District 12's interviewees were the most heartbreaking watch, their gaunt solemn faces doing more to garner dismissal than sympathy. Neither of the two seemed prepared, Heather began to cry and yet it was still turned into something to applaud. Sniffling, the grey eyed girl took her place next to her district partner and Caesar began his closing statements. Mae's relief of the event finally coming to an end was quickly overshadowed by reality. Tomorrow morning they'd be on a podium staring down a bloodbath. No more interviews, training, or dresses. Simply kill or be killed; being trapped in a double corset didn't make panic any easier to squish.
A thunderous applause sent them off in the same line as when they entered on stage, her cheeks feeling sore once the elevators were in sight. Jaw practically locked from forcing a smile for so long, her body was trembling; by this time tomorrow, she'd be dead. Her breathing shallowed, chest heaving as she tried to swallow down the bitter taste of pre-puke saliva. Entourages crowded around and some tributes even spoke amongst themselves, awaiting the next available lift. Even if she cut to the front of the group and made it on the next elevator, it'd be too late. The rest of the crowd behind her was already beginning to corral her in; when did it become a million degrees? Someone ran a hand through her hair and it got caught in the extensions, by the time she whipped around they were gone again. Ducking low, she took to using her elbows.
Pushing past the two tributes from 7 and nearly running into Anya as she turned into the next hall, the brunette managed to find a small restroom tucked in the corner. Falling to her knees in front of the toilet, both meals from the day escaped her until she was left dry-heaving. To her credit, she managed to keep the dress completely clean. Even after viciously gargling water in her mouth, though, she could still feel the burn of stomach acid on her tongue.
Back in the lobby there were only a few stragglers still waiting, primarily mentors and escorts entertaining sponsors and reporters who managed to corner them. Catalena was holding the hands of another grey-haired woman, speaking quietly and pulling away when she noticed Maesus approaching. Mags Flannagan was the oldest living victor to date, everyone in Panem knew who she was; if in a better state, she'd have asked about the two's friendship. Instead, she merely accepted the arm around her shoulder as her mentor loudly declared that she had done wonderfully and gained a new rise in popularity. Alone behind the elevator doors though, she pulled her into a tight hug and patted her head like a child's. Every event this week had Mae forgetting she still was one.
Nearly two hours were spent returning her to normal, acrylics dissolved and extensions unclipped. It took three showers for the teen to feel normal again, practically turning the bathroom into a steam room as glittery foundation stained the pristine white shower tile. In front of the mirror again, she was relieved at the reflection staring back at her. A hand slowly raised to trace the outline of her jaw, the curve of her lip, and the crease of her eyelid. Minor scars littered her body from years of work, her right knee never quite facing as straight after being bucked off when she was seven; silent tears trailed down her cheeks despite her growing smile. They could cake her face in makeup, dress her up like a plaything, and force her into a cairicature. But the girl she saw in the mirror was who she was; it was her face, her body, her. Nothing that happened in the games would change that, nothing she had to do or have done unto her could erase the image of the girl she is.
Tucked under blankets , attempting to find peace beneath the bedframe as she had the night before, Maesus could only picture each worst case scenario when she closed her eyes. An axe to the head, knife to the back, electrocuted? What little sleep she finally managed was plagued by these horrors, like her own personal rerun of past games. As much as her own death worried her though, she couldn't stop thinking about the faces of the twelve and thirteen year old tributes. Those whose feet barely touched the stage when sat in the chairs. Even if she did it mercifully, the idea of killing them left her restless. Did anyone really get a good night's sleep before the Games? She regretted not indulging in the wine one final time, wishing to quell her anxious mind however possible.
Having only fallen into a calm dreamless sleep in the early hours of the morning, the brunette was grateful for the late risers that the Capitol folk were. Up so late partying, their schedule kept the start of the Games delayed and allowed her at least a few more hours to rest. Though still not enough.
Dressed in clothing resembling pajamas and given a small breakfast, Maesus never saw Blais and only caught a glimpse of Harlow as he wished her well. In his hands a purse and small luggage bag. He gushed about what others were saying after her interview, claiming he got lucky to have such a 'star' to guide towards victory. It could have all been as fake as the eyelashes he wore, but it still stuck with her. In spite of his brain-washed nature and Capitol-centric ideologies, a part of her was going to miss him. All in all, he was still a part of her time and put in the work to help her. Feelings towards him were complicated, perhaps her reasoning for remaining in the chair and merely waving him off rather than racing for a hug. Catalena was soon to follow, though she stopped at the dining table with her own luggage set on the ground. Her bags were plain brown, bearing the Capitol emblem.
"We'll be watchin' from the Games Headquarters. Don't abandon the plan." Her kind but serious tone fit nicely with the melancholy state of the girl, Maesus quickly pushed out from the table to embrace her. In the next twenty-four hours, she would be dead; the least she could do was die feeling loved. Catalena hugged like a grandmother, spoke like a mother, and gave her the honesty of an auntie. She knew her family would be grateful to the woman no matter what the outcome.
"Thank you. For everythin'.."
One hand rubbed her back and the woman nodded, being the one to pull away knowing she'd need to leave soon. "Stick to what we discussed and thank me in Victor's Village." Short and sweet. Who could come up with the right words to give a child before they were sent off to their death? Maesus wanted to stand there and listen to assurances until it was her time to leave the apartment, but of course Catalena had her own duties. And once she was gone, doom settled in the pit of her stomach. Even though she sat back down in front of her plate, she could only aimlessly pick at the food and push it around with a fork.
It was hard not to think about Blais, to dwell on what plan he was following and whether or not he meant it when he said he wouldn't try to kill her. Would he have allied himself with another? Did he know the Careers already viewed him as a high priority target? For all she knew he'd be gone in a blink, just another victim of the initial bloodbath. For any of them that was the merciful option.
Gentle footfalls on the ornate glass staircase brought her attention to Myles, who continued down without any luggage and instead her rosary in his hand. "I'd been holding on to it to avoid a possible breaking in training and so itcould be used last night, but now she's all yours." He was behind her sooner than she could stand, placing the beaded token around her neck. "We should be going now, though, did you eat enough?" Despite the urge to binge before food became a scarcity, Maesus nodded and followed him out the door.
Wearing slippers through the Tribute Center halls made her feel out of place, looking for passing tributes but not even seeing one. Their travel had been staggered out, the connecting building bearing only one helicarrier pad. As soon as the doors opened wind swept her hair every which way, peacekeepers held large guns whilst watching them closely, and it felt as though her feet became cemented to the floor.
Myles must have sensed her fear, guiding her forward by the arm even if it meant almost letting her feet drag. There was no telling how long the flight to the arena would take, she still wasn't even dressed for it! Her heart beat as rapidly as the evening before, chest violently rising and falling as she tried to breathe. The ramp was shaking beneath them as they were loaded in, the only two seated once inside. Kane could have been messing with her, promising an alliance just so her guard was down and simply killing her on sight. How she presented herself, her low scoring; it all could have been for nothing and it's all she'd be remembered for.
"Maesus." Her stylist soothed, slowly holding her arm out for the woman who approached with a large needle injector. "Take a breath. Panicking's only going to make you disoriented when you get in the arena."
His kindness would have been helpful if not for the sharp pain of the tracker injected under the skin of her forearm, the woman walking away without a word as Mae ran a finger over the lump. The skin bruised a bit and it felt as though the small piece of metal was going to pierce right through her if she moved her arm just right. "Good god, I'm gonna die….." She whispered under her breath, again and again despite the bright sun still shining through the windows around them.
Myles did his best to shush her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and even reminding her it's a game show. Popularity was as useful as strength, not that it helped her racing mind. Even if the alliance held true, the first half hour of the games were chaotic. Kane's split-second distraction could be her demise if she couldn't react fast enough, if she wasn't strong enough. Her hand rose and fell, fingers going over every bead on the rosary as she repeated the words again and again. This is the end.
Small white lights came on around them, the windows blacking out as their hovercraft flew closer to the arena. Turbulence shook the cabin and she unconsciously reached for Myles' hand, closing her eyes and trying to remember the meetings with her family just after the Reaping. She promised her father she'd come home, promised her grandmother she'd use the rosary to stay sane. Promised her aunt and uncle she could handle the wild animals these tributes became. Her word meant nothing now. Could they be angry about a dead girl's broken promises?
"Come on." He squeezed her hand and helped her back up, the two watching the ramp slowly lower. They were underground, not even the smallest fleck of light coming in through the ceiling as they entered the Arena Catacombs. Asides from the vastness of the helicarrier hanger, the rest of the catacombs were endless identical hallways in the drab, practically medical, Capitol white. From one room she could have sworn she heard wailing, though there was no telling if it echoed down from somewhere else entirely. Every year a new arena was used and new catacombs built, yet no matter how new these walls were they still felt haunted.
Approaching a door, Myles used that same key card from before to open it and the two stepped inside. All the comforts of a sitting room, but with a glass tube-encased podium in the back that quickly aroused terror and tears pricked at her eyes. Stepping back without even thinking, her back collided into Myles and she was instead led fully into the room.
Beneath a large clock on the wall was a clothing rack with only a few items hung up, shoes resting on a small platform beside it. "We have just about an hour..." He spoke calmly, tiptoeing around upsetting her further. Just an hour before she rose up into an arena, just an hour before she possibly died for all of Panem to see. Just an hour before another district child lost. Maesus hadn't even noticed when he walked her over to the couch, uncomfortably sitting on the edge of the cushion as he took each piece off a hanger. "There's three layers, so you're looking at a temperature gradient."
"What?" Myles held up the items again. "Layers. You should be expecting weather changes in the game or in different parts of the arena." To think, no more than fifty feet above her lay the scene in which their suffering takes place, an arena designed by Gamemakers who could make changes at will. At the very least, having it figured out could affect her odds. A comforting distraction.
"Tank top, long sleeve, and jacket." Maesus repeated, her hands going over each top layer as if she had a clue what kind of land lay above them. Myles continued on. "The jacket's material is water wicking and there's a hood. Expect rain, possibly lots of sun." Setting it to the side, he held up the pants next and ran his hands down the leg before reaching the cinched ends. "They're khaki colored, so again we're leaning towards sunny skies." She couldn't help but think of the year the tributes were thrown into the wasteland of desert dunes. Most died of dehydration and exposure, others from the madness of staring at the same yellowed sand no matter where they went.
Considering how the rest of the week had been, she stood up without hesitation and stripped down to her underwear. He handed her socks first, the material a word she couldn't pronounce but by his claims were meant to keep her feet warm even submerged cold water. The dark brown tank top and light pants followed, the long sleeve was loose and the material soft like cotton.
Sitting back down on the couch, she took the shoes he was holding up but hesitated once they were in her hands. "Isn't it mesh?" Maesus asked, holding them out for him to touch the primary material of the shoes. "Water and sun exposure are guaranteed by now. I'm thinking beach or an island. How are the bottoms?" Hard, she couldn't imagine even a knife being able to pierce through the thick sole. Knocking her knuckle against it, she raised her leg up to start putting them on. "Well, clearly they want your feet protected so watch where you're stepping." Myles said, handing her the second shoe to put on and holding the jacket next. It could wait till the last minute, the air in the Catacombs was warm and almost muggy.
"Now let's remind them.." He began, reaching out to pull her rosary back up and over the shirt without so much as a finger brushing against her chest. "..of where you're from and a part of who you really are." It wasn't like he could know the full extent of the necklace's meaning, the faith it was born from and the generations it'd been in her family. But the care he put in ensuring it was both visible to the cameras and within her reach was enough to show he recognized the importance of the item. How much it meant to her.
Reflecting over how she could best handle an island or desert terrain, Maesus didn't feel compelled to speak as he worked on her hair. His question of whether or not to cut it short for safety ignored, scissors left aside as he split her part down the middle. Braiding back as many smaller strands from her temple till just above her neck, he tightly tied the braids off into pigtails. It felt childish, though with the reputation she'd already set it would be the kind of childish the audience would enjoy. She grit her teeth at the thought, knowing that Myles was just doing what would keep her hair from getting in her face but annoyed with it all the while. The braids would hopefully hold up through the bloodbath. Longer if she got to be so lucky.
After he finished, though, the two sat in silence. Noise from outside the room trickled in and she couldn't bear to look towards the clock. Discussing the clothing had calmed her down from the anxiety rush during travel and Maesus finally came to terms with the idea that these may be her final moments alive. She was still panicking, mind on fire and heart beating so hard she could practically feel her veins pulsing. On the outside she remained still, eyes glazed over and staring straight at a blank wall.
"Tributes in their tubes." Robotic was the blaring voice from a speaker somewhere within the room, the same announcer as all the games that came before. Its command was followed by a minute-long countdown. Putting on the jacket and zipping it halfway, Maesus stood up on shaky legs and accepted the arm Myles stuck out. As he helped her step up onto the podium, he brought her in for a final embrace and whispered.
"And even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.."
The teen stared at him dumbstruck. Spoken word was all they had back home when it came to religion, if it could even be called such a thing anymore. Belief was hope, it was uplifting and often it gave a scapegoat when things went wrong. The Capitol had far surpassed the need for a god, so much so they persecuted those in the districts for submitting themselves to a power higher than themselves. Myles himself could be punished for however he'd learned such a prayer, which made her all the more grateful he did. His risk was now her comfort.
"Surely, goodness n' mercy shall follow." She finished, meeting his gaze and relishing in the faith that cradled and comforted her.
As the countdown reached twenty the tube closed, her breath fogging up the glass. Over and over again she ran index and thumb over each individual bead of the rosary, softly repeating the prayer as the podium rose. The latch above her opened and sunlight poured in, blinding the girl and practically hitting her with a wave of heat. Squeezing her eyes shut, the brunette stiffened in fear of losing her balance.
Sunlight seemed to shine right through her eyelids and she could make out the loud roaring of rushing water. Although stagnent, the air smelt like rain on dry soil. When the podium finally halted its ascent, she opened her eyes.
In front of Maesus was the silver cornucopia, sunlight reflecting off to a blinding degree. From the mouth and towards the back was a variety of weaponry, backpacks and boxes with unknown contents laid out around the structure like bait. Straining her neck to try to look behind herself, she could make out the large rocky river that passed directly by and stretched out for miles. White sands and rocks, bluish mountains in the distance that would certainly take more than a few days to hike to; fortunately there were shrubs and cacti. Plateaus and mesas shielded other parts of the arena from her, the river curving and carving alongside them. The more she looked around, the more she recognized the plants and realized the desert she was placed in was close enough to home. Close enough that her chances may be higher than she thought possible.
Sixty seconds appeared over the cornucopia in bright red letters, a projection played miles above them and an announcement echoing over the environment. "Fifty-Nine."Matching the pace of the countdown, she counted the beads of her rosary one final time. It allowed her to get her breathing under control, her eyes dancing over each other tribute from where they stood. Maesus could only assume Blais was at the tail of the structure and at a disadvantage for having to go completely around, as she couldn't find him. However, her eyes locked onto Kane from four tributes down on her left. A shudder ran down the girl's spine.
"Forty-Seven."Kane was grinning at her, shaking out his hands and looking ready to jump from where he stood. She took it as a positive, as a sign that the alliance would hold up and she could trust in his protection. Blinking a few times, she nodded her head backwards and smiled when he nodded in approval. Either in the river if it was shallow enough or along the rocky ridge, her only options for hiding nearby during the bloodbath. She had to avoid the fight but remain close enough to quickly rejoin the group.
"Thiry-Two." It was painful how slow the countdown was. From beside her was the twelve year old girl representing the female children of 12; Heather, as she recalled her name, was shaking like a leaf. She turned her back to the cornucopia entirely, making it clear her plan to run and in which direction she'd be going. A part of her hoped the girl would make it far, to get ahead enough to hide out and avoid being killed. The other part knew better than to think Heather would survive more than a day.
"Twenty." Although still counting through the material, she slipped the rosary back beneath her shirt for safer keeping. If the cameras grazed her once since the start of the countdown then there was no doubt in her mind it was seen. She wanted to think that back home her grandmother was shaking whoever was next to her, telling them she gave her the token and just knows it will keep Maesus safe. The latter was yet to be proven.
"Ten."She bent her knees, arms held at her sides in a stance ready to run despite still facing the mouth of the cornucopia.
"Nine. Eight." In the distance she watched Kane hold up hand signals to Mirra and her respond back with more.
"Seven. Six." A hawk called out from somewhere around them, it's shadow gliding across the sand.
"Five. Four."Sweat dripped down her back, running cold as it slipped further down her skin.
"Three. Two." She shifted her weight to her back leg and let out a solid breath.
"One". Cannons fired, and the 54th Annual Hunger Games began.