"That wasn't so bad."
I glanced over to the handsome young man who stood beside me in the chariot as we were slowly drawn into the towering tribute building. He wore nothing but stiff black pants that sparkled like granite, the contours of his chest exposed to the warm night and glistening with a fragrant oil. Black hair fell over his face, lightly brushing over prominent cheek bones and an angular chin that was somewhat clenched. Ronen Maxwood, the male tribute of District 12 was staring at me expectantly and with an expression of thoughtfulness in his coal black eyes.
Quickly I turned away without responding since my heart had managed to lodge itself in my throat, making it nearly impossible for me to speak. Of course I was also remembering what Justin had told me and not speaking was about the only way I could find to hide my fear. The young man soon turned away from me, his eyes guarded as the previous thoughtfulness faded away. I breathed a small sigh of relief when the great black doors closed behind us and relaxed my shaking grip around the sparkling black dress I wore. The opening ceremonies had felt so surreal when we had first entered the blazing lights and heard the cheering crowds. It was like I had suddenly stepped right into the books or the movies and I suppose, in a way, I had.
My stomach clenched at the thought and I felt sick as I stared around at the other twenty two tributes who were being helped down from their chariots. It was easy to spot the ones who had been stolen, captured to play a game that would likely end in their death. They were the ones who were pale, ashen as they gazed around in varying degrees of terror. They were the ones who knew the truth about what was happening and could not tell anyone for fear that their electric bracelets might go off. Then there were the ones who believed only in Panem and had supposedly grown up with the Hunger Games. The Careers. They looked so confident and strong compared to the rest of us who quite frankly resembled trembling animals who had been cornered in the hunt.
There was only one exception however. As a group of handlers and guards came towards our chariot, I gazed across the dim room to where Justin stood. A tall, thin girl with raven black hair stood next to him, her porcelain face turned slightly away while she studied the others just like every other Career. Briefly I caught my brother's eyes and felt comforted by the connection, feeling awful at the same time. All too quickly he turned away and our connection was broken as he effortlessly assumed an indifferent expression. It was so easy for him not to look afraid and I wondered if I would ever be able to do the same. At the moment I felt just like the rest of the stolen, pale and weak. An easy prey.
Two men climbed into the back of our chariot and began removing the chains that secured us from falling. At least that is what we were told when we had been herded into our respective places. However, I knew otherwise. The chains that they had clipped around my waist were just another one of the faux President Snow's precaution measures. Several curses flew through my head towards his memory, all of which I carefully kept silent in case he was listening somehow. The last thing I needed was to fall into a twitching mess in front of everyone present.
"You know, I'm kind of glad they tied us down like that." Ronen remarked, lithely jumping down to the ground as the handlers unlocked my chains. "Otherwise I'm not sure if I would have been able to keep upright."
I frowned slightly at him, questioning his continued attempts to talk with me. Why was he trying to be friendly if within a week we would be fighting each other to the death. I paused, cynically rethinking that thought into something a bit more realistic. The scenario would most likely be more along the lines of me running for dear life with Ronen and a pack of Careers calling out for my blood. I grimaced, feeling my stomach roll with the image. Probably not the best idea to think about that now that I was surrounded by my potential killers who looked like they could smell fear.
Grudgingly I allowed for one of the guards take hold of me, knowing that I could only make things worse for myself if I refused, and was lifted from my place on the chariot. The wide skirt of my dress billowed out around me when I landed, the delicate fabric drifting dreamily in the air before settling with hardly a whisper. For a moment I felt a thrill run through me at the movement of the black dress before I was reminded of the fact of why I was wearing it and I quickly fell back into my previous gloom.
Four guards escorted us to the elevators that would transport us to our tribute floors, two of the guards keeping closer to me than they did with Ronen. Of course I was the bigger flight risk. With my back rigid, I concentrated on keeping my chin up and my expression strong all the while burying trembling hands in the folds of my skirt. I could feel the eyes of the Careers watching my every movement, even Ronen who walked beside me, completely relaxed. It felt as if I were being sized up for their next meal and it was all I could do to suppress the shivers that threatened to crawl up my back. When we reached the open doors of the elevator I gladly stepped in and watched with relief as the doors silently slid shut against the guards and Careers. Now I only had Ronen to deal with.
With every tribute floor quickly rushing past, it seemed that the dark young man had finally given up on our one-sided conversation. Instead he leaned against the wall opposite from me with muscular arms crossed over his bare chest. Even with my refusing to look away from the closed doors I could still feel him there as my cheeks grew warm beneath his dark gaze. It was unnerving to be alone with him, the small space filling up with the tense electricity between us, and I almost wished that he would speak again.
When it had come to the point where I could not stand the silence any longer the doors slid open to the twelfth floor and we were greeted by our handler, Emmet Stone. Except for his certain fondness for crisp clothes and form fitting vests, there wasn't much about him that screamed the Capitol. Not like the others I had seen out in the crowd who all looked like the stepped right out of the pages of Collins's book. Although fairly young, he had streaks of grey and white running through his thick, otherwise dark hair just over his ears and wore a neatly trimmed goatee that belonged to someone in his fifties. His fashion taste was admittedly classy with a plain white dress shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and black pants that matched his opened, purple vest.
Emmet stared shrewdly at us as we stepped from the elevator and stood before him.
"Not bad." He told us after a short pause. His voice was like velvet and would have been enjoyable if he weren't a part of the faux President Snow's sick world. "The crowds liked your entrance, but they weren't jumping out of their seats for you. We'll have to do better when it comes time for the interviews."
Reaching out, he cupped my cheek with a perfectly manicured hand and used a thumb to lift one corner of my mouth into a half smile. "Of course giving them a smile or two isn't going to hurt either. You won't win anyone over with your scowling, Sweetie."
With some effort I forced the other corner of my mouth into a full smile, silently wishing I could bite his thumb off. I could hear Justin's words echoing in my head. Don't fight them. It was the only thing keeping me calm.
"We'll work on it." Emmet sighed, releasing me.
My frown returned immediately and I followed the irritating man as he led the way to a brightly lit dining room. Two others were already seated at the table which had been laid out with a meal that smelled wonderful. I recognized Prema's bright hair long before she turned around to smile with her heavily painted face. The other one I knew to be Ronen's stylist, but only because I had seen the thin, orange man dousing Ronen's chest in oil.
We sat down after a few articulated words of appreciation over our entrance in the opening ceremonies. Unlike Emmet, Prema didn't seem to think that I had been scowling at the crowds and instead proclaimed me to be looking very regal. It was a nice comment except that it had been ruined by the amused look Ronen gave me from where he sat across the table. Flushing deeply, I dipped my head towards my plate of steaming food, refusing to look at anyone. Even though my churning stomach kept me from feeling hungry, I picked up a fork and listlessly began eating as an excuse to continue staring at my plate.
The others' conversations soon took over and I was left alone with the thoughts of my captured existence. After a while, I excused myself from the table in the hopes of finding a way out of my glorified holding cell. It was a silly plan, but at the moment I had become desperate as talk had circled around to our skill sets in the games. I knew I had none and the thought only added to my terror. My flimsy attempt at an escape was soon foiled as what I quickly knew to be an Avox silently came forward to lead me to my rooms. Of those remaining at the table, only Prema wished me a goodnight's rest while Ronen stared and Emmet and the male stylist quietly conversed.
As soon as the door to the large bedroom slid shut I sank to my knees, physically and emotionally spent. It was hard to imagine that not long ago I had been in New York, going to see a Broadway show with my Mom. I buried my face in the billows of my skirt, no longer holding back the tears that had threatened to fall in front of the others. It was a comforting release to allow my emotions to overwhelm me. I might as well get it out now when no one could see me rather than have the others judge my weakness.