The Last Games (A Hunger Games Group Story)

William Cole-AwesomeOK1
London Samuelson-bored_chic1002

Who will win the Hunger Games?

Or is everything as it seems?

Chapter 3

Haymitch and Portia (Will's POV)

When I entered the car, the first thing I saw was London.

She was in handcuffs.

Despite the fact that I hated her very much for selling out my mom ten years ago, I have to resist the urge to laugh.
I remember that London always was rebellious.
Everytime I walked past the detention room in school, she'd be in it for who knows what.
Punching students, punching teachers, punching the principal, you name it.

Soon, the Capitol train was chugging along to the Capitol.

"Well, I'm just going to, um, read a magazine. In the meantime, you two get cozy while you wait for Haymitch to come." Effie said and she walked off.

I tried not to look at London.

Instead I turned to look at the dinner table, focusing on tiny details like the platters of fancy-looking food.

But London, being the rebellious, stubborn, persistent person she was, wouldn't pass up the oppurtunity to talk.

"You have every reason to hate me." London said quietly.
"But considering that we're both in the same boat here, about to go to the Games, can we try and be civilised?"

I grit my teeth.

Concentrate on the food, I thought.
I turned my attention to some weird looking bobbles.
"How very...delicate." I thought to myself.

"I was only 6 when it happened. I'm so sorry, but I didn't know what I was doing!" London protested.

"I would sure like to eat those bobbles," I thought to myself.

"Will, I know you will never forgive me for what I did."

"Bobbles. Chocolate bobbles."

"Nor will Jake."

"Bobbles. Bobbles."

"But my parents died too."

"...Fvck the bobbles."

I looked away from the bobbles and stared back coldly at London.
"Then you should have watched what you were saying, shouldn't you have?"

London looked away, her handcuffs shifting uncomfortably.

"I have nothing to say to you." I finished.
************************************************************
Somewhere around 20 minutes later, Haymitch arrived.

He was exactly the way I envisioned him.
Drunk and arrogant.

He sunk down in a couch across us.
Without even looking at us, he grabbed a bottle of beer and poured himself a glass.
He took a nice long swig and then made to pour another glass when London cleared her throat.

Haymitch looked up.
"Yes?"

London shifted uncomfortably again.
"So how do we win?" she asked.

"Win? What, you think you have a chance of winning the Hunger Games?" Haymitch asked.

"Well, yeah." I said.

Haymitch seemed stunned for a moment. Then he burst out laughing.

"Hahaha, are you fvcking serious right now? Of all the tributes I've trained, you two must be the silliest! One of them, thin as a rake and innocent as a dove. The other is no better, coming to me in handcuffs!"

Haymitch laughed again, slopping beer all over himself.

"If I wasn't in handcuffs, I'd be pounding you right now." London growled.

"Well guess what, sweetheart? You are in handcuffs." he laughed.

London looked at me pleadingly.
She and I might not agree on much, but we both hated Haymitch.
I grabbed the platter of bobbles and threw it at him.

"Hey!" Haymitch protested as the platter hit him smack on the forehead and the bobbles all over his front.
He stood up and London swiftly raised her leg swiftly, knocking the glass of beer out of his hand. It sailed over his head and spilled all over him.
The glass fell on the ground and shattered like...well, like glass.

"Manners!" Effie scowled.
Haymitch was even more pissed.
But there was a strange look in his eyes.
He looked surprised, impressed even.

"Well, you two might be silly individually, but you prove interesting as a team." he remarked.

"Team? No way, we hate each other! The only thing we can agree on is that we hate you!" I said.

"The only thing?" Haymitch asked.

"Yes, the only thing." I said.

"Well then, why don't you pretend that I represent the Games?" he asked.

In that brief moment, I understood what he was trying to do.
Haymitch was hinting to us that because me and London worked as a team and we both hated the Games, we could work together to defeat it.
But that wouldn't make sense. There could only be one victor.

"Anyway, that's all beside the point. I'm going back to my room for a little rest. Get cosy. We arrive at the Capitol in 4 hours." said Haymitch, picking up his beer bottle.
**********************************************************************
I sat in my makeup room.
We'd arrived at the Capitol an hour ago and had almost immediately been whisked away to be made over.
After that, I had been subjected to the worse makeup session I'd ever been subjected to.

"Ow, no please don't do that, no no no, ow ow ow!"

I couldn't stop yelping and squealing and fidgeting as my makeup artists made me over.
On top of everything, they were chatting away incessantly!

"Ow! Please no, not that!"

Soon, I was so sore and raw that I was feeling in a pretty bad mood.
Seeing London had already put me in a bad enough mood as it is, but now I was beyond pissed. I was mega-pissed.

The door to the room opened and a young woman entered.
As all Capitol citizens were, she was dressed simply ridiculously.
But I had to admit, there was something about the color of her hair that really matched her clothes.

"Hey, Will." she said.

"How do you know my name?" I asked.

"I'm your stylist, Portia. I'm here to give you an outfit to impress the audience as you're wheeled out tonight on your chariot. Coming from District 12, most people would overlook you, so you'll need a powerful outfit. I've discussed this with London's stylist, Lavia. Lavia's an old time stylist, really. She still believes in prototype costumes, like dressing you guys up as coal. But I think we should try something a little more modern."

I nodded as Portia walked in a circle round me, scrutinising me closely.

"So here's your outfit." said Portia and she motioned to someone by the door, who wheeled in my outfit mounted on a hanger.
*************************************************************************
Soon, I am walking toward the chariots.

I adjust my armour sub-consciously.
Portia has me wearing breastplates, shoulderplates, kneeplates, all the basic armor pieces. What's really funny about it is that all the armour pieces are spotted green.

Portia told me that even today, many Panem children are a fan of Minecraft, which is some strange block game that I've never heard of, coming from District 12.
But Portia convinced me that the audience would love the Minecraft outfit.
So she and Lavia had me dressed in green armour.

She'd said I looked like a Keeper. Or Creeper?
To be honest, I don't know.
All I know is, Portia had better be right about Panem loving Minecraft, because otherwise, I really hate my monkey suit.

I stand on my chariot.
Haymitch soon arrives, escorting London, who is beautifully made up in a black gown.
"Hey! Why does she get to wear the black gown and I have to wear vomit armour?" I complained.

"She's not wearing a black gown, it's a brown gown." Haymitch said.

"Oh like that really matters." I scowled, rolling my eyes.

Just then, the doors opened and the chariots started moving.

"Good luck you two." Haymitch said and he skulked off.

"I know how I can make your outfit seem better on you." said London.

"Really?" I asked.

"It's all about how you play it." she said.
"But promise me you'll let go of your grudge against me, at least enough so we can work together?"

I looked into her eyes and sighed.

"Fine. Whatever you want to do, do it. And thanks."

And with that, our chariot is wheeled out before the audience.

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