Chariot Rides
Medley

Medley: A piece of music combining tunes or passages from various sources.

Quintus Delgado, 13
District Two

Quintus couldn't help a little chuckle when they saw District One's outfits. The clothing was bright pink with silver lining, but even that would have been okay if it had been a bit clearer what they were meant to be. A skintight shirt and pants with a robe on top was … well, not exactly what anyone would be expecting from District One.

Quintus glanced up at Octavia as they climbed into the chariot next to her. At least their stylists had decided to go a more traditional route. The pair of them were dressed like gladiators – a bronze breastplate, a loincloth, sandals, a tunic, and a helmet with a plume on top. Whatever mixture the stylists had been rubbing over their skin made Octavia's muscles shine. Quintus forced a smile. They knew how scrawny they must look in comparison, but as long as they acted like part of the pack…

How long would that last, though? How long could it last? There had been other years when weaker Career-district tributes had been allowed to join the pack, but they were usually the first to go. Other tributes saw them as easy pickings, or the stronger members of the pack decided they weren't needed anymore. In any other year, they might have been better off taking their chances on their own.

But this year … this year was different. Only two members of the pack, maybe, could really be called proper Careers. Octavia, certainly. And the boy from Four. The other two were fourteen, and only one of them had volunteered. If the pack decided to start eliminating their weaker members, or if one of the outer district tributes decided to try to pick off a Career, there was a pretty good chance they would see either of the other two as just as good a candidate as Quintus.

Maybe. At least, they were hoping that was the case. They hadn't had a chance to see either of the other two fight yet. For all Quintus knew, the other two could be trained – just trained and young. In that case…

Quintus turned as Octavia elbowed them lightly in the ribs. The chariots had started moving. Right. They were supposed to be waving. They were supposed to be pretending they were happy to be here.

Pretending to be a Career.

Quintus gave as big a wave as they could muster. Octavia was doing the same. Quintus stared out at the crowd. There were so many people. And somewhere out there were all the cameras, broadcasting the images around the Capitol and back to the districts. Any other year, they would be curled up on the couch with their uncle, trying to make predictions about which of the tributes would last longer, which ones would die in the bloodbath, how long the Career pack would stay together, and things like that.

Any other year, they would have enjoyed this. They would have enjoyed the costumes – some elegant, some silly. And they would have gone to bed brimming with anticipation, not wanting to wait three long days before getting another glimpse of the tributes during the interviews. Now … well, now those three days didn't seem long enough. They had three days to figure out what they were doing, and three days to convince everyone else they had already known. Three days to turn themself into a proper Career.

Quintus forced a smile and kept waving, wishing they could shake the feeling that, no matter what they did, three days simply wasn't going to be enough time.

Fermi Schoenberg, 15
District Three

"C-c-could you c-cut th-that out?" Eddie stammered as Fermi raised the kazoo to her lips again. "Why w-would y-y-you even b-bring a k-kazoo in the f-f-first p-place? If y-you s-s-start p-playing that in the G-g-g-games, everyone's g-going t-t-to know wh-where y-you are."

Fermi shrugged their shoulders and played a few more notes before asking, "So?"

"S-so then th-they'll f-f-find you."

"What makes you think I don't want them to?"

"You want to die?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Why would you volunteer for a fight to the death if you didn't want to die?"

"Maybe I want to kill. Ever consider that?"

"Not something most people would consider, is it?"

Fermi squinted. Something was … different. The stutter – that was what it was. The stutter was gone. A smile spread across their face. "I'm talking to Hyde now, aren't I."

"Yes." Hyde stretched his arms, then looked down at the rest of his outfit. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Some sort of robots, I think," Fermi offered, giving a twirl to show off his own outfit, which was shiny and silver, like tin foil but more … well, fabric-y. Buttons and knobs covered the outfit, but they'd been disappointed to find the buttons didn't actually do anything. What was the point of having buttons that didn't do anything?

"Robots," Hyde repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth as if tasting it. "Yes, not a bad choice." He cocked his head as Fermi played a few more notes on her kazoo. "Now that's more like music."

"More like music than what?"

"Than this." Hyde pulled some sort of disc out of his pocket. "Eddie brought this."

"What is it?"

"It plays soothing music."

Fermi scoffed. "And he was telling me music would give away where I was. What's he planning to play it on, anyway?"

Hyde shrugged. "I'm not sure. I can't really tell what he's thinking – only what he's doing, and even then it's blurry. Just enough to tell when might be a good time to break through. When he's distracted, or annoyed. Emotional times are better."

"Looks like you lucked out, then. He's been getting pretty emotional about the Games."

"But not you."

"Not me what?"

"You're not getting emotional." He shook his head. "You're not even scared of me."

"Should I be?"

"I could kill you."

Fermi shrugged. "And I could kill you. But now that we've got that out of the way … wouldn't it be more fun not to?"

"Are you suggesting that we work together?"

"Not necessarily. More of a … mutual agreement not to get in the way of each other's fun … until it's necessary, of course."

Hyde cocked an eyebrow. "So … you want me to save you for last?"

"Or I can save you for last," Fermi giggled. "However it turns out. Sound like a deal?"

"N-n-not a ch-ch-chance," Eddie stammered, taking a step back and almost tumbling out of the chariot.

Fermi groaned. "Oh, come on. We were having fun."

"F-f-f-fun? You th-think H-h-h-hyde is f-fun?"

"Sure. At least he liked my kazoo."

Eddie shook his head, then, realizing he was still holding the music disc, tucked it back in his pocket. Fermi chuckled. "Out of curiosity, what were you planning to use to play that thing?"

"I d-d-don't know," Eddie admitted. "It's j-just n-n-nice to h-have."

"Just like this," Fermi smirked, bopping Eddie on the nose with his kazoo. Eddie crossed his arms and said nothing, but that was all right. Fermi didn't need him to have fun. They didn't really need Hyde either, of course, but she would certainly enjoy him while he was there.

Sebastian Banks, 18
District Four

Sebastian couldn't stop grinning as the crowd cheered. He couldn't have asked for a better chariot costume if he'd designed it himself. He and Corin were dressed as mermaids, their lower bodies covered in perfect, shiny scales that billowed out into tails at the ends. Small, rainbow-colored seashells dotted their arms and faces. Seaweed was draped over their shoulders, and each of them had been given a crown, a necklace of pearls, and a trident.

The tridents weren't sharpened, of course; their stylists hadn't wanted to risk them hurting each other – or throwing them at the other tributes. Still, they were quite a sight to see. The chariot had been decorated, as well, with all sorts of fish and other kinds of sea creatures – starfish, seahorses, jellyfish, coral. Everything was perfect. This was the moment he'd always dreamed of.

Well, one of the moments, at least. This was the fun part. He'd never had a problem with the idea of representing his district, parading up and down the Capitol, showing off his skills. The killing part … well, that was just what needed to happen. And then once he was a Victor, he would be free to relax and enjoy the rest of his life. That was what everyone wanted, wasn't it?

Except…

Except Corin had seemed to be enjoying her life just fine without the idea of the Games looming in the distance. It would be different if all of the others were like him – if they had all chosen to be here, all known the risk. But the thought of killing someone like Corin, someone so young, who clearly enjoyed life so much … well, that wasn't the fun part.

But it was what he had signed up for.

It was who he was. Who he would have to be in order to survive.

But that didn't mean that he would have to kill her. Sebastian flashed Corin a grin, holding up his trident. She raised hers in return, the tridents clinking together. He clapped her on the shoulder with his free hand. "You're a natural."

"Thanks." She swung the trident, swirling it around a little, as if trying to use it to control an army of sea creatures. "How would you even fight with one of these things? It's so big."

Sebastian nodded. Her swing had been a bit wild. "You don't swing with your hand – or your wrist. You need to put your whole arm into it – your whole body. Don't think of it as a weapon. Just think about it as a longer arm." He pointed the trident away from the chariot, out towards the audience. "There. Pretend to swing at something while we're passing. Like this." His arm swung out, trident along with it, sweeping cleanly through the air. If something had been there … well, it wouldn't have been there for long.

"Like this?" Corin asked, swinging again.

"Not bad." And it wasn't – not really. It wasn't a bad swing for someone half his size. Not a bad swing for someone who clearly didn't have the muscle for this sort of weapon. And who wouldn't magically gain that muscle in the next three days, either. Not bad, but not exactly good, either.

Apparently, enough of that sentiment has made its way into his tone. "But…" Corin prompted.

"But you might want to stick with something smaller during training – and in the Games. For now, though, keep swinging. The audience loved it."

And they had. They didn't care that Corin was too small, too untrained, to use a trident properly. They wanted to see tributes get into the spirit of things, and that was what she was doing. It was all for show, and they loved a show. So he would make sure they got one.

Fabrion Morrison, 16
District Eight

Fabrion rolled his eyes as Lucinda waved to the crowd, holding her scepter over her head, grinning from ear to ear. She was really getting into this. She actually thought that trying to look good for the audience would make one bit of difference. The truth was, it wasn't the audience – not even the sponsors – that the tributes really needed to impress. It was their mentors. All the sponsors in the world wouldn't make a difference without a mentor to arrange what they were going to send and when. Mentors worked behind the scenes, but that didn't make them any less important. Behind the scenes was where things really happened.

And there, he was ahead of her. It had been clear on the train ride that Isaac thought all this festivity stuff – the chariots, the interviews, even the training scores – was silly. Superfluous. Their mentor was clearly annoyed by the Capitol, and pretty much indifferent to the luxuries that they were supposed to enjoy along the way.

So while Lucinda had taken the opportunity to scarf down all the food she could and try on every outfit she'd found on the train, Fabrion had made it a point to do the opposite. He'd eaten, but not to excess. He'd picked one comfortable outfit and stuck with it. And now he was waving, but just enough to appease the sponsors. Not enough to make Isaac think he was one of the silly tributes that would actually enjoy this.

There was a part of him, of course, that wanted to indulge, that wanted to enjoy it. But he couldn't afford to. If he made it through the Games, then he could spend the rest of his life indulging every whim. Right now, he needed to play smart – and that meant convincing Isaac that he was the better bet.

He shook his head as Lucinda continued to wave. There was nothing wrong with her – not any more than any of the other tributes. But she was competition. He couldn't afford to think of any of the other tributes as anything besides that. She had to die. They all had to die. There was no point in getting attached.

But there was also no harm in paying attention, because little details now could end up being important later. In the chariot ahead of him, for example, he could see that although the two tributes were dressed similarly – trees with blinking lights and lots of glitter – the girl's costume was neater, more organized. That probably meant that the boy had put up a struggle, while the girl had the sense to at least go along with the silly costume, even if she didn't enjoy it.

The chariot ahead of that – District Six's – was decorated like a train, with the two tributes outfitted as train drivers. Even from his chariot, Fabrion could hear the boy blowing his whistle. Every so often, the girl would chime in, but she spent most of her time watching her district partner.

The next chariot up was the last one he could see well – well enough to tell that the girl was wearing a black ballgown. Apparently it was a good year for flashing lights, because blue light, almost like lightning, zipped across the fabric, giving the impression that at any moment, the energy might come bursting out. The boy's outfit was a matching black, and seemed to be some sort of uniform. Probably a power plant worker, from the look of the helmet, which glowed as the lights zipped towards it.

Fabrion stretched, waving his scepter a little, doing his best to look bored. It didn't take much work. Their costumes weren't bad – a crown, a scepter, and very comfortable velvet – but despite his stylist's corny claims that the outfits proved they were 'worth just as much as tributes from any other district,' the truth was that this parade didn't really prove anything other than which stylists were the cleverest. But unfortunately, the stylists weren't going to be the ones in the Games. He was. And he didn't have time to worry about silly outfits. Not if he wanted to focus on surviving.

Malachi Thorne, 18
District Nine

"All these people are here to watch us kill each other?" Squirrel asked, eyes wide as she took in the size of the crowd.

Malachi nodded. "Well, not yet, but … yeah."

Squirrel fingered her necklace, which seemed to be made out of some sort of bones. "At least they let me keep this."

Malachi cocked his head. "Oh, that's yours? I thought it was part of the costume." It was an easy mistake to make. The pair of them were dressed in black, but their arms and legs had been painted to look like they were skeletons underneath their black robes. Hoods hit their faces, which had also been painted bone-white to resemble skulls. They'd each been given a scythe to complete the outfit. Death. The Grim Reaper. And it was time to bring in the harvest.

"No, it's mine," Squirrel answered. "They took everything else, but they said I could keep this as a … token?"

"Your district token," Malachi confirmed. "You're allowed to keep one thing to represent your district – or your home."

"Anything?"

"Well, it's not supposed to be something that could be used as a weapon, and you want it to be something that'll be small enough to carry, but yeah, pretty much anything you want."

"What did you bring?"

Malachi pulled an Allen wrench from his pocket. "Happened to have that in my pocket during the reaping. No one brought anything else for me to take, so … that's what I've got."

"What is it?"

"A wrench. You use it to screw things in place, keep them from moving around."

"What sort of things?"

"All sorts of things. Any part of a machine that needs to stay put. I'm a mechanic … well, was a mechanic, back in District Nine."

"Can I see it?" Malachi handed her the wrench, and she turned it around curiously. "You could use this as a weapon."

Malachi shrugged. "Well, I guess you could. I mean, you can use pretty much anything as a weapon if you try hard enough. But there'll be better weapons to choose from."

"Really?"

Malachi blinked. Apparently, no one had told her that. There were just so many things that everyone assumed the tributes already knew. "Yeah. At the start of the Games, there'll be all sorts of things – weapons, food, supplies – in this big pile in the middle, around a thing called the cornucopia."

"What kind of weapons?"

"Swords, spears, knives, bows – things like that. Maybe even something like this." He swung the scythe, ignoring the applause that erupted from the crowd. "Some people just run away, while others try to rush in and grab something first. But you don't want to hang around too long, because the Careers usually stay at the cornucopia to finish off anyone who's too slow to get away."

"And then what?"

Malachi shrugged. "Depends on what the arena's like."

"You mean you don't know?"

"It's different every year. Could be anything from a desert to a jungle to an arctic wasteland. There've been all sorts of things – a beach, a farm, even a carnival."

"So when do we find out what it's going to be?"

"About sixty seconds before the Games start. You get to look around for sixty seconds before you can move from your podium. And whatever you do, don't step off early, because your podium will explode."

Squirrel's eyes widened in horror. "How can they do something like this? Are they even human?"

Malachi flinched. He'd wondered the same thing about Capitolites on occasion, but he hoped the microphones hadn't caught what she'd said. "Sorry," Squirrel whispered, handing the wrench back. "I probably shouldn't have said that, right?"

Malachi nodded, relieved she'd caught on. For all of her questions, it was clear Squirrel wasn't stupid. It was just that all of this was new, and she needed someone to fill her in. Maybe it wasn't his problem, but … well, he just couldn't stand people not knowing things – not when he was in a position to fix that. He just hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him.

Rose Thornton, 12
District Eleven

It wasn't a long speech. It never was. "Tributes, we honor your sacrifice," and that sort of thing. And while she didn't feel particularly honored, at least she didn't feel humiliated. Her long, golden dress was reminiscent of stalks of wheat in a bundle without being over-the-top ridiculous, with a belt in the middle that appeared to be tying the stalks together. Nirel's suit was similar. Their cheeks and hair had been flecked with gold, and they each held a tall stalk of wheat.

To their left, she could see the tributes from Ten, who were dressed as butchers. White aprons splattered with red that was supposed to look like blood, a white hat, and a cleaver for each. To their right, District Twelve's tributes were dressed in black, with little spots of color shimmering like diamonds when the light hit them. Yes, there were definitely some good costumes this year.

Soon, President Snow finished his speech, the crowd began to disperse, and the tributes climbed down from their chariots. Immediately, Rose could see the pair from Twelve headed for them. She beamed. Finally, someone to talk to. Nirel wasn't exactly bad company, but he'd been pretty quiet the whole time, and even on the train, their mentor hadn't been particularly talkative. Rose scampered forward and held out her hand to the girl who was approaching. "I'm Rose."

The girl eyed Rose's hand curiously for a moment, but then shook it. "Aloe. And this is Lark."

Rose shook Lark's hand. "Like the bird?"

"Yeah. Rose like the flower?"

"Exactly."

"And Aloe like the plant," Aloe added with a satisfied smile. "Now that that's over with … Go on, Lark. Ask them."

Ask them? Did that mean they wanted an alliance? It seemed a bit early for that, but Rose certainly wasn't about to pass up the offer. "I'd love to."

Lark blinked. "To what?"

"Join your alliance, of course."

Lark's head tilted a little. "Our alliance?"

"That's what you wanted to ask us, right?"

"No, I just…" He shook his head. "Never mind. Forget I said anything. It's probably pointless."

Aloe rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, you big baby. You're not going to get a better chance than this. Show them."

"Show us what?" Rose asked.

Lark pulled something from his pocket. "This. I was wondering if … if it looked familiar at all."

Rose peered at the ring in Lark's hand. "No. Should it?"

Lark shook his head. "Probably not. It was just a shot in the dark."

"He's looking for his family," Aloe blurted out. "They came from District Eleven, so he thought you might have some clues." She turned to Nirel. "How about you?"

Nirel glanced at the ring and shook his head. "No one I know would have money for something like that. That looks like silver."

"Let me see," came a voice from behind them. Rose nearly jumped when she saw the boy from One. But he wasn't a Career. Well, not really a Career, and he wasn't hanging around with the rest of the pack. After only a moment's hesitation, Lark held the ring out to the other boy.

The boy from One nodded. "That's silver, all right. I see a lot of it in my parents' shop. Not the sort of silver jewelry you'd find in the Capitol or District One, but not bad for something from Eleven." He handed the ring back. "You sure that's where your folks are from?"

"Yeah, I…" Lark trailed off, as if maybe he wasn't quite as sure as he'd thought. "I thought so."

Rose watched as the older boys wandered off. Aloe shook her head. "Sorry you thought he wanted an alliance."

"Should've known better," Rose muttered, but then brightened up. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you want an alliance? Or maybe someone to work with during training, at least? I mean, Nirel's okay, but I could really use some company. Someone my own age. You know?"

Aloe nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. Lark's nice enough, but I don't think he's interested in teaming up with me. Most people aren't looking for a thirteen-year-old ally."

"Or a twelve-year-old one," Rose agreed. "So what do you think? See you at training tomorrow?"

Aloe nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice."

Of Course We're Careers: Opal, Octavia, Quint, Corin, Sebastian

(Representing) District Nine: Squirrel, Malachi

Let's See What Happens: Arti, Whisper

(Maybe) I'll Save You For Last: Fermi, Hyde

A Little Company Would be Nice: Rose, Aloe