"Ow!" I say, as a manicured nail pokes at my arm. It's encrusted in jewels that are prickly. "Watch it."
A tongue clucks at me, and as if sitting here on a cold, metal table isn't enough, I've got women swarming around me scrutinizing my appearance. Of course I knew this was coming– the Tribute Parade is the kickoff for training week before the Games. But I hadn't really expected so much prep for it. I feel like my head's going to spin off, with all the stylists walking around me in the prep room. I barely know any of their names, except for my main stylist's.
Her name is Nyx.
She's a tall, regal woman who looks as if she is from Republic Dódeka by the dark tan of her skin. She isn't as overly done as some of her assistants, instead choosing to keep her hair slick, long and black. It looks as if there are stars in her eyes, and she's got golden tattoos of the night sky etched into her cheekbones, down her neck, across her collar.
Nyx is a quiet woman, eyeing me without a word as her personal team of three little stylist hens cluck over how awful my skin has become from all the years I've spent in the sun. "Would you look at the poor thing's pores!" one of them– I think her name is Calliope– says. She's got music notes sketched in glitter all over her, and her skin is practically blue.
Another woman, a bit rounder and prettier says, "And she's covered in hair."
"We need to give her a good wax, Clio," says a short, purple headed assistant. "And a skin treatment!"
"And do her nails," Calliope says, clucking her tongue. "And get someone on those atrocious eyebrows stat!"
I sit there, wide-eyed at all of them. For a moment, I'm about to start crying. It's not that I'm offended over them insulting my appearance– I know I'm not Capital material– it's more that I don't want to not look like me. My mother always told me I am fine the way I am, her pretty little flower with thorns to protect her. I don't want to be turned into some hybrid plant of the Capital. Gods forbid I have purple hair by the end of this makeover.
As if she senses my panic, Nyx sets a steady hand upon my shoulder. "Don't worry, Kore. It's not all as bad as it sounds. I'll make sure you stay virtually the same, just cleaned up, alright?"
I look at her, the stars in her eyes swirling, and nod. She's got a warm touch and a calming manner, soft as the night when she smiles at my acceptance and has me lay back on the table, pulling my thin cotton gown to the side. Panic sets in at the realization that I am completely naked, but none of the stylists seem affected by it. They've probably done this hundreds of times, and there's nothing inherently wrong with me for them to tsk their tongues at.
Focusing on my breathing, I wait as the women cover my body in a heavy feeling wax, setting papers atop it before they begin ripping. It stings like being slapped and I hiss air through my teeth, fingers scraping against the cold metal beneath them. If Plutus were to see me now he'd probably be doubled over in laughter at my torture for the sake of looking nice. To him, everyone was better off covered in mud.
Despoina would like this, I can't help but think as I realize the wax smells of honeysuckle and poppies. Those are her favorites, and she loves when I use berries and flowers as make-up on her. She loves to be pretty. I used to like that kind of thing too, before Plutus was killed and I was suddenly thrust into adulthood, childish dreams broken by the harsh frost of reality.
Having my legs waxed isn't too awful, but when they move up to the point between my thighs I start cursing, about to throw fists if Nyx didn't press a reassuring hand against my shoulder once again. When that part's done I'm ready to run, but they still want my under arms and atrocious eyebrows, as Calliope so graciously put it.
Finally, when I'm all bare and pink, Nyx helps put my gown back on– I'm a bit shaky from the stinging leftovers of the wax– and walks me to the other side of the room where a beautiful bathtub is filling with warm water. Fancy gels are added in, smelling even nicer than the ones from the shower on the train.
The stylists stick me in after removing my gown once more and scrub until my skin is even more raw, rinsing my curls with some weird solution before washing me off and wrapping me in a fluffy robe. They sit me in a chair and fuss over my hair, twisting it into braids that are usually for women, yet whimsical enough I still have childish appeal. I guess Prometheus was able to relay the little maiden bit to them already.
I bite my tongue as they cake make-up onto me, making my skin blend and rouging my lips and cheeks. They make my eyelashes incredibly long; tell me it'll look great if I bat them at the crowd. And then they start stuffing produce flowers of every kind in my hair. Apple blossoms, peach blossoms, orange blossoms, honeysuckle, olive branch, cherry blossoms, rosemary, blueberry vines…
And just as I think I'm only going to be allowed my hair for cover, Nyx brings over a beautiful, sparkling gown. It's simple and shines the color of wheat, with draped grape vines around the shoulders, and a long slit where my right leg will show.
"Wow," I say, fingering the silky material. "Pretty."
"Thank you," Nyx smiles proudly, helping me stand so she can put it on me. It's soft on the inside, hanging off my body like the expensive chitons women of the capital wear. "I wanted you to look simple, but still represent your republic. Pan's stylist and I made sure that both of you match."
I twirl a bit in the dress, upsetting the stylist hens who right me with sass and start painting gold onto my body with stencils in the shape of flowers and vines. "Did you talk to Prometheus?" I ask after a moment, noticing the slit covers enough that I still feel half-way modest.
Chuckling, Nyx says, "Yes. You're to be the maiden of these Games. Who knows, you may even be turned into a virgin Goddess if you win, like Athena Pallas was last year."
At the mention of virgin, I try not to cringe. Obviously Prometheus didn't fill Nyx in enough for her to know that my virginity is more of a bidding war than a Goddess title. For a moment I feel a bit of jealousy for Athena Pallas– she won without sponsors, without odds. Her Games ended almost as soon as they began. So many died in the bloodbath, and everything else was a slippery marsh. There wasn't anywhere to hide, and the contestants picked each other off quick, Athena hiding in stray areas no one would think to hide, shooting arrows at passing targets. The Games only lasted a week before she was crowned Victor.
Shaking my head, I look up at Nyx who is eyeing me critically. "You know," she says after a moment, hand under her chin and the stars in her eyes alight. "Looking like this, you may just be the killer over the other tributes yet, Kore Hagne."
For the sake of these Games, I do so hope she's right.
Iris directs Pan and I to wait by our chariot when we reach the prep deck before the parade begins. I notice that Pan's wearing the same kind of chiton I'm in, though his is cut to fit a boy and not a girl. There are a few blossoms in his hair, but more rosemary and olive branch than flowers.
"You look nice," I say to him softly, because he is shaking like a scared little kid. I don't care if Prometheus said not to talk to him. I can't just let him worry like that. "It's going to be okay, y'know? Just smile and wave, like we see them do on television every year."
Pan looks up at me, eyebrows pulling together in the center. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then someone whistles at us. I look up to see Prometheus wave me over. With a small look back at Pan, I do as told and move to stand next to Prometheus, eyeing him expectantly.
There's another man standing next to him, tall and strong but aged by sadness. He has golden hair and pallid skin and the green, green eyes of the earth.
"This is Atlas," Prometheus says, and instantly I bow my acknowledgement.
Atlas, the God who holds the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He killed fifteen contestants in his Games, all with one knife and not a scratch sustained to himself. He isn't a handsome God, nor is he known for being well-liked. He's simply known as the blood soaked killer of Republic Ennéa, and he holds the weight of the world upon his shoulders because of the death he has brought to so many families of Elláda.
Somehow though, I am not frightened of him.
"Lord Atlas," I say as I stand straightly, tucking a strayed flower back into my hair.
Atlas shakes his head. "Please, Kore, don't use any titles."
"Atlas is the man I was telling you of," Prometheus says, clapping his fellow God on the back. "He's mentor for Apollo and Artemis, the twins from Ennéa." Allies. It isn't said, but all three of us know the meaning behind Prometheus' words.
"They're around here somewhere," Atlas says, eyes sweeping over the prep deck. "Little heathens; I swear they have their own secret language they're so close. Have a good chance of winning, if they pick the right side…"
I bite my lip, glance down at the ground. "Guess that's a nice change," I say, trying to be sly.
For his part, Prometheus rolls his eyes. "Look, we'll talk about all this pitter-patter later. I just wanted you to meet a God of prospect while you had the chance. Go get ready– the chariots are lining up."
Nodding, I turn on my heel and bite my tongue as I begin to walk away. Behind me, I can hear Atlas asking in a low tone, "Does she know yet?"
"She knows about her family," Prometheus says back, and it's the last snippet of the conversation that I get before I'm out of hearing range.
The republics' chariots are lined up in numerical order. Pan and I are second to last, being from Énteka and all. Pan's already in position, staring straight ahead as I'm about to hoist myself in next to him. The heel of my sandal catches on the lift, causing me to slip back. I'm about to fall on my ass against the floor, when suddenly there are arms bracing around my sides, holding me up.
I twist my head; get a glimpse of dark eyes as the person who caught me helps me to stand up straight. "Thanks," I say, turning to face them.
It's the boy from Dodéka– Hades.
He grunts in response, moving to walk away from me. I notice that he's covered in coal dust, his hair spiked up and dyed like it's in flames. He's got some kind of cape on too, the ends split so they flow like fire the way his hair does.
"Wait," I say before I can stop myself.
He stops; eyes me wearily, and I shuffle my feet together, twiddling my fingers.
"I–" I begin to say, but swallow. What am I going to say? "Good luck," is what I finally settle upon, giving him a small smile.
Shaking his head, Hades turns with a snort, like I've just insulted him. He walks back to his chariot with its charcoal horses and hoists himself in, where I notice the girl from his republic, Hestia, smiling at him with a secret glint in her eyes. She begins speaking, but he waves her off.
Biting my lip, I climb back into my own chariot without falling this time. Pan doesn't say anything to me, and I have no idea what to say to him, so we both stand there quietly before the parade is announced to begin, the chariots snapping into action simultaneously. The wheat colored horses that lead ours whinny, then stomp, lurching our chariot forward.
I take a deep breath, staring at the screens above the crowds. First it shows Republic Énas in all of their glitzy glory, the girl barely clothed except for diamonds over the apex of her thighs and her nipples. The boy looks strong and fierce, waving to the crowd with eyes like lighting. And then it's Republic Dyo and the next and the next.
I bite my tongue; brace myself against the overwhelming anxiety in my chest. What if I mess up? I don't know how I can mess up, but what if I do? What if they hate me? What if I never get sponsors? But Gods, what does it matter? I'm going to die in these Games anyways.
The moment our chariot is shown to the crowd, they begin to go wild.
Pan and I are both stock still at first, wide eyes to the screams and shouts. And then I hear Prometheus' words in my head smile wave. Don't mess up, Kore. A grin splits my mouth, wide and girly as I begin to wave my hand in soft seduction. People cheer for it, throwing flowers into the lane.
I giggle; stifle my hand to my mouth in a show of childish wonder. The screens around us are suddenly filled with my image, and I stare at them in awe, half acting and half truthful. And then I pull my hand away and blow kisses to the cameras, adding in small flutters of a wave here and there.
The screens turn away from me then, moving to little Hestia behind mine and Pan's chariot, but I keep smiling and waving, giggling as a few patrons call my name. "Kore, Kore, Kore!"
It's all kind of whirlwind, too much almost. I've been a sheltered girl most of my life; I've never had much attention and it was alright with me that way. I had my family. Mother always said that you didn't need anyone else. Family never hurt you, but the world did.
I can hear her words now, and I feel so out of place. But at the same time my heart is beating a million miles a minute. Adventure has always been in my blood. My father used to tell Plutus and me stories of it before he tucked us in at night. Seeing the world in a view that's different from the television screens, from the Capital's plotted images.
Freedom has always seemed something so far away, and all I've ever wanted is to be free.
This parade is more condemning than I've ever felt in my life, even when Mother used to keep me inside as a child so I wouldn't play with the more wily kids of Énteka. I am a piece to this Game. Simply a pawn to show everyone how much control this Capital has. I've traded one sheltering mother for another, only this one will probably kill me if I don't obey.
But I'm probably going to die soon anyways, so what does it really matter?
The chariots all come into a formed halt. We're in front of the podium where President Cronus stands now. He's tall and regal in a pressed suit with dark, meticulous hair. His eyes are full of secret and power as his close-up flashes over the screens.
"Welcome, welcome to this year's seventy-fourth annual Divinity Games!" Cronus calls, to which the crowd cheers. "To all of our tributes, this is the year that you shall fight for honor! And one of you, the brightest and strongest of all, shall join our Gods in their halls of prominence!"
Everyone cheers louder at this, and I look around toward the other Tributes to find they're silent, except for the Demigod districts that snicker in arrogance at Cronus' words. Next to our chariot is Republic Dodéka's. Hestia is holding onto Hades' hand with a fierce grip, not willing to look at Cronus in probably fear of what she'll find there.
As if he senses me watching, Hades' eyes snap up to meet mine. He's glaring. Instantly, I look away, down at the metal of the chariot I stand in.
Cronus is saying something about tradition and the symbol these Games represent. The crowd has been silent this entire time, but finally Cronus says, "May the Fates be ever in your favor!" and everyone goes wild.
The chariots lurch forward once more, swerving so the tributes go back down the lane we came forward on. I put on my pretty little smile again and wave, blow kisses, giggle. It's a face I need to get used to, as I'll be wearing it all the way until I enter the arena.
And just like that, the parade is over.
When the chariots are back in the prep deck, all of the tributes begin to dismount. Pan scurries off before my feet even touch the ground, and as soon as they do Prometheus is standing before me, smirking.
"Good job, kid," he says. "The crowd loved you."
I blush irrationally, shrinking back as I nod. "I hope it was enough for them to notice."
"Oh, they noticed," says a voice to my left.
I turn to see Atlas, and beside him are two strikingly beautiful kids. They look exactly alike, with their chestnut hair and tanned skin and sparkling blue eyes and dimples. One is a girl, the other a boy. While she is lithe, he is strong. They both look almost feral, dressed in scant leather with peacock feathers decorating their appendages. The girl's hair is tied in intricate braids, and dark eye make-up wings out around her eyes and onto her temples. The boy's curly hair is a bit short, one single braid running along the left side. Nearly his entire eye area is painted over with dark blue.
"Kore, this is Artemis and Apollo, my tributes."
"Well we're not really your tributes," Apollo says, flashing an arrogant grin.
"Yes, we don't belong to anyone, Lord Atlas," says Artemis, sharing her twin's smile. "We're wild, remember?"
"That's just your appearance for sponsors," Atlas sighs. "Stop being sarcastic little shits, would you?"
The twins share a glance, their eyes saying things no one else can decipher. "It's nice to meet you, Kore," they finally say at the same time, seeming genuine about it.
"Nice to meet you too," I say, feeling a bit out of place all over again.
They nod, Artemis reaching out to shake my hand, and then Apollo takes it after her and kisses my knuckles, waggling his eyebrows. Artemis hits him and tells him to stop flirting, grabbing him by the ear and yanking. He swears at her, which results in the two beginning to wrestle, Artemis managing to pin her twin within seconds.
Atlas looks at me, grimacing. "See what I must deal with? At least you are cooperative. No wonder Prometheus likes you."
"I think it's only because I'm kind of like family," I say without thinking, causing the twins to stop their wrestling.
Prometheus glares at me, shaking his head in agitation. "You're lucky that everyone else is busy and not paying attention to us, Kore. You need to watch your tongue more."
"Sorry," I say.
"So you're related?" Apollo asks, disregarding Prometheus' words.
"Not really," I say. "It's a republic thing."
"Oh," the twins say in unison, and then shrug.
Atlas clears his throat. "We need to be getting back to our assigned areas. You all begin training tomorrow."
"Oh," the twins say again. "It was nice meeting you, Kore."
"Nice meeting you too," I call after them as Atlas begins to walk them away.
"I can't wait for dinner," Artemis says wistfully to her twin as they retreat. "More pastries."
"You had better watch it sis," Apollo jokes. "Anymore peach rolls and you're going to be too hefty to move around in the arena next week."
Artemis socks him in the face.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Atlas scowls, dragging the two of them forward by their attire's collars. "Stop it! You give him a black eye and there goes his sex appeal for sponsors."
"He deserved it," Artemis says, and it's the last thing I hear of the group before they disappear into the crowd of swarming stylists and tributes and mentors.
"I don't know what I've gotten you into," Prometheus says after a moment, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and leading me toward the area set up for our republic.
"Can we trust them?" I ask, leaning into his side to keep things quiet. To anyone else the gesture would probably seem intimate, but after my last near-slip I'm not taking chances.
Prometheus nods. "Yes. Atlas said we can, and he wouldn't betray me… Just, watch your back, alright? If it comes down to the three of you, they won't hesitate to save each other."
I nod. "Okay."
We're met by Nyx at the republic prepy area, who begins taking flowers from my hair and wiping the make-up off my face as we move to the inside of the styling center. "You were great," she says to me, giving a smile to Prometheus. "You were right about this one, Pro. She's brilliant."
"I know," Prometheus says, taking a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up. "She gets it from her mother."
a/n: feel free to let me know how you think things are going so far. any confusion or questions, please ask!