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SONG SUGGESTION:Hold Me Down by Halsey
"I've made you some surprises," Beetee told the three refugees as they walked around the Special Defense unit deep below Thirteen. Greyson was looking around in fascination at all of the equipment and the widespread shooting range, her eyes landing on a stand that held two black bows. They were elegant and sleek, black with matching similarities but different features. Beetee stopped at them and handed Gale a crossbow made specially for him.
"Maybe you wanna try one out?" He suggested go Gale. "If you're gonna be a part of Katniss and Greyson's propo team, you may as well look the part."
Greyson watched with Katniss as Gale almost gladly rested the bow against his shoulder and aimed, his finger hovering over the trigger as he took fire to a faraway target, hitting it dead center and causing it to combust into flames. Greyson blinked at his skill.
"And these are for you two," Beetee moved on toward the two bows that sat side by side. "Katniss, this one is yours. The other is Greyson's."
He handed Greyson the second black bow, it's weight soft in her palm and the humming mechanic of it light to the touch as if she was gripping solid air. "Plutarch wanted you to have a weapon for the sake of the propos, but I couldn't just make you a fashion accessory." Beetee explained to them, watching their reactions.
Katniss was the first to speak. "It's beautiful."
Greyson looked up at Beetee from the bow, "thank you."
"And look here," he pointed to an array of arrows. "Regular, incendiary, explosive arrows. All color-coded." He glanced up at Greyson. "When we retrieve Finnick, I've got a trident made just for him, when he's ready. Might just cheer him . . . cheer him up."
Greyson fought back the tears that threatened to fall from their place, and she smiled at Beetee while gripping her bow tightly. "You're a good friend, Beetee."
Katniss was silent, eyeing the arrows with curious eyes before deciding to grab an explosive arrow, knocking it into her bow.
Beetee rested a wary hand on her raised arm, "uh, let's not fire the red ones in here."
* * *
Greyson couldn't help but cough as Effie swept a neutral toned powder over her cheeks, on top of a thin layer of what she could only think to be a makeup formula made to hide scars and her exhaustion. Greyson never wore makeup when home in District 4, yet when it had anything to do with the Capitol, her prep team made sure to perfect the fine lines that she had gotten from sleepless nights of haunting dreams. They were always so sure to make her perfect and clean, like a pretty picture or a statue of marble.
