I woke abruptly to find pale light streaming through the window. There was also a hand clamped tightly across my nose and mouth, suffocating me. Reflexively, I grabbed my attacker's wrist, digging my thumbs into a soft pressure point, and heaved us both up and forward, my shoulder connecting with what felt like someone's chin.
"Could be better, Salotti," my mentor scolded, rubbing his square jaw as he moved into view. "If we were in the arena, you'd be dead."
"If we were in the arena, I'd be sleeping lightly and armed to the teeth. Anyone snuck up on me like that, I'd slit his throat before he managed to lay a finger on me," I replied.
"Let's hope so. I've put too much work into you to see you get killed in your sleep by one of those District One airheads. Now get up! We eat at seven, so you have less than an hour to finish your workout."
Varius was out the door before I could reply, so I sighed, dropped to the floor, and started counting push-ups.
We arrived at the Capitol shortly after breakfast.
The meal itself had been a tedious affair – I'd taken slow sips of my mud-textured protein shake while watching Theta Honeyman, still in a robe and slippers, pound on Quintus' door until he emerged, blond hair looking like a particularly untidy haystack. My fellow tribute had plopped himself in an overstuffed chair by the table and proceeded to gobble down no fewer than six cinnamon buns while I looked on in awe, pink straw dangling limply from my mouth. Some mentors were stricter than others, it seemed, even in Two.
The train had just begun to decelerate when our escort reemerged from the direction of her compartment, clicking toward us in a pair of towering heeled sandals. The shoes were orange today, I noticed, accentuating the matching stripes in her hair, which was now arranged in absurd ringlets.
"Stand up, dears," she ordered, ushering us toward the glass sliding door through which we'd entered yesterday. "We're almost there! Get ready for your first sight of civilization! I'm sure everyone will be ever so excited to catch a glimpse of you."
Indeed, I could see a blur of colors on the other side of the glass, resolving themselves into alien-looking people as the train slowed to a halt.
"Perfect, we're right on schedule!" Theta glanced at the handheld electronic device she never seemed to be without, patting her curls with her free hand. "Where can your mentors have gone?" she fussed, glancing toward the back of the train. "Well, no matter. I'm to escort you straight away to your stylists in the Remake Center. Your mentors will be absolutely delighted to see you all cleaned up for your grand entrance this evening."
I briefly considered things that would delight Varius. New target dummies for our Training Center back home, maybe. Me winning the Quarter Quell, certainly. Me dressed up Capitol-style? Never.
Quintus, for once, seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He flashed his trademark grin first at me, then at our escort, saying, "Not as delighted as we'll be to see them, I bet! I wonder how many stylists will die trying to stuff Allison into a dress?"
We both laughed, our mirth doubling as Theta shot us a horrified look. "This is exactly why I'd hoped to be assigned to District One when I became an escort!" she said. "Their tributes always have such lovely manners."
"Don't they?" I said, smiling innocently down at her. "Such a shame we'll have to break their well-mannered necks in two weeks or so." I smirked at Quintus over her head.
Theta looked like she was on the verge of tears. She was silent as our little threesome pushed through the crowd of Capitol onlookers and reporters, but as we reached the doors of the Remake Center, she turned to glare at me again. "Neera, dear, you'll never get sponsors if you continue to make jokes at other people's expense," she said. You're quite pretty for a girl from District Two, and you should use it to your advantage. Charm them!"
I went very still.
"You're wrong, Theta," I said, barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd behind us. "With or without sponsors, I'll win these Games. Not because I'm charming or pretty, but because I'm strong, fast and brutal. If you don't understand what makes a victor, maybe you really should try to get reassigned to that bimbo from One." Not waiting to gauge her reaction, I pushed through the doors into the air-conditioned Remake Center with Quintus at my heels.
Our prep teams were waiting for us in the lobby. I saw one lilac-skinned woman gasp in delight as she saw Quintus, turning to murmur something to the man beside her. He shook his head briefly before walking in my direction.
"Good afternoon," he said, his voice smooth and modulated. "I'm Phoenix Rave, your stylist. These," he gestured to the bevy of odd-looking people behind him, "are Thalia, Tenobia and Flare."
I watched four other people introducing themselves to my district partner a few yards away. When I looked back, Phoenix and the others were staring at me expectantly. "Uh, right," I muttered. "I'm Neera Salotti, tribute from District Two. Can we get on with it? Please?" I added, striving for politeness.
That seemed to be some kind of predetermined cue, because my style team surged forward, nearly trampling Phoenix in an effort to get to me. They herded me into a side room filled with shiny metal surfaces and multicolored bottles, talking all the while.
"Oh my, yes, Neera!" said the younger woman – Tenobia, I thought. "You're ever so much taller in real life than on TV!" It was true; I towered over all four members of my prep team. Tenobia's spiky blue hair barely reached my nose.
"Don't say that like it's a bad thing, Tenobia!" the lilac-tinted stylist – Thalia, by process of elimination – rebuked the other woman. "Just because you've always been bitter about being short and too scared of needles to have a leg extension operation doesn't mean you need to criticize poor Neera. It's not her fault she so dreadfully tall! They don't have cosmetic surgery in the districts, you know."
Tenobia opened her mouth to reply, but Phoenix cut her off with a raised hand. "That's enough, ladies. Neera, please have a seat here while Tenobia and Flare prepare a depilatory solution." He turned back to me. "I'm going to make the final adjustments to your chariot costume. I'll be back in a few hours." And he left me to the mercy of the terrible trio.
They proceeded to undress me and spread my entire body with "depilatory solution," which was evidently Capitol code for hair-removing cream with the consistency and scent of liquid shit. Once I was properly hairless, they hosed me down and guided me to a tub of fluid that fizzed and stung my skin. Flare unpinned and shampooed my hair while Tenobia filed my nails into soft ovals. I thought points would be more useful in the arena, but what did I know? After what seemed like ages, Thalia helped me into a machine that instantly dried my skin and left my hair smooth and shining.
"My goodness, she's almost beautiful now that she's clean!" Flare exclaimed in a tone that I decided was insultingly shocked.
"Much better than that girl last year," Tenobia agreed. I bared my teeth menacingly at her, not appreciating the slight to my predecessor. She backed out of reach rapidly, saying, "I'll tell Phoenix she's done."
Thalia contemplated my hair as Tenobia hurried out the door. "There's certainly a lot of it, isn't there?" she asked rhetorically. "If only it wasn't such a dreadful color…" Thalia brushed a hand over her own pinkish locks as if wishing the dye would magically transfer itself to my dark brown hair.
I suppressed my momentary surge of nervousness, reminding myself that I'd never seen a tribute with dyed hair during the Games. Imagine trying to sneak up on someone in the arena with your head covered in pink glitter. I shuddered.
And then Phoenix was back, shadowed by Tenobia, whose blue spikes seemed to be positively sparking with excited energy. "Oh, Neera, wait until you see your costume! It's absolutely stunning!" She kept babbling, apparently forgetting that she'd been afraid of me not ten minutes ago.
Phoenix unzipped the garment bag he carried while standing behind me, so once he zipped the costume up my side, adjusted it to his liking, and turned me to face the mirrored back wall, I was indeed stunned.
"I. Will. Not. Wear. This. In public." My voice was toneless.
"But- Oh, District Two, masonry! It's perfect!" For the first time, Phoenix seemed flustered.
"It's awful! No one will ever take me seriously after they've seen me in this!" I was almost shouting as I struggled to figure out how to remove the costume.
My prep team was in the process of backing away, wide-eyed, when the door swung open again. I spun around to see Varius staring at me in shock. I felt a wave of relief engulf me.
"Thank God, Varius! Where have you been?" As soon as the words left my lips, I waved the question away. "Never mind that! Tell these-" I paused, unable to think of an appropriate word. "Tell my stylists that I will not, under any circumstances, be wearing this," I gestured to my body in disgust, "in front of everyone in Panem! It's indecent!"
By the end of my rant, Varius had regained his usual composure. Slouching against the far wall, he replied, "The chariots roll in forty minutes, Salotti, so it's that or nothing. Come on, it could be worse and you know it."
"This or nothing?" I screeched. "This is nothing! What am I, some caveman's whore?" I turned back to the mirror, hoping my costume had grown inches – no, feet – longer since the last time I'd looked. It hadn't.
I was wearing a skintight bodysuit that was patterned to look like pink marble. It was sleeveless and covered maybe three inches of my thighs. Phoenix tried to describe how good it would look once my bare skin had been painted to match the suit. The idea, apparently, was to make me look like a moving marble statue of myself.
Varius had begun to smirk. If I hadn't known he could kill me more easily than most people could sneeze, I'd have punched him. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut and counted backwards from fifty, trying to calm down. My mentor was right, it could have been worse. At least they'd notice me.
Sensing that the danger had passed, my prep team scurried forward to work on my hair, nails and makeup while Phoenix crossed the room to confer with Varius. I allowed Thalia, Tenobia and Flare to finish up, only giving in to my anger long enough to slap Flare's hands away when he tried to apply some kind of softening lotion to the calluses on my palms. That's all I needed, hands so smooth that my sword would twist away from me at some crucial moment in the arena.