District 2
Gadget
Picking up my skirt, I hurry out to the stables. Luckily, no one seems to have noticed my absence. The wide halls of the Remake Center are empty and eerily quiet.
"Maybe I should take off these heels, so I can walk faster."
I travel the rest of the way barefoot.
Fourteen minutes pass before I realize I'm lost.
"All these halls and rooms look the same!" I think, frustrated.
My anger is my feeble attempt to cover up my deep-rooted grief and rising panic. I don't dare close my eyes for too long lest I want to see my brother die again.
"...Gizmo…" I shiver at his name and hug myself because I'm suddenly freezing.
Spotting a young boy carrying a bale of hay, I begin tailing him. Surely, he must be a stable boy and is on his way to feed the horses. If I follow him, I'll be able to find some quiet refuge alone before I have to glue an endearing smile to my face to win over sponsors. I'm not ready. I can't face the crowd yet, not when I know they're all Capitol scum.
The white-haired boy turns a corner and walks down a ramp. I follow suit. I notice he's carrying a bundle of hay over his right shoulder and carrying a bucket of carrots and apples in his left hand.
"This kid's strong for his age," I note.
Now that I think about it, the boy can't be much older than seven-years-old. Surely, the Capitol didn't employ children to do labor.
"And yet, they have no problem sending the Districts' children to their deaths."
He pauses to set down his treats. Then he removes a couple boards from the gate to the stables. Each wooden board must be twelve feet long, yet the child moves them with practiced ease.
"What is he?" I gawk at his display of strength in a tiny body.
"You coming to feed the horses too?" I jump back and nearly trip over my long dress skirt.
Magenta eyes are glowing brightly as they stare at me. The boy smiles innocently as he waits for an answer.
"Um, sure." How long did he know I was following him?
Swinging open the towering stable doors, the boy steps aside. Politely, he waits for me to enter first.
Gathering up my skirt, I scurry inside. The atmosphere inside the stable is so drastically different than outside that it feels alien to me. I crinkle my nose; each stall looks to be cleaned daily, yet there's a stubborn, foul odor lingering in the air. I can smell old hay and the musky scent of a 1,200 lb animal. To my relief, the stable is silent except for the occasional whinny and stomping of a hoof.
Giggling, the boy brushes past me with his arms crammed with apples. He hands each horse a shiny, crimson apple and laughs so hard he snorts, whenever they nuzzle him affectionately in return.
I smile at how adorable he is before he catapaults himself into an empty stall and starts napping on the fresh hay. I roll my eyes. A-dork-able.
Turning the corner, I stop dead in my tracks.
"I thought the stables would be empty until the chariots were done with maintenance."
Apparently, I'm wrong because there's a wolf a few stalls away from me. If Diamond hadn't offered for him to join the Careers, I would have turned tail and fled in that moment. Ashamed to admit he intimidates me, I stomp my foot and dig it into the dusty floor.
Startled, he turns my way. The first thing I notice is that his white-blonde hair has been trimmed. His bangs have been clipped, revealing a pale face riddled with scars around his left eye. Speaking of which, I have no idea what color his left eye is because it's hidden behind a scarlett eyepatch. Up until now, he's been hiding behind his hair, so to see his face for the first time, I can admit he's-
"-hot." I blink. How much of my thought did I just say out loud?!
"No way, Gadget! No way! Just because you might be in an alliance with him in the Arena, doesn't mean you get to have the hots for Kaiden!" A voice screams in my head. It must be what people call the warning bells.
I'm deaf to them as I linger on the fact I remember his name. I zoned out while Diamond and the others were talking and I only remember her name because she said it, like, fifteen times.
Then I notice he's staring at me like he's seeing me for the first time. C***, he's wielding a shy blush now.
Getting up from kneeling, he clears his throat audibly. He moves to stroke the broad head of an ebony stallion and that's when I notice he's wearing skates. Or maybe tiny steam engines. I'm not sure. They look silly on a man of his size.
"You were curious about the horses too?" His question comes quietly like he's not sure if he wants me to hear.
Being daring, I step closer to touch the fuzzy snout of a beautiful chestnut mare. Childishly, I ignore him and make him wait for my answer.
"Maybe." I shrug.
I'm not about to tell him I came in here to be alone. He defeated that purpose by getting here first. I'm also relieved he doesn't show any sign he heard my earlier comment. My ears stop burning.
The stable falls quiet for a few moments before-
"Do I...frighten you?" asks Kaiden, his tone warning me he's afraid of the answer.
I turn my head to look at him. While I study his face, he doesn't once look at me. He continues to avoid my gaze even as I lean in closer and wave my hand in front of his face. Pursing my lips, I pout.
I want to yell at him. I want to retort with how he scares everybody with his size. I surprise myself by saying, "No. I don't."
Now he looks at me. I can see the gold flecks in his right eye as he searches my face for any trace that means I'm lying.
Returning to petting the black stallion, he mutters, "It's cruel, isn't it?"
"What is?" I ask even though I know the answer.
"The way we die for the Capitol's amusement."
"Pfft, that's the Capitol for ya. Scum of the Earth they are. They think it's their birthright to walk all over us. Stuck-up, spoiled brats," I snort in contempt.
"You ever wondered...wondered what it would be like if you lived in the Capitol? If you were born there?" I look at him like he's painted himself blue and called himself an alien.
"No, I haven't because I'd never want to be one of those b******s for even a second. Why would you ask such a thing? Do you want to be one of them?" I retort, not bothering to hide my seething hatred.
"I will kill them all."
If he's a Capitol sympathizer, I won't hesitate to skin him alive in the Arena, put all those muscles on display.
His gaze hardens as his jaw tightens.
"Forget it. Forget I said anything." Kaiden shoves past me.
Opening my mouth, I'm about to tell him off. I don't care if it's not mature, but I'm not going to let him drop the subject that easily. I want to know why he would consider such a heinous idea.
"Don't you walk away f-" My voice is lost beneath the awful sounds he's making.
Staring at his back, I can't tell what is happening. All I see is his wide shoulders shaking and him falling to his knees. Frozen, I can't figure out what to do.
"What's going on? Is he alright?" I can't believe I'm concerned about a guy who could crush my skull with one hand, but I am.
Feet moving of their own accord, I find myself getting closer.
He coughs uncontrollably into his hands. His chest heaves violently and I'm struck with the intense fear that he's dying. In the short span of time between coughs, he sucks in as much air as he can. The more he inhales, the more he coughs. The more he coughs, the more he gasps for air. It's an endlessly painful cycle.
"K-Kaiden?" I'm so lost and afraid that all I do is crouch beside him. I forget I'm wearing my chariot outfit. All I'm concerned with is whether Kaiden is going to die in the next few minutes.
Reaching out with quivering hands, I rub the length of his back. It's weak, I know, but I have no idea what else to do. It's crazy. It's idiotic. It's maddeningly confusing, but I don't want him to die.
"If he doesn't die here, you'll have to kill him somewhere else." The voice says in my head.
The voice. Why don't I listen to it?
"Because I don't want everyone around me to die." I think of Gizmo and tears threaten to spill from my eyes.
"Live, d*** it! It's no fun if you die now!" I yell in his ear, trying to sound menacing, cold, in-control. I don't sound like any of those things. I sound like a frightened, little girl who's lost her parents, who's lost everything.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he calms down. His coughing fit fades, but his breathing is shallow. The way he inhales makes it sound like his lungs can't hold the air. Somehow he ended up in my lap. His eye is closed while he rests his head on my thighs. Stroking his hair, I listen to him wheeze. Even that sounds faint; he's barely breathing. He's so weak, he can't move.
Something shiny catches my eye and I notice his hands are coated in still wet blood.
"Is all of that his?" My eyes widen. There's no way he could cough up that much….could he?
After a while, I ponder why I haven't run for help yet. Maybe I do want him to die. No, that's not true. I'd rather him die by my arrow than whatever it is that's killing him now. At least that way, I'd have control over who dies, unlike with my brother or my entire family, for that matter.
"Don't die, Kaiden," I hear myself mutter almost inaudibly.
Twenty minutes later, he wakes up.
Someone came in looking for us, but I scared him off by threatening to stab him with a horseshoe pick. I don't know why I'm protecting who could very well be my future killer, but I can't pick a reason to stop.
Moaning, Kaiden shifts on my lap. He turns his face into my gray skirt and I gasp.
"Get off me you PERVERT!" I shriek.
Startled, he jerks the rest of the way into consciousness and flips over backwards, crashing into a locked, swinging gate. His skull makes a loud thunk. Dazed, he rubs his head, groaning.
Blushing profusely, I fold my arms and glare at him. I can't get past an indignant pout, though.
"Please don't scream in my ear," complains Kaiden hoarsely.
His tired gaze suddenly switches to wide-eyed panic.
"What are you going to do?" he asks nervously, his words coming out course and husky.
I pretend not to notice the dried blood on his lip.
"About what?" I huff even though I know exactly what he's talking about.
He wants to know if I'm going to tell everyone about his condition.
I repeat myself. This time, with more meaning, "About what?"
Suddenly, he understands. I'm not going to tell. It's going to be our secret. He leans forward like he's about to tell me something important.
"Thank you...Gadge," he whispers softly.
"Did he...give me a nickname?" I think dubiously as he pitches forward...
...and faceplants into my chest. Redness spikes up my neck and fills my face.
"GET YOUR PERVERTED A** OUT OF MY DRESS!"
Jerking him around by his hair, I'm about to kill him, when I see the tears streaming down the right side of his face. He's laughing and I realize he's relieved. Guiltily, I consider the possibility he had fainted for a moment and I had overreacted. He's still extremely weak judging from the exhaustion lingering in his gaze.
The man from earlier returns ranting about how the chariots were being brought out and we couldn't be late. I throw the horse pick at him. My aim is sucky-far from my skills with a bow-but it still sends him scrambling away.
Kaiden manages to stand on his own and I find myself marveling over his strength again. He takes my smaller hand in his and gives it a squeeze before letting go to find his district partner. Pausing to look back at me over his shoulder, he smiles. It's a smile so sweet that I can't refrain from smiling back.
"You reap what you sow."
I'm not sure what kind of seed I've planted, but I'm not regretting it.
Hero
Shaking my head, I can't believe her.
"You can't just run off like that, Gadget! We're on a schedule," I point out, serious.
"So you're that eager to die, Hero?" she counters.
Lifting her leg, she struggles to step up into the chariot in her dress. Honor says I should help her, so I do. She accepts my aid, but quickly brushes me off once she's steady in the silver and violet chariot.
"No, I'm not." But you seemed pretty eager on that train last night.
It's a heartless thought and I regret thinking it. She lost her brother, her twin brother; Gadget has never been without him before, so to be going into the Arena knowing he's already dead must be destroying her. I'm amazed she's so collected today. Her childish side taking the form of stubbornness has even made a reappearance.
"Then relax, Hero. We're District 2; District 1 can ride off into the sunset if they want, but this parade doesn't get moving until we do," points out Gadget.
Studying her fair skin and sparkling, blue eyes, I can't figure out what has cheered her up. This is the happiest I've seen her since the Reaping. Her smile doesn't look forced. Hopping from foot to foot, she has energy to spare.
"Giddy about something?" I inquire curiously.
Tensing up, she stops hopping. She puts a hand to her hip.
"If you're so inclined, I'll tell you: I was in the Stables and a white knight in shining, silver armor rode in and swept me off my feet. He agreed to slay the dragon of the Capitol if he could have my hand in marriage. Of course I said yes; I want the Capitol to burn-oh! And he was my dream man, so I wasn't passing that up," explains Gadget, gesturing with her hands to exaggerate her melodramatic tone.
I grab her arm roughly and pull her closer, so only she can hear me mutter, "That's not funny, Gadget! We're in the Capitol, if you haven't noticed, and I'm sure President Snow is listening to everything."
Like she couldn't care less, she waves me off.
Without warning, the chariot in front of us starts moving. Shortly after, our own ride picks up the pace.
Each chariot is glistening in silver and violet, the Capitol's colors, to symbolize how the Capitol owns us, its tributes. On each side, our District's emblem is carved by hand. Drawn by teams of four horses, we move along at a steady trot. District 2's horses are bluish-gray with rusty-brown legs and underbelly. Incredibly, they match our outfits.
Glancing at Gadget, I notice she's wearing the same colors and basic design. The edges of her dress look like bricks and the makings of a masonry wall. Her dress has the texture of granite and her corset has a fake crack in it.
I turn away. To draw attention to her, ahem, chest.
My knee-high boots take up the layered brick design along with my gauntlets. Thin twigs are weaved together in such a way that my arms resemble the cross-hatch windows on most homes. When taking it all in, we look like walking buildings. Not fancy sky-touching towers like in the Capitol but rather the average joe's house.
I can't look at the blinding pair in front of us. A trickle if envy clouds my gaze as I watch the crowd go nuts over District 1.
They virtually wear the same, exact outfits every year and get the same explosive reaction. The layout of their outfits are varied slightly this year, but they're dazzling in their gold-polish dress and suit. H***, they have jeweled crowns on their heads as if saying, "We're already victors, so look at us and ignore the losers behind us."
"They look likes clowns this year," snickers Gadget.
I give her a look. If they're ridiculous, what does that make us?
"Come on, Diamond's gold dress with all those spherical rubies? She looks like a court jester!" insists Gadget.
"She looks like she's already queen," I argue, jealous that District 1 is the luxury district.
"Doesn't Helion look so cute trying to be a red and gold circus acrobat?" laughs Gadget.
I blink. Did a horse kick her in the head in the Stables? Or is this her way of coping with the fact District 1 outshines us?
I stare at the skin-tight body suit the boy in front is wearing. It's a shimmering, yellow-gold and juts off his shoulders. Red arrows formed from ruby dust zig-zag down his legs interrupting the gold. Helion is a tad small to be a Career, but there's a promising body under that suit. Give him a few years and he'll fit nicely with the Career image.
I frown. If he lives then I die.
I wonder how long the Career alliance will last this year…
Shifting my attention, I look at District 3 behind us. I can barely see them over the heads of their dark brown horses.
Both tributes are dressed alike in coal-black, form-fitting outfits.
Seriously, it's painfully obvious the girl is pregnant; her round belly sticks out like a brick in white marble.
Curving lines and circles roam the lengths of their bodies and pulsate two colors: pink for the girl and blue for the boy. The circles appear at every joint: their knees, shoulders, wrists, and across their abdomens. They appear very techy which is appropriate for District 3, the district of electronics.
"She's not going to last long, is she?" I hear Gadget murmur beside me.
My mind says no, she won't last, yet I don't want to think about killing an unborn child. Whoever kills the young mother-to-be will have to sleep with that at night.
District 5
Asriel
The chariot keeps rocking with how vigorously Xena keeps bouncing.
"Xena, please."
Stopping for a whole second, she starts up again.
"I'm sorry, Asriel, I'm so excited!" she blurts out.
I can barely make out her dark purple hair beneath that helmut. I think her hair has changed colors four times already.
"Don't you...don't you feel...embarrassed?" I ask, cringing as I avoid looking closely at our outfits.
Our idiotic stylists couldn't figure out how to match our district's theme: power, so they whipped out a crude version of a Tesla coil and wanted us both to jump inside. So here we stand looking like twin salt shakers….with a rope of electricity crackling in between us.
"What do you think would happen if I touched it?" questions Xena, already reaching for the meter-long, wriggling beam of energy.
"Xena, I wouldn't-"
Something like a miniature lightning strike lashes out at her hand. I expect her to scream, yelp, holler in agony or have uncontrollable muscle spasms.
She laughs.
"Asriel! It tickles! Like, a lot!" giggles Xena, trembling from her laughter.
Realizing I'm holding my breath, I exhale slowly and sigh. I'm relieved. I kind of like Xena; she makes the Games seem less like a death sentence and more like an adventure.
Suddenly, she grabs my hand and shoves it into the beam. A moment later, we're both cackling like hyenas. I'm not even ticklish, but that fake electricity gives me such an odd, tingling feeling throughout my body that I can't stop bursting into laughing fits.
When a woman in the crowd stops and points at us, I'm suddenly grateful for what Xena did. We look like we're having fun and the Capitol wants a part of it, so they start hollering and pointing at us. Maybe this outfit will prove worthwhile.
"Look at the fish people, Asriel!" gasps Xena, pointing at District 4.
Now I know why I keep hearing women screaming hysterically.
Reed Odair is ahead of us. He's Finnick's son. He's inherited his father's fangirls.
Of course, the ginger is shirtless with a chiseled physique; I would expect no less from him. He's got green, fishing trousers on and nets hanging from his waist and shoulder. However, the most stunning aspect about him is his body paint; it's so well-blended into his skin that I can believe he walked out of the ocean to wave hello to the crowd. His arms and legs are covered in shimmering, sea-green scales that accent his eyes. The rest of his body is tinted turquoise and it gives him a mystical look. He barely seems human anymore. He's mysterious. He's sexy. He's untouchable.
D***, I want his stylist...
His partner, Catherine-(I think)-is sporting a similar theme. She's almost naked except for scales riding up her legs and a transparent dress that cascades down her body and splits in the middle of her chest like twin waterfalls. She's covered, barely, and she seems uncomfortable with every minute she's in it. Why would they put a shy girl like her in that?
They both look like water nymphs and I find myself staring at Catherine for too long, so I turn away abruptly. I can't believe I let myself become mesmerized by her like the Capitol citizens are.
"No fair! Spinny gets cutesy, little trains to play with!" Xena is gawking at District 6 behind us.
Sure enough, I look back and see there are tiny trains zooming around the brunette's dress. A dress that resembles the well-paved roads in the richer districts complete with a tire-treads sash. For a moment, I watch the tiny tribute train ride up her dress before teleporting to her hair and spiraling up that. I'm trying to figure out how the train did that before it hits me: it's a hologram. The train has such a solid image, though, that I believed it to be real and tangible.
"I can't stare at Kaiden's pants without feeling dizzy," I grumble, blinking rapidly.
The tall boy has checkered slacks that, if stared at for more than a minute, strains my eyes and warps my vision. The pale blonde is sporting a deep blue trench coat with a railroad design down the front. I've never noticed it before, but he's wearing a crimson eyepatch. What's wrong with his left eye?
"Hi, Kaiden! Hi, Spinelli!" Xena waves at them and fights to be overheard above the roaring crowd.
I roll my eyes at her. You're so strange, Xena. I wonder if your energy will last you five years from now?
My grip on the metal bar in front of me tightens. If I am to achieve my goal of returning home to Sara, I can't let Xena live, but I can't bring myself to kill her either.
Because she's my friend.
District 8
Lilac
Nell shifts uncomfortably next to me. It's another warm day, so he's probably melting under all those layers. Suck it up.
I'm also in more layers than I can count. Unlike Nell, however, I'm used to wearing posh stuff like this and moving with grace and poise in heavy garments. Tousling my magenta ringlets, I check my dress to make sure nothing has fallen off.
A brown corset makes my waist look smaller and holds my light pink dress in place. The dress extends into four overlapping folds with white lace at the ends. An overskirt falls from my waist and makes a v-opening in the front to reveal the pink dress beneath. The overskirt has three folds separated by red-purple bows and sequins. The first layer is violet with red roses. The second is a simple, deep green. The final layer brushing the ground is pink with dark purple, swirled embroidery.
Like I said, very heavy.
But not a problem.
Compared to Nell, I'm a color wheel of feminine colors while he shines in more masculine colors of blue and greens. I'm better looking by far.
We're ten minutes into the Chariot Ride through the Capitol and Nell has barely spoken. I know we're not friends, nor do I want to be, but I want to know what he's thinking. I can't read him and it frustrates me to no end.
Getting fed up with Nell, I stare at the pair in front of us, District 7.
I want to laugh. They're dressed like trees again this year, like they are every year. Baer is a Douglas Fir while what's-her-face is an Oak tree. I'll admit, with his monstrous size, Baer looks like possibly the most menacing tree I've ever seen from District 7. What's-her-face is more like a tree fairy with her leafy hands, bark minidress, and twig halo.
I outshine them both for miles.
Then I turn my attention elsewhere and watch the scrawny boy and tomboy girl from District 9. Their tan horses match their grain-themed outfits.
Adorned in a tribal get-up consisting of wheat stalks, Caz gives me the impression he's ready to do a rain dance. He even has red face paint. Pair that with his white hair and navy-blue eyes and he looks a little scary. Nothing I would be afraid of, though.
His district partner, what's-her-face II is dressed in a cornsilk minidress with a puffy skirt that is made from the "hairs" that stream from the tip of a corn cob on the stalk. Her pants are tan and look like tightly-woven strands of wheat.
Don't ask me why I know so much about corn. I'm not a peasant!
When my gaze refocuses, I find Caz is making faces at me that are meant to be insulting and demeaning.
The crowd thinks it's hilarious and adorable.
Scowling, I clench my hands into fists. I'm killing him first, the little brat.
District 11
Damien
Unmoving. Unflinching. Unforgiving.
I'm not here to make friends with the Capitol. I'm here to destroy it. They had the nerve to drag my (then) twelve-year-old sister, Rue, into their sick Games and let her die there.
Katniss should have died in that Arena too. Her "rebellion" brought nothing but pain. I lost my parents in the rebellion she started. Everyday, I wish Rue had won the Games or at the very least, Thresh. I still don't understand why he let Katniss live. I'm sure it was worthwhile for him and Rue to die, so Katniss could live in her nice and dank jail cell here in the Capitol.
This whole world is messed up.
Ebony keeps trying to talk to me about random c***. In fact, she won't shut up about parties she's gone to and how amazing the Capitol is in person. I would strangle her now if it didn't mean my immediate execution for killing a tribute before the Arena.
Funny how in the Arena everything becomes legal. Nothing is unethical. Killing is encouraged, even. Lying, cheating, betrayal, are all optional yet approved of if done. Sick b******s.
"Would it kill you to smile a little, Damian? You're being such a drag!" complains Ebony.
I ignore her. Let her wave and blow kisses to the crowd all she wants. They'll be cheering, if she wins...and they'll be cheering, when she dies.
"How can you be dressed in that amazing outfit and look like that?" she comments on my chariot outfit: a fruity mix of everything District 11 has to offer.
Ugh, the strong fragrances of pineapple, apple, citrus, watermelon, and cherries is making my stomach churn; it's so nauseating. I'm not eating fruits for a few days.
"..." I blink, keeping a straight face.
The Capitol freaks are trying to sniff us. Apparently, the excessive perfume is meant to reach them and reach them it does. Children years younger than I am giggle while their parents hum in content. We smell delicious. I know they love watching us die, but now I see the truth: they secretly want to eat us.
"Yep, that's right! I'm as sweet as can be with a sour side, so keep your eyes on me!" calls Ebony into the crowd, smirking.
Posing and winking at the crowd, Ebony is dazzling and cute in her cherry-blossom, sleeveless dress. The massive, pale pink petals form her dress skirt while hot-pink stamens erupt from the top of her corset. Double-cherries dangle from her ears as earrings. Her cherry aroma is going to make my breakfast come back up.
To match the nature and fruits theme, I'm wearing a mandarin-orange vest without a shirt underneath. The vest is embroidered to mimic the "veins" in an orange and the fleshy texture of the juicy inside. My pants are watermelon red and speckled with black spots meant to resemble seeds. The hard, jagged surface of a pineapple has been applied to my shoes. Pineapple slices act as large buttons on my vest. Hating every inch of it, I leave the vest open. The vibrant colors of the fruits makes me stand out, but I think it makes me look like a fool, especially against my dark skin.
Staring straight ahead, I take notice of the District 10 tributes. I noticeably frown, when I see the boy; he's the poor twelve-year-old in this year's Games. Briefly, my mind flickers to Rue.
I decide I will kill him last.
Women and brightly-colored men are cooing over how adorable he is in his baby cow costume. His calf outfit is tan with a pale underbelly, black hooves over his hands and feet, and the hair on his tail-tip and between his ears matches his natural hair color: carrot-orange.
I expect him to be frightened and to shrink away from the attention. Instead, he embraces it without meaning to; he gets really into character as an innocent calf and kicks his front hooves and chews on a flower that someone tossed him. He must really love those lumbering animals.
The Capitol can't get enough of him. There's even a low rumble coursing through the crowd that protests he can't be tribute because he's too cute. The chanting is not loud enough to reach the President's Mansion, so no one cares.
Annalise, the boy's drama queen of a partner, is boiling under her giggly, playful demeanor. I can tell she wants to rip off the fuzzy sheep outfit she is forced to wear. I'm fairly sure that, despite living in District 10 her whole life, Annalise has never been in close proximity with its livestock. Spoiled, rich b****.
Bored with the crowd, I sneak a glance behind me at District 12. As usual, District 12 is dressed as miners. However, there's a twist: Light looks like he has some sort of disease that is slowly turning him into a smoky-black, rock-crusted, beast. His entire right arm is encrusted and spreads partway across his chest and neck. I can't tell how much further it goes with his overalls blocking my view. His stylist must have given him contacts because his pupils take up his entire eye; they're black pits of nothingness. It's like he's not human anymore.
Melody, the female tribute from District 12, is in a high-waisted, coal skirt with a sleeveless, v-neck shirt that looks like it may be on fire. The fabric glows orange, red, and yellow in pulsating hues that give off the impression it's burning quietly. Her legs are covered in black tights. Above all, smoke leaks out of every pore in her dress. Being a small girl, I never imagined Melody could pull off the mysterious and ominous look, but that's the impression that I get.
Clip-clop, Clip.
A hushed murmur falls over the crowd. All I can hear is the horses' hooves pounding the cobblestones. Even Ebony is silent as she cranes her neck to see behind her.
The darkening sky has set the stage for District 13. Although short, the boy can be see from our chariot because he's glowing such a bright green. His partner, Electra, is equally bright in her high-low dress-(long in the back and cuts off below her waist in the front.) With thin, neon-green sleeves and what appears to be radioactive waste dripping from her waist, Electra can't go unnoticed. She and Ander have the crowd's attention in a way not dissimilar to Katniss and Peeta in the 74th Hunger Games.
Pfft, so all it takes to attract the Capitol citizens like flies is to light up like a Christmas tree? Figures.
"No fair," I catch Ebony murmuring, awe-struck.
The Capitol's arches begin to glow violet as the evening stretches into night. The horses trot onwards and the President's Mansion comes into view.
Capitol
President Snow
It's almost time.
"Big-Sis, I'm so excited!" squeals a woman with purple hair.
Her huge, twin braids whip around with each turn of her head and knock over priceless vases and artifacts. Avoxes scramble to catch them before they shatter on the hardwood floor. What a klutz.
Humming some foreign tune, she skips over to my desk. I sip my cinnamon-spice tea from my desk chair.
"Tame your energy, Minx," I urge her, staring out the window at the rosy sky.
"I'm sorry, Big-Sis, but I can't. Sit. Still!" True to her word, Minx bounces around the room giving the Avoxes heart attacks with each object she causes to tip from my shelves.
"Minx?" My voice is sickly-sweet.
"Yes, Big-Sis?!" gasps Minx, her eyes sparkling at the mention of her name.
I know she loves hearing me say it. Searching, constantly searching for attention. Approval.
"Sit. Down." My tone is a double-sided sword.
Immediately, Minx sobers up and sits down across from me. She wrings her hands anxiously.
"First of all, family or not, I am President Snow to you. I am in a position of power and deserve the highest respect. Am I making myself clear, Minx?" I growl with a tight smile.
"Yes, President Snow."
"Good. Second, I better not regret giving you the reigns this time, Minx," I continue, my voice carrying an underlying threat.
Like a loyal dog, Minx nods enthusiastically. I can imagine her wagging her tail if she had one.
"All these years of waiting will not have gone to waste, I promise you that, Big-er-President Snow!" blurts out Minx, slamming her palms on my desk, pale blue eyes shining brightly in the dim light, "I'll be the best Head Gamemaker Panem has ever had!"
We'll see.
"Madam President, District 1's chariot has reached the Mansion." I look up at the man in the violet suit.
"Noted. Has my guest arrived? I have to meet with him before I start the show," I inquire, taking another sip of my tea and feeling more alert.
"I'm afraid no-"
The door to my chambers bursts open and in walks a man in his thirties. At first glance, his hair appears black, but in the sun it reveals itself to be a saturated brown. Dark chocolate is how I would describe it.
"I'm sorry I'm late, I got lost," he admits, scratching the back of his neck.
Panting lightly, he scans the room for a familiar face. When he spots me, he breaks out into a smile.
"Leave," I order everyone except him and Minx.
Obediently, the Avoxes and the man in the suit file out the door.
The second the door closes, I grab the dark-haired man by his shirt collar and slam his lips into mine. Oh, how I've craved this taste for weeks. His lips are chapped and dry, so they stick to my glossy, smooth ones. Let me fix that for you, Dante.
"Hehe, are you two going to do the naughty in your office, Big-Sis?" giggles Minx.
If I didn't need my Head Gamemaker beside me, when I addressed the tributes and attending crowd for this year, I would throw my adopted sister out of the room.
Instead, I pull away and gaze deeply into Dante's blazing, cyan eyes. Under his gaze, I feel warm and protected like the world can do me no harm.
"Receiving a greeting like that is what makes these secret meetings worth the wait," admits Dante quietly, holding me by the waist.
"What's your ruse this year?" I ask, giving him a curious smirk.
"I'm a wealthy, Capitol merchant, ready to sponsor my first tribute," answers Dante, stepping back to show off his swanky, new suit, "I've thought of everything this year, love. No one will question never seeing my face here before since it's my "first" time. I'll get to see the tributes up close and maybe slip some advice to District 10…"
"You're still so biased, Dante," I point out.
"And you're not?" he counters, smiling deviously.
"I'll admit I play favorites, but I know how to play my favorite cards to make the Game interesting," I reply.
Minx presses her face into the glass as she peers through the window.
"Big Sis, you-" Minx notices my glare. "...I mean, President Snow. Come look at the tributes! They're so sparkly and fun to look at!"
With a manicured hand, I push Dante away with a frown.
"If you were here on time, we'd have another minute or two to catch up," I scold him, tsking and shaking my head.
I catch him rolling his eyes.
"You try sneaking a ride to the Capitol from District 10," he mutters.
"Minx, open the doors; I need to address the nation and give our guests of honor a warm welcome."
Standing on the balcony, I let the cool, night breeze sift through my ivory hair. I meet the upturned gazes of each tribute, my gaze lingering on Gadget of District 2, Reed of District 4, and Light of District 12. My, what a year this will be.
I smile and politely wave to my citizens. Acting as a mirror, they reflect my actions back at me. Idiots are the best kind of subjects. They never question your motives. They don't fight back. They're even happy to tend to your every whim. It's the smart ones that refuse to stay quiet.
My mind wanders to Katniss Mellark. I can't believe her son won last year. Well, I knew he was capable. However, when I made sure he was pulled into the Games, I threw a few nasty twists his way and he still survived. Maybe I got soft towards the end. Katniss has always been someone I've admired.
That's why I made sure she had a clear reception on a plasma TV in her prison cell. She'll be able to watch the mandatory Games in stunning, high-definition. I wonder what was running through her head, when Rye's district partner nearly gutted him like a fish.
Releasing myself from my thoughts, my grin widens. Dramatic pause having done its job, I prepare myself for my Address.
"Welcome Panem to another year of excitement! It is the dawn of the 92nd Hunger Games. We're gathered here tonight to celebrate our twenty-six guests of honor. They stand before you in their gleaming, formal attire and I encourage you to take time to memorize their faces. Each and every one of them is marked on the next page in Panem's history. Yes, you're looking at living history; not all of them will be returning to us, but we will not forget a single face we saw tonight."
Polite words. Fake respect. Feigned empathy. The citizens of the Capitol drink it all up and ask for seconds. The Second Rebellion is already forgotten. Katniss is burnt out; she's lost her fire.
The Districts have never been more in my grasp.
I make sure to fix each chariot's riders with a firm gaze, so they know: I'm the one up here on the balcony above them and they are the ones standing below me.
I make the mistake of looking at District 6's tributes and I almost lose my warm, inviting aura.
A familiar feeling creeps up my spine: a conflicting sense of hope and despair. How long has it been now? Years. Maybe more than a decade.
A mother never forgets the day she lost her baby.
(A/N - I've been writing this chapter for a week now. Work and college don't like moving over for anything else. If only my English class let me write stories instead of essays...
Why are my own characters the toughest ones to keep in character? I keep wanting to add stuff and change them every five minutes.
This is why I made this a SYOT. You're all better at making characters than I am. XP
Yeah, so a little insight on how complex and messed-up Trancey Snow is.
Also, let me know which tribute(s) I haven't paid much attention to in a while. I try to keep their POV times balanced, but I also let the story write itself and sometimes that means certain characters get the splotlight longer to get a point across or reveal another plot point I need to add...or be comic relief (my stress reliever) in Reed's case.
Yes, listen to me rant about stuff. I need more sleep...
Oh! And please check my spelling and grammar. I welcome all feedback. Bis dann~)