❦

𝐸𝐿𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁
ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɢʟᴇs ᴏғ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

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In a world so meticulously created like the Capitol, appearance was everything. Cillian knew this well. Even Johanna did, to a certain extent. She'd used the power of appearance to manipulate her own games, albeit with a different method than that which was usually used with tributes, but it'd worked to her favour all the same. Each of the mentors would know how valuable a perfectly curated persona could be. The challenge was seeing who could use it the best.

Cillian could admit that it was not the physical appearance that the District Seven tributes would have difficulty with this year. Though Capitol fashions were rather unflattering, both Freyja and Otis were attractive in their own ways. Freyja, with her long, sweeping hair and warm, brown skin, the highlights of her cheeks dusted with a natural golden glow. Otis, with his deep, dark eyes and broad shoulders.

But both tributes held a certain sense of standoffishness about them- not that Cillian could blame them. Freyja was quiet, unless prompted, much preferring to observe rather than partake. He often found the girl watching Johanna, most of all, her head tilted as if trying to match her confidence. As for the boy, his arrogance was stifling when his nervousness was not evident. Hotheaded, was a good way to describe him. He walked around the District Seven apartment as if there was burning coal beneath his feet.

But to give credit where it was due, they'd swiftly learned to listen. The two mentors had valuable advice, even if it was sometimes cryptic, like a code to be deciphered. The tributes listened- their lives depended on it.

"The interviews have to go well. We'll need all the sponsors we can get." Johanna's voice drifted through the hallway from the living room. She made no effort to quieten her voice, though Cillian had not expected her to. He found himself slowing, not allowing Johanna and the others to become aware of his presence.

"Why are you only telling this to me?"

It was Freyja, he realised, by the lowered sound of her voice. They spoke of the tests that were to come before she even stepped into the arena- tests that Johanna and Cillian had once both somehow passed. But Otis was not with them, not witness to her warnings.

"Because you have a chance of winning," Johanna said desperately, voice deepened with haste rather than raised.

"You're not just saying that?"

"I don't make a habit of saying things I don't mean just to please people." There was a noise that sounded like a scoff.

"Not even to me?"

Something in those words sounded too intimate. Cillian swallowed and made his footsteps known as he finally rounded the corner to see the two- mentor and tribute- leaning against either side of the sofa, the ghost of something sitting between them. He paused for a moment, waiting until Johanna ripped her eyes from the girl and stared at him with something different swimming behind her expression.

"Where's Otis?"

"He has his fitting with Eirlys and the stylists first," Johanna said, and then, before he could question her further, she continued, "Come on, we have to talk about which angle we're taking this in."

It was no small feat, to rewrite a person's entire persona, but Cillian had taken the task in full stride. In a way, it had been his image that'd solidified his winning during his own games. It had to be convincing, above all else. It didn't matter if the mentors or the districts or even Snow himself could see straight through the act. If the people of the Capitol believed them to be who they wanted them to be, then they would shower them with sponsors- gifts that could mean life or death in the arena. 

The District Seven tributes seemed to understand the importance of the interviews and for that the two were pleased. Otis would play into his head-strong tendencies, exaggerating his youth in the charming sort of way boys could. He would have no difficulties there. Even the way his cheeks flushed made him seem petulant, rather than threatening, and while it might've annoyed Cillian endlessly, to the Capitol audience it would be endearing.

Freyja was the difficult one. He wondered how believable it would be to showcase her intelligence when she'd gained nought at the trials. She didn't speak much either unless it was to Johanna, who for some reason had seemed to light a spark in the girl- something of which Cillian had no right to fear. 

The interviews came about quickly. Ceasar Flickerman's voice echoed from the stage, sending a chill up Cillian's back as he stepped into the backroom, Johanna and the District Seven tributes following him. It was like a parade, in the wide room that opened out just before the stage, with the long line of tributes, spaced evenly so their garish costumes would not crease. They were not in theme, at least, in their dresses and suits, hair unusually coloured and faces a random shade of glitter. There were no trees and no coal miners, no fishermen or farmers, only newly produced models of the Capitol's favourite dolls, the same cutouts of each district pasted onto the stage.

Though the outfits were not themed, the stereotypes lived on. The district one tributes strode individually onto the stage, their hair glued pin-straight, gowns a glistening gold, threaded in jewels, earrings of swords hanging past their necks. It was a jarring sight, seeing them smile so broadly walking toward the stage, as Giselle's glare only darkened as she hurried away from it.

The rush of her movements: her hips strutting squarely, arm being grabbed by her district partner, almost made Cillian's gaze skip past Felix as he slipped in through the doors, merging into the crowd. He blended in better with the tributes than the stylists. Features as beautiful as a sharp glittering knife, his eyes just as dangerous. That harsh regard seemed to feel Cillian's own eyes on him. Felix smiled when he noticed him watching, and then disappeared within the hoards again.

Otis rolled his eyes and pulled at his collar. It was not flattering, the spiked suit he wore, but it was not designed to be. His fussing continued and it was only as his attention landed on the other districts, that he stilled. They were all watching, eyes narrowed and judging or wide and somewhat thankful.

"They're looking, why are they all looking?" Otis hissed, turning around to the mentors. The look on his face was almost accusing.

"They're not looking at you, they're looking at Freyja," Johanna snapped, a dark glare painting her face as it always did.

Cillian could see the way her fingers twitched at her side, forcing her to tuck them beneath her arms. It was as if she wanted to smack him over the top side of his head like a child.

"That's what happens when you score a zero."

Freyja didn't react, only shrugged them off and left Johanna to go and stand in place by the stage, waiting for Otis to swiftly join her. The mentors watched them go with guarded expressions. With how the skills tests had gone, their expectations were low.

Cillian's thoughts remained on what he'd witnessed of the two women that morning.

"You think she can win."

His words weren't a question, but a revealing statement, slathered with silent accusation. Johanna didn't raise to the bite, only eyed him with equal accusation. You think she can't.

But neither said anything more as the female tribute for district three strode from the stage to be replaced by her male counterpart. The sound of Caesar Flickerman's voice filled the air again as Johanna's eyes followed Cillian's to land on Finnick. She let out a huff.

Finnick let out a laugh at something Mags said. Even behind the scenes, he looked as if he had been sculpted to stand in front of cameras, each angle of his body ready to be perfectly captured. The crisp shirt he wore draped across his shoulders, revealing a golden necklace hanging down his chest, a shell at the end of it. Cillian's eyes didn't stop staring as Finnick turned to see him and Johanna almost shivered at the shamelessness of it all. 

"Cillian," Finnick greeted. Johanna tried not to wonder at the testing sound of his voice as she waited for his greeting to turn her way. "Johanna, nice to see you as always."

But his testing gaze moved back again and she almost let out a huff. Cillian's expression was almost as confusing. There was something soft behind his lashes, confirming something that Finnick must've been silently asking. When did things get so secretive? Johanna thought and then changed her mind. She was anything but honest herself. 

Her attention instead moved to the rest of the room. Haymitch from District Twelve was hovering by the doorway, too eager to leave even though he would remain until the last. She'd never much liked him- he reminded her too much of her father, who spent too many nights drinking until he was paralysed. 

Giselle from District One stood not too far from him, close enough that it looked as if she'd returned from speaking with him. Strange. But it was the bruises that Johanna noticed. Dark, angry splotches covered the lower rim of her neck, shaped suspiciously like a hand. 

"What the fuck?" Johanna spat out without meaning to. Both Finnick and Cillian soon realised exactly what she was looking at.

As if feeling their gazes upon her, Giselle spun around, piercing blue eyes prepared with a glare. They softened when she saw the three and hardened again when she realised the heavy focus on her neck. 

"They tried to get me to cover it up," Giselle said before they could ask, voice purposefully loud. "I refused. They should see what their citizens do to their victors."

"Someone did that to you?" Finnick said.

But they all knew it was true. Their own marks lay out of reach beneath sparkling material. Johanna spread a glance across the three elder victors. If Cillian had not known better, he might've thought it was fear hiding behind her stare. 

"The district minister that watches of Eleven." Her fingers reached to her neck, grazing against the marks as if she could feel the ghostly presence of his hands. "He must have had some troubles- you've heard talks and rumours of growing resistance. He hit me clean across the face. Grabbed me 'round the neck. It was after he'd gotten what he wanted, of course."

"Fuck them," Johanna bit out, venom on her lips. "Someone needs to show that fat bastard a fist."

Johanna was not shy of her rebellious tendencies, and now nor was Giselle with her bruises displayed valiantly. So Cillian watched for Finnick's reaction instead. Many would fear to be witness to such words. But the District Four mentor was testing Cillian as much as he was testing Finnick.

"You gonna let her talk like that?"

There was a smirk on his lips that Cillian could not ignore. There was a hidden question in his words. Do you agree? he seemed to say. Are you as much a rebel as she is?

Cillian thought at once of his family. Of his mother and his father and his sister, all set bound for whatever land lay further than that the Capitol terrorised.

"You're suggesting she can be stopped," Cillian said, a laugh behind his voice. "No one stops Johanna."

"No one stops Johanna," the girl herself repeated. 

It was like a phrase of affirmation. But something soothing settled upon them then. Mutual acknowledgement, it might only have been and yet Cillian knew it was something stronger, thicker, like fuel being cast ready for a fire. His stomach twisted with something ancient feeling and Cillian pocketed his drink. 

I really don't like this chapter but its going out anyway so I can continue writing the rest xoxo