The 86th Annual Hunger Games

MagicPocket

MagicPocket

EMT Extraordinaire
Interested? We may have a few slots left :: Click Here


Remember: Characters from the book such as the tributes from the Games in the first book--including characters like Katniss, Peta, and Gale, do not exist.





@Aura, @HanaChan13, @Equinox, @Coedy, @Ember Bare, @ToxicCupCakez, @♥Lost_In_Paradise♥, @dististik





The original reason--she heard from her father when her passed it down to her after the reaping, though it was only a rumor--that it was more painful, that instead of the soft flesh of the lower ear, that may close up, the hard cartilage is slower and teaches patience and appreciation. Kitinger thought it was a load of bull when she heard it. She thought of this as she rubs the still irritated skin. A shiver ran down her spine. It was always the gnawing pain that hurt the worst, that nothing you could do would possibly make it better, if nothing else, worse. Kitinger pulled her fingers away to examine the thin smudge of blood left on her fingers. It was much at all. Nethertheless she was proud of the stud, it was a great honor. Smugly she smiled as she thought back to the moment her father gave it to her.


The look of contempt on her older sister's face was almost unbearable. But at the moment it would have been horribly inappropriate to laugh. Despite that, she was able to take subtle satisfaction, she didn't need to laugh to rub it in, it was right there in there sibling's face. Hostility, envy, rejection, chagrin are flooding and mucking up her otherwise beautiful features. This was her last year eligible for the Games, the year traditionally the head child takes their accumulated skills and training and volunteers at the age of eighteen--of course, if they are not selected before that time. Kitinger had been fighting her sister for years over the spot of head child. She hadn't heard of one story that consisted of any of her ancestors challenging the oldest, the younger siblings. So as far as she knew she was the first. In her mind, the tittle of Head Child was nothing more than a position to be earned. In general, the eldest would have the greater advantage, more developed, in depended, leading the other children. What were the other children suppose to do? Kitinger saw the leader in her sister, to say the least, even as a child Kitinger recognized she would never follow the older child. For a while Kitinger was the ring leader until it became aware that was not how it worked.


Their father, the eldest child when he and his siblings where young, saw this a experiment. He did not intervene, but even encouraged they fight each other, What wonderful experience they both must gain. Kitinger heard her father admit to her mother.


And her she was, overcoming tradition that was so often the basis of their household life. To out-do the oldest child in such a degree. With such an audacious behavior of volunteering right from underneath her sister's nose. Kitinger knew that if her sister, Bristol won, Kitinger would no longer matter, so lost in the fame of her sister, her ability would never be acknowledged, she would always be compared to the older sister. And Kitinger wasn't about to start that again. She wasn't easy, showing her sister up and surpassing her, she had to fight for the right for her sister's position to be reconsidered, and just for that took thousands of hours of extra effort on her behalf. It wasn't like she was handed the right to the head child on a silver plater. Kitinger had to fight for it, and even though it might not be a fight to the death like in the Games, Kitinger could tell just by the look on her sisters face that she was in a place worse than death. Even if, hypothetically speaking since it would be impossible idea to think she could, say Kitinger die in the Games, Bristol was in a place were she can never recover her dignity without that stain forever permanent by her younger sister.


That was a proud achievement. As her father stooped down and put both of his hands on her shoulders and gave her that fierce look in the eyes, one that was passed down the generations, and explained to her the meaning of the earring.





The train was very unlike those that took workers to the Nut in District Two. It glided along the tracks at an impressive two hundred miles per hour, but at the moment it was traveling at a must slower speed, probably to compensate for the distant difference that other districts had to travel. So for Kitinger and the male tribute of District Two, an older boy named Darius, the ride would be somewhat short and easy since the district was located so close to the Capitol.


When the train started to slow, the Capitol rising out of the landscape on one side of the train. Kitinger sat transfixed before the window, taking in the marvelous sight of it all. She'd never been to the Capitol of course. None of the tributes would have, citizens were not allowed to travel to the Capitol, it was an invitation-only kind of place, even for the wealthiest of citizens. Kitinger had heard rumors of what the Capitol looked like, but in person it paramount any sort of fantasy she might have dreamt up over the years.


Soon they were in a luxurious vehicle of some kind and being transported to the Training Center were they would spend their time in the Capitol. Ushered into the prep center, she and Darius were separated as they went to engage their personal prep teams to be prepared for the parade ceremony that evening.





Magnus is starting at me again, Baron thinks eerily, his eyes narrowing on their own accord. Magnus had done his periodically through the train ride--at least in the times they had been in the same car. And despite this, Baron can't shake the feeling of his eyes, sizing him up, totally unnerving. He'd had tried starring back of course, but that had been a failure. Baron doesn't understand why the man can't open his mouth and ask him for the answers Magnus seemed to try to be extracting from his mind with brain power. Its a ridiculous idea, but nothing else explains it. Baron suddenly just wants the man to say something, to look at something else and quite looking at him. He almost bursts this out too, his mouth is hanging open and he quickly snaps it shut with a low clicking sound. The thought occurred to him that the older man might be testing him. If it was a test Baron hoped this wasn't a skill he would have to learn how to survive, being looked at to death. Whatever Magnus was doing he was seriously putting some heat into that glare. He tried to ignore it.


He still hadn't gotten over the shock of being selected as a tribute for District 4. After a quite dinner with the female tribute from the district, Sterling Sparra, and their mentor, Magnus Fairfax, along with their escort. The rest of the time he spent in his compartment. A large and luxurious thing, so different from what he was used to, with one room to himself that was the size of his entire house back in District 4. Along with all the food they were feeding him, it seemed cruel. He resented the Capitol for it. To see how carelessly they threw around food that was so coveted in the districts. Baron had taken many tesserae to feed his family, his mother and three other siblings. After his father had drowned in a terrible storm, he'd been left as the man of the family. His only sister was older than him by a year or so, but because of her ailment, she could not fully provide for the family, Baron had taken up that duty. It had been hard leaving them. His sister promising to take care of them, no matter what. Though Baron disagreed with her choice, he believed she would, she was selfless and determined--both traits she had taught him and his siblings while growing up. Baron had promised her that he would win--survive--for her, for the family. And he meant it.





The journey was long, a full day and a half in which he spent in his compartment, avoiding Sterling. He knew her from back in the district, the problem was that he liked her, she so nice and caring, he couldn't possible imagine himself responsible for her death. Baron though that if he distanced himself from her, it wouldn't be so bad later. He sits with the heels of his hands to his temples, calloused fingers twisted in his shortish copper-burgundy hair, his head bowed under the weight and stress that would triple the second they entered the Capitol.


He didn't get up and watch as the Capitol as they approached the great city. Why would he, he'd be living there for the next week or so before he was flung into the arena. Baron was hardly aware when they put him in a car and moved him and Sterling to the Training Center where he would be prepared for the Parade.
 
It seemed like it went so fast, one minute Sterling had been standing in the crowd of teenaged girl her age at the reaping, waiting to see would would be a tribute. And now, she had just finished an eerily quiet dinner with the male tribute from District 4, Baron Leer, accompanied by their quite interesting mentor Magnus Fairfax, and their escort. The only noise that occurred in the dinner was the constant clinking of forks on the dainty plates. And now, she was sitting in a quiet train car with a stare down happening between the men of the district. It seemed as though Magnus was the original challenger, and Baron had been the un-expecting victim. Sterling felt the slightest war of awkwardness swarming throughout the car; obviously since no one was making any communication what-so-ever.


Sterling would have never guessed that she would have been the female tribute for the 86th annual Hunger Games. The male tribute from District 4 happened to be Baron Leer, a guy she had known from home. They weren't friends, but friendly enough to be considered friends. Sterling had a dilemma here; she liked Baron a little, and the worst thing to have is having feelings for someone who you might end up dying for or with. Or they might die because of you. She was trying so desperately to talk herself about liking Baron, and seeing him as a friend.


Sterling had left her family of 4 behind her. She found that it was hardest to say goodbye to her mother, which she expected. She could still remember the day that her youngest brother of nine gave her his finest masterpiece; a leather necklace with a sterling silver fish directly in the center of the leather. He had given it to her before she left. She knew that her brothers would be watching her, along with her mom, but not her dad. Her dad had died around 2 years ago from falling overboard when he was out at work. She and her oldest brother had to care for the family. And because she left, she worried about her family, but also knew they would do just fine without her there with them.


So, there Sterling sat, fiddling with her silver fish on a leather necklace, trying to focus on what was ahead of her. She looked up and saw the capital, she stood up slowly and walked to the big side window of the train; looking at the Capitol, an entirely new sight for her. She knew that no sooner had she been thrown into the car with Baron, she had been dragged into the Training Center with him, for the Parade. She still stood next to Baron, in the training center, and trying to make sense of what was and was going to happen.
 
"I volunteer as tribute." he had spoken clearly and in sharp clipped tones as he stepped forward out of the throngs of people that had gathered. Darius had not been surprised that his name was not called... his family was wealthy and he had not needed to submit his name to qualify for tesserae, but he gladly would have submitted his name as many times as possible. He could still see the expression of the young boy's face whose name has been called instead of his... he had been relieved and the youth had tried to catch his eye to show the depths of gratitude in his soul, but of course Darius had avoided them. He had no need to acknowledge the boy... he was weak for not wanting this to happen. Even before he had been properly prepared Darius would have eagerly sacrificed his life for the glory of his family and district 2.


However, now was a different story. This was his year. He was prepared. He would emerge victorious from the ashes of battle and if he somehow couldn't (as mad as that idea was to him) then he deserved to die. Victory was the only option and luckily that was a condition of the games.


The train ride here was completely unremarkable before he had arrived at the Capitol with his mentor and the girl from his district. Although they had barely acknowledged each other, he couldn't help but to take an interest in Kitinger. It wasn't as if he had known her previously or even that he found her beautiful. He just couldn't help wondering how it would happen. At the very least one of them would die (if not both) and he couldn't help but to feel a morbid curiousity regarding the subject. Would he meet her in the Bloodbath at the Cornucopia? Would he see her at all? Would he be the one to kill her? Would she kill him? He had never known anyone so fated to die and when Darius believed that she wasn't looking he stole sharp glances at her... the thought was so consuming that he had even had a dream where he saw her lying in a field with her limbs splayed about her chaotically and her face ashen from death.


There was no longer time for such thoughts about Kitinger though... they were now separated and he knew that if her face made an appearance again in his dreams then it would be joined by the faces of the other soon-to-be-dead tributes that he would soon meet.


--


Cold. That was all Thalia could feel. The life had already left her limbs... she felt as if she had been marked for death the moment her name had been called out. People had come and gone and the train ride has passed by in a blink of an eye. She hadn't even been aware of the other tribute from eleven... his name was Jack? John? Mark? She didn't know... she was a ghost... she was already dead... she was cold.


It was hard to believe that she was here. Her parents had been so proud when she didn't even need to apply for tesserae for themselves and her three other siblings. Her parents had worked so hard to prevent her from having to submit her name more than once, they were so proud that she wasn't going to be called. Her name was only submitted once. There was no way that she could have been called... and yet here she was. The oldest of her siblings but probably the youngest in the games... she had no skills except for what being from her district had taught her... she was as good as dead and it was hard to feel invested in life when she hadn't even started and she was already dead.


The Capitol was supposed to awe and astound her and the cameras in her face were prepared to capture her reaction but she just had cast her eyes to the ground. Maybe the bright lights and the spectacle would have astounded her before this. Feeling overwhelmed she glanced into the sea of people looking for something comforting... someone familiar.... and Thalia found nobody until her eyes fell on the fellow tribute from her district. She reached out a trembling hand towards him hoping to draw comfort from the last thing that she had from her district aside from her locket.
 
Bradley stood there in the crowd of boys. As soon as has name was called his jaw literally dropped. He could already hear his mum in tears which made the whole ordeal worse. He'd stepped into the hall were his mum had came to see him for her 5 or so minutes. He had tried to reassure her of some things, but they both knew that it probably wouldn't go in his favour. Then he was on the train, he'd never been on one before and that was considered a good thing, he noticed they hadn't started. They were probably waiting for the girl that was picked. Not that he listened for her name, he was only concerned about himself when it came to the reapings. When the train started he had been shown to his room and had been told to get changed into something a "bit nicer" to put it there way. He came back out in a white shirt covered by an un-zipped black jacket and some blue jeans, probably the best you could get unless you were rich. He sat down and probably ate the biggest meal of his life. God the capitol were certainly pigs if they ate this much for every meal every day.


When he woke up he walked out into the "dining room" if you could call it that. He sat down and was handed some coffee, another luxury he'd never had. He drank it down and felt much more awake now. He looked into the mirror, his hair was in a mess. But what did it matter he wouldn't be putting on a show for these Capitol pigs. He brushed his hand through it and looked out the window. There were very large buildings gleaming out in the sky, catching his eye. It looked amazing. They seemed to go up and reach the sky. Some looked like almost all of it was glass and others reflected the light off of their surfaces. It looked so beautiful compared to the people that lived in them. Loving others fight to the death and cheer one person and head and boo people until they died. Well he was bound to find out what the Capitol was truly like soon enough.
 
A name was called out. One that belonged to a female. But Jett hardly noticed. Some average girl, nothing remarkable about her, huggning and holding and crying into the shoulders of friends and family. This whole ordeal was such a waste of time. The escort ordered the crowd to quiet down before he read off the name of the male tribute from District 5. "Jett Garinger!" Cried out the escort in his affected Capitol accent.


He felt the camera's hone in on him as his "peers"--though they were hardly his equals--turned to stare at him. There was a murmur of confusion in the crowd, until Jett realized he still had on a face of boredom on his face. Obviously boredom was not a...typical reaction to being condemned to fight to the death against all odds. He forced a look of surprise on his face, like perhaps he was slow and the realization he was about to die had just dawned on him. Well good. Better to be the slow unintelligent tribute from District 5 rather than a over confident fool from one of the Career districts, or any other of the sad and pathetic weepy tributes from any district. And already it had been decided how he would play these games, he would fein and bluff his way into the finals. This Hunger Games might actually be interesting this year. Mapping out his strategy would prove to be a worthy challenge that he welcomed with open arms.


He was vaguely aware of being ushered into the Justice Building into a room. His mother's eyes were red and puffy, streams of tears staining her cheeks, both of his parents arms around him. He supposed he should feel himself lucky, having both of his parents, two caring people, naive as they were. They were saying words of reassurement and encouragement, but he couldn't care less than he was at that moment. Jett didn't care if he never saw them again, he'd never really had a particular attachment to them, but they paid that no attention. Finally Peacekeepers showed up and he was ushered out to the train. There in the train he spent looking out the window, gazing at the ever changing landscape and formulated a game-plan with nothing but victory in mind.


In what seemed like no time at all, they were finally at the Capitol. Jett pondered over the architecture and the grand layout of the city. Easily formulating a map in his head and storing it in his vast photographic memory. He found the culture here interesting from the studying aspect, but otherwise, he personally found it foolish and conceited.


His final destination was the Training Center, where he was taken to his prep team who he found to his dismay to be irrevocably full of pep and utterly shallow. Jett was irritated beyond belief after ten or so minutes of them. So the torture began.
 
Fortis peered out his window. He could not distinguish the mountain from trees as the speed of the train seemed to mesh the colors together. "So this is it huh?" He said to himself. There was nobody else in his car and he preferred it that way. He had been trained by his father at an early age and the Games had never really been something to worry out. Besides, he was the strongest in his hometown. Well, second maybe... Ok... third perhaps. Fortis was just strong on his own and he made it a goal for everyone to make sure of that. The train was fancy. Red velvet curtains were tied to golden hooks by expensive rope dipped in starry diamond dust. The rainbow-colored floor of the car was a smooth carpet and its colors were magnificent in its variety. Each table was exactly the same size.. each table cut with the finest stonewood and polished to shiny perfection. Fortis was impressed. He had some idea of the luxuries of the Capitol but this quite amazed him. As he the train began to slow, he took a deep breath and stood up. This was his moment to shine.


~~~~


17 year old Isabella Vanguard awoke with a startle. She examined her surroundings. Her white scarf was curled around her chin. Her book had fallen onto the floor and a bookmark stuck out of the middle, page 327. The steady monotone whirr of the train echoed in her head. Izzy rubbed her eyes and yawned as she picked up her book and placed it in her bag. She hadn't been dreaming. Indeed, she had been chosen during the Reaping. Chills and goosebumps ran up and down her spine like jittery bugs running laps. She remembered it all. She didn't want to but she did remember it all.


"...and the female tribute is... Isabella Vanguard." Wide-eyed citizens of District 9 turned toward meek, little Izzy. Isabella was shocked as hands, hands of strangers squeezed her shoulders with comforting content but each one seemed to dig her deeper into the hole of disbelief she was already in. She was escorted to the train where a small bag was waiting as a carry-on. Her brothers were working, her mother was disabled, and her father was 6 feet into the ground. Her siblings would come home and find out that they're baby sister had been chosen. They would be upset and she couldn't bear watching..


Isabella snapped to attention when the train jolted a little bit. The wheels began to grind and squeak. She could hear it. Outside her window, she saw the Capitol's shining skyscrapers in the distance like spearheads protruding from the earth. "Save me." She muttered to herself as the train coasted to a stop and opened the automatic doors, letting bright sunlight flood into her eyes..


 
"Mother, Father, leave me alone!" She screamed, pushing her teary-eyed, red faced parents away from her. She crossed her arms indignantly across her chest and looked away from the sobbing couple. "You never seemed to care about me this much when I hadn't put my life on the line. Lookie now. You can spend all the time in the world in your office as soon as I die in the Games. I don't know if you did, but Mother, Father, I loved you both. That's why I'm getting rid of the one thing that came in the way of all your hopes and dreams... Me." She said that just as the Peacekeepers took her parents away. Even the Mayor just had an hour to talk to his daughter--no more, no less.


She was glad her name was called today she knew it was either that or volunteering which she was sure she couldn't do. She stepped onto the train calmly, finally away from her parents' scrutinizing and scolding. She relished every moment of the luxury the train offered--the food, the room, everything. She noticed her partner, Jett was a bit quiet and distant but she thought it was good, knowing she wasn't much of a talker herself.


Then, with what she'd told her parents still in mind, she looked around as the train zipped through Capitol, letting her witness the beautiful place her dad once showed her in photographs. She sighed more in relief than distress as they got to their floor where she met her prep team--they reminded her of the obnoxiously shallow maids they had back home. She smiled, maybe she would enjoy the last few days she had--for the first time, she was truly alive... really free.





 
Since the reaping, Hale hadn't said one word. He hadn't need to, no one spoke to him. Though if someone had he wasn't sure what he might say back to them. He guessed it was understandable that a tribute would be speechless in shock. The only person that had spoken to him after the reaping was his escort, and that was to tell him and the other girl of theirschedualed. However he had only responded with a nod. But before that, no one ever spoke to him. He was an orphan, strandedany his parents when he was no more than a baby. Since then he was treated almost like an outcast, a boy no one paid a second thought to, now they didn't have to worry, because Hale wouldn't be coming back. Twelve years old wasnt an unseen age in the game, but he knew that twelve was an impossible age, not against those that were older than him.


Now on the train that would take him to the Capitol, Hale wasted no time there. He sat and gorged himself on the fine delicacies until he was stuffed, would wait, and go back into the dinning car for more. Never had he had food of such quality and quantity before. He definitely wouldn't pass up this chance


When the train rolled to a stop at the destination, Hale marveled over the beauty of the place. Would it be so bad to die here after being indulged in such luxuries? He had nothing to live for, so he would take up this opportunity in a heartbeat.
 
"I volunteer as tribute."Was heard once the boy's turn was here,the name hadn't even been draw before it was spoken loud and clear.Kai smiled as everyone around looked at him surprised,he wasn't going to wait and see if he got picked since he wanted to be picked anyway. He finally felt ready to play in the games this time,after, all he remembered was riding on some type of train. It was too fancy for his tastes but it was fine,he stayed seated the whole ride thinking about what was to come.


So many years he'd get his name placed so many times in the draw but never picked,as others saw it lucky he thought it just showed he wasn't ready that time. Now he was tired of not being picked and just decided to go as tribute,it was a lot easier then he thought.Since he's never seen anyone as tribute he didn't know how it worked,well now he knew and it wasn't hard at all.


He didn't know who the girl tribute was,he really didn't care since only one was getting out. But he was still curious about her,how good she was or was she just dead meat waiting for the games to tear her apart.When they got to the Capital Kai didn't move from where he was until it was time to get off and move on to where ever else they were going to drag him to.


~~~


Jack had volunteered as tribute and the whole time watched the girl,Tailia?Thalia?That one sounded right. She seemed out of it the whole time,well she probably wasn't like him and was one of those that didn't want to come. Well there was nothing she could do now but hope what she knows is enough,he was sure he'd be fine but he could never say he'd win because you never know what's ahead. But at least he was going to make it further then most,he was going to make sure of that.


He wondered what kind of people would he meet in these games,he knew there was always one that was way too positive about winning and was always one of the firsts to die.There always had to be one of those,and quite a few of them might be nervous like this girl. Well she's kinda beyond nervous,she was more like freaked out for her life in a quiet way. He sighed as he just continued thinking everything through as they headed to the Capital,and hey,if he didn't make it it wasn't like anyone was waiting for him back at the district. So that eased him a little.


When they did get to the district they reacted his least favorite part so far,he just thought of getting this all over with until he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down behind him to find the girl tribute not looking so good,he sighed but couldn't help but smile at her."Come on,it'll be fine."He said in his deep,low voice as he placed a hand on her shoulder. He wasn't that great at encouraging or helping others emotionally but he figured he could at least try,besides she looked like she needed it at the time.


~~~


All he could remember was being picked for some game,The Hunger Games,right? Well Pitch always thought games were fun so the wondered what game it would be,he had forgotten it was a survival game. He found his little note sheet had written on in his pocket and on the top was wrote 'Read This before doing anything' so he did. First on list,'The Hunger Games is deadly,be ready'.Well shoot,know he knew that but still didn't know what it was. He read down the list and at the end in the corner of the sheet said 'Write what ever is important on here.',was there anything important at the time? He couldn't think of anything other then he was now playing in the games,so he wrote it down on the bottom of the list.


He remembered something about going to the Capital,being picked for the games and then a fussy picture of him sitting on the ground for a reason he did not know. So at least he remembered where he was being taken,that was good though the others were ether already done or random and had no point to them what so ever. So he wrote down 'At Capital' too on the list and stuck it back in his pocket as he looked around,he wasn't sure what he was in but he didn't care.


(Not as long as many of you but I got it done X3 hope it works.)
 
Fortis exited the train and was greeted by a party mix of people. Each with their own unique quality. That's what made the Capitol different from every other city across Panem. There you had your Careers, some already present and heading towards the city. One had spiky purple hair and piercings across his forehead like jungle gyms. He represented the Careers by his appearance. He represented the sharp, jagged personalities of the tributes who were trained since their young age similarly like Fortis. Then you had your reporters. A nosy bunch they were. Cameras zoomed, panned, and clicked to broadcast the tributes arrival for the Capitol to see. Pens sticking on ears, ruffled clothing, and stained shirts was all from the life of a excitedly rushing Capitol reporter. Then you had the citizens. Normal people, normal lives, normal personalities. They were just living the norm. Fortis walked onto the train platform ignoring the bright camers flashes and was escorted to a limo where he was taken to central Capitol.


~


Izzy had not noticed the male tribute from her district standing in the open doorway. Shielding her eyes a little, she saw it was a small boy with blonde hair. Izzy gathered her book and jacket and walked up to him.


She extended a hand and said kindly, "Hey, my name's Isabella. You can call me Izzy though.." Their situation was not of friendly-conversation circumstances but Izzy was almost brought up to look on the bright side. She could make a new friend or an alliance before things would go awry for a solo competitor. She knew she had a better chance of survival with someone on her side. "What's your name?" Izzy said.
 
Kitinger laid still and let her prep team do whatever they needed to her body, she knew it would be quicker and more efficient that way. It would be completely improfessional to complain, that is unless they were doing a shoddy job, of course. The Parade was first impression, and she had to be spectacular, it was he prep team's job to do that. And if they couldn't do that, then they were of little use to her or anyone for that matter.





She supposed, by Capitol terms, these three were "fashionable", though to her she thought they looked outlandish and ridiculous. But there make-up was flawless, colourful without being a rainbow like a most of the Capitol people she'd seen. So they seemed to have the concept of theme down, there was a method to their madness so to speak.





Kitinger waited patiently while they dyed her body to an attractive natural tone, and removed her body of all blemishes. When they were done with her body and moving onto her hair, washing it and softening it with dozens of chemical products she didn't think we're that necessary, though she didn't question it. Kitinger sat in her chair, clothed in a robe a length of fabric sashed around her hips to close the front, ever waiting till it finished and her Stylist arrived with her costume for the evening, hoping it wasn't going to be that same as last years, and they year before that, and so one. Lost in thought she stared at her wrist where she'd once had a freckle, but now there was no trace of it. Only smooth skin with a glowing complexion.





It was several hours later after that her Stylist arrived. Kitinger's honey brown hair was now five inches longer and curled back in sweeping waves that stretched elegantly down her back. Her make-up was dynamic and dramatic, making her look easily several years older, lips a poisonous red looking colour, eyeshadow dark and smokey around her natural golden rich yellow-brown eye colour.





Her Stylist unveiled to her her costume. Kitinger nodded in approval, her eyebrows twitching up slightly. "I'm taking a more..." the Stylist put a finger to her chin as she fought for a word, "Untraditional approach this year. Hope you don't mind. But if you did, mind I mean, you'd have no choice anyways!"





Kitinger felt no need to dignify that quip with a response. However she had to agree. The dress was certainly untraditional by the Parade's standards. Every year, District Two was dressed as a Peacekeeper in some shape or form. This year, well, it was still a Peacekeeper's costume, sort of... It was Peacekeeper white, and thats about as far as the resembalence went. Made of light floaty silk, it was open in the back down to the waist where there was a thin white belt obscured by the folds of the dress. The front was solid and came up to encircle her neck, leaving her shoulders bare. Below the belt the silk drifted down to her ankles at uneven lengths. Her prep team zipped her into delicate high heeled white boots that extended up to her knees. Already Kitinger noted how uncomfortable, she would be regretting standing still for the duration of the chariot ride. Her Stylist noticed her grimace in reaction to the boots, a smug smile tugged the corner of her surgically enhanced lips. So that was her game, for whatever reason, her Stylist hated her. Kitinger didn't know what for, she'd put an effort forward not to be unpleasant. But her Sylist, Floria, she'd come to learn her name, had been right. Kitinger didn't have a choice. She have to simply endure these painful shoes.





Floria looked over her hair and make-up, moving things slightly here and there, tweaked the shape of her eyebrows slightly, then when Kitinger deemed her approval, walked her out to the bay where Tributes were. She walked past a small boy dressed as what looked like a bale of hay, obviously the Stylist was too stupid to realize that District 9 was known for its wheat, not hay. The boy didn't look happy about it, but he didn't looked to thrilled to begin with. Kitinger didn't really care which way, if they were in the arena she'd stick a knife through his back with no hesitation.





As she walked, the heals clicking against the flat stone floor, her dress rippled around her, fluttering in the lightest breeze, her hair acted in a similar way, somehow with all those chemicals the prep team was able to make it light as a feather. It drifted in its waves behind her head. Kitinger followed behind her Stylist to their chariot. Though when they reacted the spot for District Two, a surprise met her. Their chariot was missing. Standing in its place we're the two brilliant white stallions who pulled the chariot, a keeper was holding the reins to the horses.





Kitinger turned to Floria, her mouth opening to say something when the Capitol woman spoke over her. "Have you ever ridden bare-back?" And there was that smile again, though it had turned into a sly mischievous one. Kitinger rose an eyebrow and shook her head. Of course she hadn't, she'd never ridden a horse before. Definitely a untraditional year. She assumed they weren't going to be riding in the chariots. It was a dangerous thing going against traditions in the Hunger Games, Kitinger wondered how Floria had ever gotten permission--or had she? But nonetheless it was too late to go back, District One was being let out in a few minutes. Two would be following them twenty minutes after that.





The keeper gave her and Darius pointers, demonstrating what they needed to do and so forth. Finally with five minutes to spare, the keeper hoisted her up on the horse's back, giving her last minute instructions on how to sit in what he called "side-saddle". Her Stylist began to arange her silken dress around the horse's back, while the keeper moved on to help Darius. She snuck a glance at him, sitting over on his own pure white horse, he looked very attractive cleaned up and dressed in formal white, though his costume too, was nontraditional Peacekeepers uniform. Strong, confident, assertive, and most of all, alluring. Hard to think that they'd come to a fight to the death. He'd volunteered like she had, he was obviously skilled, if it ever came to a fight, it would be a close one for sure. She wondered who might win in those circumstances. Kitinger looked away. Their time came up, she grasped the horse's mane the way she was shown where there was a hidden bridle, and sat up straight the way she was told. The horses started into an easy gallop, remaining side by side as if they were still pulling a chariot. Four feet apart, the horses cantered on. Kitinger put a serene smile on her face, like she'd been told, and made sure to direct it at the audience.
 
Walking down a fancy hallway, Fortis admired the construction and details in its epic simplicity. Pitch-black lines that resembled claw marks and cloud white swirls danced together in perfect harmony giving anyone who walked down the hallway indescribable vibes. Fortis was led to a bright white room. Their were no lights but the room was as bright as the sun. Fortis strained his eyes and he laid down on a cushioned table. He waited for his Stylist. After a few minutes, a young short woman walked into the room with a clipboard. The door closed behind her with a damp hiss. She seemed almost child-like. She had spectacular red hair and a green scrunchie held her locks in a loose bun.


"My name is Cress and I'll be your Stylist for this year." She looked at him with soft eyes. "Is this your first time? If it is, I know how it must feel. I get nervous all the time." Cress walked around the table, adjusting various settings Fortis did not understand. He was patient and quiet. She put on long rubber gloves where they held comfortably. Cress seemed to be lost in her actions until she turned to him and said, " Somehow, every year, just as when I feel down, I see your faces. Faces of hope. In you, I see.. I see.. " The woman, though of her height disadvantage, seemed to talk straight to his heart.


Fortis was seemed to dream. She was beautiful and she was free. She was kind and caring and all he ever needed. For a moment, he wasn't sure if he could talk right.. and then...


"A really huge pimple!" Cress yelped. She smiled from ear to ear and tossed her clipboard behind her back. Fortis stared in dumb confusion/infatuation. "Don't worry silly! I got it." Cress somersaulted across the table, reaching for his face, and squeezing his pimple. Fortis was more surprised than hurt though. Cress laughed and landed as she washed her hands on the other side of the room.


Fortis was really considering leaving when she came back, sucking on a raspberry lollipop. She dropped her head until she was inches before his face and asked with a cheerful grin, "You want one?" Fortis shook his head in fear. She resumed her various toying with the table. He wasn't really sure if she worked there or not. Suddenly, four straps jumped from underneath the contraption and wrapped themselves around his limbs like anaconda snakes. Cress took tweezers and began picking at his eyebrows. Fortis shouted for help.


"Stay still, sugar!" Cress pulled many hairs off his face before she dug into a chest and pulled out something that resembled a chainsaw. Fortis opened his eyes wide in horror.


This was going to be a long and painful process. This girl was crazy.
 
Baron was being held down at the moment. Gritting his teeth in frustration and pain, his forehead beaded with sweat. One would have thought that the Games had already started, being held against his will being tortured by cruel and unusual punishment. But here he was in the Capitol filled with non-stop luxury and entertainment, wasn't this a time to relax before the Games? The two men of his prep team were holding him down by his wrists before they realized they were too weak to hold back a teenage boy in the prime of his life who worked hauling in heavy lines and water soaked nets during the daylight hours.


They ripped off another strip of paper held to his leg by some kind of paste. Baron bolted up straight, a shout of pain through clenched teeth, sure they'd just torn the skin off his muscles. After that his Stylist, a woman named Voda and who was in charge of the operation, decided they should restrain him. They wrapped thick cloth bands around his wrists and ankles to keep him still. Voda informed him that they were removing his body hair. He replied ever so kindly, "What the hell do you need to do that for! I'm perfectly fine!" She told him that it was all apart of the image she wanted to give him for the chariot. So they continued to remove the curly blonde hair from his legs until the tanned skin was a dark pink and irritable. After that they "waxed", was what they referred to it as, his arms and chest. Baron continued to wonder what exactly their goal in mind was for all this. It seemed ridiculous.


When they were done with "waxing" him, they let him soak in a tub that smelled suspiciously like oatmeal. They washed and softened his hair during that time then styled it. He fell asleep during that part. When he woke up, his body was the colour of bronze and he looked almost statuesque. When he was aroused, they dressed him in a kind a curtain of luxurious ivory colour fabric. They draped it across one shoulder and wrapped it around his hips in a kilt that went down to mid thigh. They gave his leather sandals and a had a cape made out of a gold net. Baron was wondering if he would get a prop trident or something to go with whatever look they were going for here, but lest his wish was not granted. Guess maybe they didn't allow weapons in the parade. His Stylist walked him out to the Garage Stables. She gave him a few pointers, and showed him how to stand on the chariot that appeared to be made out of gold, bronze, and pieces of coral this year. Baron sighed, knowing that, surely, he looked silly.
 
Sterling was brought into a room that had a wavering sent of flouncy linens and roses. She almost gagged as she inhaled the foreign smell. She heard the two automatic door open, and about three people came into the room. In a sudden movement, they had undressed Sterling, and shoved her into a sauna type thing, and let every pore on her face, and body exfoliate. She was then brought out of the steaming room, and wrapped in a towel. Sterling stood in front of the man and woman in only a towel; she was quickly brought into a chair, and held by the two. A slimy whisper came from behind; it entered her ears, and made her shiver. Now, the grip at tightened on her wrists, and shoulders. Something was scraping through her hair, "What are you doing?" She asked in a slightly agitated voice. "Oh just dying your hair." The slimy voice said. Sterling tried jumping out of her chair; that failed almost instantly as the man and woman quickly strapped her to the chair. "No!" She tried screaming out, but the sound wouldn't come out of her mouth. The constant scraping of the comb through her light blonde hair almost instantly annoyed her. She looked in the mirror in front of the chair she was sitting in. Her once all blonde and wavy hair, were now perfectly straight streaked with dark and light blue. She did not like this at all, not one bit.


They left her strapped to the chair when they left. She looked at herself in the mirror, and then at the wall. "I look like the sea fricking threw up on me." She said to herself just before the threesome came back. They quickly heaved out a box of makeup, and pulled many of the cosmetics out. She tried hiding her lips from them, but as usual, they pressed her cheeks together and quickly applied the silver lipstick. Sterling thought that the torment was over, but try had just gotten started. Helena (the main stylist) had the man and woman quickly strap Sterling to a table where the man held her eye open, so Helena could place the silver-blue colored contacts into her Sterling's eyes. It burned, and so did the other; her tanned face had become a pink, and her eyes were puffy.


The threw her into to changing room where she was forced into a dress. This dress was light green, and teal; it also was a little revealing. There was a section on the dress that was from the back of her dress, to her chest where it wasn't the white fabric, but a silver stitching that looked like the nets that they would use at home. Then her feet were into high heels, and the final touch-ups were added to her face before she was led out to meet Baron. Helena dismissed the other two assistants and walked with Sterling, telling her what to do. She was to act perfectly, wave, have the perfect amount of intensity, and a few other things that weren't that important. As they approached the chariot, that seemed to have been transformed by the sea, she was strictly instructed by Helena on how to properly stand in the chariot. They had squashed Baron and Sterling in this chariot together, telling each of them how to present, and act. Both of the stylists moving the two tributes every which way, and fixing almost everything. Sterling patiently waited for the check up to be done when Helena's hand was pulling at her dress that was covering her breast. 'What the hell are you doing!!?" She wanted to yell at her. As Helena finished readjusting Sterling's dress, the two stylists both took a step back, and nodded in approval.
 
As soon as the two stylists walked away, Baron broke out of the ridiculous pose he was in. "No flying way in hell..." he mused. And finally he good his first good look at Sterling, he frowned deeply. "What did they do to you..." he said in horror. Her stylists had done a real chop-shop job on her. But he could see what the two District 4 Stylists goal was, sorta. Gold and Silver, sorta. Without thinking he took a lock of the once-blonde hair that he had admired, now it was different shades of blue. Even though what they did to her was horrible in all respects, Baron tried to ease her nerves. "They can't make you wear that into the Games, they couldn't allow it. You'd be at a disadvantage." He gave her a smile, "It'll wear off eventually, all it is is make-up. Its all for show." To make his point he showed her his shoulder that would usually be covered in freckles, but the skin was completely clear, with was bizarre for Baron having always had them. "All this Capitol stuff - it can't last forever. And I'm sure once I get in the sun, they'll start popping back up, feels really weird without them." District 3's chariot had disappeared a few minutes before, they'd be on their way in no time.


The train was rolling gently to a stop, he and the other girl tribute were standing together at the doors. She was speaking to him, though the words sounded far-off. Still not sure what she said, he nodded his head in a daze. Oh! It was a question, she was asking him his name. "Uh...My name...?" he murmured, his voice tiny. He was distracted by the scene out on the station platform showing thought the train's windows. Reporters and camera men were gathering to capture their reactions. It took another moment, the girl prompted him again with the question, he tore his eyes from the windows. "...my name, it's Hale." then he added quickly. "Pax."


So smooth their stop was almost nonexistent. Hale and the girl were ushered off the train, there were a few cameras around him, but not nearly as many as some as the other tributes from more important districts. Especially the Careers who, from the ones he saw, looked generally pleased to be in the Capitol participating in the Hunger Games and representing their district.


At the Training Center he was pushed into a weird looking room full of drawers and cabinets and an evil looking examination table. Then a team of oddly dressed people swarmed him, there were only three or four, but they could have been an army of a hundred for all Hale iknew. They stripped him down and bathed him, while he was soaking they worked on his nails and complained famously about them. Who knew one person could have so much wrong in something so simple. They were chipped and worn down with dirt caked under the and in the sides. They took an hour on them alone.


When they were finally done hours later. His skin was stretched this way and that and painted bright yellow. With pieces of hay glued to his face and body. His costume was a tunic, basically a mat woven with grass and hay. With a crown-headdress of something similar of style of stalks of hay straight up. It was a bit too large and fell down his forehead if he wasn't careful.


He was taken out to the Garage where he met up with the other girl. She was dressed in her costume. Hale realized he didn't know her name, that or he didn't pay attention if she'd had told him her name. She seemed nice. Hale wasn't old enough to consider it all to be a rouse, so he thought he might give her a chance and offered her a small smile.


Jett kept his stoic as his prep team prepared him for the Parade. He supposed he should feel exposed and embarrassed but he didn't. He refused to let these simpleminded idiots get to him no matter what they decided to do. They were quite unimaginative with their costumes in District 5. What could one really do with the power-plant district after eighty six years. However he found out when they started to paint his skin a luminous bright green. Radioactive? If possible at all his opinion of his Stylist and prep team dropped further even. They did not delve much into nuclear power. All things nuclear belonged to District 13, which happened to not be a district in Panem any longer, bombed out of existence. The only district to defy the Capitol, the losses were substantial on both sides. It was still a sore subject for the officials here. Now he was dressed as somekind of radioactive worker in matching green overalls and work boots. Had he had any sense of respect or reputation back in his district he was sure he'd be fearing for it right about now. His skin polished, and flawless under the flourencent-like dye, his clothes looking like they might bring about another bout of cancer plague to Panem again. The only thing natural about him was his eyes, and naturally they were green, though it was a pale shade rather than the bright eye irritating colour he was wearing.


His Stylist took his arm, leading him to the Garage. He supposed she might have been pretty, she looked to be about early twenties, a little thing full of energy, but with all the "extra effects" it took away. Her hair was wild and full of complicated curls the white-blond hair streamed with green, green jagged design tattoos stretched from the base of her chin down her neck, down her arms, down to the individual tips of her fingers. He resisted the urge to pull his arm from her grasp but felt like he wouldn't be doing himself any favors by that little act. Let the woman do what she wants, holding firm to his promise to his self. When they arrived at the Garage she stopped him in the doorway, the open cavern beyond them filled with tributes and chariots getting ready for the Parade. She removed her arm from his and instead took up one side of his face. She pressed her lips to his dyed green ones. "Green is my favourite colour." she said simply in her affected Capitol accent, though she made a noticeable attempt to hide it for some reason. Jett was unfazed. He cocked an eyebrow. "No advice. No telling me how exactly I should stand and pose on the pedestal to show off your masterpiece?" he asked, his tone flat. He laid his hand on top of hers and removed it casually from his face. She murmured something about indeed a masterpiece. "You don't need it, you can think for yourself," she replied, "Green is the colour of luck." She squeezed his hand. "Remember that." Then she turned and strode off.


Jett's expression contorted into one of disapproval as she walked off. He turned around and went off to find his chariot and join his fellow District 5 tribute.
 
Upon arrival, Sylvia was actually excited to see what Capitol had in store for her. Being a prissy princessy sort of girl growing up, the thought of getting a makeover spun around her mind like cotton candy. Though at times she found her prep team's needless chatter as a bit too shallow for her taste, she thought of how the maids in their house would talk and that was surely comforting. Considering that she was closer to their house workers than to her parents, she got along well with her team. She didn't see too much fuss in the makeover itself since the prep team had little improvement to do compared to the tributes of the other districts. Being the mayor's daughter, she always had to make sure that she'd look her best. Her hair was run through strong yet sweet smelling chemicals, making it shine a deeper yet still natural shade of red. Then, after scrubbing and minimal waxing, her skin glowed a healthier tone. Their choice of costume, though was pathetic as every year. The sickly green color they painted on her literally made her cringe before they were able to coax her into putting on a trashy looking pair of overalls and boots. They fixed her hair up into a messy bun and painted her nails the same green as the paint on her skin.


Her stylist, a tall svelte lady of around thirty led her to the Garage to mount their chariot. She kept chattering to Sylvia about the latest gossip in Capitol about people Sylvia didn't even know. But learning from how maids were supposed to be treated in there house, she smiled and nodded genially as if understanding every word of what her Stylist said. In truth, she focused on what her stylist looked like. She had tousled blue hair cut short in a pixie cut. Silver star tattoos lined her face from her lower eyelids to her jawline like tears. Her nails were painted a dark cobalt blue and were heavily ornamented with star shaped beads. Her name, Celeste, probably explained why she was so into stars and the like. "Well, good luck and remember... Just try to at least show that you and Jett are in good terms. I mean, even if you two have never even talked before, okay?" She said, gently patting Sylvia's cheek. "Well, I'll sure try." She answered in a soft voice before mounting the carriage where Jett already was. After a few moments of awkward silence, she turned to him and said, "So, how'd your makeover go?" Her green eyes sparkled as they met their match.
 
Sterling move herself out of the idiotic pose that she was in. She ran her fingers up and down her hair, and notices the blues were coming off, she internally smiled. She turned towards Baron, shrugged her shoulders, and shook her head in disbelief. "I have no fricking clue. All I know is that my hair is a different color, and there are contacts in my eyes." She told him with a huff. Sterling turned towards the front of the chariot, then back to Baron when he picked up her hair. "Who's disadvantage? Yours or mine?" She commented with a little laugh. "It better wear off." She agreed with Baron's point very clearly. "Woah." She said, slightly taken back by Baron's freckles shoulder. Without a thought, she extended her hand and touched his skin. A little bit of the powder came off on her fingers, as she pulled them back and dropped her hand to her side. She felt like a fool with the blue hair, and silver lips. She sighed a little bit, and maneuvered her fingers through her hair. "Baron, on a scale of one to ten, how weird do you think we look?" She asked with a little chuckle. Sterling noticed that District 3's chariot had just disappeared into the parade line. She turned to face the front of the chariot, and took her original pose. She knew she must have looked like a retard.
 
The District 4 chariot started to move, the grey and white mottled horses automatically pulling them into a routine they'd preformed for years. "I'm fairly sure we look pretty damn weird Though sometimes, even gold and silver make a good pair. No matter what, I think we'll get there attention one way or another." With that he made a snap decision that went against everything their Stylists had advised them to do. He didn't assume his pose that would otherwise make him look like an idiot. Baron wrapped an arm around Sterling's waist and pulled her gently to his side. "We decide how we shine for the Capitol. Not a couple of people who make us look like freaks before we're sent off to die." Then they were basked in blinding light, put on center stage as their chariot rode down the streets of the Capitol, their image projected up on the screens.


Jett turned as he was addressed, though not directly with his name, he wondered if the girl knew his name. He didn't know hers. Jett thought of this as he turned to face the other District 5 tribute. His eyes swept over her appearance, she was dressed up as he was, obvious that their Stylists had combined their ugly ideas together to come up with this grand hideous design. Jett frowned, cocking an eyebrow. "You look as bad as I do. So rather malign." He told her, sounding rather indifferent. He was a hard person to please. But even still, Jett was irritated. What exactly was he suppose to be, a piece of nuclear waste? What kind of meaning was that suppose to have, dangerous and not to be messed with or perhaps unstable and to be locked away? Whatever he his Stylist had in mind Jett couldn't help but question it, thinking of the strange woman kissing him and being what she probably thought was so "mysterious", he couldn't help but question her motives as well.


 
He had been prepared for anything upon volunteering as tribute and yet Darius couldn't help but to feel that even if he sustained agonizing injuries in the arena that it would have been less painful than the process of getting made up. He thought it was a ridiculous concept that he had to be made into a shining trophy free of blemish or flaw just to be paraded around for one day. Yet he didn't object or say anything as his prep team laboured over him extensively or when they clucked noisily at how 'rough' he was as they filed and cleaned his nails to perfection. It seemed like such a waste to bring his nails to perfection when he was just planning to get them filthy and perhaps even cover them in blood. But he was a good tribute and he was nearly statuesque until the prep team had confirmed that he was finished.


The costume that they had placed him into was rather strange in an unexpected way. He had never anticipated that his costume would have actually been something halfway decent. It astounded him what they were doing as they prompted him to change into a sleek white nontraditional peacekeepers uniform and had told him to hop onto a horse. In fact, he had actually laughed when they had first suggested that he climb onto the horse until he realized just how serious they had been. The idea of riding side-saddle had shaken his confidence for a moment and he fumbled with the concept until he thought that they would bring back the chariot. He had never ridden a horse before in his life and he had never anticipated what it skill it might have been. Eventually he was able to grasp the idea and he felt a flush of elation wash through him that caught him off-guard. Would this be the feeling that his first kill would bring? Darius hoped so, it was a downright euphoric feeling and one that he rarely had the opportunity to express in that oppressive household.


While still smiling at the success of learning how to stay on the horse with confidence he spared a glance over at the other tribute from his district and the same morbid obsession seized him upon seeing her face although this time he could acknowledge that she actually was rather pretty. The stylists had done well and Darius wondered distantly if they had done as well with him. Perhaps if one (or both) of them weren't so fated to die he might have been able to see her as something more than a walking tombstone. With that idea the smile faded from his face as quickly as it had touched upon his features and Darius drew his gaze forward waiting for the parade to begin.


- -


Thalia hadn't expected it, but the acknowledgement of the other tribute from her district had comforted her in an inexplicable way. It wasn't that he had been particularly good at making her feel better, but that she finally realized that everyone was in this ordeal together. She was no more likely to die than the person beside her... even if that wasn't true and she was doomed to die on the first day, then at least there were twenty-two other people just like her. She took comfort in his words, knowing that if he did kill her that maybe she had left some sort of impression on his life.


Going into prep she hadn't expected to be prodded or pushed so much. Everywhere there were tweezers and various piece of equipment that they seemed to be pulling from thin air, but she didn't resist or put forth a struggle because Thalia was aware that the parade was one of the best times to create a strong impression. And powerful impressions helped get you sponsors... and she felt as if she needed all of the support possible. The feeling of misery had passed after the comfort from the older boy from eleven and even though she was still sure that she was fated to die, she was less forlorn and anxious about the idea. Acceptance. She had accepted it. Just because she was going to die did not mean that she was dead now.


They rushed her through plastering her in very obvious makeup that made her feel as if she was a child playing dress-up and to her horror they had placed her into a costume that was simply a tree. Probably a birch tree to be exact. It was hardly the uplifting moment she had been hoping for. She would never stand out enough to save her own life in such a predictable and over-used costume especially when she looked around at the things that others were wearing. Oh well, she would have been a waste for a sponsor to invest in anyways and it was extremely rare for twelve-year-olds to have sponsors anyways since they were always among the first dead. Thalia leaned heavily against the chariot unsure of whether or not she was able to stand. So much for acceptance... she was starting to feel anxious again.
 
"They're idiots..." She snorted, suddenly spilling what she actually felt about Capitol-raised workers. "I mean, seriously... It's just stupid... All of this. They could've at least researched about us not having radioactive waste or nuclear waste or whatever." She sighed, shaking her head. She looked at Jett, feeling a bit pathetic as she saw the stoic expression he'd maintained. She rested her hand on the cold metal chariot and shifted to a lazier stance. "We haven't really talked since we got here. Um, Jett, right?" her tone started to sound a bit more casual too. "I-I guess you don't even know who I am... Most people didn't. I mean, I was standing with a bunch of girls who I knew by heart but didn't even know my first name. So, just in case you're in the same position... I'm Sylvia... Sylvia Lovelace... Mayor Lovelace's daughter," she said as the chariot in front of them started moving.
 
Sterling nodded, she felt her stomach tense up a little when the chariot started to move. "I bet that we will." She agreed. She fel slightly motivated by what Baron had said, he was really strong in believing what he throughout. She smiled and dissed her postition. She quickly slid her arm around his back, holding herself close to the muscular mass that was also known as Baron. The blinding light that met her eyes made her eyes almost water, but they couldn't possibly water because of all the crap in and on her eyes. She pulled a smiled to her lips, feeling proud of herself for listening to Baron, and dissing the stylists. She had a few answers floating around in her mind as the chariot rolled with the parade. Sterling didn't feel like a very big idiot now, just an idiot. Hopefully the stylists would remove the dye from her hair, take the contcts out of her eyes, and let her body be as it was before. When their chariot was about to the middle of the runway, Sterling looked up at the game makers and waved to the people surrounding her.
 
The moment was quite terrifying for the young one. First, through the Reaping, then through the horrible train ride... and now at the opening ceremony of chariots. It went all to quick for young Gambi, and he didn't even realize the fact he would need to understand; he's another piece in the Capitol's morbid game. He can only just slightly remember yesterday, the Reaping... and the train ride here.
 
When the Parade was over, Kitinger felt refreshed, riding bare back was so energizing. When it was all over she didn't want to get off, and wanted to take another lap. The wind in her hair, the powerful sinuous beast beneath her, the way everything seemed to slow down and speed up around her all at the same time. But they made her get off, unfortunately telling her she and Darius had to get back to the Training Center to their rooms where they could watch the recap and see everyones reaction. So they were taken away and to their "apartment-floor" in the Training Center were she would stay with the other tribute of District 2, their mentor, and their escort for the remaining time in the Capitol.





Their on the Floor that belonged to District 2, their dinner sat waiting for them in the dinning room, freshly being served by Avox servants as they entered.








It was hard to say there was one reaction the citizens of the Capitol gave them as they continued through the Parade. It was a variety of emotions and reaction. Shock, awe, disbelief, approval, and above all, sympathy. Baron remained a very subdued and pleasant while also exhibiting a serious collectiveness and humble demeanor as he waved up to the crowd. He tried to think of good things while he smiled, his younger brothers and sisters at home when they played little creative games to pass the long dragged out days of summer; of his older sister teasing him and telling him she was proud of him; of Sterling when she'd smiled, wrapped her arm around him and virtually agreed to become his partner in his attempt at deviance against the Capitol.





And the crowd ate up every second of it.





The chariot ride was over sooner than he thought, or maybe the time just pasted quickly. They were sent off to their District's floor in the Training Center. He dreaded what exactly Magnus would might say to them for directly disobeying their Stylist's instructions. Instructions their mentor, Magnus, probably gave them. Their Stylists couldn't do anything to them besides make them look hideous, but their Mentor could certainly affect the chance of survival in the arena.





Jett listened to the girl, Sylvia Lovelace was what she called herself, certainly sounded like a name that would be given to one of the higher-ups kids. "Sylvia Lovelace, daughter of District 5's own mayor....Can't say I've heard of you. I don't pay attention to politics much," he lied. Jett paid attention to everything in the District, and a lot of times it happened to be politics. And while he'd heard of the mayor's family name, Lovelace, he knew that the man had a daughter Sylvia, though he'd never talked to her before this day in his life, he wasn't about to let on just how much really went on his mind. "And yes, my name is Jett. Son of no one particularly important. While I agree with you, the people here are completely mental, I'd advise you to take more forethought when you speak your opinions."





The chariot began to move then, saving them from any conversation from the on.
 
Sterling couldn't help but smile when she and Baron paraded around in their chariot, and were surrounded by mixed emotions. She knew that the Capitol would not have expected to see what they saw when Sterling and Baron were coming with arms wrapped around each other. As they continued around, she thought about things that were happy. Her younger brother Tucker, working hard on making leather crafts, her mom, and running. She also wondered how the stylists and Magnus would react to their disobeying of directions. But she really didn't care what they did; they had made them extremely horrid looking, what else could they possibly do?


Sterling was escorted with Baron to District Four's floor. She dragged herself into the room where they were supposed to have dinners. But Sterling made a b-line to a bathroom where she tore herself out of the disgusting costume she was in, and removed her contacts from her eyes. She had brought the clothes that she had been wearing into the bathroom, and placed them on the floor while she washed some of the blue from her hair. A little was still on the ends of ear hair, but Sterling didn't mind. She quickly changed into clothes and walked to the table that the Avox servants had been standing by. She pulled out a chair just as everyone came into the room.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 4 (members: 0, guests: 4)
Back
Top