Beneath the Crystal Sky

by laptop246

Fawn Dogwood is 16. She lives in District 7. She is part of a prosperous scouting troop. She has two little sisters. She is learning a trade. She is being courted. She was never meant to be Reaped. "Scout. Sister. Performer. Tribute. What am I, now? Staring into my own brown eyes, I find that I can't tell anymore." High quality. Works very closely with the original series.

7. II REMAKE

PART II. PREPARING.
CHAPTER 7. REMAKE.

Yay! READERS! Now, if you will please review! Thank goodness this is getting popular... plenty in store for you few readers! Here's some more for you. Um, in this one you meet a few important people. Should I tell you who is the most important? Nope. Not unless you review, and then PM me. Then MAYBE I will spoil just a LITTLE BIT.

Sorry this took so long. I've been doing 'my homework' and making a plotline on paper and writing down some pretty detailed character analysis for everyone... Not done yet, but if you want some insight on anyone, just PM me.

We have a new cover! What does everyone think? I found the image and fell in love with it. She doesn't really look like Fawn, but otherwise... she's perfect! Beautiful ... or so I think... Anyone else's opinions?

Soooo sorry... Cabel's name isn't Candle. That's the District 5 boy. SORRY! Typos :/

This one begins just about where the other one lets off. I wanted to let Fawn break down a little bit, just so that you can see more of the emotions that she's doing her best to ignore. Ah, good old Fawn... I'm so mean to her :(

~BTCS~

I wake with a start, my eyes snapping open sightlessly. Fire still rules my vision, and warmth cocoons my body. I let out a strangled cry, turning over, my legs becoming entangled in warmth. Horrible, heart-bursting warmth. I scream again as I try to run to my father, dressed in flames, just ahead of me, and smiling as though we are sharing an inside joke. "Dad!" I scream. "Help! Help me! Daddy!" For a moment, I am floating towards my father, and the warmth leaves my body. Then I slam into something.

I push myself up with my hands, looking around wildly. "Dad? Dad!" but all I see is the Capitol train room. I blink several times, remembering the past day. "Dad?" Untangling myself from the blankets, I turn around several times, ensuring that my father truly isn't here. Feeling disappointment, I glance at Riccy's dress. It is caked with sweat. I take it off, but the temperature doesn't change. Suddenly, I desperately need to be in the cold. Still clutching the dress tightly in my hands, I fly to the bath-room. My adrenaline is still spiked, and my feet are blurred as I lunge into another warm room. In a second, I am in a pool of ice cold water, still clutching the dress and trying to calm myself down.

"It was just a dream," I tell myself aloud. "They're all fine. I'm the only one in danger." I take several deep breaths, and throw away the dream. Trying to distract myself, I fiddle with the dials, filling the room with damp, cool air, and a smell that reminds me of sap. I breathe deeply, closing my eyes, and trying to pretend that I am home. The water is too still, though, for me to relax.

I open my eyes and turn my musing to another topic - the other tributes. The mist-like air makes it easy to believe I am not under surveillance at this moment, and I allow myself to think about them honestly. What faces do I remember? The appear shrouded in the mist before me, and I wonder if I am not still asleep in part of my brain. The dark-skinned girl from 11, looking surprised as she mounted the stage. Cabel from 5, crying as his partner, Scarlett, stares at the crowd. Bored Luster Diamond, and smug Shyne. Pale Chip and Pixel. Mysterious Tide. Giant Gneiss and Mason Flint. Beautiful Syren. There are so many of them... and I will have to kill them all, or be killed.

I bite my lip. A wave of protest wells up inside of me. Why me? Why was I chosen? I have a better chance than some, like Cabel or Pixel, or even Raven, but none against Luster, Gneiss, Syren... It will surely be one of them that slits my throat and leaves my body for the hovercrafts to pick up. I swirl my finger in the water, watching the ripples it makes. I promised that I'd try to win. But something tells me that trying just isn't going to cut it.

The water is heating. I press a button, and it immediately cools again. I say involuntarily, and make the mist thicker. How similar this is to only a few days ago, on a Festival day, when Aria and I were washing our clothes before the Branchball match. That seems a lifetime away. Will I ever be able to return myself to that mindset, even if I do come out as victor?

A high voice trills, "Fawn! Fawn, dear! Time to wake up!" She's knocking on my bedroom door and entering. Suddenly, I am very conscious that I am unclothed. "Fawn? Are you in the bathroom?"

"Yes!" I cry, covering myself, but not coming out of the wonderful, cold water. "Don't come in! I'm in the water!"

Garnish enters anyway, and I sink to let the water cover me, grateful for the mist now. I think that she has a frown on her lavender face. "Now, dearie, you're meeting your stylist today. She'll need to see you naked. It's best you get over this now."

I moan, pressing a button that makes the bath fill with orange bubbles, providing more modesty. "What do you want, Garnish? Is it time to eat?"

She nods, her crazy hair done up in swirls today, and bobbing around crazily. Her earrings make a racket when the clang together. "It is, in about an hour. I thought you might need some help picking out an outfit today." Garnish appears quite eager to help with this, and I find myself shaking my head forcefully.

"Uh, no. That's all right." Her face falls, comically with her absurd makeup. "No, really, it's nothing against you, Garnish. It's just .. I figured out how to use the dressing-room last night. So, really, it's okay."

Garnish studies my face for a moment, and I make an effort to smile genuinely at her, but it ended up something closer to a grimace. "You'll want to look your best," she warns. "and Blight wants you to do another interview before you meet your stylist. Are you sure, dearie, that I couldn't just ... make a few suggestions?" I hesitate, and she hurries on. "Of course, no makeup, and we'll leave your hair as it is. We want to recognize you in the arena. Oh, and we'll keep your clothing modest, of course..." She gazes at me pleadingly, and I find myself trapped.

Hesitantly, I ask, "This will help my appearance in the Capitol?"

Garnish nods eagerly, setting her earrings clanging again. "Oh, yes, of course, dearie! I may not be a stylist, but I do make an effort to stay up on the fashion statements, as I'm sure you can see." She gestures to her outfit and smiles winningly. I glance at it, and it appears to be frilly. I wonder if she modeled it after Lavinia's last night.

"I promise I'll try my hardest." I sigh as my own voice rings through my ears. Sponsors were important. "Well ... all right. But I have the last word! And nothing lavender!" the mere sight of the color is enough to bring me nausea.

My escort looks thrilled. She does a little hop of excitement, her heels clattering against the floor, and she claps several times in a row. "Oh, good! I did so hope you would let me! Now, let's see... red looks nice on you, but we should dress you in something different, since you were in red yesterday... Oh, you'd look fabulous in royal blue! And maybe just a bit of emerald to set it off... I know exactly what you should wear!" She takes off quickly, clattering away, calling over her shoulder, "Oh, hurry, hurry, hurry, dearie! We only have a bit of time!

I sigh deeply, already regretting my decision, and climb out of the cool water. The room, at least, is several degrees cooler than before, and I glance at the soaked dress I still have in my hands. I'm not accustomed to wearing cold clothes - they could freeze, and that would be the end of you. Here ... there is no danger of that. All the same, I put on a robe and hold the dress as I head out to join Garnish in the clothing-room.

"Oohhh!" she trills. "Ooohhh! Come look, Fawn!" I enter, and the door closes behind me. Bracing myself, I glance at the many royal blue outfits. They are all what we call in District 7 insane. I turn to Garnish. "Something simpler, please. I need to be able to move around." The word 'please' seems to be redeeming me with her, and she only gives me a regretful look as other outfits wizz in. They are much better, and I tell Garnish so. Glancing around, I choose the most rational one, with a simple strapless top and a skirt the frills out to the knee.

Garnish smiles at me. "That's ... pretty." It's obviously not what she would've chosen, but I'm adamant in my choice. I turn, examining the shoes on display. Garnish picks a pair that have high, skinny heels, and I immediately disagree. "I can't wear those! I'll fall flat on my face!" Giving me a rueful look, she instead chooses a pair with small soles and a large emerald resting on the top.

"No accessories," I say firmly as she glances at jewelry.

Looking disappointed, Garnish orders me to put on the outfit. I do so quickly, with as much modesty as I can manage. Then Garnish is dragging me to the bath-room, and having the room bathe me in lotion and facial cream. My hair is blown to a silky shine, and then curled ever so slightly. Garnish has me close my eyes, and they are outlined gently in black, a royal blue design around my eyelids. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realize with a shock that I do not look horrible. I may not be what I consider beautiful, but I am most definitely not as horrible-looking as Garnish or several of the other people from the Capitol I have seen on the television. I am more modest, with a child-like appearance, nearly innocent looking. How odd, since I am going into the Hunger Games, for the people to see me like this!

A slight sob echoes in the quiet bath-room. I glance over quickly to see Garnish suppressing tears. Alarm shoots through me. "W-what's wrong?" I glance around instinctively, searching for the cause of distress.

Wiping her eyes, Garnish apologizes several times. "It's - it's just ... you look just like Moira."

I blink several times. The name doesn't sound familiar. Was she one of the past tributes that Garnish had felt some affection for? "Who is Moira?" I try to keep my tone merely curious.

Garnish's makeup is smearing. "She ... she was Tigris's daughter. Such a - a sweet girl." A moment passed, and Garnish took it to compose herself. "She preferred simple looks like you when there was no special occasion to get dressed up for. She was so bright and clever, sure to be a Gamemaker one day. Once ... once a spider made its way into her bedroom (before the family Avox had applied the annual bug repellant), and she insisted that it be let loose in the Underground, where it could be safe. She couldn't hurt a fly, that one. So innocent ... She and Ava, the President's granddaughter, were the best of friends. Always coming up with some plot to surprise their mothers and fathers. Just like sisters, those two ... Her favorite part of the year was the Games, you know. You'd doubtlessly be meeting her today - she loved every part of the Games, but especially the Opening Ceremonies..." she trailed off, her eyes misted.

"Then...?" Obviously this story did not have a happy ending for Moira, the innocent girl that couldn't hurt a spider, bright and clever enough to be a Gamemaker. The girl who was like a sister to the horrible President's granddaughter.

Garnish's eyes filled with tears again. "It was so sudden... Just before the Victory Tour last year, she developed some kind of lung disease. Doctors were called, and the latest technology from District 3 was used, but it wasn't enough. Moira died with her parents beside her." A tear slipped out of Garnish's eye, colored lavender by her makeup. "Leviticus, that's Tigris's husband, was devastated. He died only a few days after, unable to live without his Moira, and leaving Tigris all alone to grieve, horrified at the way her life was changing. She's still grieving, I believe, putting her whole life into her work. Poor girl... poor girl ..."

I give Garnish a moment before I ask her, "Garnish, who is Tigris? And why would I be meeting her daughter?"

"Because she is your stylist."

~~BTCS~~

I walk into the Remake center, having already done a fifteen minute interview with another reporter, feeling slightly nervous. I am giving my full acceptance to whatever this grieving Tigris wants to do with me. Blight gives me an encouraging nod, and motions me to a wall, where a door slides open. I glance at Raven, who looks like he might be sick. He must be as worried as I am. Is he thinking about the other tributes, still seeing their faces shrouded in mist, like I am? I gulp, nod to my team, and walk slowly to the door, keeping my spine tall, and trying not to curl into a ball and hide.

The moment I am through the door, it slides closed, and behind me is an ordinary wall, smooth and a pale lavender. I shudder at the sight of the color, but it is all around me. There is no escaping it. Two voices chime together, "Hello!" And I spin around quickly, searching for the source of the voices. I quickly find a girl with frizzy yellow-white hair and lavender clothes and makeup standing beside a boy that I feel I know.

"Hello!" the girl rushes us to me. "I am Portia, and this is Cinna. We are your prep team!"

The boy, who I now recognize, smiles slightly at me. "Hello. It's nice to meet you."

I blink at him several times. "You were commentating the Reapings recaps last night." I state. I haven't heard of a Capitol citizen being both a commentator and a stylist-in-training.

Portia lets out a high stream of giggles. "Isn't it so exciting?" she nearly screams. "Cinna just started commentating to help his sister, Lavinia, but he's been getting better at it! He's getting a ton of money for us to spend on your outfits this year! Oooooh ... just wait until you see what Tigris has ready for you! It's really beautiful, and I helped pick out the fabric, too!" She stops to breathe, looking at me expectantly.

"That's .. nice." I tell her. She smiles winningly back at me.

Cinna smiles a half smile at me. "We've been working on altering it since we saw you first yesterday, to go better with your complexion, you know. And your skin tone is much lighter than we expected ... it gave us quite a shock. But you're really not too bad, you know. When I first saw your dress, I was shocked. It's very beautiful. Where is it now?"

It occurs to me that he thought I would still be wearing it. "I gave it to my mentor, Blight," I tell him. "for safekeeping, you know." He'll give it to Riccy when I'm dead, I thought. And tell her that I tried my hardest.

"We saw your interview!" Portia informs me. "About your father ... Oh, that's so sad! I mean, you and Blight could've known each other much better before this! Do you remember him much?" Without waiting for an answer, she speeds on. "Well, you'll be able to relate to Tigris, anyway. Her poor Moira... She's be here right now, you know, helping us make you over..." Portia appears near tears. "I do miss her so."

Cinna gives Portia a hug, then turns to me. "We all loved Moira, Tigris's daughter. She was so helpful..." his eyes mist over, before he snaps himself back into reality. "Well, it's time to get started!" he claps his hands, and several tables rise from the floor.

Portia smiles at me, all traces of sadness gone. "I love your outfit! Did Garnish help you pick that out? You might be the only tribute that's taken her up on her offer! She'll like you now, I'm sure! And the color looks so good on you, I hate to take it off!" Turning to Cinna, she asked, "Do you think we can dress her in this color during the interviews?"

"I think Tigris already has an idea," Cinna told her, smiling regretfully. Then, to me, "Don't worry, though. It's sure to be stunning. Tigris is amazing - everyone wants the clothes that you design, and you don't even have to pay anything!" They lead me to a dip in the floor, similar to the one I used this morning for a bath. The set the water running, and have me undress. I feel self-conscious as I slide into the water, but they reassure me that I have nothing to worry about. I quickly realize from their endless babble that they are innocent as kittens.

Cinna places his hand on a box, and a soap appears in the water, with a sharp tang to it that makes my nose itch. "Sorry," he says. "This is just going to get some of that dirt out of you, and some skin, too, so that we can take out all of those imperfections." Suppressing a feeling of insult, I notice that my skin is itching, when the floor comes alive and begins to roughly rub in the soap. I cry out in shock and pain - it is surely taking off those layers of skin that Cinna mentioned. Gritting my teeth, I endure it until the floor stops.

Portia smiles comfortingly at me. "That was good," she encourages as a sweet and relaxing scent reaches my nostrils. My body is now being coated in something soft, and the water is draining, the floor raising me up. "Last year, the girl screamed her head off. We had to fetch a medic to calm her down."

No wonder, I think, I nearly scared myself to death. But aloud, I only say, "How long have you two been a prep team?"

"Five years this year," Cinna tells me. "If you are not crowned victor, we shall be submitted as stylists for the next Games, likely as adjourning stylists, since we are already accustomed to working together."

Portia squeals in excitement. "It's my life's dream!" she confesses, sighing dramatically. "Overseeing a group of stylists just like Tigris does ..."

I have to suppress the strong need to puke for several moments. For them to get their promotion and fulfill their life's dreams, I have to die. They're probably hoping for my death right now. "What will happen to Tigris?"

They look blankly at me. "She'll keep designing, of course. She'll just get a new prep team to train. She's far too brilliant to be replaced!" They whisk me off to a table with a comfortable-looking lavender couch. They sit me in it and quickly warn me that I'm about to be in pain. They take out some beige-colored strips of wax and carefully place it all around me body - on my legs, face, stomach, arms, and so on. With another warning, Portia takes hold of one and rips it off quickly. I cry out in shock, my hand automatically going to the spot. There is no hair there.

"I'm so sorry," Portia apologizes, but I can see in her eyes that she's not sorry. She's going to do it again and again until all the strips (and hair) are gone. "Here, I'll give you warning this time. 1, 2, 3!" She rips off another, and I grit my teeth to keep from crying out again. "Cinna!" Portia calls. "let's just get it done quickly." Cinna nods and grabs another strip. They count off and rip. Over and over again until they are all gone and my entire body stings.

Cinna smiles at me. "You did well," he congratulates. "You didn't even cry." I blink, and nod, holding back the tears of pain in my eyes, not wanting him to see. "Here. This should help. The chair envelops me in a smooth, comforting lotion, and I let out a cry of relief as it seeps into my skin, easing all of the pain. I thank Cinna, and he only nods, handing me a robe.

They trim my hair, keeping it as similar to the way it was as possible, but making it an even line around my face. The bangs they make shorter, as Tigris instructed them too. I stare at the mirror. Never in District 7 would it have been so perfect. I can't say I don't like my new bangs, but part of me wishes that I was unchanged from the way I was in District 7.

Next they put a contraption around my mouth, encasing my teeth and making my jaw unable to move. They warn me again of pain and I tense, ready. There is a click, and stabbing pain in my teeth. I cry out, my hand flying to my mouth as the contraption leaves. I run my fingers around my mouth. My teeth are perfectly straight. Cinna takes out my hand gently and puts a foul tasting substance in my mouth and instruct me to keep my tongue still and not to salivate. I do so naturally several times, and we have to start over each time. But when it is over, I am allowed to wash out my mouth with minty tasting water, and look in the mirror. My teeth are straight and dazzlingly white.

They take charge of my nails - Cinna my feet, and Portia my hands. They trim them to perfect ovals and put a clear coating of substance on them that they swear is beneficial to their health. Then they examine my many calluses, and file them down to be less noticeable. Portia makes notes of them aloud, explaining to me that they will have to make alterations to my outfit to hide them.

Portia hands me several pills and instructs me to swallow them. Feeling reluctance, I ask her what they are for. She points at each one and tells me without hesitation, "This one is for breath, this one is for calming, this one for suppressing your womanly cycle for the duration of the Games, this one for slimness, and this one for resistance to disease before you go into the arena. All the tributes receive them." I swallow them without difficulty. They have no taste and dissolve onto my tongue.

When they decide that I am presentable to look at, they both give me a hug, and tell me that they're going to fetch Tigris. "You'll have to be kind to her, especially about her appearance," Cinna warns. "She's very sensitive these days. She's preferred her look ever since ... Moira died." I promise that I will be kind to Tigris, and they leave to fetch her.

I try to prepare myself for whatever sort of oddly-appearing, grieving stylist will appear in the room, but I am not prepared for what I see. Tigris is a tall woman (though I hesitate in using that word), with pointed teeth and very cat-like green eyes. Her ears are furry and striped golden brown, and a bit too far up on her head to call normal. Her nails are long and sharpened to a point. Short golden brown fur covers her body, and she wears no clothing. Visible only over her left shoulder is a striped tail to match her look. She is something between human and feline, but I can't decide which she is closer too. All the same, the sight of her makes me shiver.

"You are Fawn Dogwood," she purrs. I try to make my eyes return to their usual shape, but cannot find my voice. I give her a jerky nod instead. Tigris smiles in a very startling way. "I am Tigris," she informs me, as though I don't know. "and I am your stylist." I clear my throat, trying to find something to say, but fail. Tigris's smile broadens. "I am sorry if I scared you," she says, walking towards me in a prowling sort of way. "I prefer an odd appearance, even for the Capitol. I have possessed it for about half a year now, and still I attract stares. Many, though, I think, admire me."

I don't admire her, though I do pity her. I have seen mothers driven mad after their children die, especially if they were older. An infant dead is saddening, but a child that was well known dead is heartbreaking. Moira seems to be fitting into this second category. Though Tigris's way of coping with her daughter's death is horrendous, I can at least pity her for her situation. "I ... " I clear my throat again. "It's nice to meet you."

Appearing pleased that I have spoken, Tigris smiles again. "I hope that Cinna and Portia weren't too hard on you this morning. They can be quite annoying, I know. They'll understand your position when they become stylists, I expect. We all do."

I blink and nod. "They were very kind," I tell her. "They seemed to at least be concerned about whether or not they were putting me in pain."

"They want you to appear comfortable," Tigris informs me. "You appearance this year will have much to do with if they are accepted as full stylists next year. They are very anxious for you to succeed and be as noticeable as possible." They don't want me to win, though, I think, but don't say this aloud. Tigris smiles again, "You must be very hungry. Let us go eat."

She leads me into a room with four walls made of glass, providing quite a view of the city. I pass the couch and table, staring at the Capitol in all its magnificence. The tall, candy colored buildings with sloping arches, and the busy streets with people driving and walking all over it. It is a picture of perfect paradise for those who live in it. I see lavender banners all over, proclaiming that the 70th Hunger Games is about to start. Fighting a sudden wave of sickness, I turn away to Tigris, who is sitting. "What do you think of my city?" she asks me, searching my eyes with those feline ones. I can't find any feeling in those eyes, and that scares me.

I hesitate before answering, "It is very pretty. And busy. Nothing like District 7."

She smiles knowingly. "But you'd rather be home in District 7, wouldn't you?" I nod, looking to the ground embarrassedly. "That's quite all right, dear," she tells me. "If I ever have a victor to visit, I'm sure that I would be homesick as well." I glance up and find her patting the spot beside her. "Please, come sit, and we can eat."

I join her as she presses a button, and food rises from the table. I stare at what food is being offered today, which is more extravagant than what I saw on the train for dinner and breakfast. Tigris presses another button and states, "No Avoxes needed." and the same cool female voice that was in my closet replies, "Confirmed."

"Avoxes?" I ask Tigris. "What are those?" I have heard the word before, but I had thought that Avoxes were just a myth, like Paul Bunyon or Red Cloak and the Big Bad Coyote.

Tigris gives me a surprised look. "Blight didn't already explain?" I shake my head, and she lets out a very cat-like hiss of frustration. "Avoxes," she says slowly and carefully. "are betrayers of Panem, revolutionists, you might say. Rebels. They are punished by the cutting out of their tongues, and serve as servants to the Capitol citizens for the rest of their lives."

I instinctively reach to hold my own mouth, no longer hungry. "Oh," I say. "That's ... that's horrible."

"Be careful who you say that to," Tigris warns me quickly. "Not everyone will we so tolerant of your remarks." She stares at me, and it occurs to me that she doesn't find the matter of Avoxes pleasant, either, but is unwilling to say so. I remember that we are probably under surveillance at this moment, and move my hand, nodding obediently. We turn to the food.

~~~BTCS~~~

Portia lets out a high squeal of excitement, and Cinna hushes her. I can only assume her excitement is caused by my gown, which has been put on me. My eyes are obediently squeezed shut, and I stay stone-still as they make adjustments to my hair and gown. Someone (I think it is Cinna) is stenciling lightly on my face. After several moments, Tigris purrs, "Open your eyes, Fawn."

My eyes snap open, partly from excitement and partly from worry. I let out a gasp. "I'm a nymph!" Cinna and Portia exchange confused looks, and Tigris's eyes narrow to slits in confusing. Of course, they wouldn't know the myths about the beautiful nymphs that spring from the trees which they can disappear into. Nymph ... that is Aria's pet name. My heart aches suddenly with homesickness. "Nymphs are creatures of the trees," I explain quickly. "They can become trees if they wish to hide from mortals. They are very rarely seen, but when they do appear before someone, it is to warn them of great danger in their future." Indeed, with my green-and-brown streaked clothes and skin, brown eyes with just a tint of gold added to them for the night, and leaf-strewn hair, I appear to have just sprung from the trees.

The stylist and prep team stare at me a moment. Then, Portia says, "I've never heard of N-imfhs before." I don't bother trying to correct her pronunciation. "But," she adds, "if they are very beautiful, then you are certainly one for this night."

A sudden wave of emotion for Portia rises in me, and her compliment truly touches my heart. "Thank you, Portia." I am actually pushing back tears from the emotional distress of the day, and Portia pats my back sympathetically, misunderstanding my distress. "You didn't look too bad before," she encouraged me. "We just had to bring out that beauty."

"She's right," Cinna reassures me, misunderstanding as well. "You were already rather beautiful." How this makes me think of River ... I push back the pang of distress.

I smile at the prep team, marveling at how childlike they are. Then I turn to Tigris, awaiting the last-minute instructions. She prowls around me three times before declaring, "You look good. Now, smile, keep your chin up and your back straight. Wave to the crowd, laugh, be thrilled to be here. Your interviews have them interested in you, but your appearance should keep your positive personality that you are showing them. Try to make it look like you're having the time of your life."

Feeling disgusted, I nod. Tigris smiles at me in her cat-like way. "Time to go to the chariots. We'll show you there, but we'll have to go to our seats before the parade starts."

I nod again. Portia and Cinna begin to tell me how amazing I look and how wonderful it will be when the crowd sees me. When they run out of compliments for me, they turn to Tigris. I can tell that they are thrilled how their last year of prepping is working out. And deep inside, they can't wait for me to die so that they can get their promotion.

~~~~BTCS~~~~

I stand awkwardly beside Raven, who is covered in pine needle-like material and has a striking headdress topped to a point. If I look at him through the corner of my eye and image that I'm in the forest, I can believe that he is a true pine tree. Once the stylists (his stylist is named Clio) and the prep teams have left, he tells me quietly that he thinks his outfit is, "like he walked throw a bed of pine needles and mud," which makes me laugh.

All of the tributes are standing in or beside their carriages, whispering to their district partners or petting the horses. Some, like Cabel Atom, Barley Harvester, Cotton Flinch, and Angela Herder, only stare at the wall. Those four, I realize, are the youngest among us. No twelve year olds were Reaped this year, but those four are thirteen and fourteen. They have the least chance of surviving, and none of them look like fighters. Of course, in the 63rd Hunger Games, when Finnick Odair volunteered, everyone thought the fourteen-year-old was insane. But when he broke from the Career alliance and used his golden trident to kill off all the others, we were shocked. No one has underestimated a young tribute again.

The Careers this year, Shyne, Luster, Geniss, Mason, Syren, and Tide are standing in a huddle, laughing and joking. It really is a vacation for them, I realize. They volunteered to have fun and win all the glory. Of course, I'd known this before, but it takes seeing them laughing and jeering, knowing that one of them will kill me for the full effect to set in.

"What do you think?" I whisper to Raven. "Blight said allies were a good idea..." and so did the Mist Troop, I think.

Raven nods slightly, glancing around quickly, as though afraid to be caught looking. "Yeah .. but is now really the time, you think? I mean .. the Careers are over there acting like they just can't wait to tear our heads off."

"Acting?" I ask darkly, but I drop this quickly, remembering to stay positive. "Well ... they can't get us yet. Remember, it's against the rules, and there's doubtlessly cameras all around. I say we give it a try. I mean, we've got plenty of time." He makes a sound in his throat that I'm not sure is agreement, but I ignore it, remembering the people I thought most trustworthy last night. I try and give Rye Brown, the girl from 9, a smile, but she snarls aloud back at me, and I look quickly away.

Chuckling, Raven comments, "Some people may not want allies."

I let out a snort. "Obviously not." Grant Farmer, from 10, is looking fixedly at his feet, and doesn't respond to any friendly looks I give him. Over his shoulder, Maze Fields, from 11, smiles back at me. I give her a genuine smile, glad that someone isn't shunning me. I nudge Raven. "Look. Over there. District 11."

Maze, her dark skin transformed into an ear of corn, is speaking with her partner, October Harvest, who is dressed as a pumpkin, very quickly. They appear to be having a quiet argument. Raven looks away, appearing embarrassed, but I look on eagerly. Friends or foes, it is good to know as much about these tributes as I can. "I'll try. I really will."

After a long moment, October's shoulders sag in defeat. They exchange few more words, and head towards up, Maze leading with an eager smile. Upon climbing onto our tree-decorated carriage, she sticks out her hand. "Hello," she is addressing me, as Raven is still looking away. Her voice is a pretty alto, and the moment I hear it, I'm sure that she sings. "I'm Maze Fields, from District 11." Her cheery smile shows a hint of doubt in the pause it takes me to respond.

"Hello." I tell her. "I'm Fawn Dogwood, District 7." I smile and prod Raven next to me. He turns around, making a bad attempt at a smile, but doesn't introduce himself. With a badly hidden sigh, I add, "and this is Raven Carpenter, my district partner."

Maze beams and her partner, his bright orange hair matching his pumpkin costume, gives me a half-smile. "I'm October Harvest." With a sly smile, he adds, "Fancy meeting you here."

I laugh slightly, unsure of how to respond to humor, which I haven't heard much of lately. "Fancy that. It's nice meeting you both." Raven mutters agreements under his breath.

"Everyone seems so ... tense," Maze observes, looking around. "I mean, we're on vacation, aren't we? Where's the fun at?"

"Maze," October waves his finger at her as though scolding her. "The nice Gamemakers already arranged a parade just for us. Don't complain. What more do you want, to be on live television?" His humor is refreshing, and ever Raven cannot keep from laughing. Several people start and the sound of pure, un-sneering laughter, and stare at us.

Maze chuckles, "Aren't we the life of the party?" which earns another peal of laughter, myself among the loudest.

A cool female voice with the heavy Capitol accent announces, "Tributes, to your carriages. The parade shall begin in 60, 59, 58 ..." I am struck by realization that we have sixty seconds before the actual Games begin as well, and suddenly feel sick again. Maze and October bid Raven and I goodbye, with an odd gesture - one hand atop the other, with both palms facing up. Raven and I respond with the standard District 7 motion with our right hands over our hearts, and our left raised to the sky.

The voice counts down, "42, 41, 40 ..." as Raven and I mount the carriage. I tighten my hands on the carriage, dreading the moment when I am before the despicable Capitol crowds. Raven shakes his head at me. "Smile," he reminds me, quoting Tigris and Clio. "Head up." I sigh and do so, glancing back at Maze and October, climbing into their carriage. "30, 19, 18, 17 ..."

I straighten my mossy, long hair about me, mainly for something to do. "10, 9, 8 .." I straighten up, sharing a grimace with Raven, before plastering on my very best winning smile. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1." Let it begin. Deafening cheers and blinding light.

~~~~~BTCS~~~~~

Any thrilled Tigris fans? Yes? No? Portia fans? Everyone's a fan of Cinna, right? I am yet to meet a Cinna hater... Please review. It makes my day. Really, it does :D Plus, spoilers for those who review .. if you want them. I'm not going to force them on you.