❦

𝑆𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁
ᴄʜᴀʀɪᴏᴛs ᴏғ ʜᴀᴛᴇ

❦

The shirt that the stylists shoved him into was as uncomfortable and scratchy as all Capitol fashion was. Black fabric was detailed with thick, bronzed thread that swirled around the buttons, his collar, and the edges of the cuffs. It was simpler than he'd expected, but it was the coat draped across his shoulders that took the attention. Deeply red like the colour of wine, sharp spikes of hardened material stuck out from behind his neck, curving around his body to dissolve into silk-like edging, resting just above the knees.

Bathed in the same burgundy colour, Johanna shuffled to stand beside him. The district mentors held enviable positions along the very front of the procession stands, to the left of President Snow, who sat centrally amongst the head game maker and the rest of his close followers. His place was regal enough, bejewelled with luxury Cillian couldn't name- like a throne.

They were positioned in rows of four districts, ungendered. Each district had two mentors each, except for Twelve, where stood Haymitch at the end of the line as he had for the many years since his victory. His eyes were slightly swollen as if he'd been crying, and his tight, white shirt had not stayed tucked for very long.

Finnick stood in front of them, to the right, the last in the front row, his mentoring partner Mags beside him, a frail arm tucked around his elbow. He couldn't see his face, which was likely plastered with the dazzling smile, but he could recognise the golden tint of his tousled hair anywhere. Cillian recognised a few other of the mentors too. Giselle's fiery hair stood out along the front, the very first in the group thanks to her position as one of the youngest victors from District One.

The blaring horns of the Capitol anthem erupted, sending the crowds into an excited frenzy of screams and clapping. The sun seemed to beam brighter as the ceremony began. It was as if the Capitol controlled the true weather as meticulously as they did in the arena, using the sky as their lighting set for a vast stage. The shouts echoed into a symphony of rattling voices, music of anticipation.

Then, in a collection of thunderous rumbling, the first of the chariots came, exploding through the entrance with momentous power. Beautiful, glistening black horses pulled the golden, diamond-studded cart along the runway. The air of richness punctured the emptiness that had ensued. Was district one as luxurious as the decadent chariots represented, or was that a sugar-coated lie told to the people too?

The parade followed, district four unsurprisingly seeing a leap in the roar of the audience. The boy had transformed, skin painted a glistening gold, the costume that was glued to his skin like a layer of pearls. The chariot itself was made from perfect, swooping curves, the aqua paint like water cascading down to their bare legs. Their hands moved like the soft waves of the ocean, swooping down in gentle, seductive movements. The crowd went wild.

Cillian only removed his attention from the District Four tributes when his own district's chariot came firing down the line. The burst of green took the centre focus. He had to tighten the muscles on his face, forcing the smile that threatened to brighten his face to disappear. Selene had truly, for once, outshone them all. The brilliance of District Seven had never quite been displayed as exactly and as flattering as this.

Swathing, skin-tight material wrapped around their bodies, creating the elegant, toned figure of a tree, striped with the simple accents of muslin, reaching below their chest lines. Otis's chest was bared in the middle, green-dyed fur wrapping around his raised wrists. Laying in dark, tumbling locks against her back, Freyja's hair flowed behind, curled slightly, naturally, giving way to a garland around her head.

Leaves of fern and laurel sprouted from her hair, woven between daisies and black painted roses, dotted with baby's breath. As the chariot rolled along, her head bobbed despite the boldness in which Freyja held her head, letting the garland bounce slightly. The flowers seemed to float, wrapping around the leaves like the tail of a grass snake, like a halo, like a crown. They moved as if alive, breathing with the life that District Seven cultivated, hardy and strong and beautiful.

Cillian felt eyes on him. He wouldn't have cared, had they not belonged to the golden boy that radiated in front of him. His chin dipped, eyes meeting with the gaze of Finnick Odair, who smiled, rose coloured lips parted, drawing in attention. Cillian's eyes once again met those of the other mentor's and found a dangerous glint behind them. It was one of excitement. Pure, prohibited excitement.

A swallow bobbed his throat, clearing the dryness that scraped through it. Finnick smirked knowingly and gave a wink of his eye before he turned back toward the ceremony, where their small world still watched.

The horses stopped perfectly in place beneath the President's podium, as if led by an invisible hand. The speech was given as the audience died down into complete, obedient silence. The wavering flags still displayed the faces of the tributes below, rotating between them but always coming back to District One, Four, and surprisingly Seven.

The moment the speeches ended and the chariots began to move again, Johanna turned, hurrying to be the first of the mentors in the Training Centre, letting the chaos dwindle.

Felix emerged first from the opposite doorway, his golden outfit shining like the sun. The chariots separated them, with District Seven's taking centre place. Freyja floated down from the cart, setting a hand against the horse's mane as she drifted toward the group, Otis trailing behind her, an overwhelmed look settling on his face.

Johanna stopped, letting them walk toward her. "That wasn't horrible."

Eirlys rushed forward. "Fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. Did you see how often they displayed your faces on the banners," she gashed, hands fluttering against her flushed cheeks.

"It was hard to miss," Freyja said quietly.

The two tributes cringed away, trying to avoid the woman's powdered claws. But Freyja's long locks were caught, slipping through her fingers as Eirlys gushed.

"This is a good sign," she said. "I know it."

Cillian had to agree. It would be a breeze getting sponsorships after such a welcoming reception. All they had to do was keep the high spirits in the interviews.

The stylists swiftly met the group, eyes scrutinizing even after the parade had finished. Selene let out a satisfied breath, the sound brushing against his cheek as she came to stand beside him. Felix agreed with whatever she was thinking with a firm nod.

"I think this is District Seven's best costume yet. I can't believe I got to put my name to such a thing," Selene said before turning to her partner, taking a hand to either side of his face, and planting a kiss squarely on his forehead. "Felix, you are an angel."

Selene left him flat-faced as she placed herself between the two mentors. Felix went back to fixing the positioning of their clothes as Eirlys babbled about the talk of the crowds.

"How do you like the outfit?"

"It's hard to ignore," Cillian said, moving his hand to flatten down a spike of the collar. "I like the colour. I should wear it more."

"You certainly should. Aren't you glad I made you wear it?" Selene glanced between them. "You two look dashing together. You'll be all they can talk about in the mentor's segment of Caeser's show tonight."

Johanna let out a splutter. "That's a thing?"

"Every year," Selene said. "They talk about mentors, new and old, and pan across the crowd."

"You weren't picking at your teeth or something, were you?" Cillian said, earning a shove from the other mentor.

"I was hoping to avoid the cameras. But if I'd know I would have given them a few gestures they wouldn't like."

Cillian must have said the same after his own games, or at least thought it. But it seemed his face was destined for the cameras, for the attention, no matter how much he hated it. All victors would struggle through that period of heightened relevance where their names were all that was talked about.

"I thought you would have learned it's impossible by now," he said and Johanna frowned.

"Well, it takes place immediately after last year's highlights so you can bet you'll be shown straight after," Selene said, brushing the conversation off with a glance to the flashing screens that were preparing from Caesar's next show. "I'm going to hurry off. I don't want to miss the crowd cheering for my designs."

Cillian left Johanna by the television screens as he went to walk along the line of chariots that were still strapped to the horses. Each one was different, but they somehow looked underwhelming without the tributes in them. Even from the higher districts like twelve, who'd made little impact.

"You're really playing into the rivalry image, huh?"

Cillian turned to see Finnick. Somehow without the shining spotlights and instead under the dulled lamps of the training centre, he looked even more like what would be expected from his district. Each curve that had been made harsh by the blinding lights, were softer, less defined, his eyes a sharp enough blue that it didn't matter.

"I thought there was a silent agreement?"

Finnick shrugged as he leaned back against the chariot they'd stopped by. District five if the electric blue was anything to go from. 

"I won't complain. It's good for my image," Finnick said.

"They wouldn't have designed the competition, had it been otherwise."

"Fair enough," he stopped to observe him for a moment, eyebrows quirking in an expression that Cillian couldn't discern. "Looks like I've got my work cut out for me."

"You're being modest," Cillian said. Finnick didn't suit modesty.

The mentor grinned. "You're right, doesn't quite fit my persona."

"Sure you want to be talking to me? That doesn't quite fit the image either."

Cillian refused to let his eyes drift to the boy. He would no doubt be smirking- the expression hid by what looked like a confident smile. Cillian himself had never been able to master the look- the state of appearing self-confident, almost arrogantly so, yet in a charming way. He didn't bother trying anymore, and it worked in his favour. The dark looks could have the people of the Capitol eating from his palm. Within reason, of course. They would not give what they didn't wish to.

"'The dark and mysterious Cillian Daraya'," Finnick said, lowering his voice as he leaned in, a hand resting on the blue mane of a horse. "Now he's someone who wouldn't fraternise with the enemy."

"You said it yourself."

He hummed a laugh. "Funny guy."

"Nice talking to you, Finnick."

"Cillian."

Cillian nodded dismissively and turned, carrying himself from the vast entrance of the training centre. He gave only one last look to Finnick, seeing him standing smugly beside District Five's chariot, even as he reached the lift.

Johanna met him again just as the doors were sliding shut. Her hand wedged between the two slabs of metal, triggering the sensors so they'd widen enough for her to slip in. It was only as they were locked in, alone for the first time in days, that she spoke.

"What's with the cold shoulder?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't be stupid," she scoffed, arms struggling to fold across the tightness of her chest. "Don't you think you're taking this rival thing a little too seriously?"

"Ask me that again when you've got the President breathing down your back," he said, eye remaining straightly forward.

"Surely you should be working with him, rather than against?"

Her words lingered hotly, playing in his ears.

❦

With a bright flash of light, the tv screens across the entirety of the training centre were brought to life. Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith's faces filled the box, grinning, red-cheeked as if they'd recently been laughing.

"Isn't this amazing!" Flickerman howled, his hands clapping together like a child, staying there as he turned to stare at the camera. "What a year this is going to be. Already we are seeing favourites amongst the Capitol popping up. Victoria from the beloved District One. We of course have Rafe, the male tribute from District Four, and both Freyja and Otis from District Seven."

"We cannot forget the mentors this year, Ceasar," Templesmith said, curved eyebrows moving fluidly, earning a laugh from an invisible audience.

"No, we certainly cannot."

As the host's voice rang out, their faces disappeared for a moment, replaced by the lines of mentors, stood side by side in pairs of their districts. The camera began at district one, drifting past Giselle, Enobaria, to Finnick and Mags, switching behind to Cecelia, then Seeder and Chaff.

"There we go, ladies and gentlemen: a close up view of some of our beloved victors who will be aiding our tributes this year," Caeser said as his face returned to the bottom right of the screen.

"Is that Johanna Mason?" Claudius shouted from off screen.

"Yes, Johanna!" The prerecorded video cut to the District Seven pair as Caeser almost sprung from his chair in excitement. "What a brilliant win she had last year. Brutal, absolutely brutal, but undeniably brilliant."

"It was a thrill to watch, I must say," Claudius chimed in an agreement.

"Here are only a few clips of her best moments."

Johann's face was timid on the screen, contorted into a look of fear, her face paled and thinner, coated in a layer of muck. It was not a face the Capitol had learned to recognise. This was not the Johanna they knew now.

Only a few feet away, stood another tribute. Few would recognise him as the boy who volunteered for district four. There was a long sword in his hand, poised and ready for a target he could not see, and an axe was strapped across his back, a pack of food around his waist.

To the left of the screen, Johanna's face dropped into a blank expression. Her fists tightened, and she sprinted forward, shocking them all for the second time since the audience had first watched it. The boy followed immediately, eyes blazing like a wolf after its first meal after a long winter. Johanna darted to the side, disappearing from the view of the camera until she returned again, leaping onto the back of her hunter, arm slipping beneath the axe, easily missing the dulled blade. Her arms wrapped around his neck- tighter and tighter.

The camera moved swiftly, nothing like the usual, well-placed shots they screened. Johanna's sudden rage had surprised the Game Makers too. The snapping of his neck would have been echoed, as loud and obvious as the cannon that followed, but instead, it was hollow, quiet to the ears of the audience and pleasing to the ears of Johanna.

Her own head turned glancing deep into the surrounding forest. The boy's district partner would be near, the audience was reminded by the wary look on her face. Then hunted became the hunter.

Every move was fluid as if choreographed. She moved across the roots and weathered trunks as if she was one with the earth she walked on, energy flowing through her lithe body. The axe looked foreboding in her small hands, a terrible creature of destruction that looked archaic and useless otherwise, with the rusted handles and blunt blade. And when her dance seemed to end, the second district four tribute falling like a tree, it would pause only momentarily until her eyes found that of another, the unexpected rage spilling from her lips, the next erratic movements improvised perfectly.

No one should be able to make the act of brutal murder look beautiful. But Johanna did.

"I never get bored of seeing that!"

"Neither do I!" Caesar agreed with a barking laugh. "Did you see that, my friends?"

With a sudden flash, the screen was switching toward the spectating stands, where stood the mentors in their lines beside the centre podium. Caesar let out a gasp as he turned his head to see the images that were being displayed. The camera first, naturally, focused on Johanna before it slid to the side, widening around Cillian and Finnick, and the look they'd shared.

"Could we perhaps be seeing a bit of rival action there within the stands?" Caesar hollered. "This is what we've all been waiting to see!"

He grinned cruelly, and with that the attention moved on, forgetting the brutal murder they'd all just witnessed for the second time as the crowd blew up with cheer once again.

❦