Ch.4 DPOV
The crowd silenced as soon as the chariot of Twelve rolled out.
My breathing has become shallow, and Christian's hand in mine has tightened. It was Cinna's idea for us to hold hands, "to establish friendship and unite you against the world." I'm convinced it's so that no one falls off the chariot. From the amount of sweat I can feel on Christian's hand, I think that I'm not the only one struggling to breathe.
The silence lasts for a few moments more, before someone gives a cheer. One by one, the people of the Capitol start to scream out our names. Up front, I see Vasilisa lean out and wave. The crowds responds with even louder noise, and Meredith tentatively lifts her hand. I nudge Christian. "Wave."
He gives me an incredulous look. "Chances are that we get out alive because someone in there is rich and likes us enough to sponsor us," I hiss without moving my lips. It's a skill I perfected in the woods with Tasha. Christian reminds me a lot of her now, giving me the same look that she gives me when I suggest we go after the bigger prey, the 'if we die I'm going to kill you in the afterlife' one. He eyes me askance for another second before turning and smiling. Even though I do not swing for that team, I had to admit that Christian, with the ice-blue eyes that always seemed so piercing and the black, messy hair, is kind of hot. He might be a bit on the thin side, but he made up for it by being cool.
Me, I had a fair share of girls fawning over me back at Twelve. I'd never paid them any attention, but I knew that more than a few sighs of longing were because of me. And because I don't want to be a hypocrite, I wave too. The crowds scream even louder, and I suddenly hear a rushing sound in my ears.
We can't get to the square fast enough.
The square is where they hold the drawing for the Quarter Quell. I've only seen it a few times before, in reruns of the last Quarter Quell. The square is where the carriages stop, and we dismount. The tributes from the Career Districts glare at us, angry that we'd taken the attention off of them. We hop off from the chariot, and walk towards the seats that have been set aside for our use. Twelve is at the top. Figures. I spy the idols above the tributes' allotted seats. Most of them are staring down with a smile on their face - fake, I suspect - but some are whispering amongst themselves and giggling.
We sit down and President Snow takes over the stage. The Capitol citizens quiet down, seeing him take the microphone, and he smiles at everyone. I immediately dislike him. His snake-like eyes scan the crowd, and his smile is reptilelike as he watches the tributes look around the Capitol.
"Ever since the Dark Days, the tradition of the Hunger Games has continued until today, the seventy-fifth Hunger Games of history. According to that tradition, every twenty-fifth Hunger Game, called the Quarter Quell, enters two of the Capitol children as a way to balance out the number of tributes taken from each district every year. This year, we are gathered in this square to await the Reaping for the Capitol children." He gestures towards the two glass bowls behind him, filled with slips of names. I glare at it, knowing that the number of names included are fewer than the ones in the districts, where tesserae is taken by the poor. "All bets on the Reaped are allowed."
He smiles his snake smile again, and steps backwards towards the glass bowls. There's a rustle as money is exchanged between the hands of the citizens of the Capitol, and I doubt President Snow's smug smile can get bigger. This is exactly what he wants, a show to prove that the Capitol is superior.
I imagine jumping down and wiping that smirk of his face with a punch.
He clears his throat, and the spotlights train on him.
"Boys or girls first?" he asks, canting his head towards the crowd. Varied screams ensue, but the yell for "Boy!" seems to be more popular.
"Boys it is," President Snow chuckled. Fake, like the rest of him.
He reaches into the blue glass bowl, and it's like a spell overcomes the crowd. They drop into a hush as he leisurely grasps the slips of papers inside, searching for one he favoured. Deciding, he pulls his fist and the paper clenched in it out, and still the crowd remains silent. He unfurls it, and reads out, "Jesse Zeklos."
The crowd in the stands scramble to make way for the boy chosen, who strides down with arrogance and entitlement. His clothes scream "RICH!" and his bronze hair was slicked back with so much gel that he looked like it'd been flattened in a thunderstorm.
President Snow congratulated him, and Jesse Zeklos laughs. "It's an honour," he dismisses.
The crowd goes crazy, cheering for their boy tribute. They already are sure that he's going to win, and they haven't even chosen the girl yet.
Jesse moves to the back of the stage, where chairs are set out for him and his partner tribute.
President Snow turns towards the pink bowl, and the crowd hushes, knowing that this has the potential to be even more crazier than Jesse. He sticks his hand and caresses the slips of paper, finally fingering one that he pulls out. With a fancy flourish, he unfolds it and reads, "Rosemarie Hathaway-Mazur."
Mayhem ensues.
Above in the idol stands, some of the girls are laughing, some are frozen with shock and some actually are pretending to be pitying so hard it's obviously fake. On the other hand, in the audience, there is a clear divide: one side wanting her to take part, and the other clearly upset that their precious idol would get hurt in the Games.
The idol herself stands up, and the fighting in the stands momentarily stops to watch her descend the stairs gracefully. Their eyes continue to follow her as she floats onto the stage, where she meets President Snow. "I accept," she says clearly, and the crowd erupts.
Peacekeepers stream in from wherever they had been hiding in, and while they don't manhandle the Capitol citizens like they do the the people of the districts, having them there seems to bring some sense of calmness back to the crowd. Slowly, they settle down to hear President Snow announce that the tributes were to return to the Remake Center as our living quarters were to be decided.
Returning to the carriage, I look at Christian. "Why do you think she accepted?" he asks under his breath as the horses start to move.
"Fame?" I shrug. "She's probably betting that the Capitol won't allow her to die, and that she'll get even more popular in the process."
Christians snorts and leans back. "Typical girls."
RPOV
The Remake Center with its familiar structure is particularly comforting to me after what I'd just experienced.
I knew that the chances of me being picked were high. When you look at the population of the Capitol as opposed to the population in the Districts, the Capitol is a minority. The birth rate here is lower than even in the poorest district where they can't afford to feed their children. The only girls that fall into the category to be picked are really most of the idols, the entitled daughters of rich men, and bookworms. None of who were ideal.
I know what would be waiting for me inside the Center. The tirade of 'what were you thinking risking your life like that', something I knew would be horrible.
Next to me, Jesse shifts in his seat. I try to suppress my annoyance at having to sit next to him in President Snow's car. Since this is a Quarter Quell, and the Capitol is participating, the District tributes are going to stay at one of our homes. I do hope that I wouldn't be confined to Jesse Zeklos' house for the remainder of my time before we enter the arena. I don't think I have the self control necessary to keep myself from punching holes in the walls and drawing pictures on his windows, just to spite him.
We get out and are led towards the less-used part of the Remake Center. I'd been here before, lots of times too, but it had never been filmed. The corridors might be narrow, but on the other side of the doors, there are big, spacious halls and rooms that were multipurpose. Some of the halls have pianos for recital rehearsals, and there are quite a few rooms for dance training.
President Snow pushes open the door to 'Hall 56'. The District tributes are already seated in the plush chairs that are equally lined up. They tense up when we walk in, and it's hard not to see the resentment boiling in their eyes. I ignore them as I always did with haters, though I wish that for once, I could make friends my age, friends who don't know my father and wouldn't hold him against me.
Jesse and I sit down, and President Snow briefly smiles at us. It's clear that we're already his favorites, and it's because of the fact we're Capitol citizens.
"As you all know, this Hunger Game is a Quarter Quell. And as tradition commands, all tributes are required to stay at the home of one of the Capitol tributes. This time, Mister Mazur has kindly offered his home for your stay. Dinner is at nine-thirty, so the latest car from the Remake Center leaves at nine-fifteen. Staff are waiting outside in the hall to take you wherever you go in the Remake Center. Meetings with your designers with your fellow tributes are highly encouraged. Thank you for your time, and may the odds be in your favor." With a bow, he disappeared into the wings. Mentally, I snorted. Over dramatic bastard.
Jesse stands up and flashes me the smile that he's famous for, the smile that screams 'hot!' and makes girls drop their knickers. With a toss of his bronze hair, he extends a hand to help me up. For a second, I consider ignoring him, but then I realize that playing the same games I did with the other girls would get me more benefits out of this. And so I smile sweetly and let him pull me up.
"Where do you want to go first?" he questions me. We wave off the attendants waiting, seeing as every Capitol citizen has been at the Remake Center one time or another.
I want to go straight to Cinna and his understanding eyes, but I had loose ends to wrap up. With a sigh, I tug him even further down into the bowels of the Center, before I pull us to a stop in front of a nondescript black door. I hide the password from Jesse - this passageway is an idol secret - and push open the door to another hallway. Portraits of past idols line the walls, and doors with plagues stand along the portraits, imposing and stiff. I head for the door that says 'Alberta Petrov', and glance back at Jesse. "Stay here," I tell him, and go in.
Alberta was sitting at her desk, and she looks up when I walk in. "Cookie?" she asks, holding her famous bowl of baked goodies out.
I couldn't help it. Alberta holding out her cookies as if it was just another normal day was the last straw. I broke down.
"There, there," she murmurs. She sets down the cookies and holds out her arms. I fling myself into her. Breathing in her scent, I tried to compose myself. Alberta could spot talent and potential from a mile away. She'd seen me following my father around at a party when I was around eight, and the rest is history. Now, after so many years, I'd risen from a trainee to Captain of the Twelfth, and Alberta went on to managing the Twelfth's schedules. She was the aunt I had always wanted.
I draw out from her arms and rub at my eyes. "I assume you're here to say goodbye, Rose?" she asks.
"No," I try to get my voice back to its normal level of steadiness. "I want you to be my mentor."
Her shocked expression tells me everything.
Before Alberta started managing schedules and wrangling contracts, she'd been a guardian, someone who, like my mother, protected the Capitol elite. Alberta had been a legendary guardian - a skillset so extensive that only the current head, Hans Croft, could match. Her skill with a blade unparalleled, fighting reflexes so quick and fluid that she'd became a god within the guardian corps. She'd retired from that line of work a long time ago - long enough that the name Alberta Petrov was only famous among guardian and the old people - but she still is fit, toned, and fearless. I know the chances of me getting out there alive were slim - probably nonexistent. But if I train under her for the remainder of the time before I go into the arena, those chances would increase.
"Rose, I," she sighs.
"You can," I insist. "You trained all those guardians. You can train someone like me to get a chance against those Careers."
She closes her eyes. "I don't have the time, Rose. I would help you if I could..."
"If this is about time and not my ability, then my father could easily arrange for a good lawyer to argue contracts. And I know for a fact that you're shouldering too much. The other managers were complaining that they don't have enough work to do. Just leave the work for them - they're more than capable of handling it all, anyways."
I wait with baited breath, trying not to think about what would happen if she still refused. "Very well," she sounded very put upon. "What I just don't get is why you came to me, and not Pavel."
I laugh. "He only goes easy on me. I flip him on his ass nine times out of ten because he can't let anything happen to his boss's daughter."
I hope wherever you are, you had a good day/sleep, and please forgive me for not editing for so long... Being busy streaming Taylor Swift isn't an excuse, is it? I'm actually writing this where I should be doing homework, and I hope that God forgives me for doing so... Thank you for reading, and if you can spare a minute to review, it will be greatly appreciated.