Cashmere Dubois, 35. District One- Victor of the 64 th Hunger Games.
'When was the last time you genuinely made a choice...resigned to your life as a mannequin...exploited and abused...'
The Hunger Games were certainly not what she had anticipated, District One prepared you more than outlying districts- physically speaking that is, by the age of fourteen Cashmere was confident that she knew a multitude of ways to 'eliminate obstacles'; she was also conscious that her physical allure would be exploited to secure sponsorships in the Arena.
Maybe it was youthful arrogance, or simply naivete, that her 'weapon' could be hung up following her victory- alas the physical allure that secured her sponsorships was a weapon she'd be forced to wield continuously in a battle that has been waged ever since she was announced as the Victor of the 64th Hunger Games.
"What you truly desire can be yours..." What an off phrase to hear come from Contessa Devereaux's lips, what would someone born and raised in the Capitol understand of her desires? What does Cashmere even know about her desires, her desires are whatever musings born from the sick minds of the leeches who purchase her 'time'; pouring a large glass of cabernet sauvignon, swirling it in the crystal glass she took a large swig, not to savour the delicate notes of plum and cherries, but in some vain attempt to temper the maelstrom of thoughts inside her head. Sometimes she wished she was as ditzy as many people believed; beauty did not bely a lack of intelligence.
Hailing from District One, being favoured by the Capitol, allowed for a certain degree of preparedness when it come to the Hunger Games- an awareness of 'roles' played on the chessboard that was Panem. Now, with Deveraux and this illusion of hope has shifted the pieces and Cashmere has never felt so unsure, so ignorant. Draining her glass, Cashmere poured another generous measure and grabbed another glass from the cupboard as she heard the apartment door open.
As Gloss walks in she notices that he looks deep in thought, she'd usually make a jibe about how thinking too hard might make people assume he wasn't a natural blonde but since she's been drowning in a sea of thoughts since her meeting she is in no position to comment instead she handed him his glass of wine as he haphazardly threw his blazer across the back of a chair. Clinking their glasses Cashmere grabbed a bowl of fresh cherries from the fridge and offered one to her brother.
"Met with Contessa?" Gloss grunted in a non-committed way before pulling a golden envelope identical to the one Cashmere had been given earlier and placing it next to hers. So simple, two golden envelopes, but there was something foreboding about them. She couldn't quash the thought that these were loaded guns, she just didn't know who they were pointed at.
Gloss polished off the remainder of his wine before heading to pour another, gesturing to see if Cashmere needed a top up. She fiddled with the entertainment system as Gloss busied himself pouring the wine from the decanter; as the opening notes of moonlight sonata poured from the speakers Cashmere noticed Gloss pulling a comm-device from his pocket- a comm-device which was different to the Cap-phone issued to the Victors.
As Gloss sat on the sofa, Cashmere noticed the tension in his shoulders and his blue eyes lacked the mischievous glint that was quintessentially Gloss; the feeling of unease from earlier returned with a vengeance. Gloss' vibrance and unflappable humourgrounded Cashmere, it was one of the only things that guaranteed to put a smile on her face in the shitstorm that was their life.
Something was wrong, grabbing the bowl of cherries she went and sat next to Gloss who had his eyes closed and was holding the wine glass so firmly that Cashmere was surprised it had not shattered. Maybe he'd taken additional calls with 'suitors' to reduce her 'workload'- something he did every now and then, to somehow protect her: Her eternal big brother.
"You okay, G?" Gloss briefly met her eyes, a small smile on his face- a smile that did not reach his eyes. That was more unsettling than Contessa with her illusion of freedom, more than the parade of men she had 'liaised' with since her victory. She offered him a cherry before sitting back in the chair.
"M'fine Cash, just tired. Meeting Contessa, that mandatory viewing later- just... there's just a lot going on, you know?" Cashmere is instantly on high alert, Gloss was many things: Over attentive, overprotective but he was not dismissive. It was not right, but she also knew that if she pushed too hard then he'd just shut down quicker than she could blink.
"Well since it is mandatory viewing and we're not 'in demand' we could watch a film or something?" Gloss nods mindlessly and drains his glass, Cashmere simply grabbed his glass to refill- it was only a matter of time until Gloss broke and told her all about what was bothering him, and a nice glass of red wine could only aid the process.
"So, are we feeling Shaolin Sunset, or Excalibur?" Gloss ignored her question, glancing over she could see him staring at the foreign comm-device with his forehead creased. Cashmere cleared her throat; Gloss throws her an apologetic smile before standing up and putting the device in his pocket before grabbing his blazer.
"Where are you going?" She sees Gloss physically squirm, and she is disappointed. It was a weird feeling, having Gloss not be an open book.
"I... can't tell you." This is certainly not how Cashmere expected him to react; Gloss, like every other Victor, was an accomplished liar when he needed to be even if she had a knack for seeing through any attempt at dishonesty on his part. Should she be concerned that he did not even try to lie?
"Well don't let me keep you." She can hear the bratty tone in her voice; it was just incredibly odd to be out of the loop when it came to her brother. He paused for a moment, she could see the hesitation in her eyes, any second, he would break and tell her whatever it is that was bothering him- instead he gave another feeble apologetic smile before leaving the apartment as quickly as he'd arrived.
For now, Cashmere would let Gloss keep his little secret. But if he, or anyone, believed that she'd simply let this go and not go digging- well then, they were fools.
Coriolanus Snow, 88, Capitol- President of Panem
Coriolanus had borne many monikers throughout his life: Mastermind, cruel, vicious. He has been instrumental in shaping Panem into what it is today; he'd created Panem like a God- he was the most powerful, even if he was the most loathed, man in Panem. His legacy would forever be weaved into the tapestry of Panem's history; but today, he would take it further.
Today he would become truly immortal, what he was about to announce would turn Panem on its head and during the chaos that would ensue; he would prudently weed his garden, rooting out the cancer of traitors and making sure his control remained unquestioned andtotal. As he began his speech he looked out, knowing that all eyes in Panem were trained on him, waiting to see what trick he had up his sleeve; as customary during Hunger Games season, he began to recite the Treaty of Treason. Now it was time for the piece de resistance.
"...for the first time, two tributes- one male and one female, between the ages of twelve and eighteen will be reaped to represent District Thirteen. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favour."
You could hear a pin drop, looking out into an ocean of confused faces he could imagine how this was mirrored across Panem; he saw the moment of realisation as it happened, the dawn of understanding and as he stepped away from the lectern pandemonium reigned. He retreated from the tsunami of questions, a triumphant smirk on his face. Snow always lands on top.
So, next chapter I can begin introducing the Tributes I have received which is exciting :)