Author's Note: I have to thank Petemidnight for thinking up all of those traps and various mutts, but I forgot to remove that section from the sponsor points :/ I'm still going to use a few of your ideas, but you're not going to get 10 million points.
AGH I'M FINALLY COUNTING UP THE POINTS.
The answer to the last sponsor question was "District 2."
Now, for our third POV character…
Hanger Serra sat at the table in front of me. There was a martini in his hand, a small cherry impaled on a toothpick that rested halfway onto the bottom of the glass. There's a bit of frost on the end, probably frozen into the rim by the same bartender that gave him that glass.
He sips on some chilled, reddish liquid, maybe some sort of sherry. I don't know about any of the concoctions the Capitol has nowadays. Hanger sips on his drink, staring out the slightly frosted (like his glass) windows of the train.
I don't remember the name of the train, but it's been a pretty prominent figure in my life the last few weeks. It has led me around Panem, going from district to district, forcing me to tell these speeches about how wonderful my fellow tributes were. Forcing me to tell lies.
I'm serious. Some of them were complete assholes.
I'm not sure what to make of my victory. I didn't want to win. I never wanted to go into the Games. I had wanted to stay in District 3 with my normal life, my mediocre grades, and my amazing friends. But now, Ryder is dead, struck down by a tree. And I'm not sure Hinder will want to talk to me, seeing as how I blindly confessed my love for Ryder in the Games.
The Victory Tour is practically over by now. I've just finished with District 1, and I'm glad that I'm done with almost all of the Districts. I'm supposed to be headed towards the Capitol, where we have a lot of things scheduled. I have some sort of interview with Caesar Flickerman himself, and afterwards I'm going to be led to the Snow Mansion to endure a banquet of some sort.
Finally, after everything is done in the Capitol, I'm able to go home. I'm able to go back to District 3, where I will attend ANOTHER banquet, and then move into a house in District 3's Victor's Village. I'll probably be living right next to Hanger.
Hanger is okay, but he's rather ruthless. I've heard stories about his Games (I can't remember what year), where he impaled the last tribute on a makeshift spear he had made from the trees in the arena and a sharp rock, along with some twine sent by a sponsor. He had dug a pit and lured the other tribute in, and that's when he had made his kill.
Kill. I'm not very fond of that word anymore. Although it is not like I ever was.
Kill. The word the Hunger Games were founded on. The Capitol makes me sick.
The Games had been started by the Capitol (it was called Denver or something back then) to reduce rebellion after what was known as "Global Warming," where some ice up north melted and flooded Panem (I don't remember what it was called back then). Denver set up a series of Districts, it being Number One and the rest counting down to fifteen. Eventually, Denver became so powerful that it took the name of the Capitol and reigned over the other districts. That was when the Dark Days happened.
Not many people talk about that far in Panem's past. There was too much to be done in the lovely year of 2124.
The train rattled onwards, making small thumps every time I went past a dip or a small rise in the tracks. The train ran on magnetic tracks, so it wasn't like the old days where a small divot in the train tracks could derail a whole locomotive.
Hanger finishes his martini, placing the fragile glass down onto the fancily adorned table. His grey eyes turn towards me, staring deep into my facial expression.
"So, Heron," he says, picking at his fingernails with a pocketknife he has pulled out of practically nowhere. "Are you ready for the Capitol?"
"I'm not sure…" I reply, sitting down at one of the chairs in front of the table. It has a velvet backing and there are small scratches in the wood backing, possibly previous victors trying to make their mark on future tributes. But then again, that would mean this train has been around for a long time. I don't like the feel of that.
When we left District 1, there were trees, bushes, and various rocks and ponds flashing by outside the train windows, but now I could see small buildings and businesses along the train tracks, and I know we have reached the outskirts of the Capitol.
I'm not happy. Being rushed around the Capitol isn't exactly exciting. Plus, I remember, before I even go to the banquet, I have an appointment with Fulcher Morris, the Head Gamemaker this year. He's this nervous, jumpy man, but apparently he has some "big" ideas for the upcoming Games that I am supposed to see.
When we arrive at the Capitol, I exit the train, Hanger right behind me. I shiver, my thin dress not exactly protecting me from the winter wind. Capitol people shove forwards, trying to touch me, say something to me, or hug me. I shy away from their groping hands.
The "entourage" of Peacekeepers lead me to a tower to the west of the train station, which is called The Gamemaker's Tower. The lobby is practically empty…maybe they're on winter break? I don't know what kind of holidays the Capitolites have. I am led to an elevator, a dark, shiny one unlike the elevator in the Training Center. Peacekeepers surround me, and the elevator begins to rise.
Hanger taps his finger on the small railing along the left side of the elevator, humming a tune to a song that I don't know. The elevator dings every time we pass a floor, and it's starting to get a little annoying when we arrive on the 13th floor.
Fulcher was very jittery, just like I had heard. He shows me these blueprints for various traps that will be "featured" in this year's Games, and scattered schematics for bombs, spikes, and other instruments of horror. I gulp and try to keep down my lunch.
Next, I am "honored" with a tour of the facilities on the seventh floor. Near the end of the tour, I end up at a mutt holding cell. Inside there's a large gull with a long, spear-like beak, and it's flying all over the cell, slamming into the shatterproof windows. Hanger whistles, and Fulcher begins to explain the development of this particular mutt, which he calls a "Speargull."
The developers in the adjacent room send in a goat, chained to a small trolley that they send rolling into the room. The goat is dragged along.
"What are they doing?" I ask, a bit horrified.
"Ahh, I remember this…" Hanger smiles, rubbing his hands together.
The goat bleats, terrified. The gull opens its beak, letting out something between a roar and a caw. The goat tries to run, its stubby feet carrying it to the very edge of the cell. I look away as the gull rushes forwards, spearing the goat through the stomach. The gull rips out its intestines and begins to gobble them down, and I feel a bit queasy. Hanger looks down, and I can't tell what he's thinking.
"I would think it is time to move along
on the tour." He says, glancing at me again. If he's helping me, I silently thank him.
The rest of the tour is less violent, and we end up back in the lobby after taking some other elevator down. The Peacekeepers rejoin our cause.
The Peacekeepers escort me back to the train, and I have a vague feeling this is going to be happening the rest of the day. In less than five minutes, everybody is back on board the train and I'm stuck back in my cabin with Hanger and the rest of my crew.
Hanger smokes one of his cigars, pulling it out of a small cigar box he has in his pack.
"You ready for the interview?"
"Not really. I'm not that enthusiastic about the Games, even if they are already over."
"Why not?"
"Why the hell do you think?" Hanger grins, smashing the end of his cigar into a stub. Immediately, he pulls another one out of the same cigar box.
"Let me guess. The Games scared you. They scared you greatly. Now, you're afraid of anything having to do with the Games, adding onto the fact that you lost a loved one," He said, shoving the end of cigar into the corner of his mouth. I cringed. "Now, you want to save anyone you can from the Games, seeing as you will have to mentor two tributes soon enough." I closed my eyes. He was spot-on.
"Whatever floats your boat…" I glanced out the window, and noticed we were arriving at the Training Center. It was almost time for my interview with Caesar. I twisted my fingers, anticipating the various questions he would ask me about my violent experiences in the arena. I pulled on my jacket, ready to exit from the steel freight train.
Soon enough, Hanger lead me off onto the station floor, Peacekeepers in tow. I glanced at the various Capitol people in the station, but they all seemed to be chatting about some new dress that was released by Capitol Couture.
I rubbed my hands together, ignoring the chafing of my dress on various spots around my legs and arms. The cold winter air blew through my hair, sending it every which way.
Five minutes later, I was being splattered with makeup and my hair was being cut, pulled back into various hairstyles that would make the people back in District 3 cringe. My stylist pulls a few knots out, and it pains me to the point where I feel like they're ripping out my hair at the roots. Powder is pressed against my face, lipstick pressed against my lips, and my eyelashes brushed with makeup. I cringe as they scrub every last bit of dirt off of my body.
My frame is put into a very expensive golden dress. My heels are shoved into matching golden high heels, and my hair is tied into an elaborate ponytail and swung behind my back. I am lifted up out of the stylist's chair and my heels click on the floor as I'm led out, once again, to the arena. An overwhelming feeling of déjà vu washes over me.
First, my stylist, mentor, escort, and prep team go up the elevator, lifting them up to Caesar Flickerman. Finally, it is my turn to ride up into Caesar's domain, and I step tentatively onto the elevator. Lights flash abundantly, and I'm almost blinded by the bright neon blue and yellow lights that make patterns on the styled floor.
Caesar beckons for me to sit down next to him, and I nervously park myself on the edge of the red couch.
During the whole thing, I can't exactly focus. Caesar asks what I consider random questions and shows shots from the arena, sometimes even things I haven't seen myself: Ruby being torn into by mutts, Ryan getting speared through the throat, Bea slowly dying from blood loss, and various other tributes being killed. Then he shows the end of the Games: the point where I kicked Rupert ruthlessly in the face until he fell into the river, the piranhas swarming over him and chewing at his flesh, killing him. I'm huddled into a ball on screen, and I feel like doing so now. Bile rises in the back of my throat, and my arms clench up and I feel like clocking Caesar in the face. But I don't.
Caesar continues to ask questions, and I feel the alcohol that Hanger gave me on the train swishing around in my stomach. The new questions swirl throughout my thoughts, but that's not the main thing I'm focused on. My thoughts are focused on Ryder.
I can't stop thinking about how I failed to save him, and I start crying. Crying relentlessly, in front of a nation of over a million people. The Capitolites in the front row look confused, and Caesar bites his lip. I'm huddled off of the stage, and my prep team swarms over me like a bunch of angry bees. I feel like throwing up, but I just swing my head from side to side, trying to clear my thoughts. My head falls back down on the pillow of some cot that they put me on. My stylist looks worried.
In the corner of my eye, I see Hanger laughing. He's holding the same bottle of alcohol that I saw him with on the train.
"Girl can't hold her alcohol," He laughs, and my vision fades to black.
Author's Note: Someone doesn't know how to update. But I have the sponsor points added up! And they'll be up around tomorrow. Don't forget to review. And pity me.
Sponsor Question: x + 8 = 9 squared (It's easy, I know)
ANOTHER NOTE: I've been trying to post this chapter for about a week and a half, and it really seems to be having problems. Fanfiction hates me for not counting up sponsor points.