Chapter 13: Amber Fairsmith

Madame Lucia is tired of dealing with amateurs. Yes, it's true, this is the very first event of its kind – a historic expansion of the pinnacle of pageantry, the Hunger Games. And such an idea! Finally – the fashions houses and artists will have a say in how the tributes should look! The past dozen years had been trying, cringing at the rustic looks the districts had brought in by way of their tributes wearing nothing but the clothes on their backs from when they were Reaped, all the way into the arena.

But if that means more work for her underlings, they shouldn't blame her. If anything, they should blame the captivating blonde who volunteered this year for District 1. By now, volunteering for District 2 was becoming expected, thanks to that marvelous Hippolyta beginning to hit her stride with the training program everyone knew was going on down there but didn't bother to mention. But to volunteer from District 1, after only a single, pathetic Victor who had tried to shirk from his patriotic duty nearly a decade ago?

When the absolute bombshell of a girl raised her hand in place of the simpering 12-year-old initially selected (the little wisp didn't even have breasts coming in!... not that some implants wouldn't have fixed that), Madame Lucia along with everyone else in the Capitol, had been enchanted. Madame Lucia thinks she has to have relatives from the Capitol, for surely such beauty could not be district-born! By nightfall of the Reaping, the girl, Amber Fairsmith's, photo was circulating on every porn site on the Capitol web. Men wanted to marry her. Women wanted to be her. And though there was the promise of an interview with Lucky Flickerman, as had been custom for the last couple of years ever since the singing girl from 12 won, the people cried and screamed that it was not enough! They wanted to see even more of this year's sexy volunteer! Even the First Lady had expressed during a press conference for a charity event that she wouldn't mind getting an extra look. "She seems like a darling!" Aurelia Ravinstill had said.

Of course, the chatter that one tribute was to be elevated above all the others, as if she was the Victor already, had caused outcry among the rest of the districts. And it was only logical, Madame Lucia reasoned. If you show more of one tribute, you would have to show more of all of them! Certain tributes come into the Games heavily favored over others, but every one is given a sporting chance at the Victors' Crown.

Now, Madame Lucia has 24 hours to dress this bewitching Amber Fairsmith and her district partner in the best fineries her brand line has to offer. She is pleased that she was given the plum assignment – after all, Madame Lucia is the best. She stands at the periphery where her stylists are hovering around Amber like mutt worker bees.

"Careful on that swizzle stitch!..." There is a lulling pause between this and the next command as Madame Lucia keeps a careful eye. Not a hair should be out of place. She suddenly, abruptly dashes in to guide a stylist's hand, yanking the hair dryer up at just the right angle. "Curl! More curl!" Pausing to stand before her creation, perusing her up and down, Madame Lucia is satisfied… for what will surely be a fleeting moment. An artiste's work is never done. Sunset is less than an hour away, and by that time, she expects to have tailored the best looking tribute since Maximus Meridius himself. Good enough won't do at all. Amber has to be the best. The dear is certainly making it a pleasure for her. Madame Lucia can't say she's had better canvases at the start – really, much of what she is doing is touch-up – and she pities Archimedes Tucci, who will have to make District 12's crop look less like… well, district savages.

"Madame Lucia appreciates your patience, my dear. You truly will be my crowning achievement!"

Amber Fairsmith smiles icky-poo sweetly. "Thank you…" she coos.

The trumpets blare suddenly, calling everyone to the stablehouses. "HURRY UP!" Madame Lucia screeches, and her staff speed up in a flurry to get every eyebrow plucked and finish all the last-minute details. When they and Amber start in a mad dash for where the horses await, Madame Lucia has to wail out a reminder: "DON'T RUN! An artist never runs… she power-walks!"

Amber and her entourage arrive at the tall and proud chariot, led by a pair of white, sleek horses. Her district partner, Dazzle, is already standing like a god in the basket. He holds out a cultured hand, gallantly helping Amber into the chariot, and Madame Lucia nearly swoons on the spot. What manners! What…. refinement! Amber thanks Dazzle by pressing a lipsticky kiss to his cheek.

"Touch-up!" Madame Lucia cries out frantically, though she can't really fault the girl. Remus, her best make-up artist, leaps up into the chariot, spins Amber to face him none-too-gently.

"Pucker," he commands.

Amber just smiles coyly. "Why, Remus! Would you like a kiss too?"

Remus doesn't answer her beyond yanking her chin slightly forward, forcing Amber's lips to pucker so he can hastily make repairs to the color in her lips. He wavers just a tick long enough to examine his handiwork (though Madame Lucia thinks he nearly opted to skip a final once-over entirely) before leaping down from the basket just as the trumpets sound again and the District 1 chariot – the first that will be seen in a tribute parade, the first tribute parade ever! – begins rumbling out onto the Avenue of Tributes, headed for City Circle.

Madame Lucia watches her magnum opus go, tears in her eyes and hopeful smile on her face.

"Shine for me, my little starlet. Make me…. us the best!"

Shine is exactly what Amber Fairsmith does.

The arena this year takes place in an abandoned ghost town, stuck in something called the Mojave Desert along the edges of what is now District 5. There are plenty of deserted saloons, hotels and brothels for a tribute to hide out in, and also the desert beyond if one really wants to take their chances.

Within seconds of the gong going off, Amber Fairsmith succeeds in distancing herself as much as possible from her useless mentor, Vulcan Bronzedrop, by personally killing five at the Cornucopia. Threatened by her star power, one of these includes the girl from Two, who tries to rush her. Amber just flips the other chick over her shoulder, spins with an almost flourish, and stabs her rapier down into Two's clavicle.

This makes her vanquished opponent's district partner, Regime, take pause. "Not bad, baby. What do you say I stick around? You know you need me!"

That arrogant comment nearly makes Amber take the swaggering peacock down right then, but she gives herself a moment to appraise him. She has to admit: she likes that bod.

"All right, Two. But only because there isn't much else to look at in this place." Sashaying past him, she flirtatiously gives his bicep a squeeze, even as she leans in close to whisper sultrily in his ear: "But I'm not your baby."

Regime is left panting after her like a puppy dog after that. Dazzle isn't that much better. But knowing what her beauty – and her own, ahem…. assets – are worth, Amber coyly holds out on the boys until the fourth night, when they're down to six left. Only then does she finally put out, straddling Regime and riding him while Dazzle takes her in the ass from behind. Her moans echo throughout the arena, but neither boy makes her cum. They both do, though, deep inside her.

Later, with them both still impaled on her and asleep following post-coital bliss, Amber slits their throats, her blade kissing their skin along with her lips in the print of rouge she leaves behind on each of their cheeks.

By the time the dawn is painting the desert in vibrant colors, sponsor parachutes are raining down on the District 1 beauty.

The three others – the girl from 4, the boy from 9, and the girl from 10 – aren't hard to find after that. Amber corners the boy from 9 in an upstairs bedroom of the old saloon. It doesn't take much to seduce him, have him let down his guard. The bedsprings creak as she bounces on him, and she lets him finish before castrating him and finally sticking her blade through his temple. The girl from 4, hiding out in a hole she dug for herself with a shovel she got at the Cornucopia, turns out to be bisexual, so Amber gives her much the same treatment. It was a stroke of luck, a hunch really, and soon Four's face is coated with Amber's juices from where the former is down on her knees, eating the pretty blonde out. Amber insisted on being pleasured, for she likes being in charge.

She really so loves being in charge. Four doesn't even hear the hilt of the sword coming down on her skull in between Amber's groans and whimpers.

Having more time for foreplay is a break for Amber, really. So that when she meets the girl from 10 on opposite ends of a dusty lane like something out of a spaghetti western, the girl from 1 is ready. Guns aren't allowed in the arena, and never will be, but that doesn't mean the ladies can't have a bit of dueling fun. They just want to see who has the better throwing arm.

Against the Ten girl's sai, Amber's rapier wins.

Vulcan is relieved that District 1 has a Victor who they won't look down on in shame. Hippolyta hates Amber because of the low-class strategy she used to win – sleeping with at least a sixth of the field before slewing them like mutts. Maximus almost calls his apprentice a hypocrite, but refrains. Wolfmark is half in love with the girl when she climbs out on the hovercraft, and looks about ready to propose marriage. Dell despises Amber because she cheated 10 out of a badly needed win… plus, she upset Guernsey in having to watch his tribute 'go really sleepy-weepy' (the special needs man's way of understanding death). Now, Dell's best friend will have to be supervised in helping both his tributes for another year. If any of the others have opinions on Amber Fairsmith, they keep it to themselves. Even then, it's pretty obvious that Acacia and Mags both think their newest sister a slut.

The Capitol is enthralled. Lucky Flickerman is beside himself. And President Ravinstill is deeply intrigued enough that he invites Amber up to the presidential mansion to have a private chat with him. He gives her a tour of the estate, including his private bedroom. When he moves on her like a bitch in heat, Amber doesn't seem to mind. The honor of sleeping with a President. When the President and the Victor are finished, red-faced, sweaty and spent, Ravinstill says:

"I have many friends who would love to get to know you…. better, Miss Fairsmith. Are you agreeable to staying in the city for a little while longer?"

And because she's always loved sex (so long as it's understood that she is on top and in control), Amber sweetly agrees to sleep with the Secretary of Communications. And his son. And the Head Gamemaker.

It isn't until after earning years of experience and wisdom and guiding other District 1 boys and girls to a similar line of work that Amber Faismith realizes she wasn't the one in control all along.