"You were magnificent," Cameria breathed, up in my face when I entered the living room where she, Rowan, and our stylists were waiting. Cameria leaned heavily into me, and only now I noticed how low-cut her top was, showing off her tattoo and plenty of cleavage blandly, but my high had worn off and the thought that Cameria, a mid-twenties- to-early-thirties-aged woman was obviously attracted to me, didn't flatter me at all. It made me uncomfortable, but to pull away now would be... impolite. So I pulled away, murmuring nonsense and making excuses to flee her fumbling hands. Screw manners at a time like this.
Cameria looked slightly put out, but she was lucky I saved the disgusted expression from appearing on my face till after I turned away from her. Rowan saw it though, and he made an aborted motion with his hand, like he was reaching out to cuff me around the head but realised there would be no point. He scowled fiercely at me, but I was saved from a telling-off when the elevator announced its arrival on our floor again and Gabriella swayed in, looking about as energised as I was. Cameria congratulated her too, but not as enthusiastically as she had done me, and Gabriella soon moved off to flop on one end of the squishy, long, curved couch in front of the massive television.
"The re-caps will be on in a little while," Rowan said. I nodded and went quickly to the dining area to get a drink. An attendant gave me something made of a cordial, crushed ice and some sort of drizzle through it when I asked for 'something interesting'. It was a pale yellow colour but the drizzle was a dark brown and sticky, and had a mini neon orange paper umbrella sticking out of the top next to the think black straw. I looked at it warily and decided to get a large glass of water as well. Then I remembered that I may not find water for a while and made the order two glasses of water.
I marched back into the living room with a tray laden with three full cups and plonked the tray on the coffee table, sitting on the other end of the couch to Gabriella and bringing my feet up to join the drinks. I grabbed one of the glasses of water and stared determinedly at the blank television, trying to ignore those watching me.
Those still standing chose a seat after that. My Prep Team sat themselves together on a loveseat that was to the left of our sofa, the side closest to me; squeezing onto the two-seater in an effort to stay near to each other. Rowan placed himself near to Gabriella on the cream couch and Cameria sat herself and her yellow ruffles as near to me as could that seemed natural. Gabriella's Stylist and Celestial Shimmer sat on our couch, sitting comfortably in the space between Rowan and Cameria while Gabriella's Prep Team sat on the arrangement of little pastel-coloured pouffe things on the floor to the right of the couch. They sort of grumbled and I saw my Team shooting them smug looks from their place of squashed pride on the loveseat.
"Pass the remote, will you, Gabriella?" Rowan sighed contentedly from his slow decent into the cushions. Gabriella looked at him then, her eyes narrowing the tiniest bit.
"Of course," she said, blinking her still made-up face. And then I saw her puzzled gaze as it passed over me to scan the room and objects closer to her and realised she had no idea what a remote was. I guess one wouldn't if you'd lived on the streets for most of your life. The part of me closest to my sternum where she had jabbed her finger when she had accused me of ruining their chances wanted to watch her flail. That part of me egged me on and reminded me of the rankness of her breath from never touching a toothbrush in her life before the start of this week, or the painful words she jibed and threw at me without shame.
But then my Kindness Bubble, awaking from being almost dormant lately, quashed the spiteful part of me and gave me new memories to think of. Standing in a white night frock in a rattling train with her arms tucked behind her back; doleful brown eyes softening as they turn to look at mine in a time where they were supposed to be hard; the flash of a gleeful grin, plump lips whispering nailed it into my ear and a hand squeezing the crook of my elbow after an interview; a whisper of congratulations after the Training scores. It also reminded me of the guilt I felt in a lot of interactions with Gabriella; the feel of her cheekbone beneath the back of my hand, the spiteful feeling of joy at her humiliation in the elevator, the malice in my voice at calling her a dumbass in a time of crisis and the spike of fury that coursed through me when I threw a ceramic mug, still with the dregs of hot chocolate swilling around the bottom, at her shadowy figure when she came to reconcile with me in my room that night on the train. Because, of course, it was her.
I snapped up off the couch then, crawling over to where the remote was resting on the end of the coffee table closest to Gabriella and farthest away from me, not meeting her suspicious gaze. I snatched up the slim silver thing, thin as paper and lighter than air, which was the remote, and brought it back with me to my place on the couch. It was strange, that we were from the same District but the only reason I knew what a remote control was is because I was lucky enough to be in the Community Home. That was a strange thought; I was lucky to be in the Community Home. Where children were slapped and lived in conjoined dormitories and ate slop. But only now I realised in depth of how it was better than living on the streets, no matter how badly we were treated. I nestled closer to Cameria than usual and grinned cheekily at the shocked looks I was getting from most of the people in the room.
"I wanted it," I smiled, and poked it enough for the television to switch on. I didn't look at Gabriella as she sat back on the couch, only shifted to get more comfortable against Cameria's side as she slid her arm round the back of my neck and started stroking, unconsciously, it seemed, my bicep. I restrained myself from tearing away from her in a sprint and focussed on the rumbling in my stomach which had started, but I'd sadly have to wait till the end of the recapping of the interviews to eat.
Much to my chagrin, I had to give up the remote to Cameria after two minutes because I got us stuck on some music channel. The girl on stage had very boring clothes on; black corset, red plumed skirt and kicker, high heeled shoes. He arms were both inked with roses and angels and lines of words probably meant to be inspirational and her legs were covered by stockings that didn't cover much. She had lank, ebony hair and tonnes of make up on which made her look dopey and heavy-eyed. She was rumbling along stoically, rocking back and forth on her feet, into a microphone, singing a song about how He and cheated on She and now She was gonna get a "bro so much hotter than that hoe". Rowan was laughing at the incredulously disgusted look that was dancing across my face, and Cameria plucked the remote from my stilled hands, changing the channel to the right one. One of Gabriella's stylists gave a shriek of outrage, claiming that it was her favourite song because the lyrics were so deep and meaningful and it was about how love prevails.
I coughed slightly to hide my disbelief. Then, just because I'm a smartass and can't keep my opinions to myself, I said "I liked Jonathan's song better," to the awaiting ears of everyone in the room. I then busied myself in ignoring the snide looks I got and stared deeply at the television which was playing the opening theme (which consisted of lots of blaring and beats) of the Interviews.
The Interviews were much brighter and cheerful looking on the television. Sure, some of the more unsubtle Tributes were easily seen twitching and being nervous, but when the camera scoped over to me during District Three boy's interview, I was looking largely unruffled. Gabriella, too, seemed very poised, hands clasped in her lap for most of the waiting period. Unlike me, her eyes were trained on the pair talking, while I was, though paying attention 95% of the time, moving my eyes restlessly and making faces of indecipherable emotions every now and again. Damn nerves.
Gabriella's interview was worse than I remember it. The close ups of both our faces were creepily dramatic and drastically overused (I think the cameraman needed to be banned from the zoom button) and her false cheeriness was alarming. But, I can say truthfully, she was at least a little bit better than some of the other contestants.
Unfortunately I felt the same way about my interview. Oh, goodness, it was horrible to watch. The shyness, the cockiness, and the switching between the two, was painful to view. I was assured (like was had assured Gabriella before me) that my interview was wonderful but I still felt unsure. The hunger I had felt before abandoned me and I curled up onto the couch and, even if I don't want to admit, a little closer to Cameria's warm body. I wanted comfort, so sue me.
The hand stroking my bicep stilled and I waited for her to take advantage of my current want for comfort. But that was all. Her hand just stilled and she glanced once in my direction, a warm look, a not-quite smile on her face, and she returned to watching the television.
After the rest of the Interviews were over, everyone left the room for dinner. I had swallowed all three of my drinks, the yellow cordial one not bad on the way down, but had a rather strange aftertaste of pine nuts.
Dinner was a quiet affair, though more decadent than what we've had all the previous nights. The atmosphere was heavy, and Rowan encouraged Gabriella and I to eat as much as we could, giving no reason why but we already knew the answer. He pointed out food he said had 'staying power' and kept repeating the words 'low G.I.' even though we clearly had no idea what G.I. was or why it mattered why foods had that ingredient in it. But we complied and stuffed our faces till we were filled to bursting.
And then we got a special dessert. The mute servants brought out elongated glass dishes, one for each of us, filled with three scoops of vibrant pink-bordering-on-scarlet ice-cream covered in sauces and various nuts and edible adornments. Cameria clapped her hands and cackled at her ice-cream and even Rowan looked confused.
"Don't you understand?" Cameria cried excitedly, bouncing in her seat. I was one blown-nerve short of just thumping my head against the table endlessly. "It's raspberry ice-cream, right?" Rowan was the only one polite enough to nod. "But it's special! This is the special Quarter Quell ice-cream!" We all, everyone at the table, bowed our heads to look at our desserts in unison. My bloated stomach tightened as some crimson, liquefied ice-cream bled out of the frozen lump. I saw tiny little number twenty-fives imbibed throughout the dish; in the ice-cream or in tiny (apparently edible) beads adorning the chocolate sauce. "And raspberry was voted flavour of the Games too!" Cameria continued to babble. I shared a shaky glance (from my end) with Darwin, who smiled and scooped up a huge portion of ice-cream and spooned it into his happy mouth, and I realised, just because it was red and so was blood and I was already full, why not eat it? That didn't mean anything. So I dished pretty much a whole globe of ice-cream onto my spoon, nuts, twenty-fives, sauces and all, into my mouth, and beamed back, feeling a trickle of melted dessert run from the corner of my mouth to my chin. I crunched my way through raspberry seeds and creamy, sugary mess until my bowl was just the melted dreggy remains of almost-red, creamy soup.
Once everyone was done and we had been dismissed from the table, Rowan pulled Gabriella and me aside, looking grim and strained. He was close enough I could see the natural brown of his hair on the roots of the acid-green colour, and see the light reflected off the gems in his teeth. He then gestured for Lexandra (meaning Darwin) and soon the couple were joining us too.
"I can't keep you long." Rowan started, blunt and brash, but his face softened. "You two..." Rowan said to us, and I was instantly uncomfortable. I was accepting that lately people were talking to us like we were on our deathbeds, but it didn't mean I liked it, especially when it was my mentor doing it. He placed one hand on each of our shoulders. My throat closed. This is it...I thought."Have been brilliant." Rowan looked us in the eyes alternatively, and I felt Gabriella shift beside me.
"Ditto," Darwin smiled from behind Lexandra. "Isn't that right, Lexi?" He took Lexandra's hand to draw her attention and, when she had faced him serenely, pointed to us, mainly Gabriella. I felt Gabriella stiffen as the emancipated lady turned to face us and Lexandra's dreamy smile grew wider. I had heard this woman laugh but never had she said a word in front of me. I'd imagined it was always because she couldn't speak, but maybe it was just because I hadn't been listening.
Lexandra opened her mouth but turned uncertainly to meet Darwin's eyes. He nodded towards us encouragingly, and her smile returned as she faced Gabriella and me again. She took a breath in and I expected some wise words, some great advice, something meaningful.
"Thank you," she whispered, and her voice, like the sounds of fluttering, dying leaves in the middle of autumn or moths wings on a windowpane, remained in my head for the rest of the night.
I suppose it was typical that I couldn't sleep. I wasn't thinking about tomorrow per se, but I'm pretty sure my subconscious was very aware of the impending threat that I may not be alive tomorrow night that it coerced the rest of my body to be prepared for fight or flight by pumping adrenaline around. The excessive energy, coupled with my belly complaining that I had overeaten and wasn't thankful for that, kept me very much awake. After about an hour of lying curled in bed I decided to tough it out and watch some television, maybe get some tips.
I padded out to the dim lounge room with bare feet and fumbled with the remote, glad that the sound system seemed to be on the quiet setting so it didn't blare out loudly when I turned on the television and wake everyone up. Sitting cross-legged on the centre of the couch, I achieved in getting an appropriate channel for my needs this time, not some crappy music channel this time or a cartoon about a plasticine cat or something equally useless. The channel I had flicked it to was just showing the end of another recap of the Interviews. I was about to change it when some announcers, not Emlyn and Bunny but two elderly Capitolites who seemed to be pretty serious, appeared in plush armchairs in a fancy mansion-like set, opening a show which they called this year's Tribute Reviews.
A picture of the girl from District One popped up, an official picture, and the presenters started evaluating her; her chances of survival based on her performance at the Tribute Parade, her training score and her Interview. And by review did I mean review. They took ten whole minutes to dissect every little thing about this girl and told the audience just how likely it was for Katti Meow-Meow to win this year's Hunger Games. The assessment included snippets of people from the crowd answering questions on what they thought about District One's female, what the presenters themselves thought about the Tributes and photos, both official and even poor-quality photos that were obviously taken with an unprofessional camera by someone who was definitely not a photographer of the Tributes. I don't even know how they got most these photos as we were supposed to be mostly hidden from the general public for a majority of the time. In the end they didn't give her a score in itself, but District One had a pretty good chance of winning, they let us know.
I watched, gobsmacked, as these two elderly people assessed Tribute after Tribute. Let me just say, these people were as sharp as they were horrible. These two presenters totally destroyed the small stereotype I had built up about all Capitol residents being complete idiots. Their analytical skills were just shocking, and I was so absorbed that I almost forgot they would be reviewing me, right after Gabriella.
The presenters never fully excluded anyone from winning the Games, never actually said that one person had zilch chance of winning. I had to admit, my admiration for these people were growing, as was my vocabulary by watching them. Gabriella had, according to the two aged beings sitting in the plush thrones, a reasonable chance of survival if she kept a cool head and didn't overreact. A grainy, amateurish photo of Gabriella leaving the Training Centre at the end of a day appeared, where she was wiping a hand over her sweaty face, revealing some of the yellowing black eye I had given her where her makeup had run from the sweat. The presenters speculated, bantering back and forth for a full minute, on whether Gabriella had tumbled with another Tribute or simply run into a wall, clearly (and thankfully) not knowing how she truly got it, and her rates of winning rose by a smidgeon because this apparently brought out her 'fighting spirit'.
"Now we move on to District Seven's notorious male Tribute, Isaac Alldrenn," The female presenter deadpanned her words as she pulled out a couple of pieces of paper which I presumed had details about me on them and looked them over. A quality picture of me draped across the chair and grinning and winking at the camera at the Interviews appeared, and I must say I was pleased with my official picture. "An online poll has revealed about this little Tribute," She started again and I bristled slightly. Who's she calling little? "Has been voted 'cutest competitor' of this year's Games, against tough competition such as Gerrad Powers of District Nine and the Raintree twins of District Eleven." She smiled blandly at the camera and her male counterpart rolled his eyes. Oh, I thought blankly, mouth gaping at the news of whatever poll this was, that's why she called me little.
"Like that'll help him at all," The male anchor grumbled, wiping his nose with a pale gold handkerchief.
"It just might, Jerry," She turned to him and raised a pencilled eyebrow. "Being almost eighteen and been given the title of 'cutest Tribute' is no easy feat. That will raise his votes for sure, especially with the post-Games high bidders." I squinted at the screen for a few seconds. High bidders? What do they bid for?
"We have two snippets of his fans and voters, don't we?" Jerry rumbled, and sure enough the screen changed to a video of a rather plain Capitolite news reporter standing in a throng of teenagers at, what seemed to be, a Hunger Games rally of some sort. Super.
"And who's your favourite?" The reported yelled over the noise of the cheering to a boy of probably around my age.
"Isaac, District Seven!" He replied instantly, looking ecstatic. His purple spiked hair was practically quivering in excitement. "He's so funny! And adorable!" He chirped into the microphone the reporter was holding out to him. I felt my eyebrows rise incredulously but shrugged it off; this was good news I guess, even if I did find it strange that a boy was calling me adorable. But I had long since accepted that things were different here in the Capitol than in the Districts.
The next clip was a male reporter this time in a different, quieter setting, speaking to a dumpy woman with dull green hair and very thick eyelashes. She must have already revealed that I was her favourite and I listened, with trepidation, to her words. "Oh, yes, I do so adore him, and of course I voted for him!" She purred unattractively into the camera. My heart thudded and I watched, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights, leaning closer to the television as if I wouldn't be able to hear her comments. "I'd so love if he won so I could meet him in person and pinch his... cheeks." I jerked back away from the screen, and thought how it was too late in the night for me to deal with this. I just continued to stare in shock at the television, as the clip was, thankfully, finished after that, and the two anchors returned to banter about the reality of me winning the Games. I wanted to pay attention to them, but all I could think of was that woman. Or, more likely, what she symbolised.
Was this what happened to all the Victors? I mean, were they just wanted for their bodies by their fans? The words high bidders returned to me, and I wasn't sure if my face went scarlet or paled astoundingly. But, the Victors could refuse, right? It wasn't possible for them to be forced into that... was it?
Oh, god.
I watched the rest of my review with detachment, chin resting on my knees as I hugged them to my chest. I was given a decent, but not overly hopeful, chance of survival due to the sponsors I'd probably received for my status as the cutest Tribute, but I'd have to show some genuine talent in the Arena or my chances would diminish fast.
I watched the others' chances before I went to bed, though I did it with impassiveness, staring a little to the left of the television, and most of what I heard went in one ear and out the other. What I did retain slowly clawed the hole in my stomach wider as I heard that Marhkuhs had a great chance of killing people with his bare hands if he could get close enough and if they weren't the 'acquaintances' he claimed he made during the week, or that Honeysuckle and Rhododendron were as good as dead the moment they rose up into the Arena tomorrow.
Gracewyn had the best chance of all of us, her strength and score getting her the sponsors who valued power and her beauty and poise reeling in the sponsors who wanted her alive for... other reasons.
Jonathan, despite having the best reaction in the Interviews, was reviewed as almost a songbird; good to look at and to listen to, but no real purpose, though they reprimanded themselves when they talked about his Training score. I ended up switching the television off three quarters of the way through the highlights of Jonathan's interview, right after he finished singing, and running to my room. I couldn't take any more, and I buried my face into my pillow, knowing that I should try to sleep sometime before tomorrow. His song was ringing through my head.
Only fools rush in.
I tugged the blankets and sheets out from where they were tucked underneath the mattress and cocooned myself tightly in them, face still smushed into the pillow. I bit at it, pulling my arms tight by my side and flexing my legs so it felt as though all the muscles in my body were stretching, and I nosed impossibly further into my pillow. What was I doing?
Take my hand, take my whole life too.
One by one, I relaxed the muscles; unclenching my fingers and toes, softening my arms unwinding my coiled legs. I could do this, I could sleep, I could.
My whole life...
I relaxed my eyelids last from where they'd been screwed up tight, and stopped biting my pillow. I gave a long, mournful sigh, and I felt my mind finally drift off.
Take...
My last conscious thought was, strangely, the memory of a silver necklace and hair that even combs couldn't tame. It was comforting, a little breath of fresh air in this godforsaken, polluted city. My chest filled slowly, comfortably, with warmth and I swear my lips almost smiled. I'm not scared... I murmured sleepily into my pillow, only fractionally noticing the damp spot where I had drooled on it when biting before.
I'm not scared, the feeling was stronger now, and sleep closed around me.
I'll be home soon.
"Wakie wakie, eggs and bakie!" a voice chirped shrilly into my ear, and I all but snarled at the offending, high pitched tone. "C'mon, baby, up, up, up!" A hand shook my shoulder and I moaned to tell my next murder victim that I was awake. I took a deep breath in through my nose and then sat up slowly, the blankets pooling around my thighs, flexing my jaw and sucking my cheek to relax it from where it was stiff from sleeping on it all night.
"Up and at 'em, Ike, it's a big day today!" The voice I now tagged as Celestial Shimmer's scratched slowly and incessantly at my dull mind, and I mumbled sleepily in response, ready to flop back down onto the pillows and the nest I had made out of the blankets again.
And then it actually registered that I was sleeping on a comfortable bed (always suspicious), in a room with good-standard artificial light (and that joyously means it's before dawn as well) and Celestial Shimmer had woken me up and my eyes snapped open to full awareness in a second. Which was a bad idea as I was blinking tears from my blinded eyes for the next few minutes, but it got the ball rolling in my drowsy mind.
Today was a big day indeed.
Celestial rushed me to the roof after that, dropping lots of "sweethearts" and "sugars" along the way (we were surrounded by the mute servants, so she was showering me with motherly love). We just had enough time to get me into a simple pair of light cotton pants and an airy shirt before my stylist was pinching and plucking at my biceps, trying to usher me along. The roof we went to was not the private garden that belonged to the District Twelve Tributes but a flat, grey plain where we stood for a few moments before a hovercraft appeared silently overhead and dropped a ladder down for us. Some sort of current froze me in place while I was clinging to the ladder, which was nice of them, I thought, until we reached the interior of the hovercraft and a man in a white coat and fricken safety goggles stuck my arm with a huge needle, explaining to me that this was my tracker, so they don't lose me in the arena. This was not nice of them.
There's the word. I hadn't heard it yet today, but there it was. Arena. I was locked in place on the ladder, so I couldn't even widen my eyes in fear, and I guess I was grateful, and it also shook off the last traces of sleep off of me. But as soon as the pipe they'd stuck in to my arm was removed the ladder let me go and, as I didn't expect it, I sort of half-crumpled to the ground. I was lucky I had kept my grip on the rungs.
I scuttled nervously after one of the mute servants as the ladder descended again for Celestial, and found a room where breakfast has been set up. I took a seat, keeping a rhythmic jingle in my knee, and when Celestial joined me I started eating as much as I could, which is to say, not much. I got down a bowl of hot, grainy stew that was drizzled with honey, and half a piece of toasted bread, drinking two glasses of juice before switching to water.
The flight took forever. I kept sipping water all through it, and it was ironically pleasant to watch the sky light up from a dusty gold to a brilliant blue as the sun rose. After maybe an hour in flight the windows suddenly blacked out (freaking me out much more than I'd like to admit) and the atmosphere changed. I could sense that were weren't going horizontal any more, but descending, and then there was a feeling of stillness as the engines were cut and the doors opened, silent servants seeing Celestial and I out of the craft (on ladders again) and down to the classy caverns underneath the arena.
There was about a minutes' walk to my little Launch Room beneath the arena, and I took a moment to revel in the simpleness that this would be one of the last moments that no one would be trying to kill me. When we arrived, Celestial sent me to the shower with a wave of her hand, and I took a short, hot one, revelling in the steam and heat to try all remedies I knew to remove the frustrations from my body. I cleaned my teeth once I was out, and then met Celestial Shimmer back in the Launch Room where she told me I took too long and that my clothes had already arrived.
She helped me into soft green cargo pants that were a little on the bulky side and had three pockets on each leg and were so long the cuffs trailed on the floor, which Celestial told me was intentional. She quickly threaded a broad belt through the loops on the pants and buckled it tight, ignoring my groans with a sour expression. The shirt was weird; dark blue with sleeves ending at the top of the biceps, and made of a waterproof material that was so skin-tight you could see the definitions of everything it covered. So much for privacy, I thought, as I traced the bottom of my ribs and the waves of my stomach through the shirt.
After Celestial had tucked the shirt into my pants, she put some thin, clingy socks on my feet and then slid thick, brown, lace-up boots on top, knotting them fiercely. She tucked the cuffs of my pants into my boots and told me about the treads on the soles of the shoes and how they were good for running. It would have been a good conversation if I had known what treads were.
Before she put the last piece of clothing on me she reached into her pocket and withdrew her hand clenched into a fist. Dangling from one end was the silver signet necklace, no longer tarnished but shiny and bright, like it was new. The carved initials stood out vividly against the thin disk on the end of the chain, and I was caught off guard at how beautiful the chain looked now it wasn't dull and speckled with brown. Celestial clipped it behind my neck, her navy blue lips twitching into the ghost of a smile as she tucked it into my shirt. The metal was cold on my sternum but the weight was comforting. I couldn't believe I had forgotten about the necklace.
With sadness I realised I couldn't recall the girl who had given me the necklace's face, just her unruly hair and that she had had freckles. Chewing my lower lip, I ran my fingers over the slight bulge in my shirt where the necklace was, and then Celestial was getting out the last piece of clothing in the box and shaking it out.
It was a high-collared, woollen, zip-up greatcoat with breast pockets on either side, and zip pockets on the waist. After you zipped it up there was a button flap over the zipper, right up to your throat, and the cuffs of the arms went to where my fingers split from the meat of my hand. It was a dull green colour, almost the same as my pants, and it ended with a double hem line at mid-thigh length. It was heavy and warm, but Celestial didn't zip it up so it hung loose and open about my torso and hips.
"Shouldn't the jacket be waterproof and the shirt be woollen?" I asked Celestial confusedly, and she pursed her star-studded lips as if the thought hadn't occurred to her.
"I'll suggest it for next year," She answered me, and I rolled my eyes. Because that suggestion would be so much help to me next year. "You comfortable?" Her question unnerved me, as there was no one else in the room so she didn't have to be nice to me. Still, I walked around the perimeter of the room once, skating far around the metal plate, and nodded my assent. "Right. Then we wait for the call, now," She seated herself on the couch but I couldn't join her, I was too nervous.
I bounced on the spot for a few moments before considering another glass of water. But I didn't feel even remotely thirsty and, knowing my odds, I'd need to pee before I could get far enough away from the other Tributes and then I'd be killed while wetting my pants. And that would be very embarrassing for this year's most adorable Tribute.
I scowled at the thought but I didn't stay sour for long as a monotonous female voice sounded from no visible source and asked me rather politely to ready for Launch. I saw Celestial stand up as I shakily appraised the metal plate I was to stand on to ascend into the arena.
"Come on, Isaac," she said quietly, and I felt her hand softly push into the small of my back through the thick material, guiding me. I stumbled over to the plate, and almost fell as I took my position.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," I apologised, but I don't know what for or even who I was apologising too. I looked at Celestial desperately, shaking from head to toe, and, again, she surprised me and gave me what I needed.
"Head up, kiddo." She snapped, but I saw in her eyes that the brash tone didn't run further than skin deep. "You're not afraid, are you?"
Heart still pounding, knees still shaking, I quelled the fear rising in my stomach, contained it, and pushed it down. "N-n-" I started, mouth betraying me, and she narrowed her eyes at me. I tried again.
"No," I barked, and the glass tube lowered around me, sealing me off from everyone but myself. But I still needed to get the words out, so I continued.
"No," I said, "I'm not scared." But I was. I wouldn't admit it to myself, but right then, in that moment, I was terrified.