Impressions.
"Some people make headlines while others make history." - Philip Elmer-DeWitt
Tyndall Martinez, District Three Male.
"What's that you have there?"
I blink furiously in response to the soft tinkling of her voice. Adelie stares at me with glossed over eyes but a permanent smile lighting up the lower portion of her face. I look down at the chewed up pen between my fingers, a few lines of dark ink sprawled across my fingers.
Instant memories flash behind my eyes and I smile. I'm going to miss home for what it meant to me, for what it was.
"It's my token."
The other mentor, a younger but brighter Dessa, narrows her eyes and smirks a little. She's not mean or anything, it just takes a lot to break her down. "A pen?" she raises an eyebrow and I chuckle, nodding my head and twirling it between my index finger and thumb.
"Seems a bit weird, but that's District Three for you," I chime, smiling brightly at the pair of them. Ada mumbles under her breath next to me, her face deep in thought and back pressed into the cushion. Dessa rolls her eyes and Adelie cackles at that, myself only gently retaliating. I don't want to be mean to Ada, if she's quiet she's quiet. I'm not a very open person myself, we all have personal secrets that keep ourselves rooted down and anchor us to reality. Ada might just be one of the more awkward, silent types. In Three, we all know them.
"Who gave you the pen, kid?"
Adelie elbows Dessa in the side playfully, the younger girl scrunches her face and pushes back. The two are like little children and I laugh along with them as the short fight plays through. The problems with Adelie's head quickly kick in and she freezes, Dessa relaxing and clutching her shoulder immediately. Nothing's too bad when she kicks into her episodes but Dessa knows to calm down instantly. I simply stare at the two of them, curiosity on overdrive but the questions dying before they can spill out in a pile of word vomit.
I have a small amount of tact as it goes, I can hold a conversation unlike a certain few I'm acquainted with. I enjoy light-hearted interaction but nothing too full on and intense, it's hard to focus on life and the problems you face if you can't get a second thought in and an opinion out to the people you're supposedly speaking to.
"How are you two feeling fresh from the reaping then?" Dessa puts in, completely ignoring the fact that such a topic might still be sensitive. I don't flinch or anything, and Ada simply continues to stare at the table with no sort of interest in what's happening in front, but there are a few painful memories that surface back again, barely absorbed in such a short time. I can't really believe it happened, though I doubt anyone whose been in my position can, unless they volunteered that is.
Really, I'm terrified of dying and scared of what lies beyond all that, but I'm not dramatic or over-emotional. When I cry, there's always something that pushes me over that wall and into the state of depression. The reaping was more shock than anything else and that's still trying to set in my stomach right now. The fact it was me... I don't really know what to say to that.
"It's hard to put into words I guess," I mumble in response, a little less driven to speak right now. Dessa frowns and returns attention back on Ada.
"What about you then Miss Sunshine, feeling okay?"
Ada's lip twitches and from my position, I notice the quick movement in her hands. The nails scratch at the thread-line in her skirt, her fingers tightening just a tiny bit. I blink and stare back up at Dessa, shaking my head, warning her.
It seems I'm still learning about our young victor, because apparently she doesn't know what a shake of the head actually stands for.
"Come on," I hear Ada grunt as Dessa's foot connects with her leg. "I understand you're scared but a little conversation never hurt."
I agree, Dessa. But not at a time like this.
Ada's neck moves, not by much, but enough for her eyes to glance up and lock with Dessa's. The mentor cheers sarcastically but the moment the noise dwindles into nothing, Ada's head completely moves up and her lips curl into a snarl.
"If you don't mind, kid," she bites back with, bitterly. "I'd rather not talk about it. My entire life has just been stolen from me by the city that is meant to protect us and the fact I have a little child yapping in my ear is not helping. I'd like to point out that whilst, yes, you may have experience in this field, I am eighteen years of age and you, Dessa Emrick, are only seventeen. Do not call me kid or presume to understand what can and can't hurt me."
It's hard to really put into words the atmosphere right now. Dessa's jaw hangs open with her eyes forming perfect circles. Adelie's smiling dreamily, no real connection to anything, and then there's me. I'm halfway between congratulating Ada for standing up for herself, and scolding her for such an unnecessary tirade against the one person who's here to help her.
I barely make a single noise when Ada pushes herself up from the table and storms off, marching away and down to her own room behind the sliding mechanical door.
"That was certainly... dramatic."
Dessa cracks her fingers and sits, gawping at the closed door she just left through. I try to get her attention again, waving and tapping away at the table but Dessa does nothing but simply stare. I guess she's just not used to a little back-chat, makes sense when all we seem to get from our District are quiet, timid little children. I'm quiet, Ada's quiet, but we both seem to be able to speak when we're required to. However it seems at rather different levels of volume, myself going for friendly, Ada going for complete hostility.
She'll be hard to talk to, I mentally note. Though maybe there is hope for her yet.
"Are you alright Dessa?" Adelie clicks into action and grabs onto Dessa's shoulder. All I can really do is sit and stare at the two of them. They may be as different as night and day, but they've been together through a lot, a connection between the two no one can take away. I remember trying to force myself into little social groups and making sure I could maybe one day find someone similar to the way these two look at each other.
I did, in a sense. But that was taken from me. Everything's been ruined by the Games.
"I didn't need that slapped in my face. I may be seventeen but I won... I won..."
There's nothing I can say. Nothing calming or tender to help Dessa relax, only Adelie can do such a thing. So all I do is sit down, lean back and rest my head against the window. Endless fields and forests merge and blur into one another, streaming past me as my eyes gently flutter shut. It's easy to fall asleep. Time's not really an issue after you've been reaped for the Hunger Games.
Cynder Duke, District Five Male.
Celene takes a seat opposite Taryn and rests her head in her hands. The young mentor smiles and picks up one of the cupcakes from the tray, pink swirls smothered across the top. I lick my lips hungrily and grab one myself, listening to Celene laugh and Taryn wolfing her own cake down greedily.
From the looks of it, I like Taryn. She's relatable being near our age and a lot easier to get along with than my own mentor. Kinnard's a real downer, always putting things in a negative perspective and urging me to take things seriously. I am, he doesn't understand that I plan on winning, but there's no harm in at least smiling right? A smile can go a long way, thankfully I've found two people who know how to do such a thing.
Unfortunately, Celene has to die for me to win. But I'd rather cross that bridge when it comes to it, right now I happily shove another cake into my throat and wash it down with a gulp of orange juice, leaning back into my chair cushion.
"Do you two know each other then?" Taryn bites into another one and motions her hand between the pair of us. I glance over at Celene and she beams at me, twirling a piece of her hair around a finger. I don't know Celene. She doesn't seem all that with it so my parents wouldn't have approved of me spending time with her. After a long period of time in her company I can guess it gets a little annoying. She's always looking off in the distance, or laughing at something completely random. Still, it's better than having no one with me.
"No, but I think I've heard of you. Cynder Duke, your father's called Duke Duke," she slaps a hand against the table and bursts out laughing. I grin at that; yes my father is named, for whatever reason, Duke Duke. It's a constant joke between me and my friends, something he's rather proud of for reasons we mock him for.
"That's him," I notice Kinnard stepping towards a seat to my left, settling himself down slowly into the cushion and resting his cheek against the window. "Don't let him hear you laughing though. He won't like it one little bit."
"He sounds fun, better than my dad."
For a brief second that infectious optimism vanishes, the pause between happy Celene and downtrodden something of a spectacle. Taryn frowns and reaches out her hand, before her nails can reach Celene's curled up fingers, she leans back up and smiles again.
"Oh well, I guess that's in the past huh?"
I nod sadly and take another cupcake. I never thought I'd be reaped, not in a million years. When you're eighteen years old and nearing the end of those dreaded years, you become hopeful. And I had that hope snatched from me at the very last second, just a slip to the left and I'd be home and Celene would be talking to someone else completely.
It makes me feel guilty imagining the idea of another child condemned to death, but humanity is selfish. I accept that self-loving side that fights for itself and embrace it. I'm not rude to others, I care and talk to them like I am right this moment, but at the end of the day I have to kill to win.
The moment I was reaped, I knew what I'd have to do. Dip into the old brains a bit, use the very strength I possess that I've tried to keep hidden. It's not that people don't respect those with a knack for intellect, it's just keeping it away from the eyes of others was a lot more rewarding than being known as some kind of brain-box.
Celene's a ditz, more so than anyone I've ever met. People like her relate more to someone closer to their level, I find company to be more rewarding if I'm lying to them. It's not right, deceiving them, though really no one's getting hurt. At least, they weren't. In a few days they will, no stopping where this train is headed.
"Do you think the Capitol will like me, Taryn?"
I break out of my thought patterns and watch the two of them converse. Taryn manages to reach her hand in time, clutching onto it and running her fingers comfortingly along her own. Celene chirps up and laughs but it's strained, forced even.
Poor Celene, she doesn't stand much of a chance in this.
"They'll love you Celene. You're you, that's all that matters."
Ouch. I ignore that and nod along with Taryn, smiling at Celene who turns to face me, seeking my own reflection on what the Capitol desires. Truthfully, they want her blood. Celene's too much of a nice girl to understand the meaning of death, too optimistic to realise her chances are barely substantial. They barely exist at all.
"You're happy Celene, more than can be said for some people," I joke, directed mainly at Kinnard who remains stationary in his booth, cheek in hand and eyes watching the raindrops cascade down the window. I give up with him, he's the downer of the entire group, Celene's the real optimistic one who struggles to grasp onto reality and then there's me. Maybe I actually can do this, I'm somewhere in the middle. Happy to speak, get to know others and remain positive, but aware of what must be done and willing to use others for my own personal survival.
I've lied for so many years, it's like second nature. Now I can manipulate the truth whilst using my main talents. At the moment it looks like I have a solid game plan, Taryn would kill me if she knew what I was thinking though. Maybe Kinnard will have his uses after all.
"Have you two thought about potential alliances?"
I bite my lip, honestly yes, and honestly Celene isn't one of those options. I need people I can use but people who are strong in themselves, there's no real point in using someone if my plan will fall apart the second they die in the bloodbath. Celene smiles and looks at me, assuming we're together by the mere eye contact I create.
I smile and reach out for her hand. I could lie, though right now, I'll calm her down. I'm not an evil person.
"Me and Celene have this, we'll think about another person later on."
Taryn nods eagerly and drums her fingers against the tabletop. She twists her head to face Kinnard who appears to have fallen asleep in his chair. I sigh, she sighs, and Celene bursts out laughing.
We're a mismatched group, two genuine people, Kinnard the Downer and me... the only one who really has a clue. Taryn won, sure, but I remember it was a fluke. It wasn't meant to turn out that way.
"We'll be arriving in the Capitol shortly, better get yourselves ready. I'll be right behind you every step of the way, don't you worry about nothing."
She's as bad as Celene. We have everything to worry about, an entire country is waiting for my blood to spill, Celene to be cut up and twenty-one others to die. There's nothing we shouldn't be worried about.
It's how I'm going to win, by using my nerves and those of others to my advantage. There aren't just good and bad people in the world, there are those in the middle; people like me.
The train loses momentum, closing in under a tunnel and Kinnard jolts awake at the sudden darkness. We can't all be winners, some of us are simply cut out for victory, others don't stand a chance. I have to be in the former category, there's no other option for me.
Megaera Cassian, District Four Female.
Lucinda runs her hand delicately along my forearm, smiling down at me whilst I sit stark naked against the metal slab. Pots of different sizes reek of lavender, roses and strawberries, lining the tray she plays with. Her skeletal hand dances along my wrist once more before she leans back and smirks at me for a final time.
"Now," she trills, "you don't require much modification for my vision to come true. With a tweak here and there I'm sure you'll fit the bill."
Excuse me?
Under the edges jutting from the platform, I let my hands fall and curl at the knuckles. How dare she insinuate such a thing? Sure, I'm no Little-Miss-Perfect but I'm close, closer than anyone else here with me that's for certain. I plaster that behind a grin and push myself up on my elbows, staring back at her.
"And what is your vision exactly?" I laugh.
Lucinda claps her hands together enthusiastically and jumps up, head barely missing the overhead light swishing back and forth. It's hard to stomach these morons, their devotion to fashion is one thing but their moronic nature is something else. The problem with Lucinda is, I'm almost one hundred percent certain that it isn't an act.
This is her true self. Myself, on the other hand, well... if I wasn't holding back, the scissors nearest to her would be embedded in an artery and I'd be out of this room. But we all have restrictions and I find a little ditziness lowers people's boundaries, leaving the way open for little ol' me to waltz on in.
"Mermaids of course Megan!"
I shake my head and force a laugh out. "Megaera, silly. My name's Megaera Cassian, District Four's newest victor."
She waves that off almost instantly and again, I coil my hands round the grip of the platform and silently shake. I've been called a loose cannon before, always exploding spontaneously and leaving people rather... surprised. Luckily, she's a dolt and I've handled people way worse. A little anger is good, helps the act.
"The beauty of your District is of course the ocean. I've never seen it firsthand but tradition is tradition and Four has always been represented with some kind of symbolic outfit representing the water."
"It's a beautiful idea Lucy!"
She beams at me and hops closer towards my platform. "I knew you were a girl of intelligence. Mermaids are so going to be the next big thing once this is over!"
I nod a little too much, sickly grin on my face and let it fall the moment she turns away towards the compartment bolted into the side of the room. Mermaids. Yes, Lucinda. Your originality is extraordinary. If this was just a game of killing – the only part I actually care about – I wouldn't even bother with such a trivial state of affairs. Dressing up, playing dolls with a brat from the Capitol, it's way down on my list of priorities.
But today, it has to be done. The Games focus on beauty as well as brutality, thankfully I was blessed with looks others don't possess. If there was ever a tribute who has the right combination of talent to win, Lucinda is standing right near her.
It's only a matter of eradicating twenty-three others and paving the way to my inevitable future.
"Your district partner's a real cutie." Great, girl talk.
"He is, isn't he?" I coo, school-girl wide eyes replacing a scowl. Lucinda twists her body back round and steps towards me with a thin, silver hairbrush. She slowly goes through my long hair, removing the tiniest of tangles and knots, leaving each strand silky as it falls against my back.
"Will he be a merman?" I ask. A piece of hair pulls a bit too tight and I dramatically wince. Lucinda squeals and apologises profusely, stroking my head tenderly. In the space of mere minutes we've gone from her judging me, to babying me like she's my new mother. I hate my own mother so I honestly don't need another one of those, but it's good to see her opening up to me. I wonder if the Capitol has any secrets regarding this years Games, Lucinda could be a great source of information in the right hands.
"Matteo will be a sea captain, you his new prize."
"Will he have a hook and everything?"
Lucinda pulls down again with the hairbrush and laughs out loud. "Something like that, though we've gone for a more sexy pirate rather than a washed up drunk."
Matteo is annoying, to say the very least. The last thing I want to see is him dressed in something deemed as 'sexy' in the eyes of these perverted young women. I admit he's attractive, but that's the only compliment he'll get out of me, and it's not like I'd ever voice it in the open unless it was necessary for getting close to him. I haven't quite worked him out yet, whether or not his arrogance demands my attraction or if he can get it on with the bimbo from One instead. She's probably just another classic airhead, fawning over anything with a pulse.
"I can't wait to see our outfits, I bet we'll get tonnes of sponsors," I grip tighter onto the table with both hands, her pulls getting more forceful as she goes through the lower parts of my hair. Through each cry she apologises, but I laugh those off and allow her to continue.
"Don't you worry about those sponsors, after you get out there and show them what you've got, you and Matteo will be swimming in money!" she cheers at her pun, eagerly grips onto my shoulders, and plants a kiss on the top of my head.
Disgust is the first thing I feel, urging me to repel her away with some sort of crude hand gesture or violent reaction. Though before the temptation overwhelms me, she's gone back over to the other side of the room, digging around in a closet of some sorts.
I'm not looking forward to being paraded around as a mermaid, stuck next to the cocksure moron I'm sure Matteo is. I just want the real part to this journey to begin, why I bothered volunteering in the first place. It wasn't for this farce, it was for violence, for the years of my training to culminate in something much more exciting.
First of all, mermaid time, regrettably. I flash her a winning smile the second she turns, fins in hand and seaweed extensions interlaced with her fingers. It's hard to find a single good thing, a dozen insults burning the tip of my tongue, but I do what I do best and lie behind my positivity.
If I can fool Lucinda with what she loves, I'll fool the other tributes with what they pride themselves over. It's all about working out who your opponents are and how to twist that against them. I'm a master of such a strategy, it's how I'm going to win this.
"Now let's get your tail on!"
Great...
Kennedy Ames, District Eight Female.
"I am not wearing that."
Trilla glares at me with the patch of fabric folded over her hands. I glare back, unrelenting and wait for her to give up. Her purple eyes bulge out of their sockets, contrasting with her red skin. I want to laugh but right now, no, I'm angry and if I give in I'll be pushed into this slutty patchwork dress.
If you can even call it a dress.
"For the last time Kennedy, this isn't a negotiation. I am your stylist and I demand you to put on what you have been ordered to wear."
"On whose authority."
Her lip twitches and she takes a hesitant step forwards. "I swear... if you weren't a tribute. I'd..."
"You'd what? Kill me? I'd like to see you try."
Finally, she breaks. Throwing her hands in the air, the dress lands in a heap on the metallic floor. I finally unclench every muscle and allow my face to relax. Smirking at her, she storms past and out through the glass door. This isn't the last of it but for now, it's a momentary victory and I'll revel in it before I am forced into that scrap of cloth.
I didn't argue with her knowing I'd get away with it, but still, better to prolong the future for as long as possible.
I sigh heavily and rest my hands on the white sheet covering my body, another thing I ordered to be given. Trilla didn't take to it any better than she did this, apparently nakedness is essential for the process to be complete. She can shove that. I'm not standing naked in front of a strange woman, no matter who or what she calls herself. I'm about to be killed, I should be permitted to hold onto some shred of dignity.
The automatic doors slide in backwards, opening up to the hallway in front. My eyes roll when Trilly waddles on back in, Lawson my mentor hanging behind her.
The second his eyes fall on mine, I reluctantly stare down at the ground, dragging my foot in front of the other. My mind reels back to my goodbye when my father held back my family from comforting me, staring at me with stern eyes. I knew he loved me but he didn't want me to believe I could do this based on petty ideas of my family wanting me to return. I respect that, but then he told me to control my temper, that it would be the one thing to get me in more trouble than anything else and I realised he was telling the truth.
With Trilly, it's easier to release my temper, she's nothing but a supporter to what the Capitol is doing to us all. Lawson though, he's done nothing but try to help me since I met him. That's why I struggle to meet his eyes, why when he places a gentle hand on my shoulder all I can feel is guilt stirring inside of me.
"Kennedy," he whispers calmly. "Come on, look at me."
I hate this babying. I'm not a child, I don't want to be pushed around and made to be like some wounded puppy when I don't get my way. If it was anyone else, even Davin, I would lash out with something harsh. But it isn't... I can't go against his word.
My eyes slowly flutter open and stare at Lawson, chin tilted up. He smiles when we make eye contact and the grip on my shoulder relinquishes.
"Why won't you wear what Trilly gave you?"
I glare at her over his shoulder, then at the trash she wanted me to parade about in. It's not the design on it, Eight is expected to be dressed in some silly representation of our industry. Patches of different fabric, I can handle that. It's the length, the low cut chest line, that's not something I want to be forced into. Not to mention the fact I'm only fifteen years old.
"Have you seen it Lawson? No one with a shred of self respect would put that on."
Trilly dramatically gasps and I snicker, relishing in the one thing I can find some ounce of satisfaction. Lawson sighs again and shakes his head.
"It's for one night of your life. Trilly has dealt with all ages, and believe me when I say you're by far one of the easiest kids she's had to work with."
"So why'd she come running to you?"
"Because," he relaxes his shoulders and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. "She knows your type, you don't see her as some sort of authority figure but will listen if I came to speak to you."
I hate it when people see right through me. My cheeks burn instantly and I avert my gaze for a brief moment, staring at the ground. Trilly immediately brightens at my expression when I look back over at her. She's won this round, she knows she has.
"I'm going to die soon... I just wanted..."
The words sink into my chest and I hiccup, the strain of fighting bearing down on everything. It's tiring, trying to just be yourself when everyone's trying to help and tell you what to do. And then, just as things started to get a little better, this happened. How am I not supposed to be angry? Father wanted me to control my main weakness... how am I meant to do that?
"Trilly could easily have made little effort. It may not seem it but from the moment you stepped through that door she's been helping you and your chances in this. You're already at a disadvantage because of where you're from, as bad as this may be and what tonight stands for, that dress is a ticket to sponsors."
"And sponsors save my life." I mutter, giving in completely.
Lawson smiles sadly up at me. Tears, somewhere, try to push their way out onto my eyelashes, but I've lost this, I won't lose the sense of boundaries I've managed to hold strong. Trilly meets Lawson's side and timidly, allows herself to stroke my arm.
"I am here to help, Kennedy. You can hate me and where I'm from but no matter what you feel towards who I am, that doesn't change the fact you are my tribute and my responsibility. Please, wear the dress."
There really is nothing else left to do or say. I can't apologise, that's the one thing no one can expect from me. As bad or as guilty I may feel coming out a fight I never should have gotten into in the first place, such a vulnerable state just isn't possible. It's like crying, I just can't apologise.
But I do go for the dress, and I do get changed once Lawson has left.
It's disgusting, revealing, nothing I'd wear in a million years. But I smile when I step out of my room and thank Trilly for her efforts to present me to the best possible standard there is. I can hate her, as she said, but I can't push her away.
Trilly takes my hand in hers once we reach the elevator. Davin grins broadly the moment we step in, and down we go towards the chariots. I may hate the way I look, but it's this dress that could give me what I need come the Arena. If there's a chance that this will help me win, then the Capitol can expect a show from me tonight. Doesn't matter what I'm wearing.
Elijah Fawkes, District Nine Male.
Atarah tugs on the hem of her dress whilst we stand, hip to hip. Both of us are fitted head to toe in nothing but strands of grain, knotted and woven together to form a netting of some sort. It's tight but at least I'm covered up, unlike the pair from Four and the girl from Eight just in front of us.
She scrunches up her face when she boards her chariot and I burst out laughing at the sight. I don't mean anything bad by it but when she shoots a stern glare my way, I calm down just a tad and turn back to face Atarah.
"At least we're not naked," I joke, hoping she'll respond this time. Atarah only goes a deeper shade of red and weakly smiles at me, avoiding all eye-contact. I shuffle half an inch in her direction as the empty chariots start to fill up even more. We've been told there's still at least fifteen or so minutes until show-time, but escorts are obsessive people, hell-bent on keeping to a strict schedule. We were the first ones down here.
"Your stylist seems nice. What was her name again, Renoe?"
Atarah bites her lips and nods, still keeping her body half turned away from me. I frown a little and look over her shoulder at the pair from Eleven walking out, the girl scowling and the boy staring straight ahead with a conflicted face. Everyone's so on edge, all of them trying to build up a sense of protection that'll give them an advantage when it comes to feeling like they have a chance.
I'm not a killer, neither is Atarah. We both must know that when it comes to fighting we're two of the odd one outs. Maybe in her eyes, she's like everyone else and seems to expect me to be one of the people who actually could challenge the careers based on nothing but my appearance. I hope she isn't a simple-minded girl, she seems a lot nicer than that which is why I'm only trying to ease her a little bit. It's nice to let loose a little and not feel like talking is such a bad thing.
"It was a little awkward with mine. He," I laugh, rather ashamedly, mind flitting back to that brief encounter when I wasn't... well, fully clothed. "-he sort of, mumbled that I looked pretty darn good. It was nice to hear that but not from him, you know." I laugh again, body shaking and elbow jerking out slightly. It knocks into Atarah who – thank the heavens – giggles. She actually giggles.
See, it only takes patience and you get somewhere with people.
"My stylist said I had nice hair."
An overhead speaker crackles with some kind of static, a shriek knocking me back from somewhere a few chariots in front. I wonder why everyone's so jumpy right now, it's only a chariot ride. By now we've seen plenty, know how they work and I can't be the only teenager who never once saw themselves in a tribute's shoes, wondering if it was me, what I'd do. I can't be.
"You do have nice hair Atarah, it's really pretty," I stress, sidling back along the chariot and beaming at her when she finally gazes up at my face.
Just as she goes to say something else, another tribute closer to the front bursts out shouting. Everyone; the pair from Eight and the couple in front of their chariot, peer over the edges to get a good look at the commotion at the front. Atarah stares at me with wide-eyes and I quickly lean back in.
"Don't worry, I just want to take a look."
The girl from Eight pulls up the front of her dress and steps out in time to me leaving my own chariot. Chessca would probably freak if she saw me breaking procedure right now, but it might be important.
"What do you think's going on?" I say loudly in no particular direction. The same girl from Eight glares back at me and shrugs her shoulders, stepping forwards just another few inches before coming to a complete halt.
I almost bump into her but stop myself in time, observing the scene in front. The careers are huddled round the chariot from Two, the boy from that district surrounded by the others all staring at him with mixed faces. None of them look too unhappy, the boy from One and girl from Four are happily smiling at him but he stands there like his face is about to explode. This can't be very good.
"-Lochlan, you don't have to be so dramatic. I simply fail to see why one such as yourself wouldn't think to join our alliance. The benefits-"
"-the benefits can kiss my-"
The girl from Four bursts out laughing, the other smiling career giggling uncontrollably as the boy, Lochlan I guess, turns around and barges past the boy from Four, nearly knocking him to the ground. Immediately every single non-career bolts back to their chariots. I guess it's easier to observe them when they're angry at each other rather than when they realise we're snooping in on them.
The girl from Eight jerks her body out of my way and I jog after her.
"See you!" I shout happily, bouncing back to my chariot and pulling myself on. Atarah raises an eyebrow and I shrug my shoulders in response, pulling a strand of grain up and twisting it around my chest area. I blush and she nervously laughs, a patch of skin revealing.
"Boy from Two, didn't look too happy."
"Why?"
I shrug my shoulders again and pat my chest, the bare skin finally covered up. The speaker's noise resounds around us all once more, this time a clear, crisp voice booming out and announcing we're about to set off. Atarah squeals a little, stepping away from the edge, her hip bashing into my side. She squeals again and I instinctively grab onto her hand, forgetting all codes about boundaries and the fact she's a girl and I'm a guy and what this might be construed as.
None of that matters. I like Atarah and people like her, the quiet ones who really shouldn't be scared, have always been people I've been inclined to open up. We don't have much time after all, this week is our last week for a sense of normalcy before we fight for our lives.
I have to make the most of what time I have left.
"If we hold hands, neither of us will fall off, alright?"
Her fingers lock round my own, as tight as possible and the metal doors in front slide open. She nods and I grip onto the sidebar with my free hand.
I take a deep breath, relaxing my arms and legs and ensuring I'm calm. If I'm not calm, how can I tell Atarah to be calm? It all comes back down to how I present myself, and the only way for Atarah to feel like she can be herself around me is if I'm myself around her.
The pair from Eight disappear into the flashing lights; there's a brief moment of nothing, not a single movement, and then we zip forwards. Our chariot, bounding along the pathway through the screams of a million.
Raelyn Houchens, District Ten Female.
"Bwark!"
My elbows bend in to my hips and I flap them up and down, yellow feathers spilling from my front. Alton shakes his head as he plays with his plastic orange beak, the strings a little too tight round his cheeks. I laugh to myself brightly, flapping as much as I can, playing the part to my fullest potential. It's fun, being a chicken. I'm no chicken personally but I liked playing with the little hatchlings at home and the mothers, pecking corn from the earth.
I miss home, and here I am dressed up in something I used to care for. I have to thank my stylist for her genius, fashion-centred mind when this is over!
"You could be a little less convincing," Alton mutters under his breath. "They're mocking us."
"Who? I don't see anyone mocking us." Alton's such a negative soul, he sucks me completely dry when all I'm attempting is a bit of positivity here. He acts like I'm the bane of his existence, always scorning my actions when I'm around, sarcastically biting back and nitpicking everything apart.
Well, what he doesn't know is that stress can be deadly, he should loosen up a bit or it'll kill him.
Unless, you know, the Hunger Games get to him first.
"We're dressed in yellow feathers, of course they're mocking us."
"I think we'll be complimented for really selling our District. Unlike whatever District Six is wearing. Chickens are cool!"I punch the air and bwark again, pecking the air blindly and shaking my hips. Alton rolls his eyes but that does nothing except fuel me further, I giggle and grab onto his hand, hitting it against his thigh and laughing triumphantly when he gives in and repeats the movements.
"If I act like a damn chicken will you leave me alone?" he grumbles, flapping his arms half-heartedly whilst the crowd roar on behind, in front and to the sides.
"No, but do it anyway!"
He mumbles something under his breath, but I don't waste my time straining to hear what's most likely an insult. I'm only doing this to help him, it's sad Alton only tries to put a damper on things, but I'm here to help him and anyone else from cheering up and living life brightly before they're killed. I don't plan on leaving this place alive. I don't want to die but realistically those tall, brick-built careers aren't exactly easy competition to bat aside.
If I die, then I go down knowing my life wasn't wasted. That even through the dark times, I saw something to smile about. I want to give Alton that brief moment of comfort, he doesn't deserve to go down thinking his life wasn't well lived.
"So Alton," I raise my voice when the crowd explodes into a ruckus. "Thought about allies yet?"
We start to slowly come to a halt, the chariot wheels stopping and the horses almost freezing in place. The mansion in front is magnificent, pillars and banners and all things majestic surrounding the establishment. The architecture is something to be in awe at. Alton elbows me in the side and points at the little man standing in front, high up from us all.
"Allies? Alton?"
The man begins speaking into something techy that projects his deep voice to this entire area. The other tributes crane their necks upwards but Alton looks at me, frowning.
"I don't know Raelyn, I need time to weigh up my options."
My face doesn't quite replicate the sudden disappointment that makes me feel. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but on some level, maybe I thought he would accept. Just because we're district partners. It goes without saying doesn't it? We stick together, I thought that was the unwritten rule of the Games.
I can't say such a thing though. It's his choice.
"Okay Alton," I smile and elbow him gently in the side.. "Whatever you decide is best for you."
He looks away at this and rests his attention on the President. I try to pick up on what he's saying but there's not really much to concentrate on. It's all the same, maybe worded differently every year, but still the same drama about the Games and how our sacrifice is something to be honoured.
I understand why the Games were put into place, but I don't like them. Never will. Alton briefly shows a momentary sign of anger, a shake in his elbow that's not something to fit the act of being a cute little chicken.
"It's okay, he'll shut up soon."
He shrugs his shoulders and thankfully, the President bids us all ado and the horses click into action immediately.
"Did you tend to horses in Ten? I did, the farm was pretty cramped with all the animals but it was fun. I wonder if these horses are cared for properly, I hope so."
Alton shrugs his shoulders again and I hold in a sigh, perplexed at his attitude. Sometimes, deep down I might ask why I bother when there's never any hope. But then I can't, because if I begin to believe that there are people who are beyond help then I lose myself and my beliefs.
My grandmother wouldn't want that, a woman battling through what she is, deserves to be believed in. If she can smile with death creeping up on her, then so can I.
"Time to get off." I look up just as the chariot grinds to a halt. The other tributes group up into districts: mentors, escort and stylist surrounding them all. The pair from One and Four plus the girl from Two spend a few more seconds together, before the only career not with them calls the girl over and they split apart.
Conan and Heidy help us both down and we congregate together. My stylist plucks a loose feather from my forehead and claps her hands together, red lips pulled back into a smile. Alton's stylist does the same but receives nothing in return, luckily for him Conan peels him away from his over-eager stylist who stands rather shocked, staring at his retreating back.
I would never do the same for anyone around me, not if I want to feel good about myself. Heidy congratulates me but I've come to realise her tone of voice only ever seems angry. I nod and thank her politely before turning to thank my stylist again.
Really, the chickens were perfect. If Ten was ever going to stand out then it was here, and we've finally accomplished it! It's always been cows and sheep, never chickens. Heidy grabs my hand and after shouting another quick thank you, we weave around the other groups until the pair of us reach the elevator.
"I hope you know, Alton won't be joining you."
My lips go immediately dry when I try to piece together a response. I knew he wouldn't, the choice was already made for him the moment I asked, he doesn't like me.
"Good for him, he should only ever do what he believes will help him."
If being away from me helps him, I can't fight against that. But there has to be someone here who will take me for me, because I'm not changing for anybody.
Check out my profile if you haven't already for the link to a blog with all my victors. Some of them appeared in this chapter, others will continue to crop up as the chapters progress.
I enjoyed writing these six as well, probably why I'm actually sticking to my schedule. Although the tributes were fun to write, I feel like this chapter isn't the best. Whatever, I'll let you all decide that!
Favourite from these six and why?
Favourite mentor from the blog?
Any potential alliances you see coming together?
Next chapter moves us into training. See you all then!