Maya Spencer (D1 and D2 Chariot)
Maya was slowly growing more and more irritated. She smiled on the outside, yes, but no one was watching. Which was infuriating. Right now, she was painted in gold, Broken crystals and jewels stuck to her, she looked absolutely dazzling. Her hair was in a high bun and was dyed, which would come out by afternoon, a gold. Midas was wearing something very similar, practically the same thing as she herself. Which she had to smirk at when he first exited to come and meet her at their chariot.
He looked about ready to strangle her, which she could smile at. At taunting, daring smirk. Which dared him to do something about it, in the end, he'd just grumbled something illegible towards Maya and stalked off to go talk to someone. She'd merely brushed it off, because Midas pouting certainly wasn't going to throw her off her game, no matter how infuriating. The busty girl from District 10 was.
Maya loved the spotlight, lived in it. It was what kept her in power all those years now wasn't it? The thing was, that same spotlight was now not on her, but that girl. Haizea Lobo, age 18, District 10. She'd learned this from Midas, he'd learned it from some boy named Hollis apparently. She'd made the conscious decision to not rewatched the tapes containing the reapings following the four Capitol favourites. She now wished she had, because this girl was a threat. Maya was counting on her own, Maya's, pure attractiveness to pull in sponsors, but apparent the sex appeal wasn't quite focused on her. It was on that dammed girl from ten.
The girl looked mildly uncomfortable, even though Maya would have worn that with pride. A skimpy cowgirl like cheerleading outfit. Revealing a lot of skin, especially the high skirt and shirt. Or low at the top, revealing as much chest as it could, and high at the bottom, revealing as much stomach as possible. Maya wouldn't have minded so muCh if this girl wasn't gorgeous. They hadn't even boarded their chariots yet and already all the attention was focused on her, Haizea. Which irked her to no end, she just really wanted to board the chariot now, which she would be sharing with, not only Midas, but the District 2 tributes as well. Which was infuriating, because from what she'd seen of both so far, they would be a handful.
Artemis, District 2, age 18, was a threat. She spent all of her time getting the final touches on her outfit fixed, a simple gladiator's ensemble, golden helmet and breastplate to accompany it. Maya was certain that their chariot would glow, from her and Midas being painted and sprinkled in gold, and them wearing heaps of it on top as well, they would certainly be a lot of gold to go around. Which Maya found fitting, after all, Midas' name did come from the man who, everything he touched turned to gold.
If only his namesake had carried on into Midas life. Maybe then Maya would never have had to deal with the infuriating rebel. No mattress own much he relieved her of her otherwise mundane and boring life, because he was exciting and he could read her. Slough annoying at times, made her life interessting, because he made it so that she didn't always get her way. He presented her with a challenge that she was going to dominate and she wanted to see the look me no his face as she did.
Her Capitol prep team, the one's who'd gotten everyone ready, each tribute had their own, had complimented her on her natural beauty. How nothing needed changing really, and Maya took pride in that. Because she knew she was gorgeous, but having others enforce that idea felt good. They were the ones who made sure her hair was perfect, and Artemis' team was currently straightening out and polishing certain aspects of her costume.
The older girl stood, arms outstretched, while her breastplate was being adjusted. Her helmet shined, she was looking up, seizing the crowd. Maya's remained stuck up against her own chariot, doing as the other girl was, looking at competition deciding who needed to go as soon as possible. Their eyes briefly met in competition, before both girls turned away, eyes glinting in the lust for each other's blood to be spilt. Maya grinned, but only slightly, barely visible to anyone in the facility, but still there. Midas was busy, he wouldn't be able to read and expose her, so she had Liberty to do whatever she pleased without the fear, the excitement of being read. Of being known.
Where was the fun if she couldn't prove anything, if she couldn't url the rebel she seems to have based her life around. No. It was the other way around. He had based his life off of her. Maya considered this for a moment, what were the rebel's thoughts on the matter? Did he believe himself to be the hero, did he believe himself to be Good? As Maya believed herself to be? Maya smirked, they really were two faces of the same coin weren't they?
Asher on the other hand seemed to be talking to some girl. Maya wasn't sure who exactly, but she had dark hair, and seemed very suspicious of the boy next to her. She was wearing some sort of power plant worker thing, and it covered almost all of her skin. Save for the head, where she wore a white helmet. That certainly wasn't going in her any sponsors, was the only thing Maya seemed to be able to take in from the situation. She shook her head, and numbly chuckled to herself, only loud enough for herself to hear.
Anyways, leaning up against the chariot she watched. Watched her competition, she recognized the tributes from four. Who were talking to one another, but in hushed whispers and prolonged pauses. They seemed to tolerate each other at best, and Maya couldn't help but roll her eyes. How boring. Life needed some excitement, this certainly wasn't it. Not the kind of excitement he could give her, with glares and rivalries and hurt and- and everything. Midas turned her mundane life into something exciting. Pity she'd have to end their excitement by killing him. No matter, after the boy's death she'd work for the Capitol and she'd never be bored then. Midas or not.
She Watched as Midas talked rapidly to some rebel she assumed his name to be Hollis, according to the blond boy that was her District partner. Maya smiled, something of nightmares, she'd kill them both. Two dead rebels was better than one, and this way, she could do all in the time span of less than an hour. She hoped they all knew she really did.
She kept staring, why she didn't know, something about Midas had always drawn her in, made her curious. The blond boy, seemingly feeling eyes on him, turned, forcing the other boy he'd been speaking to to turn as well. Suddenly she was facing two rebels, Midas, who's face was an even, calm look, of pure and utter hatred, and Hollis' gaze, which was curious. Curious and intrigued, his eyes flickered towards Midas, and then to her, before smirking slightly waiting to see how it played out. Maya wouldn't even give him the light of day, her gaze to our I used on something else.
Maya simply smiled deviously and turned away, she wasn't giving either of them the sense that she cared, even if both District 1 tributes knew this fact to be false. Because Maya didn't care. She wasn't here to take down anyone, besides Midas. Winning the games after that would be simple, if she could bring down Hollis as well, then that was even better. Maya didn't care, as long as the blood of rebels was spilt before long, because she wasn't sure how long she could last Without seeing the Crimson liquid and knowing that finally a rebel was dead, finally they were gone. And that would be ultimate satisfaction.
Her chariot would be out first, followed by District 3 and 4's. They were currently not visible to the public, last minute changes and last minute interactions made quickly before they were scheduled to leave. She grit her teeth, just a little longer and little miss cowgirl would be dead at her feet. She couldn't wait to see that pretty little face of her ruined, permanently. And then of course Midas, who would suffer anything worse than whateve she'd do to miss Little Cowgirl. And cowgirl would suffer a whole lot, Midas just that much more.
Because he deserved every single bit of punishment she threw at him, Midas deserved it all.
Artemis Neverending
Artemis observes, it is what she does best. She listens and she seizes up her competition, this time in person. Nobody tries approaching her, her body giving off a hostile vibe to anyone who steps too close. Her costume is being adjusted and she waits. Waits for something to happen.
She sees the little girl from seven, talking with her District partner, looking scared and she thinks that she can sees tears on the young brunette. Artemis resists the urge to scoff. That girl is weak, she will not last. Artemis will make sure of it. The boy she's talking to looks distant, his eyes glazed over and Artemis can only imagine that he too is weak. There is no room for the weak, life has made that adamant fact clear.
She feels a sharp tug and her hair is being pinned up, in a tight bun revealing her face. Poised and stoic, not leaving any room for anyone to read her properly. For anyone To see that little girl begging for her brother's love. She hears her prep team mumble a sorry, before quickly resuming their work. When she'd entered the room full of the prep team of little Capitolites, they'd immediately shrieked. Covering their mouths. Told her she too much of a boyish face, too much muscle to ever be considered beautiful. Through it Artemis had remained poised, not letting their words get to her.
No one at home would have had the guts to tell her that, but she wasn't home. And that thought brings Artemis standing back into reality. And she's no longer in the prep teams' room, but about to enter the chariot races. And for the first time since volunteering, Artemis regrets it. The thought comes like lightning and leaves just as quickly. Artemis straightens herself out, her little outburst would've been visible to anyone who'd been paying close enough attention. If she is lucky no one noticed, unfortunately, when has Artemis ever been lucky.
She looks up, a pair of dazzling, malicious hazel eyes stare back, glinting. And suddenly Artemis is scared. Because those eyes, they aren't human, they aren't. And she starts to think, before she meets the face of whom the eyes belong. It's the girl from District 1, Maya Spencer. Their eyes had met before, a brief challenge. But now, the girl, Maya, has seen her fear, seen her weakness and Artemis knows that the girl will use it. Use it to win.
Artemis is not blind, she can practically feel the tension rolling off the District 1 tributes when they speak. And she does not want to get caught up in that. The more enemies she has, and strong enemies too, the more likely she is to die. The more likely she is to never get the revenge she so desperately craves. That she needs. And she glares at the girl, who simply smirks before turning her gaze elsewhere. Artemis follows this gaze to Christian Powers, the mayor's son, District 5.
Artemis looks at him, he is nothing special, some scrawny child. And mayor's son is what she uses to describe him perfectly. He is not skinny, his rib cage not showing. He looks healthy, he looks young. His eyes do not hold the pain she has grown so used to. And suddenly she is angry with him. Angry that he's had such a wonderful life when she's been force to live like some sort of animal. Unwanted.
Certainly not worth enough to be demanded to be pulled from the games. By his mother. She is envious of his fortune. Envious of the life he's lived. And suddenly Artemis decides that she wants to kill him. She wants him dead at her feet. And she vows that it will be by her hand, that this little boy dies. Until his blood blends into his equally red hair and he just looks like red. And Artemis has the adaucity to smile at the thought.
She can imagine Apollo at her feet instead and suddenly the image shifts. And it is Apollo who Artemis is killing and she likes to think to herself, she likes to imagine herself telling him, "You did this. Look what you created. Look!" She can imagine herself stabbing him with envy word she utters and Artemis can imagine the sanity slipping through her veins as she thinks, as her thought goes gradually into more and more details. Artemis realizes that she's always been a little mad, but this is absolutely crossing boundaries. But Artemis doesn't even care. Because why should she when Apoolo obviously didn't. When no one ever did, why should she be forced to return the favour? Artemis finds herself asking this question as she slips further and further down.
"Into your chariots. Tributes."
Artemis turns, pretending that she does not feel the gaze of a certain hazel eyed tribute. Watching her curiously as she, Artemis, smiles. As Artemis smiles for all the wrong reasons. Smiles at the thought of a dead boy. Smiles at the thought of Apollo watching. And suddenly, Artemis cares a lot more about her twin in that moment, then he ever has his whole life.
Artemis steadily makes her way towards the chariot, grinning all the way. Her bronze gladiator suit, never seeming more fitting.
Zelda Knightly (D3 and D4 Chariot)
Zelda shivers as she crowds the chariot made to accommodate the four of them. Her, Velkan, Oliver and Marrisa. Her outfit is stunning, thousands of gears moving and roaming her plain black armour. They slide in and out of one another, but they are constantly moving. She is still scared, and still cold though. Her armour is not very insulated and Zelda is scared of what they'll think. Of the Words they'll say. And suddenly it is not just the cold that is making her shiver so. She is the first one in the chariot.
She lends her hand to Velkan who steadily clambers in after her. He gives her a small smile in thanks, and he almost speaks. Cut off only by the sound of someone slipping. He District three tribute show turn to see the small boy from District four, trip and miss the steps. His hands flailing to catch himself, his coral crown slipping off his head as gravity pulls him slowly downwards. It'd as if she watches in slow motion and Zelda is unnerved. Velkan goes to help him, but is beat to it by the small boy's District partner.
"You good, Oliver?" The black haired girl asks, just a small amount of concern in her voice, just barely, but Zelda can hear it clear as day. Marrisa is getting attached, and even Zelda knows that this is wrong. This is the worst. She's made an effort to not like Velkan, but the boy has an aura to him. Making her think differently, perhaps it's because his words are just that much kinder. No matter, Marrisa is getting attached. And even though Zelda does not want to sound insane, she thinks she can use this to her advantage.
The pale boy, Oliver, nods, before shakily stepping onto the chariot. Supported by Velkan's hand. No words are passed between the two, they remain not facing the other. And Zelda knows that this is the right thing to do. Marrisa jumps over the first two steps, landing straight onto the chariot. She flashes a smile to herself, looking just slightly arrogant. Zelda can decided that she doesn't lIke Marrisa. And Marrisa takes one look at her, and Zelda can feel Marrisa come to the same conclusion.
The black haired girl is strong, and muscled. Zelda is starved and frail. With hollow eyes and uneven hair. Her eyes a pure green that is terrifying to anyone who gets to close. The look of insanity that is captured in a single glance unnerves most. And makes more hate her. Zelda can feel Marrisa's words, just wanting to be said, but not. And the Words that are left unsaid start to invade Zelda's brain, and suddenly she wants to hurl, but she can't, she doesn't. Instead she turns her gaze to where the large garage like door will open, revealing them to the public. Revealing them to the Capitolites.
Zelda gazes at the girls outfit. She is dressed as a Godess, so is Oliver. A crown of coral sits upon their heads. Long togas curl around their bodies, so Zelda can assume they're Roman. A trident rest comfortably in both of their hands, perhaps too comfortably in Marrisa. Oliver's is actually dented slightly from his fall, and the middle spear rest crooked on the stick. Zelda does not comment. Wave like patterns are strewed across the bottom and they look vibrant and colourful, mixing all shades of blue, green and white, next to Zelda and Velkan's overall greys, browns and blacks.
No matter. Zelda had not observed the competition, instead she'd stayed in her own little world during prep. Now, she wished she'd looked harder. She didn't want any surprises. No surprise Words jumping out to hurt her. No surprise attacks, coming at her from behind. The reality of her life now can set in fully, and Zelda is scared as to what this entails. She hears a shout and suddenly, the doors open. Revealing a blinding light to cast onto the chariots. She sees the District one tributes painted gold, their bodies look like statues, sprinkled in jewels. The light reflects these into patterns across the stadium, and Zelda has to look away.
She can feel the familiar panic rising in her chest, she can feel it consuming her, eating her alive and Zelda is scared and she is nervous and she just wants this all to end and she doesn't know how to end it properly and Zeldais freaking out and she thinks that-
She can feel it-
Zelda can sense it, she can Hear it-
Zelda is scared and panicking and freak in out and unsure and-
Her senses are overloading and she's not sure what's this and what's that and know she-
District 1 and 2's chariot is moving, and Zelda's is not very far behind. She steadies herself on the railing attached. The sudden change in speeds making her feel stunned and shocked monetarily and she breathes out calmly. She braces herself for the words. But they're drowned out by the pounding voices in her head.
Oliver Seadowns
Oliver blinked twice, trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden light. Marrisa shoots him a glance, Oliver can read it. A glance of concern. And Oliver knows she's getting attached. And Oliver hates himself for feeling attached too. Playing games like Poker have taught him to read people, he has never been more regretful of this skill. Ignorance is bliss and he does not want to know what everyone is feeling. He does not want to know exactly how crazy the girl from three is, if her eyes are anything to go by. He does not want to know what that boy from six thought of him. He didn't want any of that.
He can hear screaming, he catches a name, "Maya! Marry me!" That's when he decides to tune out their ramblings and screeches. The voices now all seeming to blend together. His head pouncs from the lights, from the sounds, but he doesn't let this show, he waves and smiles, like rehearsed. He can see the boy from two's back, he looks uncomfortable with his company.
The two females stand next to one another. Tension rolling off their spines, they refuse to look at the other, yet still seem to know. He sees one of them lean in, blonde hair sweeping her face, and whisper. The other just smiles, and that's when Oliver starts to get confused. It is only broken by the boy from 1 whispering something to the girl next to him, brown hair, and she tenses up immediately. The opposite reaction held when the other female had spoke to her. Immediately he can see her posture straightening, then it was as if none of it had happened at all. The three resumed their smiling and waving. He can see Maya blowing kisses and winking.
He turns his head. He'd spent most of his time talking with Marrisa, conversing with the older girl. They'd discussed strategy and who looked like danger. Marrisa had brought up the boy from two, even if he had the tough exterior, Oliver could see the kindness in his eye. He didn't mention this to Marrisa. Letting her believe that the boy from two was indeed a threat. He'd felt guilty immediately after, but he knew how to play the game.
This was just like cards, it didn't matter if you had the best hand in the world or the worst, it was how you played it. You needed to know your opponents and yourself, and then you needed strategy. Telling Marrisa the boy's true demeanour would diminish his chances of survival, and he hated himself for it. But these were the Hunger Games, they weren't just some game of poker.
He wished Casimir was with him right now, because he could certainly use the level headed boy at his disposal right now. He needed someone to calm him down, he'd never liked crowds and this was the biggest he'd faced by far. Preferring instead to hide behind his cards. Not just some fourth grade classroom filled with judgmental little children, these people's opinions could mean life or deat depending on the cards he played. And he really needed his best friend's help. He needed some support, urgently. And Casimir would be the one to help him with just that.
Instead he focused on the task at hand, smiling and waving, which was suddenly seeming a lot harder. His smile started slipping and his wave lost its begging enthusiasm. He wished he'd gotten a cooler costume. The toga was heavy and the crown sat awkwardly on his head. The only thing his trident had done was distract him from catching himself when falling and the colours clashed with his hair. He'd wanted something cool, like the District three male's switching gears, or the district two male's gladiator costume. Oliver knew he didn't have it the worst, some might even like his costume.
At least it wasn't the strange tire costume the District six tributes were sporting. Or that cowgirl outfit the girl from ten was wearing, Oliver had looked away calmly, never having been more glad he had a good poker face. He saw the other male sharing the chariot didn't seem very phased, besides the light blush, barely visible, gracing his cheeks.
Even so, Oliver was still scared, because now the games felt real. Realer than ever, because here he was, and he wasn't just facing just four of three Capitol citizens, he was facing hundreds, thousands. But his poker face remained and Oliver just kept on smiling and waving.
Diana Riverton (D5 and D6 Chariot)
Diana scratched at her neck nervously. Happy that her costume covered her arms, but still self conscious of them. She was so glad that she hadn't gotten something like the girl from ten. Who's shirt was just too low and too high at the same time. When she'd told this to Christian, before the chariot race, he'd glanced at the girl, before whipped back around blushing rather violently. She could barely see where hair began and blush ended. The Reds all mingling together on the mess that was Christian Powers. Diana had smiled at that. And had teased him despite his awkward stutters. She would admit the girl was pretty, gorgeous even, but Diana found herself preferring June's subtle beauty.
Her hair was covered by an angry white helmet, Christian's being the same, despite the fact that it was just slightly too big for the boy's headend she could see red peaking out the sides. Her dreadlocks had been tied up in a tight pony tail, and she kept itching to tie them out. They hurt, Tied just that little bit too tight. And her scars itched, they itched for sure. Itched to be free, because the fabric was hurting them.
She kept smiling though, and waved whenever someone called her name. Making sure to try and catch their eye. She certainly wasn't as popular as the some of the others. People screaming things like, "Marry me!" Towards the girl from one. Slurs towards the girl from ten. She even heard someone scream to the boy from two, Asher, who she'd talked to previously, "Kill them! Bash their heads in!" She'd turned away awkwardly at that. Because it certainly was an intimidating thought.
Diana just wished that the chariot would swallow her whole, honestly. She'd never been good without crowds, for multiple reasons, and this one was certainly no exception. Because as many people were shouting encouragements, there were those who were still screaming insults. Insults to the boy from nine, the rebel who'd most definitely caused a scene. Insults to other rebels, not her though.
Still, the attention was embarrassing, and she half expected people to start shouting homophobic or racial slurs. She knew it was unlikely that anyone knew about her sexuality, or that they'd make fun of it given the way they dressed, but she still couldn't help that nagging feeling at the back of her head telling her that at any given moment they would start screaming at her to go, to leave. That she was abnormal, a monster. And for that strange, strange fear, she just wanted the show to end.
The tributes standing next to her, Disrtict six, both looked completely out of it. The girl being more obvious of the two, her eyes were closed, her arms crossed, and she honestly looked ridiculous. Diana was sure the girl wouldn't ever be even close to a fan favourite, ever.
The boy, on the other hand, was giving half-hearted attempts to wave and to smile. His mind seeming to be focused on other things. He too, wouldn't be a favourite, unless he somehow pulled a miracle at the interview portion of these games and made the crowd love him, somehow. Though, considering his attitude at the moment, she doubted that would happen. The boy's platinum hair was interessting though, Diana would give him that, and she could see just the faintest trait of muscle peeking out from his ridiculous tire outfit. He could be a threat, if he played his cards right, unlike his partner.
Diana made a mental note of him, the boy, Aston. The two red-heads certainly weren't threats by any standards of Diana's. So their names were quickly checked off. After talking with Asher, Diana was honestly not sure what to make of him. Although his entire demeanour had radiated strength, she couldn't help but notice the fact that it all seemed just a little bitter forced. No matter. Diana could still count his general size a small threats anyways.
The two tributes from seven seemed to know each other, if only just barely. Something Diana knew she'd be able to use to her advantage. The girl seemed closer to the boy than the boy to the girl, but it didn't matter. They had relations, that was huge, especially In game standards.
And, Diana doubted anyone hadn't been able to figure out the fact that the tributes from one knew each other. Hated each other. Absolutely loathed each other. Reasoning still unknown, Diana had no doubt in her mind that those two would go after each other, they would try and kill the other. She didn't consider either of them really focusing on anything else before the other was dead, which was good for her. Two less strong, because let's face it they were two healthy strong seventeen year olds, opponents for Diana to worry about.
The tribute girl from eight and her partner seemed unusually awkward with one another. Diana had absolutely no idea what to make of it, but it was still there. They'd both made an effort to not look at the other once, and had stayed as far away as their escorts would allow, so Diana was fairly certain something was going on with the two.
Diana wondered if June was watching, what she'd make of Diana's outfit. Definitely not as bad as the others and Diana was grateful. She wondered how June was feeling, scared, nervous, sad? All of the above perhaps? Thinking of June made her arms twitch, made her want to do something. It was this feeling, feeling of want and pure want. She was sure her face displayed the emotion openly and suddenly she hoped June was watching. She let the expression stay for a few more seconds before closing it back up, closing it up and hoping it never returned. At least not for the rest of the games, that would give the other tributes something to use against her, and Diana didn't want any of that to happen.
Unlike the platinum blond she shared the chariot with, the other tributes didn't know about her love interest. Didn't know about her devotion for June. Unlike how everyone knew about Aston's 'Lexi' who he'd screamed and cried for at the reapings. That was his first mistake. Revealing a weakness to your enemies. That was a mistake, and Diana knew that not only her but others would use this to their advantage.
Diana just wished this games would end so she could stop thinking like this.
Iris Elmswood
Iris fidgeted nervously with her costume. Which she absolutely despised. It was made of tires, actual tires. Her headpiece was a tire, wrapped around her head and she hated it. Her shirt was made out of tires, tiny little ones and bigger ones. She didn't care if she was going mad, because whoever made this must have been in a condition ten times worse.
Her District partner, Aston, had hated it as well. Even going so far as to try and physically attack their prep team. Iris had gotten the feeling that he'd despised them ever since they decided on calling him 'Blondie' as his nickname. Or, insulted his lack of composure, lack of muscle, lack of everything really. Iris had thought that his uniqueness made him intriguing, but apparently the Capitolites had disagreed. They'd fixed him up until he'd looked like a doll you'd find in a store. If, the dolls sold looked like the walking stereotype cliched image of a bad boy. Ruffled hair, scowl, she thought she even saw a few fake piercings. Which completely lost all of its bite after they'd plopped a tire onto his head.
And Iris realized that she'd preferred the other look he'd had. It was handsome, in its own unique way. His platinum hair had been startling and had looked good messed up, now it just looked so jelled Iris was scared to touch it.
For Iris, they'd just straightened her hair, dabbled on a little bit of makeup, before going completely ham on her. They'd slapped concealer onto her face to hide her scars and her sunken eyes. They hadn't done that to Aston, saying that they gave him character. Made him Look 'badder'. Now, if only they could follow their own advice and not dress them up as tires.
Irirs knew that she wouldn't get any sponsors, any. If the crazed look she'd sported at the reapings hadn't scared them away, this certainly would. She'd hear Aston mumble something about, "If Lexi saw me like this..." And it didn't take Iris even half a second to realize it was the same Lexi he'd screamed for at the reapings. Iris bit her lip. She wasn't smiling and she wasn't waving, not knowing the point if she were stressed like this. Aston had his arms crossed, but a forced smile on his face and nods in either direction still kept him at least partially sane during this whole sop ordeal.
Iris ignored the nagging voices of her parents at the back of her head, telling her to wave, telling her she'd better smile. But Iris didn't care, she just wanted to see them again, and if that meant she would have to die to do so, then so be it. She wasn't doing the heroic thing and winning in their name, no she was dying to see them again. She didn't care if she was being selfish, but if she won she'd have nothing to return to. Besides maybe her best friend, but even then, when was the last time they'd even talked?
Iris sighed, a long regretful thing that gained her District partner's attention for just a minute, before he resumed his awkward smiling. She could feel the other two gazing at her as well, but decided to ignore them. She didn't want to face their stares, didn't want to face anyone. Anyone but her parents.
She decided instead to close her eyes and think. Think of everything and anything that came to mind. Anythung but the painful thought that was her parents. She instead decided to focus on her competition. The girl from five looked strong, but like her, Irirs could see the insanity bubbling at the back of her throat, at the back of her eyes, just waiting to be released. The death of parents can change people, and Irirs could feel that the girl from five and herself had a lot more in common than just being tribute. But she didn't comment it, she wouldn't comment it.
The boy, Christian, mayor's son, because what else was anyone calling him. Aston had called him that, she was pretty sure she's heard the boy from nine say it, everyone was calling him so. He'd been labeled as nothing more than the mayor's son. The mayor's son who'd lived the perfect like that only a handful got to experience. Everyone's dream life. And everyone wanted his head at their feet. And everyone'd been too scared to admit to any of those. Mayor's son. Mayor's son. He'd been labeled, the boy, as nothing larger than the mayor's son. He wouldn't ever be Christian, he'd always be the mayor's son. Everyone knew it, he knew, the Capitolites knew it. And Irirs was almost happy thinking it. Thinking that someone else would feel pain, any type of pain, just like herself.
Irirs didn't bother correcting her thoughts. She just let them flow. Ignoring the nudges in her side by Aston, or the whispered words of her dead parents. Thinking only of whatever else came to mind.
She thought of her candy shop, what she'd give to have an orange lollipop. Orange candies had always been her favourite, for their taste and their colour. She'd originally chosen it because she thought it'd matched her hair, over the years, her love for them only grew. And right now, Iris craved one. But she ignored the feeling in favour of changing the subject.
Changing the subject in the own freedom and safetyof her mind, she really was going crazy wasn't she. She wished she could just leave, leave all of it. Panem, the games, the war, the death, the division. Everything. She just wished she could go. Her eyes opened again, to find no one looking at her, not even her own District partner, and Iris had never felt more alone. She didn't care about anything at the moment, except the fact that she wished so earnestly to die.
Veronica Delaney (D7 and D8 Chariot)
Veronice tooK in a deep breath. Oakley's presence was calming but also very dominating. She didn't have a shred of attention on herself for all of it was giving to the boy at her side. Because honestly, who was paying attention to the spindly girl from seven, who looked about ten with the ugly mesh of twigs and leaves scattered throughout her hair as her 'costume'. Oakley could pull it off because he was Oakley. But, Veronica, plain old Veronica, she was a whole different story.
The Capitolites were screaming his name, chanting it like a sort of mantra, and Veronica felt strangely sick at the thought of death. Because who was going to sponsor her, honestly. Who would bother wasting even a little bit of her money when they had Oakley who stood calmly next to her? Boldly and with an air of confidence. His presence was suffocating because of just how good he was. She could feel her death, she coul literally feel its presence looming over her with every breath the boy adjacent to herself took. She was suddenly so blindingly aware of it that she felt sick.
Because she had to be realistic here, could she even make it past the first damn day? When their were people like Oakley, or tributes resembling those from District two. Girls as beautiful and attention capturing as the ones from ten and one, who Oakley hadn't seemed to notice at all whichever was a bit strange. Because Veronica was sure no hormonal teenage boy would be able to suppress their hormones quite as good as Oakley was doing now, not even one glance, Veronica had been watching.
Which was her first clue that something strange was going on. But she'd decided to ignore it in favour of self pitying. Because that seems a lot more comforting to think about then whatever was going on with Oakley. Because he was the guy you went to to fix your problems, not to fix his, and that was something Veronica did not want to get wrapped up in. As selfish as that may sound, because Veronica didn't want to do anything right now. He was Oakley he'd be fine. He had to be strong when no one else could. Because she was twelve and this wasn't fair.
Not when there were giants like the boy from two, Asher she thinks his name is, or boys like the one from nine who looks dangerous and skilled from just what he'd shown at the reapings and Veronica is scared because she knows she look like someone you'd be able to kill so easily. Because of her size and demeanour, and she knows that anyone in search of an easy kill will come for her and she is scared.
She wants to remain optimistic, because she is still a child and children are supposed to be optimistic, but she isn't. Because she isn't a child any more. Because people are asking her to kill and to hurt and she isn't even a teenager yet. And she thinks this is wrong and stupid and she hates it because she's supposed to be at home eating cake and hanging out with her friends. Not being forced to kill as a punishment for something she didn't even do. And was seven at the time it's happened. So she thinks it's crazy and stupid and she hates it.
As inhumane as it sounds, Veronica can understand the Capitol punishing people like Hollis, the boy from nine, who, visible to anyone with eyes, is a rebel. He should be punished not her, her, Veronica who has done nothing wrong. Midas deserved it too. Who she'd heard from their escort was a rebel, though she doubted the information on his status was available to anyone but Oakley and herself, who was apparently friendly with the escort of District one. Lilith Teacup she thinks is her name. There's a tribute with that same name, the girl from twelve.
Who Veronica is willing to believe might be the single other person to be her age. And just as small and frail. At least Lilith would be another target, still Veronica didn't think either of them were making it very far. But she hoped she'd make it father than Lilith at least. But as the more people overlooked her for the boy at her side, the more, Veronica could feel that optimism fade away, to be replaced by cynical, cynical thoughts.
Veronica wonders what her brothers are doing right now. Watching their barely eligible sister ride off to her death? What are they thinking right this very instance, are they scared for her? They must be. They must also be ready for her death, ready for her funeral. They must be ready to never have her in their lives ever again, a blank void where she used to sit and Veronica wonders exactly what her thoughts would be if it'd been her watching one of her brothers go off to the games. At least they'd have a better chance at winning wouldn't they? At least she knows her father can afford a proper funeral, unlike some of the others. And Veronica should feel privileged, but the only thing she can feel is bittersweet emotions bubbling up and threatening to burst and Veronica is angry.
Veronica just wishes her head would stop pounding and the irrational urge to throw up at the mention of death would just go away. She hopes and hopes. And that is a dangerous thing for someone so cynical.
Rosemary Finch
Rosmeary glanced at the boy beside her, who wasn't staring at the crowds or at his feet like she'd expect. Nope. His gaze was focused on something behind them, and Rosemary was suddenly curious as to what the boy was looking at. So, when she made sure she didn't have much attention on her, or at what she considered to be the perfect time, Rosemary glanced back and then immediately turned back around to slap Thread upside the head.
Because the boy'd been staring at the girl froM ten in the skimpiest outfit Rosemary had ever seen. A little cloth, pretty much, had been tied around the girls chest, but open to reveal just a little- a lot- of cleavage. Tied around the start of her stomach. The shorts were so small that she doubted the really covered anything. Everything was on plain view, legs, chest, stomach. And Thread had been staring long enough for it to be considered really weird.
So she'd decided, to literally, slap some sense into him. Not caring what anyone watching would think. A startled yelp arose from the boy in question, who awkwardly rubbed at his head, obviously embarrassed at the situation before him. A slight flame of Crimson enveloping his cheeks. Rosemary glared at him, the kind a mother would give to her children. She knew Thread hadn't been the only one staring, in fact, she was certain that many of the male fans either in the District or in the Capitol had their eyes firmly glued to the female of District ten. Who must've been seventeen at least.
Thread gave her an apologetic shrug, but his main emotion still seemed to be embarassement. And Rosemary would not yield. She glanced back once more at the girl in question, who was now awkwardly smiling, seemingly wanting to suppress a grimace but knew better and seeming to want to shrink in on herself. Which Rosemary could forgive, because if it'd been her in that position, she would've tackled the stylist until he'd agreed to change it. Changed it so that it didn't reveal so much skin. Rosemary was certain that the girl would immediately become a favourite, if only for her body.
During the reapings, Rosemary hadn't paid much attention to her. The only girl who really stood out to Rosemary as 'pretty' was the model-esque girl from one, the girl from ten certainly hadn't been on her list. But now, she was certain that everyone would keep a close eye on her. Thread had turned away from her now, instead going back to waving and smiling. Rosemary was doing the same. She watched the flags that lined to runway change from face to face.
Currently it was on the boy from three. Who was smiling a dazzling smile that would certainly woo girls back in her district, is the thought that immediately entered her mind. She blushed at the thought. His eyes seemed to sparkle and Rosemary doubted how anyone's smile could look that real considering the situation. Rosemary doubted it was a hundred percent genuine, but it was certainly one of the most convincing efforts.
The boy in question himself, was strange. Rosemary didn't know what to make of him. The boy from three who'd volunteered for his deaf cousin. Who'd immediately captured the hearts of Capitol citizens everywhere. Their escort had already been talking about him by just the train rides. And Rosemary wished she'd been able to capture that kind of moment during her reaping. Not the crazy girl who seemed to be having a seizure, she doubted she'd be particularly loved during the games. Unlike certain volunteering-for-cousins tributes.
The flags changed and Rosemary saw her own look of confusion litter the flags. Immediately she switched to a smile, hoping no one had saw her look of thought. Instead, she mustered the biggest, brightest smile she could manage and winked at the crowd. The essence of herself altered in the flags and Rosemary was satisfied. Despite her rocky beginning at the reaping, she was detained to get sponsors. Detained to become a fan favourite because that was the only way she could even stand a chance against monsters like the boy from two. Against beauties like those from ten and one. Or even fan favourite volunteers like the boy from three and girl from eleven, who'd volunteered for her blind best friend.
Who, may Rosemary add, she was determined to ally with. If, for a part of the sponsorship deals only. But also for just the fact that Rosemary admired her, as silly as that may sound, but Rosemary did. She was the only person Rosemary would even consider as an ally. Her own District partner completely out of the question.
They knew one another, her District partner, Rosmeary knew the boy. He was the same boy who'd kept her living. And now she was supposed to return the favour by killing him, repaying him by killing all the others who lived only thanks to his constant help at the refugee camp. And Rosemary couldn't face that reality, she couldn't. So she tried to ignore him, he'd done the same. And both pretended the other had never met in their life. Rosemary could feel the guilt wracking her body in silent courses. Because Rosemary wanted to thank him, but she couldn't, not without remembering what was to come. Or what was already here. The games.
So Rosemary just stared ahead and smiled, her face finally removing itself from the surrounding flags. Moving onto the next. And Rosemary let out a sigh of relief. Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The pictured changed to Oakley, his face a look of actual happiness. He looked so... Perfect. And Rosemary was taken aback. If she thought Velkan's smile had looked real, then Oakley's was like that out of a bad romance novel. Because he looked like the dictionary definition of a golden boy, or say the boy next door. And Rosemary was absolutely stunned, and she had no doubt in her mind that this boy would be a favourite.
He wasn't Looking anywhere but at the crowd, winking and smiling dazzling smiles. which made fans of both genders swoon. A shout of, "Oakley! Here!" And the boy blowing an kiss in that general vicinity elicited a SQUEAL! So loud that Rosemary felt the need to cover her ears, and she wondered why she hadn't pegged this boy as a threat. Because it didn't matter if she didn't see any visible scars or visible threats retaining strength, he had the personality and charisma to go far on sponsor gifts alone. And Rosemary was visibly stunned.
The flags changed all too quickly and the face switched yet again. Rosemary vaguely saw the face of the boy from eleven before she turned to see Oakley. He was still smiling and waving and Rosemary was genuinely impressed. Especially considering his District partner seemed about ready to faint from the attention their chariot was receiving and it wasn't even her the attention was directed towards. And Rosemary was impressed with how stable the boy was, smile never wavering, eyes constantly darting from face to face. Rosemary wondered how he did it. Even with his strange leaf covered outfit, twigs sticking out his hair and all, he still managed to look cool and in control, not a bit of humiliation in his face in the slightest. She was actually a little awed at the act.
Immediately she turned back around to the crowd, and tried to imitate the boy's facial expression. Failing miserably. She just didn't know how he did it, and frankly she really wanted to know. Because she needed the sponsors and Oakley seemed to be getting so much that he could afford to lose a few, unlike Rosmeary who doubted she'd really have any by the time this parade was over.
If her messily sewn together outfit was anything to go by. The thing was made of many different fabrics, crudely sewed together to make some sort of robe like thing. That clashed and honestly looked horrible. Her hair was made to look like a spool of threat, needle sticking out and all, but looked strange to Rosemary at least.
Rosmeary breathed once in and once out, before refocusing on the crowds. Hoping desperately that someone would notice her yet. Praying that she'd be able to survive, for Petra and Cora's sake if not for her own. Which Rosemary doubted any of this really was for anyone at this point.
Hollis Pobarr (D9 and D10 Chariot)
Hollis grumbled to himself, blushing slightly. Which, may he add, was something he never did. But what was he supposed to do when, ehem, the tribute he was currently squashed against was practically wearing nothing. It didn't help that she wasn't too hard on the eyes either.
He'd seen Leilani's smirking face when she'd caught the Crimson lightning on his face, a simple glare had put an end to that though. The girl herself appeared deeply annoyed with her outfit actually, desperately trying to cover as much as that shirt and shorts would allow. Which, let's face it, wasn't much. Unlike the full body suits of both District five tributes. Or those ridiculous tires the District six tributes were wearing.
Before the chariot race had really begun, he'd managed some words in to the District one male tribute. Midas Ambertida and fellow rebel, and weirdly enough, Hollis found that he liked the boy for more than just the shared status. Because the boy's personality was one Hollis genuinely liked and he remembered a feeling of longing to see Durango and Ajax just once more, one more time because he'd be damned if the Capitol actually let him win these death games.
He could honestly believe that if he were back home Midas would fit in perfectly in their little trio, and Hollis hates that fact. Because he doesn't want to get attached only for one of them to die. But he can't help it, and he hates that. Because how is he supposed to prepare for these kinds of things, really. Whatever. Hollis knows, almost certainly, that neither of them will win. Because seriously, like the Capitol is going to let two rebels make it very far. Wouldn't that kinda defeat the point they were trying so desperately to make.
Sure Midas has that whole thing going on with Maya, and that was bound to keep people entertained for a while, but what happens after that? They'll just kill him off right? Maybe, Hollis isn't really sure at this point. He can't help but smirk at the thought though, because the tension coming off of both District one tributes is so obvious he bets even a blind man could see it. The 'subtle' glances at the other, the carefully concealed rage between words. The careful considerations of speech, it all seems too tension filled, so fake, that Hollis can't help but he himself be intrigued.
Their own costumes are nothing special. Definitely not the worst though. (cough* District six *cough.) A little plain but Hollis didn't really care about sponsors, or an image, he jusT wanted to show the Capitol that he wasn't their freakin' pawn. He was going to bomb the interviews and he was going to be proud about it. He wasn't doing this. Which was why that stupid wheat hat was coming off. He didn't hesitate to take it and throw it off,he watched it blow away into the crowds. And smiled as the hideous creation blew away, never to be mentioned again. His long hair now revealed to the air and it felt so much better.
He ignored the looks Leilani was giving him and went straight back to start taking the trench coat made of freakin' wheat, he got that that was their main export but come on, and once his black latex covered chest was free he honestly felt so much better. He ignored the looks received by Haizea and her partner, smiling and grinning broadly at the cameras. Daring them to do something.
He smiled and waved mockingly, daring them, egging them on. He felt Leilani's judgmental, but still slightly intrigued and impressed expression, and he felt proud. And he didn't care if they killed him over this, tortured him over this, tried to make him regret this because he wouldn't. Because he was dying anyways wasn't he?
The Capitol would be made a mockery of, hated, if they let their first ever Victor be a rebel, because what kind of image would that promote really? Definitely not the one they were trying so hard to create. He bid himself and Midas and all the other unfortunate rebels on the chariots sorrow filled goodbyes. Not caring in the slightest of he came off as anything but humble or kind. Because let's face it, when was Hollis both of those things in the same week, much less the same time?
Hollis heard some boos, he didn't hesitate in flipping them off. He wasn't sure who 'them' was, but just kinda waves his middle finger towards the 'boos' general vacinity. Satisfied woth the reactions he'd evoked. This is for him, Hollis thought, for his brother. His big bro was finally getting what he deserved, and that was someone fighting for him. Not with honour, but with life and pride and determination and strength, and that was exactly what his perfect, perfect freakin brother deserved.
Hollis honestly couldn't care less if some stupid dyed green idiots thought that what he was doing was wrong, because honestly, a snake won't lose sleep over the opinions of mice. Especially if those mice actually thought that it'd be a good idea to dye their hair that shade of orange, because honey it looks like a carrot had decided to make its home on your head. And Especially if those opinions involve something as freakin' perfect as his perfect freakin' brother.
Hollis proudly flipped them off and booed right back. Hoping that somewhere in heaven his brother was watching. Hollis could see for himself a glimpse of his brother's angel wings and halo as he tumbled straight into Hell. Cursing a grinning the entire fall down, never once regretting a thing.
Haizea Lobo
Haizea absolutely despised her outfit. Not only for just how revealing it was, but also add to the fact, that this was exactly what she hadn't wanted. Staying under the radar had been her plan from the very beginning, it'd make sure the Capitol didn't suspect her, in fact, it'd most likely make them forget her. Until she won of course. Or until Buck won. That was when they'd realize their mistake of underestimating her. That was when they'd realized that this was all their fault. And they'd better regret it. But at the moment, her outfit was going against all of this. Hours of planning throw to waste.
She wanted to tug down her shirt, but that'd revel too much chest, it she tried pulling it up, it'd revel too much stomach, so she'd been forced to do absolutely nothing about it. Her shorts were so small that they were practically nonexistent and Haizea hated them with a burning passion. She wished so desperately that she had something like those of the District five tributes, who were completely covered in white suits and hats and Haizea envied them so much it was actually unbelievable. Her hair was pinned up in a high ponytail, framing her face which was lathered with makeup. Haizea wanted to scrub it off so badly because it itched and made her feel self-conscious. She wished for it to burn just like her house had as a child, that would be ironic wouldn't it?
There wasn't much... Support in the shirt either, making it all the more uncomfortable. Haizea just wanted this to end. She tried ignoring the pointed looks from the obviously loyalist girl from one, who seemed intent on making her feel horrible for something that wasn't even her fault. Haizea would be lying if she said she didn't take any pleasure in seeing the girl throw an obvious temper tantrum much to the dismay of her partner. Haizea would be lying if she said that she couldn't help but smirk at the venomous glare the girl sent Haizea's way. Or the small smile she'd sent the girl's partner, who seemed just as done with Maya as Haizea herself.
There was obvious backstory to the two, but Haizea wasn't sure what exactly. She doubted anyone in the stadium couldn't see it, but she doubted any of them, including herself, knew what it was exactly. She doubted any of them knew what the hostile and challenging glares sent within District one's selves were for either.
Maya and Midas.
What a pair of very interessting individuals. Haizea was caught up in thought, her body going on autopilot to smile and wave while trying to suppress an angry grimace threatening to spread across her features because; this outfit. She almost missed the nudge at her side. She glanced down, it was Buck. Of course it was Buck but still. Who was blushing like mad and holding out with one arm his dark brown duster I her general direction.
A long coat he'd been offered for his costume and Haizea smiled. Actually smiled, and gratefully took the brown duster from the boy's hand. Who retracted it gently after the his hold was released. Which Haizea definitely found both adorable and amusing. "Thank you." She told him, giving him a warm smile, because he was still blushing and still refusing to meet her eyes. Instead opting to look at his feet. A mumbled reply came seconds later, a small, "You're welcome." Which managed to brighten her mood even more. Because she was grateful and he was so sweet. She quickly tugged the coat around her, it was void of any buttom so she kept it in place using her hands.
She was grateful and could actually feel hundreds of eyes release their hold on her chest and midriff. And she visibly sighed, relieved. She pretended she hadn't noticed the boy from two's gaze who lingered just a little longer, before he was smacked across the cheek by his District partner, who promptly hissed something at him, and turned around. He was blushing a bright red and continued to awkwardly smile the rest of the time. Haizea felt like laughing despite the situation.
She was glad that both boys she shared the chariot with didn't gaze too long, that could've been awakward. Hollis, the obvious rebel to her left was seemed too focused on... well, being a rebel than to focus much on Haizea. Despite his earlier blush of having to be next to her. Haizea appreciated the lack of comments. No attest to how grateful she was though, she also didn't forget the fact that she was most likely going to be yelled at and chastised from both her stylist and mentor, maybe even her prep team. She doubted Buck would get off completely clean too, considering he had been the one to offer his duster to her. Something, which she was very thankful for and wouldn't let him take all the weight for.
This went against everything Haizea had planned and it ruined everything. She'd still make sure she was boring during the interviews and got a mediocre score, but this event cannot simply be undone. She bet that during the interviews her stylist would put her into another revealing outfit, and the interviwpewer would probably ask questioning queries about it. And Haizea hated that fact. Because this went against everything she had planned, and if she wasn't more careful then she could get found out. And if that happened then she would be killed by the Capitol before any other tribute could even lay a hand on her, and Haizea hated that fact.
Because her plan to keep herself alive during these games was ruined by the vey thing that'd kept her alive all those year before, when she was a bloodthirsty child out for revenge, exceptionally renowned for her good looks and ability to stand out.
Thorn Willows (D11 and D12 Chariot)
Thorn was nervously wringing his hands, him and Sparrow had both been dressed up as Gods. Her as the Roman Goddess Ceres, goddess of agriculture or the harvest or something, and his as some Roman god of the same thing. Unfortunately, he looked ridiculous. Because unlike Sparrow, he couldn't pull this look off apparently. He was not gonna go into detail, so let's just say he looked bad.
He just wished he'd never made that stupid wish for something to happen, because this was not what he had in mind at all. He knew it was stupid to think like that, that his wish is what had caused all this, but he couldn't help it. Thorn desperately wished that he could do something else's beside just stand here.
His hands itched for the familiar counting of coins or of helping old ladies find what they were looking for and he just wished his life would go back to normal because this was not normal and he hated it. It made him uncomfortable and scared, as it should though, mind you. Thorn, him, Thorn, would be forced to kill. He would be forced to murder and Thorn was scared, genuinely scared. Thorn wanted to shrink in on himself and this is a new feeling and Thorn is strangely curious.
He wished he could smile and say that nothing was wrong, but Thorn had always been horrible at faking emotions when he was so good at reading them which made absolutely no sense but was how Thorn operated anyways. he was well aware that his smile looked wonky and his eyes lacked their usual spark and that was not fine despite it not really mattering. Because Who was paying him any attention when there were people like Asher and people like Hollis and people like Haizea and Maya and Oakley and Sparow even.
He was nothing, he was nobody compared to them. But, he supposed he should've been used to that by now. It was the same in the District. He was the grocer's boy, and he would never be anything other than the Grocer's boy. There was no need for something as simplistic as a grocer's boy in the lavish place that was the Capitol. He'd made a fool of himself during the train rides over, crying like some little fourth grader and he knew Sparrow must think he was weak now, as she should. And he hated himself for it. He was weak and Sparrow knew that, and pretty soon everyone else would know it too.
During training he could bet Sparrow would tell everyone about it because why wouldn't she? And then Thorn would be killed and he would die and everything would go straight to hell because of one stupid wish. That if he could, he'd do anything to take back the very wish he'd been excited to make, restless to make, because he regretted it so much. Add that to the list of things he hated about himself. Stupid wishes were pretty high up there, right after being such a stupid crybaby when it mattered most.
For all his observation skills, he sure lacked the very skill he could pick apart and critique with ease. Thorn hated this fact. He could feel Sparow's gaze looking anywhere but him purposefully. She was avoiding him. He felt stupid irrational rage bubble up before he pushed it back down firmly. No.
She had no obligation to help you. Why should she? You were just some weak little idiot and she didn't want to get caught up in problems that aren't even hers. Especially when they belong to the frail child she's seen cry and scream, no wonder she thinks so lowly of you. No wonder she's avoiding you like the plague. You're weak. Thorn wishes he was someone like Velkan, th boy from three,or Sparrow who seemed so confident in her abilities, she looked strong and sure and ready. He wanted to cry but he could only imagine how far that would get him. Wasn't that the whole reason she wasn't looking at you anyways. His head Is sounding and he's mad. This is all your stupid fault and-
Thorn felt his thoughts and insecurities boil and rise but he couldn't let them show, he doubted he was doing a very good job though. But with the lack of attention on him he bet he could get away with practically everything, without someone noticing because he was Thorn and he was invisible. Which was fine and good, but still very self deprecating nonetheless.
Thorn closed his eyes and tried to think. Hoping that no one realized just show much he hated himself and these stupid games.
Lilith Cadow
Colours are flashing everywhere. She's screaming but no sound is coming out and her head is spinning. She hears voices in her head and she's scared. She wants to escape but their arms are holding her back and she's struggling but no one's coming to help her. She can see them leaving her and she struggles harder, but she can't move. Their arms are constricting her, wrapping around her in swift motions. She can't breathe they're constricting her throat and Lilith panics.
The colours of the stands are blending into the other, creating one big mass of colour and sound. And she is scared, she wants to hide. Their voices beckon her with colourful and childlike atmospheres and Lilith is tempted to go Join them. But then she sees their mutilated bodies and skins and faces and she panics and tries to run back, run away. They don't let her. Instead childlike glee is completely overrun by reds and blacks and they try to consume her.
Her screams never leave her throat and her mouth never opens. She feels them getting closer and she tries to run but she trips and falls. She's trying to cry but no tears come out and she hears them mocking her. You're inhumane! How can you not be crying!? They just died! Why are you not crying, you monster child! She hears them screaming sentences she's heard millions of times over and over and she tries to cry. She wants to cry, but she can't. Which just makes her want to cry even more.
They grab her off the ground and she stares, hoping to meet the calm eyes of her brother, someone she lives for and trusts and loves. But instead is greeted by mutilated monsters and she wants to scream again. They clamp down onto her mouth and she tries biting, but it doesn't work. She feel them attach strings to her arms and legs as she struggles and she kicks and pulls, but they don't let her do any of that.
Every Time she struggles they pull her strings and they make her smile, they make her wave, while Lilith is dying inside. Lilith just wants it to end, but they're not letting her. They pull her strings they make her look perfect and then they tell her, force her, to smile and wave as if she wants to. She's a puppet and she hates it but they don't care. They tell her they're trying to help her, that it's for her own good.
She believes them and lets them control her. Lilith lets them in and the strings tighten and now she's got even more rules and she can't break any of them or else they won't protect her. Because her brother and parents and friends are all gone and she has no one but them and they know that. So they use that. Lilith doesn't struggle the next time they make her smile and wave, and half of the time she does it without them pulling a single string and Lilith doesn't care. They make her believe She never did. She starts to think with such certaincy that is untameable and that makes them like her.
Lilith likes the fact that they like her and wants it to happen more often. So she decided to obey more often and they tell her she's doing the right thing. Lilith believes them.
Wow. That was long. Oops? Anyways, training'll be coming up next. Will have two chapters of that and I really should have split this chapter into parts because 11k words is actually insane. Also, by the end I was getting a little messy, so the all over the place writing is because of that.