hook, line, sinker.

four.

They matched, Mags realised.

Grove was dressed in a suit the same wonderful shades as her, and he nodded when they made eye contact from across the room. The stylists and mentors from the game, finally in one place, were chatting a mile a minute while the horses huffed impatiently.

"You clean up nice, Flanagan." Grove said, and Mags made a show of looking him up and down.

"You're not so bad yourself, Booker." She replied, and he swooned.

"Music to my ears. You ready to put on the performance of a lifetime?" He asked, and she nodded, faking enthusiasm.

"Oh, Grove. I've been waiting for this since the day I was born." She practised waving as though she was a citizen of the Capitol. Grove laughed at that, and a real smile finally blossomed on Mags face. Grove suddenly swung himself up into the wagon, and held out a hand.

"Come on, Mags. Let's give them hell," He said, a devious grin on his face, and she took his outstretched hand. "District four isn't to be messed with." Grove finished as he pulled her up, and she nodded, a fierce wave of protectiveness coming over her for the boy she was standing with.

"Oh, good luck you two!" Haven, Grove's stylist, waved excitedly at them, and by the look on Grove's face, he was about as fed up with her as Mags felt.

"For God's sake Grove, try and smile a little." His mentor, Lemon, was shaking her head, and Tigris made a face.

"Straighten your back, Mags. Lean your neck back a little, that's good. Smile and laugh with each other, make yourselves seem approachable." Tigris instructed, and Mags fixed herself in line with her stylist's vision.

Then they were off, following the wagon from District Three. Well, the whole thing was pretty much following the leader. The tributes, though dressed vastly different, had the same pose, the same careful smile on their faces as they were led around.

The crowd was roaring, their mouths in permanent O's as they screamed for the tributes. Mags wondered if her Pa was watching at this very moment, as his daughter was shown off to the world before her certain death. She didn't know how to comfort him from so far away, so she smiled a little wider, hoping he understood that she loved him.

"I can't even hear myself think." Grove shouted in her ear, and she turned her head to look at him.

"Can't imagine there's a whole lot going on in your head anyway." She laughed at her own joke, and the crowd grew louder. Mags liked to think they were all cheering for her, even though none of them would be able to recognise her. Not yet, at least.

"You're lucky you're pretty or we wouldn't be allies." Grove retorted, and Mags found her waving coming to a halt.

"Allies?" She looked back at him, and he looked confused.

"Of course, did you really think I'd let you die alone in there?" Grove's face was so sincere, so kind, and Mags threw her arms around him without thinking. If there was no one else in the arena she could trust, she had Grove.

"And it looks like our District Four tributes are enjoying one another's company. Margaret Flanagan, Grove Booker, welcome to the Capitol!" Mags let go of Grove at the sound of her name, and she looked up to see the pair of them on a big screen for everyone to see. She continued waving, and Grove did the same.

"Now, onto District Five-" Mags tuned Flickerman's whiny voice out as they continued around. The arena was similar to the torture house that the last ten games had been held in, though the stands were much larger and filled to the brim. She remembered Tigris' words, and wondered what on earth the arena would be this year. With any luck, there'd be a body of water for her. At the very least she wouldn't go hungry. Not she, they. They wouldn't go hungry. She wasn't alone.