Doot doot! Time for another chapter! We get to see the chariot costumes at last and find out who got stuck with the worst one lmao
Let me know what you think, and as usual the rest of my junk is at the bottom of the chapter!
22 - The Parade of a Lifetime
Oryza Belfast, 15, District 9
It's all very overwhelming. All the people who file out two-by-two, heading to their chariots with mixed expressions. Bel's seen three faces of disappointment, all belonging to the tributes before and after Nine's chariot. There's been one look of abject horror from the boy from Twelve, though Bel isn't quite sure why. Is it because he's covered in dust and looks practically nude aside from it?
She looks down at her own costume, her hands holding the straw hat on her head steady. She's not sure why they handed her so much wheat to carry, the sheaf looking almost fake with its plastic shine. Bel frowns down at the wheat and tugs at the straw hat nervously. She doesn't like this. All the poking and prodding, all the eyes on her and all the words she misses. No one's realised she's deaf yet. Her stylist even yelled at her for being rude when she didn't respond every time Bel couldn't see her lips.
At least she hasn't been attacked again, she thinks with a weak shard of hope. Her Capitol partner isn't really mean—though he hasn't said much to her to begin with—and Rye isn't getting into her personal space with that wicked smile of hers. Bel's been given room to breathe today, even if it's not much of an improvement from this morning.
She pulls the straw hat off and inspects it as the rest of the tributes slowly make their ways towards the chariots. Only about half of them are here so far, most of the wait being on the upper District tributes. Bel hasn't seen anyone beyond District Five emerge yet, so she can only assume they'll be off once One through Four arrive.
A hand brushes against her shoulder. Bel squeaks, probably louder than she'd like to have, and almost trips over her own feet trying to back away from the hand. She catches sight of her Capitol partner—Church, Rye said his name was—and places a hand over her heart, steeling herself. It's just Church. She's not going to be stolen away or pounced yet, she's not dead yet.
When she looks back at his face, she can see he's talking to her. Bel only catches the words, "Know each other."
Bel wrings her hands together and sucks in a deep breath. With shaking hands, she tries to tell him to repeat himself.
Church stops her midway. "Shit," she sees him say. "Right. Deaf. Sorry."
Bel waves dismissively. Everyone makes the mistake, she finds. At least he didn't automatically assume she was something else entirely, like District Nine had.
"I was saying we haven't gotten to know each other," he repeats. "I kind of ignored you on the train. Sorry about that."
She shrugs. Then smiles. Maybe she has a nice Capitol partner. Church smiles back at her and adds, "You're Oryza, yeah?"
Bel is quick to shake her head. Before she can remember the movement for a bell, she nods and then shakes her head again. The confused look on Church's face just makes her want to bury her head in the ground. Even she is confusing herself. The sign for a bell fades from memory as she rolls her eyes at herself.
Pointing to her chest, Bel does her best to speak loud and clear for Church. "Bel," she tries.
He stares for a few seconds. An incredulous, "Excuse me?" follows.
"Bel," she tries again. This time she jabs at her chest with her finger. "Bel."
"Be— Oh!" Church's shoulders shake, probably from laughter. "Bel. A nickname. I follow you now."
She nods, beaming up at him. Here's hoping any other questions he asks won't be so difficult to answer, she thinks.
"Well, I'm Church." He nods curtly at her, a half-smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bel."
One of the remaining pairs enters the corridor. Bel catches sight of armour and capes before her attention is back on Church. She won't get a good view of the two that came out anyway, so she's better off continuing her conversation.
"And you're fifteen?" Church asks. There's a hint of hesitation in his eyes, his chest held steady as though he's holding his breath. Through the occasional red splotches of skin along his neck, Bel can even see his throat constricting.
She nods, and Church appears to let out a heavy, exhausted breath. She taps his hand, hoping to get him to meet her eye again. When he does, she waves her index finger back and forth before clenching her hand upwards into a fist and flipping it downwards with her smallest finger poking out. Just in case, she says with the action, "What's wrong?"
Church's hand moves up to his face, hovering for a fraction of a second over his scar—and then he's quickly pushing back his straw hat and running the fingers through his hair.
"You're the same age as my sister," he says. With an almost disgusted expression, Church adds, "You have so much of your life ahead of you."
She tilts her head at him curiously. Is he angry that she's the same age as his sister? Angry that she's here? Angry about something else? She hopes he doesn't take it out on her. Rye attacking her because of a misunderstanding was bad enough.
Another pair walks out. Well, one of them is carried out, their legs stuck together in a large tail of fabric. Bel and Church gawk for all of two seconds before Church taps her shoulder. She looks back up at him, wondering what's wrong now.
"You know how we have to win as District and Capitol pairs?" he asks. Bel nods. She was briefed on it before they arrived at the Capitol, and her biggest concern had been even finding someone who'd want to work with a girl who wouldn't hear danger coming. It still is at this point, especially with how on edge she is every time she locks eyes with another tribute. Any one of them could be the person who takes her life. Any one of them could be a predator that's chosen her as prey. "I'm thinking… Do you want to stick with me?"
She can't help it. She actually blurts out, "What?"
Church nods. "I'm strong enough for the both of us. And we both have family we want to get back home to, right?"
Pento, still only half-conscious and slung over Gimmick's shoulders, flashes through Bel's mind. Her mother's worried hesitation, her father's anger at the sight of the trio this morning. Gimmick fondly looking over Pento as he rested. As sure as she is that she might not make it home, her heart still aches for that familiarity. For her family and friend.
With great reluctance, Bel nods. Church takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. It's the way Pento would hold her hand when she was nervous, his own personal way of saying, "I'm here," without making her turn to see it.
"I'll make sure you can go home," he tells her. "And Sarah and I will visit whenever we can. Sound good?"
She continues to stare up at him. Is Sarah his sister? Why does he care so much about Bel getting home? Rye said the Games this year was rigged to make sure Capitolites went home no matter what. Why care about Bel when he's just implied he could win it without her?
Why care about Bel when she'd have nothing to offer him in return?
She chews her lip, her hand going slack in his own, as she considers this. It's a lot to decide on with just one question, especially with the days to come. Church might decide she's not worth leaving the arena with. Church might find someone better. Church might have to say goodbye early if she doesn't make it past that bloodbath.
His head snaps up suddenly, his eyes wide and in surprise. Church lets go of her hand and places her straw hat back on her head. He hands her the sheaf of wheat she'd set aside, smiling apologetically.
"They're telling us to get on the chariots," he tells her. "We'll talk about it later, yeah?"
As Bel follows him to their chariot and grips the edge of it tightly, she wonders if a future discussion will ever actually happen between them. Bel may not know everything about the Games thanks to her parents' need to keep her innocence, but she's not stupid. She knows there's better people here than her, and she knows someone who volunteered like Church will figure that out too.
Jack Evans, District 4
When the Parade starts, Jack drops all of his paperwork onto his desk and clambers over to the living room. He really should get this work done, sort through his inventory and profits, but Adrianne is much more important. Seeing the girl he raised from a young age make a good impression is important. Seeing his girl okay and with someone she can rely on in the Games is important.
He alternates between sitting on the couch and pacing around it as he stares at the screen. He doesn't hear the knock at the door. He doesn't hear Undine announce her presence until the footsteps enter the room.
"Mr. Evans?" she calls out. Jack startles, a hand pressing against his chest to steady his heart. When he looks over his shoulder, at the doorway, he spots two young girls waiting for him to notice them.
"Undine," he breathes, still reeling from the surprise. "Shell. What are you two doing here?"
Shell pushes past Undine, her walking stick poking out in front of her and giving her a good lay of the room. "We wanted to see how Chinook went," Shell says dully. After a short pause, she adds, "I wanted to know if she gets a better costume than I did. Mom doesn't describe the Games to me anymore, so I asked Undine to sneak me over here."
Undine smiles apologetically to Jack. She mouths, I'm sorry, to him and presses her hands together in a pleading gesture.
Jack just huffs out a laugh. "That's fine, girls. Take— Take a seat. I'll get us some snacks and drinks."
The girls converse as he flees for the kitchen. He prepares two plates of fruit, two glasses of water. They accept the snacks gratefully, giving Jack just enough time to sink into his armchair and let out a heavy sigh.
He'd vowed he would keep Adrianne safe after the Elders went missing. He'd promised himself he wouldn't let their legacy suffer the fate they had. But now look at him—he's failed so miserably at it that he has to watch his foster daughter ride a chariot to her death. After this will be four agonising days of waiting—of watching her interview, of finding out whether or not she impresses the Gamemakers. Jack's leg bounces up and down as his anxiety rises. He's not sure he's ready to watch his little girl face a practical warzone.
"They're starting!" Undine gasps. Jack's head whips over to the TV, where he sees the first chariot emerge into the stadium.
The names at the bottom are Altan Knight and Valentina Teagan, representing District One. The two stand about the same height despite the two-year age gap, and the costumes they don are so different from the usual One getups.
"They're in these dark suits of armour," Undine describes. For a moment Jack wonders why she's saying it out loud, but the impressed hum from Shell reminds him that he's not watching this alone today. "The boy has this cape covering one shoulder and fluttering behind him. It's blue—like the deep royal blues they use for Four."
"Ooh," Shell marvels. "What kind of dark are the armour?"
Undine hesitates. Jack wonders if she doesn't know the colour, if she can't find the right word. He looks over the armour, at its gold trimmings and spectacular craftsmanship.
"Midnight blue," he tells Shell. "Midnight blue with gold trimming."
"It sounds so gorgeous…" Shell smiles at the description. Altan and Valentina wave, Valentina acting just a tad more bubbly than her District partner, but all in all they look just like the outstanding tributes One always produces.
"Two's coming next!" Undine beams at the screen. The chariot for Two comes out, the names Cetronia Livius and Wystan Warwick flashing at the bottom of the screen. Wystan and Cetronia look like complete opposites outside of their costumes—one with green hair and red eyes, one with dark skin and a shaved head.
They're dressed in what looks to be a combination of gladiator armour and togas. Allowing Cetronia a chance to show off her build while sticking to the general theme of Two's strength, giving Wystan a chance to display the grace of the Warwick family. Jack chews his lip as he watches them.
"The girl's really stoic," Undine reports to Shell, "and the boy—he's tiny, oh my gosh—looks like one of those smug people. Waving like royalty and everything."
Shell scrunches up her face at the description.
The chariot disappears off-screen as another emerges, District Three showing off its tributes.
The skin-tight suits don't do the District girl—Daphne Petheraph—much justice. Whatever she'd worn to her reaping must've hidden the slight gut that sticks out of her midriff and the overall lack of exercise she gets each day. Jack would guess, as the binary code flashes along her suit in a green light, that Daphne is the kind of person who immerses themselves in their hobby—which doesn't leave much room for building strength or healthy posture.
Her partner, on the other hand, woos the crowd. Nikostratos Farrington's dyed hair compliments his costume, giving him an almost hooded look as the suit crawls up his neck. While Daphne squeaks and twitches to no end, eliciting pity from Undine as she describes her to Shell, Nikostratos holds himself confidently and smiles up at the crowd around him. He's like the marble statues on display at the train station whenever Jack has to make a trip to the Capitol for business—chiseled and awe-inducing, taking everyone's attention away from his partner.
"Chinook!" Undine waves her hands up and down, round and round as Four's chariot emerges. Jack won't deny that he almost jumps out of his seat when he sees her and her partner. He won't deny that a ghost of a smile flits across his face when he sees just how much fun she and her partner look like they're having.
Adrianne Evans and Simoleon Serif. A small note next to Simoleon's name to use neutral pronouns for this event. Jack does his best to understand the note as he takes in the duo's appearance, too distracted by the smile on his foster daughter's face.
"They've dressed her up like a sailor," Undine laughs. "You know those white and blue uniforms with the poofy hats?"
Shell giggles. "Those cartoon ones?"
"Yeah—she's in one of those with her hair up in a bun. Her partner—" Undine pauses for a second. "You'll love this, Shell. They dressed them up as a merperson!"
How else are they supposed to interpret it? Simoleon sits carefully on the edge of the chariot, hands clasped tightly around Adrianne's, as the seaweed decorations and shell hair clips give an underwater feel to them. Their lower body is wrapped tightly in shimmering blue fabric, and every so often they kick their legs out to show off the makeshift tailfins the fabric provides.
"A classic sailor and merfolk angle," Jack mutters, relieved. "She has a chance."
District Five's chariot emerges next, and immediately they're met with a modified chariot design compared to the rest. Instead of the silver chariots most have come out on, Five's is seemingly made entirely from solar panels. No horses pull at the chariot, leaving Jack to wonder just how it's moving so fluidly in the first place.
Tooru Ikeda and Quatra X are the names onscreen, and the two definitely look the part of stereotypical scientists. They're covered in neon green makeup that glows ever so faintly, both teens' hair crumpled and tangled as large glasses pinch their noses. Their white lab coats flutter behind them, revealing untucked dress shirts and grease-stained trousers.
Undine is giggling to herself, almost unable to describe the sight without bursting out into laughter. As Tooru and Quatra nervously stare out at the crowd, dumbfounded by the sheer size of it, the chariot passes out of the camera's view.
"Let's hope Six is better," Shell says with her brows raised. Undine hasn't given the full description, but even Shell can tell how ridiculous the angle for Five was. "They got a good one with mine."
"Don't count your chickens," Jack mutters when he sees Six's chariot emerge. Undine guffaws loudly, cutting off Lola Amos as she commentates on Six's getup.
Finnegan Styx and Morganite Gardierre got the short end of the stick, even compared to Five. The two bump into each other to no end, poking and prodding each other with the jet wings attached to their grey bodysuits. There simply isn't enough room in the chariot for the both of them, and on more than one occasion Morganite almost falls out while Finnegan struggles to keep his balance.
Both look as mortified as Jack thinks they feel. Neither can even focus on the crowd, too busy arguing helplessly with the other to stop pushing them out.
Halfway through the chariots, Jack thinks, and the only one he cares about has been and gone. The only one he cares about did their best and made a great first impression.
Maybe she has a chance after all.
Hartson Flare, District 12
He might not have a chance at this rate.
Hartson scrunches the papers up even tighter in his hands. Half of the chariots have emerged already, and all but two have gotten the crowd's attention. With Twelve being so close to the end, no one will notice Cole and his partner emerge. No one will see this small boy doing his best despite being so clueless, and it'll tear Hartson apart.
The adoption papers feel heavy even as both hands grasp them. He's yet to put down the final signature, so far only giving all the information he could, but he's hesitant to give it to Mrs. Wyland. He'd made the decision as a spur of the moment one, angered at her refusal to give Cole one more chance. He couldn't sit by and let the kid fade away on the streets. Hartson could work extra shifts to pay for the both of them.
But he's scared. He's scared that if he turns in these papers today, he might lose his son before he gets a chance to call him that. He's scared that Cole might die never knowing someone cared, that someone wanted him in their family. He's scared that the loss will be too much to bear.
So he sits and waits. Hartson waits for Cole's chariot. Hartson waits for Cole's training score. Hartson waits for a sign to hand in the papers. If Cole dies in the Games, he'll claim guardianship and make sure nothing of his is lost to the Seam. If Cole lives and wins, he'll welcome him home with open arms and thank whatever deity was watching over him for giving him a chance.
District Seven emerges from the darkness, the names Phyllis Hamilton and Cyber Tronovsky appearing at the bottom of the screen. Hartson squints up at the television with a frown, trying to figure out what he's seeing onscreen. He can't say for sure, but the duo look to be dressed entirely in flowers—petals, stems, leaves, the whole shebang. Phyllis has her arms crossed in front of her chest as she glares down at her dress, a few petals falling from her skirt as the wind hits them, while Cyber stares blankly out at the crowd and gives them an almost practiced, repetitive wave. Hartson tries to focus on the fact that this boy's eyes glow with every shadow that passes. Hartson tries to focus on the artificial look to his hair. Hartson tries to think about anything other than the fact that this child is the same age as Cole.
He looks down at the papers again. It couldn't hurt to sign it now, could it? Cole's not the only twelve-year-old—Hartson reminds himself of this like it's some kind of consolation, like it's a miracle he might not be the first to go.
Hartson picks up the pen and uncaps it just as District Eight come into the scene. There's a slight chorus of laughter mixed in with rampant screams from the Parade audience.
Lola is gushing about the model in the chariot, Luxor Aricunai, while totally ignoring Chambray Hemingway. Hartson grimaces at the spectacle in front of him, noticing the large frilly collar around the girl's neck before anything else. The jester hat, made of conflicting materials and patterns, jingles with each stilted wave Luxor makes to the crowds. They look like ridiculous jesters, he thinks bitterly. Instead of showcasing the District, their stylists dressed the duo up in embarrassing puffy pantaloons and oversized jester shoes.
Chambray looks extra uncomfortable in all this. Hartson can't blame her.
When Nine comes out, things look a little tamer. Simple farming garments—overalls and straw hats—as both Church and Oryza Belfast hold a sheaf of wheat each. Church's free hand is nowhere to be seen, closer to Oryza than it is the air. When she struggles to hold her balance for just a few seconds, only to have Church correct it, Hartson realises the two are holding hands.
"I've just received some interesting news about Nine's Capitolite, as well!" Lola sounds almost ecstatic as her voice comes out of the speakers with a slight crackle. "The boy going by just 'Church' is none other than Epsilon Church, the orphan involved in a tragic, tragic car accident last year. With his sister still in hospital, it makes a lot more sense that he's volunteered this year!"
Hartson scowls. She invaded his privacy just to get a full name and figure out why he volunteered? Most people have their own reasons for volunteering, and some are too stupid to even wonder why they do it in the first place. You ask a career why they volunteered, and what response would you get? Honour? No, most would hesitate without that default response, stuck with the question haunting them as the Games start.
He clicks his tongue and begins clicking the pen open and shut as it hovers over the forms. He glances up once Ten has been announced, and thankfully it's not as bad as he'd expected it to be. Octavia Faye and Gossamer Wormwood take a different spin on Ten's livestock look, wearing shiny, cleaned feathers as a gown and a bodysuit as more feathers are mixed in with their hair. Octavia seems to have gotten the better design, her dress making her look like someone from a ballet—Hartson can't help but think of the Swan Lake pictures some Peacekeepers would show off after vacations.
Gossamer, on the other hand, looks like a rooster. But at least he's not upset over it. Unlike Octavia, who visibly keeps her distance from him and keeps a stoic expression, Gossamer grins and dazzles the crowd. He looks almost drunk from all the attention, something more to his gaze than just appreciation and confidence. Hartson can feel his stomach drop as he stares at the boy. He hopes Cole doesn't get involved with him. There's too much of a bad vibe coming from him.
He glances back down at the form, realising that Cole will be presented soon. Hartson's heart hammers in his chest now, his hands almost shaking as he hastily scribbles his signature at the bottom of the final sheet of paper.
Done, he thinks. No going back unless he burns it or throws it away. All that's left to do is hand it back to Mrs. Wyland.
Eleven emerges, and for once they look dashing and classy. Jareth Vilna and Avita Clements-McMillan are dressed up as their stylists' interpretation of an avocado and a peach, respectively. Avita's afro has a small, peach cap atop it with a stem emerging from the top, while her dress has a wide balloon skirt that completes the peach look. She grins, looking pleased by the ensemble, while Jareth waves nervously to the crowd. His avocado outfit consists of a neat suit, the jacket and trousers being a dark green while his dress-shirt is brown—the seed of the avocado, Hartson realises.
They actually get a really good reaction, Hartson realises. Unlike the sailor and the knights and the gladiators, Eleven actually holds the most attention. They stand out in a good way, people throwing flowers down at them and cheering at the tops of their lungs.
And finally, Twelve. The first thing Hartson sees is the fire, and he immediately panics. Cole wouldn't handle the fire well, synthetic or not. It might be over before it's even begun. He looks down at the papers again, sweat beading along his brow. He should burn this before he gets hurt, before he loses his new son too early to even call him a son.
But when the chariot emerges, showing Cole Aish and Florence Fontana, he doesn't see the crying, screaming boy he expects to see. No, he sees the usual, coal-coated Cole, with his hair aflame, his fingers clenched tightly around his chariot's handles as he yells at the top of his lungs, "I am brave!"
Hartson chokes out a relieved sob. Despite Florence throwing a fuss beside him, calling for an owl hat to be given back to her as her hair blazes alongside Cole's, Cole stands strong and repeats the statement over and over. Despite how exposed the duo are, dressed in only nude swimsuits and covered in dark dust to represent burning coal, the boy doesn't break down.
"Damn right, you are," Hartson breathes. "You're so, so brave."
Their chariot disappears and the screen goes back to Lola, who ranks the costumes from one to twelve based on audience votes. Hartson stares eagerly at the placements, watching as they're tallied up, and finally a list is presented.
1. Jareth and Avita
2. Cetronia and Wystan
3. Adrianne and Simoleon
4. Chambray and Luxor
5. Cole and Florence
6. Altan and Valentina
His heart leaps into his throat. Hartson won't deny the loud whoop he releases when he sees Cole—his son—rank fifth in a costume popularity poll. He's above District One, for crying out loud! District One!
7. Tooru and Quatra
8. Octavia and Gossamer
9. Phyllis and Cyber
10. Oryza and Church
11. Daphne and Nikostratos
12. Finnegan and Morganite
It's more than he can ask for. All the contenders he'd thought would get more attention than Cole are below him, the audience in love with this small boy announcing his bravery to the world. Hartson steadies himself, suddenly lightheaded from all the excitement coursing through him. He's just so proud—so proud and so certain for once in his life.
He snatches the paperwork off the table. He throws the pen over his shoulder. He storms out of his shack and towards Mrs. Wyland's orphanage.
No more delays. No more hesitation. He's adopting Cole and giving him the family he should've had from birth.
And that's the chapter! Great big thank you to TheEngineeringGames for helping me brainstorm the costumes! So, how about a QQ relating to those costumes, then?
QQ #17: How would you rank the costumes, favourite to least favourite?
I can't wait to see you next chapter, where we check in with Gossamer and Wystan at the meeting with Malvolia! What will it be about, I wonder? :3c