Day 2- The Opening Ceremony
"You haven't reconsidered what you said last night have you?" asks Tamla over breakfast. "I really haven't got any skills that could help in the arena. I could really hinder you."
"No," I say. "Besides, don't get ahead of yourself, we have to both get away from the bloodbath and find each other again first."
"What's this?" asks Woof, joining us at the table.
"We're going to be allies," says Tamla, with a half-hearted smile.
Woof simply shrugs and makes a 'hmm' noise that seems to suggest he's okay with that. "I guess you want to be coached together then?"
"Yes," we both say.
"Okay then," he says. "What have you got to work with, what skills have you got? Anything- can you climb, run, swim, fight, throw, think?"
"I guess I can run okay," says Tamla nervously.
Woof nods. "Good. That may well be your best asset in there. Just try out all weapons in training. If you can become familiar with any of them that will help a lot. But definitely learn camouflage and knots and traps too. You're not going to win with strength. What about you?" he addresses me.
"I can fight with a staff," I say.
"Well that's interesting," says Woof. "Where'd you learn that?"
"My dad taught me. But the other guys are nearly all much bigger and stronger."
"Bigger doesn't equal stronger," he replies firmly. "And stronger doesn't equal better at fighting. If you can fight properly with a staff then you'll be quick. Maybe not at running, but when fighting. Some of those giants are probably as slow as anything. And if you can fight with a staff then you'll probably adapt to a spear or maybe even a sword. Can you run fast?"
"No," I reply honestly.
"Well stay away from the cornucopia too," he says. "Maybe just try and get a knife if you can, to make a staff. That's if there are trees."
"I'm screwed if there aren't, I say.
"Those are often nasty ones," Woof agrees. "Don't give away to anyone that you can fight properly in training though."
"My dad said the same," I recall.
"Smart man," says Woof. "But you should try and look as strong as you can without giving your secret up, come across as mediocre, not weak, but not a real threat, that might help you avoid the careers initially."
"Got any general tips?" I ask him, "for surviving?"
He ponders this for a second. "Get water as soon as you can, remember where it is, use something as a landmark. Don't stay in one place unless you're sure you're hidden. Try and sleep in a cave or tree if you can, or under bushes or rocks. Don't light a fire that'll give your position away, if you need one then keep it small and put it out with dirt or sand, not water. Try and use high ground to get an idea of the layout of the arena, but only if there is some and you sure you can get away easily. Learn as much as you can in the training centre about edible food. Pay attention to animals if there are any, where are they getting their water? What foods do they eat, what foods don't they eat. Stay alert for gamemaker traps, especially if no-one's died in a while…oh, and whatever you don't step off your podium before the sixty seconds are up."
We spend the next few hours discussing everything. Strategy, Woof's thought's about some of the other tributes, his knowledge of their mentors. What to expect in the next few days, things that have happened in previous games, what arenas have been like, any guesses or suspicions he has about this year's event.
"Well," he says as we pass through the tunnel under the mountains the will emerge in the Capitol, "once we're out of this tunnel you'll be whisked away from me for a bit, so my final pieces of advice for now are this. One, never takes things at face value in the arena. The careers are all allies? They're plotting to stab each other in the back. The animals are really cute? They're probably vicious and poisonous. You get my point." We nod solemnly. "And second, and this is important, you'll be taken to the remake centre now. Don't argue, just let them do their stuff. Your prep team and stylist will see you naked. Deal with it."
Tamla and I shoot each other a nervous glance, before the train bursts back into the sunlight. "Well I'll leave you now," says Woof. "I'll see you in the training centre this evening."
We don't say goodbye to him, we are both to busy staring out of the windows. The Capitol, as much as I hate it for treating us like it does, is impressive to look at. Eventually, about fifteen minutes later we pull in at the station and are lead away by peacekeepers, past cheering crowds, to the remake centre. "Good luck." I say to Tamla before we are taken in separate directions.
My prep team introduce themselves as Fabricius, Tullia and Aquilina and spend over two hours, cleaning me and smartening me until I'm more 'presentable' than I've been in my entire life.
Eventually I'm taken to meet my stylist, Rogellus, who studies my naked body for a few minutes, before handing me a robe and motioning me to follow him. Rogellus is probably about forty, though it's fairly hard to tell, given the amount of makeup he has on. His hair is bright yellow, slicked back and his face is adorned with more yellow, in the form of tattoos and piercings.
"So, Rory," he begins as food appears all around us. "What's your angle."
"Sorry?" I say, not quite understanding what he means.
"How can I present you?" he asks. "Are you the strong silent type, are you friendly, are you brooding, are you determined, are you a vicious killer? I need a costume to match the personality you send out in the opening ceremony."
"Erm…I guess determined?" I say hesitantly. "I'm not much of a fighter, but I'm not a weakling. I'm going to try my hardest."
"Indeed," says Rogellus. "So something strong…"
He spends a lot of time musing to himself as we eat over the next twenty minutes, occasionally posing a question to me, before we're done eating and he leads me to a room where he tries several costumes on me, before eventually settling on a surprisingly simple-looking costume. It is made of several luxurious fabrics, symbolising the trade of district 8- textiles- and takes the form of a long-sleeved tunic over pants, with the whole outfit threaded with gold and silver.
I am lead to the stables where I see the other tributes in the flesh for the first time. Glancing around the variation between them strikes me. It seems unbelievable that the powerful figures of Silver, Jade, Varro, Perrin, Mitro, Grove, Carson and Jeremiah, can be in the same fight as the tiny figures of Cinnamon, Amelia, Jonathan, Fern, Kyla, Barr and Coulette are.
My observations, already unsettled by a vicious glare from Silver, are broken when Tamla arrives beside me, with her stylist, a slightly younger man than Rogellus I think, loitering behind her.
"Hey," she says, quietly. The noises the horses are making, the quiet chatter of some stylists and the distant roar of the crowd are the only noises audible at the moment. All the other tributes, while stood in pairs, are not speaking to each other.
"Hey," I reply equally quietly.
"How do I look?" she asks worriedly, with a grin. I smile cautiously back. It's good to see that while I doubt she's banished her fear, at least she's able to push it to one side.
I seize her up. She's in the same outfit as me, but more heavily made up, with gold lipstick and heavily coloured eyelids and lashes. I decide to answer honestly. "Unnatural."
Happily, she doesn't take offence. "I feel it," she says.
As we take our cue from the other tributes and start climbing onto our chariot, Rogellus and Tamla's stylist approach. "Your mentor has informed me that the two of you are going to be allies," says Rogellus. "You should play on that to try and stand out. District 8 often has trouble doing that. Don't hold hands or anything to familiar, but most of the tributes will be ignoring each other. Maybe stand shoulder-to-shoulder, or back-to-back and acknowledge each other with a glance or two. Don't smile or wave to the crowd, unless you feel you can really keep up the friendly, happy angle in your interviews. Just stare forward and look strong. And definitely try not to look awed."
We simply nod in agreement, trying to take it all in, before the music starts blaring, quickly followed by the horses being set off. Our stylists wish us good luck, before we're gone, off into the city. We do exactly as Rogellus asked during the ride to City Circle, before eventually pulling to a stop as the anthem plays. Judging from the giant TV screens we seem to be getting our fair share of airtime as President Snow makes his speech, which I don't take in at all.
Eventually we are led into the training centre, and head to our quarters, on the eighth floor of course. Tamla's stylist, Marcius, is already there along with Rogellus, Iulia and Woof. After we are congratulated on a good performance during the parade we change out of our costumes into some of the simplest clothes in our amply stocked wardrobes, and when she re-emerges from her room Tamla has also discarded her makeup.
I shoot her the briefest of smiles as we sit opposite each other at the dinner table. We eat only a fairly small amount, while discussing more about the parade, the other tributes and the upcoming events, before Tamla and I excuse ourselves. As I have a steaming shower, for the first time in a while there is nothing to distract my thoughts, and they wander back to my family and my fate. I can't believe that it was only yesterday that I was reaped, it already seems a lifetime ago. I try to sleep, but after several hours that proves impossible, so to try and clear my head I head out to the balcony off the main room. Everyone is in bed now, and the quiet is eerie. Deciding there's nothing to do but try again to sleep I return to my room, passing Tamla's door as I do so. Hearing something I pause for a moment, to realise that she is crying. Quite loudly. My hand hovers near the doorknob for a moment, before I turn away and return to my room. We can't both survive, we can't both survive…I try and drum into my head as I try to reinforce my earlier thought that while I can try and help her, I really shouldn't become too attached. But my thoughts only drift to all the other tributes, and I find myself imagining their families, every bit as desperate for them to come home as mine are for me to return, and my hatred for this whole situation bubbles to the surface again, and I cry myself into a fitful sleep, interrupted by nightmares.