A/N: Shout out and thanks to all of you guys still reading through chapter 8! Feedback on this chapter would be majorly appreciated - it's somewhat of a turning point, so I'd like to see how you all felt and where you think I can approve on up to here. Also, I added some flair to the chariot parade - tried for more of an Olympics/Super Bowl feel, since I felt there wasn't enough electricity in the movie/book. Lemme know what you think on that, Sam's costume, how much so-and-so character is a raging demon, or anything. Thanks guys!
Several hours later, Sam found herself dressed up to the shoulders in one of the more...mysterious costumes she'd remembered in recent Hunger Games history. In comparison with the usual cowboy/girl attire that had grown stagnant and dull, Agrippa and Gnaia had seemingly outdone District 10's tradition. The actual tunic and dress that covered most of Sam's body from the shoulders to the knees appeared almost drab and plain – indeed, it seemed like a mistake; with a mixture of greens, browns, and blues in an abstract pattern that resembled nothing in particular. The multilayer cape that hung off the dress and came like streamers out of Sam's stylized, wavy, dark hair contrasted this with an almost transparent look; only small flecks of white and grey intermingled here and there showed notable contrast. Sam's head, apart from that, had been left entirely alone, and the half-ankle boots she loosely wore looked in very real danger of falling off.
"So, what's the imagery behind all this again?" Sam asked hesitantly. Agrippa had held back the meaning of it all as he and the prep team had dressed her in the entirety of the outfit; now, Sam began to question the artistic merit she'd attributed to her stylist earlier in the day.
A few meters away, Laredo looked equally perplexed. His outfit mirrored Sam's, with the exception of coming in a toga-like form rather than the long, billowy dress. He lacked the hair ribbons, exchanging them for an added layer of cape that frayed off into multiple strands. From Sam's perspective he looked ridiculous; she figured she must have seemed the same, if not more so.
"Gnaia and I went high-tech," Agrippa assured the girl as he adjusted final alterations. "Every bit of the outfit has microscopic ferrofluids that activate and deactivate in patterns to magnets built into the fabric. When we get down there, the two of us will activate them long enough for the Parade and ceremonies – through them, your dress, boots, and even your hair are going to feel a little…different."
"What do you mean by different?" Sam inquired, alarmed. Please don't let this guy by screwing all my chances…what little they are…
"It's going to be moving, flowing, like a river," her stylist picked thin, slender fingers through her hair, talking and attending to the last of his work simultaneously. "You're not a cowgirl, or a cow, or even a field. You are the wind."
That's not the first thing I would have thought for our district, Sam thought, figuring she'd have better odds if she shut up and let Agrippa finish his work. Then again, who the heck in the Capitol knows where District 10 even is?
Agrippa moved into the oddest stage, and what Sam figured was the last. Taking a brush from a tray of viscous white fluid, he applied long, broad strokes to Sam's arms, tanned from long hours in the sun back in District 10. Rather than match her skin to the color of the dress – or even lighten it – the solution left a clear, sticky sensation behind, with a faint smell of new grass and fresh growth. Agrippa had succeeded in leaving Sam completely perplexed.
"You two," a cheery voice perked up. "Look marvelous."
Without either mentor in tow, Augusta embraced a brighter tone as she waltzed into the preparation area. "Agrippa, Gnaia, it's time!"
The sing-song voice of the Capitol escort sickened Sam's already-nervous guts, but Agrippa placed his hand in hers, pulling her ever-so-slightly towards the elevator. Her feet moved as if in a trance – out there, in just a few minutes, the entire Capitol would be seeing her for the real first time. Frankly, she'd be seeing herself, as well; whatever Agrippa had done, it apparently would not show until the time was right.
"I'm so excited," Augusta exhumed as she, Laredo, Sam, and the two stylists entered the elevator and closed the doors. "Don't you all just feel the energy? I think this is the spirit that really brings us together in the Games."
Laredo smirked behind her back, and Sam for once couldn't help but smile at his response. Augusta really was ridiculous; for all her combativeness with Cheyenne, she exemplified the average Capitol attitude with gusto. To her, the 98th Hunger Games shone with pageantry and trumpets. To Sam and Laredo, it reflected the color of blood.
But now was not the time for reminiscing on morality; now was the time for first impressions.
Sam gasped at the scene of the Remake Center's floor level – with twelve chariots, twenty-four horses, and the sheer number of tributes, mentors, and associated personnel. Here was the competition. Tonight, she'd not only have to compete with them for looks; she'd have to win hearts and minds. For the two District 1 tributes in their silver-and-sapphire outfits, adorned like beacons from the heavens, that would be easy – but if Agrippa hadn't come through for her, Sam would already be facing an uphill battle.
"You're getting some attention," Augusta laughed softly, her tinkling noise underscoring the situation Sam saw.
There he was – Hadrian, the titan from 2, looking on Laredo and Sam as if he'd just seen a comedy routine. Adorned in violet and crimson and donning a headdress with vertically-aligned feathers, he rose like a primeval god of war – and to his eyes, or at least from what Sam gleaned of them, his District 10 competition had fallen quite short. He wasn't alone; the tall boy from 6 (Sam quickly recalled his name, Troop, from the Reapings) took two quick glances at the pair before rolling his eyes.
Not a good sign…
"Agrippa, are you sure this is going to work?" Sam pleaded, looking around at the glittering pair from District 4 and gritting her teeth as the lead districts began climbing into their chariots. "I don't mean to be rude, but…"
Agrippa said nothing; simply motioning for her up into the chariot alongside Laredo. Sam's fellow tribute appeared disgusted – on looks alone, District 10 had been squarely beaten inside the Remake Center so far. The Career districts came through with their usual gloss, while District 7's interesting take on a forest made the two from that chariot seem to grow tall and strong, like evergreen pines reaching for the sun. Even District 9's golden take on grain shimmered with a bright and affectionate glow, sure to capture a few hearts.
"It will now," the stylist smiled, pulling out a small, gray device from his pocket as Sam stood uncertainly on the chariot. "You're going to feel a little shock; don't worry. All part of the plan."
With a blue spark, Agrippa lightly touched the dress just once, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Sam and the turning of several heads in the Remake Center. She looked down as he passed the shocking object to Gnaia, and at once realized his plan. The entire garment was alive! Sam's hair felt as if it had thrown aside its weight, like she'd been tossed onto a plain in the midst of a spring breeze. Pricks of pressure shot across her entire body, and her boots had stiffened into a sharp curve, accentuating her legs and the bottom of the dress. She reached a hand up to touch her hair, but Agrippa held her back before she could.
"No, leave it," he instructed. "It's working by a looping electric charge. Just focus on what you have to do now, Sam – head up, look like you want to make eye contact with everyone in the crowd. Like you're proud to be here – like you're going to win."
Sam flipped a look back at the two chariots behind her – the two from 11 still chatted with their respective stylists, but she had commanded the attention of the boy from 12. 12 – he was the legacy tribute; the one Constantine Flickerman had said the previous day came from a family well-versed in the Games. His gray eyes stared straight back at Sam; his dark, straight hair and olive-skinned face done no favors by the tired coal mining outfit that adorned his body. Sam felt a chill go up her spine as she let her eyes linger a second too long, pulling them back to her feet and shaking her head. He was just a kid from District 12. He'd be dead within the opening minutes, probably gored by Hadrian or speared by Fresco.
12 never wins anything…just like 10.
"Might wanna wake up."
Laredo's leisurely gaze caught Sam's return to reality as she shook off the nagging doubts. He laughed to himself before looking away, but Sam focused on him was a picture in motion – a work of art, a fluid wave of air atop the chariot and by her side. The cape that flowed off his back and waist flitted and flocked with spots of white, like the flying seeds of dandelions in the April prairie wind. The toga Laredo wore shimmered with lines of tan and white along a blue background that recessed into a green horizon at the hip. He was not from District 10 – he was District 10, the wind on the plains that rode down like a friendly train from the hills. Did she look like that? That…subtle, graceful power?
"Tonight, Sam, you're going to fly."
Agrippa's words from hours earlier raced through her head just in time for the great doors at the end of the Remake Center's stable opened to the chorus of one hundred thousand chants.
"Eye contact, head up! A smile doesn't hurt!" Agrippa shouted as the procession began to move.
Sam nodded a quick assent, but concentrated only on closing her gaping mouth at first. As the two white horses leading District 10's chariot took their first steps, her heart accelerated to racing speed. The music of the Capitol infected her blood, dancing about her nerves and driving her stomach into cartwheels with each blast of a trumpet or crash of cymbals. The Capitol crowd surged in voice and motion like a great wave, exploding into ecstasy as District 1 emerged from the Remake Center.
"I'm a little nervous," Sam said out loud to no one in particular – an understatement on the most extreme of magnitudes. She felt as if she'd been dipped into a vat of butterflies.
"Good time to be," Laredo mused. "But thirty minutes and this little song and dance is over."
How's he do that? Sam wondered as District 4 emerged into the open night to the screams of Capitol fans, the corner of her eyes lingering on Laredo's robust face. That nonchalance, the apathy…what's that secret? Where's that come from in District 10? About to put everything before the largest crowd either had seen, and he seemed more interested in dinner.
She had little time to wonder. All too quickly, the two white horses of their chariot lurched forth into the orange-hued urban night, and a collective Oooh! rippled like a river through the crowd. It wasn't shock, or even dismay – it was delight. Sam momentarily caught herself in the act of shying away from the attention, forcing herself to come together. Head up, eyes high – smile! This is no time to be shy!
For the first time in the Capitol, Sam felt wanted. These people who screamed out "District 10!" had never as much as given the prairie district a chance, yet tonight they stood amazed by the work of the two stylists. Sam let her eyes travel up to the banners that changed to show each tribute in passing – and nearly recoiled in shock and delight.
Agrippa had transformed her into a celestial deity of the sky. She wielded the winds and the storms, her blue eyes twinkling like the night stars back home. Her tanned arms had become rippling currents of energy that flowed into the dress and the cape, swirling together as a great stream of air and light into each and every viewer across Panem. Her hair rose away from her head and spoke of darkness – of sparks of light intertwined with a sovereign tide of power that spoke of a girl who refused to stand aside for any tribute.
Smile more, you idiot.
Rather than put on a girly, bright beam, Sam forced herself into a sly and strong grin. Use what Agrippa gave you. The crowd loved it – the countenance of her figure, born of radiance prepared to destroy. Several roses and assorted flowers fell behind the District 10 chariot, lighting Sam up with hope. Her stylist hadn't failed her – he'd given her a weapon she didn't even know she had.
Tonight, I am flying.
Sam tracked her gaze up to the urban sky that shrouded the starry landscape above. Somewhere up there lay the drinking dipper of stars, its tail leading three fingers times three to Polaris, the North Star. No matter if visible or not, she let her twinkling blue eyes lay across the sky – Polaris, which Jake had shown her so many times under the prairie night. Polaris, a sentinel that had watched over two siblings of a wayward region forging an unbreakable bond together - and had seen them torn apart.
Tonight, District 10, I'm carrying you with me. Tonight, I am that star. For you, Jake - and you, Clara, and Clay. For all that I can never say now.
A tear threatened to bead in Sam's eye, forcing her to snap back to the crowd and blink rapidly. Jake would be watching back there in the district, back in that old house, seeing her as she'd never been before – and with the energy of the music, of the horses and the open air and the crowd flowing through her, Sam felt a rebirth since that death she'd accepted before the Hall of Justice. Sometimes a fighter had to be born.
As the chariot rounded into the City Circle, President Octavian stepped up to the podium to welcome the tributes. Sam had seen the young president before, but never like this – so close, so…lifelike. Compared to the old leader she had seen during her earlier childhood – the regal and prominent Snow – Octavian looked like a hungry snake let loose over the governance of a nation. He had clearly fed on the enthusiasm of the crowd as his eyes sparked like dots of black fire. The man held his arms wide, accepting the praises of a nation thirsting for this exuberance.
"Thank you!" Octavian boomed, his voice a crack of thunder over the din of the Capitol. "Thank you – and welcome, tributes of Panem! Of the twelve districts!"
He cast his eyes down, looking at each and every chariot – and for one sick second that unnerved Sam to the core, his eyes bored down into her from on high.
"Welcome, and Happy Hunger Games!" he smiled, just ever so slightly more exaggerated. "And may the odds…be ever in your favor!"
With a booming roar, thirteen Capitol hovercraft shot over the City Center, leading from the Training Center towards the Remake Center before curling up and away. Twelve left behind crimson trails of vapor, while the thirteenth, leading the formation and aligned in the middle, unloosed a straight beam of gold down the center. Fireworks cracked alongside the buildings of the City, shining red and gold explosions of light against the already-bright sky as the Panem anthem thundered out from great speakers. Sam had to hand it to the event planners of the opening ceremonies – they had given the Capitol an unparalleled parade, and managed to slip in a sense of awe into even her.
A golden flame atop the Training Center sprang to life as the tribute chariots began moving again, signaling the end of the opening ceremonies and the beginning of the Games proper. The crowd shrieked in delight to the sheer display of power and strength displayed, responding with a barrage of applause and chants of delight and approval to the events. The smile that had scrawled itself onto Sam's face refused to go away as she took in the great scene, her breathing rapid and shallow in the thin mountain air.
As the chariots began their final lap about the Circle, Sam caught sight of the District 1 tributes – and her heart immediately did a double-take. Royal, the silver-haired lynx from the Reaping, had her eyes bored straight on Sam – unmoving, unflinching. She embodied a lithe and sinewy fortitude that rippled out from the tight and shiny outfit that she wore – and Sam had little trouble interpreting the gaze.
Royal had begun to pick targets – and the giddy girl from District 10 had joined the list.
The Games were on.