ᵗʳⁱᵇᵘᵗᵉ

‧₊˚🏹✩ ₊˚⊹

[ the opening ceremony ]

𝐈 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐱 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐠. I had been in the Cleaning and Makeup Center for hours on end. My hair had gotten brushed and cut, I discovered 'skincare'. 

I looked up, finding the two workers who had been performing all this torture on me. One of them was whispering something to the woman, so I spoke up, "What's that?" They ignored me, continuing. "What's that?"

"Oh, we're just saying we might need to hose you down again before we take you to Cinna," he smiled, though it was really a kind grimace. 

I had been moved to a new, darker room, lying on the illuminated table. I felt...clean. Very clean. My legs weren't stinging anymore, and they were incredibly smooth. My face felt lighter and free of dirt and grime. I smelt better too. 

The door opened, and I sat up, finding a man walking in. He was different to the other Capitol people I had seen. He dressed more simply and had chosen to highlight his looks with only a small amount of makeup. I liked the golden accents on him, from the single stroke eyeliner to his cuff earrings. 

"That was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. With your sister?" he started the second he saw me. He took my hand in his, and I found myself strangely comforted by the feeling. "My name's Cinna."

"Y/N," I introduced. 

"I'm sorry that this happened to you, and I'm here to help you in any way that I can," he told me, and I softly smiled. 

"Most people just congratulate me."

"Well, I don't see the point in that." He sighed, patting my hand. "So tonight, they have the Tribute Parade. Gonna take you out and show you off to the world."

"So, you're here to make me look pretty?" I asked.

"I'm here to help you make an impression," he corrected. "Now, usually they dress people in the clothes from their district."

"Yeah, we're always coalminers," I recalled. 

"Yeah, but I don't wanna do that. I wanna do something that they're gonna remember. Did they explain about trying to get sponsors?"

"Yeah, but I'm not very good at making friends."

"We'll see." Cinna brushed my hair to the side, letting it fall down my back as he sat directly in front of me. "I just think somebody that brave shouldn't be dressed up in some stupid costume, now should they?"

A slow grin tugged at my lips. "I hope not."

That night, I entered the backway for the Parade. I kept my eyes on the ground. Cinna greeted me with a proud smile, asking me to give him a small twirl. I agreed, seeing that he was impressed with himself. Behind him, Portia gasped with a smile, gushing over me. 

But it was Peeta who was silent. I didn't know how to decipher his expression. He was red in the face, with wide eyes as he watched me step closer to him. He was disgusted, wasn't he?

"Hi," he squeaked out, clearing his throat. "You look-."

"Thanks," I cut off. He visibly deflated, puffing softly, following me as I listened to Cinna explain how the fake fire in our outfits work.

"Okay, this is safe. I promise," he started. "It's not real fire. These suits are built so you won't feel a thing."

"Looks pretty real to me," Peeta observed.

"Well, that's the idea." He turned to me. "You ready? Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

On the broadcasting, sat Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith. "Over 100,000 people craning to get a glimpse of this year's Tributes," the former started. "And the sponsors get to see the Tributes for the first time. The importance of this moment cannot be overstated."

"There they are! There they are! This year's Tributes!" Claudius beamed when the chariots rode out. 

"It's the most exciting part!"

"It just gives you goosebumps!"

"And don't you love how the stylists, they so clearly are able to reflect the character of each district?" Caesar questioned in awe. 

"Right. Right. There's District 4," Claudius pointed out.

"Yes. Fishing."

"I get it. I like it."

"That's very good," Caesar praised. "And behind them, we have two power plant workers. Right? And then...what is that in the background?"

The crowd's screams fell on my deaf ears. Was it me or did the cheers just increase by 10? I looked around, watching the Capitol going completely ballistic. It was only then that I realized that it was us they were going crazy for. Peeta and I.

Peeta turned to me, then glanced down at my hand. He reached down, grabbing it, but I snatched it away, furrowing my brows at him in confusion. "Come on. They'll love it," he reasoned. I watched as he laced our fingers together, raising them high. 

And he was right. They did love it. I could tell by the way every single person stood up from their seats, screaming at us in joy, praise and approval. 

"Now, see that, I love that," Caesar beamed. "Two young people, holding their hands up, saying, 'I'm proud I come from District 12. We will not be overlooked.' I love that!"

"People are sure gonna be paying attention to them right now." The announcers chuckled together, smiling down on us.

I held a rose that I had caught as the chariots stopped in the Parade circle. They were still cheering for us, and only us. I turned around when the fire disappeared with a flourish, and I looked back up at him. President Snow.

"Welcome," his voice echoed. "Welcome. Tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice." The crowd cheered, and I seethed slightly, sharing a short glance with Peeta. "And we wish you, Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favor."

The chariots moved on their own the second he finished his sentence, and the ovation from the people were cut off as the large doors closed off the hall. The Tributes all piled around in their respective areas, and Peeta and I were the last to step off. I breathed out a sigh of relief when Cinna, Portia, and the team approached.

"That was amazing," he beamed. 

"We are all anybody's going to be talking about!" Effie exclaimed. 

"So brave," Haymitch smirked. 

"Are you sure you should be near an open flame?" I asked. 

"Fake flame? Are you sure you..." He stopped, glancing over my shoulder, so I turned, finding a boy, glaring directly at me. He was muscular, with short blonde hair and a horrid snarl. Haymitch exhaled deeply, looking between us two. "Let's, uh...let's go upstairs."

Effie shrieked with happiness, holding one of Peeta and I's hands in hers as they all lead us to our living tower. "So, each of the districts get their own floor," she explained. "And because you're from 12, you get the penthouse." We all stepped into the elevator, and just like all Capitol transport, we were there within a second, the door already opening, revealing our floor. "Come on!"

"Wow..." I mumbled, looking at the elaborate space.

"So, this is the living room," Effie started. "I know. I know. Now, your rooms are right over here. Why don't you go clean yourselves up a little before dinner?"

After I had showered and cleaned off all the makeup, I entered my bedroom. It was large, with the bed in a dip in the center of the room. I sat down on the covers, finding them to be soft and fluffy. A panel caught my attention on the bedside table. I lifted the curved object, following the small circle on the black screen. Pulling it down, I looked up, finding the adjacent window changing to a street on the Capitol. I changed it again, and a desert appeared next, filled with sand trees and cacti. 

I shifted it again, and my eyes widened when a forest appeared. The dark greens, the noise of birds and wind sailing through the branches and leaves caused me to stand. I half-expected to see Gale there, ready to distract or taunt me.

I blinked rapidly, turning the picture off and throwing the control on the bed. 

"In two weeks, 23 of you will be dead," Atala stated. The other Tributes and I were in the Training Centre for our first session. "One of you will be alive." I glanced to the side, hoping to be subtle, but Cato, the boy from District 2 that seemed to already have it out for me, caught my eye, smirking smugly. I looked away again, focusing on the head trainer.

"Who that is depends on how well you pay attention over the new four days, particularly to what I'm about to say. First, no fighting with the other Tributes. You'll have plenty of time for that in the Arena.

There are four compulsory exercises. The rest will be individual training. My advice is, don't ignore the survival skills. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes. 10% from infection, 20% from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."

Throughout the day, I kept a close eye on multiple of the Tributes, hoping to see any weaknesses. I waited for the staff fight in front of me when I heard a commotion. 

"Jason, where's my knife, huh?" Cato questioned. 

"I didn't touch your knife," he denied.

"I put my knife right there!"

"Don't touch me! I didn't touch your knife!"

"Yes, you took my knife! You took my knife, you liar!"

Two Peacekeepers and one of the trainers were now holding Cato back, who looked about ready to kill Jason. "I didn't touch your knife!"

"You liar! You little punk! He took my knife! Get off me!"

"I'm just sitting here," Jason tried.

I rolled my eyes at him, but the action caused my gaze to catch onto the little girl above. She was lying on one of the roping platforms, cockily twisting Cato's missing knife in her hands. I think her name was Rue. District 11.

"I'll finish you right now, kid, huh? Actually, better yet, I'll wait for the Arena. You're the first one I get, so watch your back," Cato threatened.

The other boy from her district, Thresh, grinned, shaking his head at her as he crossed his arms.

"Everybody, back in line!" Atala called. 

"You know who you're messing with, kid!" Cato warned.

Later that night, at dinner, Haymitch was explaining the Tributes and such. "He's a Career. You know what that is?" he inquired.

"From District 1," I answered.

"And 2," he added. "They train in a special academy until they're 18. Then they volunteer. By that point, they're pretty lethal."

"But they don't receive any special treatment," Effie interrupted with a shake of her head. "In fact, they stay in the exact same apartment as you do. And I don't think they let them have dessert. And you can!"

I slowed my chewing, staring at her, before continuing. Peeta broke the silence, "So how good are they?"

"Obviously they're pretty good. They win it almost every year, but-."

"Almost," Effie emphasized. 

"...They can be arrogant. And arrogance can be a big problem." I paused, looking at him to find him staring at me. "I hear you can shoot."

I swallowed, reaching for my cup. "I'm alright."

"No, she's better then all right. My Father buys her squirrels," Peeta chimed in. He nodded, smiling as I watched him, confused. "He says she hits them right in the eye every time."

I turned back to Haymitch. "Peeta's strong."

"What?"

"He can throw a 100-pound sack of flour right over his head. I've seen it," I continued, ignoring him.

Haymitch watched the exchange with a slight grin. "Okay, well, I'm not gonna kill anybody with a sack of flour."

"No, but you might have a better chance of winning if somebody comes after you with a knife."

"I have no chance of winning! None! All right?" he snapped. "It's true. Everybody knows it." He looked down at his food as I observed him from the side. "You know what my mother said? She said District 12 might finally have a winner. But she wasn't talking about me. She was talking about you." I looked away, ignoring his stare and he wiped his hands on the serviette. "I'm not very hungry."

I was lying against a tree, the rain peltering down on me. I could feel my stomach curdling, practically eating itself. I opened my eyes, finding the bakery door opening. 

I recognized the boy. The baker boy. Some Peter. Peeta. Yeah, Peeta.

His mother, I presumed, smacked him on the side of the head, her glare colder than the icy rain. She marched back inside, and Peeta stepped to the side of the patio, tossing chunks of the bread that was in his hand. It looked burnt; the black charred bits being thrown to their pigs by the corner of the shop.

He glanced to the side but paused when he saw me. I leaned my head upwards, staring at him. He looked behind him, checking to see if anyone was there or if they could see him. And suddenly he threw the bread in my direction, venturing back inside the bakery.

I blinked. Pushing my chair back, I wiped my lips and chin with the cloth. "I'm done too," I said, leaving the dining table and heading to my room.