Promises of a Sacrificial Lamb |Destiel x The Hunger Games|

-9-

"Don't let them intimidate you,"  Crowley whispers to me.  I must not have done a very good job of swallowing my sudden terror.  "You look better than most of them, anyway.  Show them who's in charge.  Remember, you're fierce and determined."

Right.  Fierce and determined.  Fierce and determined.  That's what I am.  Not terrified and paralyzed with nauseating fear.  Fierce and determined.

My hands and legs have just started to tremble when I spot Cas making his way toward the chariot, following behind a woman whose dark hair and daunting dark clothes make me think of Crowley's outfit, just turned up a notch toward the menacing side.  She must be Meg, the stylist partner Crowley mentioned.  She definitely looks fierce, anyway.  I can see where they drew inspiration for our costumes from.

Cas breaks into a relieved smile when he sees me, and I can only imagine I match it.  He's dressed identically to me, but looking at it on another person is an entirely different story.  His bright blue eyes pop with the sheer intensity of the eyeliner, the glitter, the black top.  They're like a clear sky.  His dark hair is tousled and messy, too.  The two of us are certainly an aggressive-looking duo.  We're sure to grab the crowd's attention.

"You look great,"  I tell him as he comes to a stop in front of me.  "I didn't think your eyes could get any bluer, but I guess I was wrong."

His smile widens as he drops his head.  It's dim down here, but I swear I see another tint of pink flush onto his face, right below the glitter on his cheekbones.

"You don't look half bad yourself,"  he says when he finally glances back up, the warmth of the smile shining in his eyes.

"Half bad?  I don't think I've ever had a pair of tributes more attractive than you two,"  Meg intervenes.  "Seriously, I don't care what everyone's preferences are.  Everyone is gonna be in love when they see you."

Well, she's a woman who speaks her mind, isn't she?

If Cas wasn't blushing before, then he definitely is now.  I can't even imagine what kinds of conversations they had behind closed doors, especially with how little of a verbal filter Meg has.  I can't help but like her, though.  She's the one who started our whole fierce and determined theme, and she did an excellent job with it.

It's time for us to mount the chariots.  A voice on the speakers overhead announces it in a clear, booming tone.  Cas flashes me an apprehensive glance—which I return with an encouraging one—as Crowley and Meg gesture for us to climb into the back of the ninth chariot.  It's now or never.

Before I reach the step leading into our ride, Meg suddenly seizes my arm.  "Hold on a minute, sweetheart,"  she drawls, pulling me a few feet back.  "Your eyeliner's a tad uneven.  Let me fix it real quick.  Apparently Crowley doesn't know what a straight line is."

"Hey, my hand's a bit shaky today,"  Crowley retaliates, but the two of them smirk at each other nonetheless.

Meg instructs me to stand still and uncaps an eyeliner pen she retrieved from her pocket.  Gently grabbing my chin, she tilts my head up and tells me to look at the ceiling.  I flinch when the cold liquid touches my skin, but I force myself to stay motionless while she fixes the line.  The last thing I need is a pen jabbing right into my eyeball.

It's over before I know it.  "There you go,"  Meg says with a sly grin, giving me a hefty pat on the arm.  "Now you're ready to win over the crowd."

I flash her an appreciative smile before turning back toward the chariot.  Cas hasn't climbed into the back of it yet.  Instead, he's standing by the step, absentmindedly picking at his fingernails, eyes wide, and it's clear he's been looking at me long before I turned around.  All he does when our gazes lock is drop his head.  That slight tint on his cheeks still hasn't faded.