A/N: Thanks for those of you who are already reading! It makes me super happy!
And to tipsyapple, Thanks for reviewing! Yay! I'm glad you like the idea behind it and hope that it meets your expectations. :)
CHAPTER 2: CUT OFF MY HAIR
It was only a day into the train ride and Haymitch was already at the bottom of a bottle, spouting obscenities. Effie was sniffling indignantly and Katniss was staring at him with hard, murderous eyes.
"Maybe you should take it easy on the drink, Haymitch," she warned.
His response came in the form of a large belch that had Effie squealing like a strange, doll-faced pig. It might have been funny, if the entire thing wasn't.
And it definitely wasn't. Because Haymitch was one of their mentors. He was there to guide them, to help them stay alive and how the hell was he going to do that if he was so far down the neck of a bottle that he was choking on liquor?
They still had Katniss, Peeta reminded himself with little comfort. Although comparatively, Katniss was inevitably a far better mentor than Haymitch—which wasn't hard to do—the fact was, she probably wouldn't do Peeta any good. Because he knew, just as surely Madge did, that they were going to be trained separately. He couldn't say whether or not this was how the other districts did it. If they split up their tributes from the start and handed them off to one mentor, maybe drawing straws for the one with a better chance to win. It was difficult to say when all Peeta had ever seen of how things were done in other districts revolved around the brutality in the Games.
And no one was particularly interested in sharing strategies when it came to that.
But that was how District Twelve did things. Ever since the first year Katniss was a mentor, she and Haymitch had very clearly divided up their tributes and set very different strategies. Not in the four years since Katniss' Game had there been a Twelve victor, but that didn't mean what they were doing was worse than what had been going on before.
It wasn't like Twelve had ever been known for winning.
Still, this inevitable division between Peeta and Madge was going to put someone at a very serious disadvantage, and he had the sinking suspicion it would be him. Because Madge was one of the few people left that Katniss had a fondness for. They were tentative friends at best, but Katniss still wore the pin that Madge had given her as a token for the Games, and Peeta had seen the way she was stroking it as the names were called.
She wouldn't choose him.
Peeta didn't want Madge to die. She had always been a nice girl and he even considered them friends. But he didn't want to have to die for her. He didn't want to die. Not like this. Alone, terrified in the Games...
But he didn't have a choice, no say in the matter. He didn't even have a say who would be the one trying to save his life...
This train ride was all he was going to get with Katniss Everdeen and it twisted his heart in unexplainable ways.
…
They arrived at the Capitol only to be whisked away in silence before any Capitol citizens can get a good look at them. Only Effie Trinket is allowed to speak to the news bugs that are buzzing to get the scoop on the new tributes. She beams with pride, gushing over the beauty of the newest District Twelve selections. There are only a few cameras around, most far more interested in the other Districts, but those that are there are far more interested in getting a shot of the Victors than the newest tributes. For the last four years, that's been happening. Ever since Katniss Everdeen volunteered.
She put Twelve on the map, and despite not having a victor since her, the crowd had yet to forget her.
All of this Peeta noticed as he was being lead underground by a couple of Capitol Peacekeepers, Haymitch and Katniss walking just behind he and Madge.
When they reached the remake center, once again they were split off in different directions, Peacekeepers escorting both of them. Haymitch and Katniss didn't follow, being lead down a third hallway and disappearing from view.
Do what your stylists tell you, Katniss had told both he and Madge very seriously. Peeta couldn't fathom why that of all things was so important, but he would take any advice offered. He knew he didn't have any other chance.
Even so, when he was told to strip down to nothing but his skin by three strangely color, Capitol-accented strangers... well, he was a little hesitant. But he did as he was told just the same.
Which was how he winded up being scrubbed clean of the coal and grime of District 12 while listening to the happy chirping of his bizarre stylists. His face was shaved clean, a burning, sticky liquid smothered on top of the raw skin. His hair was washed, trimmed, and plastered with goop. His teeth were cleaned and stripped of stains until he thought they might glow in the dark.
But at least nothing was dyed. He wasn't covered in strange colors or make-up or anything really. Peeta was just Peeta. A lot cleaner version of Peeta.
When the leg work had been done and he was deemed "presentable" a young woman with long, aqua-colored hair entered the room, looking as though she might be some sparkling mermaid that his father had whispered stories of at night.
According to said stories, mermaids were carnivorous...
And apparently could sense fear, because she raised one carefully drawn aqua eyebrow at him, before taking pity and offering a smile.
"I'm Portia," she told him in that strange Capitol accent. Her voice was sweet, but he didn't trust it any more than the others. "I'm your stylist."
Peeta smiled bright against the tightness in his chest and the raw of his cheeks. "I'm Peeta."
"I know," she told him, coming to stand behind him, hands on his shoulders, so that they could stare at his reflection together. "You're an attractive boy."
And cue discomfort, although he smiled so it didn't show. "Thank you. That's a very generous thing to say."
Do what your stylists tell you.
Portia smiled mischievously at him and he had the feeling that she was all too aware of what Katniss' first piece of advice had been. Smile still in place, she moved away from him towards the back of the room. He watched her reflection in the mirror. She was looking through a long, silver rack that held various colors of material that all looked to be made of shimmering water.
"I can tell already," Portia told him, while rifling through a rack of silky material. "You're going to be a favorite."
…
Four years ago, two tributes from District 12 made an entrance that no one would ever forget. Lighting in a blaze of glory, they burned like fireballs in their chariot, smiling and waving and throwing kisses to the crowd. There was no coal dust, no nakedness, no awkward mining gear and headlamps. There was only fire and breathtaking beauty that lit up every screen in the Colosseum.
Tonight, they would not go out as living fireballs, for which Peeta was at least partially grateful. He wasn't sure how he felt about dying before he even reached his room at the Capitol...
Instead, he was dressed in a sharp, black suit that seemed to pulse with a heartbeat that was not his. Everything on him was black. From his formal blazer to his shiny shoes. Only his face had smears of color on it, hues of gold and bronze that was darker than his normally pale features and faded up into his gelled hair. Beside him, Madge wore something similar—though not identical—a dress, all black, that went to her toes which were hidden in shiny black heels that gave her enough height to hit Peeta's shoulders. Her pale features were covered in the same shimmery gold as his.
He offered her his hand to help her into the black chariot being drawn by black horses, but their hands did not linger. Twelve tributes would never hold hands for the Opening Ceremonies again.
Ahead of them eleven chariots went first. Most adorned in flashy, bright colors with tributes covered head to toe in sparkling, dazzling make-ups—including District Four whose female tribute could have been Portia's twin. The pairs waved at the crowd trying to win favor, but ignoring each other.
Finally, their own chariot moved and Peeta thought he might be sick. He was unsteady, terrified, wishing more than anything that this was all a nightmare, but he knew it wasn't.
There would be no waking up from this.
He glanced back looking for Portia, praying she knew what she was doing, and instead caught sight of Katniss. She looked... sad and maybe a little angry, but when her eyes met his, she seemed to fill with determination. The gray pools hardened and she nodded at him, giving him the courage to break their locked gazes and move forward.
He could do this. He had to do this.
When they entered the fastness of the arena, trailing behind the fruit-themed chariot of Eleven (which would have been funny under any other circumstances), Peeta put on his brightest smile just like Portia told him to and lifted his hand in a wave. As soon as he did he noticed it. His completely black suit had begun to glow. Cracks of bright read pulsated through the material of his sleeves and reflected off his face, making it seem as though he were living, flaming rock. A quick glance confirmed that Madge's long-sleeved, neck to toe dress was doing the same.
They were the very heart of the earth, and once again, the crowd cheered for District Twelve.
A/N: Don't worry guys, we'll get to the good stuff soon! Just hang in there with me :)
