When the chariot pulls to a stop after the parade, Embelia's legs feel like jelly. She still holds tight to the sides and to Korren's hand, fearing she may collapse if she lets either go. She feels him squeeze the hand that's laced with his, and she looks to see his brows furrowed and worried eyes looking her over.
"You can let go," he informs her quietly, trying gently to pry his hand from hers. "You won't fall out."
"I know that," she responds, pulling one hand back from his and gripping the chariot tighter with the other. She hadn't expected the parade to be so much. The lights had been too bright, the deranged screaming of the Capitol's citizens had been jarring and still the echoes of it rang in her ears. She hadn't had the mind to wave, only to stare while she gripped onto Korren's hand to remind herself that she wasn't in the midst of a fever dream. She can only hope that her empty face had translated into some sort of stoicism.
"That was a lot, huh?" Korren says as he climbs out of the chariot and goes to greet the horses. "I was gonna wave, but I think maybe your strategy was better."
"My strategy?" There was no strategy in that, it was plain fear and overstimulation.
"Yeah! Cold indifference. It was cool, and I wanted to match your energy, you know?"
If that's how he read it, then maybe everyone else did too. She hopes so, and she won't be the one to tell him otherwise. She needs him to believe it. He may be an ally for now, but at the end of it all at least one of them had to die. Embelia refuses to let it be her.
"Right," she nods, finally garnering the strength to get out, making her way over to him. "That was a yes, just so you know. To the alliance."
"I figured, that or you were just giving mixed signals," he says with a big smile, worn hands smoothing over the horse's sleek fur.
"Don't be ridiculous," Embelia mumbles, cautiously rubbing at the horse's snout. "It's smart for us to stick together. It's good television, just don't die in the bloodbath."
"Looks like another alliance is already forming," Korren says, paying no mind to Embelia's words. He looks ahead, and she follows his eyes to find that the standard career pack already seems to be forming. One, Two, and Four, all stand together, speaking and making introductions. There Embelia can see the girl who had tried to scare her earlier, seeming awfully friendly with a boy in a white and gold toga.
He must be from District 2, if his tall stature and heavy features don't make it obvious then his outfit certainly does. Beside him, his partner looks rather uninterested, seeming only to answer attempts at conversation with curt, one word responses. With her carefully styled hair and shiny golden gown she looks the very image of a warrior, a goddess, and her body is visibly stronger than Embelia's weedy frame could ever hope to be.
Then there's the boy from four, who Embelia had noticed at his reaping and had not stopped worrying about since. He's huge, tall and broad, and incredibly handsome. He's certain to be a threat, and an audience favourite- which makes him all the more dangerous.
"They don't look like much," Embelia tries to joke, glancing back at Korren with a tiny smile.
Korren meets her eyes and his own light up, a smile brightening his face. "They'll be easy work," he agrees. "No match for our team."
"Ah, so you are a team now?"
The two teens jump, looking round to see Chaff and Seeder approaching with Narcisse in tow. Chaff wears a grin, looking amused in his perpetually tipsy state. It was him who'd spoken.
"Yeah!" Korren responds, stepping away from the horse to meet them. Embelia follows, still wary of her precarious shoes.
"Good," says Seeder. "That saves us having to split up to train you both."
"Gives us more to work with too," Chaff adds, his one hand resting on his hip. "It's good tv- and that's what it's all about in the end."
"That's what Embelia said!" Korren says proudly. "We make a good team, huh? Two strategists."
"I'm not a strategist," says Embelia. It's true. She really has no understanding of battle strategy, but she's read enough books to know what makes for good entertainment.
"I'd beg to differ," Narcisse says. "You have a clever little brain in that pretty head of yours!"
"Thanks," Embelia says, though she doesn't like the cadence of her compliment. It sounds as though she's surprised that she could be smart. "Are we done with this?"
"Yes!" Seeder answers, seeming to realize that they had somewhere else to be. She claps her hands with a grin. "We're up on floor 11, come on!"
After an uncomfortable elevator ride with the tributes from District 9 - who were saddled with unfortunate looking grass woven outfits - they ascend to the eleventh floor, and are led down a hallway and into an apartment. It's decadent, modern, and massive. Narcisse gives them a brief rundown of where everything is and the rules, but Embelia finds herself drifting toward the giant windows as she talks.
From their vantage point high in the skyscraper, it feels as though they can see the whole of Panem- though she knows it's only the Capitol; the bright lights come to an abrupt stop at the peak of the mountains surrounding it. It's nothing like the sunrise over the orchards at home, but the twinkling skyline is beautiful in another way, a way she's never even imagined. She hardly notices when her partner stands beside her, doesn't hear when Narcisse calls for them to listen with exasperation.
"I think I can see my house from here," Korren jokes, glancing at Embelia for just a moment. The girl doesn't notice the fondness growing in his gaze. "You can't deny that view, huh?"
Embelia takes a moment to respond, unaware that he may not have meant the skyline.
She smiles to herself. She hates her home, really. It's hot and arid, and there's no cold season, everything is old and broken and full of misery. But misery can never stop the sun from rising, painting the great big sky with oranges and pinks that match the blossoms on the trees.
"It's not bad," she finally answers, with a smile that says she knows something he doesn't. She tears her eyes away from the shining Capitol lights. "I've seen better."
"Enjoy this view while you can!" Chaff calls, flopping down onto a plush sofa. "Might be the last one you ever get."
Embelia's smile falls, and she turns to glare at him, but doesn't justify his words with a response. "Where are we sleeping?"
"Yes!" Korren agrees, following her when she walks away from the window, picking at one of the stones glued under his eyes. "These rhinestones are getting really itchy."
"Up the stairs and down the hall," Narcisse informs, looking them over one last time with a swooning sigh. "They'll be talking about these looks for a long time, you two! Well done!"
Embelia doesn't know why she's being congratulated when it was Dorian that had done all the work, she just wore it, but rather than correct her she remains silent. She only turns and makes her way - slowly and carefully - up the stairs that look as though they float in mid air. Korren has stopped at the top, watching her with concern.
She huffs when she reaches the top without injury. "These stupid shoes," she mumbles before he can say anything. "I feel like Narcisse."
Korren laughs, stepping away and heading for the room marked with his name in a small panel. "You look better."
"You don't," Embelia teases, giving him a small smile. "See you later?"
"See you later, Em," he says, giving her a much bigger smile and stepping into his room.
Embelia waits until she too is inside the room to sigh. She needs to stop being so ridiculous about him, before it goes south for her. She hurriedly undoes her shoes, breathing an instant sigh of relief when her bare feet hit the soft carpet. She was barely in them for an hour, and still her feet and ankles ache like she ran for miles.
The room she's in now is even bigger than the one on the train. She hadn't thought it possible anything could be more luxurious than that, but the bed in the center is big, big enough to sleep a whole family back home. And when she presses her hand onto the edge of the mattress, it feels as soft as a cloud. How is she to sleep on something so soft? Surely her spine would fall out of alignment on this thing. It's really no wonder everyone in this place seems so fragile. Have any of them ever known hardship? Or do they just turn their backs to poverty and sleep soundly on their weak mattresses?
Embelia emerges for dinner after about an hour. She'd taken time to get out of the garment and clean her face of its makeup, and rinse herself down thoroughly in the shower- the pressure of which is so strong she wondered if it might even clear off the callouses her hard-working hands have built. Now, she emerges with clean skin and hair, the curls of which sit loosely on her shoulders. She wishes her mother had taught her to braid her own hair before she left.
She takes her seat at the table with the others, noticing she's the last to arrive. While the tributes and mentors at the table all seem to have showered and changed into something comfortable, Narcisse still sits pristine and made up at the head. She wears a pink dress that resembles a blooming rose and her hair once more matches its mauve petals. If her softer accent was any indication of a lower social class, her range of clothing and wigs indicates that she's climbed through those classes and made something of herself. Though she's pretentious and funny looking, and seems to adore the two teenagers in her care as though they're pretty objects, a strange little part of Embelia respects the woman.
But then maybe that's her passing resemblance to her mother and her rather pretty wigs clouding her judgment. Today, she wears a perfume that smells faintly of chamomile. That, too, reminds her of her mother, and the tea she brews on the nights when sleep evades her.
"I hope that you'll both take my advice when you begin training tomorrow," says Seeder. "And that is to ensure you don't miss out on the survival skills. Plants, fires, the things that are usually overlooked. I would never have survived without them."
"Speak for yourself," says Chaff as he washes down a mouthful of quail with a strong smelling wine.
"I am," Seeder says, continuing without seeming too exasperated by his comments. "Neither of you are fighters, so make sure you hone the skills you can use and not waste your time trying out weapons you won't have a clue about."
"We could be fighters," Korren defends with a frown.
"I'm not a fighter," Embelia says with a shake of her head, putting a fork full of vegetables in her mouth.
Seeder gestures her hands to Embelia. "She's not a fighter. Your strongest weapons are your minds, so don't let your enemies see it. Save it for your private session."
"Or for when they crack our skulls open," Embelia mumbles, making Chaff bark out a laugh. Seeder sighs, but she sees a smile pulling at her lips.
"Survival skills first, got it?"
"Got it," Embelia and Korren respond in unison.