Worth it | F.O.

XVI

The last of the tributes trickled in like the sudden clearing of a pipe soon before the show began. 

Nivea didn't find it all too surprising that the last two to arrive happened to be District 1 as, for some unknown reason (she really didn't believe the sarcasm could be misinterpreted), their stylists had seemed to struggle to make their overall look just so. Just so, Nivea had found, was slang for solidarity perfection, a standing out of weird among wierd and yet somehow better than other weirds; whatever that meant. And, just so, it turned out, was incredibly difficult to achieve as they already shone so much in merely being the district of luxuries. 

Nivea could now confirm their competitiveness with this, especially taking into account the sense of an unspoken battle raging behind the scenes with fabric and powder she had always felt through the holographic screens of real, no-longer breathing girls and boys of this Capitol-worshipping district. 

Nivea remained where she stood as everyone situated themselves around her but she couldn't help the longing state that drifted to the chairs lining the backstage wall. But, much to her dismay, everytime she even attempted to approach one she'd receive a sharp glare halting her footsteps and words warning her off of, “Don't you dare wrinkle your dress”, “Don't ruin it!”, and “Lest you wish to defile the poor Capitol” with a shrug. 

So she was left with the aching of her heels that the pressure of gravity had gifted her as it pulled her weight down onto a thin stick and partook in the worsening of her temper. It was ridiculous, Nivea decided heatedly. She was of District 11, literally one of the very last to show themselves before the Capitol and yet she didn't understand in the slightest the risks they claimed she was taking. There was plenty of time left for fixing the dress after allowing herself to relax as others went on stage. 

Besides, it rather defeated the purpose of the dress, didn't it? If she did happen to take a seat on stage and coincidentally commit a scandal in front of everyone, they shouldn't have forced her into this thing anyways. But nonetheless of the pain tearing through her heels - she loathed the idea of the things as, in her mind, they proved just as much risk to her physical capabilities as any opponent - she shoved the irritation under her skin aside for the warm embrace of the void and remained dutifully decreasing her chances of victory by the seconds she stood. 

But a distraction, no matter how unpleasant it may have been, was soon provided to direct her attention rather from the nagging pain to instead the steely determination she needed to get through the days. 

The large screens around the awaiting tributes lit up like city lights with the scene on stage, almost every eye, not bar Nivea of course, focusing intently on the glass. Dramatically celebratory music played through the speakers just before a man walked on stage with a sway in each step, a man everyone knew. Every year his hair and eyebrows changed color for the new games and yet he was as recognizable as ever no matter the inconsistency of his artificiality. His deeply tanned skin, sparkly suits, perfect teeth, and wide excited smile encouraged a plethora of emotions in all those beholding. 

As had become a predictable usual, the Districts and Capitol were at odds with this. The former most often scowled as they hated him almost as much as the President himself. But, the Capitol, just as with their beloved bloodthirsty President who ought to have retired by now, adored him. He brought the entertainment of a sick reality television show that was essentially what the games were to them, as if watching blood having only managed to course through veins for a short time spilling by the forced hands of another child wasn't nearly enough. 

Caesar Flickerman pranced his way onto stage as he basked in the cheers and praise sent to him by the heartless masses, his iconic smile and voice greeting all of Panem cast onto large screens throughout the stadium he stood in.