Capitol Pawns

Floor 7 is in a rush of chaos as the morning progresses. Colby and I were woken up early to prepare for our first day of training with our stylists and our mentors. Johanna and Blight chorale Colby and I into a room and sit us down to talk strategy before we go down for training.

“You two need to stick together,” Blight announces out of the blue.

“But you two also need to make allies with other districts,” Johanna interrupts. “Make as many allies as possible.”

Blight nods. “Form an alliance, preferably a rather large one, and stick together.”

Colby and I look at each other for a minute and for the first time since the reaping, have an unspoken agreement to look out for one another. He’s no longer another enemy, but a teammate.

“So, we form an alliance to take out the careers?” Colby asks.

“Yes,” Johanna says. “Take out the careers first and then look out for yourself, okay?”

I nod, remembering to make myself look ill-equipped and weak to the other tributes.

After our little chat as a group, Johanna and I break away and find a quiet place.

“You remember your strategy, right?” She asks, eyeing me up and down.

I know she still has every doubt in her mind that I can even make it past the bloodbath, so I nod and repeat it.

“I’m just a weak little girl,” I recite. “I don’t know how to fight and I don’t know how to survive. I’m fragile and an easy target.”

“Good,” She says. “And Scout, don’t show your talents today at training. Go to the stations you’ve never done before. Stay away from slingshots, climbing, axes, and anything else you’re good at, okay?”

“Okay,”

When she’s satisfied with our agreement, I’m taken to Remus.

“Good morning, Scout!” He beams, a smile plastered to his face. He seems like the kind of guy who can find the positive in almost any situation, regardless of how bad it really is.

“Good morning, Remus,” I respond.

He dresses me in my training outfit, which consists of tight black pants and a black training shirt with dark green and grey trim. It’s not the most attractive thing I’ve ever worn, but then again, I don’t really need to look good right now. I’m just going to learn how to die with class.

Remus takes a step back and scowls at his work.

“So ugly,” He says. “But it will have to do, I guess.”

“It’s okay, Remus,” I say back. “I know you didn’t design it.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, if I ever designed this, I would volunteer to send myself in to the games and go right up to that cornucopia and throw my hands up in the air and yell ‘Kill me now!’”

I laugh along with him until both of us are laughing so hard, no sound is coming out. I don’t know how long this goes on for, but I know Mercury has a look of horror on his face when he comes to collect me for training.

“Morning, Mercury,” Remus says, attempting to pull himself together. “How are you today?”

Mercury eyes Remus cautiously and nods his head. “Apparently not as good as you.”

He motions for me to follow and we find ourselves in the elevator headed to the Training Center that is under our building. It’s almost ten, but Colby and I are one-third of the tributes that have shown up.

“Punctuality at its worst,” Mercury babbles. “They should be ashamed of themselves. Holding everybody up!”

Colby tries to calm Mercury down enough to shut him up. “It’s fine, Mercury, really. It’s not even ten, they’re not late yet.”

“No, Colby! You don’t understand. You need every minute of training that you can possibly get. This is where you learn to protect yourself. You learn things you’d never learn in District 7 with all your trees. You’ll learn some real skills.”

I have this strong urge to punch Mercury square in the face, but I know two things that stop me. One, I have to keep my innocent little girl cover and two, no fighting is tolerated during training. I don’t think they would appreciate a tribute fighting her escort, anyways.

I put it behind me and remember that Mercury isn’t all there in the head. He’s not really human, not in the same way Colby and I, along with the other tributes, hell, all the district residents are. He’s been bred and brought up in stupidity and I can’t hold that against him.

By the time the other tributes arrive, it’s well past 10:15 and Mercury is even angrier than before. We shoo him away in the hopes he doesn’t open his mouth and anger anybody and are left in a circle with twenty-two tributes that are much larger in person.

Sure, I noticed my small stature in school when people called me Small-Fry, Peanut, or the occasional Midget, and yes, I noticed how small I was when I watched the recap of the reapings, but there was no way I could have prepared myself for just how big the other tributes are. Even Colby, who is easily eight inches taller than me, looks puny when lined up.

Atala, who I can only guess is the head trainer, clears her throat and begins explaining how everything will work. We have three days of training. On the afternoon of the third day, we will each have a private session to show our skills which will then be translated into a training score.

She explains the different stations and tells us we are free to roam around the training center as we please.

“Well, where do you want to start?” Colby asks. He looks overwhelmed at everything going on in the room.

The District 2 tributes are throwing knives exceptionally well while the District 4 girl shows her skill with a spear.

“Um,” I try. I glance quickly around the room for empty stations. “We could try fire building.”

Colby nods and we head over to the corner of the training arena. The man at the table is picking at his nails and jumps up startled when we clear our throats. I don’t think his station gets much attention, no matter how helpful it is. The Careers seem to put all their attention to weaponry while the weaker tributes are trying their hand at any odd skill they can acquire.

He shows us the three basic structures for fire and helps us determine what things are good for burning and what things just smoke. We’ve built a genuinely great fire when the District 6 boy wanders over.

I look at him, a look of nervous horror on my face. He stares down at me for a moment, reads my expression, and quickly cracks up.

“Don’t look so scared, seven.” He says, patting me on the back before continuing on to a different station. He looks back over his shoulder and says, “Nice shelter, by the way.”

My head whips over to look at Colby who is so confused he looks like an emotional wreck. I can’t help but wear a goofy smile.

“Do you think that means we’re allies?” I ask.

“No,” Colby answers honestly. “But I think it means he’s someone who may be a future ally.”

I try my best to pay attention during training for the rest of the day, but I can’t help but get distracted by everything going on around me. The Game Makers must think I’m incredibly ADD, but I’m not.

I try and judge the other tributes by their choices of stations and their demeanor around the others and determine that, besides the Careers, I have a few others to look out for. The girls from 3 and 8 are genuinely sadistic and may or may not be psychopaths while the tributes from District 1 are not your typical Careers.

Amity and Gannon, the District 1 Tributes, shy away from throwing knives and spears and focus their attention on fire and shelter building, strength training, and learning about edible plants. Their heads don’t seem to be in the games, rather anywhere but. I also get the feeling that those two are childhood friends, much more than mere acquaintances. The way he wrapped his arms around her and held her during the reaping made me feel like they had known each other forever and it made my heart ache.

Saskia and Rogue, from 2, marvel in the glory and fear they receive from the other weaker tributes. As a team, they are strong and in sync with one another. They focus all their time on weaponry and don’t pay any attention to the survival skills stations. Every so often, they confront another tribute and smile this cruel smile as they cower in their presence.

Victory and Hunter, from 3, couldn’t be any more different. Victory has taken to following the District 2 and District 4 tributes around like a shadow and watches their every move like a vulture. She soaks in technique through only sight and perfects it later. Hunter, on the other hand, has formed an alliance with the tributes from 5 and the boys from 8 and 9. He excels at camouflage and shelter building, but has showed zero interest in weapons. He keeps his distance from his district partner, and I don’t blame him. The look on her face when she sees him is nothing more than sick, twisted, and murderous. She scares me.

Hera and Chaos, the District 4 tributes, are strong individuals but weak as a team. Hera has a bold, attention seeking personality while Chaos is more laid-back and quiet. Hera is your typical Career tribute, and I guess Chaos is, too, but I just get this feeling from him that he has more beneath the surface than he lets on to. They’re both athletic and strong competitors, but Chaos has this almost, I don’t know, delicate demeanor. He doesn’t have the crazy look in his eyes like the other Careers do, like they want to eat us. His eyes are warm, inviting almost. But then again, he might have the same strategy as me.

Rose and Grady, from 5, come across as what I imagine Colby and I do. They seem like an odd-ball pair, trying desperately to come together as one.

Caspar, the boy from 6 who I had an encounter with earlier, and his district partner, Equinox, look like top contenders. Both are physically and mentally strong. However, I don’t think their minds are truly in the games yet. Much like Amity and Gannon, Caspar and Equinox share some sort of bond that will be broken by these games. He looks at her like she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen while also being 100% protective of her. It’s confusing, but again, it’s the games.

The District 8 girl, Waverly, is much like Victory. She doesn’t tag along with the Careers like Victory, but she watches from afar. She never takes her eyes off the Career pack and I know she’s soaking in every bit of knowledge she can from the way they move and work. Nash, on the other hand, is still visibly shaken and trying his best to connect with everyone who can possibly help him. I don’t blame him, though. With a partner like Waverly, who has this vacant look in her eye, I’d get as far from her as I could.

Freya, the girl from 9, is one that takes most of my attention. I noticed her agility as she flew through an obstacle course while my fingers worked knots out of a rope. She’s quiet, flies by under the radar, yet makes an impact when you notice her. She’s little, like me, which gives me hope that I can compete like her. Oakley, on the other hand, has gotten the attention of many of the larger tributes as his clumsiness has already landed him in bad soil with the Careers. Despite this, he is an expert with a knife.

Violet and Reed, the siblings from 10, are still trying to wrap their heads around everything. They get distracted easily and fumble with almost everything they have in their jittery hands. I still can’t imagine if Callum was here with me right now. As comforting as it would be to have my big brother, I don’t want him here. I’m glad he’s safe at home.

Quake and Nettie, from 11, are strong despite their complete differences. Quake is patient with Nettie, who he helps through the stations. Nettie puts her all into everything she does and her and Quake look like a solid team.

It’s the District 12 tributes, Caraway and Booker, that hold my attention. Booker is beautiful, first of all, but he’s also a very strong individual. Not only physically, but mentally. He picks up on things quickly and looks out for Caraway. Caraway is stubborn and won’t stop one thing until she gets it right. I don’t know if that’s a good way to learn or an extremely awful time waster, but it’s probably better than my lack of attention today.

At some point in my daydream, Colby elbows me in the ribs to bring me back to real life. He’s finished his snare and is looking at my sad attempt at one. It’s just a bunch of knots that have escalated into a full-fledged mess.

“Wow,” Is all he can say.

I shrug my shoulders and we move on to knife throwing. District 12 is at the station as well and I stare intently at the boy’s form.

He looks over and notices me, but doesn’t put any second thought into my curiosity. I’m handed a knife and mirror Booker’s technique, missing the dummy by nearly a foot and almost grazing a real human being.

“Whoa there, little girl,” The man at the station comments. “You’re gonna want to not hit anybody with that. Well, at least not yet.” He laughs, but it only angers me.

For the next 45 minutes, Colby and I work with the knives. My technique has progressed quite nicely, according to the man, and I’m able to hit the target areas on the dummy four out of five times. Colby doesn’t have the same luck as me and has only hit the dummy once, but not anywhere fatal.

He looks upset and frustrated by my progress and is about to give up when Atala calls it quits for the day. We’ve been training for hours and I’m tired, hungry, and a bit cranky.

“Thank god that’s over,” Colby sighs, placing the last of his knives on the rack and heading over to the elevator.

“Right? I think I’m about to pass out from exhaustion,” I announce.

The girl from 8 overhears and smirks. “Sleep now, little girl, because once we get into the arena, you sleep and you’re dead.”

I want to inform her that she, too, will be dead when we get to the arena, but I bite my tongue and smile and nod. I don’t want any unnecessary targets on my back, because, like Johanna, I have serious doubts about my ability to perform in the arena.

Colby and I exit the elevator on the seventh floor and are given time to wind down from the day. I go back to my room and peel the clothes off my body and throw them in the corner. A shower sounds like a great idea, so I take one.

I experiment with all the different buttons, receiving a plethora of floral and fruity scented soaps and scrubs and ultimately wish I wouldn’t have been quite so adventurous and liberal with my button pushing. My skin is raw from scrubbing and the shower continues spraying ice cold jets interrupted by scorching hot jets of water well after I want it to.

After smacking more buttons and praying that nothing else will be sprayed at me, I manage to get the water off and I step out to dry myself.

The towels are so thick and warm here in the Capitol. They encompass my entire body and provide some sort of comfort through the whole ordeal. Until I think back to my home in 7 and think of the last bath I took there.

Mama talked about her sister, my Aunt Bea, and her experience in the games.

Suddenly, I remember a stack of tapes laying on the TV in the living area and a pang of guilt rushes over me. I know I’ll regret it later, but I want to know what happened to her. I want to see how she got through it. I want to know my Aunt Bea, even if it is just through old tapes.

I dress quickly in a pair of black leggings and a long sleeved navy blue thermal. I don’t bother doing anything special with my hair, so I make a messy bun on top of my head and wrap a hair tie around it a few times and rush quickly to the living area.

I’m stopped short by Mercury, who redirects me to the dining room for dinner. Food isn’t exactly a top priority anymore, so I force feed myself whatever Johanna put on my plate and dismiss myself early from the table. Mercury looks a bit unnerved by my abruptness and lack of interest in small talk, but doesn’t challenge me. Quite frankly, if he had, I might have hit him.

I feel my patience running rather thin with him lately. Whoops.

There are a number of tapes on the TV and I comb through them until I find it; The 49th Hunger Games.

“No,” My head whips around to see Johanna standing in the doorway. “No, Scout. You don’t want to see it.”

I cross my arms stubbornly.

“I’m going to watch it, Johanna,” I say. “I need to see it. I need to be able to see how she did it.”

There’s some glint of sorrow in Johanna’s eyes, but she’s just as stubborn as me and she turns off the TV.

“No, I won’t let you.”

I stand up and deliberately look at her before sidestepping around her and turning it back on.

“This is one thing I don’t need your permission for,” I sneer. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your approval.”

She steps in between me and the TV and turns it off again. “It’s one thing to watch random strangers be killed off during the games, but it’s another to watch a family member die. I don’t want your head to be in a bad place for training tomorrow, Scout.”

“Please,” I beg. “I need to see it.”

Reluctantly, she pushes me away and takes a deep breath.

“This can’t affect you, alright?” She eyes me and seriously contemplates whether or not what she’s doing is right. “I’m going against my better judgment right now, so please don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“Deal,”

I think Johanna is going to leave me to watch the tape on my own, but she sits on the couch a few feet away from me and eyes me throughout.

When the screen first lights up, the recap of the reapings plays across the screen with Caesar Flickerman narrating just like he does nowadays. When District 7 rolls around, I sit on the edge of my seat. I watch as the escort meticulously chooses a slip from the reaping ball, his fingers scanning for the right one. He pulls the slip out and carefully opens it.

“Beatrice Moreau!”

The camera pans the crowd as the 16-year-old section splits, and there she is. Aunt Bea looks are so strikingly similar to mama’s that I think I’m looking at her for a moment. She has the same brown waves that do whatever they please and the same chocolate brown eyes.

Just like mama said, Bea walks bravely to the stage with her head held high. She shows no sign of fear, just of valiant bravery. I suddenly wish I could have looked as composed as she had all those years ago.

Somewhere in the background, I hear screams of protest and sobbing and the camera finds my mama, sitting in my grandpa’s arms with tears streaming down her face. She looks like a little girl, but this was just one year before her very first reaping.

They call the boy’s name, Damian Brooks, and a tall boy from the 18-year-old section goes and stands next to Aunt Bea. He looks at her with sadness in his eyes, and I can tell they knew each other somehow.

It cuts back to Caesar, who proceeds to recap the rest of the reapings before cutting to the chariots. Like many years before, and much like the current years, the chariot fashion is either hit or miss. Aunt Bea is paraded around as some sort of sleazy tree while Damian is dressed as a hunky lumberjack. To argue they weren’t selling sex appeal is to argue with a stupid man because that’s exactly what District 7 went for this year.

Remus suddenly looks nine million times better than he already did, which is already a bajillion times better than I could have asked for.

After President Snow makes his la-Dee-da speech, the chariots disappear and it cuts to the scores. Damian scored an 8 and Aunt Bea scored an 11. I’m not sure how she managed an 11, but imagine she must have been quite the performer.

I watch the interviews. I watch as district by district, the tributes turn on their charm and try and wow the crowd. Some come across as trying too hard while some, like Aunt Bea, come across as genuine and interesting.

“So, tell me about yourself, Bea,” Caesar says, a friendly smile pulling at his lips as he sits back in his chair.

“Well, my name is Bea,” She says and the crowd laughs. “I’m from District 7, obviously,” Again, they laugh. “I have two sisters, Aggie and Claire, and they’re my best friends.”

“Mhm,” Caesar muses. “And did they come to say goodbye?”

Bea nods. “Oh, yeah. Aggie’s nineteen, so she came for moral support because she had done it for so long, and Claire, she’s,” She pauses and gets choked up. “She’s my baby sister – my shadow – and wanted to be there to root me on.”

“Well, you’ve done an exceptional job so far!” Caesar announces. “Isn’t that right, everybody?”

The crowd booms in approval. They chant her name, cheer her on, and somehow she smiles.

“An eleven with the Game Makers? Holy moley!” He says. “How on earth did you manage that one?”

Bea smirks. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I guess you’re right, missy.” He agrees. “Now, before you go, I have one more question. You and Damien, you guys are quite the team I hear. How did you guys figure out a way to work together like you have?”

She thinks about it for a moment and takes a deep breath. “Damian and I met in the lumberyards the summer I turned eight. In District 7 we start work young, and Damian, he was just someone to look up to. He helped me when things were hard and he was an open and free-of-judgment ear to talk to. He just quickly became my best friend.”

Caesar has to take a minute to think about what she said, and by the time he has his response, the buzzer sounds and all he can say is, “Ladies and gentlemen, Bea Moreau of District 7!”

The crowd goes wild as my Aunt Bea exits the stage and is replaced with the boy from District 8.

I ignore the rest of the interviews and instead think about what Aunt Bea said. My mama was like her shadow. I don’t know what she meant; all I can think of is the way mama looked when she talked about Aunt Bea that day.

She had closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and just talked from her heart. Mama wore a smile the entire time she talked about her big sister, but somehow still looked haunted by everything.

And then it hits me.

Mama was Aunt Bea’s shadow the same way Cadence and Bug are mine. They follow me around faithfully, always want to be doing what I’m doing, and look up to me for guidance. I understand what Aunt Bea was talking about because she was both the younger and older sister.

I realize why Johanna didn’t want me to watch. She wasn’t worried about the gore, the deaths, no. She was worried about my reaction to how similar our scenarios are.

Aunt Bea looked up to my Aunt Aggie for guidance the same why I look up to Callum and she was protective of my mama the same way I’m protective of Cadence and Bug. I wonder if she felt the same way I do now, torn, alone, scared, but thankful my family is safe.

Somehow my daydream has coaxed us into the launch into the arena. The camera pans the tributes faces as the clock counts down from sixty. Aunt Bea stands valiantly on her plate, waiting for it to hit zero, but she isn’t in a crouched stance like the others. She’s facing the opposite direction, not even looking at the cornucopia.

Damian, on the other hand, has every bit of concentration on the gold horn ahead of him. As the clock hits zero, Aunt Bea takes one last look at Damian before bolting off into the woods.

The bloodbath ensues, and twelve end up dead within the first ten minutes. Bodies are scattered around on the ground, but Damian is still alive. Once armed, he takes off in the direction Aunt Bea had earlier.

The cameras follow the Career pack which moves stealthily through the woods, scouting out its next victim. As night falls on that first day, sixteen are dead.

Damian moves quickly through the trees, quietly calling out for my Aunt Bea. He climbs higher and higher as the night becomes darker and stiller, distancing himself from the danger on the ground.

By morning both Damian and my Aunt Bea are dehydrated and deteriorating quickly. Bea, who ran from the cornucopia before she could grab any supplies, is now silently cursing herself as she sits on a branch high above the ground. Damian, whose pack included a water bottle, chugged it stupidly and now has no energy to move on.

I think something bad is about to happen when a stroke of dumb luck brings the two back together early afternoon of the second day. Bea smacks Damian around a little bit for his stupidity of going to the cornucopia instead of running to safety.

“What safety, Bea?” He asks. “Look where we are! We’re in the Hunger Games and one or neither of us will be going home. There’s no way around this, alright? One way or another, I’m gonna wind up dead. It’s you we need to worry about!”

“You’re not just gonna hand this to me, D,” She fights back. “If it comes down to you and me, I’m not just gonna let you die.”

Damian eases up a bit and the tension in his shoulders disappears.

“Let’s just cross that bridge when we come to it,” He says. “But we need to get there, first.”

Over the next six days, the two of them narrowly escape death time and time again. Aunt Bea kills only when Damian’s life is at stake and Damian, only when Bea is in danger. On the seventh day, there are only four alive.

Deaths are coming further and further apart as the numbers dwindle and Bea and Damian are losing momentum quickly. They’re not in the same mindset they had been mere days ago, and they look more like wild animals than humans.

I know this is the last day because the 48th Games were known for being one of the quickest, but I can’t bring myself to acknowledge that the beautiful and strong woman my aunt was will soon be nothing more than an empty body.

Until it happens.

I guess the Game Makers decided the Games had gotten a little boring because suddenly the arena catches fire and the cameras follow the last four tributes who race away from the flames and towards each other.

The last four tributes are the boy from 2, the boy from 4, and both tributes from 7. Aunt Bea had plenty of run-ins with the Careers during these games, but she had never had to face them like she did now.

The boy from 2, who I learned earlier is named Havoc, is bleeding profusely from a gash over his left eye. His clothes are caked in dirt and torn from branches and he smiles this pathetic, creepy smile at Aunt Bea.

The boy from 4, named Cornelius, throws a trident at Damian without a second thought and spears him right through the chest.

“No!” Aunt Bea yells out, cradling his body in her arms, quietly telling him everything is going to be okay. “You’re sick bastards!” She spits at the boys, who stand, laughing.

They walk over and Havoc picks her up by her armpits, tearing her away from Damian, who they leave to die slowly. He has a throwing knife in his hand which he carelessly swipes across her eyebrow.

“Look, we match now,” He drawls.

Blood begins to pour from the wound as Bea winces in pain. Havoc runs his hands down her body and I feel a burning hatred for the boy, taking advantage of my aunt in her current state.

She’s laid on the ground and Havoc sits on top of her, his body resting on top of her crotch. Johanna covers my eyes through part of it and I can only imagine what is happening. I feel disgusting.

“Look at your friend over there. Huh, see him? Why don’t you go help him, Bea? Oh, yeah, I know why. Because you can’t, can you? You’re stuck here with me, aren’t you?” I grab Johanna’s hand and yank it out of the way.

I wish I hadn’t because it’s exactly what I thought I’d see. Only, it’s worse.

Not only is Havoc taking advantage of my aunt, he’s also tormenting her while doing it. It’s bad enough, really, but add the knife which adds slashes and cuts everywhere he wants it to, and it’s unbearable.

Out of nowhere, the knife slices through Aunt Bea’s arm and suddenly, she’s gushing blood and losing color quickly. She’s thrashing at this point, fighting with every ounce of fight she has left. Kicking, biting, clawing with her one arm, but it’s no use. Havoc merely retaliates by cutting off her other arm.

I want to scream, cry, throw the TV into the wall, break it, find the sick bastard and kill him myself, but all the sudden Cornelius comes from out of nowhere and pulls him off my aunt.

There’s a moment that I like the guy before he ruins it by decapitating my aunt with an axe, and like that, she’s dead.

“Come on, Havoc,” He says. “We knew it’d come to this sooner or later, might as well make it now so one of us can go home.”

I don’t know who I’d rather see win. The sicko who basically just raped my aunt on national television, or the one who just decapitated her. I settle on neither, and can’t help but wish I could find whoever the victor and kill him.

And suddenly, Claudius Templesmith’s voice is heard overhead and he announces the victor: Cornelius Trexler.

Johanna gets up and turns off the TV. She turns to me and I can tell I’m crying, but instead of saying ‘I told you so’ like I thought she would, she comes over and wraps her arms around me and whispers comforting things to me.

“You were right!” I bawl, my body shaking more violently than it ever has. “I shouldn’t have watched it! You were right!”

“It’s not about being right, Scout,” She says. “You knew in your heart that you needed to see it and now you have. It’s all part of the Games and it will make you a stronger competitor.”

If this is what it takes to make me a stronger competitor, then I really have no idea what I’m getting myself into. Just when I thought the Games couldn’t get any worse, they did.

Right when I was about to get thrown into them.