CHAPTER 4: RECAST
As soon as I exit the train, my ears are assaulted by the screams of fanatical Capitol citizens all wanting a piece of this year's tributes from Province 1. I never before have been amongst this much insanity and noise. It's okay after a while, I think I'm after going partially deaf. I hope it's temporary because it is that sense that I have specifically trained. One of my best skills is to know when I'm being sneaked up on. Without it, I'll be history, assuming I get away from the Cornucopia. For once, I appreciate the presence of the Peacekeepers who hold back the crowds. I imagine these people are so senseless that if they were not restrained, they'd trample over each other and us in their feverish excitement. We are escorted to waiting cars and brought through heavily patrolled streets to our accommodation. I note that the citizens here have at least enough sense not to try to jump out in front of moving vehicles. The short journey follows a riverside road where I see ancient structures of stone with columns and grand entrances interspersed with modern buildings, some of which have very whimsical designs. The Three Towers at the centre of town, though, are nothing short of magnificent, displaying for all to see the power that resides here. The Tribute Apartments and Training Centre are located in a smaller building that sits in the shadows of these behemoths. That said, the building is not puny. It has twelve floors above ground and three under. It sits in the dead centre of the city just south of the Three Towers on the north bank of the river than runs through the middle of town, bisecting it.
When we arrive, we are ushered in to avoid more screaming fans that I can already see gathering around the building. The tributes for Province 1 generally stay in floors one through three and so on so forth for the other three provinces. The boys are always on the ground floor with the girls on the third with the second floor being a general-purpose room for dining and whatever other activities we choose to pursue in our off time.
Before we are brought to our rooms, though, there first comes the makeover.
Of course, people in my province maintain themselves through cleanliness and grooming but by Capitol standards, we are unkempt and horridly under-styled. Therefore, we are each required to undergo the sometimes painful and nearly always demeaning process of being done over in the Remake Centre. We each have our own prep team who see to it that we are presentable before we are introduced to our stylist. As I enter the centre, I have the immediate thought that it looks like some cruel torture chamber with its various sharp implements, strange and threatening-looking machines, and the beds equipped with restraints. I've been frightened with stories about this place by Joss and Leandra since I was a child. Apparently, some of the procedures are so painful that the tribute has to be held down. Joss once told me that some of the things they did to him made even him wince.
I sincerely hope they were exaggerating.
That hope, as with all else, is dashed as soon as Sidra escorts me as far as my prep team. She tells me she can't stay because she has to go tend to Leandra, who had to be carried off the train. Frankly, I'm relieved for as soon as she's back out the door, the humiliation begins. My prep team are all men as far as I can tell. With their multi-coloured, flashy, body-gripping outfits and copious layers of makeup, I could easily be mistaken. I can only be certain of the leader who is short, plump and eternally smiling with his neon green hair and similarly coloured jumpsuit. He says in a semi-mannish voice, "Okay, strip."
"Sorry?"
"Remove your clothes, young man."
"All of them?"
"Yes all of them, you aren't shy, are you? What's a strapping young man like you got to be afraid of?"
That observation doesn't make me any more comfortable, but I do as I'm asked. Thankfully, there's a curtain drawn around my bed so I'm assured I won't have the eyes of every other male tribute and their prep teams on me. However, three pairs of eyes is demeaning enough, especially when they're scrutinising you and making comments. The lead, named Adoremus, says, "This is a conundrum, is it not?"
A thinner, taller male with purple, spiked hair and nails painted the same colour says, "His physique is definitely athletic, but the body hair might appeal to some of the female spectators."
"True but they would be of the older generation. The rugged look was in vogue like fifteen years ago. The new generation wants smooth, perfectly toned male tributes, and they are the group we're targeting most."
"So shall I break out the wax strips?"
"Hmm, yes, I think that's the route we'll take with this one." He then looked me in the eye and said, "By the way, young man, seeing as we're trying to pull off this Adonis, almost statue-like look, you're going have to work on that stomach."
"Sorry?"
"Well, you have the muscles, there's no doubting that, but you also have a bit of softness around your belly and sides if you get what I mean."
"But I train constantly; I don't have a pick on me."
"Perhaps by Province 1 standards you don't but here you need a bit more definition. I recommend several hundred crunches a day, you can talk to your mentor about whatever other training is necessary, stay away from all the junk food you're inevitably going to encounter here and with some luck, you'll be in shape before the parade. Oh one moment…" He skips over to drawer and pulls out a small clear container with some kind of tablets in it. He says, "Take one, no, two of these a day."
"What do they do?"
"They make your body shed fat, young man. There are some side effects like vomiting and diarrhoea, but it's just part of the process. Make sure not to take any on Parade Day, though, can't have you throwing up on the horses."
I haven't a clue what to say, but I wouldn't get a chance to respond anyways. I am told to lie flat on the bed and stay still. Waxing is a concept I am only vaguely familiar with. Certain ladies in my town, my mother included, do get wax strips imported from the Capitol. It seems so unnecessary to me because they are primarily for leg hair and women in Province 1, even the most daring, wear dresses to at least below the knee. I learn with the first rip that their use is not limited to the legs. At sixteen, I'm perhaps not as furry as my elders but having the hairs torn by the root from your chest and nipple is still not a pain-free experience. I choke, stopping myself from yelping with the shock and I have barely recovered when the next strip tears the hair from my mid-chest. It goes on like that for an interminable amount of time. Burning wax goes on, strip on top of that, and hair comes off. I grit my teeth so much that I'm afraid I'll crack them. My body is so tense in anticipation of the next terrible rip. I take some solace from the fact that I think I can hear the O' Reilly brothers undergoing the same procedure in the neighbouring cubicle, and they're not being quite as dignified about the experience as I am. I smile momentarily but then another strip comes off.
When they finally finish, they inform me that it took exactly ninety minutes even though it seemed hours longer than that. I was relieved when they didn't use the wax strips on any of my more private areas, but they did insist on a lot of trimming, especially of my armpit hair. The O' Reillys are still whinging and whining when I'm done. They are as Adoremus would put it more "rugged" than I am. Finally, I'm allowed some dignity and given a flimsy garment much like a hospital gown to cover myself. Even though it's fairly soft, my skin is raw and sore. Everywhere the fabric touches me there is an intense tingling so it's hard to stay still when Adoremus is attending to my nails. He is completed aghast at their condition. I'm a guy, so my nails don't really concern me beyond their length. I cut them occasionally when they're too long or too much dirt has gathered behind them. Adoremus, however, insists on cleaning them, filing them into shape, and polishing them. He also made me soak my hands in some watery lotion to heal my cuticles, which he described as peeling monstrosities. The one with the purple hair, whose name I learned is Felicio, and the other who has jet-black hair but with skin dyed a pale blue and named Marcel, are both attempting to perform the same procedure on my toenails. I think the fact that it's taking two of them to do it gives a fair indication of how bad they are.
After my poor prep team have finished with that arduous task, they begin administering the final touches. My hair is trimmed into a more close-cut look, certain hairs are plucked from my eyebrows and wherever the wax strips missed, and I am scrubbed down with a strange lotion I've never used before. My mother has all sorts of concoctions loaded into our shower unit back home, and it probably includes this one, but I only ever use a basic shampoo and shower gel. This gel has beads mixed into it that scratch my skin and dissolve slowly. It isn't the most comfortable thing to have on freshly waxed skin but I grim and bear it. They all become visibly pale at the amount of dirt and dead skin they get off me, and here's me thinking I clean myself thoroughly. They are similarly distraught when they start working on my scalp, which is absolutely ridden with dandruff. Once it's all over, I feel sensations ranging from tingly to horrible irritation. My skin feels extremely tender and to be honest, I feel vulnerable in a strange way. Perhaps this bareness just makes me feel younger, less mature.
I am horrified to learn that I'll be meeting my stylist with the O' Reilly brothers, right at this moment. I feel idiotic in this gown, my only consolation being that when the curtains are pulled, Korvin and Festus look just as ridiculous. They seem to have taken the procedures a little less well than I did. Korvin can't leave a spot on his upper back alone, probably where he had a particularly dense patch of hair, and Festus is walking very funnily hinting that his prep team might have had a little mishap in a sensitive place. Although every tribute has their own prep team, the three boys and three girls of each province have only a stylist each. Our three prep areas are in their own room and whilst Joss told me his stylist met him later at the apartments, ours seems to want to get right down to work. When he enters, he is not what I'd hoped for. For one, he's old and in the Capitol, old means old-fashioned. There are simply too many trends and ideas floating around for anyone but the young to keep up. After a decade or two trying desperately to look like lamb when underneath you're mutton, you would get fed-up, eventually. However, it's said that people have artificially extended lives in the Capitol so I've no idea what their concept of young is. For all I know this greying man before me who looks in his sixties could be twice that.
The prep teams are very deferential to him, though, almost worshipping the ground he walks on, so maybe that's a good sign. He is wearing a rather subdued suit, though, something you wouldn't even be ashamed to wear in Settlement 2. He's also very rotund and has an unhealthy look about his face with bags under his eyes and badly wrinkled skin. In a place where appearances are everything, I am surprised the other Capitol folk don't find him repulsive. He observes us through bleary eyes and says clinically, "Your heights are suitable I suppose. Your teams did a reasonable job of making your faces television worthy." Some of the team members practically swoon as though that comment is the height of praise. I believe for a second that Adoremus might faint with joy. The man paces slowly before us and says, "Could you remove those hideous gowns? I need to see what I have to work with."
I am so far beyond embarrassment in regards my prep team that it doesn't really bother me if this wizened old stylist and more of his cronies see me naked. However, being in that state in front of Korvin and Festus is not at all appealing. I have never used the facilities in the Training Centre back home after a session and just jog home instead and shower there. Why would I give them even more opportunities to harass me? Yet I don't think this man is the kind who appreciates being kept waiting so I undo the gown and just stare at a point on the wall opposite the brothers. They seem more hesitant than I was for some reason. Maybe they are taken aback by how nonchalantly I obeyed our stylist's request. They delay a moment too long. "You two, I may be misinformed but I believe English is widely spoken in Province 1. I requested you remove those gowns. Now do it!"
They are shocked enough by this sudden, shrill command to react immediately. I remain unfazed or my best approximation of it. That is until I unfortunately glance down on Festus and have to stifle a laugh. I thought I heard him shout a little loudly earlier on or perhaps squeal is a better term. Well, I must not mock, I'd probably screech, too, had I lost half my pubic hair to a wax strip. I think the stylist noticed, too. He cocked an eyebrow and looked very displeased. He then said, "My name is Augustine Boyle. You may have heard of me."
I have to admit the name does sound familiar. However, it resonates only vaguely, I think he was once a famous stylist of the games, perhaps before the time of Joss's father, Darius. He must have retired years ago or someone of his calibre would have had Province 1 every year. Neither Joss nor Leandra have mentioned him before. I wonder why he has chosen now to make a reappearance. Perhaps he wants one last hurrah before he becomes too senile to be any use anymore. He'll probably get this year and the Quarter Quell out it anyways. He continues, "I will not be easy on you, and I will make certain demands of you to ensure the best performance possible. If you want sponsors, you will co-operate, for if you execute my theme well enough, no other tributes will be remembered. Fail me, and no matter how good you are in the arena, I can ensure not a single gift is sent to you. I know everyone worth knowing in the Capitol; do not make me look bad."
I gulp at that. He then says, "Adoremus, provide them with suitable attire and escort them to the apartments."
"Yes, sir."
"And Adoremus, who is responsible for the wax job on this one?" He says ominously, indicating Festus.
He points at a young woman who couldn't be much older than me who sports bright yellow hair held up in some towering do. She quivers in fear as his eyes come to rest on her, and he says, "Finish what you started, young madam."
"Sir?"
"Well we can't have him uneven. Wax the rest."
Festus looks horrified, but he is hustled along almost immediately by Adoremus and a few others from the various prep teams. Augustine grabs the girl by the arm as she leaves and says threateningly, "Another mistake like that, young madam, and you'll never see the inside of a side-street beauticians let alone this place. Am I being clear?"
The woman is almost in tears but holds them in to prevent her makeup from being ruined. Korvin and I are given clothes that somewhat resemble the tribute uniforms but are more comfortable than functional. I fret for a few moments about what possible "theme" he could be talking about. I hope Augustine's irritation over the waxing mishap was merely professional criticism and that he isn't planning to parade us in front of all of Paneire nude.
The prep team hands us off to Camille and Sidra who escort us out of the Remake Centre to a lift, which takes us to our apartments. The buttons for the Province 1 floors are labelled 1A to 1C. The other floors are labelled identically with only the number varying as you go further up. The lift goes right up through the core of the cylindrical tower so we can't see out, but the view that greets us when we arrive is breath-taking. The general-purpose floor for our Province is circular fitting in with the shape of the whole building. A short flight of marble stairs leads down into a central area meant to be a sitting room with large sofas centred around a television set. Off to the left is some kind of kitchenette but it is only equipped with a fridge, freezer and some utensils. Clearly, we won't be preparing any of our food. To the right is a games room equipped with harmless computer games consoles and board games. Obviously, they wouldn't give us a pool table or a darts board in case we used the cues or darts as weapons. What impresses me most though is the whole opposite wall made entirely of glass, providing a stunning vista facing south. The river meanders in the foreground, the Capitol stretching on beyond that and in the distance, we can just glimpse the mountains of County 4. It is evening now so the lights of the Capitol are just coming on against a crimson sky, a spectacle of such vibrancy I'm left speechless.
I notice neither Festus nor the girls have arrived yet. Camille and Sidra pretty much leave us to our own devices after that, only giving us instructions to return to our floor and not to attempt visiting any of the others, including the girls' apartment. I blush at that, especially seeing as it's coming from my sister, but Korvin smirks as though he's thinking he's totally going to disobey that. As soon as they leave, I find myself alone with one of the O' Reillys for the first time ever. It's not a circumstance I'm enjoying and retiring to my room seems very wise right about now. Korvin intercedes before I can lift a finger, though. "So, Mulqueen, what's your play?"
I hate it when he and his brother call me by my second name as if it is somehow demeaning. I reply, "What are you talking about?"
"You know, volunteering for my brother, acting all brave and noble, you trying to win the sympathy vote?"
I make a disgusted sound and say, "You're a piece of work, Korvin."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, it is. You think what I did was some kind of ploy to win public favour. Well then, you're an idiot…"
He stands. "I'll kick your head in you…"
"Shut up, if you had taken one look at your parents when Aleron was reaped, you'd understand what I did. Are you seriously saying you wouldn't have volunteered for him given the chance?"
"What do I care if he gets selected?"
"He's your little brother, you should care."
"He's a runt and a mommy's boy. His existence is embarrassing to me. Had you not volunteered then he would have been one more tribute in the way?"
"You're saying you'd have killed him if he was the last one between you and victory?"
"Why not, it would definitely improve my home life anyways."
"And what if it comes down to you and Festus? Will he be just another tribute in the way?"
"Yeah, yeah he will."
I timed it perfectly because Festus had just limped in as I'd asked the question. He looks at his brother with a mixture of fury and hurt that his twin would so callously dismiss him as just another contestant. Don't get me wrong when I say this, they're both idiotic brutes, but Korvin has some ambition and conniving about him. Festus, on the other hand, can only be described as naïve and trusting, which is why he's let his brother lead him about by the nose his whole life. I suspect things might be different for the foreseeable future. I excuse myself as the tension in room reaches suffocating levels.
I get in the lift to head back down to the boys' floor. As soon as the doors part, though, I am faced with a flustering sight. Pallantia, Tori, and Ignatia, all done up in makeup and prepped from head to toe, and all of them stark naked. Their stylist is a middle-aged woman who just sends them off and leaves the building. They all just waltz into the lift without a care and stand uncomfortably close. I honestly don't know which way to look because everywhere I do look I'm staring at something I really shouldn't be. They start talking as though I'm not there. Tori says, "That stylist was fair pervy, wasn't she?"
Pallantia replied, "I know, I heard that there are same-sex couples in the Capitol. Maybe she's looking for a significant other."
"Well you better watch out then because she stared at you pretty hard."
"Oh shut up, anyhow, she was very mannish. You'd suit her much better, you're all petite and perky."
"Thank you, she wouldn't really be gone in lanky skanks like you."
Pallantia shoves her jokily and Tori's butt presses squarely against my crotch. It was slightly painful but that unfortunately doesn't suppress my arousal. She turns and says in a totally fake way, "Oh, Cato, didn't even notice you were there."
Pallantia flashes me a grin and says, "Yeah, you shouldn't be so silent all the time. You should hang out with Tori more, she'll have you making all sorts of noises."
"Okay, so I'm a whore, we got the memo, Pallantia. Anyway, life's more fun when you spread yourself around. I mean look at Ignatia, the stick's rammed so far up her ass we can't even see it anymore. She clearly hasn't had an ounce of fun in her life."
Ignatia doesn't even acknowledge their comments except for a noticeable twitch in her lip. The lift stops and she marches straight off. Pallantia sighs and says, "Poor girl, try being a little more sensitive, Tori, do you think she likes being a frigid virgin?"
"Oh dear, how thoughtless of me, well, perhaps she'll be open to some of that same-sex stuff. Maybe our stylist will be desperate enough."
They laugh cruelly after her and I hear a door slam. I guess icy Ignatia has feelings after all. Pallantia walks off followed by Tori but just before the doors close Tori stands hands pressed against them with her naked body framed in the doorway, facing me. She says, "I'm afraid, Cato, that this is as far as you go. You know what our escorts said, no sneaking into each other's apartments."
"I-ah, I wasn't thinking…"
"Of course you were, seriously, how could you not?" She stops a moment and raises one eyebrow, looking downward. She says, "Hmm, my, my, my, well, I guess what they say about you Mulqueens isn't true after all. Impress me a little more and I might consider an invitation. Bye-bye, big boy."
She pulls away from the door and it slides closed. I look down and I turn purple with embarrassment. Unfortunately, the fabric of my trousers doesn't leave much to the imagination, especially in this state. Too late I realise the lift is taking me back to the general purpose floor. I try my best to conceal my arousal and get ready to press the button again as soon as it stops. However, I arrive to find the room thrashed with broken glass and vases, upturned sofas, and smashed wooden furniture. The room is crowded with about a dozen Peacekeepers and our escorts. Even Leandra has shown up. I see Festus being carried this way on a stretcher and make way. He's bleeding badly from several wounds to his chest and abdomen. The medics desperately try to stem the flow. Korvin is handcuffed and looking very roughed-up. Obviously, they came to blows and Korvin, as always, fought dirty. I guess he wasn't lying. He really would kill his own brother to be victor. Unfortunately for him, fighting amongst tributes is strictly forbidden before the games, even for training purposes. This could have been just a brotherly scuffle and they would have gotten a slap on the wrist for it, but Korvin nearly killed him and since we're outside the arena, that counts as attempted murder. The Peacekeepers march him out once the lift returns. Just before he goes, Leandra says, "Wait, just one moment."
She stands in front of Korvin, looking him right in the eyes. Next to this beast my sister looks miniscule, like a young child with an adult. It doesn't stop her from delivering a nasty right hook to his already bruised nose, though. Korvin stumbles back with the force as blood rushes from his now broken nose. He actually tries to retaliate but the Peacekeepers drag him away. Before the doors close, she says, "You better hope they kill you, Korvin, for I'll do you a whole lot worse for this embarrassment."
As soon as he's gone, Leandra turns on me and slaps me across the cheek. I am not hurt, it wasn't intended to, but it is humiliating. I feel anger towards my drunkard of a sister and Korvin's idea to strike back seems very appealing but unlike him, I'm no fool. "Well, I didn't expect gameplay from you. I guess you're more devious than I thought."
"What?"
"Turning those two against each other, it wasn't very hard mind you but very well timed. In another respect, your timing was horrible. If Festus dies then Korvin will be put to death for murder, and we'll be down two tributes. As it is, even if Festus survives, his brother may still be executed for his crime."
"What difference does it make? They would've killed each other in the arena anyways."
"And that's perfectly legal but are you aware of the rules surrounding the loss of a tribute before the games?"
"No."
"It's very simple really. If a tribute, due to unforeseen circumstances, dies naturally, through an accident, is murdered, or executed, then it falls to the family of the tribute to replace them. The O' Reillys have only one child left who is eligible to participate, two guesses who that is."
"…Aleron."
"Aleron, so you're noble gesture at the reaping might well have been for naught and if they both die, you've also condemned another unready Career to participate and most likely die. So, Cato, do us all a favour and keep your scheming for the games or at least, run it by one of us first."
"Indeed I will, dear sister, as long as you are sober enough to understand what I'm saying."
She grimaces and punches me square in the chest, winding me. It takes me but a few moments to recover. She didn't really throw all her strength into it, not like with Korvin. Her expression, though, looks stricken, is she actually going to cry? She storms off towards the elevator. Camille looks distinctly uncomfortable caught in the middle of this family drama and smoothly excuses himself. Sidra is last to leave. She looks at me disapprovingly saying, "It was unnecessary to be so cruel."
"What do you mean? There was nothing untrue about what I said."
"You don't know much about Leandra, Cato, and nothing about her past, especially in the games. Think about that before you criticise her problems so openly."
"I don't understand."
She walks into the lift and before she presses a button, she says, "Think about it, Cato. Do you really think someone as proud as Leandra becomes an alcoholic and a morphling because she enjoys it?"
"Her coping mechanism, I remember."
"Hmm, you don't even know the half of it. Tomorrow's a big day, Cato. Get some sleep."
I have no idea what that comment means. I know Leandra was responsible for most of the deaths in her games, and that has to affect anyone, but it's been years and Leandra's tough. I sense there's more, something I'm missing, but it eludes me. I go down to the boy's floor and fall into my bed without turning on a light or undressing. The building is so eerily quiet. I try to settle into sleep but my mind is too preoccupied with the evening's events. For once, I wish something resembling good will towards the O' Reilly brothers. If Aleron is forced to take their place, then my sacrifice will truly be for nothing.
