Three
I can see Naman now. In the dying sunlight, his form is clearly visible, slumped on the ground. There's someone standing over him, a cruel blade in their hand. Her hand.
There's a long, pained shriek from Naman as the girl plunges the sword deep into his stomach. I reach her, screaming desperate, useless pleas. A river of scarlet flows from Naman's wound. A cannon sounds. The girl turns around, blade raised again. It takes me a moment to recognize the face, contorted in rage and bloodstained as it is.
It's me.
-x-
I wake up in a cold sweat, throwing off the thick covers trapping me on the bed. I jump up, running my hands through my hair nervously. There's a quick, fast rapping on my door.
"What is it?" My voice is hoarse, like I've been screaming.
"Come on then, get dressed!" Spella says through the thick door. I groan, since her voice is the last I want to hear right now, but I do what she says. After rifling through the dresser, I find a decent yellow shirt and a pair of black pants. The dream plays through my head several times, again and again, before I can shove it out of my thoughts.
I enter the main compartment and sit down at the table. A lovely breakfast bar has been laid out—sausage, pancakes, eggs, fruit, little glasses of cold orange juice. To my extreme disappointment, however, only Spella is at the table with me. I try to keep myself from growling at her, taking a huge plate of food and shoving it down my throat hungrily. Luckily, Spella doesn't seem interested in talking to me. I take a sip of the orange juice. It's tangy and sour, but sweet too. Another gulp of the drink and it's gone.
In a few minutes, Naman and Sessile enter the room. I think they've been talking, because they're both smiling a little bit. Narrowing my eyes slightly, I take a few more bites of egg to clean my plate off. Vaguely, I wonder what it is that has made them smile, but something else catches my attention. The TV in the side of the room shows us clips from yesterday's reapings. A 13 year old boy from 1 is picked, no volunteers. Monstrous boys are drawn from 2 and 11. An innocent-looking girl from District 3 steps onto the stage wearing a bright smile. And then there's me, looking almost exactly like a deer caught in headlights. I watch my competition carefully, drumming my fingers on the table nervously.
There's nothing left to do now but wait. I prop my elbows up on the table, staring out the window as the early morning landscape passes by at 250 miles per hour. The lights of another district appear, and then fade quickly. District 1? We must be approaching the Capitol now. The thought makes my stomach twist and untwist.
For a long while, the four of us sit in silence. The sun rises in the sky, and I figure it's around noon when I see the huge mountains that ring the Capitol. The train speeds on, and I wonder a little fearfully how the sleek silver vehicle will pass through the wall of rock looming over us. I close my eyes, half expecting the train to impact against the mountain. But it slides smoothly through an opening in the side of the giant rock. For a moment, we are in complete darkness, and then the shining Capitol comes into view.
I've seen the Capitol in previous games, of course, but it's spectacular all the same. Colorful buildings tower over the city, glinting in the light. The train slows a bit, allowing a fuller view of the shops lining the walks. People on the streets have stopped to point at our train, talking to those around them. They wave excitedly at us, the newest tributes to die for their enjoyment. This must be what they do all day—wait for us to be shipped in. I grind my teeth in frustration, but I make myself stand up and smile widely, waving back to them. They all look ridiculous, with bright colored hair and skin. They're so artificial and grotesque, it makes my skin crawl.
The train gradually comes to a halt, pulling into a huge building. Here, we will meet our stylists and prep team. Spella and Sessile get off of the train and exit the building, probably heading to the training center. Naman and I are then ushered to the elevator by two tall, paper-thin women. They both have bright pink dyed skin and very long green hair. We stand in the elevator in silence, and I cross my hands over my chest uncomfortably.
There's a ding, and a pleasant female voice announces we've reached the 7th floor. The doors slide open and the tall women push the ground floor button again, leaving Naman and I alone in a thin hallway. We stand there awkwardly for a few moments, until a trio of people enters, calling my name. Eyes wide, I raise my hand weakly.
The trio spots me, looking shocked. They shake their heads slightly, murmuring things to each other in quiet dissaproval. One of them, a girl with flame-red hair, motions for me to follow them. I'm guided into a whitewashed room—white tiled floor, white walls, white bath, and white beauty desk with a white chair. Colorful shampoos and other products line shelves. The three stylists stick out like sore thumbs with all their bright colors. I turn my head slightly to find that they're all looking at me. Suddenly, one of them nods, and they set to work.
-x-
I have to admit; the team is fast. They strip me down and set to work peeling and waxing, getting every last hair off my arms and legs as quickly as possible.
"Ow!" I smack one of their hands away as they finish my left leg with an audible ripping noise.
"Sorry!" One of them pipes in their silly accent, annoyed. I think his name is Clarus, or something like that. His tight gold curls bounce slightly as he moves away. The team looks at me broodingly—I probably haven't been the nicest person they've had to deal with. Putting on my best smile, I try to win them over. It worked fairly well with Spella, after all.
"I'm sorry. I've just… never been able to look this nice before. I'm not used to it all."
That did the trick. The Clarus and the two girls, Tonia and Kateria, nod their heads and comfort me with "You poor thing!" and "Oh, don't worry!". I allow myself a small sigh of relief. It's not worth it to have these strangle people dislike me. The parade will make or break how potential sponsors see me. Besides, if someone is close to you with tweezers, you don't make them angry.
The team finishes the hair-removal and then loads me into the tub, which has been filled with a viscous dark blue liquid, which smells foul. It takes some coaxing, but they eventually ease me into it. I suppose its not all that bad—first it stings, and then soothes my skin. They leave me there for a while, and all I can do is stare at the ceiling.
The costumes they put the tributes in are supposed to represent their District's primary export. District 7 makes lumber and other wood products. I can't remember a year where our tributes haven't been paraded around in thick tree suits. They're always terrible, never attracting much like from the Capitol audience. The newer stylists usually get stuck with us, one of the least desirable districts. Usually, all they do is complain during interviews--about how boring it is not to have any fan base to work off of. I find myself dreading my meeting with the surely shallow man or woman.
Returning, the prep team pulls me out of the bath, beaming cheekily at their 'fabulous work'. They hug each other and squeal excitedly, then exit the room. I blink a few times, standing there naked in an empty, unfamiliar room. Where did they go? Searching around, I find a thin robe and pull it on.
There's a few minute gap before my stylist arrives.
She's positively beautiful, with long, flowing silver hair and ice blue eyes. Her skin is its normal pale color, and she's dressed in simple black pants and a shimmering silver top. Her looks are accented with just a bit of makeup, and I catch a silver tattoo on her hand. But... that's it. I'm so grateful for her normal appearance, I sigh deeply.
"Oh thank god." I can't help the comment. She smiles at me, vaguely amused.
"Hello, Sola." Her voice is serene and somewhat calming. "I'm Kai, your stylist."
There's a long pause. I'm not quite sure what to respond with. "Are you hungry?" She opens a door on the far side of the room, beckoning me forward.
We walk down the hallway further until we reach a huge, open room. A ring of windows cuts the wall in half, giving away a beautiful view of the sun setting over the Capitol. A few hours must have gone by. I can't help wishing for my sunset, resting peacefully on the hills of District 7, outlined in warm hues against the thick forests. Kai sits down in an over-stuffed brown chair, inviting me to take the one across from her. She pushes a little green button on a remote beside her chair, and a meal springs up onto the table. I blink at the full bowl of hot soup with noodles and chicken, vaguely comparing it to the bland stuff some of the merchants sell back home. It's pointless, because there's hardly anything to compare. A small spoonful confirms that it's miles better than what I've had before.
I hate this whole place, the people here. Their stupid clothing and hair, their vulgar obsession with the games. How their food magically appears with the touch of a tiny button. If I wasn't so hungry, I might have been able to push the soup away defiantly. But food is food, and I take reluctantly small bites, even though it's delicious. I glance up to find Kai staring at me, her eyes boring holes into my forehead. There must some unspoken thought in her head, because she narrows her eyes slightly and stays silent.
"Are you new this year?" I ask suddenly. I would have recalled her plainness amongst the other dyed and stenciled stylists. She gives a small nod of her head.
"Yes." She adds, crossing her legs.
"So they stuck you with us?" I say rather rudely. It's true, of course. Most of the stylists for our District whine and moan about being assigned with us.
"Somewhat. They offered me District 6, but I turned them down." She answers. "To be honest, I'm intrigued with the challenge."
I raise my eyebrows, slurping down the remainder of my soup. "Oh really? What will is it this year?" I won't show it in front of someone like Kai, but I'm dreading this. Hopefully, she will have the common sense to put me in something that isn't entirely awful.
"I know that District 7 is lumber. Trees." Kai rests her chin on the palm of her hand, eyes narrowed. "But I don't want you to be a tree. I want you to embody a tree--to be more interesting."
"Trees aren't very interesting." I grunt, un-amused. If only she knew. Kai grins.
"Oh, trust me, I'll make it work." She says.
Kai leads me back to the whitewash room, leaving the quickly darkening sky behind us. She starts with my hair, taking it out of its ponytail and adding in lighter brown and green shaded highlights, and then curling it slightly. Kai personally spends painstaking time on my makeup—painting my entire body varying shades of brown and adding delicate accents that I can't see. At some point she adds green designs, applying leafy shades to my eyelids and cheeks. I never realized that someone's hands could be so articulate, matching exactly what their mind conjures up. Kai is a true artist.
My prep team comes back in the room just as Kai finishes, carrying my dress. It's hard to put words and thoughts to match what I see. Positively stunned, I run my eyes along the dress--long and silky fabric, I assume. But it's so beautiful--neatly stenciled with leaves and spots of bark, with delicate flowers lacing along it. I can even pick out small, realistic looking birds fluttering across the fabric, lacing in between the pattern. It blends with my skin in such away that it looks totally in place, as if it is part of the design. Even I have trouble locating the hem of the dress.
I'm so enthralled by this that I actually applaud Kai. The stress, the anxiety, it must all be getting to me. But Kai smiles graciously as the prep team joins in.
It takes some work, but Kai and the team finally get the dress on to their liking. Clarus brings in a pair of simple brown shoes with small green accents—which, to my relief, are not heels of any sort. And then the four of them are stepping away, admiring their work, congratulating each other. I just sort of stand there awkwardly for a few moments until Kai takes me back into the hallway and onto the elevator. We stand in silence until the 'ding!' noise comes again. We're back on the first floor, apparently. Everything is knitting together so quickly, I can barely keep up.
We both step off, and my eyes widen at what meets my eyes. About half of the tributes have already arrived, dressed in stunning costumes, standing next to beautiful chariots pulled by colored horses. Their stylists are already fussing about them, arranging their bodies to show off their outfits. And wow, they all look fabulous.
Naman stands off in a corner by a brown chariot with matching horses. A tall man, his stylist, probably, talks to him with a grin on his face. He has short, spiked pumpkin-orange hair and is wearing sleek white clothing. Naman laughs nervously at one of his comments. Kai turns to me.
"I just have to speak with Vulso for a moment." She walks towards the spike-haired man and they chat for a few seconds before moving away from the chariot to speak in private.
I cautiously step up to Naman. His skin is painted very much like mine, and he dons a simple rolled up dress shirt and pants resembling my dress. We're silent for a long while, and then he turns to me suddenly.
"I hate this." He says quietly. A smile is barely visible on his face.
"Oh, come on." I mimic the Capitol accent, "We're overcoming the barbarism of our District!"
That drags a laugh out of Naman, although it's tight and somewhat artificial.
"You do look nice, though." He comments. I nod, grateful for the thick paint that covers my blush.
"At least we aren't in those suits from last year... well, we are still trees." I say with a sigh. The year previous, a different stylist had put our tributes in particularly unbecoming, bulky tree suits that looked ridiculous. Still a tree, but this is so much better in comparison.
We're quiet again after that, listening to the mulled chatter of the other tributes. More arrive gradually, and the circular room fills. Kai and Vulso come back towards us, loading us into the chariot and adjusting our body positions. My breathing has become staggered due to the increasing nervousness.
Finally, I hear an amplified voice floating in through the open doors. The District 1 tributes roll out. They're very provocative in skimpy outfits of cashmere and silk, paired with their good looks. The Capitol crowd roars—they're always popular. District 2 follows them. District 3. Soon District 5 is heading into the city streets. I take a deep breath, wiping the sweat off my palms. Luckily, the body paint does not smear.
Now a voice is announcing "District 7!" in a rather flat tone. I look back and Kai winks at me, flashing me a final thumbs up. And then our chariot jerks forward, the unnaturally tame horses pulling us out into the lighted streets. There's an initial shocked pause, and then the crowd erupts in cheers. I look up towards the huge screens seemingly floating in the sky, and I grin in excitement
In the dim light, Naman and I look almost magical. Like to whimsical people, hardly a part of this world. I'm so happy of the impression we have made that I beam gladly at the crowd, waving at the people crowding the sidewalks. Naman is surely doing the same. More, louder cheers follow the action, and I pick out my name, my real name, being chanted.
Something about the attention makes me feel… good. Wanted. There's nothing special about me. I'm not pretty, or strong, or a genius. But here, Kai has made me seem like someone who is special, which will be invaluable during the next few days. Relief replaces the anxiety, and I blow kisses to the crowd, still waving.
Too soon, we arrive at the city circle, next to the training center. I realize, slightly shocked, that I'm actually enjoying this. President Antil stands on the roof of the huge building, his voice magnified to a boom as he gives the traditional welcome speech. Traditionally, the cameras are supposed to cut to all the tributes during the speech, but we're getting a fair amount of airtime. I continue to smile, and by the time the anthem plays and the seal reappears on the huge screens, the muscles in my face are sore. Gratefully, the horses begin to move again, pulling our chariots into the doors of the training center.
Naman and I have barely gotten off when people surround us—Spella, Kai and Vulso, the prep teams, Sessile. They congratulate Kai and us enthusiastically. Apparently we dominated the parade, according to the ecstatic Spella. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Sessile wink at me. Maybe she isn't all that bad, although it could be the adrenaline pulsing through my veins. I'm riding on the high of our success, so there's not much that could bring me down. I giggle enthusiastically at almost every comment, playing with the skirt of my dress.
We talk for a while, and then the stylists and prep teams leave along with Sessile and Spella. They're taking a different elevator to our floor. Stepping inside the elevator, I sigh in exhaustion. The whole day has been rather arduous, and I find myself looking forward to the soft Capitol bed. Naman is quiet, probably tired as well.
The elevator stops and Spella is standing there. She's still beaming with pride as she shows us to our rooms, which are similar to our quarters on the train. Half asleep, I crawl into the shower and watch as the paint and hair dye runs out, staining the water brown and green. I regret washing out all the beautiful work that Kai did, but I still smile when I can see my normal skin and hair in the mirror.
Stripping down, I crawl under the thick blankets in just my undergarments. I barely have time to think before blackness spreads across my vision and my body becomes heavy.