Chapter 7.

"What in the name of Panem is taking him so long?" snapped a particularly panicked Vivian.

She was pacing back and forth in front of the window as the sun had set, but with the streets and buildings awash in the neon city below, the sky was still pseudo-daylight. The din of bustling people, vehicles and machines was still audible even from the District 9 floor of the Tribute Center.

"Chill Viv, I'm sure it'll be fine," said a particularly untroubled Nott.

"Fine?! It's twenty minutes until the start of the Tribute Parade and their outfits aren't here yet!" she blustered, gesturing at Eamon and Madeline who were each having their hair done by Alexis and Sylvia.

"It's not much of a contingency, but I'll go commando if it's absolutely necessary," sniggered Eamon. Behind him, Alexis tittered, messing up the piece of hair she'd just spent five minutes trying to keep flat.

Madeline laughed. "Seriously Viv, if push comes to shove we'll just wear what we have."

Vivian eyes almost popped out of her head.

"It'd make an ironic statement," chuckled Nott, who was clearly getting a kick out of watching Vivian's plight, "Stand out the most by wearing boring, day-to-day clothes."

"Can't say I fancy dressing up as a breadstick myself, personally," said Madeline.

"Oh please," said Sylvia rolling her eyes, "You guys have to have more faith in Fingle. He's not going to put you in some stupid papercraft project like the other District Stylists. I've seen them and trust me, you're going to look divine."

"I'd have a lot more faith in him if he were here already," grumbled Vivian.

"If who were here, exactly?" said a familiar voice from the doorway.

The portly figure of Fingle, resplendent in a scarlet shirt and black vest, was almost impossible to make out from behind the large, portable wardrobe he was pushing into the apartment living room.

"We should be downstairs already," Vivian said to him.

"Apologies my dear, but perfection simply cannot be rushed. Well I mean it can, but it shouldn't. I take it you ladies are done?" he addressed Sylvia and Alexis.

"Yeah, they should be fine," said Alexis, allowing Eamon and Madeline to stand up.

"Excellent, excellent. Well young Miss Madeline, young Master Eamon, I do hope you are satisfied with what I've made for you," he said, wringing his hands together nervously and excitedly.

He opened the two compartments of the wardrobe and Eamon's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. The outfits certainly weren't what he expected. His consisted of a tan-coloured tunic, with a large, gold stalk of grain embroidered on the back. A bronze sash and belt accompanied it, along with a pair of white leggings lined with gold stripes, and a pair of simple, black leather shoes polished so fine Eamon could see his reflection in them.

Madeline was similarly stunned. Hers was a simple, but magnificent knee-length dress coloured similarly to Eamon's outfit. It featured a motif of grain stalks woven into such intricate patterns they almost looked like flowers. The shoes were simple; flat, golden, adorned with a small bow and easy enough for a 13-year-old girl to slip into without concern.

"I'll take your stunned silence as a yes, then?"

"It's a hell of a lot better than I expected," mumbled Eamon.

"Yeah, even I've gotta agree with that," nodded Nott in approval. "Nicer than anything I've seen for our District since becoming mentor."

Fingle bowed deeply, his eyes sparkling with tears of happiness, "Oh happy days! Now go! Go put them on, we have to be downstairs post-haste!"

The outfits weren't quite as fiddly as Eamon had imagined, although he did require Alexis' help in adjusting the sash to the right length over his shoulder. He had to admit, he looked nothing short of princely. Madeline looked unquestioningly like a princess; not the sort of princesses she'd heard about in fairy tales but a proper princess, elegant and refined. Which she thought was impressive, considering her age and stature. Vivian almost fainted when the pair of them walked back into the living room.

"Oh marvellous! How perfectly they fit, what a relief!" cried Fingle. "But they're not complete yet, I have one more thing for both of you."

He extricated two small, metallic boxes from the wardrobe and handed one each to Eamon and Madeline. Eamon unclasped his and gasped. Sitting gently on the silk wrappings inside was an ornate bronze circlet, with a very fine stalk of grain winding its way around the length of it. It was the most remarkable piece of jewellery Eamon had ever seen. At least, until he saw Madeline's. In her hands was a delicate, silver tiara. The shape of it flowed much like the patterns on her dress and it was adorned with a gemstone unlike any he'd ever seen; he almost felt like he could see the depths of the cosmos twinkling and shifting within. It had captured everyone's attention, and they were all somewhat startled when Fingle spoke up to comment on it.

"Ah, I see you've all taken note of the fire opal! An incredibly rare find, not found anywhere in Panem, no sir! I won't go into the details of how I acquired it, but I've been saving it for a special occasion for many a year, and I don't think they get any more special than your first Hunger Games. The grain duke and duchess you two shall be, I think the visual pun speaks for itself."

"T-Thank you, Fingle…" whispered Madeline.

"My dear, you are too kind," he said, dropping his voice to speak somewhat more seriously. "I know that neither of you two wishes to find yourself in these Games. Truly, I do understand. I refuse to pull any punches, because I know what it will mean for you if I do. I refuse to fail you."

Surprisingly, he then gave both Eamon and Madeline a very long hug, before adjusting the circlet and tiara upon both of their heads.

"Now let us be off then, hmm?"

The seven of them headed down the elevator and when they emerged, the receptionist was so mesmerised by Eamon and Madeline's appearance that for several moments forgot to direct them to the back of the building that lead out to the Tribute Parade. A large neon-lit hub connected the Tribute Center to the Tribute Parade boulevard. Just another thing that Eamon had seen and studied countless times on television yet was much more grandiose in reality.

Vividly outfitted Stylists were running around frantically, trying to make last-minute alterations and finishing touches for their tributes. Beautiful black, white and chestnut-coloured horses drawing chariots stood nearby each District's group. Beyond the gaping entrance, what seemed like several kilometres of flat, expansive road was flanked by sonorous drums, pyrotechnics shooting flame every which way, more Peacekeepers than Eamon ever thought possible, and a crowd that didn't even look like people; just a mismatch of colours oddly distorted through the heat haze.

Eamon wasn't sure how he had time to take note of it all, because after mere seconds of entering it felt like most pairs of eyes inside were upon their entourage, namely Eamon and Madeline's regal-looking outfits.

He nudged Madeline, "Stand up straight and look impressive."

She nodded and kept her head held high as Fingle directed them to their chariot, making it a point not to look at the other tributes as they walked past.

This was the first real chance Eamon got to see a lot of the tributes up close and personal, even if their comical-looking outfits disguised that somewhat. The tributes from District 1 were dressed in a variety of colourful feathers and downs which Eamon supposed were designed to make them look like peacocks. The male and female tributes from District 4 looked like a shark and a dolphin respectively, which made Eamon oddly curious what it must be like to live near the ocean. He hadn't a clue what the District 8 tributes were meant to look like; his best guess was that they were meant to resemble sewing machines. He felt confident that no-one's attire was nearly as impressive as his and Madeline's.

Fingle and Vivian left Eamon and Madeline to stand next to the chariot while they handled some last minute organisational matters. Once they were out of earshot Madeline turned to him.

"Hey, I know Vivian told us not to, but I've got an idea."

"Oh? I'm all ears."

She whispered her plan to him.

"I don't know," he started. "There's a reason Viv told us- "

"But it would be both of us! We can make that work, especially with these outfits."

He smiled, "You're starting to catch on to the finer details of the Games. You might not even need my help at this rate."

"So, you'll do it?" she grinned.

"Sure. These are our lives to throw away anyhow, not Vivian's."

He gave her a big hug and a sense of pride began to spread through his fingertips. Once again, he vowed to get her home by any means necessary, even if it meant killing all the other tributes single-handedly.

With a minute before the start of the parade, they gathered themselves and stood in position on the back of their chariot as Nott, Vivian, Fingle, Sylvia and Alexis re-joined them and guided their chariot to stand in position behind the District 8 one. Eamon's heart began to race as he stared out of the maw at the oncoming Parade. He'd always hated public speaking or standing out in general.

The rhythm of the drums changed and began to beat to the anthem of Panem. The first chariot was sent out and both Eamon and Madeline looked back at Nott, who gave a reassuring, if concerned nod back at them. Their chariot finally propelled forward, and they were thrust out into the heat of the night and the lights. The chorus of the tens of thousands of Capitol citizens was deafening, and flowers were being showered onto the boulevard.

Eamon waved stiffly but flashed as dazzling a smile as he could muster, which was somewhat difficult given the circumstances, however it fit with the noble nature of his attire. To his complete surprise however, Madeline was a natural. Her waving was confident, her smile was heart-melting and she even blew kisses to accentuate her princess motif. At about a quarter of the way, she nudged his foot with her own, and he understood.

He leaned down, and she hooked her legs around his neck with great difficulty given the unstable nature of the chariot. Keeping one hand on her tiara, and another on Eamon's head to keep balance. He stood back up, placing a hand on the chariot to steady himself. Together they looked like a pair of tourists, out for a simple night of exploring the sights of the Capitol.

Eamon was unsure what the sponsors would think, but he needn't have worried. The throng exploded as the grain duke and duchess bestowed their royal greetings upon them. Nearby television screens lit up with their faces and suddenly it was like looking into a hall of mirrors.

Before they knew it, the end of the avenue approached and so did the Presidential booth. Eamon lowered himself once again and allowed Madeline to regain her footing. One by one, the chariots came to a halt as the booth towered high above them and so did the figure that approached the podium. When all were stationary, Tobias Bishop raised a hand and instantly the world was plunged into silence. His voice echoed out resonant, entrancing and decadent over each and every person there.

"Welcome! Welcome one and all to the 68th Annual Hunger Games! Tributes. My, my, my, don't we have a colourful bunch this year? I feel I speak for all of us when I say we applaud your valour and fortitude in honouring these Games, a most sacred tradition to our people and our history, I'm sure you'll agree. I have just a few words for our tributes, as I often do, in hopes that you will find them inspirational and thought-provoking."

He cleared his throat and his voice struck a chord, like that of a poet:

"Home is where the heart is,

It is your kingdom come,

The source of your solace and your strength,

To do what needs to be done."

Applause rang out as he finished his short verse.

"Follow those words true tributes, and may they guide you to salvation. Thank you all, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

He waved as he departed the booth, and the chariots kicked into life once again.

When Eamon and Madeline returned, Vivian was (as expected) noticeably agitated.

"What were you two thinking?!" she burst out. "I specifically told you not to do things like that, and what did you do? You did it anyway!"

Eamon tried to speak, but she carried on anyway.

"We are trying to help you! You can't just ignore us and do your own thing! You should consider yourselves incredibly thankful it worked."

She looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown.

"I'm sorry Vivian," said Madeline sheepishly. "It was my idea. I figured if the Capitol could see us as the kind of 'big-brother/little-sister' pair we are, they'd warm up to us more."

"Now hang on a sec Viv," said Nott slowly. "I think this can work. Yeah… I like the sound of this. 'The Royal Family of District 9' or something. Although from what I can tell, more than a few people seem to have made the connection themselves."

Vivian looked stunned that Nott approved.

"And it gives you something to talk about in your interviews," pointed out a rapt Fingle.

Vivian was clearly outmatched and crestfallen.

"We're sorry Viv," said Eamon. "We'll listen more in the future."

She raised her head slightly. "Well the important thing is that it worked and that you two are okay. Come now, we'll discuss this harebrained plan of yours at dinner."

They made to leave but Eamon noticed something out of the corner of his eye. The District 2 tributes of Blair Lynch and Landon Starr, stylised as knights in shining, silver plate armour had their eyes fixed squarely on him. Landon's eyes narrowed, and his mouth thinned, but Blair's expression was completely inscrutable. Eamon gave them a fleeting wink before following his group out.