Ximena Delgado ☯ 15 ☯ District 12 Tribute "You’ve got pain, caused plenty of It’s not so strange but now you’ve had enough Don’t forget your bones and skin Or where you go, or where you’ve been"
“Something is better than nothing.” He took hold of the bag so that it hung motionless in place.
“Make sure to keep your thumb across your other fingers as oppose to wrapped in your fist. That’s grounds for you to potentially break your finger. Try pushing off with your foot next time to give yourself a bit of momentum, but not too much that you’ll lose your footing.” he said, demonstrating a proper jab at the bag.
She knew he meant to be encouraging but it really did sound like pity. At least to her. Even if the bag weighed more than she did (which was probable), she’d barely made it move.
“Mind if I ask where a man dressed like that learned to fight like this?” Ximena asked the Game Maker as he showed her a strike.
Tucking her thumb in front of her knuckles this time, she pushed off with her back foot, driving her fist into the centre of the stationary bag. This time it swung backwards a little, and she felt the reverberations shoot up her arm. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
“No need for formalities, hun. Gattin is just fine.” he replied with a slight smile.
, “It’s a bit of a pain in the ass, you don’t want to wrap too tightly that you cut off your circulation or too loosely that it gets in the way and falls off.” he motioned towards the tape having seen her attempt to bind her hands moments ago, “Watch and follow.” he said, unraveling a portion of his own tape and piercing his thumb through one end and pull it down and across his wrist, looping it around in a pattern until his hand was wrapped. He motions were slow enough so Ximena could follow until her own hands were secured.
“You may have no past experience but you’d be surprised what could happen when your fight-or-flight instincts kick in.” he said pushing a punching bag so that it swayed in place, “Punch it.” he said, nodding to the swinging bag.
The way the man, Gattin, said the work ‘hun’ made shivers run up Ximena’s spine. While there was nothing outwardly wrong with him, something about him definitely made her uneasy.
“Alright, uh Gatting, sir.” Old habits die hard apparently.
She nodded along to his explanation of the wrapping. It all made sense and was actually similar in a way to the cogs she was familiar with. If they were too tightly packed together, they would jam. If they were too loose they would fail to touch each other and the clock wouldn’t run.
Step by step she followed his example, noting he’d probably done this at least a few times. Still her attempt was admirable and by the time he was finished wrapping she had a decent looking wrap of her own. He mentioned fight or flight, something she’d heard mention of in school before. Never had she had a moment where she’d needed to fight or run for self preservation. The games would be a first time for a lot of things.
Afraid to make a fool of herself, Ximena’s eyes matched the sway of the bag, following it, following it. Seconds ticked by before she finally wound up her fist and struck forwards, not quite hitting her intended mark and skimming the side of the bag.
Seeing as how so few tributes were present on the first day of training, the doors to the facilities were unlocked before the formal period began on the second day. Only a handful of tributes trickled in early and took advantage of the extra time, and inadvertently, the undivided attention of their Game Makers and sponsors.
Gattin’s eyes scanned over a pair of tributes sparring at the melee weapons station to the unarmed station where the girl from Twelve fiddled with a roll of wrapping tape. Trainers weren’t due for their shift for another twenty minutes or so, and with that in mind the Game Maker made his way over to the station, catching the girls eye as she met his.
“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you haven’t done much in the way of fighting back in Twelve?” he said, picking up a roll of his own and toying with it in his own hands.
As she grew frustrated with the wrapping, she almost felt the anxiety and anger at Ester washing away to be replace by another sense. One of hopelessness. After all, she was- what had Ester called her? A wisp? Slight, weak, hardly noticeable against all these big bodies and deadly minds. Maybe Ajax had the right idea after all..
The man who approached her wasn’t dressed like the trainers had been yesterday, nor did he carry himself with the same air they did. If her few dealings with foremans and government officials had taught her anything, she knew he was a man of power.
She noticed his voice didn’t sound quite like those from the Capitol as he spoke. Of course it was obvious she lacked any real fight experience, a blind man could have picked up on that. “You’d be right to assume, sir.” The sir was just from old habits. One doesn’t address someone of a higher rank without a bit of respect. Who knows how much sway they may hold over you in the future.
The Other Side || Unarmed Combat || Ximena & GM Sykes
After the spectacle that was the collective district Twelve training session yesterday, Ximena had gone straight to her room. Between Ajax’s revelation and Ester’s willingness for sacrifice she really didn’t want to see either of them. The two of them together were enough to have Ximena’s anxiety running through the roof.
When she wakes, she finds the suite completely silent, which suits her perfectly. Dressing quickly, she tosses her two tone hair up in a bun and steps into the elevator before anyone can catch her. Training doesn’t formally start for another hour or so but the training centre is open all the same. Apparently running was supposed to be cathartic for people under stress so it was worth a shot.
Out of breath and a few laps later, Ximena is just as worked up as before. Never in her life had she thrown a punch but she finds herself wandering over to the station with hand wraps and punching bags all the same. The quiet girl from Twelve who never fought and never ran was now resorting to punching out her anxiety. Unsure of how to properly wrap her hands, she looked around for a trainer but instead found someone who looked vaguely familiar walking towards her as the other tributes began to file in.
Learned a great deal about staying alive and repairing wounds. Something I imagine I'll be a lot better at than inflicting them. The girl from Five is a little icy and never gave me her name. She also had a few odd tendancies...
Pole-itically Correct || Ajax || Polearms
Ajax insisted on training together and against my best judgement I agreed. Ester made a surprise appearance at polearms, telling us about one of the tribtues she'd killed in addition to giving us instruction on selecting and using weapons. I won the spar against Ajax who wasn't really trying, then Ester pressured me to give a killing blow and I left.
Amp nods. At least the girl is calm and patient- not overexcited, not panicked like many of the others. And, most importantly, not a whimpering idiot. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders, even if her hair looks stupid.
So, careful with her stitching, Ampere moves along as Ximena instructs. “Thanks, I guess.”
Two quick tugs, a careful pull-through. Then two more quick tugs. Two more. Soon, the fabric is stitched up neatly and Ampere manages to tie it off neatly after counting the stitches to make sure there’s an even number. She’s satisfied with all ten of them, so she sets down the needle and reaches for the box of ointments and creams. A few she recognizes- the clear stuff was often used on her scrapes and bruises back home- but there are a few Capitol inventions even her wealthy family back home doesn’t have access to.
She picks a blue gel up to examine it as the trainer explains that it’s used to warm fingers and toes to prevent frostbite. “Seems odd in a gel.”
She doesn’t immediately seem hostile this time which encourages Ximena a little more. She still doesn’t know the girl’s name, but baby steps is the way to go. “I’ve always liked helping people. Seems a little silly now I guess since-” She pauses her thought there. This all still didn’t quite feel real.
Ximena stops to watch the other girl make progress on her stitching. It still isn’t perfect but definitely it’s improved. Besides, what’s more important come the arena, staunching blood loss or having pretty stitches? As long as it seems functional it should be fine. Strangely enough the girl seems to count all her stitches once finished, nodding to herself as if satisfied with the number before moving on.
The two get to work learning about all the different creams, salves, and ointments the capitol makes for medicinal purposes. Some of them seem to treat fairly minor wounds, disinfectant for cuts and scrapes, burn gel, etc. Others seem almost impossible, one small tube claims to repair full wounds and replace flesh in an instant.
“Don’t count on getting any of that sent to you sweetheart, shit costs a fortune, even for us.” The trainer motions to the tube in Ximena’s hands. The pair works in near silence beside each other, something that simultaneously comforts and unnerves Ximena. The trainer goes over a few advanced techniques, how to tourniquet, how and when to remove shrapnel, how to revive someone with CPR. Even how to fashion crutches or a basic materials should it be necessary.
All this seems much more up Ximena’s alley than weaponry ever could. By the end of the session she feels like her brain is ready to burst with all the knowledge she’s gained and without a doubt not all of it will make it with her to the arena. “I’ll see you around. Good luck with your training.” Ximena calls to the girl from Five as she leaves the station. She can practically hear her eyes roll behind her.
“Hey Ximena!” Ajax’s overeager voice was close to the last thing Ximena was wanting to hear after breaking for lunch. So far she had managed to avoid her district partner in their suite and in training but it seems he’s caught up to her.
“Hi Ajax.” She replies quietly. She doesn’t hate him. In fact she likes him a great deal more than she likes Ester, the only other member from Twelve here. But because he reminds her of home, or because she doesn’t want to be responsible for his death, directly or otherwise, she wants to stay as far from him as she can.
The boy catches up to Ximena and despite his long legs, matches his stride to her. “You didn’t have plans for training this afternoon did you?” His eyes look hopeful, sabotaging any rejection Ximena is planning.
“No, Ajax, I suppose I didn’t have training plans yet.” She tries to keep her voice neutral. Both have stopped walking at this point and while the other tributes file to different stations, Ximena’s district partner eyes her expectantly. Trying to avoid the question for as long as she can, she eventually gives in with a sigh. “Would you like to train together Ajax?”
His excitement is almost overwhelming, and before he can even get out words he has Ximena by the hand and is dragging her to a station with a bunch of wicked looking spears and other long weapons. Ajax doesn’t waste any time in selecting a solid looking trident, nearly falling over with its weight as he pulls it from the rack.
The trainer gives the duo one look and nearly bursts out laughing. “Don’t kill yourself before hitting the arena kid.” He gets out between giggling fits. Ajax shoots him a glare before steadying himself with the base of the weapon.
“Oh man this is so cool!” Ximena rolls her eyes, wondering why she took pity on the twiggy boy. “Now.. what do I do with it?” Ajax asks her expectantly. Ximena simply shrugs, still trying to decide which of the array of weapons she could even manage to lift.
“Think for a second. It’s heavy, and long, too long to be a throwing weapon. Use it for stabbing and thrusting.” The voice isn’t the trainers but both tributes can place it immediately. Ximena turns slowly to find Ester leaning casually against a rack of weapons. She strides up to Ajax, surveys the boy a moment, then kicks the weapon out from under him sending him toppling to the ground, all in heels.
“Never. Ever. Keep your balance on your weapon.” She barks at him without offering a hand up. “You can use it to regain balance for a moment. Just, a moment.” She shoots Ximena a glare as she helps her partner up from the mat.
Ajax’s rubs the shoulder he fell on a bit before reaching for his weapon back. “That’s great and all Ester, but I’m not really sure you’re supposed to be down here.”
The mentor pulls the weapon away from him with a snort. “You really think I’m going to give you this back after I saw you nearly impale yourself with it just lifting it from the rack?” Her fingers graze along the tip of the weapon. “I saw one of these in my game, wielded of course by the boy from Four. Tall, blonde, well muscled, a real Adonis.” She sighs, a little playing on her lips.
“You know how he died?” Ester glances back and forth, neither tribute offering her an answer. “It was too heavy, he wasn’t able to swing it fast enough to stop my knife. So before you go ahead thinking that the big flashy weapons are going to win your punk ass this game, think again.”
Placing the weapon back on the rack, Ester fixes her tributes with a stare. “Well, go ahead and pick something. I dragged myself down here to make sure at least one of you lives to see day two, let’s try to make that worth something.”
A few minutes and more than a few condescending head shakes later, Ajax and Ximena stand a few paces apart on the mat. He wielding a collapsible spear, and her a metal staff. Finally happy with their choices Ester goes about demonstrating how each weapon is used. Basic strikes, how to defend, how to get around an opponent using one.
When she’s done, Ester stands back and instructs the duo to spar. Neither makes the first move and from the corner of her eye, Ximena can see Ester about ready to give up and leave. Stepping forwards, Ximena her staff in an arc that connects with the shaft of Ajax’s spear. The sound of metal against metal rings out loudly making both tributes flinch.
The staff vibrates in her hands and she almost drops it, managing just barely to regain her composure. For a boy who seemed so overeager to start training, Ajax is incredibly reluctant to initiate a strike on Ximena. She steps again, managing to bypass his spear and land a hit on his protective gear, which lights up to signify a hit.
“Why won’t you hit me?” Ximena hisses across to Ajax as the two start to circle. She fakes a lunge and he steps back to avoid it.
He gives a halfhearted thrust that doesn’t even make it to Ximena, more just warding her off. “I don’t hit girls.” He hisses back. “My pops always told me that real men don’t hit girls.”
Ximena swings the staff from above her head like Ester had shown her, bringing it down just as Ajax raises his spear to meet it. Again, the sound of metal on metal drowns out the rest of the noisy training centre. “You’re going to have to if you want to go home.” Ximena replies with their weapons locked together.
Ajax shoves off from her and again tries to create some distance between the two of them. “You’d both be dead by now in the arena.” Ester calls from the sidelines. “Ajax, hit her or so help me god-” She regains her composure before finishing her thought.
Seeing the conflict in his eyes, Ximena watches as the boy finally decides to listen and gives a half hearted attempt at spearing her midsection. Ximena dodges to the left, using the butt of her spear to strike the back of Ajax’s leg. Knocked off balance, the impact of the fall leaves the boy unarmed and winded.
Taking up position over him, Ximena thinks the spar is over. She’s about to help him up when he speaks up to her. “Do it, finish me. I’m worthless anyways.” She can see tears welling up in his eyes and the boy’s sudden shift in demeanour gives her pause. “My own family doesn’t want me, they didn’t come to say goodbye. They don’t even care if I live or die. Just put me out of my misery now.” Her voice is little more than a whimper.
By now Ester has noticed the pause and the sound of footsteps behind Ximena is soon replaced with a threatening whisper in her ear. “This is the moment, finish him.” Still, Ximena is frozen staring at her partner. “He’s weak, he’s going to be weeded out Ximena. Show me that you’re not worthless. Show me that we can make something out of you.”
“No.”
Ximena drops the staff to the floor with a dull thud.
“I’m done training for today.”
She walks to the elevator, leaving a stunned partner and a fuming mentor.
Ampere doesn’t care about the other girl’s name, but she seems smart enough not to intrude on her training with gossip. The trainer calls her Ximena, though, so she can guess from there. She follows suit as Twelve picks up the needle and thread, picking the fabric arm up with her other hand.
She taps the needle twice against the table before beginning, taking painstaking care to make the stitches even. One is barely off, so she pulls it out and stitches it again, carefully spacing them about an eighth of an inch apart. She’d be screwed in the arena if she had to do this quickly, she decided.
“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. “This is shit.”
Having been working with her hands and minuscule objects almost her entire life, Ximena is pleasantly surprised to find herself much more adept at stitching than she was with bandaging. She threads her needle on the first try and after watching a few demos by the trainer, makes a series of neat stitches almost as well as she had.
Smiling a little, the attention to detail reminds her of her long days in the workshop with Papa. Eyes barely staying open as she finished just one more watch, replaced just one more cog. She was no seamstress from Eight, but before she knew what had happened she’d created a row of almost straight stitches all the way down the fabric arm.
It was only after stopping to admire her work that Ximena remembers she wasn’t training alone her. Five seemed frustrated and wasn’t quite getting the hang of it like she had. “Don’t rush it, the motion will come. Just focus on keeping them even, and pulling the thread tight.” She offers after a moment of silence.
Ampere stands from the fitness station, sweating and exhausted but ready to get going with more training. Perhaps something a little bit easier. The trainer at the first aid station is speaking and the weight equipment surrounding Ampere obscures her view, but it seems she’ll have a nice, quiet time there.
Disappointment floods her when she notices the girl with the oddly colored hair sitting at the nearest table, but she is already on her way. Ampere takes a deep breath and takes a seat across from her, taking note of the number twelve on her sleeve.
Amp picks up a roll of gauze, taking a look as the trainer instructs her on how to apply it, then begins wrapping it around her own arm. It’s not like she’ll be going in with other tributes, so there’s no use in letting the other girl touch her.
“Don’t bother,” she says as she struggles a little bit with the wrapping.
While the trainer is giving a brief introduction to the first aid station, another girl comes to sit with Ximena. The number Five on her shoulder says little other than where she’s from as Ximena never watched the reapings. Both girls grab for rolls of gauze, and the other girl gets right to work practicing her bandaging.
It takes Ximena a moment to realize what the other girl is even talking about as she practically glares across the table at her. “Oh, uh- ok. Sorry.” Ximena offers, already feeling uncomfortable sitting with the taller girl. After meeting Stan the previous night she had been hoping all the tributes would be nicer like him. Seems she was mistaken.
Trying her own hand at bandaging her fake wound, Ximena isn’t much better than the other girl was. Still, after about a minute she has a wad of gauze covering her arm that neither fashionable nor very movable, should at the very least stop some bleeding. Deciding she wants to give stitching a try, she almost opens her mouth to ask the other girl if she wants to try with her before thinking against it, and picking up a needle and thread.
Ximena’s gaze wanders as the trainer wraps up her speech. She has exactly three days in order to learn how to survive, how to fight, how to win. Sizing herself up to some of the other tributes here, the notion seems almost completely hopeless. She’s not fast enough, she’s not strong enough, she isn’t smart enough for this. A part of her, and no small part at that, whispers and nags at her to just give up. You’re a dead girl walking, don’t even bother.
In her head she can see her Papa, as he stood at the reaping, tears streaming down his face. He’d already lost Mama, he didn’t have to lose her too.
Back when Mama had been well, she used to bandage Ximena up whenever she had a bump or a scrape. She was no healer, but she knew enough to keep the infection from setting in, and to make sure everything healed as it should. The notion of killing made a shudder run through Ximena, so she chooses to focus for now on the art of living. Taking a seat at a long table littered with supplies, some of which she’s never seen before, she waits for instruction.
“I’ve never heard of Spanish before, that’s interesting, I like learning new things and getting new experiences. I’ll just call you Ximena though, it’s an interesting name and I like the way that it sounds.” I take a small sip of my drink, watching as it clings to the glass like a syrup and it’s sweetness begins to become cloying rather than enjoyable, I decide to trade it out for some water. “It’s a shame your costume isn’t real coal, I’ve never seen it before but I’d like to just to see what it feels like and what it smells like.” People back home were inventors but they were particularly cynical about how much I wanted to see everything and anything that I could. Including something as strange as seeing coal.
“Back home I’m a toymaker, I didn’t really want to go into computing or manifacture and I found myself in a little workshop just tinkering with new ideas to entertain the masses, I’ve sent designs all over Panem. I guess toys are needed everywhere. I like the old toys though, the ones from before advanced technology that were made of keys and cogs and everything like that. I could take them apart and put them back together again and have them working perfectly, it’s a shame that there’s not things like that any more, it’s all about tablets and drones and hover-boards these days.”
I take a small sip of the water and feel it washing away the tart cherry drink.
“What about you Ximena? What’s there to know about your story?”
“No one really speaks it anymore. Even Papa only knows a few words from what his parents taught him.” Ximena takes a sip of water offered by an avox. She’d never tried alcohol before and in front of all these people it didn’t seem like the best time to start.
Ximena can’t help but laugh at Stan’s response before she realizes he’s being absolutely serious. “You get a little disenchanted with the stuff when it’s more common than food I suppose.” There’s a spark of her in him. That insatiable look, like he just wants to know and see and touch everything.
Ximena’s eyes grow to the size of dinner plates as Athelstan mentions his profession. “You actually make toys? That’s so cool!” She could just picture him hunched over a workbench, tinkering with some adorable little toy. “Twelve doesn’t get those fancy toys. Most of the kids make their own stuff so I’m sure they’d be happy with even the old stuff.” Three must be very wealthy to be able to afford having people as toy makers.
“My story?” No one ever wants to know much about her. “Papa and I fix all the watches and clocks in the district. The foremans all say we’re invaluable because otherwise the miners wouldn’t know what time it is and how much longer they have in their shift.” A little smile of pride forms on Ximena’s face. “There really isn’t much else to know I guess.” She stifles a yawn.
I saw a look all of a sudden in the girl that I recognized, I knew it from back home when I first stepped into that toyshop and saw how things were made. This girl was a tinkerer just like I was, the thought brought a smile and a blush to my face as I watched her for a split second longer than I would’ve thought polite, her handshake was soft and timid. I could see that this girl was quiet too, I liked that, something about it settled me.
“Ximena.” I test the name in my mouth, repeating it again and then trying the nickname her father used for her. “My father calls me Athelstan, always, he’s a stern man but I don’t let that rub off on me.” I give her a grin that I hadn’t used for a while, not since before the reaping and all of this madness, a grin that I hadn’t used while under the captivity of the rebels, it was an innocent grin that I’d used when working in the shop revealing the latest range of toys for District 3 and the rest of Panem, it was a disarming and warm smile. “I like your costume too, is it real coal?”
“He says it means daughter in Spanish. Apparently lots of people used to speak it before Panem was a country.” I have no idea how much I’m supposed to share but so far Stan seems nice. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if Papa had been stern like Stan says his dad was. It’s hard to imagine him being stern with his kind eyes and smile.
Touching my fingers to the ‘coal’ on my shoulders, I see it doesn’t leave stains on my fingers so I hold them up to Stan. “Nope, if it were real coal my fingers would be streaked just from touching it. Coal really does get on everything, hands, skin, hair. My stylist probably thought it was too dirty to use real coal.” Ximena enjoyed being clean as much as the next person, the treatment her stylist had given her before the parade was a whole other level.
“You mentioned your costume told your story? Do you mind telling me? I quite like stories.” Ximena gives the boy a small smile.
Wind Up Tributes || Ximena & Athelstan || Post Parade
I barely escaped from the rage of my stylist team as they argued with Chastity and Lorna over the fact that the post parade party was in fact a party where the tributes could change into another costume, as I walked away from the noise and entered the lavish ballroom I slipped the goggles from my forehead to around my throat in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Catching a glimpse in a large mirror, I noticed that the goggles had left red welts where they’d been pressed against my temples. With a sigh of exhaustion I made my way to where a table was laid out with food from the Capitol, all of which I didn’t even want to eat due to the rumbling nervousness in my stomach. This is where I’d meet my competition, the games started here and I could quite easily seal my fate in a few words.
Taking a small glass of what seemed to be a cherry based drink, I watched over the room as Capitolites spun each other around, Tributes milled together and there I was, stood against a table away from everything, wondering if I’d even talk to anyone tonight. Little did I know that the tribute from 12 had her eyes on me already.
It took every ounce of my energy not to bolt after being displayed like some sort of hunting trophy to the Capitol. As a matter of fact, I was pretty pleased with how I’d managed to keep my nerve, even if I had to basically pretend I was anywhere else. The party being thrown in our “honour” wasn’t offering much more sanctuary than the tribute avenue had, making the temptation to retreat for the night pretty high. Still, my stomach rumbled and the crazed Capitolites seemed more focused on the flashier tributes so I thought I could manage to stay for a while.
Just as on the train, the tables were laden with more food than could feed all of Twelve for a week. Popping a devilled egg into my mouth, I surveyed the fringes of the party. My eyes settled on the clockwork boy from Three whose costume I absolutely loved. Before I could stop staring he locked eyes with mine, flushing me with embarrassment.
Be strong Ximena. Papa’s words echoed in my head, and instead of running, my feet took me over to the boy. “Sorry for staring.” I said quietly after approaching him. “It’s just, your stylist did such a wonderful job.”
“That’s alright.” I smile back politely as the girl compliments my costume. “I like it, it plays to my sensibilities and tells a story. I’m not quite sure what it has to do with District 3 and technology unless it’s like a blast from the past kind of deal but it ticks and whirs and sparks fly from my hands so that makes me happy enough.” I look down at the sparkling coal that decorates her small frame and my smile remains, I wonder if she dyes her hair with the coal dust from 12, she’s inventive if that is the case.
“I’m Athelstan from District 3, everyone back home just call me Stan though so you’re welcome to use that.” I introduce myself, holding out a hand to the girl, careful that it’s the one that isn’t covered in cogs and wheels so that she doesn’t get a nasty shock. I knew that the costume was only triggered when all of the connections were in place but I didn’t want to take a chance.
I want to be guarded but all the little whirring cogs and moving pieces captivate me. Back home I could spend hours taking it apart to see how the thing works before putting it back together. In my mind I was playing that exact scenario, barely hearing what the boy was blabbing on about. If it wasn’t for his pause and outstretched hand, I probably would have finished the day dream.
Grasping his hand gently in one I mine, I give it a shake just like Papa taught me when the workers wanted to thank me for repairing their watches. “Athelstan, that’s kind of a mouthful.” Almost immediately I feel ashamed for saying that. “I like it though, it suits you I think.”
“My name is Ximena, that’s all people call me really.” I say after realizing I haven’t given him my name. “Sometimes my Papa calls me Mija, but that’s a word in a language that doesn’t exist anymore he says.”
Wind Up Tributes || Ximena & Athelstan || Post Parade
I barely escaped from the rage of my stylist team as they argued with Chastity and Lorna over the fact that the post parade party was in fact a party where the tributes could change into another costume, as I walked away from the noise and entered the lavish ballroom I slipped the goggles from my forehead to around my throat in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Catching a glimpse in a large mirror, I noticed that the goggles had left red welts where they’d been pressed against my temples. With a sigh of exhaustion I made my way to where a table was laid out with food from the Capitol, all of which I didn’t even want to eat due to the rumbling nervousness in my stomach. This is where I’d meet my competition, the games started here and I could quite easily seal my fate in a few words.
Taking a small glass of what seemed to be a cherry based drink, I watched over the room as Capitolites spun each other around, Tributes milled together and there I was, stood against a table away from everything, wondering if I’d even talk to anyone tonight. Little did I know that the tribute from 12 had her eyes on me already.
It took every ounce of my energy not to bolt after being displayed like some sort of hunting trophy to the Capitol. As a matter of fact, I was pretty pleased with how I’d managed to keep my nerve, even if I had to basically pretend I was anywhere else. The party being thrown in our “honour” wasn’t offering much more sanctuary than the tribute avenue had, making the temptation to retreat for the night pretty high. Still, my stomach rumbled and the crazed Capitolites seemed more focused on the flashier tributes so I thought I could manage to stay for a while.
Just as on the train, the tables were laden with more food than could feed all of Twelve for a week. Popping a devilled egg into my mouth, I surveyed the fringes of the party. My eyes settled on the clockwork boy from Three whose costume I absolutely loved. Before I could stop staring he locked eyes with mine, flushing me with embarrassment.
Be strong Ximena. Papa’s words echoed in my head, and instead of running, my feet took me over to the boy. “Sorry for staring.” I said quietly after approaching him. “It’s just, your stylist did such a wonderful job.”
“What was that?” Ximena’s beady eyed district partner asked cutting off her faint singing. “Just now. You said something.” He pressed when she replied with a blank stare.
She sized the boy up, probably around her age, though a head taller. Thin, like he’d just grown but hadn’t filled out into his body, and every visible part of his skin seemed to have a layer of dirt on it. Definitely Seam, maybe a miner’s son.
“Oh that, it was nothing. Just-” But she lost her train of thought and instead of finishing her sentence, boarded the train leaving her partner, Ajax, lingering behind her with a confused expression.
Inside the train was nothing like Ximena had ever seen before. As many times as she had daydreamed about the opulence of Capitol living never had she imagined something quite like this. Everything just seemed sharper, more saturated, more alive. It was almost enough to make her head spin.
“I can’t imagine how much this all is to take in.” The hint of Capitol accent gave Yancey away. There he was perched on a lime green arm chair; how Ximena hadn’t noticed him when she walked in was a miracle. “Just wait, it only gets better from here.” Noticing her gapping mouth, the escort shot her a wink.
“HOLY SHIT THIS THING IS AMAZING!” Ajax boomed as he followed Ximena into the car. Yancey laughed as the boy sprinted to the cart laden with snacks and immediately started to gorge himself.
At the rate he was shovelling down the food Ximena was worried it would all be coming back up. The escorts grin grew but Ximena knew all too well the pangs of hunger from skipping meals. The winters where sometimes it was days between full meals. She had even been one of the better off families from Twelve, though the words better off and Twelve together were an oxymoron.
“Keep eating like that and you’ll be the first one to drop in the arena.” The female’s icy tone cut through the train car, freezing Ajax in his place. Slowly, he lowered the half-eaten croissant from his lips and dropped it on an empty plate. “That’s better. First lesson, don’t let your stomach get too used to being full. Careers might have it hard but they’re almost always going to have a source of food, even in the arena. We don’t get the same privilege and going from empty to full and back is hell on the stomach.”
Ajax’s excited state visibly diminished and he backed away from the table. “Sorry miss, I just haven’t eate-”
He started saying through a mouth full of crumbs before the intimidating woman cut him off. “Haven’t eaten for four days? Or is it a week? You do look the desperate type.” Ester mused whilst plopping down on a plush sofa.
Ximena didn’t know what to say to this new arrival, already things seemed overwhelming. Feeling like Yancey was the nicest in the room she took a seat beside him, just in time for her mentor’s gaze to fall to her.
“You. Mouse-girl. You speak, yes?” She looked down at her immaculate nails before fixing Ximena with an almost reptilian stare.
“Y-yes.” Ximena managed to stammer out. Never before had she felt so scared of a person and she found herself wishing her Papa was here to deflect that awful gaze.
The woman clicked her tongue thoughtfully, as if pondering what her next words were going to be. “An overeager twig and a terrified wisp, cannon fodder and cannon fodder.”
At this Yancey stood up, as he’d been growing more and more agitated as the mentor was speaking. “And who are you to be speaking to them like that? They’re just kids, show a little compassion. You were in their shoes once too.”
“Ah yes, I almost forgot. Yancey Proulx, our ambitious little intern. Decided a life in the big leagues was a little too much for you to handle? I’m the only success this shit hole of a district has produced.” As she spoke, Ester rose from her seat and walked purposefully to where Yancey was standing, stopping only inches from his face. So, I think I’m pretty qualified when I say that these two won’t last more than five minutes.”
Ajax tried to stammer out an answer and Yancey looked like he wanted nothing more than to yell at the woman invading his privacy, but, evidently, his years of political training gifted him with the ability to hold his tongue. Ximena wanted to speak up, to defend herself, but deep down she knew it was true. What chance did she have?
Ester brought her hand up gently to Yancey’s face, letting it slide down his his cheek to rest just briefly on his jawline. “That’s what I thought.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “Now, I wonder just what secrets are rattling around in that pretty little head of yours.” Yancey’s face wavered just a moment and Ester knew she’d won. “Oh, something bad enough to make someone born for politics up and leave without a moments notice. Interesting.” She clicked her tongue again before returning to her seat.
Yancey was frozen, seemingly unable to process what had just happened and the mess he’d unknowingly thrown himself into. Likewise, his tributes were equally as unsure of how to react going forwards. Only their mentor seemed to have any level of comfort, pouring herself a martini from the tray next to the couch.
“Well don’t just stand there, sit.” It was more a suggestion than a command, and both Yancey and Ajax sat down, all three now across from Ester. “We’ve only just left Twelve, and we won’t reach the Capitol until tomorrow.” She sipped at her drink. “Try to enjoy your last few hours of privacy by the way, once you step off the train, every move, every word, is scrutinized.”
Never one for wanting the spotlight, Ximena could feel the lump in her throat only growing larger. While she was warming up to Yancey, and felt decided neutral towards Ajax as she’d only just met him, she knew without a doubt Ester was not a woman she wanted to be around.
Internally, she couldn’t help but compare Ester to her mother. Where her mother’s eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners when she laughed, Ester’s were cold and calculating, like every movement had to be analyzed; her mouth was stuck in a firm line instead of big and smiling. The more she thought about it, the most she disliked this woman who had barged into her life; but, above all, the worst part about her was the fact that Ximena’s only chances at survival hinged on her.
An odd silence fell over the group. Ajax appeared to be struggling to contain his boisterous self in an effort to impress Ester, while Yancey had a troubled look on his face. “We still have a few hours until dinner, might as well try to prepare ourselves against the competition.” Ester glanced around at her companions. When no one responded she sighed, flicking on the screen just as the symbol for One flashed onscreen.
Ximena strained to pay attention to what was happening onscreen but her efforts were in vain. Soon enough she found the noise of the reapings drown out by a familiar and soothing ticking sound. Just for a moment she was back in her father’s workshop. Just for a moment she didn’t have to worry about whether the rest of the country would dismiss her as a quiet girl destined to die. Just for a moment she felt safe.
When Ximena awoke, she could still hear the soft sounds of her father sleeping in the bed across the room. Today, Reaping Day, was the one day of the year he wasn’t up before the sun to toil away at some project of his. As long as his only daughter was of reaping age it wouldn’t be a peaceful sleep, but it was sleep all the same, and Ximena was hesitant to even move should she wake him. After a few minutes she swung her legs out over the side of her bed, shivering as her feet touched the down on the floorboards.
“Goodmorning Mija, did you sleep well?” Her father’s voice was little more than a croak.
“Papa, go back to sleep.” She scolded. “You still have a few hours to sleep before we need to leave.”
Jorge leaned over and kissed his wife on the forehead before turning back to his daughter. “I get to sleep everyday, today might be my last day to spend with you.” He paused to release a yawn. “Besides, I have a little something for you.”
He crossed the small room to a simple armoire that dominated half of the wall it was pushed up against. “Close your eyes Ximena.” He instructed and after a second she complied with a giggle. “Okay, on the count of three open them. One- two- three.”
In front of her was a simple pastel pink dress, a row of bright white buttons lined the front, and to complete the dress was a collar fashioned with flowers. “Papa-” Ximena couldn’t help but gasp. “It’s beautiful. How much did this cost?”
“It’s as beautiful as the girl it was made for. Now go ahead and try it on Mija, don’t just leave me standing here.”
Hand in hand Ximena and Jorge walked to the square in the centre of Twelve. Their shop was only a few blocks away and the square was still fairly empty as they arrived. A few of the kids who were gathered snickered at the sight of someone Ximena’s age holding her father’s hand but she didn’t even notice.
“Your mother would be crying over how beautiful you look Mija.” Jorge whispered as he kissed the top of Ximena’s head.
Her mother had stopped attending the reapings after her stroke. Some days even speaking seemed to take too much out of her so standing for an extended period of time was out of the question.
The two lingered just outside of the gate all the children had to pass through. “Papa? What do I do if I’m reaped?” Ximena’s voice wavered just a little.
The question seemed to catch him off guard even though Ximena had been asking the same question every year since she’d become eligible. “Well Ximena my darling girl, you do what you must. We all have our parts to play and what’s going to happen is going to happen whether we like it or not.”
Something about his answered had always comforted her. He knew very well she was smarter than to believe his sugar coating. Jorge made sure to hug his daughter extra tight before allowing her to slip in the stream of children.
“Without further ado, let’s draw out the first name.” This year’s escort, a handsome young man wearing a simple grey suit announces without the usual verve of an escort.
He seemed nice, Ximena thought. And he didn’t look like the old escort who was always done up in extravagant outfits and an ever changing skin tone. This one looked almost, normal. If that was possible for someone from the Capitol. Before him she didn’t know people from the Capitol could look normal. On the TV they always seemed just like the old escort. Crazy hair and tattoos and-
“Ximena Delgado?” Yancey said it more like a question than an announcement.
As seemed custom in Twelve, everyone around the person reaped seemed to react before they did, in this case the girls around her parted, leaving a gap to identify the doomed girl.
With feet like a ton of bricks Ximena inched her way to the stage. Dust began to collect on her beautiful new dress and she could feel a sting in her eyes. It wasn’t long before the first tear slid it’s way down her cheek. Yancey offered her a hand and what seemed like a sympathetic smile before he had to leave her to draw the name of her partner.
“Oliver Dodd?” Ximena didn’t hear a name. She wasn’t focused on anything other than her father’s eyes with tears to match her own, and the shape of his lips mouthing the words be strong Mija.
“I love you Papa.” She mouthed back before a firm hand propelled her through the doors of the justice building.
