Friday, April 25, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
D8 Bloodbath
Timothy's POV:
Charlene, where is she? I barely glance at the Arena, sneering slightly at its appearance, staring anxiously around the circle of tributes. Where is she?
Charlene's POV:
The sun is so bright, it hurts. I squint, huddling down on my platform, sun glinting off the Cornucopia and the river, straight into my eyes. I turn to look behind me and overbalance, and I'm falling...
Timothy's POV:
I gasp in horror as Charlene's scream of terror rips through the air, drowning out the sound of the giant clock ticking. She has twisted on her plate and lost her balance, clawing at the air in horror as she struggles to stand upright. I clench my fists, praying she regains her balance, but instead she falls...
Charlene:
My feet slip from under me and I fall, twisting in midair and managing to tuck my legs under. I land on the plate mere seconds before the bell goes, winding myself. I roll off, playing dead as everyone runs for the bounty to my right, hoping to escape the bloodbath...
Timothy:
No blast accompanies her fall, she must still be alive. I run forward, elbowing others out my way as I snatch up three backpacks. One of them is ridiculously heavy, let's hope that weight is something good. I continue running, darting behind other tributes when possible, crouching low and zigzagging when not. I drag Charlene to her feet, thrusting one of the packs into her arms and practically dragging her still as we run across a bridge into the woods. I glance up - if the sun is right, we're heading east. Good, if we are being tracked our shadows will soon be in front of us, and we won't be facing the sun.
Charlene:
I am gasping for breath, barely able to keep up. "Timothy - I have to slow down," I manage to force out about a mile into the woods. "I'm a weaver, remember, not a marathon sprinter!" He's more cut out for this sort of thing, the boys were always wrestling and racing and whatnot back at home.
Timothy:
One glance at her tells me we'd better slow, or she'll drop dead anyway. Checking behind a fallen log for snakes, I sit down and start checking over the packs. Not much in them, no water, of course, only a little dried fruit, three blankets total, two ropes, and-
Charlene:
"A knife." I hand it to Timothy, watching him examine it. He sits thinking about what to do, muttering plans and calculations to himself. My mind wanders back, to eight o'clock this morning....
"I want you both to know," Kataro said, tears running freely down his pink-tinted face, "that you are the most wonderful pair I've ever escorted, and I - I hate seeing you go in there!" he burst out. "I don't want either of you to die, b-but if you d-do, I promise I'll see y-you get a good b-b-burial..." He was crying so hard by then he could barely finish, and Charlene hugged him tightly.
"I promise one of us will come back to you," she promised sadly, and Timothy pulled out the scrap of cloth that had been his token, handing it to Kataro.
"In case it isn't me," he murmured, causing his escort to break down in fresh tears and hugged him tightly.
Charlene couldn't help a silent giggle as Timothy's eyes bugged out and he grimaced in embarrassment. Pulling her token out as well, she handed it to Kataro as he released Timothy, and she too was once again tightly embraced by their escort.
Timothy:
I glance at Charlene to see if she's listening to me, and see her sitting there in a heap of misery with tears running down her face. "You don't have to if you don't want to, you can be lookout," I add.
Charlene:
Timothy's voice brings me back with a start, and from the way he is looking at me I know I must've been dazed out quite awhile. "What?" I ask awkwardly, still torn between past and present with an odd sense of surrealism. He sighs and shakes his head at my ditzyness, repeating his words. "We need to chop down the bridges during the bloodbath and strand as many as we can in the middle. There has to be another source of fresh water somewhere in the arena, we need to find and poison it, too."
He's crazy. Loopy. "Um, hello? We're not air plants, we need water too."
He looks annoyed at this obvious flaw. "Fine, we'll wait by the water and kill anyone coming to get it. I still think we should control the only bridge..."
"That sounds more sensible," I agree, and he promptly throws one of the packs to me.
"Good, gear up, and let's go burn some bridges!"
"Hang on," I say slowly. "All we have to do is burn all but one, and we're dead. Whoever is left by the Cornucopia will have food, water, and weapons...specifically bows and arrows."
Timothy:
Really, Charlene isn't stupid, but she's way too negative, and not half opportunist enough. "Then we'll wait till the Careers are hunting, dopey, and be the ones left at the Cornucopia! Now, unless you have more gloomy predictions, come on."
Charlene:
He can be so obnoxious. Why are the obnoxious ones always right? Or is it vice versa...they are obnoxious because they know they are right and can afford to be rude...either we do it their way anyway, or we fail...I follow him as he treks back the way we came, wishing I were home with a cup of tea and a book.
Charlene, where is she? I barely glance at the Arena, sneering slightly at its appearance, staring anxiously around the circle of tributes. Where is she?
Charlene's POV:
The sun is so bright, it hurts. I squint, huddling down on my platform, sun glinting off the Cornucopia and the river, straight into my eyes. I turn to look behind me and overbalance, and I'm falling...
Timothy's POV:
I gasp in horror as Charlene's scream of terror rips through the air, drowning out the sound of the giant clock ticking. She has twisted on her plate and lost her balance, clawing at the air in horror as she struggles to stand upright. I clench my fists, praying she regains her balance, but instead she falls...
Charlene:
My feet slip from under me and I fall, twisting in midair and managing to tuck my legs under. I land on the plate mere seconds before the bell goes, winding myself. I roll off, playing dead as everyone runs for the bounty to my right, hoping to escape the bloodbath...
Timothy:
No blast accompanies her fall, she must still be alive. I run forward, elbowing others out my way as I snatch up three backpacks. One of them is ridiculously heavy, let's hope that weight is something good. I continue running, darting behind other tributes when possible, crouching low and zigzagging when not. I drag Charlene to her feet, thrusting one of the packs into her arms and practically dragging her still as we run across a bridge into the woods. I glance up - if the sun is right, we're heading east. Good, if we are being tracked our shadows will soon be in front of us, and we won't be facing the sun.
Charlene:
I am gasping for breath, barely able to keep up. "Timothy - I have to slow down," I manage to force out about a mile into the woods. "I'm a weaver, remember, not a marathon sprinter!" He's more cut out for this sort of thing, the boys were always wrestling and racing and whatnot back at home.
Timothy:
One glance at her tells me we'd better slow, or she'll drop dead anyway. Checking behind a fallen log for snakes, I sit down and start checking over the packs. Not much in them, no water, of course, only a little dried fruit, three blankets total, two ropes, and-
Charlene:
"A knife." I hand it to Timothy, watching him examine it. He sits thinking about what to do, muttering plans and calculations to himself. My mind wanders back, to eight o'clock this morning....
"I want you both to know," Kataro said, tears running freely down his pink-tinted face, "that you are the most wonderful pair I've ever escorted, and I - I hate seeing you go in there!" he burst out. "I don't want either of you to die, b-but if you d-do, I promise I'll see y-you get a good b-b-burial..." He was crying so hard by then he could barely finish, and Charlene hugged him tightly.
"I promise one of us will come back to you," she promised sadly, and Timothy pulled out the scrap of cloth that had been his token, handing it to Kataro.
"In case it isn't me," he murmured, causing his escort to break down in fresh tears and hugged him tightly.
Charlene couldn't help a silent giggle as Timothy's eyes bugged out and he grimaced in embarrassment. Pulling her token out as well, she handed it to Kataro as he released Timothy, and she too was once again tightly embraced by their escort.
Timothy:
I glance at Charlene to see if she's listening to me, and see her sitting there in a heap of misery with tears running down her face. "You don't have to if you don't want to, you can be lookout," I add.
Charlene:
Timothy's voice brings me back with a start, and from the way he is looking at me I know I must've been dazed out quite awhile. "What?" I ask awkwardly, still torn between past and present with an odd sense of surrealism. He sighs and shakes his head at my ditzyness, repeating his words. "We need to chop down the bridges during the bloodbath and strand as many as we can in the middle. There has to be another source of fresh water somewhere in the arena, we need to find and poison it, too."
He's crazy. Loopy. "Um, hello? We're not air plants, we need water too."
He looks annoyed at this obvious flaw. "Fine, we'll wait by the water and kill anyone coming to get it. I still think we should control the only bridge..."
"That sounds more sensible," I agree, and he promptly throws one of the packs to me.
"Good, gear up, and let's go burn some bridges!"
"Hang on," I say slowly. "All we have to do is burn all but one, and we're dead. Whoever is left by the Cornucopia will have food, water, and weapons...specifically bows and arrows."
Timothy:
Really, Charlene isn't stupid, but she's way too negative, and not half opportunist enough. "Then we'll wait till the Careers are hunting, dopey, and be the ones left at the Cornucopia! Now, unless you have more gloomy predictions, come on."
Charlene:
He can be so obnoxious. Why are the obnoxious ones always right? Or is it vice versa...they are obnoxious because they know they are right and can afford to be rude...either we do it their way anyway, or we fail...I follow him as he treks back the way we came, wishing I were home with a cup of tea and a book.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Charlene Whipple Interview
"Just a peek of chest, not enough to please Farnorth," Alaric tells me with a twinkle in his eye. He had not been able to dismiss my perverted male prepper altogether, but we had managed to consign him to just my hair, when I can be covered, much to his displeasure.
I chuckle at his remark. "The less showing, the happier I am."
"I know, honey," my stylist says sympathetically. "But most people in the Capitol don't feel the same, and we want you alive to continue to bring a degree of modesty to the Games."
I smile at his phraseology. "I know you're doing all you can to keep me alive. And the dress is lovely, it really is. The material...it's so soft."
Alaric nods. "Only the best, for the Tributes," he says wryly.
"For the moment," I add dryly.
We look at each other a long moment before he says, "Don't go into your interview with that attitude. It won't gain you any fans."
"How should I approach this?" I ask quietly.
"He'll ask you about the girl for whom you volunteered," Alaric says urgently. "Tell them what you will about her. Caesar will probably want to portray you as a great hero, depending on how you handle his questions. That's the most flattering view and the crowd will lap it up, but don't be 'just another hero.' Make it memorable. Make them remember her, and they will remember you. It will also help her next year, and you, if you're her mentor." The way he speaks of Satinee, I realize with a jolt that he knows who she is and why she was reaped. But his next words are even more grim.
"There are some in power who might've been told to remove you. You didn't do yourself any favours, volunteering for a marked girl. You don't come from a district where that's the norm, she wasn't your family. It could be seen as an act of defiance. Drive it home, every chance you get, that it was because she was young. It was because she was the only child left to her father. It was because she deserved a second chance at life. Not because you wanted to slap the Capitol in the face. But subtly. Do it subtly, don't make it obvious you're trying to appease them."
I am scared at his words, so scared. "It wasn't in defiance," I whisper. "It was because I knew her father would be broken, utterly broken, if he lost both his children. And she...she's only twelve..."
Alaric looks at me grimly. "Even that could be interpreted as defiance."
"Then I won't make it about her," I say quietly. "I'll move the conversation away from her as quickly as possible."
"What will it be about?" he asks, equally quietly.
I brush my hand over my dress. "Fabrics," I say dreamily. "Fabric is what I know, and the ones I've worn here are..amazing. Like light and air woven together and made tangible."
Alaric smiles a little. "Honey, just keep up with those descriptions and no one will give any rebellion on your part a second thought."
"Rebellion?" Kataro's voice comes, panicky and even higher than usual. "What?"
"Nothing," Alaric says quickly as the escort enters the room completely. "A very poor joke on my part."
Kataro's relief is nearly tangible, lying over him like a sheet. "Oh. You should restrain from such jokes, Alaric, they're in very poor taste. Is Charlene ready?"
I take a deep breath, lifting my head and nodding. "Yes, I'm ready. Where's Timothy?"
Poor Kataro looks pathetically dismayed at my question. "Probably still involved in fisticuffs with his stylist," he says reproachfully. His reproof isn't aimed at me, I can tell, but at the non-present Timothy. "He refused to wear what was laid out for him, and Maran has made sure he couldn't put anything on underneath, not since his stunt at the Chariots."
I suppress a giggle. "Maybe I could talk him down, while Alaric soothes Maran," I suggest, and am rewarded with a look of pure gratitude from Kataro.
"Would you really?" he asks hopefully, and I nod. "Hang on," he says enthusiastically and trots out. Alaric and I share a glance before bursting into giggles.
A moment later, Kataro trots back in, followed by a slouching Timothy, who has his hands stuck in his pockets and is wearing an air of suspicious resentment. Kataro leads Alaric out to reason with Maran, as Timothy and I measure each other up. I finally plop down on a plush chair, pulling a grape off of its stem and throwing to Timothy.
He catches it and sits down opposite me. "Kataro said you'd volunteered to calm me down," he says, and pops the grape into his mouth.
I shrug. "I just thought it would be a good idea to pull you and Maran off of each other."
Timothy eyes my outfit. "I don't suppose you'd want to swap stylists?"
I chuckle ruefully. "I am no more keen on wearing Maran's abominations than you are." Timothy grunts in agreement, but I'm not done. "If you could design your own outfit, keeping in mind this is the Capitol, what would it be?"
He looks at my dress closely. "Something similar to your clothes. Floaty, only more flamboyant. I don't like pale colors, too girly."
"Why don't you suggest that to Maran, maybe you and he and Alaric can work something out," I suggest.
Timothy nods and stands. "Good idea. I guess I'd better go back in there."
I smile at the reluctance in his voice. "Probably." He nods to me and goes out, leaving me to ponder the problems of having a poor stylist.
* * *
Two hours later, I am astonished at the compromise that has been reached. Timothy is dressed in a very old-fashioned, extremely flamboyant outfit - pure white shirt with long loose sleeves and tight cuffs, a royal blue vest over it, tight black pants, a swirling red cape which he enjoys whooshing out, tight black leather boots, and to top the whole ensemble off, a broad-brimmed black hat with large purple foofy feathers. I stand gawping at him with my mouth open, while he stands smugly grinning at my expression.
"You look...dashing," I say finally, and his grin broadens. Sweeping off the ridiculous hat, he bows low, with much unnecessary twirling of hands.
"Thank you, Madame," he says in a mock-deep voice. "You are lovely yourself tonight."
"I know," I say cheekily, and take off for the elevator while Alaric and Kataro laugh uproariously. I hear Timothy's footsteps behind me and speed up, reaching the elevator first, but the door remains open. It closes right before our team reaches us and he tickles me all the way down - I am positive everyone else we pass thinks I am being prematurely murdered, from my unending shrieks. We come to a stop and he immediately stands up, straightening his hat and standing primly until the door opens. I do my best to straighten my dress and try to whack him as he exits, but he nips smartly out and I miss.
The team arrives on the next trip, jammed in with another District's passel. Timothy and I are surreptitiously chasing each other around, I keep edging towards him for revenge and he keeps wandering 'obliviously' off. Kataro seems inclined to scold us but Alaric murmurs to him to let us play.
As more tributes come down, Peacekeepers line us up to go on stage. My heart begins to pound as I think to the interview ahead, and I bite my lip, smearing my lipstick. Timothy, beside me, takes my hand and squeezes gently. "You'll be fine," he whispers. "Caesar isn't actually as scary as the Arena, he just looks it."
I giggle at his irreverent words, and almost immediately it is time to go on stage.
I am called before Timothy, and as I go out, the lights almost blind me. My heart is pounding so loudly all I can hear is a roaring in my ears. I slowly realize it is the crowd and almost puke. Today they are cheering my appearance, tomorrow it will be my death. I settle slowly into the chair beside Caesar's, determined to give them an interview they won't forget.
"Good evening, Charlene," he greets me warmly. "And how are you this fine night?"
"Been better, will be worse," I respond quietly. Caesar doesn't seem to know how to answer this and quickly moves on.
"Speaking of worse, how did you feel upon being Reaped? But then, you weren't Reaped, were you?" He sounds mildly curious and I quickly move to quell it.
"No, I volunteered. Satinee is so young, and she was so scared. I couldn't bear to see her up on the stage."
"And we all admire you very much for it," Caesar says quietly. "But surely, you at least brought a special token?"
I smile a little in remembrance. "No, I didn't bring one. But the whole team has a little handkerchief, all the same, that Timothy and I are both using as tokens."
He nods sympathetically. "Very united. But you didn't want to bring a bit of home with you? Surely you miss it?"
"No," I say flatly. "I don't miss District Eight at all."
"Not even a special someone?" he asks innocently.
"No." I reply laconically.
"Then you must have enjoyed the Capitol," he pursued. "What's your favorite part so far?"
"I haven't enjoyed it," I reply distantly. "I've come here to be killed, not enjoy myself. But if I must choose, it would be my team. Kataro and Alaric are two of the most wonderful people I've ever met."
"I'm sure they appreciate that," Caesar says quietly, patting my hand. Patting my hand?! Capitolians. "So do you have a strategy?"
"Yes," I say wearily, hoping my time was almost up.
"Can you share it with us?" he suggests.
"I intend to stick close to Timothy. I'm pretty sure he's the one with the most intelligence of any of we tributes."
"Ouch," Caesar comments with a chuckle, and is finally rewarded with a small smile.
"I didn't say the only one with intelligence," I protest with the faintest ghost of a laugh. "I said the one with the most."
"And do you have any last words for us, Miss Whipple?" Caesar asks.
I suppress a yawn. "Goodnight."
He laughs and holds my hand up. "I present, District Eight's Charlene Whipple!"
Timothy's POV:
Oh. She is so stupid. I glower at her in astonishment and dismay as she sits down, before going out onto stage myself, determined to erase her obtuse and boring interview. Caesar has his face in his trained smile, but as I get closer I can see the strain in his eyes. "Hello, Timothy," he says brightly as I come over.
"Gooood evening, Caesar," I reply, making my voice rich and rolling, and with a melodramatic swirl of my cape, I bow deeply to him. "It is a pleasure, such a great honor, to meet you face to face."
Uh oh. Wrong tack. He is even more uncomfortable and I hurry to cover my mistake. "You are such an anticipated part of the Games, from tributes and viewers alike," I add.
Charlene's POV:
Is he crazy? What's he up to with that flashy outfit and flattering Caesar? I see Kataro in the crowd and am pretty sure he's fainted. This isn't boding well...
Timothy's POV:
I seat myself beside Caesar and cross my legs, winking at a pink-tinted girl in the front row. She titters and blushes pinker as I return my attention to Caesar and his first question.
"Well Timothy, what was your first thought upon being Reaped?"
I consider a minute. "I'm not going to repeat it in front of the ladies, Caesar. Perhaps in private sometime." There is a roar of laughter and I grin cheekily out at them all.
"Much appreciated," Caesar says with a grin, then moves on. "Charlene mentioned you have matching tokens?"
"Well, you know how girls are, Caesar," I say conspiratorially. "They can be so emotional if you don't humor them."
He laughs. "Will you get in trouble for that later?"
"Probably," I say cheerfully. "But not until tomorrow, most likely."
"What do you miss about District Eight?" my interviewer inquires.
I heave a deep sigh, apparently thinking hard. "That's a hard one, Caesar. Perhaps..." I pause a long moment. "The girls? The girls of District Eight are so much prettier than any other District."
Charlene's POV:
He is so getting kicked later.
Timothy's POV:
I grin mentally, I can almost feel Charlene's eyes boring into my back. She's so easy to aggravate sometimes, it's funny. I determine to make her even more irritated with my next answer.
"So, is there anyone especially special?" Caesar asks conspiratorially.
"About half a dozen," I answer carelessly. "But Caesar, you've wrecked my plans, now they all know about each other!!"
More laughter from the crowd. Apparently players are popular.
"Ah me," Caesar says, grinning. "Well I hope I haven't gotten you into too much trouble. How have you liked the Capitol? Any parts you've liked in particular?"
"How to choose, how to choose," I say dramatically. "The food, the lights, the people, the clothing..."
"We all noticed your outfit change during the Chariot Ride," Caesar observes dryly, and I smirk.
"That was mostly to annoy Charlene," I reply cheekily.
Charlene's POV:
He is so getting kicked. So getting kicked.
Timothy's POV:
"I wish you luck," Caesar chuckles. "Any strategy for the Arena?"
"That is for me to know and for you to - dot dot dot," I reply wickedly, with another wink.
"Any last words?" Caesar asks jovially.
I stand, swirling my cape again. "Farewell, masters and madams," I say in a deep dramatic voice. "Farewell, for a time!"
Whirling, I speed up to my seat beside Charlene, whirling around and into it as Caesar announces my name and district one more time.
I chuckle at his remark. "The less showing, the happier I am."
"I know, honey," my stylist says sympathetically. "But most people in the Capitol don't feel the same, and we want you alive to continue to bring a degree of modesty to the Games."
I smile at his phraseology. "I know you're doing all you can to keep me alive. And the dress is lovely, it really is. The material...it's so soft."
Alaric nods. "Only the best, for the Tributes," he says wryly.
"For the moment," I add dryly.
We look at each other a long moment before he says, "Don't go into your interview with that attitude. It won't gain you any fans."
"How should I approach this?" I ask quietly.
"He'll ask you about the girl for whom you volunteered," Alaric says urgently. "Tell them what you will about her. Caesar will probably want to portray you as a great hero, depending on how you handle his questions. That's the most flattering view and the crowd will lap it up, but don't be 'just another hero.' Make it memorable. Make them remember her, and they will remember you. It will also help her next year, and you, if you're her mentor." The way he speaks of Satinee, I realize with a jolt that he knows who she is and why she was reaped. But his next words are even more grim.
"There are some in power who might've been told to remove you. You didn't do yourself any favours, volunteering for a marked girl. You don't come from a district where that's the norm, she wasn't your family. It could be seen as an act of defiance. Drive it home, every chance you get, that it was because she was young. It was because she was the only child left to her father. It was because she deserved a second chance at life. Not because you wanted to slap the Capitol in the face. But subtly. Do it subtly, don't make it obvious you're trying to appease them."
I am scared at his words, so scared. "It wasn't in defiance," I whisper. "It was because I knew her father would be broken, utterly broken, if he lost both his children. And she...she's only twelve..."
Alaric looks at me grimly. "Even that could be interpreted as defiance."
"Then I won't make it about her," I say quietly. "I'll move the conversation away from her as quickly as possible."
"What will it be about?" he asks, equally quietly.
I brush my hand over my dress. "Fabrics," I say dreamily. "Fabric is what I know, and the ones I've worn here are..amazing. Like light and air woven together and made tangible."
Alaric smiles a little. "Honey, just keep up with those descriptions and no one will give any rebellion on your part a second thought."
"Rebellion?" Kataro's voice comes, panicky and even higher than usual. "What?"
"Nothing," Alaric says quickly as the escort enters the room completely. "A very poor joke on my part."
Kataro's relief is nearly tangible, lying over him like a sheet. "Oh. You should restrain from such jokes, Alaric, they're in very poor taste. Is Charlene ready?"
I take a deep breath, lifting my head and nodding. "Yes, I'm ready. Where's Timothy?"
Poor Kataro looks pathetically dismayed at my question. "Probably still involved in fisticuffs with his stylist," he says reproachfully. His reproof isn't aimed at me, I can tell, but at the non-present Timothy. "He refused to wear what was laid out for him, and Maran has made sure he couldn't put anything on underneath, not since his stunt at the Chariots."
I suppress a giggle. "Maybe I could talk him down, while Alaric soothes Maran," I suggest, and am rewarded with a look of pure gratitude from Kataro.
"Would you really?" he asks hopefully, and I nod. "Hang on," he says enthusiastically and trots out. Alaric and I share a glance before bursting into giggles.
A moment later, Kataro trots back in, followed by a slouching Timothy, who has his hands stuck in his pockets and is wearing an air of suspicious resentment. Kataro leads Alaric out to reason with Maran, as Timothy and I measure each other up. I finally plop down on a plush chair, pulling a grape off of its stem and throwing to Timothy.
He catches it and sits down opposite me. "Kataro said you'd volunteered to calm me down," he says, and pops the grape into his mouth.
I shrug. "I just thought it would be a good idea to pull you and Maran off of each other."
Timothy eyes my outfit. "I don't suppose you'd want to swap stylists?"
I chuckle ruefully. "I am no more keen on wearing Maran's abominations than you are." Timothy grunts in agreement, but I'm not done. "If you could design your own outfit, keeping in mind this is the Capitol, what would it be?"
He looks at my dress closely. "Something similar to your clothes. Floaty, only more flamboyant. I don't like pale colors, too girly."
"Why don't you suggest that to Maran, maybe you and he and Alaric can work something out," I suggest.
Timothy nods and stands. "Good idea. I guess I'd better go back in there."
I smile at the reluctance in his voice. "Probably." He nods to me and goes out, leaving me to ponder the problems of having a poor stylist.
* * *
Two hours later, I am astonished at the compromise that has been reached. Timothy is dressed in a very old-fashioned, extremely flamboyant outfit - pure white shirt with long loose sleeves and tight cuffs, a royal blue vest over it, tight black pants, a swirling red cape which he enjoys whooshing out, tight black leather boots, and to top the whole ensemble off, a broad-brimmed black hat with large purple foofy feathers. I stand gawping at him with my mouth open, while he stands smugly grinning at my expression.
"You look...dashing," I say finally, and his grin broadens. Sweeping off the ridiculous hat, he bows low, with much unnecessary twirling of hands.
"Thank you, Madame," he says in a mock-deep voice. "You are lovely yourself tonight."
"I know," I say cheekily, and take off for the elevator while Alaric and Kataro laugh uproariously. I hear Timothy's footsteps behind me and speed up, reaching the elevator first, but the door remains open. It closes right before our team reaches us and he tickles me all the way down - I am positive everyone else we pass thinks I am being prematurely murdered, from my unending shrieks. We come to a stop and he immediately stands up, straightening his hat and standing primly until the door opens. I do my best to straighten my dress and try to whack him as he exits, but he nips smartly out and I miss.
The team arrives on the next trip, jammed in with another District's passel. Timothy and I are surreptitiously chasing each other around, I keep edging towards him for revenge and he keeps wandering 'obliviously' off. Kataro seems inclined to scold us but Alaric murmurs to him to let us play.
As more tributes come down, Peacekeepers line us up to go on stage. My heart begins to pound as I think to the interview ahead, and I bite my lip, smearing my lipstick. Timothy, beside me, takes my hand and squeezes gently. "You'll be fine," he whispers. "Caesar isn't actually as scary as the Arena, he just looks it."
I giggle at his irreverent words, and almost immediately it is time to go on stage.
I am called before Timothy, and as I go out, the lights almost blind me. My heart is pounding so loudly all I can hear is a roaring in my ears. I slowly realize it is the crowd and almost puke. Today they are cheering my appearance, tomorrow it will be my death. I settle slowly into the chair beside Caesar's, determined to give them an interview they won't forget.
"Good evening, Charlene," he greets me warmly. "And how are you this fine night?"
"Been better, will be worse," I respond quietly. Caesar doesn't seem to know how to answer this and quickly moves on.
"Speaking of worse, how did you feel upon being Reaped? But then, you weren't Reaped, were you?" He sounds mildly curious and I quickly move to quell it.
"No, I volunteered. Satinee is so young, and she was so scared. I couldn't bear to see her up on the stage."
"And we all admire you very much for it," Caesar says quietly. "But surely, you at least brought a special token?"
I smile a little in remembrance. "No, I didn't bring one. But the whole team has a little handkerchief, all the same, that Timothy and I are both using as tokens."
He nods sympathetically. "Very united. But you didn't want to bring a bit of home with you? Surely you miss it?"
"No," I say flatly. "I don't miss District Eight at all."
"Not even a special someone?" he asks innocently.
"No." I reply laconically.
"Then you must have enjoyed the Capitol," he pursued. "What's your favorite part so far?"
"I haven't enjoyed it," I reply distantly. "I've come here to be killed, not enjoy myself. But if I must choose, it would be my team. Kataro and Alaric are two of the most wonderful people I've ever met."
"I'm sure they appreciate that," Caesar says quietly, patting my hand. Patting my hand?! Capitolians. "So do you have a strategy?"
"Yes," I say wearily, hoping my time was almost up.
"Can you share it with us?" he suggests.
"I intend to stick close to Timothy. I'm pretty sure he's the one with the most intelligence of any of we tributes."
"Ouch," Caesar comments with a chuckle, and is finally rewarded with a small smile.
"I didn't say the only one with intelligence," I protest with the faintest ghost of a laugh. "I said the one with the most."
"And do you have any last words for us, Miss Whipple?" Caesar asks.
I suppress a yawn. "Goodnight."
He laughs and holds my hand up. "I present, District Eight's Charlene Whipple!"
Timothy's POV:
Oh. She is so stupid. I glower at her in astonishment and dismay as she sits down, before going out onto stage myself, determined to erase her obtuse and boring interview. Caesar has his face in his trained smile, but as I get closer I can see the strain in his eyes. "Hello, Timothy," he says brightly as I come over.
"Gooood evening, Caesar," I reply, making my voice rich and rolling, and with a melodramatic swirl of my cape, I bow deeply to him. "It is a pleasure, such a great honor, to meet you face to face."
Uh oh. Wrong tack. He is even more uncomfortable and I hurry to cover my mistake. "You are such an anticipated part of the Games, from tributes and viewers alike," I add.
Charlene's POV:
Is he crazy? What's he up to with that flashy outfit and flattering Caesar? I see Kataro in the crowd and am pretty sure he's fainted. This isn't boding well...
Timothy's POV:
I seat myself beside Caesar and cross my legs, winking at a pink-tinted girl in the front row. She titters and blushes pinker as I return my attention to Caesar and his first question.
"Well Timothy, what was your first thought upon being Reaped?"
I consider a minute. "I'm not going to repeat it in front of the ladies, Caesar. Perhaps in private sometime." There is a roar of laughter and I grin cheekily out at them all.
"Much appreciated," Caesar says with a grin, then moves on. "Charlene mentioned you have matching tokens?"
"Well, you know how girls are, Caesar," I say conspiratorially. "They can be so emotional if you don't humor them."
He laughs. "Will you get in trouble for that later?"
"Probably," I say cheerfully. "But not until tomorrow, most likely."
"What do you miss about District Eight?" my interviewer inquires.
I heave a deep sigh, apparently thinking hard. "That's a hard one, Caesar. Perhaps..." I pause a long moment. "The girls? The girls of District Eight are so much prettier than any other District."
Charlene's POV:
He is so getting kicked later.
Timothy's POV:
I grin mentally, I can almost feel Charlene's eyes boring into my back. She's so easy to aggravate sometimes, it's funny. I determine to make her even more irritated with my next answer.
"So, is there anyone especially special?" Caesar asks conspiratorially.
"About half a dozen," I answer carelessly. "But Caesar, you've wrecked my plans, now they all know about each other!!"
More laughter from the crowd. Apparently players are popular.
"Ah me," Caesar says, grinning. "Well I hope I haven't gotten you into too much trouble. How have you liked the Capitol? Any parts you've liked in particular?"
"How to choose, how to choose," I say dramatically. "The food, the lights, the people, the clothing..."
"We all noticed your outfit change during the Chariot Ride," Caesar observes dryly, and I smirk.
"That was mostly to annoy Charlene," I reply cheekily.
Charlene's POV:
He is so getting kicked. So getting kicked.
Timothy's POV:
"I wish you luck," Caesar chuckles. "Any strategy for the Arena?"
"That is for me to know and for you to - dot dot dot," I reply wickedly, with another wink.
"Any last words?" Caesar asks jovially.
I stand, swirling my cape again. "Farewell, masters and madams," I say in a deep dramatic voice. "Farewell, for a time!"
Whirling, I speed up to my seat beside Charlene, whirling around and into it as Caesar announces my name and district one more time.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Monday, January 27, 2014
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Charlene Whipple & Timothy Mark Training
(Can I change Timothy's last name? And you might want to take a couple of days to read this, it's not very detailed but it did contrive to be very long.)
I listen to Atala attentively, worried sick. Now that the glitzy Chariot ride is over, and we're in training, the true impact of why we are here is coming back around to hit me again. Hard. Right between the shoulders. Timothy has positioned himself about halfway around the circle from me, not quite directly opposite me, and he keeps cutting up and trying to make me laugh when Atala's not looking at him. He's being very distracting, despite my best efforts to ignore him, and he isn't the slightest bit discouraged that I'm not looking at him. One of the other boy tributes, standing beside him, is convulsed in silent laughter, to my dismay.
Atala dismisses us and I try to get away before Timothy hones in on me, but no such luck, I swear he started moving before she told us to get to it. He teleports to my side and asks brightly, "Where should we start?"
"I don't know," I say faintly, and indicate the other tributes. "We're from a very interiorized District, and the Arenas are always exteriors. How can we hope to compete with, say, Nine, and Eleven, and - and Four?"
"We turn the outside, inside out," Timothy says. How does he pull off these ridiculous sentences with a straight face? "We turn inside dangers into outside dangers, dangers they won't know how to fight."
"How?" I ask cautiously. This does not sound good.
"We target the weakness of their District," he murmurs, his voice dropping. "Four is watery, they don't know fire. Twelve, on the other hand, is fiery, they don't know water well. We target their weaknesses."
"And Seven?" I ask sarcastically. "With their outdoorsy preparedness and strength with axes?"
"We find individual weaknesses," Timothy says seriously. "But for now, we need to learn what we can. We need to learn to turn inside dangers, into outside dangers." I trail behind him as he makes a purposeful line for the fire-making station.
After that, he drags me around to visit every survival station, quietly instructing me on how to turn the survival skills we are learning, into pitfalls, snares, and death for the other tributes, a study I find excessively distasteful. Timothy is in despair at my unwillingness to kill the other tributes, but reluctantly accepts my strictures, as my progress is mediocre to good.
The next day is marginally better. I bully him into allowing me to choose the stations we visit, and the skills we practice. To his surprise, we visit all the same stations, the survival stations, only today we are learning survival skills to survive, not survival skills to kill and maim. He reluctantly accedes to my demands that we learn to contain a campfire and how to make it appear several hours old, when it is only minutes dead. We also study plants and the best combinations for taste and nutrition, instead of how to make poisonous plants appear harmless.
We scarcely visit the weapons stations at all, but about halfway through the day, I give in to his insistence that we visit the close combat station. The instructor teaches us basic principles, stances and moves, suggesting we embroider on them and correcting us when we do not do well. By the time training is over for the day, I feel reasonably well-prepared for the Arena.
Sort of. Ish.
The day of Private Training is a nightmare. Kataro is having a tizzy fit at the slightest provocation, and when there hasn't been one for at least ten minutes, he goes back to his favorite standby of 'what if we didn't do well?' When Timothy jestingly says that we'd receive a low score and die in agony during the Bloodbath, Kataro goes into hysterics and has to be taken off to bed. Our stylists are left to take us down to the Training.
Once in the waiting room, Timothy and I sit close together. He holds my hand, and I can see by the way he keeps frowning and glancing at me that he's worried about me. I'm worried about me. My stomach is in knots and the rooms keeps lurching in a confusing and nausea-inducing manner. I scarcely notice the other tributes as they are called out, and only really pay attention once Timothy goes.
I sit hunched over, struggling not to be sick, feeling simultaneously hot and cold. My name is called and I stand - far too quickly, the world gives an odd maneuver in which is simultaneously spins to the right and lurches to the left. I reach out, touching the wall to steady myself, then slowly and carefully walk into the gymnasium.
I know immediately, I'm in deep trouble. The place reeks of smoke and cleaner. I manage to get all the way to the middle of the room before being violently ill. I fall to my knees, dropping one hand to the floor, then collapse onto my side, barely avoiding the pool of sick. I vaguely register Peacekeepers lifting me up and carrying me from the room before I black out.
I wake to the sound of Alaric's and Kataro's voices. Kataro sounds on the verge of hysterics again, Alaric seems furious. I curl up a little, noticing that I'm in bed. Timothy's voice cuts across the angry adults', and I prick my ears up, listening.
"She'll be fine. She was so nervous she made herself sick. Just let her rest for the remainder of the day, she'll be fine for the interviews."
"And the Arena?" Kataro demands, his voice higher pitched than ever. "She'll be one of the first to die!"
"I'll take care of that," Timothy says quietly. I am desperately curious to know what he means, but not curious enough to get up and go ask. I hear the music that preludes the announcement of the scores, and curl up, hiding my face in the blankets. Imagining my 1, for all of Panem to see, I nearly make myself sick again, but fall back asleep before I can think too much about it.
Timothy's POV:
I can't help worrying about Charlene as I go into the gymnasium. Her hands had been ice cold, and she was so pale she was almost green. She's a thoroughly nice girl and won't last for more than a day in the Arena without help. I intend to help her, but in order to that, I have to impress the Gamemakers...I decide to half-destroy their lair.
Giving them a cheeky grin, I bop over to the fire-making station. Starting a small blaze, I expand upon it into it is a raging bonfire in the station. Noticing the Peacekeepers are beginning to shift, I hurry up my efforts until the fire, rapidly expanding from a conflagration to an inferno, spills over onto the floor of the rest of the gymnasium. There is a shout and Peacekeepers surge forward, beginning to quench the fire. I retreat, leaning against the artificial tree trunk used in camouflage, and watch in interest. I am summarily dismissed and go out with a smug grin, although it fades as I wonder how Charlene is doing.
(I did not know Timothy was a Pyro...interesting.)
I listen to Atala attentively, worried sick. Now that the glitzy Chariot ride is over, and we're in training, the true impact of why we are here is coming back around to hit me again. Hard. Right between the shoulders. Timothy has positioned himself about halfway around the circle from me, not quite directly opposite me, and he keeps cutting up and trying to make me laugh when Atala's not looking at him. He's being very distracting, despite my best efforts to ignore him, and he isn't the slightest bit discouraged that I'm not looking at him. One of the other boy tributes, standing beside him, is convulsed in silent laughter, to my dismay.
Atala dismisses us and I try to get away before Timothy hones in on me, but no such luck, I swear he started moving before she told us to get to it. He teleports to my side and asks brightly, "Where should we start?"
"I don't know," I say faintly, and indicate the other tributes. "We're from a very interiorized District, and the Arenas are always exteriors. How can we hope to compete with, say, Nine, and Eleven, and - and Four?"
"We turn the outside, inside out," Timothy says. How does he pull off these ridiculous sentences with a straight face? "We turn inside dangers into outside dangers, dangers they won't know how to fight."
"How?" I ask cautiously. This does not sound good.
"We target the weakness of their District," he murmurs, his voice dropping. "Four is watery, they don't know fire. Twelve, on the other hand, is fiery, they don't know water well. We target their weaknesses."
"And Seven?" I ask sarcastically. "With their outdoorsy preparedness and strength with axes?"
"We find individual weaknesses," Timothy says seriously. "But for now, we need to learn what we can. We need to learn to turn inside dangers, into outside dangers." I trail behind him as he makes a purposeful line for the fire-making station.
After that, he drags me around to visit every survival station, quietly instructing me on how to turn the survival skills we are learning, into pitfalls, snares, and death for the other tributes, a study I find excessively distasteful. Timothy is in despair at my unwillingness to kill the other tributes, but reluctantly accepts my strictures, as my progress is mediocre to good.
The next day is marginally better. I bully him into allowing me to choose the stations we visit, and the skills we practice. To his surprise, we visit all the same stations, the survival stations, only today we are learning survival skills to survive, not survival skills to kill and maim. He reluctantly accedes to my demands that we learn to contain a campfire and how to make it appear several hours old, when it is only minutes dead. We also study plants and the best combinations for taste and nutrition, instead of how to make poisonous plants appear harmless.
We scarcely visit the weapons stations at all, but about halfway through the day, I give in to his insistence that we visit the close combat station. The instructor teaches us basic principles, stances and moves, suggesting we embroider on them and correcting us when we do not do well. By the time training is over for the day, I feel reasonably well-prepared for the Arena.
Sort of. Ish.
The day of Private Training is a nightmare. Kataro is having a tizzy fit at the slightest provocation, and when there hasn't been one for at least ten minutes, he goes back to his favorite standby of 'what if we didn't do well?' When Timothy jestingly says that we'd receive a low score and die in agony during the Bloodbath, Kataro goes into hysterics and has to be taken off to bed. Our stylists are left to take us down to the Training.
Once in the waiting room, Timothy and I sit close together. He holds my hand, and I can see by the way he keeps frowning and glancing at me that he's worried about me. I'm worried about me. My stomach is in knots and the rooms keeps lurching in a confusing and nausea-inducing manner. I scarcely notice the other tributes as they are called out, and only really pay attention once Timothy goes.
I sit hunched over, struggling not to be sick, feeling simultaneously hot and cold. My name is called and I stand - far too quickly, the world gives an odd maneuver in which is simultaneously spins to the right and lurches to the left. I reach out, touching the wall to steady myself, then slowly and carefully walk into the gymnasium.
I know immediately, I'm in deep trouble. The place reeks of smoke and cleaner. I manage to get all the way to the middle of the room before being violently ill. I fall to my knees, dropping one hand to the floor, then collapse onto my side, barely avoiding the pool of sick. I vaguely register Peacekeepers lifting me up and carrying me from the room before I black out.
I wake to the sound of Alaric's and Kataro's voices. Kataro sounds on the verge of hysterics again, Alaric seems furious. I curl up a little, noticing that I'm in bed. Timothy's voice cuts across the angry adults', and I prick my ears up, listening.
"She'll be fine. She was so nervous she made herself sick. Just let her rest for the remainder of the day, she'll be fine for the interviews."
"And the Arena?" Kataro demands, his voice higher pitched than ever. "She'll be one of the first to die!"
"I'll take care of that," Timothy says quietly. I am desperately curious to know what he means, but not curious enough to get up and go ask. I hear the music that preludes the announcement of the scores, and curl up, hiding my face in the blankets. Imagining my 1, for all of Panem to see, I nearly make myself sick again, but fall back asleep before I can think too much about it.
Timothy's POV:
I can't help worrying about Charlene as I go into the gymnasium. Her hands had been ice cold, and she was so pale she was almost green. She's a thoroughly nice girl and won't last for more than a day in the Arena without help. I intend to help her, but in order to that, I have to impress the Gamemakers...I decide to half-destroy their lair.
Giving them a cheeky grin, I bop over to the fire-making station. Starting a small blaze, I expand upon it into it is a raging bonfire in the station. Noticing the Peacekeepers are beginning to shift, I hurry up my efforts until the fire, rapidly expanding from a conflagration to an inferno, spills over onto the floor of the rest of the gymnasium. There is a shout and Peacekeepers surge forward, beginning to quench the fire. I retreat, leaning against the artificial tree trunk used in camouflage, and watch in interest. I am summarily dismissed and go out with a smug grin, although it fades as I wonder how Charlene is doing.
(I did not know Timothy was a Pyro...interesting.)
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