A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Makeover - Apollo

"I'm Bree," she says. Her voice is deeper than the other two. "Brianne. Not, like Ganna will try and tell you, Brian."

"Never crossed my mind," I say, putting a stop to my search for any stubble on her chin. She frowns at my hair.

"It's hair," I offer. "All mine. And that's its natural color, before you ask."

"So that'll be why Merc and Palla do all the public stuff. Your charm will need some serious work before the interviews. Ganna, pass me the creme."

"Which one?"

She tugs at one of my curls enough for it to hurt. "Better make that De-tangle Delux with Extra Smoothing. And heat up the curlers." She turns back to me. "Sorry about Scatty. Ganna and Victorina and I were all Games stylists before, you know. We worked for Three, it wasn't exactly glamorous. But Scatty is new and she's not up to it yet; she's your biggest fan, in case you hadn't noticed. Ganna didn't think that that would cause problems."

"Ganna thought it might be nice for her to meet her hero while she still has the chance," the girl in question retorts.

While she still has the chance. Wonderful.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Girls, if you can't behave you can leave. This isn't a district-job and I'm sure I can do it on my own if you two are just going to scare him."

When did I close my eyes? The light pierces through my eyelids and to ignore the feeling of them fussing over my body and to distract myself from the endless darkness starting to loom on the horizon I listen to what they're saying. It's a lyricist thing. Some of your best lyrics can come from the smallest things. Not that any of my lyrics will be any good now, unless...

I could do it. It's not that I can't sing - Pella is always telling me I can sing - but I don't want to. All those people staring at you, part of them looking out for you messing up...the idea makes my palms clammy. But when there's nothing to lose but your life and that's dubious anyway, then why not?

I just need to think of something to sing.

***

Horses stink. Even these ones, which seem to have been dipped in pomade and which shine under the lights. The effect is nauseating; underneath the myriad of perfumes and scents and gels and bodywashes runs an earthy, unpleasant smell that has to be horse shit. It's the same with the sound. Below the shrieking and the shouting and the chatter runs the deep throb of fear. The passage is undecorated - they haven't even got rid of the bullet holes in the walls - and the chariots are surrounded by stylists and tributes, dressed in the most amazing outfits. You wouldn't think we were on short rations, looking at this. As Victorina and her nieces frogmarch me alongside Cadence and her team I spot a boy in a smart red suit with a judge's wig perched rakishly on his head, a tiny dark-skinned girl hidden away behind a twisted concoction that looks like someone dropped a piece of contemporary architecture on her head, a girl - at least, I hope it's a girl - in a Peacekeeper outfit with a low neck and a floor-length skirt slashed up the side and a boy partially covered in what appear to be pecunia notes. I've seen all these people on screen but they look so different dolled up like this that I wouldn't be able to recognise them if I'd known them my whole life.

This is good. It makes me feel like less of a prat.

Up ahead, a cameraman is following the Silver girl around. She totters uncertainly in her dress, which is silver and looped with movie reels and has been pinched in around the waist and ankles, and her hair is falling out of its crisp curled coif. No sooner has one of the rolls tumbled down than she's surrounded by a flock of feathery stylists chirping to themselves. She rolls her eyes skywards and assumes and expression of eternal patience. The cameraman says something to her and rocks with laughter. She snaps something. He shrugs and turns away and spots us watching.

I duck behind Victorina only to find that she's moved and is petting one of the horses. There's no escape. The cameraman waves and bounds up to me.

As he gets closer his face gets younger, his cheekbones melting into puppy fat and his grin widening. He looks about fourteen, too young to be a cameraman, and so he must be one of my fellow tributes. Silver. My memory throws up a guy on the stage grinning as if his life depended on it. The stats recap today said he was sixteen, older than he looks. His makeup team did a good job. From a distance he almost looks grown up. Up close, he's sweating slightly but his smile doesn't falter. He grabs my hand and shakes it enthusiastically, the camera balancing on his shoulder.

"Hallo!" he booms. "Dustrio Hybrid here, but you can call me Dusty if you prefer." Oh, one of those. Brilliant. Obviously he doesn't see the look on my face because he continues. "And you are Apollo Lyric, the guitar man for that band, correct?"

"Bass. I play bass," I snap. Why does everybody go straight for the guitar? "It's like the guitar only nobody gives a shit what you're playing." It's my best 'go and leave me alone' voice but it just bounces off his cheery demeanor. I have to wonder if he knows where he is and why.

"This is quite a set-up here, isn't it?" He hoists the camera around as if he's actually filming it all. "I'd love to get the chance to edit this, it'd be amazing. A nice shot of those bullet holes, cut direct to an eye - dark for preference so the contrast is nice and striking - and then zoom out and dolly along..."

I nod, thinking that maybe if I act as if I'm listening but not interested then he'll get the hint. It doesn't work. He gives me an overly-friendly punch in the arm and grins, blue eyes sparkling. Now that the camera is no longer pointed at me I can pay attention to what he's wearing, but it's nothing special. Clearly the camera is the focal point of that outfit - typical Silver. Dustrio seems perfectly happy with the situation. When he's talking his gaze roves around and his thoughts seem to follow it. It's as if there's no filter between his brain and his mouth.

"You look fab, by the way," he says. "Everybody looks brilliant! The insider's story; wouldn't that be great? We see the Games so much but we never really see the tributes' story from in here, do we? Thalia would be keen, she's my sector partner and she's in re-enactments, did you ever see any of those? No? Me neither, could never afford to go. I hear it's fun, though. She's in a bit of a bad mood right now, she doesn't like being dressed up...doesn't she look like a babe, though? I was just saying to her..."

"Excuse me?"

I would never have imagined being happy to see Ganna. But for a tiny second she looks like the most beautiful girl in the world, because she appears between Dustrio and I, firmly and politely pushing him back towards his people. He tips his shiny silver hat to her, revealing shaven sides and a small mop of dusky brown curls, and she nods in reply.

"There are a few minutes left. Please stay with your own sector. Apollo doesn't like his fans fussing over him."

I could have sworn that she winks at me.

While he's otherwise occupied and she's busy dealing with him, I take the opportunity to get out of reach of any people and climb up into the chariot. Cadence is already up there, a serene smile fixed into place. I ignore her and she ignores me. Ganna, having seen off Dustrio, spins around looking for me and I mouth thanks to her. She gives me a thumbs-up and a cloying smile.

Let's get this show on the road, then.