Cato—Chapter 4
I've been in the Remake Center for more than an hours and I haven't met my stylist yet. The whole time consists of my prep team rubbing grit off my body and rubbing an exfoliating foam onto my skin that transforms it into a mass of satin. My hair is rubbed and softened, so it ends up as a glowing ball of soft shiny gold. They've been removing hair using a warm wax and picking off stray hair they claim to be "out of place". I don't understand why this is important. I know the best-looking tributes tend to gain the audience's favor, but who would notice a stray hair on my ankle? A smudge of dirt at the corner of my eye? Only some muttated hawk could spot those.
I'm still a bit dazed when my prep team finishes me. I'm completely naked and feel like a plucked chicken and they stand there, just inspecting me. But I can sort of tell my skin's been reinvented, just rubbing my arms I can tell they are sparkling clean, smooth, and glowing. "Marvelous!" a guy with blue frizzly hair that must be a wig says. I think his name is Polurio-I wasn't really paying attention to any of the chatter they were chattering on. Something about ribbons, I think.
Anyways, my stylist is in before I have a chance to second-thought my prep team. They seem to totally love me, even though I think they're kind of idiots. Nice idiots though, and I guess that much suits me just as much.
"Hi, Cato," my stylist says, "I'm Asher." I recognize her. She's been on television a few years now. Some stylists stay around my whole life. The District 2 male stylist was replaced only a couple years ago, this is the first time I get a good look at her. She's intent but focused, whereas my prep team's always blabbing on about something ridiculous. Her hair seems to be a natural shade of auburn that is cut in a bob. Her skin is a pale olive color, and there's not much signs of tattoos or surgically placed material. In fact, Asher doesn't appear to have any makeup on. She seems to be behind the Capitol couture.
"Hey," I say quietly, but Asher doesn't seem to acknowledge it. She's circling around my body, her eyes eating up every inch of it. Her hands are still crossed when she looks up, "Nice to meet you."
"You too," I say.
She smiles, "You can put on your robe and we can have a little chat. Sila, Clove's stylist, and I have an idea for the tribute parade."
I put the thin robe I was allowed to take on and off in the room. My reaping clothes were taken away after our official breakfast, when I was led to a room I can't convey as anything except white. White walls, white chairs, white floor, white ceiling, even the guard that assisted me was wearing a white uniform. The white guard said he'd leave my clothes on my bed for me if I wanted it after they've scanned it for bugs. Why? Why would the bugs be on my clothing? If I actually had bugs, wouldn't it be on me? Then it occurs to me that the white room may have scanned me and I hadn't noticed.
Bugs. Bugs. My district token. The last I remember of Royal's gift was in the train compartment where Clove had her mental breakdown. I noticed it was gone in the morning. I went back to the train compartment before our pre-breakfast, and nothing was there. I feel guilty for losing the thing I was supposed to bring into the arena to remind me of home. But then again, I will come back soon, and give Royal an official apology.
Something was weird though. When I checked the room for the bug preserve, the door was open. Wide open. I distinctively remember shutting the door because I wanted to make a good impression by not making too much noise. The two and two just don't fit.
I am still thinking about the bug preserve when I am aware of the room Asher has brought me into. It's kind of like a living room back home, but one entire wall is glass, so there is a clear view of the entire city below. It stuns me, everything back home is stone, and windows are oddly shaped and made of a material somewhere between plastic and glass. Everyone at home calls it glastick, and I guess it's suitable since the material is sticky but fragile enough to break with your fist.
Two red couches sit in the middle of the room facing each other. Asher invites me to sit, and I make my way to it, not taking my view off the city below. This is what Clove must have seen when she first entered the city. I was focused on the grotesque citizens below cheering their heads off. The buildings are taller than some of the clouds, and I'm not even sure how high up I am. The view suggests that I am quite high, but I don't remember the elevator ride being particularly long. The clouds are fluffy and white, and one of the buildings in the center seems to touch the sun.
Asher sits down across from me, "It's quite a sight, isn't it?"
I don't get how she can understand, "Yes," I say.
"That's the thing about the districts. They get their own luxuries and discomforts, while the Capitol gets shipments of everything. You're lucky to be here."
Right. Because I'm going back. "Yes. But I still think I like home better."
Asher gives a small laugh, "Me too. I miss home. But this sight is still worth it to see."
This takes me aback. Isn't the Capitol her home? She's a stylist. At the Capitol. Of course this is her home.
She sees right through my thoughts, "I'm from District 2. I was assigned as a Peacekeeper in District 11. I was a...special circumstance," she says. This explains the plainness in her attire. I'm about to ask a question but she continue abruptly, "It was interesting at first, but it got, ah, boring. Later I was invited to the Capitol for a party as a Peacekeeper. The District 2 male stylist was there. Larla." She adds after a pause, "She died that day. The medics said there was poison in her wine. No one knew how it happened." Asher pauses a moment, as if analyzing her thoughts.
"Anyways," she continues, before the pause gets too pregnant, "This was pretty near the next Hunger Games, and they needed a stylist fast. As you see, not many citizens here are capable of handling the job as a stylist. I volunteered. They couldn't do much, and there weren't many options left." She looks at me, "I'm eager to finally have someone who can win."
I force a smile, "Thanks," I mutter. After gazing out the window a few more seconds, I add, "Do you like it then? Designing clothes?"
Asher sighs, "I don't really know. It's a bit more interesting than eleven, but I'm eager to get home. But now I'm stuck here until they find some other replacement." When she sees my face, she adds, "It's not all that bad! I'm not as talented at designing clothes as Sila, and it's the idea that counts. And here's the idea for this year," Asher leans forward.
It's customary that for the tribute parade, the tributes wear something that reflects their district's principal industry. Being from District 2, that will mean something to do with masonry. Maybe something to do with Peacekeepers, but that isn't public knowledge. At school the teachers tell us how lucky we are to have the privilege to train as Peacekeepers. Even though apparently the other districts think all the Peacekeepers come from the Capitol. I wonder how stupid they can get, Capitol citizens as Peacekeepers? Of course there are a few, but most the population comes from District 2. Oh, how special are we.
"Masonry," Asher says, "and training Peacekeepers. We mine marble, mostly. And why do we mine marble? To build buildings. Peacekeepers are supposed to be strong, right? So we came up with strong and marble buildings. What does that add up to?"
It takes me a moment to register that she actually wants me to answer. "Uh," I say. I screw my brain for an answer. A strong civilization and marble buildings? What can that add up to? "Rome," I get out.
"Very good," Asher compliments, "Rome. One of the strongest civilizations in global history. Lasting survivors. That's the idea."
"Rome." I repeat, "You mean we'll be dressing like Roman citizens?" I don't want to offend her, but I think it's a bit plain.
"No, Cato," she says, "We're thinking power here. You want to show all of them you're the best, right? The most powerful. Who's the most powerful in a Roman civilization?"
That stumps me. Powerful? Wouldn't that be...I don't know. Thank gods I never really pay attention during History. That's it-gods!
"Gods!" I blurt out.
"Yes," Asher says, smiling. She pushes a button on the side of a couch, and the space between us turns to emptiness. The next second, an outfit is draped between us.
It's a golden skirt that will probably go up to my knees. The waistband is paler, and the top has feather-like metal material covering up the chest piece. A headpiece comes along with it. It looks as though the piece will go across my forehead, and a bolted-looking design is on it. The ends of the piece expands into a triangular shape also covered with the strong metal feathery material, and I can't help thinking how the wearer will seem to look like they're about to take flight. To cap it all, there are gold sandals that will probably lace up to my shin.
"It's…wonderful," I get out.
"I thought it would be suiting. Clove has a similar outfit, though her's is considerably smaller," she smiles, "Now, you can go see your room level. On that tower," she points to a tall building almost right ahead of us.
It's taller than the one we're in. I already thought we were up high, but that? I can't even see the top!
"Of course, you'll be on floor two," Asher continues. I can practically feel my excitement melt. Those weaklings from eleven and twelve get the higher floors? Wow, maybe if they knew they get such luxury before the games, they might start volunteering.
I am escorted to our building by a guard. I don't know if I'm imagining it, but he looks a little scared. Of what, I don't know. Me? Maybe I did do my job a little too well. Maybe I'm more intimidating than I think.
The District 2 floor is interesting enough. The view isn't spectacular, but it has many comforts we don't see to at home. The dressers are full of clothes I know I'll never wear, the shower system has at least a hundred buttons more than the one on the train. There's a high-tech TV in a living room, and an orange jellyfish-shaped lamp sitting on a table that looks like it's pure metal. I try to lift it, and it's heavy, all right. I rub my fingers against the fluffy lush purple carpet, and examine the light at the end of the room, specifically designed to look like a silver tree. Intricate glassware sits on multiple oddly shaped pieces of furniture, and like everything else in the Capitol, it is grotesque and weird. I find myself spending half-an-hour examining the funny looking lights above my head, which are shaped like icicles. The walls are odd too, I can tell at first sight that it's stone, but for some reason it was designed to be conveyed as wood. How odd. I sit myself on the overly large leather sofa in the middle of the room, and observe the rainbow-colored pillow placed about. About an hour later Clove comes into the room and plops herself onto the couch.
There's silence for a while. Then Clove reaches for the TV remote and turns the TV on. They are showing the reapings again, this time interviewers comment on the tributes, their fitness, age, facial expression, and predict the how long they will last in the games. Unfortunately, by the time we start watching, they've already passed all the Career Districts, and is predicting how long the red-haired girl from District 5 will last.
After these showings, the channel switches to advertisements. It probably one of the most hilarious things I've ever saw. Grotesquely dressed females and males walk around in clothes that I can only call feathery and ugly. Even if I win and spend years at the Capitol, I will never be able to understand this fashion taste.
I start a conversation with Clove when an advertisement about eye tattoos show up.
"What do you think about our costumes?" I ask.
"Flashing," she says and grins, "Except for the fact that you're about twice as tall as me."
I stay cool, "Will the audience even care?"
"Of course not. They won't notice anything but you. With you size and buff and obesity."
It takes a moment for me to realize that she has just offended me.
"True," I say, and I smile as sweetly as I can. Too late, I realize how stupid I must look and resume my former face expression. Luckily, Clove's attention is focused on the TV screen where a show involving talking birds is flashing.
Nothing is going to change. Clove still sees me as an opponent, and...why shouldn't I? We are going to be allies, but to what extent? Eventually someone is going to have to die. I see that I haven't been thinking about anything in the matter of the games.
No way. I am winning this. Nothing can distract me. I have family and friends waiting for me at home. Which shall always remain my home.
In a couple of hours we are dressed in our costumes. Clove has an identical outfit, except her helmet is more complete. It seems the maker didn't finish mine, the top of my helmet exposed. I can't help but think how much her's looks like the victor's crown. It would fit splendidly with her dark hair.
We make it by our chariot, pulled by four brown horses whose hue is almost exactly the same color as Clove's hair. These creatures are so well trained, no one needs to guide them. The animal's life must evolve around the Hunger Games, pulling a pair of tributes into the City Circle and continuing its life of comfort.
Near us, I see the lush couple of District 1 standing and being cooed by their stylists. They're absolutely beautiful, spray-painted silver with tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. They both look dashing, but for some reason their stylists look cross.
Before I notice, Clove is up to them, "Hi, I'm Clove," she says to the girl, "You look gorgeous."
This is some different person I was talking to in front of the TV screen. "Thanks," the girl says, brushing away her comment. She's almost as tall as me, her blonde hair in waves around the tunic and emerald green eyes sparkling. But still, she lacks the sense of a tribute. She's tall and attractive, but she won't have an easy time winning the games.
I'm almost finished with my self-report when she notices me. She blinks and gushes, "And who are you? I'm Glimmer." I can almost see Clove rolling her eyes beside me.
"Cato."
Soon we start a conversation about quite shallow stuff, where we're from, home conditions, how we think of the Capitol, all whom I honestly don't really care about. Clove talks with the boy from District 1, whose name, I think I heard, was Marvel. Eventually the tributes of District 4, Marina and Breck, join us, both draped in shades of blue and luminous pearls weaved into their hair. Various pins reflecting the ocean is pinned on the blue fabric, and they seem to glow underneath the costume.
I get a clear image of who my allies are. Glimmer will be a handful when the time comes, but I'm confident that I'll be able to beat her in single-combat. Marvel, I'll have to evaluate during training. He's fit and attractive enough, maybe I found competition. Marina also looks strong, stronger than both Glimmer and Clove, but she's shorter than Glimmer. Maybe that won't matter in the games. Breck is...I don't exactly know how he'll even survive the first day. He's probably either twelve or thirteen.
The opening music begins. We pass around luck I know will not help anyone in the arena, since I will win. Glimmer and Marvel position themselves into their chariot, pulled by beautiful snow-white horses. The gigantic doors open, revealing thousands of faces craning to get a small glimpses at us. Yuck. Like examining some raw meat before it's cooked. The crowd shrieks as Glimmer and Marvel make their appearance into the City Center, a ride about twenty minutes where onlookers will observe the new batch of tributes. Brought to the Capitol to be beautified, and put into an arena for slaughter, all for the Capitol's amusement and entertainment.
Clove and I are in our chariots, ready to make our appearance. Asher and Sila spent the last few minutes socializing with the other mentors-they must have known each other for years. I see the grayish twilight sky of the Capitol, not the dark blue from home. Before I know it, we're approaching the door and I try my best to compose myself. I see a flashing star in the distance, and that's the last I see before I'm engulfed by the roar of the crowd.
Shouts are everywhere, louder than I've ever heard. People are screaming my name, and Clove's too. I can't help but feel proud for Asher, but that was before they came out.
District 12. As Eleven raced through, the boy twice as tall as the girl, I noticed a flicker. A small one, and it grew, and that's when they came out.
Flowing capes of red, orange, and yellow, somehow made to look like on fire. The crowd screams their delight, and all attention is screened on them. They're too dazzling for the words to say. Only the eye can describe
This was not what I expected. It's pretty obvious, District 12 blew all of us right off the face Panem.