Hi everybody!
This marks the last chapter of tribute introductions. Enjoy!
~ Meghan
"If you wish to persuade me, you must think my thoughts, feel my feelings, and speak my words."
- Cicero, 106 BC to 43 BC, Roman Republic
The First Night.
...
Evlin Grove - 14 y.o. - D7
...
- City Circle -
Evlin felt the chariot lurch to a stop.
The music that had thrummed and pulsed throughout City Circle during the parade faded with one final flourish. All the chariots had paused underneath President Snow's white mansion. Red banners with the golden Panem seal hung from its windows. They looked like bloodstains smeared on the pale marble. Up above her, on a small balcony, President Snow appeared.
Evlin's first thought was simply that he looked smaller than on television.
Now fifty, President Snow's famous blond curls were beginning to gray, but he hadn't touched them up with dye. His lips had definitely been changed, though. The thing that seemed to stay the same about him was the white rose he always wore on his suit jacket. It was strange. She'd always seen him through a screen.
Seeing him in person, though. Evlin was surprised by just how... unintimidating he was.
"Welcome!" President Snow called, his voice magnified. A smile curled on his lips.
As he gave the traditional introductory speech she heard every year, Evlin glanced up at the screens around the City Circle. Each one flicked between the faces of the tributes, showcasing their reactions to the speech. As the dark-haired girl from 9 disappeared from the screen, Evlin watched her own face appear.
Her red hair was windblown from the ride up the lane, some of it tangled around the branches in her headdress. For as big as the leafy crown was, the stylists had made it light, so she could turn her neck and feel like it practically wasn't there. Sure, the District 7 costumes over the last few years had been ridiculous. But even Evlin had to admit that this year wasn't the worst - even if she did think it was dumb that they had matched her hair color to the autumnal leaves.
The screens changed, framing Cin next to her.
Evlin snuck a glance up at him.
He was still looking around City Circle, brown eyes wide with amazement. She hadn't been sure what to make of her district partner at first. He was shy on the train, speaking when their mentors asked him questions but not otherwise. The only time he'd addressed Evlin directly was to tell her to call him Cin, not Caoimhin - just Cin. Overall, the older boy seemed nice enough, and not much of a threat. Besides. He always had that... well, a resting happy face, like he was half-expecting someone to tell him this whole Hunger Games thing was a massive joke, and he was on the next train home.
Evlin looked back towards President Snow, scanning the wildly dressed people sitting behind the balcony.
Cin could believe what he wanted. But Evlin knew better.
They were inside the hornet's nest, and all these people crowding around, craning their necks to watch the parade, were going to be cheering for their deaths in a week. And she wasn't about to look at them with puppy-dog eyes and roll over.
"Tributes, we welcome you, and we salute your courage and sacrifice. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," President Snow finished.
The anthem began to play again.
Oh, Horn of Plenty
One Horn of Plenty for us all
When they'd called her name yesterday morning - it felt forever ago - Evlin had wanted the ground beneath the District 7 square to open up and swallow her whole. Terror had squeezed her heart, strangling her until she couldn't breathe. Her feet had moved mechanically, carrying her up to the stage while she clenched her fists around her faded red dress. She hadn't looked back at the crowd to find her parents.
She had just stood there, not really listening as the escort babbled on, and looked out at the faces of the other girls. And they hadn't looked at her with pity.
They had looked up at her with relief.
Standing on the stage under the blazing sun, alone, Evlin had stared down the girls she had gone to school with. They didn't care that she had been chosen to die. They didn't even know her name before then. They had never bothered to even acknowledge she existed. And she hated them for it.
By the time they called Cin up to the stage, sweating like a mess, Evlin had made her decision.
She wasn't going to die in the arena. She was going to try to win.
It meant Cin would have to die.
But that wasn't Evlin's problem. It wasn't personal.
A tribute to
The darkest days behind
One Horn of Plenty for us all!
The crowd applauded as the anthem finished. So did the tributes from District 2 - of course. Evlin forced her face to remain neutral as their chariot lurched, and the horses began a much quicker pace back down the lane, following the chariot from District 6 back to the stables. The parade street was littered with gifts: flowers, necklaces, loose pearls, sparkling coins... Stuff like this could buy a whole house in District 7. And they were just tossing it down to the chariots.
Evlin stared at a pink rose as the wheels rolled over it, crushing the delicate petals.
The chariot slowed down as they entered the stables again, and the smell of hay and warm wood enveloped Evlin. The oak beams holding up the place, streaked with veins of darker brown, smelled like home. It almost made her miss District 7. But it would just be a waste of time. She wasn't going to spend a minute pining for home. Not when she was going to be back.
Finally, the chariot stopped in its stall.
Without waiting another second, Evlin hopped down and pulled at the branches on her head until the hairpins popped. The headress fell to the floor.
"That was something, wasn't it?"
Evlin turned, arching an eyebrow. Since when did Cin speak voluntarily?
He carefully stepped off the chariot, sparing a pat for the horses. Cin turned to her. They were nearly eye-level; she was tall for her age, so he only had a couple inches on her, but the leafy headdress he still wore made him seem even bigger. "I almost thought I'd fall off," Cin said quietly, a tentative smile on his lips.
She tried to think of something to say that wasn't what immediately came to mind: if you fell off and broke your neck, it would've saved me some trouble in the arena with one less tribute to deal with. Somehow that didn't seem like the right to thing to say. Her eyes drifted down to his wrist, snagging on a red woven bracelet peeking out from underneath his brown suit sleeve.
"Is that your token?" she blurted.
Cin paused in surprise before nodding. He touched the bracelet, hiding it. "Yeah. It's a family heirloom. I... I've worn it every year to the reaping since I was twelve. Just in case." He gave a smile that looked like a grimace.
Oh great. He was probably going to start crying again. Evlin remembered how they'd been made to stand in the doorway of the train back in 7, letting the cameras click and flash. Cin had redder eyes than some of the addicts that would wander around the district. It wasn't a secret he'd been sobbing in the Justice Building, and he didn't even seem to care to hide it. At least he hadn't been sobbing for the photos.
Maybe he'd had a lot of visitors in to see him. Maybe his parents had cried for their precious boy going into the arena. Maybe his friends had crowded around him, telling him he'd come back alive.
The room in the Justice Building had been quiet for Evlin. She'd sat with her parents on the couch for their allotted fifteen minutes. She didn't hate her parents. But she didn't quiet feel like she loved them either. Her mother was constantly at work in the lumber mills, and her father worked at the orphanage in 7 - because with the amount of saws and falling trees in their work, orphans weren't an uncommon sight. But he seemed to forget he had a daughter at home.
They loved her in their own, distant way, sure. But she didn't have any family to pass down heirloom bracelets for her to remember them by.
This boy in front of her who was probably going to die in the bloodbath had thought to bring a token. She hadn't even thought of it.
Suddenly, jealousy ran through Evlin's veins, and she wished Cin had just stayed silent like before.
"You two looked fabulous!"
She turned to see their two stylists walk up to the stall. They were a bizarre pair, a husband-wife duo that liked to match their clothing. Tonight they were both wearing red satin outfits paired with masquerade-style masks. The whole thing was eerie and just made Evlin dislike them even more. On top of that, they were entirely stupid about District 7 - hence their tree costumes, obviously. Come to think, Evlin couldn't even remember their names.
The woman smacked her bejeweled lips and grinned. "So what do you both say we head on up to your new apartment?"
"We can have a dinner, and you both can have as much dessert as you want!" the man said. "Our treat!"
They giggled like a pair of schoolkids and began to lead the way back to the elevator that had carried the tributes down from the Remake Center. Cin followed them without another word, ducking around some of the wooden beams so they wouldn't knock his headdress off. Throughout the stables, the activity had only died down slightly from the parade. All around it, stylists were speaking with their tributes, or leading them towards the elevators. As much as she hated the idea of spending dinner with her stylists, Evlin had to admit she was happy to get out of the dress they'd stuck her in and put on something more comfortable.
A pair of tributes passed her on their way out behind their stylists. From the bright costumes and the shining rings around their heads, it was obvious what district.
"Ooh, look, Finnegan, it's the other redhead," the District 1 girl said as they swept past. She giggled.
The boy - with hair as bright as a cardinal - gave Evlin a smirk, and then looked away, as if she wasn't worth commenting on.
Evlin felt her cheeks go as dark as his dyed hair, somewhere between embarrassment or anger. They're just trying to wind you up. Leave it to the Career tributes to try to psych them all out before the actual Games.
Glancing down, Evlin looked at the leafy headdress left in the dirty hay. She kicked it, sending it sailing away, and hurried after Cin and their stylists.
They held the elevator for her, and Evlin avoided making eye contact with the District 1 tributes waiting. The elevators doors closed silently - as opposed to the squeaky, old elevator in the Justice Building back home - and they started to move. The stylists babbled on about what food would be available at dinner, and Cin nodded politely, but Evlin ignored them. More than anything right now, she just wanted to be alone and away from all the sea of eyes that had been staring at her during the parade.
The elevator stopped with a quiet ding and slid open to a massive apartment.
"Welcome to your home for the next week!" one of the stylists chirped.
This is not home, Evlin thought. But she was impressed, nonetheless. Her family back in 7 wasn't as poor as some of the other residents, but they weren't rich either. Even the richest people in District 7 didn't have anything as fancy as this. The floors gleamed, reflecting a chandelier and bright lamps. On a large table, candles flickered over dishes of steaming food. People in white tunics didn't stop to look at the new arrivals as they continued setting things for dinner.
"And there's even a balcony!" the male stylist said. He waved towards a wall of curtains. "Just behind there. You can go out whenever you like."
The elevator dinged again.
"Sorry we took so long," Sawyer Yule said. He pulled his long, dark hair down from its bun with a sigh. He smiled at Cin, but looked down at Evlin to speak. "How are you both feeling?"
Neither of the tributes spoke at first, but Evlin finally offered, "tired."
Alder Cambium nodded sympathetically. "Then it's time for some food, and then sleep."
Evlin turned, casting a wistful look at the hallway that no doubt led to her room. She'd be by herself at some point, and it couldn't come soon enough. But at least she wasn't stuck with just the stylists and Cin anymore. She had to admit that their mentors were nice. Sawyer, her own mentor, was a familiar face at the classrooms in 7. His whole victor-talent-thing was teaching, which he did every Friday in her school. Alder was a newer face, not much older than her or Cin at nineteen, having only won two years ago. The pair were the only living victors for their district. But Evlin was glad she had the mentor who had been around longer.
She down in one of the cushioned seats at the table. Cin, opposite from her, offered another shy smile. Evlin gave him a neutral one in return.
Dinner began, and the mentors pointed out which dishes they should try. If the stylists were wondering where her headdress had gone, they didn't ask, and Evlin didn't bother to tell them.
For now, she just pretended she was alone.
Nico Araceli - 16 y.o. - D10
...
- Training Center Floor 10 -
Nico watched as a new platter of food was brought to the table.
The roasted meat, spicy sauces, baked vegetables, and buttery potatoes begged to be sampled. His mouth watered as he spooned a heaping helping of each onto his plate. Half of the stuff wasn't even recognizable to him, but he was determined to taste each one. It all seemed much richer than what he usually had back home.
Home.
It was a strange word. His own house with its leaking ceiling, ungrateful family, and too little food didn't really feel like home. Wasn't home the place that was supposed to make someone feel all safe and happy? That didn't describe his house, and it definitely didn't describe District 10. What good had 10 ever given him besides an empty stomach and a damn reaping?
He cut a hunk of - what he assumed to be - beef in half. Fuck District 10, and fuck home.
"Thank you. Thanks. Thank you."
Out of the corner of his eye, Nico watched as Caroline stupidly nodded to the Avox - as their escort called the servants - serving drinks.
"You don't have to speak to them," Vesta broke in. She pointed a crystal nail at the nearest woman in a white tunic. "They don't have tongues, sweet-pea. Only speak to Avoxes if it's a command."
Caroline's cheeks went beet-red. She ducked her head and stared at her plate as she silently ate.
Nico stared at one of the servants as they cleared an empty dish. No tongues? The idea made him squirm, but he forced his face to remain emotionless. What had they done for the Capitol to do that? Usually in 10, if someone broke a rule, it was overlooked. But if it was serious enough, they could get whipped in the town square. For some of the worst offenders, they got branded before being hauled away - with a T for traitor against Panem. So the Peacekeepers said.
Honestly Nico was lucky he hadn't been whipped yet.
"This isn't much, Hyde."
The boy nervously glanced at the ground of the abandoned barn, gulping hard, and turned back to Nico. "I'll have more tomorrow. There weren't many of them today."
Nico flipped through the dollars in his hand. Beside him, his best friend, Bulla, twisted the silver ring around his finger. "Sadda, what's your daily quota?" Nico asked, putting the dollars in his pocket. He waited for the scrawny eleven-year-old to answer him.
"Umm... twenty dollars each. We get to keep four dollars," she finally answered. Her gaze flicked to the other kids next to her.
Nico nodded. "You all take the money from the little kids at the market before they go buy anything. And if they did buy something, you take half of their food. You all keep twenty percent of the food. But you have to meet that quota. Because, if not, I have no choice but to delay your cut another day. Sadda managed to get that ring, so she receives her payment today."
Hyde knit his brows confusedly.
Bulla's voice was cold. "You're not getting your money because you didn't earn it today. Maybe stop being so dumb and you'll do better."
"Don't disappoint us tomorrow," Nico said. And then, to make his point, he turned to Sadda and handed over her money - with an extra two dollars.
The kids left grumbling, and Nico hopped onto an old crate. Outside, the grass was yellowed with winter, and the air was slightly colder than it usually was in District 10. Somewhere off in the distance, a sheep bleated as the sun set. Nico kicked up some dirt, watching it swirl in a shaft of orange light. "Money's slowing down. This January's worse than usual."
"It'll pick back up after the frost stops coming at night," Bulla said matter-of-factly. He considered something for a moment. Nico knew that look - it was one his friend always got when he was considering some new money-making scheme. "The tesserae office isn't a bad idea..."
"What about the cameras?" Nico pressed. He stuffed his hands into his threadbare coat, and half-mindedly wondered if he could get one of the kids to nab a new one.
Bulla shrugged a shoulder. "They don't record the alleys nearby."
Nico leaned back and hummed. "There's potential."
It had four years since he'd begun his current method of getting money. Well, a year technically, with recruits. Because last January, he started recruiting the younger kids to steal for him. It was less of a risk than doing it himself. He and Bulla used to corner the kids after school, taking their leftover lunches and any extra pocket money. But now they did it for him, other kids just as desperate for extra food and money - and willing to take it themselves.
"What you're doing is deplorable, Nico," Donato Araceli had said the first time his son had shown him the food he'd stolen, back when Nico had just turned twelve.
It had been a hard year, and an even harder week. They were only eating one meal a day, just some chicken liver or cow tongue with a meager helping of rice. Nico was tired of going to sleep hungry. He was tired of hating other kids for eating lunches at school when he couldn't. It had been all too easy to shove that younger boy and take his sandwich, and even easier to take the dollars as the boy cried.
And then Donato took a match and lit the sandwich on fire.
Nico had screamed, watching the food he'd been so proud to show his father burn. What a waste.
Lucia Araceli had just sat on the couch, as distant as ever. She wasn't like Bulla's mother. She had never loved Nico, not really, and now her lip curled in anger at the idea of her son being a thief. How could she be more disappointed in him for his actions, than with herself or her husband for not putting food on the table?
"Your brother started working at the slaughterhouses," Donato continued as the sandwich turned into ashes in the fireplace. "When you turn fourteen, you can start working there, too. Be just as hardworking as Emilio. Until then, you'll take tesserae. And if I ever see you taking things that don't belong to you again, I'll burn it again. We're Aracelis, not thugs."
Nico hadn't shown his father the stolen money in his pocket that day.
He just shut his mouth and stared at the ashes of what was going to be his dinner.
Nico peered down at the plate of Capitol food in front of him.
His father had upheld his promise. Anytime he found something that Nico had stolen, he burned it. Matches were easy to come by, and the food that could've fed their family needed to be destroyed - as if he could destroy Nico's actions retroactively with the fire. All the while, Emilio had struggled to earn a paycheck slaughtering all day.
But that was the problem with his family. Nico hated them for it more than anything. They were all willing to put their pride above his survival.
He had never taken tesserae just to spite them.
And yet, here he was.
A bubble of fear threatened to rise in his stomach, so he satiated it by eating more of the tender steak. Maybe his own brother had killed the cow it came from. The thought made him want to laugh and eat more. Hopefully Emilio was starving tonight.
"We'll have breakfast tomorrow at nine o'clock."
Nico looked over at Lovis Granger as she nodded at him, and then Caroline.
"We can talk about your strategy for training then, and you'll head down to the gym at ten o'clock with Vesta," Rumen Neatsfoot continued.
While Caroline gave them both shy smiles, Nico kept his face a blank slate. He wasn't sure what to think of their mentors yet. District 10 wasn't exactly known for their prowess as far as victors went. Half of their tributes were starving and hollow-eyed every year, the kind of kids that Nico would've taken food from back home. The other half were the ranchers and farmhands that had muscle, but typically were outmatched by the trained volunteers. Lovis and Rumen were the exceptions to that.
Somewhat of legends in Panem, they were the only two victors his district had produced yet, and they'd won in consecutive years during the 14th and 15th Games. Everyone seemed to love them. They were constantly doing charity work and giving out extra food and clothes in the winter - but they could only do so much. Nico's parents never would've accepted their handouts anyway.
Either way, Nico wasn't sure why he was supposed to trust them as mentors in the first place.
Sure, they knew what it was like to be in the Hunger Games, but they didn't really have the best track record of bringing tributes home. Besides, if he'd learned anything growing up, it was that everything and everyone in life was transactional. If his own parents couldn't love their son unconditionally, why would anyone do anything without some selfish benefit to themselves? Everyone had an agenda.
Even these two victors in front of him.
"We'll also start talking about your interview costumes," Marcella said with a gold-lipped grin at Caius.
Nico tightened his jaw, forcing himself to look away from the two stylists. Those two shitheads had been behind their cow costumes during the parade. Nico had imagined something different, like that minotaur costume from years ago. Something strong. Intimidating. Instead he'd been turned into a fucking joke in front of the entire country.
He couldn't get out of that cow costume fast enough. His old reaping clothes were also abandoned, left on the train. Now Nico was wearing the most luxurious clothing he could find in his room's closet: a complete set of brown silk with shoes that looked they were sewn with real silver thread.
"Maybe after the interviews, you both can celebrate with a cake!" Caius said excitedly.
Rumen gave him a weary look before turning to Nico. "They'll be replaying the parade. It would be a good idea to watch it, but if you're both too tired, you can always get some early sleep."
"Nonsense, we watch the parade every year," Marcella said.
"I'm getting tired," Nico snapped.
Marcella peered at him above the rim of her glass of fizzing green juice, clearly shocked by his tone.
When was the last time a tribute hadn't been a kiss-ass towards their stylists? Probably the last time they hadn't been dressed like livestock. The stylists were supposed to make him look good to get sponsor's attention, and they'd probably failed miserably at it during the parade. Nico didn't have high hopes for the interview either. They were practically useless now. What good was a stylist that couldn't get him sponsors?
He'd tried hard so far to appear friendly towards the crowds. Caroline hadn't stopped blubbering in the car the whole way to the train station, as if the tears made a difference. Imagine that: a volunteer crying. Did she think it was easy for Nico - who had actually been picked for fuck's sake - to smile at the cameras? No. But he did it anyway, because that was what he needed to do to survive, like he'd always done. The crowds were supposed to be on his side, to love him, to give their money so he could get out of this deathtrap they'd thrown him into.
The whole thing made his blood boil.
He stared at his plate, trying not to glare at the stylists.
"That's okay," Rumen said gently, "you can rest. They'll still be showing the parade tomorrow if you want to watch it. You too, Caroline. Would you like to turn in early tonight instead?"
Caroline hesitated. Of course. Did she have any semblance of a damn spine? Her face was going red like always with the attention put on her. Where was all the attitude she'd had in the car now?
"You can decide after the dessert," Lovis gently said, and Caroline relaxed with a smile.
Their dessert came soon after that: a dish full of brownies still warm from the oven, chocolate melted and gooey inside. Nico's stomach was already aching with how full it was, but he ate several anyway. As much as he hated the Capitol, he had to admit their food was incredible. If he won the Games, he'd be able to eat like this every night. He could stay in the Victor's Village and have brownies whenever he wanted. Or peaches, like on the train.
The idea made his head swim. It was difficult to separate the fear from the desire for that future. Or maybe that was just all the food making him feel sick.
He finally wiped his mouth with one of their fancy, satin napkins and sat back.
This was a life he could get used to.
Liz Baker - 15 y.o. - D5
...
- Training Center Floor 5 -
Liz looked up at the stars above the Capitol.
They were faint, but they were there. With all the light pollution coming from the city, it was a wonder they could see the stars at all. Maybe her parents were looking at the same stars right now. Maybe Jeremy was too.
"Out in District Nine," Porter Millicent Tripp said to Power, "you can see the whole Milky Way just swimming above you."
Liz listened, but didn't join in the conversation beside her. She just leaned against the glass balcony, letting the cool wind tangle in her blonde hair and brush against her face. Down below, the Capitol glowed and flowed like fiber optic cables. Building upon building seemed to go endlessly, with windows all lit up in a multitude of colors. Banners announced the 42nd Hunger Games. Cars rolled through the bright streets, and people walked along the sidewalks, free to move around at their own whims.
From up here, Liz could almost feel normal.
Like if she closed her eyes, she was just back home, sitting on her rooftop with Jeremy, a blanket spread out beneath them a month before the reaping. District 5 was never quiet, and even in her neighborhood - far away from the factories - she could still hear the hydro-electric generators churning. It was a lullaby she'd grown up with. Silence was too much. But next to Jeremy, curled up against his side, the world melted away and it was just the two of them under a silver moon.
"You look pretty," Jeremy had said.
Liz had hid her smile in his shoulder. "You already said that twice."
"I just want to make sure my girlfriend knows how beautiful she is."
My girlfriend. She stared up at the moon and marveled.
The night was warm, and the dark shingles on the roof heated their blanket. It was perfect weather for a dress. She didn't usually wear them, preferring to live in shorts and T-shirts that she could wear from school to basketball practice. But every now and then, she'd wear the rare dress, and even a pair of her mother's heels. Jeremy was the only other person she let see her in skirts and dresses, and he never failed to twirl her around to watch the dress fan out, his eyes shining with an admiration that make Liz's stomach flip - in a good way.
Standing here, looking out over the Capitol, she still wore the gold suit they'd put her in for the parade. The cape had been ditched an hour ago, on account of it catching on everything it swept near, along with the sun-shaped crown. Wearing less of the gaudy stuff made her feel a bit more like herself. Ever since her name had been pulled, she'd been trying to hold onto whatever scraps of Liz Baker.
"And our lucky girl this year is..."
Liz closed her eyes. A horn honked below.
" Power? Liz? "
She glanced over Eco Gliese, her mentor, who had stepped out onto the balcony. The older woman gave a gentle smile. "Why don't you both come in. It's time for the replay."
Without waiting for the others, Liz walked back into the air-conditioned apartment, following the sound of Caesar Flickerman's voice. She wasn't sure at dinner if she'd even want to watch the replay of the parade. She'd already lived through it, wasn't that enough? But part of her brain went into competitive mode: she needed to see who she was going up against, and what the Capitol was saying about them.
The other part of her brain - the one she wouldn't speak out loud - knew that she wanted to see herself the way that her parents and Jeremy would see her on television. She had to.
The loungeroom Liz walked into was furnished with a large crescent-shaped couch piled with pillows. On the obsidian table before it, steaming mugs waited. On the television, Caesar was giving his introductory remarks from a studio somewhere in the city.
"Oh, there you are," Gaius Bronze said with a grin. He waved a hand. "Come sit."
Liz settled near her stylist, but didn't return the smile. They weren't there yet. Gaius was still just Capitol, dressing her up to go to the Games, and Liz wasn't about to forget that. But she had to admit that the stylist wasn't... unbearable. He was polite, and hadn't managed to make Liz look ridiculous tonight. When Gaius handed her a mug, Liz took it slowly and was pleasantly surprised by mint tea.
"Eco mentioned on the train you drank some for breakfast," Gaius said gently.
Giving him a nod over the cup, Liz mentally made a note. One point to Gaius. Maybe they would get along.
Eco sat down with the other stylist, Decima Erie. Millicent Porter finally found her seat across from Liz, and Power quickly moved beside her, both of them murmuring about something.
Power glanced over at Liz.
She didn't look away, and met his stare with her chin up.
He was also still a question mark in her book. A point towards him was that Power Littlesmith was impossibly cordial. He was a charmer, that much was obvious to Liz after nearly two days around each other, even if they hadn't spoken in private. He already had Millicent Porter smiling at his every word, and had worked the crowd during the parade much better than Liz knew she had. But he was a volunteer. It was a serious point against him. Sure, he wasn't like the ones that trained in other districts, but it meant he was probably prepared to do whatever winning would cost.
Liz wasn't about to smile and make friends with someone who was planning to kill her in a week.
Julius Delacour was the last to walk into the loungeroom, fanning himself with a silk handkerchief, and took the free seat at the end of the couch. "What did I miss?"
As if on cue, Caesar Flickerman laughed on screen and shouted, "let's rewatch the debut of our stunning tributes, ladies and gentleman!" The music and cheering from the parade filled the loungeroom, and the screen showed the footage from various angles around City Circle. The huge doors to the stables opened and out came the chariot for the first set of tributes.
"The stylists for One are always attention hogs," Gaius muttered, and the other stylist grumbled in agreement.
For a moment, Liz wondered if he was just jealous of the other district. 1, 2, and 4 produced the most victors, and that meant their stylists were more popular. But, judging from his scrutinizing look, Gaius was just being honest. From the way the crowd screamed, it didn't seem to matter. District 1 was always a Capitol favorite, and this year even more than usual.
District 2 and 3's costumes were forgettable, in Liz's opinion. Like the two tributes from 1, the boy from 2 was muscular and looked ready to throttle someone right then and there. The girl was oddly small for a Career, only a year younger than Liz, and seemed more like the pair from 3.
The ones from 4 made Eco sigh unhappily. "That boy is going to be a problem," she said quietly to Gaius, probably not intending for Liz to hear.
But Liz knew what her mentor meant: he was extremely good-looking, and the sponsors were going to see it too.
Liz held her tea mug tighter and forced herself to take a sip.
District 5 was up next, and Liz almost couldn't recognize herself in the video. She was staring straight ahead, gold cape billowing behind her, flowers flying from the crowd. All she could think as the chariot had rolled down City Circle was how she wanted to be home so badly, smiling into Jeremy's shoulder on the roof, that if she looked at the crowd she'd burst into tears.
And she couldn't do that.
Just when she started to feel embarrassed as the camera zoomed in on her and Power's stoic expressions, the stylists started clapping. Even Julius waved his silky handkerchief like a little victory.
"Glorious," Gaius said. "Simply indomitable."
Millicent Porter nodded. "The gold is so eye-catching, they stand out."
"You both look positively captivating," Decima said, beaming proudly at their work.
Liz felt her muscles relax a bit.
District 6 came next, and while the costumes were forgettable, the two tributes were too tall and furious-looking to ignore. Certainly nothing like the morphling-addicted tributes last year, that was for sure. The two tributes from 7 weren't anything special to Liz, though she thought the younger girl looked positively scared out of her mind, and Liz couldn't help the wave of pity she felt for her.
"These ones are dangerous," Gaius announced as District 8 appeared.
Their costumes were certainly some of the more stunning ones. Liz agreed with that. The tributes were both so small, both of them short and willowy, but from the way they waved at the crowd and smiled, someone might think they'd already won the Games. They were standouts.
"We'll need to keep an eye out during training, they'll have some sponsor favor from that," Eco agreed. At her words, Julius began writing on a tablet.
When District 9 showed up, the crowd lost it over them too. Julius scribbled again. The two tributes from 9 looked somewhat more approachable than some of the other outer districts. They almost seemed like friends, collecting flowers and playing with their straw hats. District 10 ended up drawing laughs from everyone in the lounge. But then Liz remembered that the small girl had volunteered for her friend, and quieted out of respect. Someone that courageous deserved better than to be a laughingstock for Panem.
District 11 brought on a hush. The boy was one of the youngest in the arena, but looked even younger, as if he couldn't be more than ten years old. The girl was another one that Eco had Julius make a note of for being particularly pretty. District 12 was pretty much a write-off, like most years. Miners weren't exactly the most glamorous thing.
"And stick around for the commentary hour with special guest, Gamemaker Tourney," Caesar Flickerman said as he reappeared back on the screen before a commercial break.
"Would you like some extra dessert?" Eco said, turning to Liz. "I always like to have some before bed."
Liz looked into her kind brown eyes, and for a moment saw her own mom speaking in Eco's motherly voice. She swallowed down the painful lump forming in her throat with the last of her tea. "No, thank you. I'd rather go ahead to sleep. It's been a long day."
As she stood, Power watched her, hanging back on the couch, presumably to speak with his own mentor. Whatever. He could start strategizing early. Liz still had all of the next three days of training to understand his game.
"Goodnight," she offered to the others in the room.
"Sweet dreams," Gaius said, and smiled like he really meant it.
Julius raised a ringed finger. "I'll be up for breakfast. Remember, we head down to the gymnasium at ten o'clock on the minute."
The word gymnasium was like a breath of fresh air, and Liz felt some of the tension fade from her face. Something familiar, finally. For once in the past few days, she found herself looking forward to waking up. "I'll be ready."
Just as she passed through the doorway, a soft voice called out "goodnight, Liz."
She peered over her shoulder at Power. He nodded and some of his blonde hair fell in front of his eyes.
Liz nodded back once. "Night, Power."
He smiled.
She turned away and walked down the hall to the room that Julius had said earlier was hers. When she opened the door, she paused. Whatever she'd been expecting, it hadn't been this. This wasn't just a room, it was practically a whole new apartment. Her shoes sank into the soft carpet as she walked inside, swiveling around to look at the wall of buttons, glass closet, huge bed, and window the size of one of the walls.
Suddenly the enormity of it made Liz feel too vulnerable.
She hurried to the window and pressed button after button on the control panel until curtains slid from the ceiling and hid the glittering Capitol. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she sat on the bed and closed her eyes. It didn't smell like home. It smelled like flowers and tangy cleaner.
Her own room back home wasn't small, but it was nothing like this, and it wasn't... so empty. There was nothing here to suggest that it belonged to her. Her room back home was decorated with pictures of her family, covered in basketball ribbons she'd won at school, and littered with shoes and blankets. It was a colorful mess she loved.
This room was a placeholder - one where dozens of other dead tributes had slept too.
Panic started racing into Liz's veins, like a shot of adrenaline. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the photograph she'd tucked inside before the parade, the one that Gaius had allowed her to keep.
In the picture, taken a year ago, Liz and Jeremy beamed. Both of their tanned faces shone with that joy that comes from having just come down from a laughing fit. They sat on a bench in the only park in District 5, the setting sun casting molten rays around them. During that first date, Liz had known she wanted to be with Jeremy. He'd asked her out two days before, and she asked him to be her boyfriend that night. She'd gone to sleep after with a smiled plastered on her face, fighting to keep it down, and had dreamt of his laugh.
Rubbing her thumb gently over Jeremy's face, Liz stood and walked to the closet. Just as she was about to grab a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top, a nightgown drew her attention - a blue satin one. Liz peeled off her gold suit, kicking it to the side to be forgotten. When she pulled on the nightgown, it fell like water, cool and airy.
She held the photograph against her heart and twirled once, alone in the room that was hers, but not really hers at all.
Liz crawled beneath the soft covers that smelled nothing like home, and laid the photograph next to her. "I hope I dream of you again," she whispered to Jeremy, and finally let herself cry.
She hoped that, all the way in District 5, he was dreaming of her too.
AND THAT IS ALL THE INTRODUCTIONS DONE!
I hope you liked this chapter. We're finally done with the first phase of the story, and the training portion can get underway. We'll start learning more about the characters during this portion, and some of their personal stories that have been hinted at so far. Our other plot thread will also deepen a bit more.
Something with the next chapters is that the format will change. So far, there have been 3 tribute POVs per chapter at ~2,500 words each. I'm going to start writing the chapters with 4 POVs at ~2,000 words each. If you have any questions, or suggestions, feel free to message me!
Question 1.) Who was your favorite POV from this chapter, and why?
Question 2.) What do you hope to see in the coming chapters?
Thank you to the reviewers on the last chapter: Paradigm of Writing, TheatreKidUnknown, and Wiifan2002. I appreciate it, thank you so much!
Happy 2022 as well, I hope January is going great for you all. :)
'Till next time!
~ Meghan