"Just a peek of chest, not enough to please Farnorth," Alaric tells me with a twinkle in his eye. He had not been able to dismiss my perverted male prepper altogether, but we had managed to consign him to just my hair, when I can be covered, much to his displeasure.
I chuckle at his remark. "The less showing, the happier I am."
"I know, honey," my stylist says sympathetically. "But most people in the Capitol don't feel the same, and we want you alive to continue to bring a degree of modesty to the Games."
I smile at his phraseology. "I know you're doing all you can to keep me alive. And the dress is lovely, it really is. The material...it's so soft."
Alaric nods. "Only the best, for the Tributes," he says wryly.
"For the moment," I add dryly.
We look at each other a long moment before he says, "Don't go into your interview with that attitude. It won't gain you any fans."
"How should I approach this?" I ask quietly.
"He'll ask you about the girl for whom you volunteered," Alaric says urgently. "Tell them what you will about her. Caesar will probably want to portray you as a great hero, depending on how you handle his questions. That's the most flattering view and the crowd will lap it up, but don't be 'just another hero.' Make it memorable. Make them remember her, and they will remember you. It will also help her next year, and you, if you're her mentor." The way he speaks of Satinee, I realize with a jolt that he knows who she is and why she was reaped. But his next words are even more grim.
"There are some in power who might've been told to remove you. You didn't do yourself any favours, volunteering for a marked girl. You don't come from a district where that's the norm, she wasn't your family. It could be seen as an act of defiance. Drive it home, every chance you get, that it was because she was young. It was because she was the only child left to her father. It was because she deserved a second chance at life. Not because you wanted to slap the Capitol in the face. But subtly. Do it subtly, don't make it obvious you're trying to appease them."
I am scared at his words, so scared. "It wasn't in defiance," I whisper. "It was because I knew her father would be broken, utterly broken, if he lost both his children. And she...she's only twelve..."
Alaric looks at me grimly. "Even that could be interpreted as defiance."
"Then I won't make it about her," I say quietly. "I'll move the conversation away from her as quickly as possible."
"What will it be about?" he asks, equally quietly.
I brush my hand over my dress. "Fabrics," I say dreamily. "Fabric is what I know, and the ones I've worn here are..amazing. Like light and air woven together and made tangible."
Alaric smiles a little. "Honey, just keep up with those descriptions and no one will give any rebellion on your part a second thought."
"Rebellion?" Kataro's voice comes, panicky and even higher than usual. "What?"
"Nothing," Alaric says quickly as the escort enters the room completely. "A very poor joke on my part."
Kataro's relief is nearly tangible, lying over him like a sheet. "Oh. You should restrain from such jokes, Alaric, they're in very poor taste. Is Charlene ready?"
I take a deep breath, lifting my head and nodding. "Yes, I'm ready. Where's Timothy?"
Poor Kataro looks pathetically dismayed at my question. "Probably still involved in fisticuffs with his stylist," he says reproachfully. His reproof isn't aimed at me, I can tell, but at the non-present Timothy. "He refused to wear what was laid out for him, and Maran has made sure he couldn't put anything on underneath, not since his stunt at the Chariots."
I suppress a giggle. "Maybe I could talk him down, while Alaric soothes Maran," I suggest, and am rewarded with a look of pure gratitude from Kataro.
"Would you really?" he asks hopefully, and I nod. "Hang on," he says enthusiastically and trots out. Alaric and I share a glance before bursting into giggles.
A moment later, Kataro trots back in, followed by a slouching Timothy, who has his hands stuck in his pockets and is wearing an air of suspicious resentment. Kataro leads Alaric out to reason with Maran, as Timothy and I measure each other up. I finally plop down on a plush chair, pulling a grape off of its stem and throwing to Timothy.
He catches it and sits down opposite me. "Kataro said you'd volunteered to calm me down," he says, and pops the grape into his mouth.
I shrug. "I just thought it would be a good idea to pull you and Maran off of each other."
Timothy eyes my outfit. "I don't suppose you'd want to swap stylists?"
I chuckle ruefully. "I am no more keen on wearing Maran's abominations than you are." Timothy grunts in agreement, but I'm not done. "If you could design your own outfit, keeping in mind this is the Capitol, what would it be?"
He looks at my dress closely. "Something similar to your clothes. Floaty, only more flamboyant. I don't like pale colors, too girly."
"Why don't you suggest that to Maran, maybe you and he and Alaric can work something out," I suggest.
Timothy nods and stands. "Good idea. I guess I'd better go back in there."
I smile at the reluctance in his voice. "Probably." He nods to me and goes out, leaving me to ponder the problems of having a poor stylist.
* * *
Two hours later, I am astonished at the compromise that has been reached. Timothy is dressed in a very old-fashioned, extremely flamboyant outfit - pure white shirt with long loose sleeves and tight cuffs, a royal blue vest over it, tight black pants, a swirling red cape which he enjoys whooshing out, tight black leather boots, and to top the whole ensemble off, a broad-brimmed black hat with large purple foofy feathers. I stand gawping at him with my mouth open, while he stands smugly grinning at my expression.
"You look...dashing," I say finally, and his grin broadens. Sweeping off the ridiculous hat, he bows low, with much unnecessary twirling of hands.
"Thank you, Madame," he says in a mock-deep voice. "You are lovely yourself tonight."
"I know," I say cheekily, and take off for the elevator while Alaric and Kataro laugh uproariously. I hear Timothy's footsteps behind me and speed up, reaching the elevator first, but the door remains open. It closes right before our team reaches us and he tickles me all the way down - I am positive everyone else we pass thinks I am being prematurely murdered, from my unending shrieks. We come to a stop and he immediately stands up, straightening his hat and standing primly until the door opens. I do my best to straighten my dress and try to whack him as he exits, but he nips smartly out and I miss.
The team arrives on the next trip, jammed in with another District's passel. Timothy and I are surreptitiously chasing each other around, I keep edging towards him for revenge and he keeps wandering 'obliviously' off. Kataro seems inclined to scold us but Alaric murmurs to him to let us play.
As more tributes come down, Peacekeepers line us up to go on stage. My heart begins to pound as I think to the interview ahead, and I bite my lip, smearing my lipstick. Timothy, beside me, takes my hand and squeezes gently. "You'll be fine," he whispers. "Caesar isn't actually as scary as the Arena, he just looks it."
I giggle at his irreverent words, and almost immediately it is time to go on stage.
I am called before Timothy, and as I go out, the lights almost blind me. My heart is pounding so loudly all I can hear is a roaring in my ears. I slowly realize it is the crowd and almost puke. Today they are cheering my appearance, tomorrow it will be my death. I settle slowly into the chair beside Caesar's, determined to give them an interview they won't forget.
"Good evening, Charlene," he greets me warmly. "And how are you this fine night?"
"Been better, will be worse," I respond quietly. Caesar doesn't seem to know how to answer this and quickly moves on.
"Speaking of worse, how did you feel upon being Reaped? But then, you weren't Reaped, were you?" He sounds mildly curious and I quickly move to quell it.
"No, I volunteered. Satinee is so young, and she was so scared. I couldn't bear to see her up on the stage."
"And we all admire you very much for it," Caesar says quietly. "But surely, you at least brought a special token?"
I smile a little in remembrance. "No, I didn't bring one. But the whole team has a little handkerchief, all the same, that Timothy and I are both using as tokens."
He nods sympathetically. "Very united. But you didn't want to bring a bit of home with you? Surely you miss it?"
"No," I say flatly. "I don't miss District Eight at all."
"Not even a special someone?" he asks innocently.
"No." I reply laconically.
"Then you must have enjoyed the Capitol," he pursued. "What's your favorite part so far?"
"I haven't enjoyed it," I reply distantly. "I've come here to be killed, not enjoy myself. But if I must choose, it would be my team. Kataro and Alaric are two of the most wonderful people I've ever met."
"I'm sure they appreciate that," Caesar says quietly, patting my hand. Patting my hand?! Capitolians. "So do you have a strategy?"
"Yes," I say wearily, hoping my time was almost up.
"Can you share it with us?" he suggests.
"I intend to stick close to Timothy. I'm pretty sure he's the one with the most intelligence of any of we tributes."
"Ouch," Caesar comments with a chuckle, and is finally rewarded with a small smile.
"I didn't say the only one with intelligence," I protest with the faintest ghost of a laugh. "I said the one with the most."
"And do you have any last words for us, Miss Whipple?" Caesar asks.
I suppress a yawn. "Goodnight."
He laughs and holds my hand up. "I present, District Eight's Charlene Whipple!"
Timothy's POV:
Oh. She is so stupid. I glower at her in astonishment and dismay as she sits down, before going out onto stage myself, determined to erase her obtuse and boring interview. Caesar has his face in his trained smile, but as I get closer I can see the strain in his eyes. "Hello, Timothy," he says brightly as I come over.
"Gooood evening, Caesar," I reply, making my voice rich and rolling, and with a melodramatic swirl of my cape, I bow deeply to him. "It is a pleasure, such a great honor, to meet you face to face."
Uh oh. Wrong tack. He is even more uncomfortable and I hurry to cover my mistake. "You are such an anticipated part of the Games, from tributes and viewers alike," I add.
Charlene's POV:
Is he crazy? What's he up to with that flashy outfit and flattering Caesar? I see Kataro in the crowd and am pretty sure he's fainted. This isn't boding well...
Timothy's POV:
I seat myself beside Caesar and cross my legs, winking at a pink-tinted girl in the front row. She titters and blushes pinker as I return my attention to Caesar and his first question.
"Well Timothy, what was your first thought upon being Reaped?"
I consider a minute. "I'm not going to repeat it in front of the ladies, Caesar. Perhaps in private sometime." There is a roar of laughter and I grin cheekily out at them all.
"Much appreciated," Caesar says with a grin, then moves on. "Charlene mentioned you have matching tokens?"
"Well, you know how girls are, Caesar," I say conspiratorially. "They can be so emotional if you don't humor them."
He laughs. "Will you get in trouble for that later?"
"Probably," I say cheerfully. "But not until tomorrow, most likely."
"What do you miss about District Eight?" my interviewer inquires.
I heave a deep sigh, apparently thinking hard. "That's a hard one, Caesar. Perhaps..." I pause a long moment. "The girls? The girls of District Eight are so much prettier than any other District."
Charlene's POV:
He is so getting kicked later.
Timothy's POV:
I grin mentally, I can almost feel Charlene's eyes boring into my back. She's so easy to aggravate sometimes, it's funny. I determine to make her even more irritated with my next answer.
"So, is there anyone especially special?" Caesar asks conspiratorially.
"About half a dozen," I answer carelessly. "But Caesar, you've wrecked my plans, now they all know about each other!!"
More laughter from the crowd. Apparently players are popular.
"Ah me," Caesar says, grinning. "Well I hope I haven't gotten you into too much trouble. How have you liked the Capitol? Any parts you've liked in particular?"
"How to choose, how to choose," I say dramatically. "The food, the lights, the people, the clothing..."
"We all noticed your outfit change during the Chariot Ride," Caesar observes dryly, and I smirk.
"That was mostly to annoy Charlene," I reply cheekily.
Charlene's POV:
He is so getting kicked. So getting kicked.
Timothy's POV:
"I wish you luck," Caesar chuckles. "Any strategy for the Arena?"
"That is for me to know and for you to - dot dot dot," I reply wickedly, with another wink.
"Any last words?" Caesar asks jovially.
I stand, swirling my cape again. "Farewell, masters and madams," I say in a deep dramatic voice. "Farewell, for a time!"
Whirling, I speed up to my seat beside Charlene, whirling around and into it as Caesar announces my name and district one more time.
