Worth it | F.O.

XI

Nivea stood alone in her room. 

Reflected before her was her very own face and body through the mirror the Capitol had found necessary to place there, the material just tall enough to capture every aspect of today's look. It captured the simple black boots strapped to her feet to the ribbon woven through a braid last seen at the reaping, quite a feat to her as she had never encountered a mirror so very tall before. She finished tugging the fitted short sleeve over her chest, fingers curling around the hem to pull it further down and snug against the curves it seemed determined to highlight. It was already noticeable how high quality the ensemble was even after nearly two seconds, the black fabric some kind of special blend seemingly much better at maintaining energy and sweat than anything else Nivea had ever trained in. She shifted her foot and torso as to catch a glimpse at the identical numbers in a blood red on her sleeves as well as placed in-between her shoulder blades. Stripes of red then gray lined the sleeves, waist, and legs in a lame attempt at fashion when no one but the tributes and game makers would be there to judge. 

Here, she was no one but a girl from District 11, worthless as the rest that had come before her. They had no idea who she was, where she came from, and what talents she possessed to help her in the fight for her purpose. 

Her room was spared one last glance at the ocean crashing against the shore on the window and she left a light tap on the glass to rid it of a smudge that ruined the illusion before she walked away in steady strides. Nivea met Crop in the hall dressed in his own not-tight-fitted uniform nearly identical to hers and most likely all the others', the pair offering nods of what seemed like assurance on his part. It seemed as if the same was reflected but, rather, she only dared to acknowledge him. 

So long had already been spent in momentary intervals attempting to grapple with what had to be done. None more could. 

Before they knew it, after waiting around for the others, they all stood as a seemingly united front who couldn't be farther from such a thing in the grand training center. A woman of ice and snowy speech paced their ranks, dark ponytail high upon her head without a single hair out of place in such a way Nivea had to smother a wince at the unbearable pain she must have been bearing through for the fear she bestowed gently swaying. But perhaps she felt it was worth it for, with every word spoken, another tribute paled or shivered in dread. At the end of her speech they would know, at least all of those that had bothered to pay attention, the exact percentages as to what had shown to kill boys and girls such as themselves without fail in years past. 

Nivea, regrettably, was not among those that showed their fear as she, to be completely honest, was however one of those that had not cared enough to pay much attention. Her thoughts on strategies to be played out and the analyzing of the space engulfing them required more attention than she felt necessary to give to a woman spouting useless information (these games would be like none other). 

Her brown gaze traced racks upon racks of weapons of all shapes and sizes standing tall in one half, even faltering upon a personal favorite of hers despite the unlikeliness of the chance it would become available to her once in the arena as a cold voice prattled on. The ceiling was higher than any she had ever imagined could be and nearly everything seemed to be welded from cold metal, aside from the game maker's personal balcony of course, lavish as it was. And so her attention stayed on the group of graying men for longer than they would have liked judging by the raised eyebrow of one with white streaks hiding away his blond hair, taking in the rich fabrics and table set for a buffet she was sure was to be carted in later on. 

A seat positioned up there in the corner took it all away with its elegant colors and cushion she had seen far too many times, sat upon actually, for her to be remotely unfamiliar to. Was there some kind of bad omen that came with having a chair follow her wherever she happened to be?