"Ready?", a rough voice asked from behind Arizona, squeezing her lightly on the shoulder as she stood, her eyes wide, as the train pulled into the station.
When the blonde made no answer, the voice behind her pushed on, "Remember smile, be happy. These insane people think you're overjoyed to be here. You're a cute, bubbly little blonde. Play to your image. Sell yourself."
Turning, Arizona shot a dark look at her mentor, before making eye contact with Charles. He was made to play to the image of being tough, and indestructible – stoic beyond the end of the earth – which wouldn't be hard for him.
However, it still was a stretch for the colossus beside her; he had confessed to being fairly mild, and liberal, after she had teased him during dinner the previous night. Arizona liked him, but was trying not to get to attached.
She had a thing for fixing things – fixing people – and the boy beside her needed to be fixed. He was strong, but he was worried and tense, and had a tendency to faint at the sight of a lot of blood. It was a physical pain for her not to try to help him.
Still, there was no time for sympathy. Since her midnight adventure - which, as serendipity would have it, had given her a spark to keep her boredom at bay - she had been more focused, and had been restored to her usual, perky-self, rather than the cynic which took over her body during the week or the Reaping.
The day that followed that, she had been alert, and actively listening to her mentor for the first time. Now it was late at night, nearly the time that twenty-four hours ago, she had stumbled across Callie. Arizona had not seen the Latina again, and there had been messages delivered to tell the Tributes that there was a possible threat onboard the train, so seeing her again was unlikely, until training began in the Capitol.
Colin had spent the day preparing them for their entrance into the Capitol. It would be loud, and there would be people jamming the station full to see their first glimpses of that year's Tributes. 'Be happy, play to your image', had been the advice given to her all day. She could do that even if she couldn't fight, or be menacing like Charles was.
The door slid open with a blast of purified air, and the noise hit her ears, nearly making her reel in shock. There were people everywhere, with strange coloured hair (or were they wigs?), and skin, laughing and screeching the Tribute's names.
She felt a large hand grab hers, and looked up to see Charles staring concernedly down at her. Biting her lip, and giving him a nod, they walked together through the fray to the opposite end of the station, where an armed escort waited with their names on a white placard.
Glancing over to see where the other Tributes were, Arizona caught a glimpse of Callie, surrounded by a group of admirers. And with a hand firmly slipped around the Latina's waist was man – the other District Two tribute, from the looks of things. Jealously bubbled up inside of the blonde, causing her to rip her hand from Charles' and to catch Callie's eyes with her own blue irate ones.
Unhappy, and extremely irked, Arizona stalked into the car that awaited her, unsure if she was more angry at herself for feeling jealous of a man she did not know – jealous having his hand on a women she barely knew – or more angry at the Latina for letting the man have his hands on her.
Turning her body towards the window, she stared out into the crowd, hoping to see something that would distract. New people, faces, colours, clothing, features & buildings could have shifted her interest, but her mind remained fixed on the image on a rough, calloused hand on the woman's waist.
Ignoring her mentor, stuttering out last minute words of 'help' Callie tapped her foot, and fiddled with the hem of her shirt, impatient for the doors to open. This was her time, and she would do what she needed to do, regardless of the fact that the Capitol had still not released the details of the Quarter Quell.
The doors slid open, and she stepped out immediately, a one million watt smile on her face, and Mark stepping out in time with her. Glancing up the station, she saw the blonde – Arizona – from the previous night with her hand firmly engulfed in the Goliath's beside her. Feeling a twinge in her gut, she turned sharply from the sight of the couple, and did not complain, as she would usually have done, when Mark slipped his hand around her waist.
A glance to her right caught her out and left her hanging. A pair of blue eyes were turned her way, and were blazing with a nearly unfathomable emotion within them. The blonde's expression seemed to turn on a dime as she wrenched her hand from Bigfoot's and stalked off to where the District 7 bodyguard was situated.
Callie bit her lip and turned, not knowing what had caused the response in the girl five bays away from her.
Trying to dismiss the thought, Callie waved to the crowd, and keeping an eye out for Arizona in her peripheral vision, began to walk forwards. Step by step, her companion and her cleared the crowd and made their way to the waiting escort bay.
She slipped into a sleek black car of some model – the door held open for her by Mark – and sat, letting out a long sigh of relief to be removed from the hungry eyes of the Capitol's people.
"Drive", came a deep, gravelly voice from beside her, and the convoy began to move, carrying its precious cargo closer to their deaths.
The opening ceremony was a blur for Arizona: a mixture of bright lights, overpowering noise, and sticky air blasting down upon her. She could remember her dress – a deep green gown and silver jewellery. Charles was dressed in a ridiculous green tunic-type ensemble, and somehow, their stylist had conceived the idea of putting eyeliner on him a good idea.
Still, they laughed about it as their finishing touches were put on, and as they were stepping onto the sleek pine chariot, with two large, muscular draft-type horses pulling it.
The music played as they entered the stadium caused Arizona to feel nauseous. It was a triumphant anthem, meant for a victory, not to celebrate twenty-four teenagers before all but one of them died.
Again, somehow, her hand remained clutched around Charles' for most of the extravaganza, leaving his hand with white marks where she had squeezed it so tightly the blood had been cut off. He, however, only complained good-naturedly about it, teasing her on her quirks that had come out in the spot light, but not denying her them.
Charles reminded Arizona of her brother, and the thought was one of mixed emotions. She missed her brother, but was proud of him. Tim died in the Games, and now it was a possibility that Charles would too. Her jaw clenched as a small whimper escaped her at the thought. She had seen eighteen Reapings, and was used to the sight of the different sized coffins that came back to her District.
In spite of the this, her throat choked up when she thought of the large coffin that would await him – a large one than Tim's had been, but still in the style of the 'men's' burial.
She caught just one glimpse of Calliope in the whole event. The Latina was dressed in a white toga – her hair pulled back in an intricate braid on the back of her head – and shimmered in the light. Gold adorned her arms and throat making her seem fluid in the light. A quick glance was all that Arizona got, but it was enough. She was literally breath taking.
Then, the Latina was gone, and the horses were driven back out of the stadium. The Tributes tawdry, narcissistic, overseers bustled along, taking the Tributes back to where they would stay for their week and a half of training. 'The Grand Tour' was something Arizona paid no heed to. She cared not of the grandness of the rooms, or of the luxury of the furnishings
All she wanted to do was to go back home, to see Tim to alive and to get inside the head of the woman who plagued her thoughts so consistently. She could do none of these things so, instead, she crawled into the feather bed that dominated her room, and tried to drift off into a comatose state where anything was possible.
Callie had watched with a laugh as Bigfoot had make-up smeared on him by the District Seven stylist. Her own dress was simple, and finished, so she had begun to amuse herself, instead, with watching the other hideous costumes be assembled on the nearby Tributes.
Arizona looked stunning, to say the least, in Callie's opinion. The green dress she was wearing clung to her in all of the right places, and she seemed so at ease – laughing and messing around with Bigfoot as they waited to be let into the stadium.
Seeing them playfully talk, Callie felt…excluded. Sure, Mark and herself talked and teased, but never quite in the sibling-type way that the two that she was watching did. She found herself growing jealous of the dark-haired man with Arizona, who was toying with the blonde by holding something out of her reach and making her jump for it.
Eventually, Arizona gave up, and Bigfoot handed her the object, leading her to give him a high-five, and a radiant expression that made Callie's heart stop.
After that, her stylist demanding her attention, Callie caught not sight of Arizona for the rest of the evening. Soon after they had been withdrawn from the public eye, they were taken to their rooms, and half-listening to Mark's attempts to seduce one of the Avoxes who served upon them, Callie cloistered herself into her room, and began to doze on her bed, dreaming of a certain radiant smile