"I feel ridiculous." Finnick stares down at the costume Calliope has wrangled him into, twitching against the itchy sensation of makeup and prosthetics coating his skin.

"Oh, tush," Calliope says with a dismissive wave. "You're both stunning." Not for the first time, she tugs Finnick's top apart to reveal more of his chest, which glistens bronze and gold with some sort of oily spray. "Quit trying to cover up. You're practically divine."

"I don't feel like it," Finnick whines. "Mags!"

Arms folded over her chest, Mags stands by, unimpressed and unmoved by Finnick's entreaty. "You want to win sponsors? Do what Calliope wants. That being said..." She darts forward and tugs on Finnick's skirt before Calliope can intervene. "We don't need close-up shots of Finnick's rear end being televised for all of Panem to see."

"At least let me apply more eyeliner?" Calliope pleads.

Mags is saved having to answer by Caspia's entrance. Garbed in a skirted jumpsuit of varying greens, blues, and greys, she strides toward them at such a clip her stylist is forced to jog to keep up with her. The oceanic hues of her costume's fabric shift and shimmer as she moves, reminding Finnick of the sea on a calm spring day. A golden collar encircles her long neck, glittering with semiprecious stones. Her thick black hair, loose except for a few strands pulled back from her face, is crowned with a headpiece made of coral, seashells, and pearls. Next to her, in his pale turquoise skirt and skimpy sash, Finnick feels even more foolish.

"Wait!" her stylist squeaks. "I haven't finished yet!"

"What more could you possibly do to me?" Caspia grouches. "I—" She nearly runs face first into one of the horses, and she actually would have if the handler hadn't thrown out an arm to stop her.

"Mercer, I can't wear these!" she snaps, gesturing at her face. "I'm as blind as a crayfish!"

Her closer proximity allows Finnick to see the reason for her blindness: She wears a pair of green contact lenses so bright they almost glow. Finnick doesn't have to wonder long why her stylist made such an odd fashion choice.

"But they're sea green, like Finnick's!" Caspia's stylist, Mercer, protests, trying to dodge Caspia's flailing arms and stick a netted comb into her hair simultaneously. He sports at least half a dozen piercings in places Finnick didn't know were possible to pierce. "Calliope and I wanted you to match!"

"None of the sponsors are close enough to see their eye color, Mercer." Abalone says as he walks up behind them. "And enough with the accessories. Between the two of them, they're decked out in more jewelry than One."

Stationed two chariots ahead of them, the tributes from One are adorned in magnificent costumes of crimson and cream, the girl clad in a long, caped gown, the boy in a crisp, sleek suit. The girl, Finnick thinks privately, is especially stunning, her short, dark brown hair tastefully curled, her dress glimmering with what appears to be thousands of tiny red jewels stitched into the cloth. Her head is adorned with a gold circlet inlaid with alternating red and white gems. Seeing her costume reminds Finnick of her name, which he heard yesterday evening when he watched reruns of the reaping. Ruby Riveta. And the boy is Alabaster. He's a tall, muscular boy with rich brown skin and a mane of coarse black hair, which has been plaited and woven with jewels matching those in Ruby's crown. With names like those, it's no wonder where District 1's stylists drew their inspiration from.

Finnick cranes his neck, searching out Cashmere, who he saw just months ago on her victory tour. She is nowhere to be seen, but her brother stands with both tributes, formidable and confident enough to make up for his sister's absence. Gloss. Finnick remembers him because he killed District 4's female tribute in the final conflict of his Games two years prior.

"Finnick!" Calliope's voice snaps him from his reverie. "It's time to mount up!" The horses, both a lovely white speckled with gray, have been primped and embellished almost as much as the tributes they're pulling. Bits of the sea—kelp, glass, coral—dangle from their silver-tinged manes, and a strand of pink pearls are strung across each of their foreheads.

Finnick climbs into the chariot next to Caspia and adjusts the white crown sitting lopsided on his head. Caspia has forgone the contact lenses, but Mercer managed to slap a few more strokes of shimmering blue and green makeup to her temples. She looks Finnick over appraisingly, lashes flashing with glitter. "Well, look at you. The Capitol isn't going to be able to get enough of you in that getup."

"You don't look too bad yourself," Finnick replies. A little ahead of them, the girl from District 2 has flipped her stylist over her shoulder.

Caspia smiles, but it's more a baring of the canines than an expression of joy. She lifts her arm, which is clad in a golden vambrace engraved with intricate depictions of the sea, in an unprecedented display of camaraderie.

Finnick clanks his own armored forearm against Caspia's good-naturedly. Calliope and Mercer are scurrying around them like a pair of anxious rabbits, making last-second adjustments, but seeing one of Two's stylists get thrown on her back has had a somewhat subduing effect on them. They are polishing the greaves covering both Finnick and Caspia's shins when Panem's national anthem starts blasting from somewhere overhead, and One's chariot takes off.

"Wait!" Something long is thrust into Finnick's hand: A trident, lightweight and clearly a useless prop, but a weapon nonetheless. Caspia gets handed something shorter.

"He gets a trident and I get a stick?" Before Caspia can leap off of the chariot and effectively end a life before the Games have officially begun, the handler urges the horses forward, and they pull Casipa and Finnick out into the evening sun.

Finnick debates switching his trident to his right side so he can block if Caspia tries to stab him with her stick, which upon closer inspection turns out to be some kind of spindle, but she's already busy ignoring him, her eyes fixed forward, a murderous look carved onto her stony face. Thousands upon thousands of Capitol citizens hem the paved avenue, their tumult magnifying the cacophony of sound coming from every direction.

On the television screens, Finnick spots himself and Caspia gleaming in the setting sun, their matching costumes splashes of vibrant color against the bleached stone pavement of the City Circle. Looking in the mirror earlier, Finnick was sure he would end up the laughingstock of the Capitol and of his fellow tributes in his meretricious costume and glamorous makeup. But staring at himself now, standing next to Caspia on the chariot, trident in hand, he understands why Calliope and Mercer have been District 4's stylists for so long. His makeup, a glimmering green-blue mask coating his eyes and cheekbones, is topped off by faux fish scales pasted to his face by a special glue. The costume itself, while revealing, has been tweaked to fit his slim frame, accentuated by the golden armor protecting his forearms and shins.

Then objects begin to fall, thrown by District 4's admirers in the crowd. Poppies, gull feathers, and other items associated with his home drop down like rain, and Finnick is careful to grab a few and hold them in his free hand.

"Finnick Odair!" A young girl barely older than he is screams and waves from the front row. She pitches something at him, but it falls short and the chariot barrels mindlessly past it.

Well, that simply won't do. Finnick jumps off of the chariot, pauses to regain his balance, and sweeps up the object from the ground. It's a small figurine shaped like a shark. As he runs to remount his chariot, the exaltation from his observers increased tenfold, Finnick catches the girl's eye and grins. He veers toward the short wall separating spectators from the tributes, pleased as their cheers swell from loud to deafening.

"Here, let's make a trade," he calls to her, and tosses her one of the poppies. The girl's entire face is flushed the crimson hue of the flower itself. He winks, then takes off after the chariot before the Peacekeepers on duty can intervene and ruin the effect he's so deliberately constructed.

What must his parents think about all of this, watching from the television back at home? Their precious son gallivanting around, wooing Capitol maidens like some kind of foolhardy libertine. They must be so proud, he thinks wryly. Well, they'll be even prouder when he makes it home in one piece.

Caspia eyes him as he makes a running leap back into the chariot, the little shark figurine still hot from the girl's palm. "You're too good at this."

Finnick just smiles and waves.

The moment Finnick steps off the chariot, arms and cheeks aching, ears still buzzing with the thunderous ovation of the crowd, Calliope rushes forward and plants a kiss on his brow. "Oh, my dear Finnick, you were simply marvelous!"

"Both of you were absolutely stunning," Mercer adds. Caspia grunts and tears the crown off her head. "District 4 is always fantastic, but this year I think you'll be something special."

If Finnick thought Calliope was ecstatic, she's practically serene compared to Ortensia. She comes flying into the Remake Center with a high-pitched shriek, nearly barreling over a pair of tributes dressed in fringed brown coats and wide-brimmed hats.

"Oh, you two!" she cries, flinging her arms wide. "You were absolutely magnificent!" She pulls each of them into a brief embrace, and Finnick can feel her trembling with excitement. "Oh, I can't believe it! Finnick, when you winked at that girl...half of the ladies in the audience swooned! Even I was impressed. I can't stay long, though; I'm booked to meet with sponsors until tomorrow morning. I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow for training." She gives each of them another perfunctory hug, then hurries away, her fish-shaped earrings bobbing like bait on a pair of hooks.

Mags and Abalone approach them next, thankfully a good deal more composed than their predecessors.

To Finnick's eternal pleasure, Mags gives him a smile—a genuine, bright, wonderful smile. "Well done, Finnick," she murmurs, giving him a pat on the back. "And you, too, Caspia. You both handled yourselves well."

Caspia shrugs. "Don't look at me. Finnick over here did all the work."

"And took a big risk, too," Abalone cuts in, blue eyes ice cold. "What if the Capitol had been less forgiving about you jumping off your chariot and prancing around like a fool? Mags wouldn't be so pleased if you'd been shot full of holes."

Finnick smiles and gives Abalone a slight bow. "Thanks, Abalone. It's nice to know you care so much about my wellbeing."

Abalone shakes a stubby finger at him, face contorted in a scowl. "You watch your mouth, boy. I'm not some lovesick little girl you can bat your eyelashes at and get to do whatever you want."

"Everyone, let's go back upstairs." Mags starts to shoo them toward the elevator. "We can debrief, but it has to be quick. I already have meetings with sponsors lined up."

A pair of tributes walk toward them, independent of prep team and mentor. Ruby and Alabaster from District 1. "Can we ride with you?"

"The more the merrier," Finnick says, and steps to the side to allow them in ahead of him.

Mags gives him a discreet pat on the back and pries the shark figurine from Finnick's hand. "Smart boy."

Standing beside Finnick, Caspia stiffens, expression frozen somewhere between revulsion and scorn.

"Go with them," Abalone growls in her ear, just loud enough for Finnick to hear.

"But—"

"Go!" Abalone propels Caspia forward with a well-placed hand planted on her back. She stumbles, rights herself, then reluctantly matches her stride to Finnick's, flinging a scathing glare at her mentor over her shoulder.

Finnick can feel curious eyes following them as they trail One to the elevator and get on together, the doors hissing shut behind them.

"You two made quite a splash out there," the girl, Ruby, says. The elevator shoots upward, leaving Finnick's only reliable support on the ground below. He tries to focus on something else and immediately regrets it. Ruby's dress plunges in the front, and Finnick is having a hard time not staring at what her stylist clearly wanted people to stare at.

"Thanks," Finnick says, since Caspia looks one wrong word away from strangling Ruby with her own necklace. "You didn't look so bad yourself."

"I'm Ruby," the girl says. "This is Alabaster."

Alabaster smirks and jerks his head in greeting.

"I'm Finnick Odair," Finnick replies. "And this is Caspia."

"It'd be hard not to know your name, with the entire Capitol screaming it at the top of their lungs." Ruby winks, flashing Finnick an eyeful of red and black makeup.

Finnick raises his arms over his head to stretch, allowing a lazy smile to unfurl across his face. "What can I say? They love me out there."

Alabaster snorts derisively but otherwise doesn't comment. He regards Finnick with a critical eye, fingers playing with the gems studding his suit's lapels. The sight makes Finnick wish Mags had let him keep the shark figurine, if only to give him something to fiddle with.

"They're not the only ones," Ruby replies. "Did you see that girl from Seven? Actually, did you see the way half the Callows looked at you?" She giggles, a pitched, inelastic noise mustered from a pair of lungs that haven't quite mastered the art of joy.

To be ignorant of the way girls look at him would not only be obtuse but utterly stupid. There were girls at the academy, of course, girls who would peer at him from under their lashes and offer him vapid compliments and teasing jibes meant to garner them favor and stimulate his male ego. And Finnick would flirt right back, to the point of exasperation from Batten and elation from his female counterparts. Here in the Capitol, he had assumed everyone would be too preoccupied with figuring out how to survive the coming days to engage in such activities, but maybe to some tributes this is survival. Maybe to some tributes, the Games have already begun.

"Finnick was more concerned about what his bottom would look like on television than the other tributes," Caspia finally chimes in. To Finnick's chagrin, Alabaster snickers.

"I had other goals in mind," Finnick says with a nonchalant shrug. "Isn't getting sponsors what this whole parade's all about?"

"Maybe. Or maybe the parade is for other things, too." Ruby looks up at Finnick through her long, black lashes and oh. Oh.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" He can sense Caspia's scorn beating down on him like the high noon sun, but he and Ruby are treading water deep over their heads and he's not about to retreat to shore now.

The elevator doors slide open. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." A bloodred smile, then Ruby sweeps out of the elevator, her arm brushing Finnick's as she passes. "See you tomorrow."

Alabaster imparts a farewell sneer as he follows his district partner out of the elevator. "See you around, Pretty Boy."

The second the doors have slid shut, Caspia pokes him with her spindle. "I thought your objective was to win the Games, not seduce every tribute you're going to be killing later."

Finnick falls back against the wall, feeling like he just swam from the trawler all the way back to the pier in one attempt. "They're going to be my allies before they're my enemies."

"Little Miss Princess looked like she wanted to be more than allies," Caspia points out. "She looked like she wanted to eat you up with a spoon."

An ember of satisfaction ignites in Finnick at Caspia's remark. According to the information publicized during the reaping, Ruby is eighteen years old, the only child of a pair of prestigious jewelers who are as close to wealthy as someone who isn't Capitolite can get. He doesn't know whether to be disgusted or flattered that she considered him worthy of her attention. "Guess I'm a natural."

"Guess you are," Caspia says. "I can see why Mags accepted you as volunteer."

Finnick blinks, caught off guard. "She didn't. I got reaped."

"Don't lie to me." Caspia folds her arms. Even off the chariot, she strikes an imposing figure, a sea deity commanding him to confess his sins. "You're too good at this to be anything but voluntary."

"You think Mags would've let me sign up for this?" Finnick says, indignant. "I'm fourteen."

"You don't think she took your age into consideration?" Caspia counters, brows raised. "Each mentor evaluates each potential tribute very carefully. They weigh the pros and cons, and how much of a chance they think you have at winning. In this case, I think Mags took one look at you, rich Finnick Odair, precious golden boy of District 4, and decided your age was a good thing. She probably thought, Finnick is so young, the Capitol will have no choice but to sponsor him. They'll take one look at his puppy eyes and pretty face and fall over themselves for a chance to throw their money at him."

"Don't talk about Mags like that," Finnick says, face hot with anger. "You heard how mad she was on the train. She wouldn't do that to me. Don't—"

"Don't what, don't tell you the truth?" Caspia tears off her golden collar and flings it to the ground with a heavy metallic thunk. "It's their job to bring home victors, Finnick. Not people. Out of all the male candidates, you must've been the one with the best chance, not in spite of your age, but because of it."

"If that's the case, I don't see why Abalone picked you," Finnick retorts. "The Capitol doesn't have any reason to back you. No personality, no motivation, no friends. I think you're just like Alabaster: jealous."

Caspia's answering silence tells Finnick he's struck a nerve. When he and Mags reviewed her history on the train, he was surprised to find that, while her life might have been considered tragic by certain standards, she had not capitalized on it the way others might have. Orphaned at a young age, she grew up in a nondescript inner-district children's home, worked at one of the many processing plants crowding District 4's inland, enrolled at the academy on a scholarship, and trained there until her final year, at the end of which she volunteered. A rather lackluster story for the drama-loving Capitol, and Caspia knows it.

The elevator doors glide open and Finnick storms out, too incensed to even look at Caspia any longer. The Games haven't even begun, and he's already starting to fight with his own district partner. He can't help but wonder what will happen now if they meet in the arena.