Enni Carlson POV (stylist for D3)
I put my hand on Mila's back, absentmindedly admiring the self-done paint job I had applied earlier. "It's okay honey," I say to her reassuringly, "You'll be fine!" Mila runs her fingers through her ponytail, and I stifle back a gasp. She is totally ruining the middle part! Instead, I put my hand on both of hers (partly to act comforting and partly to keep her from ruining her part even more). She lets out a sigh. "Tell me about it, hon." I say, impressed with how caring and maternal I sound.
Mila sighs again and frees one hand to sip her water. "I'm not like the other tributes: funny, strong, gorgeous, charming. I have nothing going for me! No one will want to sponsor me and I'll die a lonely death in the Hunger Games." My eyes get watery. I forgot how angsty the tributes tend to get right before the Launch. I can tell more caring and maternal-ness will be needed on my part.
"Aw, sugarplum, you are more than that! You are determined, stubborn, witty. Why I could go on and on! And don't forget smart, you live in District Three after all." I throw in a smile. "Once the sponsors see this, they will be lining up to help the infamous Mila Keeley, the smartest and wittiest one in the Games!" I throw my hands in the air for good measure. If Mila goes in like this, all of my caring moments will go wasted because she will be picked off in seconds.
"Smart and witty, how are those going to help me? I need strength, the ability to use weapons, anything but wit." Mila is a mess by now. This is so unlike her! She was so full of life when she stubbornly refused to wear the matching full-length skirt that was originally supposed to go over her live wire chariot costume. She had been so zealous and stubborn, and now she was down and hopeless.
"Mila, if you want to survive, and I sure as hell want you to, then you better snap out of it. You can't go in there like a wreck or the Careers will kill you! Did your mentor and you work out a strategy for the Games?" I exclaim, with a weird fierceness in my voice that I had never noticed before. Mila, awestruck as well, nods wordlessly. "Well then, go in there with your strategy and knock 'em dead! I wanna be designing your dresses for the Victory Tour, missy." I smile and straighten her jacket, a light brown shell that won't really protect from much cold but will definitely help when it rains. Underneath is a tight-fitting long-sleeved white shirt with a thin white camisole under that. She is wearing khaki cargo pants that have a zipper an inch above the knee on each leg, giving her the ability to transform her whole outfit from cold to warm. Makes you wonder what the arena is going to be. On her feet are the usual Hunger Games number, brown leather boots with a tread specifically designed for running. Overall, it is a pretty practical outfit, if you are practical enough to figure it out. I have total confidence that Mila is practical enough. I put her to the test. "Tell me, what is this jacket useful for?" Mila looks at me perplexedly, and then answers simply that it keeps out rain. "Is it good at trapping heat?" She shakes her head, still not understanding. "Now tell me, what's under the jacket?"
"A long sleeved shirt?" She says/asks. I nod encouragingly.
"Under that?"
"A camisole." I smile at her, she might be getting it and she doesn't know. I just have to help her out a little bit more. If there is anything I know, it's clothes.
"What is covering your legs, Mila?"
"Pants?"
"Yes, what is an inch above the knee on each leg?" I beam at her some more. I want her to make it so bad, I don't know why.
"A zipper – for changing the pants into shorts." Mila waits for me to mention the boots, or the socks, or the underwear, or something, but I am finished.
"Now, Mila, what can your outfit do?" I ask, an eyebrow raised, to see if she gets it or not. This is the final test. She scrunches up her eyebrows, then gets a look in her eyes that advertises that she gets it. My message wasn't for nothing.
"It changes."
Briss Daniels POV (D12 stylist)
"Kesha?" I ask, something nagging at the back of my mind, besides what to design next. My tribute turns to me, underneath all that makeup we have been covering her with, her face looks fresh and vibrant. A fresh, vibrant face that will probably be seeing the last of the world within the next few weeks. The thought nearly make me cry.
"Yes?" Kesha's light brown hair, still streaked with the colors of fire, is pulled nonchalantly back in a ponytail. I hope to God that she stands a chance. I take a breath.
"Did you really like my outfits? I mean, Cinna really outdid himself thirty years ago. I wasn't even born yet his designs withstood time an-"
"They were great, Briss." Kesha smiles and sips her water, and I can see through the little cracks in her nonchalant façade. If the tube doesn't come soon, she will start crying and not be able to think straight, one of the main reasons why the bloodbath happens. Tributes are too emotionally distraught to think straight and they get skewered by a Career they accidentally ran into, or (this happened a few times, trust me) they skewer themselves in the confusion. The bloodbath is probably one of the most dangerous part of the Games. Its also one of the most entertaining parts for the Capitol to watch, all that blood spilled is so exciting! Well, at least among some of the stylists and mentors, it is different. We aren't all bad, you know. Do you think we like seeing the kids we have grown to love die mercilessly on T.V.? It's a hard job, but one very honored.
"Thanks," I give Kesha a smile. I like this girl. She is spunky, but nice. She is a good friend. She is a kid. She doesn't deserve to die. She needs to live. I place my fingers to my temple and rub, my jangled up thoughts have decided to take a sledgehammer to my skull.
"You okay?" Kesha asks in concern. Her worried eyes scan my face. I find myself laughing at the irony, this girl is worried for me because of a headache, when she is going to face her death any time now. The door to the room bursts open and a needle into Kesha's skin as a light above the metal plate blinks on. Kesha is directed to stand on it, ad once she is settled the tube descends. She waves sadly at me and I do the same. It seems eerily final.
"It's just a headache," I belatedly reply as her plate shoots up the tube and whisks her out of my sight. A single tear slides down my cheek, ruining my mascara. After two years, I can't seem to buy the waterproof. Stupid me.
Meck POV (D5)
I can only describe the feeling as I shoot up into the arena as flying. A blast of fresh air hits my face and I almost stagger backwards, but then catch myself before I set off any mines. I look around me breathlessly. The tributes are lined up closer than comfortable on a small islet, faced with the gleaming and overflowing Cornucopia. My teacher always says that it represents the Capitol's endless bounty to the districts. I always used to think that that was about as true as the Easter Bunny. When I told my aunt this, she spanked me and told me never to repeat those words to anyone, ever. I almost cry at the memory. Surrounding us and practically at our heels is a clear stream, it is pretty wide but looks no more than a foot or two deep. It is so clear that you can see the trout swimming lazily through. It looks very beautiful. The stream circles the islet, like a moat, and then breaks off into four perfectly symmetrical branches, also eerily straight, that seem to go on to the ends of the earth. In between each stream a large wedge of land is created, and each one the terrain is different. The wedge to my right is a very dense green forest, it looks like the perfect place to hide. The wedge to my left is a desert wasteland, full of rolling dunes and red-orange sand. I'm not going in there. The wedge straight ahead of me is a lush and colorful forest, full of exotic sounds and cool breezes. There doesn't seem like too bad of a place to be. I pivot to see the wedge to my back, a freezing tundra, dotted with forests and glaciers. In the distance is a huge glacier. Not there, either. My best bet seems to be the wedge to my right, because it looks the most familiar.
All of a sudden the announcer (why can't I remember his name?) booms out his voice across the arena. "Let the Hunger Games begin!" He announces with authority. A loud gong goes off and I flinch. Then I realize that I am free to run, to sprint for the woods, but my feet can't move. I look desperately around at the other tributes, I see the giant boy from two viciciously stab somebody, and I hurriedly keep looking until I spot Celsie, unmistakable with her bright crimson hair, yelling something to me from my right. She is almost to the water's edge, tagging along some other tributes. They must be an alliance. She shouts frantically and I cup my hand over my ear, signaling that I don't know what she is saying. She signals me to come with her, and I nod in understanding. I take off from my plate. I am not very fast, but I'm okay. Celise's eyes widen and she screams something to me frantically.
"What?" I yell back. She screams some more, but all I can here is the slight tone of her voice and see her lips moving. "What?"
"Hello, little brat." A voice hisses from behind me, it's the boy from District Two. Oh, that, is my thought as he runs me through and I sink to the ground.
Celsie POV (D5)
Shock courses through my body. Of course I've seen the Games, its mandatory, and of course I cried emphatically when the twelve-year-olds were killed, but watching it live fills me with so many feelings. Shock, rage, sadness. The thought that the District Two boy deserves to die in here. "Celsie!" Iota yells, bringing me back to reality. Immediately, once I remember where I am, my senses heighten.
"I'll cross first!" I yell back, knowing that the water might have killer piranhas or something. I take one tentative step into the stream, and at first I feel its coolness caressing my feet. Then, without warning, a burning pain jolts through my legs, causing a cry to escape my lips. I sink to my knees, unthinking, and more burning agony shoots through me. I let out another cry of pain. I try to get back to my feet and out of the water, but the pain has glued me to the sandy bottom. I'm stuck. All of a sudden, the trout that I saw swimming earlier start gathering, and they bare their unnaturally pointed teeth, ready to attack. I scream again.
"Celsie!" A voice screams, and I see out of my peripheral vision a huge shape barreling towards me. "Celsie!" he yells again. The burning has become unbearable. I wish those piranha-trout would just finish me off already and save me the pain. One trout must sense this and he takes an experimental nibble at my knee. Like everything else that has happened to me so far, it is agonizing. The trout swishes his tail, probably telling them that I am tasty enough to eat. The other trout get into position around me, ready to strip me to the bone. My knee is already bleeding profusely, clouding the crystal clear water. "Celsie!" The voice says again. I decide that no matter who I saw barreling towards me, the voice must be God's. I am practically dead anyways. My eyes start drooping. I am exhausted. I want to sleep. I would rather die than survive like this for much longer. I can be with my mother. I peek open one eye. The piranha-trout are ready to strike, my death is seconds away. Suddenly, I am lifted into the air, two strong arms under my knee and my back. I look into my saviors face. He is handsome, with black hair and worried green eyes. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder.
"Thanks," I mumble, right before I fall asleep in the worried boy's arms.
Emma POV (D4)
The gong sounds, and us Careers are ready for the fight, arming ourselves with weapons before most of the other tributes can blink, let alone step off their plates. I grab a bow and a quiver full of gleaming bronze arrows. I look at the opening of the Cornucopia and see a girl trying to grab a set of gleaming silver knives. Without thinking, I notch an arrow and let it fly, aiming for the girl's calf. Of course, I don't miss. I'm in pure Career mode now. No time for mistakes. I sprint up to the knives and grab them, taking two for myself and strapping them onto my belt, shouldering the pack. I look at the girl, piercing green eyes looking at me in terror. My Career instincts kick in.
Finish her off! A cruel-sounding voice hisses in my head, my inner Career. There is no room for mercy! Kill her! Slit her throat! She can't move, so do it! Looking down at her terrified face I can't bring myself to finish her off. I ignore the cruel little Career-Emma trying to boss me around. I put my foot under her and tell her: "Get out of here, if you want to stay alive." Then I removed the bronze arrow from her calf and nudged her with my foot, causing her to roll down the quickly depleting mound of supplies. She cries out in pain as she lands at the bottom, her curly brown hair matted with sweat. I never said I was going completely soft.
An apple dislodged from it's place on the mound and rolling towards the girl I shot startled me. Two large boys are glowering down at me. I grip my bow even tighter, ready to fight. The boy on the left has dark black hair and tanned skin, holding a javelin at my chest. The boy on the right is tall and strong, holding a knife poised to throw; the sarcastic boy from Three. I don't have enough time to be very surprised, though, because an unseen signal passes between them and I see the little signs that show they are about to kill me. Their hands tensed, wrists flicked back slightly, all in a split second. I close my eyes, ready to die, but something delays my end for a moment. Curiosity gets the better of me and I peek an eye open. What I see causes my eyes to pop open and widen to the full limit. My district partner, Marcus Lively, is lopping Eleven boy's head off with his sword. A mad fire rages in his eyes, which I haven't seen before in him. Derek Labre, the boy from Three, slams his knife into Marcus' right arm, causing him to catch his breath and stagger a bit. Derek takes off knowing that sticking around would be a very bad idea after what happened to his friend. Maroon blood soaks into my boots, and that reminds me of the knife sprouting from Marcus' shoulder. I shoulder my bow and grab his left arm. "C'mon," I said, leading him off the Cornucopia and toward the other Careers. "Let's get you out of here."
I try to seem calm, for Marcus' sake, but from what I can tell, he is fuming. I wouldn't blame him, I mean, if I had a knife in my shoulder I would be furious too. I almost had a knife sticking out of me though, and a javelin too. I have reason to be angry. Eleven's death doesn't cause any guilt to rise in me, but I feel absolute malice toward the one that got away.
Derek Labre, you're a dead man.
Fifteen Minute Later: Siena Clouds POV (Announcer)
"Hey there Capitol!" I chirp enthusiastically at the camera. My hair has recently been woven with thousands of silver strands of tinsel and my scalp is tingling. I like that: the tingle of a new hairstyle. I'll be starting a new trend in the Capitol in no time. "Exciting bloodbath, wasn't it Ptolemey?" I turn to my partner, Ptolemy Cristo. He nods enthusiastically.
"Oh yes Siena. What did you think about Celsie's rescue?" I remember that scene particularly well. I thought it was so romantic, the way Colt had run to her like his own life depended on it.
"I thought it was one of the most romantic things I've seen in the Games since I've started announcing. I nearly cried." I traced the path of an imaginary tear. I could almost hear some audience members snickering at my dramatic gesture. "What about our second rescue? The District Four tributes, that was terrifying. You could tell they were both fuming."
"Well, Siena, wouldn't you be mad if someone tried to skewer you?" I reluctantly nod. I can almost hear more laughs. They love our stupid antics. "But weren't you sad when that Annora girl died?"
"Of course!" This wasn't just to agree for the Capitol's sake, I truly like her. "I can't believe her luck, stabbed by the boy from Two, then eaten alive by flesh-eating trout. Poor girl." I nearly teared up for real this time. Ptolemy nodded sadly.
"And Avella, shot by Emma and then kicked down the mound? I am very surprised that she found the log bridge and was able to cross with that leg. I wonder if somebody will ally with her later."
"Well, enough chatter, time to show the faces of the killed tributes." I said solemnly. I let my face relax and my small smile drop. The tributes pictures would flash on the screen and give Ptolemy and I a moment to relax. Among the dead were Annora, Kin from District Eleven, Ax from District Twelve, Meck from District Five, and Lare from District Six. It was a pretty weak bloodbath, so the Gamemakers would have to come up with something quick, or the audience will get bored. Heaven forbid that the Games get boring.