Chapter 7

I do not own the Hunger Games The characters and the world of Panem belongs to Suzanne Collins. I don't know what I would do without her.

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A few hours later, Portia has dressed me in what will probably be the death of me. It is a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But what makes this costume REALLY stand out, is the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow and red. The matching head piece wobbles slightly on my head, and I attempt to steady it. Portia is planning to set the streamers on fire as we roll into the street. I eye the streamers nervously, my once confidence wavering. Portia sees my reaction, laughing slightly.

"It's alright, Mr. Baker. It's not real flame, just synthetic flame Cinna and I came up with. You'll be fine, perfectly safe." She says.

Right. For some reason, I don't tend to associate 'fire' with 'safety'. But I don't argue. I promised Haymitch.

I look in the mirror, eyes straining for a sign of the baker from District Twelve. My face is relatively clear of makeup, only a few touches here and there, and my blonde hair is just as messy as ever. My face is so similar, but yet again so different. I want so much to be that baker's boy again, decorating cakes and going to school, but that will never happen again. I am no longer Peeta Mellark, the Baker. I am Peeta Mellark, male tribute from District Twelve.

I am just another pawn in the Capitols Games.

But no matter what name the Capitol gives me, I won't let them change me.

Ever.

"We want the audience to recognise you, Peeta. Hence the sparse make-up," Portia says, standing next to me. I hardly call what I am wearing sparse, but again a force my mouth shut. My mother always told me I have the tendency to speak my mind. But my father always told me I have a gift with words. Maybe I can convince them to let me rub off the make-up? I decide against it. We both look at each other in the mirror, my nerves reflecting on my face. Portia smiles at me, and leads me towards the exit.

When I see Katniss, I am filled with relief. I hadn't realised how much I needed to see someone who isn't covered in tattoos, dyes and extravagant colours. We have been separated for only a few hours, and yet I have missed her.

'You are such a git, Peeta Mellark! How do you suppose you are going to go in the games then?' I ask myself.

I watch as relief fills Katniss's eyes, and I have no possible explanation for it. She either is relieved she isn't the only pawn in leather boots, or she too is over bright colours. I can feel the excitement radiating off of my stylists as they bob along next to me. They constantly drabble about the costumes, the make-up, and it is only making me more nervous.

We are ushered into a large elevator, Katniss and I standing near the doors. A hushed conversation between Portia and Cinna goes unnoticed in the corner, their heads bowed close together. Armac, Vista and Lorin talk excitedly among Octavia, Venia and Flavius, Katniss's stylists.

Honestly, these Capitol names! It's incredible.

Katniss is standing beside me, shifting her weight between her feet, probably out of nerves. We are all very nervous, I can tell from the tension. I over hear part of Vista's conversation with Octavia, catching a few words here and there.

"You know, nerves are only a type of excitement. So I guess every one must be very excited!" says Vista.

Yeah, that's it. We are all excited. So, I guess, when I get into the arena, instead of being nervous, I'm going to be excited!

Excited to die.

She has no idea how wrong she is.

I take a glance at Katniss, wondering what she is thinking about. She looks so lost in her thoughts again, and I can't help but want to know. Her eyes constantly flit between the small screen indicating our current level, and the door. We descend so quickly that I fear I may lose my stomach. The stylists seem bemused by our reaction to the speed off the elevator, laughing quietly amongst themselves. We are whisked to the lowest level of the remake centre, which closely resembles a stable. Pairs of Tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. I look around, noticing the large boy from eleven climbing into his chariot in front of us. Next to him, a small girl turns around excitedly, looking eagerly at the horses. She must be no older than twelve.

I feel a sudden urge to be sick.

Portia and Cinna direct us to our chariot, carefully arranging our body positions, our capes, and doing final adjustments to our head pieces. They step away from us, admiring their work quickly, before moving off to consult.

"What do you think?" Katniss whispers to me. "About the fire?"

I am suddenly flooded with images of Katniss alight with flames, and I shake my head to rid of it..

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I say tensely.

"Deal," she says. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."

I suddenly remember my mentor, and I scan the commotion for any signs of him.

"Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" I ask, slightly aggravated.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she says. And we both convulse into a fit of laughter. Katniss's laugh is so light hearted and beautiful compared to the darkness of our situation.

I jump slightly as the opening music blasts from large speakers surrounding us. Massive doors slide open, revealing crowd lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the city circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Centre, our home and prison until the Games begin.

District one's chariot slowly rolls out, and a massive uproar emits from the crowd. Slowly, District two follows. I look towards the District Eleven chariot, actually taking a chance to notice what they are wearing. Vines are strategically wrapped around the two tribute's bodies, bunched slightly of the small girl's chest. The large adjusts his slightly, obviously uncomfortable with his costume.

Too soon, their chariot moves, making its way into the streets. Cinna appears in front of us, holding a lit torch.

"Here we go then," he says, and he suddenly lights our capes on fire. I tense, waiting for the flames to burn me, to engulf me, but I only feel a slight tickling sensation.

"It works," he breathes, sighing with relief.

IT WORKS? What would have happened to BOTH tributes from district 12 if it DIDN'T work?

He tucks a hand under Katniss's chin and murmurs "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

He jumps off the chariot, turning quickly to shout something at us. The loud music drowns out any sound from him, but I understand from his gestures.

"What's he saying?" Katniss asks, looking up at me.

"I think he wants us to hold hands," I say, wearily. I quickly grab her hand, feeling the warmth again, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods, and I glance to Portia. The last thing I see before we enter the city streets is her smirk.

I immediately deafened by cries of alarm at our costume, which quickly transform into cheers and squeals of delight. Shouts of "District Twelve" are heard from every direction, and all heads are turned towards us. I catch a glimpse of Katniss and me on a large screen attached to a nearby building.

We are stunning. It is like we are leaving a trail of flame.

I suddenly remember Cinna's words, and I force a smile and wave. They go mad. I can hear people screaming out my name, desperate for my attention. I can see Katniss blowing kisses, and people actually falling over in delight.

The pounding music, the bright lights and the roar of the crowd makes me slightly dizzy, and I feel as if the only thing keeping me grounded is Katniss's hand in mine. I look down, and actually realize how tightly she is squeezing my hand. It is like a vice. But I don't care. My eyes graze up her arm and land on her face, and I finally see her. Her face is shining with the blaze of the flame as she blows kisses to the crowd. Her eyes gleam with what I think may be excitement. Maybe Vista was right, nerves ARE just a type of excitement.

Nope. Definitely not.

Katniss is just as caught up in the cheers and music as I am. She catches a rose, smelling it as I marvel in her beauty. She blows a kiss to the lucky Capitol crowd, and it dawns on me how much I wish I am on the receiving end.

She is still clutching my hand as we enter the city circle, but she loosens her grip slightly.

"No, don't let go of me," I say. "Please, I might fall out of this thing."

And I mean it. I need her here, her strength flowing through our linked hands.

"Okay," she says, as we proceed to lap the Inner Circle. The anthem is played, and President Snow does his speech, cameras capturing our every breathe. The cameras hold longer on District Twelve, the relatively 'stunning' tributes, as the flames become more distinct as the sky grows darker.

Once the anthem is played, the door to the training centre shuts behind us, locking us away from the public. I glance down quickly at Katniss and my entwined hands, but make no move to adjust them. Tributes shoot us dirty looks, but I focus my attention on Portia and Cinna, who are carefully removing our flaming costume and extinguishing them. The tributes are jealous of our first appearance. We literally outshined them.

I can feel Katniss finally forcing her hand open, releasing mine from her grasp. I massage my hand, trying to restart the blood flow.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there." I say.

"It didn't show," she says, smiling slightly. "I'm sure no one noticed."

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," I say without thinking. "They suit you." Why did I say that? We are going to be thrown into the arena and a few DAYS.

But the more I think about this, the more I start to think 'Why not?'

I smile, my first, genuine, non-guilt ridden or nervous smile. And before I realise what is happening, she reaches up and kisses my cheek, right on my bruise.

I am filled with happiness, accompanied by confusion. Her small kiss was blissful, but also painful.

Painfully sweet.

WOW. 22 Reviews. THANKYOU SO MUCH! My goal was always 20 reviews! This is amazing! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH GUYS! It feels so fantastic getting these reviews, and it makes me want to write so much quicker! Anyway, thank you for taking the time to review. Sorry its short, I just wanted to get this out of the way before the training starts :D Any suggestions, just let me know..And I am not sure of what I should call this fanfic, cause the name I have for it is kinda shabby.. let me know what you think. Also I am considering writing another fanfic about Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta. What do you think?

Thank you so much for reviewing. Please keep it up :D my next goal is 30 reviews... 3

LOVE!

TMG