A/N: Sorry it's a bit late, but here's the next chapter!
We stand next to each other in silence. There's no need to speak, no reason to, and outside the roar of a thousand Capitol citizens hungry for their first real glimpse of the tributes for the first Quarter Quell deafens any sound that we might hear.
It doesn't drown out the thumping in my chest. Blood thrums through my body, and beneath a sheet of white face paint, I can feel my cheeks burn with anticipation.
Thanks to my stylist, however, no one but I can tell.
As the roaring quietens to a startling silence, the enthusiastic voice of Caesar Flickerman rose up, announcing our arrival into the filled arena.
"And first up, the Tributes from District 1! Jasmine Silverflown and Garne Mirrorslash!"
The chariot suddenly jerks forward, and I pull my mouth into a broad smile as the doors open and we enter through the huge, stone archway.
"And this year, the stylists have gone full out! District 1 is known for its production in luxury items and these outfits are no exception."
I can scarcely hold my smile from becoming a smirk. Naturally, he's speaking the truth, remembering the reflection I had seen once the stylists had understandably finished their cooing and preening over me.
My cream dress falls to the floor, covered in tiny golden beads and embroidered in fragmented shards of clear glass, glimmering brightly in the dim, clinical lighting of the stylists' room. The smooth satin hangs just off my shoulders, leaving my bare skin to be lightly covered in pale golden dust accented with a bejewelled necklace that hangs around my throat, showing off the beauty my District produces.
That is the beauty, and I am the glory. My hair is piled lightly on the top of my head, a few carefully placed stands framing my face and my eyes are lined with gold, the eyelashes dyed a dark brown.
As the chariot pulls up the concourse, I can scarcely see the features of the crowd in between streaks of vibrant colour and the glint of sunlight off a few thousand sun visors. On each face, I imagine implacable beauty, and flawless composure, and then brown hair, and grey eyes lined with betrayal, and…
It's enough to keep my eyes fixed firmly forward.
The last thing right now is yet another memory disturbing my self-control, as of late, they've been growing more frequent, and the very thought of them makes my skin itch.
I wrestle my features into cruel dispassion, the words of my stylist, Nova, echoing in my ears.
"Diamonds are beautiful, diamonds are flawless. But diamonds don't care. They're dangerous, deadly, not because they wish you ill, but because they don't care. District 1 has always been about diamonds, and as of now, so are you."
His speech still makes me shudder slightly, the ring of his words, edged with the typical Capitol accent, are my mantra.
Besides me, Garne mirrors my pose, dressed in his champagne-coloured crushed velvet tuxedo rimmed with tiny white diamonds. As we pull up in front of President Snow we both bow stiffly, our eyes never leaving the figure of the silver-haired man who stands on the balcony with his hands coiled into fists, his expression unreadable as always.
The horses draw us into the first position, leaving us in the perfect location to watch the rest of the tributes as they make their way up the narrow boulevard, lined with cheering citizens.
Only a few are of note, warranting a wave of howling and clapping in their wake. In those moments, I pry my gaze away from the near distance, to watch my competition blindly ploughing their way towards me.
The first to warrant such attention, besides us, are District 3.
I still don't know their names, and I care little for them, but I can still admire their stylist's handiwork. The boy's dark grey jumpsuit patterned with lightning and strung with silver wire matches her fishtail dress, but the prosthetic leg that pokes out of the split of her skirt is what catches my attention, and the crowd's.
By the time the whistling has died down for them, District 4 are moving up the circuit, and my gaze lands on the girl I have already decided is my closest rival. The fishnet detailing that spans across her left shoulder hints at physical strength, something confirmed in her eyes as our stares catch.
Most of the other Districts proceed as expected, with the exception of the girl and boy for District 7, who appear to be dressed as fir trees. I can scarcely conceal a smirk, and the crowd screams with laughter as the two tributes desperately try not to hang their heads in disgrace, their faces burning brilliant red with uncontained embarrassment.
Finally, District 12 proceeds up the same route that 11 others have before them.
Normally, this district are seen dressed as miners, but it seems this year their stylists have finally had a new idea. The girl is dressed in a glittering coal black tutu, a plume of feathers in hues of yellow, orange and red darting up one shoulder, symbolising the burning of coal. The stiff netting of the skirt is overlaid with hundreds of the feathers licking down the skirt like fire. The boy is in what looks like a male ballet outfit of the same style, the tight black shirt showing some kind of strength in his muscular arms, though nothing like the boys of District 1; especially not of the boy standing beside me, danger written across his features.
As soon as all the tributes are lined up at the end of the track, President Snow waits for the crowd to quieten down once more before addressing them.
"So, another year has passed since the capitol restored peace to these lands, making the grand total to 25! As we know, these Games are special, being the first of what we have newly named, the Quarter Quells, which occur every 25 years and include an extra twist. This year's twist, however, will not be announced until the very last moment to avoid any form of cheating, dishonesty or trickery before the games start. So, let the 25th Annual Hunger Games commence!"
The crowd roar again as the chariots lurch forward and lead us back up the concourse and through the archway. The doors close behind us and the World falls silent.