Promises of a Sacrificial Lamb |Destiel x The Hunger Games|

-9-

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.