A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Chariot - Romily

Romily

I have never felt so good in my entire life.

Strange, that, isn't it? Given the whole situation and all. But it's true. My fingernails are perfect, manicured and shaped and glimmering with that nail polish that reeked of cough medicine. My hair has been properly styled for the first time ever and it feels sleek and shiny and I keep reaching up to touch it. When the stylists showed me myself in the mirror I was so amazed at the girl stood in front of me, seemingly made out of sheer silver liquid, with flickering eyes and actual cheekbones, that it took me a moment to realise that they've essentially dressed me in a glorified Avox outfit. It's typical, that is. Most people in the Capitol think the same: Haematite means Avox. And so people are not talking to me.

I'm sure that Milo thinks this is funny. It's hard to tell because he always holds the area around his mouth very, very still but every so often I think I see the spark of amusement in his eyes. Like me he's in a stylised Avox suit but he looks comfortable with it. It fits closely around his body, revealing a build that is lean but full of potential power, and I could easily imagine him killing me so I try and keep some distance between us at all times. This isn't hard. As the only volunteer and a former Capitol servant nobody knows what to make of him - me included - so he's always surrounded by a respectful gap.

Right now he's stood next to the chariot. Any ordinary person would be leaning on it but he gives the impression that he never leans on anything; wherever he stands, it'll be with his back straight and his hands clenched behind him, staring ahead as though he's not seeing anything. It's an Avox thing. They all do that. And he's so good at it that all the Capitol people tune him out and don't seem to see him. Only the rebel organisers strolling up and down notice him.

Thinking that that might be useful for the arena, I try to copy but it doesn't work. Partially this will be because unlike him I'm not a fair deal over six feet tall and trying to stand tall will bring me to about five foot five if I'm lucky. Partially it's because despite my outfit, people have heard me talk. They see the outfit as a sign that I won't reply but at the same time they know I'm not a real Avox, not a real servant, so they notice me. Both the prep teams hang around me, talking over my head and waiting for some sort of signal.

I wish I had a mirror again. I'd love to see myself looking this good one more time. Of their own accord my fingers reach up to my hair and without breaking off her sentence one of Milo's team reaches down and places my hand very firmly back by my side.

I walk away. Not far, just far enough that I don't say something that I'll regret later. My tongue has got me into trouble enough times and I don't want to make a target of myself, especially with the Steel Peacekeepers hanging around the Ferrous pair up ahead. You don't need to be a genius to know that that lot are more dangerous than Milo. The stylists are hovering around out of their way looking terrified. Every other station is in chaos, full of the noises of stylists and tributes complaining about their outfits - neither of the Gold pair behind me are very pleased with their meager pecunia-note clothes and to be fair if I were them I would have taken it off and refused to wear it at all - but the Ferrous station is hushed. I duck behind a portable makeup trolley to watch them in safety.

None of the four collected tributes are talking to each other. They're stood in a pattern that is instantlly recognisable, the two Peacekeeper-outfits framing the Ferrous pair; typical bodyguard stance. Like with Milo and I the designer has kept things fairly unimaginative, with Peacekeeper uniforms emblazoned with the eye logo but with a more fashionable twist. The girl wears a skirt with a huge rip down one side showing most of her legs and the boy has glitter patterns twirling around his shoulders. They must look better under stage lights. Between them the Ferrous tributes are wearing suits and they look much, much older and much more serious than the rest of us. I'd never have thought that a dull grey suit could look deadly. Somehow their stylists have managed it. Perhaps it's something to do with their makeup, which is pale around the face and very dark around the eyes, giving them a skullish sort of look. Both of them look sharp as knives; the boy seems eerily familiar even though I know I can't have seen him before. Even though there's four of them he gives the impression of being the exact center of the group, as if he could just give an order and the other three would disperse to do his bidding. They keep glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes. The Ferrous girl bobs on the spot.