They dress her up in a tiger onesie, and since she's alert enough this early in the morning, she bothers to protest it. Tiger stripes, really? Bare feet? They say it'll make her look cute, and she supposes that if she's dressed like a tiger there's probably some poor asshole dressed like a dalmatian, so she slaps some color into her cheeks on the helicopter and mentally prepares herself.
The mental preparation doesn't take that long. Venus has been doing this sort of thing for much longer than she was in Panem. She closes her eyes and thinks of who her allies are, who her enemies are. She opens them when the familiar needle - her 'booster shot' - goes into her shoulder.
"You couldn't warn me?" She rolls her eyes as her Stylist wipes the spot of the injection down. "How long will this last?"
"A few weeks."
"The whole Arena?"
"A few weeks. The audience wants to see if Enjolras comes for you when you need him most."
"That's fucking great," Venus says. She stares down at her feet, at the blue-painted toenails winking back up at her, her feet curled slightly against the cold floor. "Because he's not even watching."
She walks without being led to the tube, not resigned to her fate because she doesn't consider it condemnation. By the time she reaches the top of the tube and can take in the parking lot and her competition, she's got her game face on, her sly, camera-ready smirk.
Time to baptize another Arena in blood. Venus lowers herself into a runner's stance, eyes focused not on the prizes but on the Tributes around her. When the gong goes off she springs off her pedestal and sprints down her lane with the speed of a runaway train.
Venus | OTA
The mental preparation doesn't take that long. Venus has been doing this sort of thing for much longer than she was in Panem. She closes her eyes and thinks of who her allies are, who her enemies are. She opens them when the familiar needle - her 'booster shot' - goes into her shoulder.
"You couldn't warn me?" She rolls her eyes as her Stylist wipes the spot of the injection down. "How long will this last?"
"A few weeks."
"The whole Arena?"
"A few weeks. The audience wants to see if Enjolras comes for you when you need him most."
"That's fucking great," Venus says. She stares down at her feet, at the blue-painted toenails winking back up at her, her feet curled slightly against the cold floor. "Because he's not even watching."
She walks without being led to the tube, not resigned to her fate because she doesn't consider it condemnation. By the time she reaches the top of the tube and can take in the parking lot and her competition, she's got her game face on, her sly, camera-ready smirk.
Time to baptize another Arena in blood. Venus lowers herself into a runner's stance, eyes focused not on the prizes but on the Tributes around her. When the gong goes off she springs off her pedestal and sprints down her lane with the speed of a runaway train.