The stylist and her team dolled Electra up nice and pretty. Nice and pretty with a little edge to it.
They teased her curls and elevated them to newer, bouncier heights, then let them cascade about her shoulders. They very gently combed through little specks of black glitter, giving her hair an ominous shine.
Then they had her step into her dress. A black lace one. Clearly they had taken note of what she wore at the reaping. This dress was much fancier than that one, however. The arms and shoulders were bare except for lace, which had a flower pattern in it. Starting at her bust, she was cloaked in black cloth which fitted tightly around her torso and draped loosely around her legs. There was a high slit in one side, and her leg on that side wore a thigh-high black lace stocking. To complete the outfit, she was given a pair of shiny black ankle-high boots.
Electra slowly spun around in the mirror when asked, mentally trying to block out the excited squeals of her prep team. She had to admit - it was a nice dress. Black was her favourite colour and she was secretly quite fond of lace. She allowed herself a rare smile. Although she wouldn't dare say it out loud, she loved how grown-up she looked. She would wear this all the time if she could.
Her prep team wasn't done yet. They brushed makeup over her cheeks, applied black lipstick and mascara, then added a black rose-shaped pin to her hair, and her ensemble was complete.
Her prep team gushed over her: "Oh, you're so gorgeous!" "You would win every beauty contest!" "We've never had a tribute even half as pretty as you!"
Hearing their compliments made Electra's stomach drop. If she was as beautiful as they say, then Pietro would undoubtedly find her attractive as well. But alas, she couldn't do anything about that. If her prep team wanted her to be gorgeous, then gorgeous she must me.
As she found herself being escorted to the wings of the stage, she desperately prayed that that slimy good-for-nothing grease all would keep his hands to himself.
Of course he didn't.
His hands lightly grasped her waist and she felt hot breath on her ear. "Wanna have some fun with me later?"
Electra shuddered. "I'd rather stick a fork in my eye," she told him curtly before prying his fingers off of her.
Pietro pouted. "Aw, come on. Don't be like that. I know you want me." He grinned menacingly and flexed his arm. "All the girls want me."
Electra frowned hard. "Then how do you explain all the girls who came forward saying you raped them?"
Pietro rolled his eyes dramatically. "They don't know what they're talking about. Of course I didn't rape them! They're just a bunch of silly girls."
"You make me sick. You fucking asshole." Electra spat.
Pietro only smiled at her. "You don't know what you're talking about either, do you?"
Electra was right about to deck him when suddenly the national anthem blared out of hidden speakers and Atticus Wolffe walked out on stage, smiling and waving at the screaming crowd. He gave the same speech that he gives every year before calling for the girl from One to join him onstage.
"She's gorgeous," Pietro said, staring hungrily at the girl's short dress and long bare legs.
"Shut up," Electra said.
Pietro nudged her with his elbow. "You jealous? Well, don't worry. You can have the one thing she doesn't: me."
Electra gagged dramatically, loud enough that when she turned around to smack the shit out of him, she found the whole line of tributes staring at her. Without hesitation, Ash rushed to her side.
"You leave her alone!" He puffed out his chest and stared daggers at Pietro. Pietro only laughed.
"You're no match for me, small fry," he chuckled. "I've dealt with grown-ups wimpier than you. Now scram." He swung his foot out. It collided with Ash's shin and he howled in pain.
Immediately a Peacekeeper standing guard marched over. "You," he said, nudging Ash with the barrel of his rifle, "get back in line. And you," he turned to Pietro, "you have plenty of time to cause trouble tomorrow in the arena. But right now, you're not in the arena, are you? If you set one more toe out of line, I'll make you regret it. Understand?"
"Yes." Pietro responded simply.
If they weren't a whole bunch of bastards, Electra would be grateful for the Peacekeepers. They kept Pietro from trying to do anything to her, after all.
Still though, it was hard to shake the sensation of Pietro burning holes into the back of her head. He was going to go for her tomorrow. She just knew it. She would have to keep her wits about her. In the arena, practically anything goes. The audience probably wouldn't be deterred by rape. There was nothing preventing him from doing that to her.
At least there was nothing preventing her from killing him. Gruesomely, too.
As the tributes in front of her stepped up for their interviews, Electra gleefully daydreamed about killing Pietro: slicing him up, decapitating him with one swing of an axe, castrating him with a rusty sickle, throwing him down a bottomless pit…
But then a stage worker was ushering her up and she found herself in front of everybody. Atticus loudly and warmly welcomed her onstage as they both sat down in those familiar white leather chairs.
"Hello Electra! I hope you're ready for tomorrow!"
Electra shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be," she said coolly.
Atticus laughed as if it were a joke. "Oh, don't worry! I'm sure you'll put on a great show in the arena! Anyway, what's been your favourite part of your visit here so far?"
Electra looked down at herself. She only had one answer, really.
"This dress," she said, smoothing out the fabric, "I'd wear it forever if I could."
Atticus raised his eyebrows. " It really is a beautiful dress. In that case, I think your preparation team deserves a round of applause!"
The crowd did so accordingly. A few rows back from the front, Electra's prep team giggled and blushed with giddy excitement.
When the claps quietened down, Atticus turned back to Electra. "Now, I want to ask you about what went down between you and your district partner on the chariot a few nights ago. As I'm sure you're aware, everyone got quite a fright when he fell off!"
Electra leaned back in her chair and fixed Atticus with one of her famously cold stares. "Because he's a disgusting piece of shit who thinks that just because I'm pretty, that he deserves me."
The stage area fell silent for a few moments. Atticus looked at her, surprised, then he spoke again: "Really?"
"Dub. Why do you think he got voted in?" Electra rolled her eyes. Fucking Capitolites. Do they need everything spelled out for them? "He's a monster. If he even so much as thinks about trying to rape me, I'll gouge his eyes out and shove them up his ass."
Atticus's eyebrows shot straight up, disappearing into his hairline. "Really?" he said again. "He's that bad?"
"Yes," Electra said, firmer and harsher this time, "he honestly deserves to die. He makes me sick. In fact, he should just save me the trouble and jump on the mines tomorrow. No one'll miss him. Not even his own mother loved him! She killed herself, you know. She probably did it because she was so ashamed of having him for a son. He's truly despicable. I have no fucking idea how he keeps getting away with it, but he does. And the worst part is that he genuinely believes that he's doing nothing wrong! He's horrible and stupid! Literally the worst possible combination of personality traits…!"
And then Electra went off, ranting and raving about her abhorrent district partner until her buzzer rang out and Atticus had to slap his hand over her mouth to get her to stop talking. "Alright, we get the picture," he said shakily as he led her off the stage, "goodnight, and good luck for tomorrow, Electra!"
Electra didn't stop to see Pietro's interview. She stomped her way back inside the building, to the elevator, then across the apartment and into her bedroom without laying her eyes on a single television screen. She took off her beautiful dress and threw herself into bed, pulling the covers tightly over her.
She lay in that position for hours, not moving once. Not when the doorknob slowly turned and squeaked. Not when Isaac's voice rose up from the darkness outside her door, telling Pietro sharply to go away. Not when the Six tributes started having a violent argument one floor above her. And not when Peacekeepers marched in to break it up.
She only stirred when her prep team arrived to ready her for the arena.
She had breakfast in her room. And when the time came to board the hovercraft, she stood as far away from Pietro as she could possibly manage.
The ride through the air was filled with her thoughts. Thoughts of death, survival, hope and Ash.
Speaking of Ash, he hadn't looked at her once today. His head was continuously bowed in what was either worry or motion sickness. Probably both.
The hovercraft landed. She was ushered off and escorted down a cold, bright hallway and into a tiny room. Her stylist was already in there, holding her jacket with the signature plum-red colour of District Five's tributes.
"Was it true what you said last night?" she asked in a whisper of a voice, "in your interview? About the dress?"
"Yes." Electra's voice gave away no emotion. Her face was a steel trap. "It was the best dress I've ever worn."
The stylist smiled shyly.
Electra put on her jacket and stepped into her launch tube as soon as it opened. Her teeth sank themselves into her lip. She clenched her fists.
It's showtime, she thought wryly.
The tube door swung closed. There was no other sound except for the air rushing in and out of her nose.
No going back now.
Not that she ever could, but whatever.
The tube rose up. Electra craned her head back. She was only able to see a black circle that was the end of the tube.
But when the stagnant air of the tube was replaced by fresh, if somewhat musty air, the only thing she could see was black.
The clicking of her launch plays confirmed what she hoped wasn't true: the arena was in total darkness. Complete, utter, unending darkness. She couldn't even see her own hand in front of her face.
Brilliant.
How the fuck was she supposed to survive the Games now?
