Train to the Capitol, Part 5
Boarding the bullet train to the Capitol is one of the most harrowing
experiences I've ever endured, yet simultaneously one of the most
exhilarating. I have awaited this moment with bated breath, truly, since
the tender age of twelve.
I am what the Capitol, the envious denizens of the impoverished districts,
and even some of District 1's own citizens refer to as a career. I stand at
the pinnacle of my class, much like Delian, the other tribute from District
1. A career emerges victorious nearly every year. Most other tributes stand
no chance—they are perpetually starving, frail, and untrained, whereas we
are well-nourished, muscular, and adept in the use of any weapon to lethal
effect.
The ragged yet verdant landscape rushes by as the train hurtles forward at
an unprecedented speed. Remarkably, it is effortless to maintain my balance
on the impeccably clean marble floor.
Delian reclines on the velvet bench, holding a glittering, rainbow-hued
beverage.
"This... makes me feel odd. Too girlish. Would you like it?"
I shake my head, declining with grace. "No, thank you." Delian and I have
known each other since our training commenced, which seems like the true
beginning of our lives. He bears a striking resemblance to me, as do most
of the men at home. He is exceptionally talented—the immense muscles that
bulge from every part of his body are not merely a sign of brute strength.
They aid him in all his endeavors, which invariably seem to encompass
everything. Yet, I worry for him. I doubt he truly has a chance of winning.
The sole reason he is here is that the real top of our class broke his arm
and shoulder a few days ago. Lux is the quintessential District 1 male
tribute—arrogant, confident, and proud, much like people describe me. I do
not shy away from it. It is how we achieve victory after victory. But
Delian... he is an adequate actor, yet I can discern that he does not wish
to be here. The sponsors will recognize this as well.
He could triumph if he desired, if only he could overcome his aversion to
killing. Should he manage that, he would indeed be formidable competition.
I am deep in thought when our escort and mentors make their entrance.
My mentor is a petite, slender woman named Ivory who triumphed
approximately ten or eleven years ago. There have been few female victors
recently. She would undoubtedly be a better mentor for Delian; after all,
she won her games by lingering near the careers, "assisting" them with
their kills while she surreptitiously poisoned them and eliminated the few
remaining weak tributes. Delian's mentor, on the other hand, towers over me
by a foot and appears even bulkier than he did in the 45th games. He
wielded a massive spiked hammer, similar to Lux, and virtually bludgeoned
every other tribute to death. I heard that viewership in the Capitol nearly
declined due to its residents' queasiness at the sight of such brutality.
Delian could demolish a brick wall with a steak knife, but place a human
before it, and he suddenly becomes immobile.
Our escort follows swiftly, his shiny silver heels clacking against the
cold tile. "Hello, hello, hello, tributes!"
Octavius's booming voice fills the room, and we turn to face the trio. I
quickly adjust my expression to one of righteous composure and gesture for
Delian to do the same. He finally rises behind me.
"Hello," I say politely. Delian follows suit, introducing us both.
"Well," Octavius begins, "We'll be at the Capitol by mid-morning. Much to
discuss before we arrive, yes? Sit, sit."
I settle into a blue velvet chair, crossing my legs and waiting intently
for the forthcoming discourse.
"So, upon our arrival at the Capitol, you will proceed directly to the
junior stylists, though you two require minimal work from them." He glances
at Delian and me, our golden hair neatly styled, our faces clean, and
muscles toned. "Then to the real stylists, who will present you with the
ensembles they have crafted for you. And let me assure you, only the finest
stylists are permitted to work with the District 1 tributes." He wiggles
his eyebrows excitedly.
"Then, following the parade, there will be three days of training,
interviews, and finally, the Games!" he grins widely. The Games are the
highlight of the year for the Capitol, with the winter victory tour as a
close second. "I understand you two are the crème de la crème, yes?"
"Indeed," I affirm confidently, choosing not to divulge the true reason for
Delian's presence instead of Lux. "They only send the best."
Ivory and Argent smile with a rare pride. Delian shifts uncomfortably.
I swear, this boy is going to be the death of me.
Octavius pontificates for hours about the importance of putting on a show
and the critical nature of garnering sponsors, a subject with which we are
already well-versed. I listen nonetheless, in case he shares any novel
insights.
He does not.
Finally, he indicates two rooms on either side of the train. "You will wish
to confer with your mentors, no? Then we shall dine."
Ivory moves swiftly, and the door behind her is nearly closed before I
manage to enter the opulent train car. It is fascinating to witness where
all the luxuries we produce end up.
Ivory has evidently been a Capitol favorite since her victory. Not
necessarily for her methods, but certainly for her appearance.
"So..." she begins in a voice as velvety as our surroundings. "I conducted
some research on you. As much as your district's and the Capitol's policies
would permit. I acquired some basic details... 5'7, 125 pounds, weapon of
choice is a sword. Intriguing."
"Poisoned swords, specifically. For engagements involving multiple
opponents. Lacerate their major arteries with a fast-acting poison first,
and you can decimate an entire crowd."
Ivory listens attentively and nods. "Ensure you elaborate on that in your
showcase...but not to the other tributes. And if you are confident in that
skill, demonstrate it during the training simulations, ensuring that it is
observed. But only once."
"Right. My coaches advised me to hone every weapon and survival tactic in
those final days."
"Precisely. While you perfect your skills, others merely begin."
We discuss training and interviews briefly, but we shall have more time in
the coming days. As we are about to part ways to freshen up before dinner,
I need to ask one more thing.
"Ivory... the career pack. I have been contemplating that the usual
alliance might be weaker this year. In your research on me, I'm sure you
noticed Lux? You know, enormous, burly, brutal Lux? He sustained injuries
during some last-minute training. And Delian may be strong and skilled,
but... I doubt he will kill when necessary."
Ivory gazes at me, expressionless.
"Am I mistaken? We cannot always rely on the twos either... they seem to
harbor a perpetual dislike for us. I wish this whole 'career' arrangement
was not set in stone."
She continues to stare, nearly perplexed.
"You fail to understand. You are in the most advantageous position
imaginable. Look at yourself! Look at your origins. You are a career,
Gleam. There are eight other tributes who would kill—and are about to
attempt—to be in your position. You are stunning, you are strong, and you
have just as much of a chance as Delian and those brats from Two.
Understood?"
I glare up at her with a haughty edge, silently reminding her of the
spectacle District 1 careers are expected to present. I can discern a weak
point merely from conversing with her.
"I'll see you later." I rise and proceed to my own compartment of the train
to take a hot shower.
~