Annie POV
I bite my lip and struggle not to tip over. My stylist has been working for hours upon hours on me, placing and fitting my dress on me and gluing additions on here and there. The base of the dress is a rustic-colored net, hardly covering my chest and stretching only past my mid-thigh. It's coated with blue and green glitter, and vibrant starfish and shells are glued on. Seaweed is braided into my hair, and my earrings and necklace are matching silver wires lined with smooth, green, sea-glass. A crown of pearls is placed on the top of my head, highlighting my dark hair nicely. I'm beautiful, but that certainly doesn't make up for the fact that I've been listening to complaints about my pale skin all afternoon: I believed that stylists had a bit of compassion, but, really, their thoughts revolve around being promoted to a better district and making themselves look clever or original with our costume designs. Not that they're fancying up someone who'll be dead in a week.
My blush is applied one more time, a coarse brush ran through my hair yet again; and I'm ready to see Dorien. As I hobble into the fancy sitting room between the two dressing rooms, I'm shocked at what stands before me. My shock isn't that of excitement, it's that of fury. Dorien looks miserable: curly hair extensions topped with a gold crown overflow his natural blond waves, and his skin has been artificially tanned so it's bright orange. Muscle padding the same tone as his new skin tone is strapped to his chest, arms, and legs, and a small patch of netting is his only clothing - but it's nothing compared to what's gripped in his hand - a golden trident, taller and heavier than him; a replica of that which Finnick won with. It's all so ridiculous, all so disgusting. Portraying him as someone strong and undefeatable when he's the youngest and weakest contender in the Games, when he's about to be killed on live television, with his family and everyone watching. Portraying him as my protector, when it's the opposite.
We're herded downstairs into the high-class stables our carriages and horses are in. This will be the first time everyone will see their competition apart from the taped reapings, and the Carriage rides will be a chance to make an impression on Panem. I've no need to be worried, as 1, 2 & 4 normally draw the most gasps, but there's always a chance people won't be impressed. Our carriage is covered with glittery shells and our streaked white horses are painted with fish and suns. We're put into our positions: Dorien is forced to hold one hand up, showing off his faux muscles, gripping the trident in his other hand, and all of it is topped off with a smirk. I'm supposed to grip his shoulder and lean over, holding one hand on my hip, all while pouting my lips and looking helpless. Both of us have been threatened numerous times, and neither of us are allowed to sit down. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as other tributes laugh and point at us, but I manage to keep a steady, mutual expression. I examine all the tribute's costumes, and as usual, 1 & 2 stand out more than any other. The other districts aren't anything special, and I feel a pang of sadness that they are underdogs from the start. I push away the emotions and go back to focusing on looking poised and impressive. I take a deep breath and plaster an innocent grin on my face as the carriages are led out, and try to ignore the shrieks of the crowd and the fact that everyone in Panem will be watching me soon.
Finnick POV
I'm perched on a fluffy Capitol chair, leaning over the balcony all victors are seated on. I'm placed in the very front of the sea of victors, next to other young, attractive and popular victors. It's not something said, but everyone knows the better looking and more well-known victors are placed where the cameras can easily focus in on them and people can more clearly stare and scream things at them. I smile at the crowd and occasionally catch a rose thrown at me, but I'm only focused on waiting for the 4th carriage to come out. I only briefly pay attention to the first three carriages, and as usual 1 and 2 look marvelous and receive an outburst of applause. There's scattered applause for 3 and I hold my breath as Annie's Carriage emerges. She looks gorgeous, but Dorien….. he looks pitiful. Fake. Ridiculous. How they're standing is obscene, too; but Capitol people will be sure to eat it up. They'll love how 'cute' and 'adorable' it is. People in the districts will no doubt find it sad, pathetic; but their opinions tend not to matter. The applause for them is strong, and I hear many cheers of their names. I sit in a happy daze for the rest of the carriages, carefully measuring how much applause each receives. None get an overwhelming amount. It's petty to take pleasure in another's failure, but I'm smiling by the time we're allowed to leave the balcony. Annie passed the first test given to her. She'll have sponsors. Now, only three more left to pass….