 has never been one for unnecessary formality, so my hand is limp. "I'm new to this too. And I'm here to help you as much as I can."
There's a sincerity in his voice that tells me he understands much more of what I feel, of what the Capitol citizens should be able to ascertain from the tributes.
"Most people just congratulate me," I search his face.
"Well I don't see the point in that."
"So, what, you're going to dress me up as a better coal miner than all the other years?" my words are harsher than I intended, but he does not take offense.
"No," he smiles a little. "I have a better idea. Something that will make them remember you."
It's as though he knows what I want before I do. I do not want to go through this experience like so many of the other tributes, those who are so easily forgotten. I'm not just a piece in their games.