* Chapter Four *
"So would you like to hear my top five, or have you completely written me off?" I greet Johanna as I slip into the seat beside her at the breakfast table. I get a very extreme reaction. Johanna swings one arm up to block her face and seizes a bread knife with the other. She has it pointed threateningly at me, with a snarl on her face within a second. I only just manage to get my own arm up to stop the knife from hitting my face before her expression clears and she tosses the knife aside with a snort.
"Don't sneak up on a fucking victor!" she bellows at me, "What game do you think you're playing Aspen?" I just stare at her in incomprehension and slowly lower my defensive arm, my pulse thundering in my ears as I try to get over my shock. "Well?" Johanna demands, her eyes flashing with fury.
"I didn't…" I release a breath and collect my scattered nerves, "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. I just…walked in."
Johanna examines me intently for a moment, "I forgot. You're Fletcher Aspen's sister aren't you."
"Fle- yes, but, I didn't realise you knew each other," I frown in confusion, recalling Laina's words when she said goodbye. I didn't think Johanna and my brother were actually friends. I figured he would have said something or that I would know.
"Is there a girl in our district that doesn't know Fletcher Aspen?" she asks with a sardonic eye-roll, "Of course I know him!"
"Oh," I state lamely, "Well I would apologise, but I've been stuck with him since birth, so you don't have it as bad as me."
"Cut the bullshit, I know that you're the closest to him," Johanna sniffed slightly, "Only girl he actually gives a damn about apparently."
"Please tell me he didn't—"
"The point!" she cut me off with a glare that clearly told me she did not want to discuss what her relationship with Fletcher might have been, "Is that Fletcher Aspen gets away with his crap, because he barely ever gets caught. When I called him out on the fact that someone as chauvinistic as him shouldn't be so good at hiding, he told me that it was a skill that his sister had made him realise was extremely worthwhile when he took the blame for all the antics they pulled, because she always got away. He said that if I was impressed by him, I should meet this sister of his. He said that she could steal the Peacekeeper's coffee from right beside them and they wouldn't catch her. He said that she could break into the mayor's house and borrow books and return them without anyone noticing. He said she could sneak up on anyone, sit for an hour in the same position and that nobody could find her if she didn't want to be found—"
"Did he also tell you she had a bad habit of spying on him? Because I did it once and let him catch me because I thought it'd be funny to tease him about all the times he hadn't caught me, just to see if I could get him to confess any of the secret stuff he always got up to. He blew a gasket, wouldn't talk to me for a week, refused to let me use his axe and told Mum I wanted to learn how to sew and he still hasn't let it go. Even after I told him it was all a scam!"
"He knew his kid sister would kick his arse if she found out how many girls he was meeting with in the forest," Johanna scowls, then shakes herself, "Anyway, it seems as though I've finally found something he said that isn't complete bullshit." She studies me for a long moment, her eyes critically roaming over my body, "Go on then Thorns, give me your top five. You tell me the five people you think are most likely to kill you and I'll decided which ones, if any, you have a shot at beating."
I refuse to let any hesitation show on my face, but her words rattle me. It's odd the way I can think I've wrapped my head around the concept of having to fight to the death. Yes, I'm going to be trying to kill people, okay then let's get on with it. Then every time it's brought up, I feel shocked and horrified all over again.
Get a grip Rose.
"There's supposedly six Careers in each Games," I begin, "One, Two and Four. Neither from Four make the top five and One gets bumped by outlying districts. The girl from Five with the red hair, Brinna, is my bet on who makes fifth place," I say firmly, refusing to be intimidated by the silent smirk and arch of eyebrow I receive, "She's a fighter and she's smart. That counts for more than an idiot who can swing a sword!"
I pause, but Johanna doesn't say anything, so I continue.
"Then there's the boy from Eleven, Thresh. He's not just going to lie down and die either and he's got the brute strength. More than that though, he's an outlier, he's an underdog and he knows the Games are a fight for survival. Surviving is one of the only skills outliers have the upper hand in and it's one of the most underrated things required to win the Games, but that doesn't make it unimportant."
Again, I wait for a comment from Johanna, but she doesn't move or speak.
"Third. Clove, the female from Two. She's not making a show like the peacocks from One, but they say the quiet ones are the most dangerous. She'll be trained to be deadly and more than any of the other Careers, Two seem to be trained to not only have the ability to be deadly, but to also have the capacity.
"Then there's her district partner," I smile sardonically, "Cato. You and I both thought he was going to win. The moment we saw him, we both saw a victor. He's the obvious choice, the one who will have the best odds," I tilt my head to the side and study her expression, "But he's not the top of the list. Because Twelve had a volunteer and Katniss Everdeen isn't going down without a fight. More than that though, her district knew. You look in the crowds of all the other Reapings and you see relief or despair. Those people looked at her with hope and coming from somewhere like Twelve, where half the people starve to death in the streets, a third die in the mines and the rest are practically suicidal they're so depressed, she has to be something special. A volunteer is always notable. A volunteer with a family and an entire district that actually believes in her is dangerous.
"And you know it," I finish, leaning forward to give her an accusing stare, "You saw her reaping and you knew. You gave up on me, but I'm not giving up on myself. So tell me Mason, can I beat any of those people? Or am I just another lost cause?"
Johanna surprises me. For a moment she is silent, then she throws back her head and laughs. It's a morbid, cackling, humourless laugh that chills my blood and sends a shiver down my spine.
"That," she states with a dark smile, "remains to be seen, but for now, you're worth my time. Congratulations."
She gets to her feet and abruptly strides out of the compartment. I watch her go, keeping my posture tense and my expression guarded until a few moments after the door slides shut behind her. I'm just sampling an unusual green fruit when the compartment door slides open again. First enters our escort, Anariel, who offers me a shy smile, looking wide awake and excited about something. Behind her stumbles my district partner, he's bleary eyed with his brown hair sticking up messily and rubs his face hard with his hand as he collapses into a seat without acknowledging me.
"Good morning," I offer quietly, flicking my gaze to back to Anariel and giving her a small smile that is hopefully friendly.
"Good morning Rosilda," she replies, taking the seat opposite me, "I hope you slept well?"
"Yeah," I mumble, my eyes going back to my plate, "Er… as well as can be expected. I'm not used to sleeping alone."
This wakes Linden up. He freezes in reaching for the jug of fruit juice and blinks at me several times with a slack-jawed expression. Embarrassment mingles with irritation as I clarify, "My little sister and I share a bed and she moves around a lot in her sleep. I kept waking up and freaking out when nobody was there."
"That's understandable," Anariel murmurs, her forehead crinkling with sympathy, "You must miss your families and friends."
I just nod, glancing back over at Linden and lifting my chin challengingly. He offers me a look that reminds me of a kicked puppy. It's pathetic, but at least he seems to realise he completely misjudged me and feels sorry for it.
"How about you Butcher-Boy," I can't help but ask with a sarcastic lift of my eyebrows, "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes thank you," he mutters, reaching for a thick slice of bread, "What time do you think we will we get to the Capitol, Anariel?"
I don't miss the fact that Linden refuses to look at me, but I'm interested to hear our escorts answer so I dismiss it. Besides, I'm in this to win and Linden hasn't got much of a chance. Not against people like the pair from Two or the girl from Twelve. He just doesn't have it in him and while that saddens me, because it means he'll die, it's somewhat of a relief that I won't have to worry about my district partner stabbing me in the back.
"I suspect we will be there within the next half hour," Anariel says, her eyes brightening with excitement, "You should eat quickly! I just know you're going to love it and you'll want to watch as we approach. The Capitol really is as beautiful as your home, just in a different way, you'll see!"
I smile tightly and return my attention to the food. I'm not going to be the one to tell her that it's not possible for anywhere to rival the beauty of Seven. Nowhere can be quite as good as home. Definitely not the Capitol.
I grit my teeth and try to calm my racing heart, while struggling to hide the panic and fear from my face. When Johanna bluntly told me I'd hate the Prep Centre and what they did to me so much that I'd want to kill somebody, I thought she was exaggerating. The homicidal rage is definitely there, but it's most definitely fear that I was drowning in.
There are two men standing over my naked body. Two men and a woman. Some of the strangest looking people I'd ever met, it wasn't the trailing purple nails, fang-like teeth, bright orange mohawk or blood red eyes that scared me, it was the fact I was lying naked on a table, while three people touched my body. It was the fact that I'd been restrained after screaming my head off the minute one of the men tried to take my clothes off. It was the fact that while my vision blurred, nausea churned in my stomach and unfamiliar hands touched my body, it wasn't a Capitol man that I saw. It wasn't a Capitol gurney I was lying on. It was all I could do to try and stop myself from passing out the flashbacks were so severe.
"We're almost done Rosilda dear," one of the men twitters at me, patting my arm and ignoring the tear that seeps from my clenched eyes and the fact I do my best to flinch away from him.
"You're beautiful now," the woman clucks, sounding offended, "some gratitude would be nice, but then I'm not in this job for the appreciation," she adds in an angry mutter, sounding as though she is leaning right over me, "Your eyebrows looking like the masterpieces they were intended to be, is all the affirmation I need."
"They do look masterful Claudia," the third voice agrees.
Something touches my forehead and a moment later a stinging session comes from the region above my left eye. I clench them tighter, but don't flinch. I'd gotten over that particular form of torture.
"And she's done," the female says a moment later, exhaling loudly, "No thanks to you, girl!"
"She didn't make our lives easy," one of the men whines, "but she is beautiful and we are helping her reach her full potential. Just look at the work of art we've created!"
"She would have gone her whole life not reaching this level of perfection if it had not been for us," the other man agrees, "poor, deprived child, now knows what she's missing and it's all thanks to us!"
"Good work today gentleman," the woman says with satisfaction, "I think even that old cow, Granidea would have been pleased with our work; Marcella will be ecstatic."
"Don't say such things," one of the men whispers, sounding fearful, "She might hear you! That woman has ears everywhere!"
There's a resounding sound of agreement and it's fluttery anxious hands that smooth my hair and brush at spots on my legs, before finally they step away and I hear footsteps moving away from the bed they had moved me to about three hours before. For a moment I think they'll leave in silence, but then one set of feet pause, "Marcella will be here momentarily. Crying will only make your eyes puffy. You're going to ruin all our hard work and then you won't be nearly as beautiful anymore!"
Then the footsteps continue and the door shuts with a snap. I release a shuddering breath, but do not open my eyes. I'm listening intently, searching for some indication that I'm not alone. When several silent minutes have passed, I crack my eyes open and desperately try to move my arms or sit up. I can't. I'm still restrained by the invisible bonds, I still don't have control of my body.
They can't have drugged me because I didn't eat anything and my mind is clear. It's the only thing I have to be grateful for as my eyes flick frantically around the empty room even as I test the limitations of the bonds. I can move my fingers and palms, but from my wrist up, my arms are stuck to the table. I can wriggle my toes, but my feet and legs are similarly stuck and I can lift and tilt my chin minutely, even though I can't move my neck or head. Swallowing thickly I set about regulating my breaths, reassuring myself that I'm alone and testing if I can speak. I know I could when they restrained me, because I yelled and swore so badly they moved me to my own room. Apparently I was disturbing the other tributes.
At least I now knew what Johanna meant when she said that fighting the prep team or my stylist would only make things worse for me. It was only the threat of sedation that finally shut me up. Nothing terrified me more than adding a sedative to the situation I was currently in. At least twenty minutes have gone past before the door opens again. I can't quite see it from my position, but the person - a woman by the clacking of her footsteps - wastes no time in shutting the door and moving into my view.
"Hello Rosilda," she says, coming to stand beside my head and smiling down at me.
By Capitol standards she looks rather normal. She's wearing incredibly high heeled shoes, but even so she's short and very thin, though her cheeks are flushed with healthy colour and there's a sparkle in her eyes. Golden blonde hair which falls in loose curls to her knees is pulled away from her face in an elaborate hairstyle and she's definitely wearing false eyelashes, with bright pink powdered eyelids to match her dress. Besides this and the bright pink dress she sports, she looks almost natural. Compared to the woman in my prep team with fangs and blood red eyes, she's human and beautiful.
"Hello Marcella," I reply stoically. I have no idea who this woman is, but the chance of being right and getting some sort of sense of power is better than lying in fearful silence.
"I'm going to let you get up," she says with a small smile, holding my gaze, "I can't imagine the ordeal you've just been through is very pleasant for anybody, least of all somebody with your… medical history."
"If you know about my medical history," I growl, glaring at her, "Then you're either very brave or very stupid if you are going to let me off this table."
"You don't strike me as someone stupid enough to attack their stylist or make a run for it in one of the most heavily guarded buildings in the Capitol," she responds lightly, lifting a manicured eyebrow and looking at me steadily for a moment, before moving to the foot of my bed and pushing a button on the end. I'm slightly surprised to learn that this beautiful, soft looking woman has a backbone and it makes my respect for her grow as I recognise the truth in her words. The moment I have the ability to move again, I'm flying off the bed and pressing against the wall as far away from it as possible. Marcella doesn't move, watching me carefully as I suck in lungfuls of oxygen and try to hold onto sense and resist the urge telling me to bolt.
"I'm sorry my prep team did that to you," the blonde woman says, "I will be speaking to them about never again threatening sedative or using electromagnetic restraints on my tributes. If you would prefer me to give you a moment to collect yourself, I can wait outside."
I release a controlled, steady breath, my palms pushing hard against the cold wall, then I wipe the remaining moisture from my face and straighten my back, "I'm fine," I grind out, "I just don't like being trapped."
"Understandable," Marcella nods, then picks something up from the basket on the end of my bed and offers it to me, "Put this on and follow me. We'll talk over some light refreshments. I was pulled into this parade last minute. The usual stylist is having some complications with her recent surgical implants."
I take the item from her and realise its a flimsy paper gown. Still it's better than nothing and I'm not the most modest person in the world, so I quickly put it on and follow her out of the windowless room without hesitation. I feel better immediately in the hallway, a slight draft cooling the sheen of sweat on my skin.
"Now, District Seven - as I'm sure you know - normally goes to the Tribute Parade as-"
"Trees," I finish with a sigh, already dreading the entire ordeal as I know it will get me no sponsors.
"But," Marcella says, looking at me sidelong with a sly smile playing around her lips, "I'm no longer an apprentice that can be so easily intimidated by Granidea. She's not going to be coming out of her house until she can fix her appearance and I can take whatever she decides to throw at me a few weeks down the track. All I know is that I'm going to die if I have to watch Seven be the laughing stock amongst stylists any longer!
"You will not be going as a tree! I have had nearly six years to come up with different designs for Seven and I have a portfolio and a closet filled with them! This is my year and I'm not wasting the opportunity to get my designs out there just because that old bat wants to be traditional!" she scoffs and sneers for a moment, before shaking herself and turning back to me with a smile, "I want to match my tribute with my outfit, not just give you something random, so I hope you're as interesting as you look and as your file appears Rosilda Aspen, because we are about to discuss in painful depth, exactly who you are and what you want the world to see you as!"
I stare at her blankly as she holds open a door to a room I hadn't even realised we'd arrived at.
"Well come on then!" she huffs, giving me a pointed look, "We've got four hours to make this perfect! And let me tell you missy! It's not going to be easy and if you dawdle much longer we're going to have to skip lunch!" her scowl deepens, "And you do not want to be in a room with me if I don't get my lunchtime cup of coffee! It'll make the Bloodbath look like a picnic."
I'm not sure what to think of this petite, blonde, fiery Capitol woman, but I recognise an intelligent decision when I see one and quickly move into the room. Hopefully she's not serious about wanting to know all my darkest secrets, because I have some pretty large skeletons in my closet that I'd definitely rather not see dragged into the light of day.
"So let me see if I've got this right," Marcella says, as she flips through her sketch book which is filled with brightly coloured and interesting costumes, "You love your family intensely and would do anything for you siblings. You love climbing the trees at home and looking out over the forest. You don't mind the rain and the wind and your favourite time of year is spring. You're an intently private person and are very good at observing without being seen. You're perceptive and confident and you know that in the eyes of most you are very beautiful, but you think this is mostly due to the shape of your body rather than anything else. You have a black temper and are very proud, but aren't necessarily quick to anger. You think other people see you as intimidating and you like the fact people leave you alone, but at the same time you miss being the approachable one that could solve people's problems-"
"Okay," I cut her off with a nervous laugh, "I haven't said most of that, I don't know how you can figure all of that out and quite frankly I would prefer not to ever hear so much about myself vocalised ever again. You seem to have a good grip on who I am," I add with a sardonic eye-roll, "We need to get around to making a decision now! Because we actually are going to run out of time and don't you still have to speak to Linden's stylist about this?"
"Yes," she replies tersely and gets to her feet after a moment to go to a telephone mounted on the wall.
I listen as she has a quick conversation with who I can only guess to be Linden's stylist. There's a lot of chatter that I don't understand, technical terms about fabrics and designs and it takes a good fifteen minutes before Marcella's frown relaxes and she begins to nod her head and smile more. Finally she gives a contented laugh, thanks the person, agrees a few times, then wishes them good bye and good luck. I lift my eyebrows at her, expecting her to turn back to me and finally give me some sort of information. Instead she punches in a few more numbers and holds the phone to her ear again.
"Yes, hello Claudia. I need you three right away and everything from section three of closet c … yes that's what I've decided… I don't care … Let me deal with Granidea … yes, I'm sure - look we're running out of time! If you have a problem, take it up with Seneca Crane!"
She hangs up the phone with an irritated grunt, but then hurries back over to me,
"We've got barely two hours to get you ready!" she exclaims before I can say anything, "Get up and follow me!"
I sigh, but do as she says. I'm impressed by how fast she can run down the corridor in her heels and dress and jog after her, impatiently brushing my hair out of my face,
"Don't touch the hair!" she shrieks, without looking back at me, "I do not have time to tame the curls again! Do you even own a brush?"
"I would lose a brush in my hair," I mumbled, then quickened my pace to catch up to her, "So what have you decided? A skimpy version of a tree? Paper aeroplane? Amazon warrior? You know I liked that one. I think I could pull off Amazon war-"
I'm cut off as a door I'm passing is thrown open and a person angrily steps out, making me smack into a very hard and naked chest. I only just manage to keep my balance, by grabbing the person's arm to steady myself. I'm extremely startled and can only look up in shock at the person. My heart nearly stops when I meet icy blue eyes and realise that the size of the person and the bulging muscles means only one thing. I've just run into the deadliest tribute in the damn Games. It's Cato, the boy from Two and even as I stare at him the surprise on his face turns to annoyance, making fear creep into my throat. I think he's going to hit me or yell, but then his eyes drift downwards. I'm suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm only wearing a very thin paper dress that probably wasn't made for a person with boobs and feel an ugly blush creeping up my neck.
"Really Aspen, we don't have time for-" Marcella squeaks when she turns back to see the person I've run into.
I want to squeak too, but instead I just step around him and give him a deadly scowl as his eyes rake down my body with familiar interest,
"Watch where you're going Two!" I snap at him, then with a flip of my hair go to move after my stylist, who is watching with wide eyes.
I don't get far as his hand snaps out to grab my wrist. Before either of us has time to speak a Capitol woman appears in the doorway behind him. I'm disgusted by her appearance before I can help myself. Her skin is stretched and shiny to disguise her age, her lips are fat and fishlike and her high eyebrows give her a permanent look of surprise,
"Cato darling, it really is just a misunderstanding!" she says, her voice low and husky with a strong Capitol accent, "They weren't insulting your district partner, they're just so pleased to be your prep team. Starstruck if you like."
Cato's angry expression turns to her and I allow myself a moment of surprise as I process this? Was he storming out because he didn't like what they were saying about his district partner? That sort of loyalty wasn't something I thought a Career would be capable of. It makes me blink at him with new eyes.
"Starstruck my arse," Marcella mutters under her breath, the sight of the other woman prompting her to stride back towards me with a furious scowl on her face, "Hello Veranova, fancy seeing you here!"
The false politeness in her voice and the fact that 'Veranova's' pinched expression only gets worse makes it clear that no love is lost between these women,"Marcella," she coos, looking as though she's sucking on a lemon, "What a pleasant surprise," then her gaze lands on me, her lips curl as she takes in my paper dress, "Taking a leaf out of Twelve's book and going for the naked look are we?" she simpers, "I suppose that's what you do when you have no talent. Too bad. She's pretty. Might have done well with a half decent stylist. Wait until you see what I've got planned for District Two, we're going to steal the show… again!"
"At least her tribute isn't running away from her," I scowl, snatching my hand away from Cato's and directing my glare on his stylist. I'm irritated by her arrogant and superior gloating, I loathe people who look down on others and this woman is quite literally looking down her prominent nose at Marcella, "And I'm wearing a dress. Two is the naked one," I give him a look of contempt and take a step away from him, trying not to show that his intense stare is unsettling me.
"Come along Cato," Veranova snaps, her eyes narrowing on me, "We don't need to interact with these outliers."
"Come along Rosilda," Marcella shoots back, "We don't need to interact with these arrogant idiots."
"See you at the parade Two," I find myself snapping, as I push passed him and continue after Marcella.
This time neither of us hesitate to hurry into the room Marcella opens and pull the door shut behind us. My heart is racing and Marcella's face is rather pale, "He's huge," she mutters, shaking her head slowly, "How can anybody hope to-"
With a sideways glance at me she waves a dismissive hand and turns to start barking instructions to the three members of my prep team, all of whom look terrified at the sight of me unrestrained. Within minutes I've got all sorts of wands and brushes in my face as Claudia and one of the men start on my makeup, while Marcella and the other man start pulling garment bags, rolls of fabric and all sorts of strange looking things out. I'm still curious about what I'm wearing, but the encounter with one of my biggest competitors and the reminder that no matter how nice she might be, Marcella is here for her own gain and doesn't really care about me, has reminded me not to let the mask slip. I sit in silence, staring down my prep team, when they tisk and tut, muttering things under their breath as they work. All of them are too scared to look me in the eye and in Marcella's presence they keep their chatter and complaints to a minimal.
It's at least an hour and a half later before changes I can actually see start being done to me. I'm beginning to get an idea what my costume is, just by looking at what Marcella is doing. It's hard to be sure though, so I'm grateful when she promises she'll show me my finished reflection as she begins to offer items of 'clothing' for the prep team to help me into. It's like pieces of armour and after giving me nude coloured, skimpy lingerie to wear we start from the bottom. My toes are painted and leafy pieces are attached to my ankles, with silky transparent tights ending in garters at my mid thigh. All up my leg vines trail and continue suggestively up to my hip. Next I am given a very short skirt that looks to be made entirely of leaves, in a way that resembles metal plating. Next comes the top. It's like a jacket with only one sleeve that does up at the front and Marcella helps me into it as one of the men works on the leaves that go up my left arm. The problem comes as Marcella tries to make the corset-style piece meet at the front.
"It doesn't fit," she finally states, "It doesn't bloody fit!"
"Have you seen her chest?" Claudia mutters as she pins my hair, "Of course it doesn't fit! We're lucky it fits over her hips! Look how it's gaping at her waist too! I'd have to sell my organs to buy a body like that!"
A warm blush rises up my neck to my cheeks as I desperately look down at myself. Sure enough the material won't fit over my chest.
"We don't have time to do more alterations!" the man whispers in horror, "What are we going to do?" he wails.
For a long moment Marcella stands in silence, her eyes flicking from the clock on the wall back to me and then to her materials, "I can make this work, it's just going to be more sexy than I intended. That's okay," she gives me a tense smile, "With a chest and hips like yours, you can pull it off Aspen."
I'm dreading looking in the mirror, but I just nod and let her keep going. The top is taken off and Marcella starts to add lacing to the front, all the while barking directions to the two men. Claudia frequently makes noises of irritation as she finishes with my hair, adding some form of adornments and giving a few sharp tugs to strands to express her annoyance. She then starts on my… ears?The stress levels in the room are high and Marcella yells at one of the men until her face is red and he's near tears before the corset is once more being pulled on my body. Marcella crouches in front of me, tying the laces and then starts slipping in more green 'leaves'.
"And you're done!" she shrieks, "Get up quick!"
I'm shoved in front of the mirror and snatched away again so fast I can barely catch a glimpse of myself. I do realise that she was right about the sexy part though. I'm showing off a lot of skin and the shape of the skirt and corset draw attention straight to my boobs and hips. The 'armour' would be about as useful as the paper dress at protecting me, but I do look intimidating. The skirt is longer at the back than the front, but at the front it doesn't even cover to mid thigh, leaving a large amount of exposed skin between the garters and the beginning of the 'leaves' that make up the skirt. The top forms a 'V' at the front and back where it joins the skirt, accentuating my curves and narrow waist through the seams of the costume. My skin is visible between the lacing of the front, giving glimpses of my pale stomach, again though the sweetheart cut of the neckline, only draws attention to and emphasises my full chest. My left arm is covered, with shoulder pads like real armour, made from the same 'leaves' as the skirt and vibrant green flares out from my wrist like metal guards too. My right arm is completely bare. My hair swept over to the other side to reveal my pale neck, collarbone and shoulder, all the way down my arms. The most startling thing isn't the bright green woven into my dark hair, or the half crown, half war helmet thing I wear on my head to make me look even more like a warrior, it is the pointed ears.
My hair is braided off my face tightly in a half up, with the curls highlighted in green strands. The metal head piece comes down in the middle of my forehead like a 'V', veering out to disappear under my hair, which is held back to expose pointed tips to my ears. Marcella smacks my hand away as I went to touch them.
"They will fall off," she hisses, her eyes flashing, "We don't have time! Get a move on!"
Linden and I meet in the elevator and I find he is dressed in a similar costume as me. His brown hair is streaked with green and he has similar flared pieces on his wrists and shoulders. He however is wearing full length tight trousers, and has most of his upper chest covered with similar armour-esque style straps that joined with his right shoulder piece and went under his left arm in a sling for a hunting bow to sit in. He looks like an actual tree-person warrior, with dramatic makeup to make his eyes look dark and foreboding and a weapon. I just feel like a sex object. Linden is staring at me with wide eyes, but then he clears his throat and determinedly looks down at his feet, a rosy blush appearing on his cheeks,
"Nice costume."
"Shut up," I growl, "Everyone's going to be looking at me!"
"But they're definitely not going to be laughing at you," he mutters.
I give a mocking bark of laughter and then state contradictorily, "They're not going to be laughing at you either, you look like an actual warrior."
He flinches,"But I'm not one."
"Well I look like a prostitute and I'm not one of those either," I hiss at him. I'm not sure when I got so pissed off, but I do realise that it isn't exactly Linden's fault, so I release a tight breath and wonder in a calmer tone, "What are we actually supposed to be?"
"Dryads," he answers, glancing at me nervously, "That's what my stylist said. Apparently they're from old stories. They're the spirits of trees. The protectors of forests. Apparently they're playful and compassionate until you make them angry, then they become vengeful, merciless and deadly."
I'm not sure whether to laugh or be impressed, so I just nod, "Do you know what we're supposed to do when the elevator stops?" I ask, feeling our descent start to slow.
"Apparently Hillier and Johanna are waiting."
He's partially right. Johanna is there, but not Hiller, and she doesn't look happy, "Come on," she barks, "They're going to start any second."
We follow her quickly and listen with rapt attention as she spouts off a list of instructions, "Walk in there calmly, do not run, do not look stressed, you are not late, everyone should wait for you anyway. Joke around as you get into your chariot, don't let them see if you're nervous or intimidated. When you get out there, don't wave. That's not what your costumes are supposed to be saying. Look around and smile, accept there praise as if you expect it. Be confident and make use of what you have. You're both sexy and mysterious and confident. That's all I want from you. Got it!"
We nod and she pauses a moment, "Good luck," she says, her scowl softening as she eyes both of us for a moment, "It's just around the corner. You'll be fine."
She gives me a sharp shove and taking the hint, I straighten my shoulders, glance at Linden and start walking, "And Thorns!" Johanna calls after me, "Just remember that your brother is watching and give him hell for me!"
I shoot a coy smirk at her over my shoulder, "Trust me Mason, I've got this."
I so don't, but confidence is key. Who cares if this entire thing is superficial, demeaning and sick? I'm supposed to suck it up and put on a show, because I'm a girl with curves in a slutty costume and that's all everyone wants from me. Linden stays quiet, but keeps in pace with me as I stalk down the rest of the corridor that opens out into a big open space. There's twelve chariots and while not all of them are full, ours is the only one that doesn't have anybody around it. I don't waste time looking around at the other tributes, just make a beeline straight for it. I can feel eyes on me. More than one pair, but I ignore them. Instead, I flick my hair irritably and turn to Linden, planting a smirk on my face and tilting my head to the side as I coyly inform him, "I can barely breathe in this damn thing."
He looks slightly put off by the contrast of my words to my expression and tone, but collects himself enough to weakly smile back, "If you faint try not to fall out of the chariot."
"I'm sure you'd catch me," I giggle flirtatiously, touching a hand to his bare bicep. Linden blushes darkly and clams up. "We're supposed to be joking around, remember," I whisper to him, "sexy and mysterious?"
He nods and after a moment says in a carrying voice, "I think Fletcher's going to die when he sees you," Linden's laugh is a little too loud to be natural, "Dark and sexy isn't exactly the sort of look I'd want my little sister going for!"
"Speaking as the little sister, it'll be worse for her to watch her big brother look all 'dark and sexy' than for any of my brothers. It gets you points with your friends, it embarrasses us!"
He smiles widely and shakes his head, "Being a big brother is worse!"
"I had to listen to Johanna Mason complain about my brother!" I argue, "And point out that every girl in the district knows who Fletcher Aspen is!"
Linden freezes, "Your brother even managed to pull Johanna Mason? Is there anybody that's turned him down?"
"The first girl that does manage to turn him down will probably be the one he decides he actually wants," I roll my eyes, but the thought of Fletcher brings a ring of affection to my voice, "He's ridiculous!"
"He's got guts if he can mess with Johanna and still be alive! I'm surprised she didn't kill him! Then again, Fletcher has always been good at getting away with things and with girls. I don't know a girl that isn't in love with him!"
"He's an arse," I mutter wrinkling my nose at his words, "I'm sure there are plenty of girls with sense."
We reach the chariot and I slow for a moment as I consider how I'm supposed to climb in without flashing everyone. Linden hops in ahead of me and continues speaking, not noticing my dilemma."Johanna Mason fell for it!" he shakes his head in amazement, "How the hell does he do it?"
"Good genes," I shrug, still contemplating the climb into the chariot, "That and apparently some girls have a soft spot for the whole confident, playful 'I'm-smirking-like-an-ass-because-I-know-that-you-want-me" sort of thing'."
"He's built and funny," Linden nods contemplatively, "I guess girls like muscles, confidence and humour."
"With a side of charming idiot."
"Muscular, confident, funny, charming idiot," he mutters, "I've only got the idiot part."
I nod absently and am deciding to just go for the quickly step in and hope nobody's watching approach, when hands suddenly close around my hips and I'm being lifted into the chariot. Linden freezes again, his eyes wide and I'm immediately on my guard as I turn to see who has lifted me into the chariot. It's the boy from Two again. Cato. I remember our encounter before in the corridor and find that once again he's giving me an incredibly intense stare. Again it makes my heart race and jangles my nerves and again I lift my chin and scowl instead of flinch. I'm struck again by how tall he is. He's lifted me a good few inches up into the chariot, but only now are we at eye level with each other. That only makes his gaze more intense. His eyes aren't locked on my breasts or the tantalising glimpses of my pale stomach, or even on my legs, they are sweeping my entire body. It's like he's tracing every single line and curve of my person in his mind, as if he finds every part of my appearance beautiful and alluring. A shiver goes down my spine and for a moment I don't know if it's discomfort or something else I'm feeling.
"Excuse me, but what was that?" I demand my voice more icy than even I expected, "Did I give you permission to touch me?"
Cato takes a menacing step forward so that we're almost nose to nose, his gaze hardens and his eyes darken with annoyance. I have to fight my natural instinct to step back, I won't give him the satisfaction. For a moment he just leers at me, then he finally speaks. It's the first time I've heard his voice and it makes my stomach flip. It's a deep velvety rumble that sends tingles all over my body.
"When you're walking around in a costume like that, you're just begging to be touched without permission Seven. I'd get used to it," he growls and he's so close that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. He holds the position for a moment and for a split second our eyes meet. I'm not expecting it though and automatically my gaze flicks down submissively. It's a natural instinct when I'm so close to his explosive aggression, but Cato still gives a small amused huff.
With one last lingering sweep of my body, he turns on his heel and strides away,
"That's called sexual assault, you asshole," I mutter too quietly for him to hear.
Beside me Linden tenses up, but I ignore him, watching intently as Cato returns to his chariot. Him and his district partner are dressed as gladiators and I'm a little irritated to note that both of their costumes are nothing besides deadly. It's just me that got the sexist 'warrior' outfit. I also can't help but notice, again, that Cato is really built. I mean, I saw him shirtless in the corridor and I can honestly say that I've never seen muscles like his before in real life. Like at the Reapings, I'm reminded of a marble statue. He's all rippling muscles and harshly defined angles. I doubt there is much softness to him. With the razor sharp jawline, defined cheek bones and armour on, he might as well be made of stone. Still, I can't quite dismiss the fact that even though - as previously noted - he could snap me in half with ease and probably enjoy it, it hadn't been rough hands that lifted me up. They'd been firm, but gentle on my hips and he hadn't thrown me into the chariot, his hands had lingered to steady me and I'd felt their warmth beneath the leaves of my skirt. There's what the Capitol woman from the corridor said too. Making it seem as if he'd stormed out because they'd insulted the dark haired girl next to him. That's not the sort of behaviour I'd have pegged from a typical Career tribute. I wasn't even aware they knew what loyalty was when push came to shove. I narrow my eyes as he easily rejoins his district partner, noting that she has turned and is watching me even as I watch him. Her eyes are dark and mocking, but she doesn't do anything more than smirk slightly before turning her attention to Cato. Cato didn't look back once.
I'm jolted from my thoughts by the booming of trumpets, followed by incredibly loud music. The parade is beginning. This is my first chance to really make an impression on the crowd, on the people of Panem, on the sponsors and most importantly of all on the Gamemakers. Because really, even if this is all a game, nobody likes to lose their favourite piece.
Thank you for reading my story! Please review and let me know what you think!
-xx
