Mocking the Odds (A Hunger Games/Tom Hiddleston Fanfic)

Here Come the Chariots

"I don't know about this one, Benedict." I say with uncertainty, tugging up the neckline of my outfit. "Isn't it a bit too...much?"

Today's the day of the chariot rides, and true to tradition, each tribute must be dressed in something that represents their district. I'm in a pretty revealing getup for this one, and I'm not even close to ready for the rest of Panem to see so much of my skin. My shoulders and a good half of my torso, along with practically my entire back, is on display in a tan-colored corset that laces up the back in crisscross fashion with dark brown ribbon. The sweetheart neckline is struggling to stay on my bony chest, even with the extra padding, and I have to keep hoisting it up. Skintight brown leather boots come up to my mid-thigh, with dangerously thin heels that look like they're going to snap at any minute. A matching belt, gilded with gold designs and a small replica of our district's symbol as a buckle, rests above my hips. Attached to the back of the belt, all the way down to my ankles, is tan gossamer fabric that streams out behind me every time I move.

"It's perfect." he insists, finishing the intricate bun my hair's been teased into. "Now, hold your breath." I comply, and he yanks the corset ribbons even tighter, practically cutting off any chance of me breathing normally during the parade. 

"Are you sure I won't die in this?" I choke out, as Benedict puts some kind of fabric tape against the outline of the neckline.

"Oh, stop being so overdramatic." He shoves me jokingly, and I almost tip over. Pressing the neckline into my skin, it has no room to move anywhere anymore, and so it stays stuck to me. "There." he sighs. "No more budging." 

I run my fingers over the designs in the corset, sewn with the same dark brown thread as the ribbons. "These are different cattle brands, aren't they?"

Benedict smiles. "I'm glad you can recognize them. You do still use cattle branding in 10, right?"

"Yep. Mine looks like an arrow of sorts, and the tip is pointed in the northeast direction."

"Why northeast, out of all other directions?"

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Because I heard my family was buried facing that direction." I whisper. 

"Oh, I'm sorry I asked. I didn't mean-" he frowns.

"No, no. It's alright, I promise." I give a slight smile. "I'm okay now."

"Good." he smiles back, reaching for a handband. "Put this on for me."

I slide it over my bangs, securing it into my hair. "Antlers?" I snort.

"At least you're not wearing horns like James is." Benedict grins, and I burst out laughing.

The gates that'll open out into the arena are filled with the sound of soft nickering. We had a few minutes before we'd be instructed to get into our district's chariots, although most of the tributes were already in theirs, waiting. A few of us were milling around, myself included, and I got lost in the oh-so-familiar smell of groomed horse and hay, ignoring the nostalgia pricking at the corners of my eyes. James walks right past me in riding boots and breeches, but has a shirt that mirrors the corset design of my dress, and a handsome long tailcoat.

"You look lovely, James." I attempt, hoping for some conversation. 

"Thank you." he says, curtly and only out of politeness. My heart aches to see him like this; so detached and monotoned, practically oblivious to me. Where was the boy with the kind warmth in his eyes I had come to love so often?

"Did your stylist try to rub off three layers of your skin, too?" I genuinely smile at him, but to no avail. James's face remains impassive, and with a small sigh I move from where I was standing beside the chariot to the horses. They were a pair of gorgeous bays, and I absentmindedly tangled my fingers in their manes, a nervous habit I had back home.