A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Parade

There was a lot of debate within the Committee about the Tribute Parade. Many felt that it was now unnecessary. Many more felt not. After all, this is how things were done. There may not be sponsorship - for fear of bias among the Capitol parents this particular benefit has been cancelled - but why should the tributes be spared the humiliation of being dressed up and paraded around?

But, the President said, what would be the point? When the district tributes were on parade they were being introduced and shown off to a whole new section of society. But these teenagers have been Capitol their whole lives. It is entirely possible that people might boycott, unwilling to see their own people being led to the slaughter.

The District Committee had shared a glance and then spoke. Really? Perhaps you do not understand your own people, then. Remember, they agreed to this themselves. And you have admitted yourself on several occasions that the Capitol people love a show. We are sure they would take it fully in their stride.

The President was not impressed. Then perhaps, ladies and gentlemen, you do not know the Capitol at all. You have spent so long pretending that we are monsters that, in your eyes, we no longer have any decency whatsoever. You think we will be willing to watch such indignities on our own children. Did you not watch too? Consider this. And consider how much of our agreement is caused by the nuclear button you threaten us with.

A good point, but irrelevant. We are now a democratic governement. The majority vote in favor of the Parade.

***

The stylists have been assembled, in some cases reluctantly. In other cases, not so much. The Capitol is, after all, a place of business, and a commission is a commission and not to be frowned at. Especially one as high-profile as this. Over the course of the next day the tributes are transformed, the pre-designed outfits adjusted and in some cases changed entirely, the paths swept and the stands pushed into place. Nobody knows what to expect so it is best to plan for everything.

The boycotts the President threatened, months ago, have materialized. However, the Capitol is a big place and full of individual minds and enough have come to watch the Parade that the absences are hardly noticeable. The color of previous Parades has all but vanished; many wear black or grey and have styled themselves demurely. But they cheer, all the same. Cameras flicker in the darkening light. The screens blast out commercials interspersed with rebel propaganda and occasionally showing the faces of tributes lost in the District Games. Spotlights have been trained on every section of the route. The mood may be somber but the message is clear: let it not be said that the Capitol doesn't run a show right.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's get this first Capitol Tribute Parade underway!" The previous announcer was killed, swallowed by a pod in the street, and this new one has nerves trembling all through his voice. A thousand people in the crowd could have done it better. "And we'll begin with the Platinum tributes: Titan Illiant and Columbia Germanis!"

If the Platinum tributes are surprised they show no sign of it. They are used to attention anyway. As soon as the hatch rolls up and the first chariot speeds out they are smiling and waving with all the charisma you would expect from two top-class models. Titan in particular is animated now that attention is on him. He blows kisses at random into the crowd, punches the air, poses when he sees the screens are showing him. Their stylist seems to have had an easy time deciding what they were going to wear; they are both dressed in their favorite photoshoot outfits and for him that means the Nightlife perfume ad. Not that it's much of an outfit. Still, people seem to like it. Of course they do. It isn't often you get the chance to see the infamous Titan Illiant in nothing but a pair of uncomfortably tight leather pants. Glitter has been dusted around his eyes and cheeks and he makes sure that he always stands at the right angle to the spotlight to show it off. Hopefully the crowd are impressed and the other tributes are intimidated, though his partner hardly seems to have noticed him at all. She's dressed well, in a sheer moonlight-shade dress with batwing arms that billow with the movement of the chariot, slashed across the neck and around the hem. Slung across her back is a quiver - she's some sort of ethereal huntress. Someone has pulled her hair back into a simple plait and it brings out the odd, striking lines in her face. She's smiling and waving like him, but this close he can see the tension lining her mouth. He laughs and bobs a kiss onto her cheek. She elbows him. He winces as theatrically as he can - those people are far away and he needs to be seen - and the crowd roar with laughter, already forgetting that they're watching their own.