I was skeptical of Crowley's cattle idea at first. Livestock isn't our district's forte. Besides, how is dressing to represent cattle going to look attractive or fiery or cutthroat like he told me he wanted to portray? All I'm picturing is a zip-up cow uniform. Not all that assertive.
But when he puts the finishing touches on the outfit I haven't seen and tells me to turn around and look in the mirror, all the previous doubts and worries I had vanish in an instant.
I look incredible. The skintight and blindingly white pants catch my eye first. Then the jet black combat boots that stop mid-shin. Then the deep V-neck top that's just as jet black—and when I say deep, I mean it almost goes down to the middle of my stomach, exposing much more skin that I would've preferred, but I suppose my prep team was right to wax off those baby hairs. It's a striking outfit, certainly attention-grabbing and aggressive, but what astonishes me the most are the makeup and accessories.
It's not over the top like I feared. Smudged eyeliner, much like Crowley's, brings out the green flecks in my eyes. Small patches of glitter across my cheekbones reflect in the light every time I move my head. My eyebrows are dark and sharply defined. Fake gold earrings hang from my ears, loop around the helix. And to really bring the whole cattle look together, a fake nose ring that's a lot subtler than I anticipated, but I'll admit it looks amazing with the rest of the outfit.
I can't believe I'm saying this. I absolutely love what I'm wearing. Someone from the Capitol actually made me a normal costume, and it's breathtaking. I look stunning. I look fierce. I look ready to tackle the challenges that await, and I look ready to strike down anyone who stands in my way. I'm so excited about it all that it's actually making me giddy. What is going on?
Crowley grins as he watches me stare at myself in the mirror, wide-eyed and unable to believe that who I'm looking at is me. "Now that is the ferocity I was hoping to achieve," he remarks. "What do you think?"
It takes me a moment to find words. "It's incredible," I manage to gasp. "I never thought I'd like something like this, but I do. I really do."
"I'm glad to hear." My stylist grabs a comb and a can of hairspray from the table then. "Just one more little thing, and you'll be ready for the parade. Close your eyes for me."
I do as he says, and I flinch when he combs back the front part of my hair and blasts it with suffocating hairspray. He repeats that a few more times, ruffling my hair as he goes, and when he's done, my hair is tousled and disheveled and crunchy with product. But, I was right not to question him. With how messy it looks, it's almost made the entire outfit ten times more attractive and sultrier than before. I don't know how he does it.
It's almost time for the parade to begin. Crowley takes me down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, where the horses and tribute chariots are being prepared for use. I follow him to the ninth chariot in line, which is, of course, the one Cas and I will be riding in.
Speaking of, he hasn't arrived yet. I wonder what the holdup is. I stand with Crowley next to the chestnut brown horses, anxiously crossing my arms over my chest when I glance around and, for the first time, see all the other tributes we're going to be competing against.
Most of them are so much taller and bulkier than me. I expected that, but actually seeing it for myself makes my stomach twist into knots. Only a few take note of my arrival, but I avoid their piercing, judgmental stares nonetheless. We may all seem fine and dandy now, in the safety of the parade, but in a little over a few days, nothing will stop them from turning to murder. That tall boy from District 6 with the charming smile will not be smiling when someone puts a knife in his back, or he puts a knife in theirs. That boy from District 11 who's laughing at a joke his fellow tribute made will certainly not be laughing when twenty-two other people will be out for their blood. It's so bizarrely surreal, being in a room with these people, because in a few weeks, almost all of them will be dead. And that might include me.
"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.
I don't have time to think anything of it. The first chariots are beginning to journey out into the streets of the Capitol. Crowley and Meg practically hoist us into the back of ours themselves, wishing us luck and telling us to make sure we smile as they do so. It's almost impossible to hear them over the deafening cheers and applause coming from the outside of the building, along with the bellowing of the country's anthem, but I just barely make out Meg saying something about hands before the horses pulling our chariot start to move.
Cas nearly stumbles as the chariot lurches forward, but I reach out and grab his arm to steady him just in time. He looks like he's going to be sick. That smile he once had has long since vanished. I'm nervous, too, of course—borderline paralyzed is more like it—but I'm trying to focus on how amazing we look, how much the crowd is going to adore us. Our stylists outdid themselves with our outfits. I want us to give this parade everything we've got, no matter how terrifying the whole thing is.
"It'll be okay," I tell him as we near the main doors, the ones that lead out into the densely crowded streets. "They're gonna love us."
Meg's final suggestion before we left them behind flashes through my mind again. I didn't hear her completely, but it sounded like she wants us to hold hands. I'm not sure why. Maybe to display our sense of teamwork and cooperation. Maybe to sell the fierce and determined duo look even more. Whatever the case, she's the professional. She must think it'll help us out. Besides, I have to admit I would feel more at ease having someone to hold onto during this trip. The chariot is bouncy, and judging by how insanely loud the crowd is, my knees might start to wobble the moment we're under the spotlight. Extra stability wouldn't hurt.
Cas shoots me a startled and bewildered look when I reach over and take his hand in mine, but when I tell him it was Meg's idea, he starts to relax again. Not a lot, mind you, but just enough so he's not cutting off all the circulation in my fingers. I was right, too. An instant wave of solace floods through me with his hand squeezing back against my own, and it's just in time for our chariot to roll into the streets.
The roar of the crowd almost deafens me. Blinding lights shine in my eyes. Capitol citizens are absolutely everywhere, flocking the streets like a swarm of buzzing bees as they're finally able to catch a glimpse of the tributes this year. Many of them shriek and applaud with excitement when they see us, pointing at our striking attires and linked hands. It's overwhelming, to say the least, being stared at by thousands upon thousands of people under the heat of the setting sun and the intense spotlights, but it doesn't take me very long to get used to it.
Our stylists were right. They do love us, and if we return that adoration, we might get more sponsors willing to send us materials that could keep us alive in the arena.
I put on the brightest smile I can, gently nudging Cas to tell him to do the same, and the crowd goes crazy. Some of them are even chanting my name—I can only imagine it's because I'm a volunteer, and that almost never happens in the outlying districts—or chanting our district number. For a fleeting moment, I see ourselves broadcast on the large screens hanging above the streets, and we look as breathtaking and thrilling as ever. No wonder they're losing their minds.
Someone from the crowd tosses me a black rose, its soft petals still damp with dewdrops. I catch it just before it falls out of my reach, find the person who threw it, and make sure to give them the most charming grin I can. I think I spot someone else breaking their fall as our chariot continues down the street.
Cas has managed to catch himself a bright red rose and a small but pretty pink tulip. He's started to loosen up and gain more confidence, too, so with his free hand clutching those two flowers, he gives the crowd on his side an amiable wave. Their screeches in response echo in my ringing ears.
This is going so much better than I could have ever anticipated. The thundering crowd and the triumphant anthem pound in my chest. My heart is racing. My blood is hot with adrenaline. Slowly but surely, my smile becomes less forced and more genuinely exhilarated, and it only widens when I think about the possibility of our soon-to-be sponsors.
We might actually have a chance in this.
I receive another rose—this one is bright red like Cas'—as the chariot reaches the City Center. All twelve chariots file into the loop of the Circle and come to a stop just before the president's massive mansion. As the music begins to end with its grand flourish, I spare a glance at Cas and find that he's still smiling and completely breathless. I didn't realize how little I'd been breathing myself until I see him draw a trembling breath, and I fill my burning lungs with the crisp air of twilight.
He looks at me, bright blue eyes wide with a wild mix of shock and excitement, and I give him a nod, one that screams, "We did it." He doesn't let go of my hand when silence hangs in the City Center for the brief moments before the president's annual speech, and I don't let go of his.
I barely hear the president's welcoming words to the tributes. There's still a shrill ringing in my ears from the crowd, the music, my own blood pounding inside my skull. The cameras pan around to show all the tributes one last time, and I can't suppress a grin when I see our faces plastered on the big screens.
The speech is short and sweet, just like always, and before I know it, the horses pull our chariot into the bottom level of the Training Center, where we're finally allowed to dismount and relish the quiet after the parade.
We really did it, and it feels incredible.
As our chariot rolls to a stop, Cas and I practically have to peel our hands apart from all the sweat and tight gripping, but I don't mind. I think it boosted our reputation with the crowd and gave us both extra comfort and confidence, so all in all, it was a win-win. I can't help but smile, though, when Cas gives a feeble chuckle and massages the palm of his hand, his preoccupied gaze focused on the ground at our feet.
We're swarmed by our prep teams and stylists in an instant. They're gushing praises and compliments, mostly about how fantastic we looked, but also how we carried ourselves in the chariot. Apparently the way we acted should, with luck and hope, bring in a variety of sponsors, and hearing it come from people who have been in this horrible business for years only lifts my spirits higher.
Then Rowena and Bobby join our crowd. Rowena is essentially unintelligible as she sings praises about how great we were and hugs the life out of us. Even Bobby manages to cough up a sincere compliment as he crosses his arms over his chest and flashes us a faint smirk. Maybe now that he's seen how capable we are, he'll really be willing to aid in our survival. He promised we would get started after the parade, anyway, and I find my excitement growing more and more intolerable by the minute.
As Rowena and Bobby guide us to the elevator to take it up to our apartment on the ninth floor, I notice a few of the tributes casting us unnerving glares. I try to ignore them, but it's impossible to stop a shiver from running down my spine, even as the elevator doors close and seal us away in safety and silence.
I don't think Cas noticed them. Good. I don't want to dampen his enthusiasm from our success at the parade.
We're told to get cleaned up before we eat. I take one last look at myself in the mirror in my room before washing the makeup off and undressing to take a hot shower. Part of me almost wanted to stay in that outfit all evening. It was so imposing and eye-catching, but it feels so much better to rinse off the events of today. I even try my luck at pressing one of the numerous buttons and am pleasantly surprised when a gentle stream of aromatic foam shoots out of the showerhead. Now I'm going to smell like fresh flowers, and I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'll go with a good thing.
Cas must have messed around with the button panel, too, because the moment I sit down next to him at the table, the marvelous scent of vanilla wafts off him. I wonder what button that is. I might have to try it out.
It turns out the tributes' stylists are more than welcome to stay in the apartment during preparation for the Games. At least, that was what Rowena told me when I flashed puzzled glances at Crowley and Meg, who are planning to eat with us tonight. It came as a shock at first, but I don't mind all that much. They're both interesting people. It might make for some equally interesting conversations for the next few days.
As we eat, Bobby begins explaining basic survival methods based on his experience in the Games. It's difficult to focus both on gorging myself and making sure to pay attention to his advice, but I manage to pick up on the essentials, much to my relief.
Don't light fires. That's basically sending up a beacon to your exact location. If you absolutely must light a fire, make it brief, keep the smoke low, and stamp out all the embers when you're done. That way you're not leaving a trail behind for someone to follow.
Water is extremely crucial. Without water, you're as good as dead. Most backpacks in the Cornucopia—the main hub for all the supplies in the arena—contain small vials of iodine to purify any water you find. No iodine, no water purification, no survival. Otherwise, in rare cases, sponsors can send water, but never count on it.
Stick to high ground as much as possible and as much as the terrain of the arena allows. Since the arena is different every year, it's impossible to plan out your route for sure, but high ground is essential for avoiding certain predators and any tributes who aren't intelligent enough to look up above their heads. Having the high ground is a great advantage.
Always conserve and ration any food you have. A lot of the backpacks contain tiny amounts of packaged food, so if you eat that in the first day and don't know how to find food for yourself, then you're done for. Pick berries, but make sure you know what's poisonous and what's not poisonous. Learn how to make basic snares in training and hunt small animals. You can't fight back against the other tributes if you're starving and emaciated.
But most importantly, make sure the Capitol citizens like you. Generous gifts from sponsors can easily mean the difference between life and death. I think Cas and I got a good head start in that front at the parade. Plenty of people seemed to like us, anyway, but there are still a number of days left for us to change that, either for better or worse.
Bobby leaves it at that for tonight. I make sure to tell him we appreciate it and we'll take his valuable advice to heart, and I really do mean it. I was skeptical of his ability to help us when we first met him, but he's coming around, slowly but surely. Perhaps, with more of his guidance and our training days approaching, our chances of winning will continue to grow.
Although, my hopes instantly deflate again when I remember seeing those tributes watching us as we made our way to the elevator. They looked so hostile and antagonistic, and that was just after the parade, one of the more exciting parts of preparation. Tomorrow morning, we'll be chucked into training all together, the place where we'll learn survival skills and how to fight with real weapons. That place will be those aggressive tributes' department, where they'll really be able to shine and show off their skills. Their ability to kill. The mere thought of it makes my stomach start to churn.
There are three days of it. Maybe Cas and I will take the first day to focus on basic survival skills, like making snares and learning what plants are safe to eat, while the more belligerent tributes can get their desire for fighting out of their system. If they ever do, that is. Still, I think that's a decent plan. Survival skills are more important, anyway. Knowing how to throw a spear properly won't help you if you don't know what's safe to eat in the environment you're in.
When Rowena urges us to go to bed shortly after we finish eating, I don't object. Today has been exhausting, and to my surprise, I'm actually eager to go to sleep and start fresh, despite my growing worries about seeing all those tributes who want to kill us face-to-face. Training is safe, though. There will be guards and trainers scattered around. It's just a place for us to strengthen our skills and prepare for what's to come without the fear of someone stabbing us in the back. Completely safe.
But as I will myself to fall asleep, the silence of my dark room ringing in my ears, I can't stop obsessing over the threatening expressions of those people who will be out for my blood in just a matter of days.