Chariot Rides

QUIANNA RAFFERTY (17)

DISTRICT FOUR FEMALE

Quianna wanted to say she was excited about being in the Capitol.

That was what the greedy Capitolites wanted to hear, wasn't it? That she was having an absolute blast, that this whole thing had been such a blissful ride for her thus far, that she was having the time of her life.

Well, she usually didn't sugarcoat her words, did she? So why was this going to be any different?

"Frankly, it's been quite boring so far," she admitted to Willuna, shifting her eyes away from the escort in an uninterested gesture. From the corner of her eye, she spied Willuna rolling her eyes at her comment. Well, the truth must have stung, seeing how Willuna was undoubtedly another one of those prideful Capitolites. But Quianna had always spoken her mind, whether Willuna liked her opinion or not.

She continued to stare out the window of their transport vehicle, an extravagant silver limousine with President Snow's face comically smacked onto the windshields as some sort of patriotic symbol. There was little to see, really, since the windows of the limousine were dark, but occasionally she caught flashes of scenery; lush parks, towering fountains, soaring skyscrapers, blurry figures with strange clothing, colossal plazas, and all the works. They were so mind-bogglingly beautiful, so extraordinarily breathtaking, so dully expected. You see, images of this place and all its wondrous beauty had been circulating throughout the rebellious sectors of District Four, along with comprehensive 'virtual headset' tours of the place offered by some rebel Peacekeepers which she and Gwen sometimes secretly visited, being the ultimate rebels they were. Their rebel hearts simply bled with curiosity and temptation, but it now took away the excitement of seeing the Capitol up close and personal.

She sighed. Only a day in and she was already missing all the mischievous adventures she and Gwen constantly got themselves into. Jolien and Willuna had been keeping her on an overly tight leash, even threatening to literally do so if she stepped a toe out of line, something Ronan had found utterly amusing.

Those two are a boring sack of sea cucumbers, she thought to herself.

Perhaps it was because they overly doted on that spoiled brat of a Victor Iris. They seemed to be almost like her handmaidens, attending to her every need, doing literally everything humanely possible to shield her from everyone and everything. Quianna's family had always had an- how should she put it- uncomfortable history with the Fishers, often seen as the shining beacon of District Four's pride, and in a subtle way, rebellion. And while Quianna was fully on board with going against the flow, her aunt Lena had told her about the rumours, rumours of what Iris used to do in the Capitol, before her engagement and marriage with Caesar Flickermann. Oh, and there was all the stuff she had supposedly done to poor Aunt Lena, all the bullying, post-victory tormenting, a whole bucket of rotten fish. Quianna wasn't certain if most of these, if any at all, were true, but her family had drilled one key idea into her head: Iris was nothing more than a bratty little slut.

Making it to the Makeover Centre where Jolien, Iris and Willuna left them to the mercy of their stylist was probably the best thing that had happened since the Reapings. She heaved the biggest sigh of relief once they'd shuffled away, irritated looks upon their creased faces, trace marks of how poorly they'd taken care of themselves over the years. Quianna rolled her eyes as they disappeared behind a door. Such people could never get along well with her.

Thankfully, Tigris was nowhere near as bad as Jolien was.

Alright, admittedly Quianna despised everything about her looks, the whole tiger thing was laughably ridiculous, but Tigris proved to be a nice person to be around.

Which was good for her, because for some odd reason, they were early to the Hunger Games party. "Where is everybody?" she murmured, glancing around as Tigris led her through the Makeover Centre. The doors to the individual rooms where, according to Tigris, were where tributes got styled for the chariot rides, were flung wide open. Peering in, Quianna noticed that nearly all of them were barren, completely unprepared for the arrival of the other tributes. Were the other tributes even going to arrive at all?

"Oh, there are massive delays on the Panem Express train lines," Tigris told her. "The tracks are never maintained, because our good ol' Transport Minister is a lazy sod."

Quianna instantly backed away a little. Did she just call a minister- no, surely she couldn't be that stupid. Capitolites were dim-witted but this was basically begging for a death penalty. Tigris looked over her shoulder, and her features cracked into a smile. "Oh don't worry, dear. The Minister's my cousin, we share banter all the time."

Quianna's eyes widened. Her cousin? Well, that was one heck of a shocker. The Transport Minister of Panem was known for being quite the nepotist, at least that was what the underground media back in Four often reported. Which begged the question, how did she end up being a stylist of all things?

Tigris seemed to have read her mind, because she instantly added, "Eh, politics was never my thing. Fashion's cool, though. Oh, and I can be a rebel while I'm at it." She winked, and something in her eye, perhaps it was that curious twinkle that gleamed in the shining spotlights above. But there was a dangerous undertone behind those last words, as if they had a hidden meaning that Quianna didn't dare decipher. "I'll be dressing up your District partner too. By the way, where the hell is he?"

Quianna looked around. Sure enough, Ronan had wandered off. "Think he mentioned something about wanting to explore the area a little bit, I don't know, he's annoying, really. Don't bother with him."

Tigris raised an eyebrow. "Annoying, huh? Well, well, well," she murmured, chuckling a little.

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

Quianna glanced at the table behind Tigris and spotted what she thought the Capitolites called a 'phone'. The more optimistic side of her assured herself that Tigris had simply meant Ronan being annoying was no different to most Four tributes. But the more cynical side of her begged the question. Had she been texting Iris all this while?

Ugh, there goes my rep with this freaky lady.

"So, anyway, Tiger Lady, where's my outfit?" she managed, maintaining a steely tone.

"Right this way," Tigris ushered her into a room with a big, blue '4' engraved on it in a silky, wave-like font. Quianna peered inside and saw a metal table and a rack with a towel and a robe, plus a tray of funny-looking chemicals that she was pretty sure she'd seen in the lower-end black markets being sold as biochemical weaponry.

Well, this is gonna be fun.

TOTLEN MILLET (18)

DISTRICT NINE MALE

When Totlen said he wanted to flee to the Capitol, this was not what he'd meant.

Because now, the bookmakers had placed his odds of winning at an incredibly dismal 1-40, and he'd heard his escort whisper about one Capitol tabloid rating his odds of being skewered on Day One by the pair from One at 1-5.

The mere thought of it made his insides scream with agony.

It was a shame, really. The pair from One were dressed beautifully for the Reaping, in full-fledged makeup without overdoing their fashion styles like some other tributes in years gone by. When asked about her clothing by the escort, Fleur had cheerfully told him that she'd designed it by herself, a response which was met with raucous applause from the One crowd. When Totlen had said the exact same thing, he was pretty sure he'd heard at least a couple of sneers and a few bits of quiet snickering from the crowd. In another world, one without the Hunger Games, he supposed he could've been friends with Fleur. She reminded him of Grandma Quin in the sense that they both gave off that warm, happy aura that made them approachable.

Perhaps that was why the Capitol bookmakers found it difficult to come to a consensus when it came to her odds.

Some thought that she could use her energy to manipulate her opponents, especially the Career pack. Others felt that she was too soft and would be cannon fodder once the tribute count had whitled below 10. Totlen could tell that she was definitely being genuine, but at the same time, he knew she'd stab him in a heartbeat if it meant she'd be able to win. Such was the nature of the Hunger Games, it took human nature and warped it into something that strayed beyond conventional logic.

Totlen sighed. At least the Tribute Parade couldn't be so bad, right?

His stylist was a newbie, a dark-skinned woman in her mid-twenties by the name of Priscilla Goldwood who donned an orange wig and wore a rather lovely dress that combined intricate patterns with shades of red, brown and orange. Totlen had never seen this fashion style before, but he certainly loved it. It was different from what he'd usually seen, yet still somehow held true to the Capitol's diverse array of fashion styles and concepts that were often overlooked even by the Capitolites themselves, if his escort was to be believed.

Priscilla smiled as she walked up to him, exuding the confidence that Totlen probably would not have expected in a supposed rookie stylist. "Hello there, Totlen. I hear you like outfits."

Totlen nodded. "Yeah, I don't really talk about it, but I've always loved fashion and-" He paused, wondering if he should continue further. "-I actually want to be a stylist someday."

Priscilla raised a curious eyebrow. "Interesting. Most tributes usually hate their stylists with a burning passion. Capitolite fashion is a concept that they, quite understandably, do not connect with."

Totlen managed a small smile. "Well, you see, I like that sort of stuff, Capitolite fashion, I mean. It's really cool and quite clever at times, really."

"Did someone introduce you to fashion?" Priscilla asked and Totlen got the feeling she wasn't all too convinced that someone from the Districts actually had an interest in anything Capitol-related. He understood that, especially since he hailed from District Nine of all places.

"Actually, it was my grandmother," Totlen told her and Priscilla's subsequent soothing grin almost calmed his nerves about the Tribute Parade and whatever outfit Nine would be forced to wear this year.

Almost.

"My grandmother was also a stylist," Priscilla confided. "The first one for District Nine. She was terrible, though, tried dressing the kids up in literal wheatstalks."

Totlen half-shuddered, half-laughed at that. "Well, I'm sort of hoping you'll be different."

Priscilla nodded wordlessly, then she handed him a tray of some sort of Capitolite pastries. They were unlike anything he'd ever seen before, which wasn't really saying much since pastry-making wasn't really on the top of anyone's agenda in Nine. One of them bore the shape of a pink flamingo with shimmering black nuts for eyes, and an elaborate, intricate patchwork of designs had been glazed onto its surface. Another was a crocodile, every one of its tiny green scales carefully sculpted, and a red cream gave the impression of it breathing fire. A third looked like a little girl with a beaded tiara, a circular pin and a black dress enveloped in a grey smoke-like ingredient. He took the third one first and examined it carefully. Reluctantly, he bit off the little girl's head and munched thoughtfully. Suddenly, an explosion of flavours burst into his mouth, although not all of them were very pleasant. But still, it had taken him by complete surprise. "Whoa," he murmured. "What are these?"

"We call them Semua Tarts," Priscilla explained. "They're quite popular among children, you see, because of their intricate designs and random combinations of flavours."

"These designs are incredible," Totlen said, his eyes savouring every intricate detail of the pastries.

Priscilla gave a light chuckle. "Well, I have an even better surprise for you. Come with me." She gestured for him to follow her, leading Totlen to another room. Inside, there was a rack with a few pieces of blank fabrics. All around it were large pieces of all sorts of heavy machinery that Totlen didn't recognise, equipped with all manner of claws, jets and other futuristic contraptions.

One of them was furiously inscribing something over a blank piece of orange cloth and in a matter of seconds, churned out a fully printed T-shirt with a mosaic beautifully designed on it.

Totlen gasped, his mind swirling with possibilities and fascination. He took a step forward and nearly tripped over a counter. Looking down at it, his jaw dropped at the sight of a makeup counter with at least a hundred different bottles and boxes, each from some of the most expensive brands he'd seen on Capitolite magazines.

If this was what he thought it was, then it was an absolute paradise.

Priscilla gave Totlen a beaming smile. "Would you like to help me design your own chariot outfit?"

ESMA CYPRUS (17)

DISTRICT SIX FEMALE

Fashion clearly was never Esma's thing.

Or perhaps she had been right all along and whatever the heck this robe her stylist had given her to wear was indeed a disaster.

Esma had been told to wear a black robe with fluorescent yellow strips on the shoulder areas, supposedly meant to symbolise vehicle lights, topped off with the ugliest tire-shaped hat that Esma had ever seen in her life. Esma had never really engaged much in the fashion scene, but if this was supposed to be cutting-edge Capitolite fashion and the 'trendiest of trends', as her stylist had so eloquently put it, then she was more than happy to step out there looking like an uncultured old hag. The only somewhat redeeming quality of the outfit was the boots, top-notch racing boots that were practically a District symbol since long before the Dark Days, coloured in an admittedly aesthetic-looking mix of blue hues, Esma's favourite colour palette if she ever had one.

But still, there was absolutely no way she was standing out with this weird robe.

She gritted her teeth, trying her best not to look too repulsed by the mere sight of it. Stepping out of the room, she spotted Ashton waiting by their chariot. Esma stifled a laugh. His outfit was even more hideous than hers. He donned a nearly identical robe except his was hot pink and had two glowing orbs attached to it at around the breast area.

Oh and there was a key glued to the part of the robe over his naval area.

Esma flashed him a smirk, raising an amused eyebrow. "You look dashing."

Ashton rolled his eyes. "Can't decide if yours is horrible or an absolute trendsetter."

"Oh please, if I set any trends tonight I'd have this win in the bag," Esma said with a laugh. "Those sponsors are gonna rain over my head." She mimed a shower of cash over her head to which Ashton shook his head, but even he couldn't hide his smile. "We've got plenty of time, you see any good allies yet?"

Ashton shook his head. "I tried talking to the boy from Three but he told me to go away." His attention turned to something behind Esma. "But that girl's been staring at you all this while." He flicked his chin, gesturing behind her.

Esma turned and saw a girl with curly brown hair staring at her, a longing expression on her face. When their eyes met, she blushed and quickly turned away from Esma. A smile tugged at the corner of Esma's lips.

Huh, interesting.

"I'll see you later, Ashton." Ashton have her an encouraging nod then turned to continue examining the rest of the tributes who were quickly filing into their chariots. Esma, meanwhile, marched over to the girl who she'd caught staring at her. Perhaps this was her chance at scoring an ally. The girl was from Seven, and by the looks of it, was not liking her outfit. She kept tugging at her hair, which had been entwined with a bunch of leaves. The rest of her outfit was literally a bunch of mismatched leaves sown into an ugly dress, with wooden shoes that divided into a small bunch of protrusions at its tip. Her neck had been adorned with a brown neckband of some sort, which didn't exactly complement the look.

The girl looked up and saw Esma approaching. A big grin spread across her face. "Oh, hi there!" she chirped, sticking out her hand almost too enthusiastically. "I'm Omega, District Seven, seventh most populous District and the seventh most miserable one too, fun place you know?"

Beside her, someone murmured, "It's by far the most miserable, at least to me it is."

Esma nearly jumped out of her own skin. She hadn't realised it initially, but standing ever so quietly and stealthily right beside Esma was a boy with a dark patchwork of leaves all over his body. His expression was grim and stoic, as if her mere presence there was an insult to his entire existence.

Not to mention, he bore the spitting image of that dipshit Tyde Holmes himself.

Alright, Esma wasn't going to judge him just because he had the face of Six's biggest jackass but something about the way he stood almost as still as a statue and never shifted his cold, hard gaze for even the slightest of moments sent chills down her spine.

He looked as though he were ready to clobber her.

Lucky for her, the girl, Omega, was quick to interrupt. "Esma, isn't it? Six, huh?" She grabbed Esma's hand and dragged her off to a more secluded section of the place, away from her looming District partner. Esma flinched under her touch. Omega's hand was warm, soothing and was simply doused with good vibes. Esma couldn't quite tell how she knew Omega was friendly, but she just did. The girl practically radiated sunshine and rainbows. Well, not really, but she did have a dazzling smile and a lovely, twinkling look in her eye-

"Stop that, Esma," she hissed under her breath.

"What was that?" Omega asked, blinking rapidly.

Now it was Esma's turn to blush, not something she did very often. Damn it, she thought to herself, biting her lip as she felt a red flush crawling over her cheeks. The normally confident demeanour she had around other began to ebb a little, but no matter, Esma was the type to deal with it and press on. "Oh, nothing, just been a long day,you know? Getting sent off to a deathmatch, meeting funky wigheads, stuffing a pillow over Kimi's face to keep him from snoring, the average day of a tribute, eh?"

Omega laughed. Flipping her hair, she nodded, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Ah, well that's probably still better than having to deal with Kieran over there." She gestured towards her District partner, who'd gone over to glower at the unbothered pair from Four. "I mean, I'm sorry you had to deal with a bunch of stuff but so did I and at least I'm not a jerk to everyone around me, ugh. But alright, maybe I'm a little too harsh on him, I'm sure he'll soften up a little."

Esma chuckled. Tributes didn't usually 'soften up' over the course of the Games. They more often than not hardened into stone-cold psychopaths. But she appreciated Omega's more positive spin on things, she really did seem like a nice person to hang out with.

She has to die, Esma, she reminded herself. If this hadn't been the Games, Esma imagined herself possibly befriending Omega. Of course, that wasn't going to happen here, but still, the possibilities were ever so tantalising.

"So, what's your thing?" Omega asked.

Esma raised an eyebrow. "Thing?"

"Yeah, everyone's got a 'thing'," Omega chirped. "Like, you know, some tributes can sing, others can dance, some are hilarious, some are incredible cooks, and a couple can recite the alphabet while hula hooping around President Snow's burning casket, what about you, Esmie?"

If Omega hadn't acted so nice to her, Esma might've grunted at that 'Esmie' nickname. But even she had to admit that it did sound kind of cute, so she wasn't too rattled. "Well, I fly hovercrafts," she told Omega. "I'm a test pilot back in Six."

Omega's eyes widened. Her mouth fell open a little. Esma wondered if the idea that District citizens could operate such important and expensive Capitol machinery was completely alien to her. She didn't know much about Seven, but she'd heard that the technology there was rather lacking. "Wait, have you ever like, dropped a stink bomb over a Peacekeeper barrack or soemthing?" she asked, a sly undertone in her voice.

Esma laughed again. She was doing an awful lot of laughing today, it seemed. "I'd be hung, drawn and quartered if I even tried to do that."

Omega grinned. "Eh, that's a hell of a way to die, though. Recite a nursery rhyme while they're doing the executing and you'll be a District legend!"

Esma shrugged nonchalantly. "I'd be sooner a legend in Six if i crashed my hovercraft into the Reaping stage. Then the escort will have to walk on a pile of muck during the ceremony, would make even the most drugged people cackle."

Omega gave her a hearty smack on the shoulder. She was surprisingly strong too, Esma noted. Maybe she could use a weapon of sorts? Sevens usually knew how to wield axes, and Omega noticeably had some muscles on her. Perhaps she would be a useful ally, but she was also the type of person Esma could get way too attached to in the arena.

But hey, still better than going solo.

"Wanna be allies?" she asked Omega.

A cunning grin spread across Omega's face. "Oh, totally. We're gonna crash that arena like it's a piece of cake!"

TAMSIN REID (18)

DISTRICT TWELVE FEMALE

Tamsin knew she was screwed.

Who the heck was going to sponsor the pair covered in coal dust?

It wasn't as though she was going to receive plaudits for standing there in her chariot like a statue anyway, but still, a nice outfit might've helped.

She slumped in her chair, resigned to being received as just another helpless tribute from Twelve.

At least Elris had made somewhat of an impression. Tamsin had swiped some flashy looking switch from the Makeover Centre right before the Parade and had given it to Elris to use. If she wasn't going to stand out, she was going to make sure that Elris would.

And in his own way, he had.

The switch had flickered into a beam of light that glowed neon colours, flashing the night sky with a myriad of red, blue and green hues. Amazingly, that was more than enough to draw a few 'oohs' and 'ahhs' from the crowd. Elris's smile and child-like giggling certainly would've left a mark on some of the younger members of the audience.

Hoisting Elris in the air at the final bend was also a decent touch from her, she supposed.

For a moment, she dared to believe that people were going to cheer on District Twelve this year.

But that hope was dashed as soon as Haymitch stumbled into the room, breath reeking of alcohol, cursing and mumbling about how One's acrobatics had stolen the show once more.

Tamsin sighed. She knew that no matter what she or Elris did, this year, the spotlight was more than certainly going to District One. The boy had seemed strangely uncomfortable with the loud noises of the screaming audience and Tamsin hadn't missed the pair of earplugs intricately added to his costume. Still, the duo had managed to pull off a backflip in the chariot and had spent the remainder of the parade juggling some pins with each other, occasionally lifting a leg to enhance the whole show package.

Yeah, Tamsin and Elris weren't topping that.

Even the pair from Nine had stood out, with their self-made outfits that were actually pretty good and drew the most attention amongst all the Outlier Districts.

But no matter, there was still training, Tamsin reminded herself. Those show-offers from One may have won the Parade, but fancy tricks and some elaborate juggling were getting them nowhere in the arena. And besides, maybe staying just under the radar was good for them.

After all, which tribute would be scared of Twelve of all Districts?

Tamsin yawned a little and stretched her arms. She was getting tired, but she wanted to wait for Elris, who'd been chatting with the boy from Ten, Jotham, down at the first floor of the Tribute Centre. Tamsin didn't think they were going to be allies, but hey, being on the tributes' good side was never a bad thing.

In the meantime, Tamsin decided to do a few push-ups, just to keep herself in good shape before the Training. Haymitch had bemoaned the lack of effort shown in previous tributes even during Training. Well, Tamsin didn't plan on making a similar mistake. The hard work and grin began there and then for her.

Just then, the elevator door flew open and in sauntered Elris, a weak smile on his face as he rushed towards Tamsin.

"You're really a gym freak, you know that right?" he chuckled meekly.

Tamsin shrugged. "It's the Hunger Games, Elris. It's just what I have to do. Now, how are you feeling?"

"Well, nervous, I guess, it's been a long day, I'm on national television, it's just, I don't know," Elris faltered.

"Not fun?" Tamsin suggested and Elris nodded. "Well, just forget about tonight. Focus on tomorrow, we need to keep ourselves alive."

"What if we're the final two?" Elris asked and Tamsin bit her lip. She'd been trying ever so desperately hard to avoid this question. Heck, she lost count of the number of times she'd had to slap herself in the face just to stop thinking about it.

But still, it lingered in the corners of her mind, a foreboding thought that refused to peter out.

"We'll think about that later. First, we have to make it to the final two," Tamsin said, straightening and trying to put on a confident tone for Elris.

Elris nodded, although he didn't look too convinced. Tamsin sighed, wrapping an arm around the younger boy. In a matter of two days, their whole lives had practically fallen apart, smashing into smithereens at the hands of some grubby escort with far too much makeup.

"There's a meteor shower tonight," Elris whispered softly. "At least, I think so. Lila's into astronomy and well, she wanted to watch it with me tonight. Guess we can't do that." A small smile tug at his lips. Tamsin marvelled at Elris's ability to smile in such a time. She wished she had a bit of that positivity, although to be fair, her stoic stance had served her pretty well so far in life.

Tamsin rubbed his hair affectionately. "It would've been a lovely moment for you tell her how you feel," she agreed.

Elris turned a slight shade of red and opened his mouth to protest, but there was no use. And besides, Tamsin knew he'd written a secret love letter to Lila just before the Reaping, in case his name was picked. Ellery had promised her while they were in the Justice Building that she'd fish it out of his drawer and hand it over to Lila.

Ellery.

Tamsin resisted the urge to slink further into her chair. Oh, how she wished she could be with her girlfriend at that very moment. The aforementioned meteor shower did, after all, sound romantic. She and Elris were the only two people keeping her from sinking further into her own feelings and emotions, keeping her afloat in a cruel world.

She was also the only person who understood Tamsin's dilemna.

Divided over her brother and her girlfriend, Ellery had practically spent her entire ten minutes with Tamsin in a sobbing rage. It had taken plenty of reassuring and kisses from Tamsin to stem the stream of tears, but both of them knew what was to come.

Either she or Elris had to die, and neither were ready for it.

"You wanna watch the meteor shower with me?" Tamsin offered, standing up and sticking out her hand to Elris.

Elris beamed. Still ever so bubbly and cheerful, he winked and nearly squealed, "Ooh, yes, of course!"

Together, the pair made their way to the balcony, with Elris practically at running pace as he dragged Tamsin over. Right on cue, Elris gasped and pointed at the night sky, dark and peaceful as ever, yet so foreign and unknown in a land far, far away from home.

A bright spark fizzled across the black, murky night, and soon, more white orbs of light began to flash through the sky, dazzling and enveloping the world in a brief moment of otherworldly beauty. It was a calming reminder to Tamsin that there was a world other than Panem, even if it was in outer space where likely no one lived, yet there was something out there, something Elris could one day explore, and perhaps maybe even a place where there were no Games, no dizzying dilemmas, and she could live with Ellery in peace.

But those were only vain wishes.