A/N: Hurrah, another chapter! And we are now up to thirty views, only twenty of which are me. But if anybody is reading, I hope you enjoy. This is Effie POV, which means next chapter will be Haymitch!

Chapter 3

They were quickly bustled past the crowds on the train station and into a large, white, square building that Effie knew to be Remake Centre. Outside of Games season, it was used as a rehabilitation facility for the wealthiest of Capitol citizens.

After the muted, dull colours of District 12, Effie found the spectrum of colours splashed over the Capitol refreshing.

Although the Remake Centre was built in a plain, minimalist style, Effie's prep team more than made up for the lack of colour. Isaijah had a bright pink plume of feathers for hair, and tattoos of birds flew across his whole body; a dove spreading its wings over his forehead; a charm of hummingbirds racing down his arm; a crow lurking behind his ear. Yorke had a great, red beard of curls brushing against his feet, and a large, scaly collar glittering blue-green shielded most of his head. Venia was around Effie's age, and she was the prettiest of them all, with her lavender skin and star-speckled, night-sky hair.

They were relieved to see Effie submit to their care without hesitation, and whisked her into one of the prep rooms, where they quickly set to work.

It was a routine Effie knew, and she relaxed easily into the familiar processes as careful hands massaged oils into her hair and worked miracles on her hands, which had become scratched while she was gathering herbs in the garden.

The prep team chattered as they worked, and Effie gladly caught up on more of the gossip she'd missed – with three other tributes to look after, Hubby had only been able to share so much.

Aukai Herschel held the party of the century and President Snow attended, but it was all a disaster when the catering company prepared the wrong kind of shrimp dip. Somebody released pictures of Theophania O'Fleet in mismatched underwear and that was a disaster too until somebody on her PR team pulled some strings, and now mismatched underwear was all the rage. Sela Bitterbright was having an affair behind her pregnant husband's back, but it was his fault because everybody knew Sela was an addict and a slut and the pregnancy was obviously just a ploy to stop her from leaving him (Yorke, a self-proclaimed romantic, disagreed with this last part and said the pregnancy must have been planned and wanted by both of them because his sister's neighbour had seen the couple together at clinics around the time of the conception).

There wasn't anything remotely reminiscent of Capitol drama in District 12, because nothing ever happened there. The Capitol was constantly moving, constantly changing, never asleep…

And District 12 was always so quiet. Effie hated the quiet. Victors' Village was silent all the time, and the silence followed Effie and her mother everywhere they went in the district, like it was contagious. Often, even when Effie tried to fill the silence with conversation, she was ignored – her mother spent lots of time claiming she had headaches and locking herself in her room, while the locals simply didn't seem to like her.

When Effie had pampered and polished into perfection, the prep team stepped back to admire her.

"Beautiful hair!" Isaijah crowed. "It would suit pink perfectly, don't you think?"

"And some gold swirls to frame her face!" Yorke added.

"Some gems wouldn't hurt either." Venia swiped down from the crown of Effie's head to her collarbone. "Just here. Possibly along the swirls."

They sighed almost collectively.

"Well?" Effie said hopefully, thinking all three ideas sounded marvellous. She'd seen a similar look on Lachas Bluestone at a fashion show by Roke Barrow the previous year. "Why not make me over like that?"

The prep team's faces fell, and they exchanged dark looks.

"We've been forbidden to change anything without the stylist's express permission," Yorke informed her glumly. "I think she wants a natural look."

Isaijah shuddered at the words, and Effie nearly followed suit. Natural looks were so plain, and she needed to stand out. She wasn't about to be humiliated by a stylist who didn't know what they were doing.

"Are you sure?" She pleaded. "Couldn't you please at least dye my hair?" She tugged at a blonde lock unhappily.

"I believe there are other plans for that," Venia said, frowning. "It's all very hush-hush."

"Not even I was told!" Isaijah interjected, annoyed. He appeared to be the leader of the group; Effie had once been told at a Games party that the leader of the prep team always worked on hair.

"I think she wants to avoid a leak," Venia said.

That suggested a new idea for costumes, at least. The less people knew, the better the shock effect on the audience.

It still wasn't necessarily a good, new idea though. The shock effect was just based on catching the audience's attention, whether it was positive or negative.

After all, people still talked about the year District 12's tributes were naked and covered in coal dust. It probably would have worked better if District 12 tributes weren't scrawny and underfed, and nothing much to look at naked.

More foreboding still was the way the prep team was avoiding saying the stylist's name our loud, as though it were a bad word. Hubby had claimed it was somebody good, but then again, he wouldn't know as much about the inner-politics of the fashion world as these people did.

The prep team left Effie sat in a robe, waiting for the stylist.

She was able to sit still for all of a minute before getting to her feet and wandering. Between the silence and the lack of colours left in the wake of the prep team's departure, she felt uneasy and restless.

There was a mirror in the corner of the room and she approached it cautiously, unsure of what to expect. She wasn't used to looking at herself without the makeup and wigs and dresses which had been a part of her, the same as an arm or leg, since she was a baby.

She hated it. Like the room she was in, like District 12, she lacked colour and texture and originality and shape.

The blonde hair, blue eyes, heart-shaped face… She looked like she could be a merchant, a random person pulled off any district's street.

The notion that she could be somebody so unimportant and replaceable made her uncomfortable. She enjoyed being the centre of attention, having all eyes on her, knowing that all anybody was speaking or thinking about was her.

She wanted a wig which brushed the ceiling, and heels so high that she could look her mother in the eyes. She wanted smoky eyes and red lips, and some kind of lace to accessorise her face. She wanted a dress which would make her unforgettable.

She wanted an outfit that made her forget to be scared.

It felt like hours before the stylist arrived, although Effie had no notion of how much time was really passing. She continued to wander, steering clear of the mirror, and found a beautiful collection of nail polishes.

She itched to try them on – the magenta, the vermillion, the butterscotch – and was unscrewing the lid of a beautiful mulberry shade when a voice from behind startled her.

"I do believe that's my job."

Effie whirled around, blushing. Snooping and disobeying orders were the height of bad manners. "I am so sorry!" she blurted. "Please, do excuse me, I was very bored."

The woman in front of her grinned, baring a set of pointy teeth. They looked familiar, and Effie squinted, trying to see beneath the tightly stretched skin and tattoos, which was when she noticed the whiskers and put two and two together.

"Tigris!"

They'd met before, at parties and fashion shows. She'd been a stylist for 2, then 1, then 6, then 9… Being assigned 12 now, she was probably being slowly demoted.

But Tigris was one of the better stylists – at least, in Effie's opinion, and Effie tended to be right about these sorts of things – and if she was getting demoted, it was to do with her age and looks rather than her skills.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," the stylist replied in a gravelly voice similar to a purr. Effie couldn't remember whether it had been an alteration, but it was quite impressive. "I was making some last-minute alterations to your costume."

That was promising; there was a costume. At least Effie wouldn't be naked.

"Yes, I hear we're going for a natural look?" Effie tried to keep the disgust out of her voice, for manners' sake.

Tigris laughed. "Not tonight. You'll love tonight. We're going to make you a star. But we'll talk about that later."

Effie pouted. "Let's talk about it now."

"Now," Tigris said, "we shall eat."

What was this obsession everybody suddenly had with eating? Even Haymitch had been nagging at her to eat, and Haymitch clearly hated her.

Not that she cared about some stupid, dirty, Seam boy hating her.

Tigris led her into an attached room, where they sat down on a couch in front of a table of food. The stylist must have been allowed the choice of food served, as there was a clear raw theme; steak tartare, mett, beef carpaccio, and poke over rice featured heavily.

"Eat," Tigris handed her a plate. "You must be hungry, especially with that train journey beforehand. I know I'm always famished after a beautification session."

At least raw, there'd be fewer fatty calories, Effie decided, and piled sashimi onto her plate. Besides, she couldn't faint halfway through the parade because she'd been too stubborn to eat lunch.

Tigris tucked into a steak, and although it was rude to stare, Effie found herself sneaking morbidly curious glances at the way the stylist was eating, as though she were a wild animal who was eating their fallen prey with a knife and fork.

The food, obviously, was far better than anything she could have had at home – another part of the Capitol she'd missed. She didn't think the people in District 12 even knew what sashimi was.

Once they'd had their fill of food, Tigris set down to business.

"I'm making an exception tonight, for the wow factor. But wow factor wears off, and after that you'll need an angle, which will be girl-next-door."

She nodded along, knowing better than to argue. But just because Tigris was right, didn't mean Effie was happy about it.

"Girl-next-door means natural makeup. It means no wigs – the most you will do with your hair is tie it back using ribbons. Ribbons are your thing now, because they are very girl next door. You shouldn't need to change the way you act but remember to smile. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on. Do you understand?"

"Of course!" Effie chirped with a smile. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on.

Tigris smiled back. "Good. Now, we prepare you for the parade."

She led Effie back to the prep room. Somebody had been there during their absence, and now a garment bag hung on the door, while several aerosol cans littered the counter.

"You can lose the robe. The first thing we're doing is painting your skin."

And thus began a long, arduous process where Effie wasn't allowed to make any movements in case she smudged the paint, and had to resist the urge to laugh whenever the spray paint hit any of her ticklish spots. While she dried, Tigris made some small additions to her face and fixed her hair.

When Tigris finally declared she could move again, Effie sighed with relief. If the others were going through the same process as her, she pitied the stylist in charge of Haymitch.

Now that the rest of her was finished, it was time to put on the dress. Seeing it, Effie gasped.

It was sleek and floor-length, fairly plain in design except for a corset, and behind it was an even longer cape. The whole ensemble was entirely gold.

She climbed into it eagerly, pushing Tigris to tie the corset tighter, tighter, tighter. Then the cape was hooked around her shoulders and she was ready.

She returned to the mirror, hoping for better results than the first time, and gasped in delight.

It wasn't just the dress that was gold; it was the entirety of her. From her hair to her toes. There were golden contacts in her eyes and golden eye-lashes stuck onto her own. A golden ribbon was tied around her bun, where a few carefully-selected curls had been allowed to escape.

She was beautiful.

"I take it you like it?" Tigris' voice was teasing.

"Oh, Tigris, it's fabulous! I could hug you, if I weren't afraid of spoiling it. We are so lucky to have you. The audience won't know what hit them."

Their chariots would be entering the courtyard last, which made it even better, because there'd be nobody to upstage or copy them. The effect, hopefully, would draw some sponsors.

Tigris lead Effie backstage, where she reunited with her peers. They all looked breath-taking. They were also all-gold, Maysilee identical to Effie except for her hair (which was in some sort of braid and didn't have a ribbon).

The four of them together were drawing the attention of all the other tributes and stylists. Some of the districts, especially 1 and 4, had good costumes, but none came close to theirs. Effie preened happily, showing off for them all as they stared.

Haymitch elbowed her in the side. "We should probably get onto the chariots." He looked uncomfortable; maybe he wasn't used to the body paint.

"Yes, of course." She climbed into his, which he didn't seem too happy about, but Haymitch's chariot would enter the courtyard first and that would help her make a better impression, so he would have to deal with it.

They stood there for a few minutes without talking, watching as the crew ushered the remaining tributes onto their chariots. But Effie couldn't bear it for long.

"So, District 4 are fish-" they were dressed in eye-catching, scaly outfits reminiscent of Yorke's collar "- and District 10 are cows." They were dressed all in leather, but it was all brown, and mostly boring. "What do we have to do with coal?" She asked him.

He smirked. "Fool's gold."

She wasn't sure what fool's gold was, and it must have shown on her face.

"They find it inside coal. During the Dark Days, people used to pass it off as real gold and sell it for much more than it was worth. That's why it's fool's gold, 'cause people were dumb enough to think it was real gold. I wouldn't have expected you to understand, princess, with your extensive knowledge of mining."

His tone was sarcastic but not as hostile as it usually was, so he must have been in a good mood.

"I have a name you know," she told him. "And it's not sweetheart or princess."

"That's right, Euphemia."

A spark of irritation flew through her. "Effie!" She stomped her foot, which left her teetering. "My name is Effie!"

The teetering turned into toppling, but Haymitch caught her before she could fall. "Careful. Princess."

She scowled, which was unladylike, but he deserved it.

There was a shout from across the room, and the first of the chariots began to move. Effie's irritation dissolved. It was beginning! How exciting!

As she was generally in District 12 for Games season, she'd never been to one of these parades. Now, not only was she going to attend one, she was going to be in it!

The chariots left one by one, two for each district, with a slight gap between each district. Before they even knew it, it was their turn.

The sound of the crowds was deafening, and the light was blinding at first, after the darkness of the room they'd been waiting in.

Tigris' words stuck in her head. Eyes bright, chin up, smile on.

She beamed at the crowds, and when that made their shouting louder, she began to wave and blow kisses.

They loved it. They loved her. They adored her.

One of the screens across the courtyard caught her eye, and even she was taken aback by just how amazing they looked. The light bounced off them and made them glow, and their cloaks flared out behind them as they moved.

This was far better than being naked and covered in coal dust.

Soon, the crowds were chanting. It took her a while to work out what they were saying, but when she did, her smile widened.

"District Twelve! District Twelve!"

"Haymitch," she whispered to her partner excitedly. "Haymitch, they love us!"

He wasn't as involved as she was, staying stood where he was, unsmiling.

"They're sending us to our deaths," he said through gritted teeth. "How much can they love us?"

That attitude just wouldn't do. She grabbed Haymitch's hand and thrust their joint hands into the air. On the screens, she saw Maysilee do the same to Sash. The effect was brilliant, and the crowd – which she hadn't known was possible – grew louder.

This was going to be a special year, and District Twelve was going to win.