First prompt of the new event!!! Tagging those who wanted to be tagged from the discord (let me know if anyone else wants to be or if i missed someone) :
Skyler tossed his head as Volt finished tying his tie around his neck. She shook her head and sighed, but didn’t bother telling him to pay attention. It wasn’t every day the kid let her help him anymore. Besides… She stepped back and crossed her arms, hiding the faint tremble in her hands. Every year. Every damned year the odds just got worse. For all of them. Volt’s jaw tightened. Once she thought she’d never even think of volunteering in someone else’s place. Tragedy was tragedy but nothing a smart woman would sacrifice herself for but now…
She nodded to the door. “I’ll meet you outside.”
He left, silent. That wasn’t good, though really she couldn’t blame him for being anxious. Hands planted on the counter top, Volt hunched over the bathroom sink. Tortoiseshell hair fell in front of her face, shiny with products she only used once or twice a year.
A hand on her shoulder made her jump, gasping, but it was only Rick with a solemn smile. The only one on the Lord of Chaos not dressed in their best, not leaving to stand among the others at the reaping. The only one who by all records didn’t exist.
“Sleep at all last night?” He spoke low, just between the two of them. They both knew he already knew the answer.
Volt shook her head, dropping her eyes back to the sink. “Barely.”
Antenna near his ear twitched and Rick’s head swiveled. Muffled through the narrow passageways of the ship Volt could just make out Warren’s greeting and Skyler’s response. Good, he must have opened the door for them. Groaning, she pulled herself to stand up more or less straight. If Warren was here that could only mean one thing: it was almost time to go.
She took a deep breath. “Look after things while we’re gone, keep an eye out for trouble.” She didn’t have to remind him, she knew that. He didn’t protest though, nodding along with every order as if they both hadn’t been through this time and time again. “If you get bored you can go through the supplies. I think some might be close to expiring.”
Again Rick nodded, keeping up the false routine of the day. Pretending there wasn’t some risk overhanging them all, pretending there wasn’t a chance that someone might not come home. Pretending nothing was wrong for her sake.
Why bother pretending. “Richard.” Volt set her shoulders back and met his one still-functioning eye. “If something happens I—”
“Don’t.” Rick failed to soften the natural growl to his voice, sharp and grinding like broken glass. “it’s going to be fine. You’ll be alright.” He took a breath and his voice softened again, smoothing over the edges like he always tried so hard to do. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He was right. “Sure,” she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she slipped by him out into the hall. No use worrying about something that might not even happen. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The crowd is still only because of the Peacekeepers surrounding them. As Elizabeth stands in the assigned area, she looks ahead of her, at the children all younger than her. This is it, her last year with a chance of being Reaped.
She shifts her weight nervously. She remembers being in their place. How the idea of being Reaped had made her stomach twist. She can almost remember every word of the escort’s speech that year. Of course, it had basically been the same speech as every other year, but that one had felt somehow different.
The crowd grows as more people join. The noise never grows above a dull murmur, though, as everyone offers quiet attempts at comforting each other, or themselves, that everything will work out. A few of the kids in the middle of the crowd—probably about 14 or 15, if she had to guess—whisper quietly among themselves. She vaguely recognizes them, though their names don’t immediately come to mind. She catches the word “volunteer”, and her heart sinks. Children shouldn’t be making the choice to sacrifice themselves to protect other children.
When she manages to tear her eyes off of the children in front of her, they’re glued to the bowls on stage. Specifically, the bowl that she knows has 14 slips of paper with her name on them. 14 entries too many, if you ask her.
The murmur of the crowd dwindles to nothing as the escort steps out on stage in front of them, dressed in a shade of pastel pink Elizabeth was sure wouldn’t be flattering on anyone. The escort greets the crowd with outstretched arms and a sickeningly sweet smile. “Welcome everyone, and happy Hunger Games!”
"Happy" is not the word Elizabeth would use to describe this situation.
Everyone’s attention is directed to the large screens on either side of the stage for the video they show every year. The narrator’s voice drones on for several minutes. Somehow it feels like both an instant and an eternity.
It tells them everything they could ever want to know about the Hunger Games, except why they’re expected to be happy about sending children off to be slaughtered.
As the video finishes, the escort strides over to the first of the two bowls on stage. “I know we’re all excited to see who gets the honor of representing District 7 in this year’s Games, so let’s not delay it any longer. First, we have…” she pauses dramatically, swirling her hand in the bowl before retrieving one of the pieces of paper. The level of tension rises instantly. Elizabeth watches the Peacekeepers out of the corner of her eye, as they ready to escort the first young Tribute to the stage. “Elizabeth Ward!”
She almost doesn’t recognize her own name. Knowing no one woud be stupid enough to volunteer in her place, she takes a step forward. Moments later, there are Peacekeepers on either side of her, hands on her back, directing her towards the stage. She doesn’t fight them—it’s pointless to try and escape. Numbly, she makes her way up the steps.
The escort pulls her into a handshake, more of a formality than anything. “Come on darling, give us a big smile. Isn’t it exciting, being here in front of all these people?” She gestures to the crowd. Her voice sounds muffled, as if Elizabeth is underwater.
The thought of her parents out there makes Elizabeth’s stomach turn. She doesn’t lift her head to look for them. She doesn’t want to see them like that. Instead, she forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The rest of her focus is on not throwing up on this woman, no matter how much she thought she deserved it.
There are a few shocked gasps when the next name is called. "Rabban!" It's a name she's heard once or twice, though she can't match it to a face.
Elizabeth's smile falls when the Peacekeepers drag a child onto the stage. She watches the crowd, expecting someone, anyone to take the place of the 12 year old beside her. The crowd remains silent.
The escort begins her last statements. The cheerful tone of her voice feels cruel. Elizabeth keeps watching Rabban from the corner of her eye. Could I really kill a child?
The only applause when the ceremony ends is from the escort herself. Elizabeth almost doesn't realize it's over until she and Rabban are marched off the stage.
I'm pretty sure this is everyone who asked to be tagged. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in my whg prompt responses in this round!
AN: I already made the mentor a guy, and I refuse to write Finnick Odair I'm sorry I don't want to get his character wrong- (Also 100th post!)
Tag list: @ratracechronicler @concealeddarkness13 @maple-writes @pen-of-roses
The train ride was quick. They were escorted on, and they had walked down the hallway until they found a compartment to sit in. Syl vaguely remembered their District partner, Scorpio (was that his name?) waving and saying hello, but Syl ignored him and sat down in their own compartment.
They attempted to form some sort of plan while eating, but after several minutes concluded that it would be impossible without knowing the conditions of the arena, and knowing the other tributes.
A man suddenly burst into the compartment. "District Four?" He asked.
Syl nodded, scanning the man. He must be the 'mentor'- a previous Victor who would give them advice. The man fully stepped into the room, sitting down.
“I’m T.” He said. “I’m your mentor. What’s your name?”
“I’m Syl.” They replied. “So you give us...advice on how to survive?”
“Something like that.” T chuckled. “I’ll be straight with you, kid, there’s not much I can tell you. It’s all up to who your opponents are, the arena, and of course yourself. Since you’re from Four, you’ve been training for this your whole life. You’ve been taught how to shoot a bow, use a sword, fight with your fists, but there will be someone faster or stronger than you. Just keep fighting, that’s all you can really do, y’know?”
Syl sat silent for a moment, absorbing the information. “Yeah. All I can really do is try my best and try not to die.”
“Even though the goal is to be the last one alive, don’t kill unless you have to. They’ll...” the victor shuddered. “It’ll haunt you.” His eyes were full of pain and memory.
“But keep it entertaining. Sponsors love fighting and big emotional stories.” T finished, leaning back in his seat. “Do you know where your District partner is?”
Syl cringed a little when they remembered how they had ignored Scorpio. “I think he’s in the compartment across from here.”
T grunted in acknowledgement. “I’ll talk to him later.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Well...”
~~~~~~
“A dress? Can’t I wear pants?” Syl glared at the pirate outfit the stylist had made.
“Oh, but it’s so nice as a dress...” she trailed off. After a scowl from the tribute, she hastily added, "But it would look nice with some modifications!"
Soon enough, the skirt was transformed into a pair of pants, and Syl tried it on. They smiled at their image. Baggy, tan pants, a dark red shirt and a black jacket. A large pirate hat sat snugly on their head.
"You look wonderful," The stylist hummed. "Let's see if I can find your tribute partner, I want to make sure you match."
Syl cringed inwardly. The first interaction they had had with Scorpio was them ignoring him. Not the best first impression. Who knew how the second one would go?
Soon enough, he showed up, in a similar outfit to Syl's but in opposite colors. Black pants, a tan shirt and deep red jacket. He lifted the corner of his hat jokingly. "Aye, matey," He grinned. Maybe he didn't hate them.
The stylist ushered them together and inspected them. "Oh, you look great." She smiled encouragingly. "Do you have your tokens?"
Syl held up her ring and Scorpio his rope bracelet. "Okay then. Go out for the parade!" The tailor waved them away.
The two District Four tributes wandered to where they were supposed to be waiting. They nodded to each other, and split off to talk to the other tributes.
Finally, it was time for the parade. They boarded the pirate ship-themed-carriage and started forward.
Scorpio nudged them in a reminder to wave. Syl resisted the urge to flip off the cheering crowd and waved with a forced smile. Put on a show, get sponsors. They both reminded themselves. Get sponsors, get a better chance at survival. Syl felt a pang of regret for when they inevitably had to kill the redhead. They felt fear for when they entered the death match.
But most of all, they felt determination that they would survive. Sure, killing would be... hard, but it was life or death.
Elizabeth has never seen this much food in her life. Tables, lined with meats and pastries she can’t even name. She busies herself with stacking as many as she can on a plate. She’s going to try them all by the time they arrive. Outside, the world rushes past, and District 7 is quickly left behind them.
The first thing she notices as the world flies by is the lack of trees. Everything feels so...exposed. Open. Wrong.
The escort has been lingering around her for what feels like hours now. God, if she never had to see that pink outfit again it would be too soon. Shouldn’t she be pestering Rabban instead? Surely a poor 12 year old being sent to the arena would be a much more interesting story for the Capitol.
Part of her is glad they’ve been alone though. The kid probably wasn’t handling this particularly well. Maybe she should go check on them?
“Excuse me,” she says to the escort, already out of her seat. She doesn’t bother trying to sound polite. On her way to the next car, she makes sure to grab a few extra pastries. She hoped it would be a sort of peace offering.
To say Rabban isn’t handling the train ride well is an understatement. They have a wild look in their eye. She holds the plate of food at arms length. “Hey, kid. I’m sure you’re hungry. You’ll probably never have a chance to have food like this. You ought to try it.”
They don’t immediately come to take it, so she sets it on a nearby table and moves to sink down on the couch. She sinks down much farther into it than she expected.
She’s able to get a much better look at her fellow tribute, now. They must be from one of the poorer areas. The dust and dirt still stuck to their skin; the scratches and scrapes along their hands, arms, legs; their matted and frizzy hair, told her most of what she needed to know.
The Capitol stylists would have a field day with them.
“Look, kid. Rabban, was it? I’m not someone you’re gonna have to worry about out there. I’m not looking to win this thing. But you might have a chance. I can help you.”
Rabban doesn’t answer, but they’re busy stuffing their face with food. At least they’re eating something. If the situation were any different, she’d almost feel happy for them.
Her best chance at helping Rabban is to watch the rest of the Reapings and see who they’re going to be up against. It sounds definitely like something she doesn’t want to do alone. Still, Rabban doesn’t seem particularly interested in watching tv, and she isn’t going to force them to do anything they don’t want to do. Not now. They’ll get plenty of that from everyone else.
With a soft sigh, she turns to the screen, and listens as the escort for District 1 begins to speak.
technically i still have 45 minutes left of the day so I can still say I'm keeping up with the prompts lol
###
Why hadn’t any one thought to put a clock in the farewell rooms? Volt paced back and forth across the freshly-cleaned floor in the room too small for footsteps to have any kind of echo to them. How long had it been? It felt like hours since a pair of peacekeepers whisked her from the stage into this little room. Warren, they were coming, right? They had to be. Unless…
Volt swallowed. Was Skyler okay? Was that why they hadn’t come yet, caught up in making sure Skyler didn’t do something rash? But they’d be here eventually. Eventually. Rick though… She stopped in the middle of the room, lowering her eyes to the floor. There’d be no goodbye.
A click came from the door as it opened and Warren stepped inside. Alone. For far too long they stood in the doorway, eyes locked with her and shoulders tense before they each broke their stare and threw their arms around each other. Volt squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to keep her breath steady as Warren’s tickled her ear.
“Listen, Volt, we don’t have much time.” They sucked in a deep breath and drew back, taking her hands in theirs.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” Surely they knew, of course they knew she knew that. What were they—
“I know we talked about it a little bit, and I know, I know this isn’t how either of us wanted it to go,” Warren pulled themself back from their rambling with a long breath and met her eyes. “Volt, do you want to get married? Right now?”
Now? Volt blinked, frozen in place and staring until Warren’s figure swam and she had to turn away. She drew her sleeve over her eyes. How many times had they both thought of this moment, laying in each other’s arms at the end of movie neither were paying attention to, over dinners, over phone calls…
“Can we?” She ran a hand through her hair, straightening up and trying to think. What kind of things did they need for a wedding? How would they get everything together before they had to go? She hadn’t even thought of anything that they might have needed to get in order and it was all happening so fast and she could still feel the threat of tears and—
“I convinced a judge someone to come officiate, Skyler’s bringing them right now. I’ll take care of the rest.” Warren smiled, tense and nervous. “If you want to we can do it.”
Volt took their hands again, leaning in until her forehead rested against theirs. “Of course.” It might be their last chance if she didn’t… She bit back the thought. Not now. There’d be all the time in the world to worry about what could happen later.
When the commissioner arrived everything happened quickly as she set out the documents and Warren begged two marginally sympathetic peacekeepers to bear witness. If only Skyler were old enough.
“I apologize, we don’t have the time for a full ceremony.” The commissioner slid the blank certificate and a pen across the little table she’d set up.
Volt took the pen first, pausing as she skimmed the certificate. So this was how they were going to get married? She signed her name, passed the pen to Warren and they did the same. Stepping back, the two peacekeepers signed as witnesses and wasted no time leaving the room again, their jobs done. She didn’t even know their names. The commissioner left with the paper work and the three of them were alone again. For now.
Warren slipped their watch—the one that belonged to their late mother—off their wrist and gently took Volt’s hand. “It’s no ring, but…” They slid it onto her wrist, carefully adjusting it to fit. “Take it.”
Her other hand went to her face, covering her mouth to hide the way it wrenched. They had so few reminders of either of their parents. The strap couldn’t have been much nicer than old stainless steel, and the face plain as could be, but as long as she’d known them it hardly left their wrist.
“I…” Volt swallowed. “I don’t know what to say. Warren, I,” She hadn’t brought anything nice with her, nothing worth enough to come close to what they meant. “I wish I had something to give but I—”
They shook their head, holding up a hand for her to pause. “Your name is more than enough.” They smiled, weak but warm. “Warren Powell. Now it doesn’t matter what happens.” Their voice strained, sharp and pinched thin. “I’ll always have your name.”
Warren…
There couldn’t be much time left now. Biting back everything she wished she had time to tell them, Volt pulled herself from Warren and turned to Skyler. He stood with his eyes on the ground and with a tension that suggested he was trying his best not to cry.
“Come here.” She pulled him in, holding him tight against her chest. “Take care of yourself Sky. Don’t worry about me.” It was pointless, trying to tell him that but what else could she say? “You’ll get through this.”
He didn’t say anything, burying his head in her shoulder and clutching at her shirt. “No, no, I can’t…”
Volt swallowed and gently stepped out of his grip, pushing his hair back out of his face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Her voice shook despite her every effort. “Listen, I’m going to do everything I can to stay alive. You know I will.” They both knew it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter how hard she tried, it wasn’t going to made the odds any better. She could only hope he didn’t do anything stupid, didn’t hide himself away again.
The door opened and the peacekeeper stood in the doorway. Volt sighed, letting her head drop. Already?
“Volt,” Warren shifted in close, resting a hand on Skyler’s back. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be okay, we’ll figure it out.” They paused, glancing up as the peacekeepers entered the room. “I love you, Volt.”
More silent tears welled up in her eyes, tension cutting off her voice. Before the peacekeepers could reach her, she leaned over and met Warren with a kiss over too fast when a hand closed on her elbow.
Seems this year the budget hadn’t even covered new decorations for the square. Banners and emblems recycled from years past with new paint jobs lined every flat surface not taken up by overly large screens set up right at the front. Those probably, those were brought in just for today. No way they kept that shit in storage here all year round.
Volt rolled her shoulders back and evened out her stance, staring straight ahead at the back of some stranger’s head. With Skyler on her side and Warren on his she couldn’t risk showing her nerves. The opening speeches had only just begun and Warren was already starting to look a little pale in the face despite their best efforts to try and be strong. Skyler’s jaw clenched and unclenched along with his fists. He stole a glance up and Volt and she caught his eye. There was nothing she could say. Nothing that wasn’t a lie. She could tell him it was all going to be okay. She could tell him nothing bad was going to happen but he was smarter than that. He was smart enough to know truth from empty comfort. Warren too, though they at least tried to pretend in the moment things weren’t what they were.
The escort finished their speech, pulling Volt’s head back to life with the pronged silence that followed. This was always the hardest part.
She pulled a slip of paper and unfolded it in theirs hands gently, oh so carefully, like it was the most precious delicate thing in the world. They read, took a breath and leaned in to kiss the mic with their words. “Our lucky first tribute shall be: Volt Powell.”
“No—”
Warren clapped one hand over Skyler’s mouth and wrapped their other arm around his body before Volt had a second to even recognize her own name.
Shit.
She took a deep breath and held it a moment before stepping out from the crowd, suppressing a wince at Warren’s futile hisses to try and get Skyler to stop struggling. She didn’t want to think about what might have happened if Warren hadn’t been there, if they hadn’t reacted so fast.
Head up and shoulders back she paced down the center line of the crowd, eyes level and resting on the smiling escort onstage. Step by step by step by step… Each footfall crunched in hastily lain gravel. One after the other after the other until the crunch turned to creaks on the wooden steps at the side of the stage.
“Come come, don’t be shy!” The escort chirped, beckoning her closer and sticking out a hand.
Heels loud against the stage Volt strode across and took her hand firmly, looking the doll-like escort level in her glass-bead eyes. Her hand, soft with whatever it was they must have used in the capitol, was far too limp for a proper handshake. Far more show than respect.
The escort let her go and turned her towards the morbid crowd. A hand on each of Volt’s shoulders, she leaned over with a toothy smile. “How does it feel? Up here for everyone to see? Isn’t it exciting?”
Volt’s skin crawled under the escort’s touch but she held still under her hands. “I don’t think exciting is the right word.” She glanced between her and the trembling crowd. “As I think we would all agree.”
For a moment the escort didn’t seem sure how to react, but quickly regained her composure with some quippy line and a cheer before ushering Volt to the back of the stage. She kept talking, building up unnecessary suspense before pulling out the next name but Volt didn’t pay any attention. She stared over the heads of the gathered to the blue and red hair of Warren and Skyler.
Her heart sunk and her chest tightened. Even from here she could see the tear tracks down Skyler’s face as he stood limp and held back by Warren’s grip.
The next candidate climbed onto the stage and Volt cast him a passing glance. Young, wearing an ill-fitting shirt and loud as all hell, but that was all she noticed before turning back to Warren and Skyler. Back on the ship Rick couldn’t have been doing much better, frozen in front of the broadcast all alone. No, not the ship anymore. His ship now. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Elizabeth stares at the wall. It’s all there is to do, now. Stare at the wall, wait for someone to show up, and try not to think too hard about the torture she’s about to be put through.
Part of her hopes her parents won’t come. She knows they will, of course they will. She sighs, running her thumb across her fingernails. How much time has passed. A minute? Ten?
The door opens, and she looks up sharply. Her mother and father step into the room. “Five minutes,” the guard says, and closes them in.
Elizabeth turns back to the wall. She can’t tell whether she’s protecting her own feelings or their memories of her. Soon, that’s all she’ll be to them. “I’m not coming home.”
Her mother lets out a shaky gasp. Guilt punches her in the chest. Still, they deserve to know the truth. A hand grasps her shoulder. Father. “You’re strong, you’re clever. You can win.”
“I can, but I won’t.” How could they expect her to? “I refuse.”
“Elizabeth, please. Think about what you’re saying. Think about--”
“I have thought about it! How could I not? I’m going into that arena, but I’m not coming back out. I am not going to be winning this twisted game! If you can’t accept that...well, it’s not my problem anymore! Now, if you’re planning on lecturing me, I’d really rather you just leave.”
Her father doesn’t respond right away, but she feels his hand leave her shoulder. It leaves her feeling somehow emptier than before. The door opens. “Goodbye,” she says, hoping she doesn’t sound as hurt as she thinks she does.
“I love you.” Her mother’s tearful voice is the last thing she hears before the door clicks shut and she is once again left alone.
I’m pretty sure this is everyone who asked to be tagged. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my whg prompt responses in this round!
“We’ve arrived, darlings!” the escort chirps far too cheerfully. She ushers the pair outside. Rabban snarls at the interruption, but the escort takes no notice.
The sunlight is almost blinding. It seems to reflect off of every surface in sight. Has she ever seen it this clearly, this powerfully? Just as soon as she has the thought, the light disappears. The group surrounding her is already poking at her skin, and tugging at her clothes and hair. They’re all dressed in various pastels. For the most part, they kind of go together. They’re all talking over each other, and it’s difficult to make out more than a few words from any of them. Rabban is nowhere in sight. Hopefully, they’d be okay.
When she’s finally led to a chair and told to sit down, she’s actually kind of grateful, and flops down into it without much thought. Her hair is finally released from its ponytail, and one of the stylists frowns as he looks at it. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Someone takes her hand and begins to scrape the dirt from under her fingernails. Someone else is pulling a brush through her hair. The head stylist begins to explain his vision. “You’ll need hair extensions, but we can make it work. You’ll make a gorgeous tree! Sturdy! I mean, just look at those muscles!”
Elizabeth had hoped they’d be a little more creative this year. Trees had been done so many times before. How could it still be interesting to look at?
It’s not worth the argument though. Her words won’t change his mind anyways.
The dress they give her is gorgeous. Brown, of course, with just a hint of glitter. The fabric seems to twist and wrap around her until it brushes against the ground at her feet. It feels so formal, she’s almost afraid she’ll ruin it just by wearing it.
The stylists spend the next few hours on her hair and makeup. The smell of chemicals surrounds her, threatening to suffocate her before she even makes it to the arena. “It’ll fade with time,” the stylist tells her. She doesn’t quite believe him.
By the time they’re done, she almost doesn’t recognize herself. Her hair, longer than it had been when she first came into the room, now stands upright above her head, twisting and turning like the branches of a tree. They’d managed to decorate it with leaves that nearly matched the green of her eyes. She almost did look like a real tree. It was impressive. She almost smiles.
She’s guided out to a waiting area. A few other people linger around. One of them she recognizes from the train. An older woman--definitely not a tribute, and dressed far too calmly to be a Capitolite. A mentor, then. And, given by the fact that she approaches Elizabeth, probably her mentor.
“I see you’ve handled yourself well, so far.” The woman looks her up and down. “So, how do you plan to act on the ride? First impressions are the most important. Impressing them early means more sponsors.”
“I appreciate it, but I’m not the one you should be worrying about here. I don’t plan on trying to get sponsors. I don’t plan on trying to win. If you really want to help someone, I suggest you start with Rabban. They could use it.”
As if summoned by her words, Rabban is finally escorted out by a stylist. Apparently, the stylists did get a little more creative this year. Rabban is covered head to toe in black feathers. In their hair (which seems to be freshly washed), on their suit, and on their hat. Their suit has a slight green hue when the light hits it just right, and it seems to almost glow beneath the feathers. Rabban struggles a bit, and even throws out a few choice words, as the stylist guides them back to the waiting area. A few feathers float to the ground, but most of them seem to stay in place. Elizabeth makes a mental note that Rabban seems to dislike being told what to do.
Someone called for the chariots to line up. The pair was led to their chariot—seventh in the line, of course—and helped up. “Now, just try to make a good impression. Smile and wave.”
Rabban snarls and—did they just growl? The mentor actually looks almost impressed. “That’ll do, too. Just make an impression on them, make yourself unforgettable. That’s how you get sponsors.”
Or try to look as dull and uninteresting as possible, and leave the sponsors for someone else.
The chariots begin to move, and Rabban is certainly putting on a show. They screech out some bird calls, spreading their arms as wide as they can in the space. They seem almost happy to be here. The crowd cheers as they ride past. It’s not entirely clear whether it’s because of Rabban’s performance or someone else. Elizabeth isn’t sure it really matters.
