When Luck Runs Out

I Prefer the Company of the Horses

    It was quite easy to find the cafeteria, since there were signs and arrows pointing in the right direction. But also the crowd of people seemed to be migrating there, some nodding their greeting to me (Even though I had no idea who they were) but most just kept walking. I very much preferred the ones that kept walking. The cafeteria was more like a dining hall, with long, elegant wooden tables and many counters overflowing with delicacies. But, honestly, I have had way too many delicacies in the past few days, so I went right over to the children's section. This was the most pointless of them all, since there would be no kids under twelve in the games, and I doubted any stylists would want children putting their grubby hands everywhere. But never the less it was the crappiest food I could find, so I loaded up on chicken fingers, French fries, and the most artificial macaroni and cheese they had to offer. Most of the people were sitting at the far right of the tables, so I sat alone on the far left, picking at my food slowly even though my stomach was growling like a blue whale. I looked around, picking out a couple of buff guys that must be the tributes from last year. They looked very threatening, but I tried to ignore that for now. They were human too, no matter how much muscle they had, they could be killed. And I would kill them. There were also a lot of escorts, Mrs. Hudson's friends, mostly older ladies dressed in obnoxious shades of pink and violet, chatting loudly to each other while their tributes ate. I was very happy I wasn't down there, mingling. Just the word sent shivers down my spine.
"Sherlock Holmes." said a happy voice above me. I looked up, and the one person I really, really, didn't want to see, was standing above me.
"Gavin." I sighed.
"Greg." The man corrected with a small frown. He sat down next to me, unwrapping his silverware from the napkin burrito and started on some sort of stir fry. I had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting this Greg character last year, around this time too, as I was waiting for John to be done in the stylists. All he does is talk, and the last thing I ever wanted to do was listen.
"So, are you mentoring or are you a tribute?" he asked curiously. I didn't respond, just poked at one of my chicken fingers, which now looked extremely unappetizing.
"Tribute it is then." Greg decided. "I am too, if that makes you feel any better."
"How would that make me feel better?" I asked.
"Well we could be allies of course! I'm sure you'll need an ally right, against all of these big scary men. But then again, I do suppose that's right up your alley am I right?" Greg laughed, jabbing me in the side with his elbow as if I were supposed to laugh. Only I could make gay jokes and get away with it, from anyone else it was just insulting.
"Who's going in with you huh? That chick, what's her name, Margret?" Greg asked.
"Molly." I snapped.
"Ya, Molly. Hey, she's not half bad; it must be nice to have some good looking company around huh?" Greg laughed.
"John is going in with me." I muttered. Greg's smile vanished instantly.
"Wait...so you mean..." he started.
"Yes, I mean that we're both going in." I snapped.
"Oh god, mate, I'm so sorry." Greg muttered.
"Not your fault." I muttered. Thankfully our conversation was interrupted by some lady sitting down across from Greg, with some lettuce wrap and a large iced tea, still with the tea leaves floating around.
"Ah, Jeanette, good timing." Greg decided. "Sherlock, this is Jeanette, she'll be attending the games with me."
"Hello." She said pleasantly, holding out a hand to shake. I just glared at her, and she passed off the failed handshake as awkwardly reaching for her drink. She was a dark skinned woman with her hair tied back in a large knot on the back of her head, and I suppose, in Greg's eyes, she wasn't 'half bad' either. But then again, we evidently had very different views of attraction.
"Don't take it personally Jean; he's not the most sociable of people." Greg assured, as if I had somehow offended her.
"You're the Victor from two years ago, right?" she asked me in a pathetic attempt to make conversation.
"Yes." I muttered.
"He speaks!" Greg exclaimed happily. I groaned, wanting very much to bang my head on the table until my brains leaked out, or maybe just Greg's head...
"You know, the stylists might want me down there, I should probably..." I started.
"Hey Sherlock." John muttered, sinking into the chair next to Jeanette and sighing with annoyance.
"Am I needed?" I asked hopefully.
"Nope. Now the four of them are just arguing again." John sighed.
"Are you sure I'm not needed?" I said between my teeth, glaring at John for help. But of course, he didn't see.
"I'm sure. What's for lunch today, huh?" John asked, getting up and starting to fill a plate. So I was stuck with Greg and Jeanette until John finally got back, and the two of them had begun to discuss the parade and what they were expecting.
"We're not allowed to tell you what we're being, according to our stylists it's District Five official secrets." Greg said excitedly. District Five was power, so maybe that's where he got all this bloody energy... Jeanette giggled excitedly, as if their costumes were the greatest things they could ever imagine, and just contributed on with her lettuce wrap. John joined us a little bit later with a cheeseburger, loaded with bacon and onions, smiling at it hungrily.
"I must say, there is a lot better selection here." he decided, eyeing my plate with confusion.
"Sherlock the five year old." John added.
"I'm done with fancy food, and this was the cheapest thing I could find." I explained, although now I wasn't hungry at all. Greg's company had sort of flushed my appetite.
"And who are you two?" John asked.
"Greg Lestrade." Greg said with a large smile, shaking John's hand.
"Jeannette." She said with a smile, shaking his hand as well.
"District Five." They said in unison, smiling brightly at John and making me want to rip their teeth out.
"I recognize you; Sherlock was talking to you last year." John remembered.
"Good memory this one. But then again, I'm a hard face to forget." Greg decided with a sarcastic laugh.
"I only remember because Sherlock was complaining so much." John defended, looking a little bit taken a back from Greg's modesty, or lack thereof.
"And we know you of course, last year's victor, and who could forget the love connection? That was a spark beyond anything District Five could ever conjure up." Jeanette said excitedly. Not only gay jokes, but power jokes, at the same time. God help us if we had to go into the games with these losers.
"Oh yes, it's very exciting, I know." I muttered with annoyance.
"You two are tributes this year as well?" John asked, staring on his heart attack burger.
"Yes we are, she got picked, I volunteered. I thought that if I was going to die, might as go out with a bang. It's better than rotting out at home, where everyone forgets you." Greg shrugged. Now my appetite was definitely gone, and I stood up rather abruptly.
"I'm done." I decided, picking up my tray.
"But you barely finished half your meal." Greg pointed out.
"Well I'm done anyway, good day." I decided, walking over and dumping my food into the trash can. I left John alone to fend for himself and walked down to the lobby, which was partially empty except for some receptionists and some Capital civilians waiting for their hair appointments. All the game related people were either in the styling rooms or in the cafeteria, probably over hearing Greg's morbid and loud conversations to himself. I sat alone in the most secluded area I could find, but that didn't stop some of the people from recognizing me. There were three ladies in the corner, in their high twenties or low thirties, practically pushing each other to go talk to me, with pens and notepaper in their hands. Thankfully none of them plucked up the courage to come ask for an autograph, because I was undisturbed until Mrs. Hudson came storming out of the hallway, fuming about something.
"First last year, now today, when I get my hands on him all that coffee will be leaking out of his pours." Mrs. Hudson growled.
"Looking for me I presume?" I asked with an amused smile. Mrs. Hudson turned and the look of greatest relief came flooding over her.
"Oh, Sherlock, thank god! John had no idea where you went, I assumed..." she started.
"That I went to the coffee shop again? That was one mistake too many, I don't fancy being dragged around by my ear again thank you." I decided.
"Who even knows with you?" Mrs. Hudson sighed.
"From what I heard, I'd be suffering a lot worse this time." I pointed out.
"Yes well, I'm not your babysitter. Anyway, they request your presence in the stylists room, you'll try on the outfits and then they'll get hair and makeup done, and then..." her sentence cut off and she wiped her eyes, which were already red from previous tears.
"It's okay Mrs. Hudson, it'll all be okay." I assured, getting up from the chair and following her back into the stylist's room. There it took a long while to get us dressed, but when we were done we really did look like kings. The capes flowed beautifully, the golden jackets were stunningly luminous, everything looked purely royal. Then came the hard part, makeup and hair. It took a good two hours until finally John and I were done, and by that time we looked like male Barbie dolls. John looked absolutely flawless, of course, but I just looked fake. But I had to admit, the eyeliner really did bring out the color of my eyes. Since these were complex outfits we weren't allowed to go back to the hotel, so we just sat around, waiting for everything to start up. When six o'clock finally came around we were shipped off onto the train (behind large curtains so no one saw our outfits), and moved into the stadium. The crowds around this station were so extreme that I felt like if I wasn't concealed behind a sheet that I'd have to swim through the spectators. I couldn't see them, but their voices and screams were plenty loud enough for me to hear, echoing off the concrete station so that my ear drums nearly burst.
"Don't pick at the blush." I heard Molly snap to John, who was scratching his face.
"Is it supposed to be so itchy?" he defended.
"Welcome to the life of a woman." Mrs. Hudson pointed out, and John grimaced, as if he could never imagine life like this.
"Well this is just splendid." I muttered sarcastically. We walked into the carriage house and finally the curtains were dropped. The other districts were here, but we all had our separate rooms to get prepared in. It wasn't until the lineup that all the secrets were revealed. The horses we were riding were pure white, looking almost skeletal, with peeling leather reins and matted hair. If I didn't know the theme was rotting royalty I would've sued the stable hand.
"Now you know what to do?" Sara asked, adjusting the crown on my head.
"Yes, I know, once we get to a stop the crowns will be nothing more than a speck, just throw them into the bottom of the carriage." I agreed.
"Bingo." Antea said happily while fixing John's cape, which was slightly lopsided.
"They look truly stunning." Molly decided.
"If only you had loosened the collars a bit." Mrs. Hudson muttered, being the disapproving mother she always was. I noticed John, who finally was able to escape the group, walk over to horses and pet their noses a little bit. I'm sure the stylists would not agree with this at all, probably because if that horse sneezed the entire outfit is ruined. But I followed him over anyway, wanting to know for sure if he was okay. "Ready?" I asked. John sighed, scratching the horse's ear and looking somber. 

"Two for two I suppose." He muttered.
"It'll be fine." I assured.
"Maybe for you. But I didn't even get an adjustment year, I'm straight out of the arena." He pointed out. I giggled a little bit at his unforeseen reference, but he didn't really understand.
"Then you'll know for sure what to expect. I'm sure half of these people are just as emotionally messed up as I am." I pointed out.
"I don't think so." John muttered.
"Well, even so; at least we've got some allies." I shrugged.
"Not the people from Five?" John groaned.
"Unfortunately they're all we've got." I sighed.
"You had to leave, then they started on about the worst ways to die, it was terrible. I was about to demonstrate at least five of their creative deaths on them that moment."
"Well, it's good for you for staying there. I would've died a slow, painful death." I said with a guilty laugh.
"I know." John agreed.
"Still, Mrs. Hudson had thought I was going for coffee, I saw her in the lobby, threatening to murder me. It was quite funny." I admitted.
"She could kick your butt." John pointed out.
"That's one of the main reasons it was so great to prove her wrong." I insisted, petting the other horse's nose since he was looking at the second one with envy.
"They're beautiful horses." John decided.
"They're bread in District Ten, trained for exactly this. The ones that are the most elegant and beautiful, twenty four each year, are sent to the Capital." I pointed out.
"What happens to the rest?" John asked fearfully.
"Well, I wouldn't say that all the beef in the District is beef." I muttered.
"Oh god that's morbid." John decided.
"Get away from those!" Sara exclaimed, finally noticing John and I with our animal companions. Anthea and Sara came over and shooed us away, making sure there wasn't a single white horse hair on us. It was a good time to get caught though, because just then the announcer said we had five minutes to get ready.
"Get on the carriages; we've got to go soon!" Molly exclaimed.
"We'll be in the stands, just hold hands, look sad, and don't look at the crowd." Mrs. Hudson instructed.
"Good luck!" Molly yelled as the two of them ran off the best they could in their high heels. Two stable boys came and led the horses out, the four of us walking swiftly after them into the lineup. Thankfully we had some more time, considering we were the last ones in the line. All of the other tributes were dressed up just as obnoxiously as we were, like District Eleven, we saw, were both dressed up in green, and when they moved the edges of them blurred.
"Ah, night vision outfits, very clever." Sara muttered, watching them clamor onto the cart. They both looked very tough, the man with muscled the size of grapefruits and the woman very nimble and thin. They looked like the perfect team, one for fight and one for flight. Compared to them, John and I looked downright pathetic. We were only kids still; all of these people were trained adult warriors. They were skilled, we were just lucky.
"Alright, get on, get on." Sara decided. The stylists helped up get onto our carriage, standing on the outlines of feet on the ground so that we had good balance. I could hear the roaring crowd from here, all rich Capital people simply dying to get a glimpse of us.
"You'll do amazing, just follow the instructions, and get the crowns off as soon as you stop!" Anthea decided.
"Thirty seconds." The announcer said. The crowd yelled even louder, and then the doors opened, magnifying their screams tenfold.