Jeopardy: The Fourth Quarter Quell

Parade - Rhea

Rhea

Liam is shaking so badly that he appears to be vibrating. His hands are clenched by his sides, gripping the ruffles of his outfit, and his face could be painted on. Around us, various multicoloured stylists scurry and squawk, some trailed by cameramen in odd insect-like shell suits. Befuddled tributes stand between them, points of stillness in the chaos of the room. It's hard to see what any of them are wearing through the throng of people, though occasionally I catch sight of a flash of silver or a sparkling headpiece.

"We look ridiculous," Liam scowls.

I put a hand on his shoulder, to reassure him that at least there's two of us who look ridiculous. Just this movement alone causes enough rustling for my stylist to fix me with one of his icy glares. My dress is designed to stand still, not to move about in.

"They're laughing at us," Liam adds, shooting a dark look towards his stylist, a woman with alarmingly orange hair tied into a braid around her throat. A health and safety hazard if I ever saw one. But at least she isn't dressed up like a mushroom cloud. Well, I think that's what we're meant to be.

I survey Liam quickly. From the waist down he looks vaguely normal, though the tight black pants are so far removed from our loose beige cargos back home that they look uncomfortable even if they aren't, and he keeps trying to slide sweaty hands into the pockets that aren't there. But from the waist, tiny little bundles of fiery cloth, each a little explosion of their own, are woven into his shirt, gradually getting more and more frequent until his arms are completely covered in them.

Just in case that wasn't enough, we also have matching headpieces. They billow out from our heads to form the top of the mushroom, mostly dark and dusky net. Mine is still so heavy that it keeps falling in front of my eyes. Liam's is already perched at an angle that on anybody else would look jaunty. It just makes his scowl more pronounced. With every bout of shaking his whole outfit trembles.

"I suppose this is funny if you're from the Capitol," I offer. The headpiece is starting to hover on the edge of my vision, so I push it back up, feeling all the weight shift to the back of my head. It's going to fall off at some point, I'm sure.

"It's insensitive."

"I don't think they care."

"Snow's name, I need a drink."

I squeeze his shoulder. Strands of dark hair are falling away from where they've been tucked under his headpiece. Towards the front of the hall, the shrieks are getting more pronounced; nearly showtime. I swallow the nerves that threaten briefly. It can't be that hard, not compared to what comes afterwards. All I have to do is stand and smile. Even Liam's scowl might do him favours, as long as they don't come close enough to see him shaking.

"You don't look so bad," I tell him, more to boost his confidence than anything. Anything to distract him from the apparent need to drink. How the authorities back home let him get into this state I don't know. We're so closely monitored that it should be impossible for anybody to dip too far below peak fitness. Liam's build suggests that he used to be as fit as he can get and from a distance he seems like a top specimen, as Mayor Constance would say, but once you start getting up close you notice the tangles in his hair, the stubble, the pallid expression. He doesn't even twitch as a lurid yellow woman bobs up to us, straightens his headpiece and flutters off.

"Get me out of here," he grunts. "Get me out of here and get me a drink."

In front of us, the pair from Twelve are being helped onto their chariot. The chariot itself is mucky grey, lined with gold. The girl floats up, standing as far away from her district partner as possible. Her face is hidden by her hair, which looks like it's probably a rich golden blonde colour underneath the black dust. The boy bounds up in one huge jump, landing with a thud that echoes through the whole room. Once steady, he looks around - he's a few inches shorter than his partner - and waves furiously in our direction.