With thanks to Glassgift for your review of the last chapter. :)
She wore a large dress, and it was entirely made of paper. It rustled, billowed- with the high heels she had never worn before, it limited her movement to little more than teetering half-steps.
Elizabeth was wearing a tulle paper prison, and she despised it.
"You look beautiful, darling!" Sisyphia gushed, wearing an identical pale tulle skirt (if not made of paper) and a frilly blouse. "You look like a proper Capitol girl; not all jackets and work clothes! You have such a lovely figure, such lovely hair- this really compliments it!"
Elizabeth wanted to respond to her escort that the last thing she wanted was to be a Capitol girl, entrapped in frills, unable to understand anything beneath the surface. She wore work clothes and jackets because she had to, because she had to move in them- she had to be able to provide for herself and her brother, through work or revolution, and when her revo group weren't active she took solace in providing by working for grain and oil, money and necessities.
She doubted Sisyphia had worked a day in her life, and she desperately wanted to tell her of the sensation of calluses on her fingers, the gnawing of an empty stomach- the unending horror of watching your mother executed for trying to ease that hunger by whatever means necessary.
But she was in the Capitol, and Peacekeepers surrounded her. So she settled for, "I can't move in this thing."
Sisyphia smiled. "The sacrifices we make for beauty, Lizzie darling!"
Elizabeth did not smile back. "It's Elizabeth, and there's a flame on each side of this chariot."
Indeed there was- it appeared to be fed by gas, glowing orange. She could see the other chariots with bridled horses around her, and they each had flames perennially glowing and flickering, penning in the tributes on each side of the wooden chariot.
Sisyphia frowned. "-And, Elizabeth?"
"I'm in a paper dress, and there's a gas flame on the chariot."
Sisyphia's head jerked half a centimeter, as if she had just woken up- she looked up at the chariot with its flickering flame, and back down to Elizabeth in her large, rustling cover of paper.
"Ah." She said sharply, shifting her skirt in her hands.
"Ah." Elizabeth copied, her tone only lightly mocking. Much as she disliked Sisyphia on principle, she still needed her for any potential sponsors.
Sponsors. Her life was left to the Capitolians she had dedicated herself to destroying, and she hated nothing more.
She looked down at the paper dress. Back up at the flame.
For the first time since arriving in the Capitol, Elizabeth smiled.
Chal, in a white paper tunic, arrived with a cloud of prep workers buzzing at his side. He seemed to be relishing in the attention.
"Alright, okay, it's adjusted enough, let's get them on the chariot," the stylist mused, brushing his beard pensively. A small shower of glitter fell from the movement.
Chal jumped up with a grin; Elizabeth slowly followed, idea and resignation coming hand in hand.
"Okay, boys and girls," a man at the front yelled, "Show time!"
Indeed it is.
A blaring from outside. The Panem theme had started. Elizabeth grittted her teeth at it.
They shot her mother to the strains of this song. She tasted blood in her mouth and realised she had bitten the inside of her cheek. She turned to Chal, who seemed almost jubilant to the song.
"I have an idea."
Chal frowned. "What?"
Elizabeth decided to test her fellow tribute's loyalty. She hadn't confided in him that this hadn't been a plan she had taken up with the revo group; probably, neither of them would survive to return to the revo group, and even if they survived to the last two, he would certainly not survive to return.
She wanted justice. She did not want death.
A boy waited at home to be saved from his father, and she was his big sister.
Chal would not survive, but for now she needed him to believe they didn't care about that.
"Do you trust me?"
Chal paused. He smiled, rubbing Elizabeth's arm. "Sure, babe."
She smiled, even though she wanted to break his fingers for touching her like that.
"Then follow my lead."
(Oh Horn of Plenty)
The crowd screams with excitement, Avox in red tunics beating drums with rhythmic precision to the national anthem.
(Oh Horn of Plenty for us all)
The chariots roll out with timed accuracy- the horses have been beaten until they can ride with nobody touching their reins.
(And when you raise the cry)
Glace Gratton and Sheen Astara lead the chariots in resplendent glowing stones. Sheen is powerful in the glowing light, jubilant; Glace is shadowed by the light, the flickering flames at her left and right casting hollow shadows on her eyes.
(The brave shall heed the call)
Theon Veux and Anna Corinna are decorated in diamonds and granite, every pore in their body shadowed by reflective light. Anna is primal in the glitter, it does not suit her, but Theon embodies it- he stands tall and proud, observing the crowd with what is not anger but could pass for it if you looked at him too closely.
(And we shall never falter)
Behind 3's chariot rides Emma Kjaergaard and Ronan Horne. Emma rides in ornate netting made of bronze, and Ronan is decked in silver. Behind her, the names Odyssea and Ermintrude lie in tatters, laced in blood. She breathes slowly and deeply, and the Capitol do not notice.
(One Horn of Plenty for us all)
Quint Barkwater rides with chains and machinery weighing him down. He finds a camera to stare at, and does so with hollow eyes shot with determination. His gaze falls upon the Capitol, one to one, and it quietens some of the more observant Capitolians. One, in a blood-red tuxedo, closes his eyes and holds his breath so not to throw up again.
(Oh Horn of Plenty)
Elizabeth Adews and Chal Detria ride in their paper trappings. Something unreadable is in her eyes, and she finds a camera to smile at with thick, ironic gaze. Their escort is being quickly moved from the back to the front of the run by a car, and she watches the proceedings with the suspicion that something very wrong is about to occur.
(Oh Horn of Plenty for us all)
Cesal Nesbin stands in a cloak of patchwork cloth, flapping behind him in the wind the chariots are riding against. His hands are shaking. He needs to sleep, and has not done so for too long. He has been promised sleeping pills if he can make it to the Training Center, and the defiant spark in his eyes promises he will make it there. He smiles. He always smiles.
(And when we raise the cry)
Emil Reynolds is the final tribute to emerge. While coal dust paints his dark suit and coats his face, his hair is golden, and it shines. Someone, last minute, added a sheen of golden glitter to the hollows of his eyes, his cheeks, the suit he wears. He catches a glimpse of himself in the large, transparent screens. He does not recognise himself beneath coal and glitter.
(The brave shall heed the call)
Twenty-four tributes are driving down a road of Capitolians, travelling where thousands have made the same journey before.
(And we shall never fall)
This time, something changes.
(Though dark may fall)
Flickering light emerges from the chariot in front of Cesal's. He frowns, looking closer- before leaping yellow flames rise and catch the attention of all behind them and some in front. Cesal grips the wood front of his chariot, feeling his limbs shaking. Something is wrong.
(Through darkness light will shine)
Someone yells something behind them, and Quint turns. Behind him, in Seven's chariot, the girl has ripped the front piece of her dress off, dipped it in the gas flames that surround her, and set it alight. She waves it like a flag. The crowd is still screaming, but something new has caught their emotions behind it.
(As they believe)
Sisyphia screams in horror as not only Elizabeth, but then Chal both begin to tear apart their costumes and burn them, waving them like a banner. Around her in the car, escorts sigh and comment on the poor manners of district children. But Sisyphia heard what Elizabeth said to her, and for the first time is brought face-to-face with awful realisation.
(The darkness is the light)
Shadow and flame roar and rip into each other for power, and Elizabeth drops the burning banner before it can scorch her hand. But the horses were beaten with heated irons to train them, and the burning, ashen paper whipping through the air to Eight's chariot horses sends a wave of overwhelming heat to their senses, brings them wheeling about, rearing.
Cesal and his fellow tribute are sent sailing from their precarious wooden chariot.
With two horses spooked, the rest behind follow suit in an agony of screaming, running, rearing.
Tributes are lying on the ground, yelping as horses trample them- while Ten, as the livestock district, get theirs under control, Twelve's horses are beyond placating, and Emil is sent speeding by two horses galloping in roughly the same direction to the front of the run.
While the horses in front of Seven's chariot cannot see anything, they can hear the fear and pain of their compatriots- some stop, some accelerate, but with One's horses refusing to move the others are forced into a bedlam behind them.
Quint jumps from his chariot before Seven's can collide with theirs- Emma climbs above the wreckage of the collision with hers and Five's chariot, while Ronan attempts to placate the horses.
At the front, Sheen dutifully stands waiting for the horses to begin again- Glace has already dismounted the chariot, and stands impassively, observing the chaos unfolding. Theon and Anna are wrestling their horses on each side- Anna has resorted to beating one with her hands, while Theon tries to cover the other's eyes.
And in the chariot of Seven, Elizabeth and Chal stand amongst ashes in destroyed costumes, watching in horror at the chaos they have created.
(One Horn of Plenty for us all)
The music ends, and Coriolanus Snow realises that the screaming of the Capitolians is no longer joyful.
He clenches his hands and feels the dull ache of his bleeding mouth.
He will ensure recompense is ensured that this happened before he was due to speak.
Ashes rise and screams continue. Panem's anthem is long since over.
There we go. This was the chapter I was really excited to write. Imagine me with a sadistic grin on my face. Also incessantly coughing. About that.
At the moment, I'm not all that well. And I don't have a buffer for this piece. So, for the time being, updates may be slower than I'd like. I'm making a note of delays and will make up for them with double-chapter days in the future. Till then, I'll do what I can. (Also, just an unrelated bit- are these the correct lyrics for the Panem anthem? I mean- I always thought it was 'the horn of plenty overflows', but apparently this is the real thing...?)
As ever, thank you for reading this far.
And trust me when I say there's a lot left yet to come.