Chapter 3: Waiting for the Parade
As the train came to a stop in the Capitol, the kids lined up at the door. I had already told them to go along with whatever their prep teams and stylists did to them, and under no circumstances complain. I knew the boy wouldn't be a problem, but I was a little worried that the girl might be pretty vocal if she objected to any of their ministrations. As I got up from the dining table to go to my room and change, I double-checked to make sure she hadn't taken the knife with her. Thankfully it was still sitting on the table. Just before the door to exit the train opened to let them out into the waiting arms of the Capitol I caught her looking back at the knife as well. Don't worry, sweetheart, your prep team are the least of the dangers you about to face.
After changing into one of my better suits, I exited the train myself and headed to one of my favorite pubs around the corner from the training center. I was anxious to hook up with some of the other mentors – my only true friends in this crazy world. I had barely cleared the door of Capitol Quaffs when I heard my name shouted from the far end of the bar.
"Haymitch, you drunken son-of-a-bitch!" Chaff shouted. I'm pretty sure that his train only got in about an hour before mine, but he was already pretty much in the bag. He jumped up, and we man-hugged with the requisite two slaps on each other's back. I looked over his shoulder and saw that Finnick and Johanna were also there poised on neighboring barstools. I guess Chaff and I weren't the only mentors who began drinking right after breakfast. There really wasn't much else for us to do on parade day. We couldn't actively start recruiting Sponsors until after the parade. Theoretically anyway. Plus, Finnick wouldn't probably drink much after today because of his "other work" for the President, so he usually got trashed on parade day. He always claimed that it was easier for him to start the "other work" when he had a raging hangover because that work made him "feel like shit" anyway. But he would stay sober from then on. I never understood his logic, but it seemed to work for him so I let it go.
"So, Haymitch, you've got a volunteer this year… That must be a first for District Twelve…" Finnick stated as I slid onto a barstool between him and Chaff. I guess I should have watched the Reaping recaps last night, but I knew they would play throughout the day while we waited for the parade in the evening. He continued, "She looks pretty determined. Is she a contender?"
"Oh God, I hope so," I said. "It would great to finally escort a live body home once. But the reality is that she volunteered for her kid sister who apparently just turned twelve… But I wouldn't count her out. My boy's not too bad either…"
Johanna drained the rest of her drink and slammed it down onto the bar. "Speaking of little twelve year-old girls, did you see Chaff's?" she asked. For once she wasn't being sarcastic and had an almost sad tone to her question.
That explained where Seeder, Chaff's co-mentor, was. Seeder was a mother and really soft-hearted, and she would usually accompany especially young tributes through their prep time. She once told me that these kids are terrified enough without the added trauma of being naked in front of nothing but total strangers.
I shook my head. "I haven't watched the recaps yet; don't they play them in here soon?" It was only about five minutes later when the re-broadcast of the recaps began on the huge screen behind the bar. All four of us watched in silence. I saw the usual career volunteers – the boy from Two looked particularly menacing. The rest of the districts seemed pretty run-of-the-mill until we got to Eleven. Wow, she was a little thing. However, she had a look of real determination on her face. Then they reaped the boy. "Holy cow!" was out of my mouth before I could control myself. Chaff chuckled quietly and said, "No kidding…" That kid was HUGE… and deadly-looking. Both Finnick and Johanna huffed quietly.
Then it was my district's reaping. I watched as a tiny blonde girl started making her way to the stage only to have her older sister volunteer. All kind of drama ensued; the Capitol would love that. More to the point, it means that District Twelve is already prominently in everyone's mind. Good… good, I can work with that. Then it becomes just a little more interesting. When the boy's name is called, my girl's face is a little… what? What was that look she gave?
"Did you see that? That look she had when his name was called? Tell me you saw that!" Finnick asked. Yes, I think, yes I did. Well, well, well. That is certainly interesting. I already know that he wants to save her, but could it be that she has feelings for him as well? She certainly didn't seem to on the train. Finnick continues on, "Well they are certainly an attractive pair. They shouldn't have any trouble attracting some sponsors. And they look a lot more healthy than most of your tributes." After he says this, I look back at my tributes shaking hands on the plaza platform. I get a really odd feeling in my chest. I don't know what it is, but it's a pretty strong feeling. Before I can think anymore about it, Johanna interrupts my train of thought.
"Well, my tributes are pretty much cornucopia fodder this year. I'll do my best with them, but I don't think they'll live past the first day. Actually, they don't think so either. It's pretty depressing… As usual…"
I don't know what that feeling in my chest is, but I'm pretty sure it's not depression – a feeling I'm intimately familiar with.
Chaff starts laughing. "You're awfully quiet, Haymitch. And you haven't even touched your drink. Are you OK?"
I chuckle, shaking my head and downing my drink in one gulp. "Fuck you, Chaff."
"So, Haymitch, have you met your new stylists?" Finnick asks.
New stylists? This is news to me. "No, who are they?"
Finnick smiles wide, "you really should pay more attention. They're supposed to be really good. Their names are Cinna and Portia. And… get this… they requested District Twelve."
"What? When did this happen, and how do you know about it?" I ask him.
Finnick shakes his head. "I spend A LOT of time in the Capitol, Haymitch. You know this."
Why would they request my district? As if reading my mind, Finnick continues, "I think they have some of our similar interests, if you know what I mean…" It takes me only a second to figure out what he means. Has the rebellion reached into the Capitol stylists? I look over at him, and his quirked eyebrow confirms my thoughts. I nod back at him, mulling this change of events over.
Finnick orders another round of drinks for us. I notice two women on the other end of the bar who are fluttering about and eyeballing Finnick like he's cool water in the desert. What a surprise, I think sarcastically. They lick their lips, yet again. Is that supposed to be sexy? Finnick soundly ignores them; he's not yet on the clock. I am so glad to be past all of that bullshit. Well, actually, I missed it altogether. Stupid President Snow made the mistake of murdering everyone I cared about before he requested my participation in "those" activities. I guess even an evil political genius makes an occasional bone-headed move. I didn't actually expect to live out the year of my Quarter Quell victory after I pointed out to him that there was no one he could threaten me with to coerce my prostitution participation, but since District Twelve had no other living Victor, I guess it would be hard to deal with my death. So, instead, I've been all alone for twenty-three years leading forty-six children to their gruesome deaths. Yay me!
We spend the rest of the day in this bar. We order lunch at some point. I realize somewhere along the way that I'm actually drinking less than the others, which is highly unusual for me. Finnick is especially getting drunk; he must have a full docket while he's here for the games. Maybe he always gets this drunk on parade day, but I'm too far-gone myself to notice it. Eventually we all get a car to the City Center to watch the parade. We all four take seats together among the excited Capitol citizens. Their frenzy is growing as the sun sets and the parade is about to begin.
Finally the large double doors to the parade route open and District One rolls in, in all their glitzy glory. Same old, same old, blah, blah, blah. Until… in the background I see an orange glow. "What's that?" Johanna asks. I also watch this orange glow until I realize that it's my tributes, and THEY ARE ON FIRE!
"Holy FUCK!" I practically scream. The blue-and-pink swirled, cotton-candy haired Capitol woman in front of me turns around to give me a disapproving look for my language. Oh sure, it's all right to work yourself into a frenzy over the possibility of children killing each other, but you mustn't swear. Please. "Turn back around, and let me look at my kids," I tell her. She turns in a huff. It's then that I notice that not only are my kids on fire, but they also look amazing! They both look beautiful, mythical, mysterious. And what's more, they're holding hands! Holding hands up in the air. Whose idea was that? I search the screens around the City Circle, and the only tributes shown there are mine. Chaff is clapping me on the back like I had something to do with this spectacle, and drunken Finnick is laughing his ass off. Johanna simply looks in shock. I look a few rows down and to my right and I see Brutus and Enobaria, the mentors from perennial favorite District Two, looking at me with blazing anger in their eyes. I crack myself up with my mental pun. I smile and give them a sarcastic thumbs-up gesture. I've never met this Cinna and Portia, but they have just become my two favorite people in the world.
As the chariots exit the City Circle, the four of us spring to our feet. I should be the only one excited by the parade, but it seems that we are all excited. That's a real measure of how well your tributes did in the parade – when mentors from other districts are excited about your kids. As all of the citizens in the Capitol work their way up the bleacher-like seating to exit to the streets that will take them home, a handful of people – mostly mentors, stylists, prep teams, and escorts – work their way down to parade level to get to our tributes. We get to the area of the huge double doors, but those doors are only for the chariots in the parade. There are smaller doors on either side for us lowly humans.
We burst through the side doors and split off to go to our separate tributes. For the first time in… well ever… I am excited to get to my tributes. As I walk up, Effie is greeting two people I don't know. They must be these amazing stylists. The man speaks first.
"That was amazing!" Oh good, we all love the word amazing…
Effie chimes in effervescently, "We are all anyone is going to be talking about!" She must be in heaven.
I decide to join the party. "So brave…" I have a lot more to say, admittedly most of it sarcastic in spite of my enthusiasm. The girl interrupts me.
"You sure you should be near an open flame?" SNAP, she's nailed me. Well, what do you know, she may even have a sense of humor.
"Fake flame?" I respond. "Are you sure you should…" And there he is… That career tribute from District Two. The one I was worried about from the moment I saw him. Heh, heh, He looks pissed. I'm sure he thought he would roll into the Capitol and be king of the games from moment one. Well, well, well… no wonder he looks pissed. My kids just stole the spotlight right out from under him. I LOVE IT! However, now is not the time to antagonize him further. "Let's, uhm, let's go upstairs." Effie happily gathers up my tributes. I look back one more time at the boy from Two, and if looks could kill… my tributes would never even make it to the first day of training, let alone the games.
Effie explains the basic layout of the training center to the kids. She calls our suite "the penthouse". It's basically just the top floor – no different from any of the other floors, but if it makes Effie feel more special, so be it. I tune her out as she natters on in the elevator ride up to the penthouse. That feeling in my chest returns, only it's more intense than before. Whoa, what is that? I look over to my kids, and I remember their triumphant performance in the parade. Suddenly I know what that feeling is – it's the alignment of many factors – two promising tributes, one of them a volunteer, the other one way more noble than most kids in this situation, new stylists who are a part of the rebellion and who make my kids look so much more than amazing, those same two kids holding their hands together up in the air, the citizens of the Capitol going completely insane for their performance in the parade, the jealousy from the other mentors and tributes. I know now what this feeling is, and it scares me. It's HOPE.
Ah well, fuck me.