supernova || cato hadley

|2| INDIFFERENT

Nova looked at herself in the mirror, but the person she saw in her reflection might as well have been a stranger.

Any small amount of makeup she'd applied that morning had either smeared across her face somewhere or vanished completely, which would explain some of the many random scuffs and stains on her reaping clothes. And her eyes had a glassy, far away look in them. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't look totally present.

Her appearance wasn't helped by her messy hair either. Her fingers plucked at loose strands and twisted them back into her braided updo. She remembered how it had all fallen apart either.

Brody had clung to her while she'd been locked inside that Justice Building. A Peacekeeper had needed to pluck him off, but even then the boy wasn't budging. Despite his limited understanding of the world around him, he understood death. He was surrounded by it on a daily basis. And he knew what her reaping meant.

Her hands were batted away, which conveniently interrupted her train of thought before she could think about her cousin for any longer. The clips and ties in her hair were being removed and placed beside the basin in front of her.

"You don't have time to fix this," Tiffany told her, "and trust me when I say it looks worse from the back. Keep it down instead. Show them how relaxed and prepared you are for the opportunity you've been granted."

Nova scoffed, but her derisiveness was short-lived before Tiffany sharply yanked her hair in punishment.

"Your cynicism will get you killed," Tiffany snapped. They made direct eye contact within the reflection. Nova had never seen this from her. "Do you think this is the first time I've witnessed this kind of attitude from a tribute? News flash: it doesn't make good television. The Capitol finds it boring, and they're who you should always aim to please, from now until the day you die."

The day she died. That would be soon, painfully soon. Her last few days, and she couldn't even live them freely. She didn't have that luxury, which was tragically ironic considering their surroundings and their destination.

Tiffany's cold expression seemed to soften upon glancing at the look on Nova's face. "Look, just take a deep breath and smile. Yes, like that, that's perfect." She reached for a wide-toothed comb and began to slowly brush through her hair. "We'll get you something to eat, and then a team of personal stylists will doll you up so you look absolutely gorgeous. Isn't that exciting?"

"I'm a pig for slaughter," Nova said.

"Yes."

There was hesitancy before that reply, but a relieving sense of honesty too.

"But District 3 might finally have another winner."

She watched Tiffany leave through the reflection in the mirror, those final words sitting on the surface of her brain for some time. Her hands clenched the basin tightly.

District 3 might finally have another winner . . .

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

From the station, there was plenty of frantic travelling to and fro. District 3 was a nearer district to the Capitol, so there were plenty of tributes who had yet to arrive, but it seemed that the team behind the games had decided that their time was better spent signing autographs and waving at excited yet deluded crowds.

And then the moment they were able to rest their tired arms, they were ushered back into the car towards a tall glass building in one of the most built-up areas of the city. It was far easier to simply go with the flow rather than try and grasp what was happening around her — every time she'd get some idea of where she was and who she was speaking to, they were whisked away somewhere else.