So, so sorry for not updating! My other stories are stealing my time. If you liked this, check out those. You can locate them on my profile. I never realized what juggling so many stories would do to me. The Games of a Rebellion was especially demanding. So, thanks for being patient, and let Rue return!
Gah. I hate the Capitol assistants that they've given me. They chatter in high-pitched voices incessantly as they wash, dry, wax, and smooth lotion into me. It's extremely embarrassing. I wonder if Thresh is going through this, too.
Finally, a woman comes in and shoos them out like insects.
The woman is tall and pretty, if you define delicate and always-seeming-off-balance as "pretty". She has carrot-colored hair and normal blue eyes. She has thin diamonds instead of nails. Yuck. Then again, those would be useful in the arena, considering how hard they are. As I contemplate her nails thoughtfully, she says, "You're Rue?"
I nod, still looking at the nails. Is a week enough for a tribute to sneak somewhere and get fitted with those?
"Hi," she says, extending a hand to shake. She does it cautiously, almost reluctantly, as if I'll dirty her pristinely white hand. When I shake, though, she relaxes.
"I'm Eos. I'm your stylist," she says. As she chatters on about how we're going to have a great week, et cetera, I take in her appearance. There are little ribbons and rubies in that carrot hair, along with some purple and pink stones I can't put a name to. I rack my brains and remember that thousands of years ago, some Greek people named their goddess of the dawn Eos. I wonder if my stylist is trying to capture that dawn. Her face, neck, and hands are pure white. It's creepy, because I'm from District 11, where no one ever works inside. We all have caramel tans. Eos scares me, both with her outlandish appearance and chattering voice like a baby mockingjay. Baby mockingjays are so high-pitched, unlike their mature selves. I used to have a pet mockingjay. I named her Pepper. Then Pepper flew away. I remember Choco crying.
Eos raises an eyebrow. "Put on your robe, Rue. Let's talk business."
I obey meekly. Seeder warned me in the train that everyone has to be convinced of my sweet-innocent-harmless nature, my stylist included.
The room that she leads me into is spacious. The place is made of clear, unblemished, hardly even shiny glass, giving the impression that all the furniture – mainly just chairs and rugs – is floating. I'm extra glad my flowery green-yellow robe is on now, because I doubt that this glass is one-way. There's a single table, but it's huge.
Eos waves me into a seat and indicates a feast in front of me. I gasp. The first thing I see is the huge map of Panem that Eos says is really a very thin cake covered in fondant and icing. It's amazing. It sits in the center of the table. I look at the twelve dishes surrounding it and gasp again.
The first dish is a small saucer full of little colorful gelatin gems. The next are some dark stones made out of slightly blackened meat. Then a stringy gray substance on top of thin wafers, made to look like a computer chip. I look at the next-to-last one and see a tiny replica of an orchard, made of real bits of fruit and marzipan leaves and trunks. Each dish represents one district. The coal-mining one looks the least appetizing, a hunk of burned stuff. Eos says that yes, it really is burned, but it tastes good.
As I eat, Eos just looks at me. When I finally finish, she says in her high voice, "Syphia's your escort. Right?"
I nod affirmatively and wipe my mouth with the napkin they've given me, embroidered with the Capitol seal.
She smiles. "Syphia's my sister."
I blink. Eos and Syphia look nothing alike. Then again, both of them have probably undergone more plastic surgery than everyone in the districts combined.
"She's not the greatest or most kind person," she continues, still speaking like she's trying for a soprano piece. "She has a knack for accidently insulting people."
She got that right. I remember Syphia planning to bet against me.
Eos spreads her hands, almost apologetically. "Sorry about her. Anyway. You have a very small build, Rue, a very small one. However, I have the dress that will fit you just perfectly."
She takes out a tiny device – about the size of her diamond thumbnail – and taps some microscopic buttons. The device lets out a long, loud, low bleep that has no place coming from something so small. For a minute, nothing happens. Then the wall behind me explodes and I scream and dart across the room. Then I turn and stare.
The dress is yellow, canary yellow, with leaf patterns embroidered on it in hot pink. It's sleeveless and embarrassingly short, even for me. It's a two-piece dress with a huge gap in the middle. Skimpy and really, really ugly. I want to say, "I have to wear that?" But I hold my tongue. Eos, a good stylist? How much more did Seeder get wrong?
Eos frowns and pushes one more button with a final bap. The dress ripples and turns, sliding into the wall, replaced by something that's more my style.
It's a pretty, trim dress made of flowing yellow fabric, but not the shockingly bright yellow of the previous dress. This one is exactly my favorite color – a deep yellow that seems to mix the brightness of the sun and the mellowness of a parchment into one. It's beautiful. Little, precise stitches in brown and gold trace leaves, flower, and tree outlines on the dress. I can see, vaguely, that the first dress was a sort of prototype for this one.
Eos looks shocked when I ask her, politely, to turn around while I change. She obliges, however, and I put on the dress, wondering if I'll ever get any privacy with her. She buttons up the back and gives me some flowery jewelry – a slender orange garland and the like – and a delicate tiara made of gold, with flowers etched into it. I look like a flower goddess or something. Weak, small, and fragile. Exactly how I want to be seen. It's like Eos knew my approach long before this.
When she finally helps me into a pair of flat brown slippers, one of my prep team members pokes her maroon head in. She says, "Morisant said to get you two down there." She sounds like she's sighing on every second word. I begin to suspect that each Capitoline designs his or her own accent. They're all so different and so ridiculous, like their other fashions.
"In a moment," Eos says, now puffing white and pink powders all over my face. Some gets into my eyes and I lose track of the conversation as my face erupts in pain. Wow. Makeup hurts.
When my eyes can see again, Eos has put on lipstick for me and for herself – a rich golden lipstick that I, personally, think looks ridiculous. But if the Capitol likes it, on it goes!
She touches up the powders and mascaras and whatevers that she's put on me, then we go downstairs. Thresh is sitting in front of the TV, looking bored, wearing a suit made of rough brown cloth with felt leaves sewn into it. He sees my dress and the faintest flash of envy passes behind his eyes. Then he gets up and says, "You ready?"
"Yes," Eos pipes before I can say "Not really".
A few seconds later, another brightly colored Capitol woman pokes her head in through a door. She greets me with a nod. "I'm Carasinla Psala."
Car-a-sin-la Za-la. I vow to remember her name. She has a brisk and businesslike tone that makes me decide to like her. She sounds nothing like any Capitoline I've ever seen.
"Rue Oriole," I say. I try to keep the shaking out of my voice. Then again, I haven't had any luck with that for days, since I was reaped.
"Nice to meet you. The chariots are ready," she says, addressing Eos. "Shall we go?"
Eos nods, looking like she's going to be sick. I wonder why. We follow Carasinla – who insists that we call her Cara – to a huge stable with two identical chestnut horses reined to a flimsy-looking chariot. Thresh gets in first and helps me up. He has a faraway look in his eye and, for only the hundredth time, I wonder if he's thinking of Summer.
Eos reaches up and kisses my cheek. "Good luck, Rue and Thresh. Remember, they're going to love you!"
Right.
One of the horses neighs. I stare at it. The only animals that I've had an interaction with are birds; singing to mockingjays, occasionally killing groosling, sometimes – and only sometimes – spotting bluejays and sparrows up in the trees. But only sometimes. Mockingjays ruined the natural habitats of those birds. So it's mockingjays I usually deal with. Mockingjays and people.
But these horses live and breathe too. It's very odd to feel the chariot shudder with each breath. Their fur is short and velvety. I resolve myself to pet them when we finish this ride.
District 10's pigskin-clad duo starts out in front of us. I start a countdown. Five, four, three, two, one...
A sharp crack spooks the horses – and me – and they begin to trot, pulling our chariot. I instantly close my eyes as we burst into the air.
The roar is what reaches me first. It's a solid wave of sound. I catch a few scattered comments – "Oh, she's so cute!" and "She's too tiny" and "Look at that huge one!" – but mostly it's just a jumble of whoops, yells and cries of "Look!"
Then something happens. The crowd goes wild. I finally appreciate the full meaning of those words. I'm tempted to put my hands over my ears, but some instinct makes me turn around.
I stare at the District 12 tributes. They're on fire. Literally. My dress fades to nothing compared to them. They're waving, completely at ease, and then I notice a detail – their hands are wrapped together like they were soldered to each other. I look up at their faces. They're smiling. The boy keeps taking quick, wistful glances at Katniss, who seems oblivious to him. She mumbles something and he says something back. I feel more than a little jealous, although if my plan to create an alliance with Katniss continues perfectly, I'll have an advantage with a better sponsored girl as my ally. Still, I have a feeling that one of the two is going to win these Games, with the gifts they'll get. Probably Katniss, because the boy has the well-groomed sort of look that Careers think of as weakness.
We complete a circle and ride back into the Remake Center.
I get off and, remembering my pre-ride resolution, run my hand across one of the horses' flank. The horse snorts and someone rushes forward and gives it hay.
Eos comes running in. She looks mortified. "Oh, my God…" she says. "It's true. Cinna did it." She looks bleak. "He was my boyfriend in design school." She starts to give a weak chuckle. "He always told me he wanted to set District 12 on fire." She chuckles again. "Looks like he succeeded."
"Mm," I say.
Now I know I need Katniss Everdeen as an ally. Such a sponsor-puller the Games have never seen.