A/N: So this chapter is definitely not as intense as the last couple were, but it helps get us where we're going. I'll be back with another update this weekend, I promise!
Thank you again to everyone reading and everyone reviewing! I know I say it every time, but I really mean it - you guys are the best :)
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. 'The Hunger Games' belongs to Suzanne Collins and her publishers. Chapter title and lyrics come from Fun's - "We Are Young."
Chapter 9 - Let's Set the World on Fire
~So let's set the world on fire / we can burn brighter than the sun~
The tunnel goes on for miles. The mountain range separating the Capitol from the eastern districts of Panem is extremely wide, forming a barrier that is all but impossible to scale. The main reason the original rebellion ultimately failed was the district armies' inability to penetrate this natural line of defense. Passing through it now is a depressing reminder of how our time in the Games is just the beginning of the challenges before us, even if we succeed in spawning a revolution.
The longer we are in the tunnel, the more claustrophobic I feel. I can't stop thinking about the massive amount of rock above us, pressing in on us from all sides. It reminds me of the mines, of the collapse that killed my father, how it took them days to dig his body out from under all the rubble.
Every year the school in District 12 brings all the students down into the mines to learn first-hand about the job most of us will be doing when we reach working age. The first time I had to go after the accident, I panicked as the rickety old elevator made its descent. I screamed and screamed until finally they had no choice but to bring us back up to the surface. I was lucky that my teacher that year was lenient and felt sorry for me given that the accident hadn't been that long ago, or I would have been punished harshly for my display of weakness. After that, I always found a way to get out of the annual trip, unable to bring myself to face that hellhole again.
Gale is tense beside me, the darkness and stone encasing us affecting him almost as much as it is me. I remember the bottle of alcohol that I am still holding and take a hearty swig to try to calm my nerves. Gale takes it from me and does the same before passing the bottle back to Haymitch, who looks distinctly amused.
"Well haven't you two just turned out to be a pair after my own heart," he smirks, standing up as we roll our eyes at him. "Remember what I said - let your prep teams do their jobs and don't give them a hard time. We'll talk more tonight after the tribute parade. Try to stay out of trouble until then." We nod and he gives us one last considering look, then heads down the hall in the direction of his room.
I sigh heavily when he's gone. Gale reaches over and takes my hand in his, rubbing his thumb soothingly along the back of it. "How are you holding up?" he asks.
I think about the question, trying to catalogue all the things I'm feeling right now. I'm nervous about what we are going to be put through today by our prep teams. I'm dreading what awaits us in the Arena. I'm afraid that we are in over our heads with this plan to take on the Capitol. I'm terrified that Prim and my mother are going to end up in danger because of us. I'm bitter about the unfairness of everything that's happened to us over the past 24 hours. I'm angry about the years of suffering and oppression that have finally led to this point. Most of all I'm wishing desperately that we were home, in our woods, just going about our lives, with only our families' fate to worry about, not all of Panem's.
Finally I just shrug, since I can't say at least half of those things out loud right now, and I can't change a damn one of them. "You know me," I say, keeping my tone carefully light.
Gale knows me too well to be fooled, and just looks at me worriedly. "Catnip…" he starts, when suddenly the train is flooded with light. We both whip around to look out the window behind us, getting our first real view of the Capitol besides what we've seen on television. The buildings tower above us, the sun glinting off their rainbow-coloured facades. Shiny cars zip along the criss-crossing roads. There are people everywhere, dressed in the brightly coloured clothes that are so fashionable in the Capitol, their hair and faces made up in all sorts of bizarre styles. Everything looks gaudy and fake, and I am certain that nothing has ever appeared more hideous to me.
The people soon start to crowd along the track, having recognized our train as one of those that brings the tributes into their city. Gale grimaces but stands up, tugging gently on my hand laced with his to get me to my feet as well.
"What are you doing?" I ask, confused, as he guides me to the window.
"Strategy, remember?" he replies, the distaste clear in his voice. "Got to give the people a good show." I cringe internally, but follow his lead, wrapping an arm around his waist and raising my other hand to greet the crowd. Their excitement is clear as they recognize us, and I'm certain that we will be one of this years' Games' biggest attractions; our tragic circumstances serving as an exciting new source of entertainment to them. My disgust at this strengthens my resolve, and for the first time I feel a bit of anticipation for what's to come.
The train brought us directly into what they call the Remake Center, where Gale and I were immediately shuffled off to separate rooms to be worked on by our prep teams. That was more than three hours ago. Since then, my entire body has been scrubbed thoroughly with a coarse foam one of my team, a plump woman named Octavia whose skin has been dyed a light green, told me would "exfoliate" my skin, which seems to mean "remove several layers of it." The man, Flavius, has been working on my hair almost the entire time, washing and rinsing and trimming it, applying all manner of creams and balms to it, which he assures me will make it as soft and smooth as silk. But his bright orange corkscrew curls have me more than a little bit nervous that he has dyed my hair some insane colour without telling me.
By far the worst part has been the hair removal, a process that I think must have taken up at least two of the last three hours. Per the third and final member of my prep team, Venia, who is sporting aqua hair and has an intricate design tattooed in gold above her eyebrows, this is because I am "just so hairy," an assessment that irritates me far more than it should (though the look on her face when I grumbled that I've never gotten any complaints almost made it worthwhile). Every inch of my body has been waxed and plucked bald, not a single stray hair remaining anywhere below my eyebrows, which they have also thinned considerably. I wonder if Gale is being subjected to the same treatment and can't help snickering a bit at the idea.
Venia finally pulls the last strip of hair from my leg, and then she and Octavia rub me down with a lotion that burns at first but soon soothes my raw skin. They gesture for me to get off the table I have been sitting on, and then circle me as I stand there completely naked, looking for any rogue hairs they may have missed. Finally satisfied, they stand back to admire their work. Normally I'd be horribly embarrassed to have anyone staring at me in this state, but they are so bizarre that it's more like being gawked at by a trio of rare birds than actual people.
"Wonderful!" Flavius proclaims. "You almost look like a human being now!" They all laugh, and I force myself to remember Haymitch's order not to throw knives at their heads.
"Thank you," I manage to say, making myself smile gratefully at them. "I've never had the opportunity to look so nice before." I give myself a mental pat on the back for getting the sentence out without gagging, especially since it seems to win them over completely. They all coo sympathetically and assure me that I'm actually quite decent with all the filth removed from my body, before pronouncing me ready for my stylist and scurrying out of the room to retrieve him.
I stand awkwardly as I wait, tempted to pull on the robe that is hanging in the corner but deciding not to bother since I'm sure my stylist will want to get a good look at what he has to work with. A couple minutes later the door opens again, and a surprisingly normal-looking young man walks in. He is not at all what I was expecting. He's dressed simply in a black shirt and pants, his dark brown hair cropped close to his head. The only trace of the usual Capitol flare is a thin stripe of gold eyeliner along his lash-line, which actually serves to highlight the warmth of his deep brown eyes. I find myself immediately relaxing, hoping that his good taste will extend to whatever he has planned for me.
"Hello Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says softly, only the barest hint of the Capitol accent in his voice. He smiles warmly at me, and I find myself returning it automatically.
"You're new, aren't you?" I ask. "I don't recall seeing you among the stylists in any of the previous Games."
He nods as he approaches me, examining me closely but professionally from head to toe. "This is my first year." He steps back and grabs the robe from its hook, passing it to me and gesturing for me to sit in one of the plush chairs near the window in the room once I have put it on.
"So they stuck you with District 12?" First-time stylists are generally given 12, since no one with any sort of reputation wants us.
"I asked for District 12," Cinna replies as he sits in the chair opposite me. There is a low table between us and Cinna presses a few buttons. A moment later the top of the table slides back and two plates bearing thick sandwiches and a leafy green salad rise up out of it, along with two glasses of sparkling water and bowls with a honey-coloured pudding. I think of all the people in District 12 who never experience a day when they have enough food to eat; the children who are forced to take the tesserae just to keep from starving; how Gale and I are only able to keep our families well-fed by hunting illegally, risking a death sentence should we ever be caught by the wrong person. But in the Capitol, you can just push a button and all the food you could possibly want simply appears. I am filled with a vicious contempt for the Capitol and all its denizens for the easy, frivolous lives they lead while we struggle day-in and day-out just to survive.
I lift my gaze from the table to see Cinna looking at me as though he has read my thoughts, his expression rueful and his eyes bright with understanding. My level of respect for him rises.
"So Katniss," he begins, "let's discuss your costume for the opening ceremonies. As you know, it's tradition for the outfits to reflect the industry of your district."
I nod. Since District 12's main industry is coal mining, stylists typically put our tributes in some variation of a sexed-up coal miners uniform. One year the stylist even went so far as to have the tributes appear naked, covered in nothing but coal dust. The costumes are always terrible, and do nothing to win the tributes any favour among the sponsors in the Capitol. I hope Cinna has something better in mind for us, although I'll mostly just be happy if we aren't naked. "So I'll be in a coal miner's outfit?"
He smiles, "Not quite. My partner Portia - she's Gale's stylist - and I think that the mining aspect has been overdone and would be too forgettable. And we very much want people to remember you." There is a conspiratorial glint in his eyes as he says this, though I don't dare try to guess what it means. "So we're going to focus on the coal itself instead."
I frown, confused. "I'm not sure I understand."
He grins enigmatically. "You'll see. When you and Gale enter the City Circle tonight, you're going to set the whole world on fire." My eyes widen at his words, and there is something in his expression that makes me wonder if perhaps the anti-Capitol conspiracy is larger than I thought. And I realize that I will be immensely relieved if this is true, since it means we will have more than just Haymitch on our side.
A few hours later I'm standing in costume on the bottom level of the Remake Center, slightly overwhelmed by the pandemonium as the other tributes and their teams fill the room. I'm rethinking my earlier relief at Cinna's possible involvement, trying to decide whether he's a genius or just completely insane. The base of the outfit is a simple long-sleeved black unitard. On my feet are a pair of black leather boots so shiny I can practically see my reflection in them. But the real focal points of the costume are the long black cape with ribbons of orange and gold and red flowing my shoulders, and the matching headpiece set atop my braided hair. The headpiece is a polished black material that looks like metal but is soft and supple. On either side the material is shaped into two flames that rise up from my head, pointing backwards, like candles blowing in the wind. They are attached to a band that is thickest at the base of the flames but narrows in a gentle curve to the front, the two sides crossing to form a tear-drop shape in the centre of my forehead.
I started questioning Cinna's sanity when he announced that he plans to light both the cape and headpiece on fire. He assured me that it wouldn't be a real flame, just a synthetic one that he and Portia had developed, and that it would be completely safe. I remain skeptical.
Cinna is putting some finishing touches on my make-up - which is thankfully very light, just enough to highlight my features while still leaving me recognizably myself - when I spot Gale emerge from the elevator, accompanied by what I assume is his prep team. His outfit is nearly identical to mine, with the addition of a pair of slim-fitting black pants that sit low on his hips. He looks ridiculously attractive, the width of the cape highlighting his broad shoulders, and the well-defined muscles of his chest, stomach and arms plainly visible under the snug black top.
I glance quickly around the large space and see that just about every other woman there is ogling him too. By now he has noticed me and is heading in our direction. But District 12's station is about as far from the elevator as you can get, so he has to cross nearly the entire room. As he works his way through the room, several of the bolder women try to catch his attention, but he ignores them all, his gaze trained solely on me. It feels like it takes him ages to reach our station, but finally he manages to push through the last of the crowd and strides purposefully towards me. I step forward to meet him and as soon as I am within arms reach he sweeps me up in a deep kiss that I return with equal enthusiasm. It feels like it's been days since I last saw him, instead of mere hours. And, I admit to myself, there is also a petty part of me that wants all the women in the room who are lusting after to him to know that he is absolutely not available.
When we pull apart I can hear our prep teams tittering to each other somewhere behind me, but I choose to ignore them. Gale takes a step back, his hands still resting on my hips, and eyes my outfit appreciatively. "Love the cat-suit, Catnip," he whispers, moving closer to me again to place another quick kiss on my lips.
"Alright you two," Cinna interrupts, though not unkindly. "Let's get you to your ride." He leads us to the chariot that will bring us into the City Circle; the last one in line as District 12 is always the final one in the parade. The chariot is pulled by two sleek black horses, who are so well-trained they don't even have drivers. We climb in and stand beside each other, Gale to my left, and our teams set about fussing with our outfits to make sure everything is perfectly in place. I eye Cinna and the woman I assume is Portia nervously as they prepare a small blowtorch that will apparently be used to light our capes and headpieces.
Gale follows my gaze, and nudges me lightly with his elbow to get my attention. I look up and his eyes are filled with amusement. "This is your fault, you know."
"How?" I ask, bewildered.
"You did say we were going to burn," he reminds me teasingly.
I scowl. I did say that. "I didn't mean literally," I grumble, casting another apprehensive glance in Cinna's direction.
Gale chuckles but offers, "I'll rip your cape off if you'll rip off mine."
"Deal," I mutter. I can't resist adding jokingly, although the tiniest hint of irritation creeps into my voice against my will, "Though I'm sure any of the other women in here would be more than willing to rip your 'cape' off."
Gale doesn't say anything, just takes my left hand in his right one and raises it to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on the pulse in my wrist, his eyes locked on my mine. My breath catches in my throat and he smiles at me, lowering our hands again but not releasing mine.
I jump a bit when the opening music begins, having forgotten for a moment where we were. A set of massive doors slides open, revealing the crowd-lined streets. They begin cheering as the first chariot, bearing the tributes from District 1, emerges. The procession will take about 20 minutes to reach the City Circle, where we will be welcomed as a group by President Snow himself, before being brought into the Training Center, which will house us (jail us, really) until the Games begin.
District 11's chariot is just rolling out when Cinna and Portia appear and, with no word of warning, set our capes ablaze. I yelp in surprise, but relax when I realize that it isn't burning me alive and in fact isn't even hot. Cinna smiles, and says, "I told you it would be perfectly safe," but there is a clear note of relief in his voice. They use the torch to light the flame tips of our headpieces, and then our chariot begins to move.
At first the crowd reacts with alarm at our appearance, but we raise our free hands to wave at them, and the shouts of fright soon turn into excited and appreciative cheers. I hear people shouting our names, either because they remembered them from the reaping or have looked them up in their programs at our spectacular entrance. It's impossible not to get caught up in the excitement and I find myself smiling easily, blowing kisses at the audience. Yes, we are definitely going to be one of the main attractions this year. For once District 12 might not have any trouble winning sponsors.
I look up and catch sight of our image, being displayed on one of the many screens that line the streets above the crowd. I am stunned by what I see. It is twilight now, and the flames dancing around our heads has turned us into shining beacons in the growing darkness, our capes seeming to leave a trail of fire in our wake. Our faces glow, the subtle highlighting makeup working in combination with the flames to make us appear more attractive, more powerful, but still like ourselves. We look like we are lit-up from within, like the fire is burning inside our bodies, radiating outwards. The effect is absolutely perfect. If Haymitch is sober enough to be watching this, he must be thrilled.
Then something about our headpieces catches my attention, and I nearly fall out of the chariot in shock when I realize what it is. Before they were set ablaze, the headpieces appeared to have a smooth, flat surface. But with the fire illuminating them, a subtle design etched into them becomes apparent. The double-flames rising on either side of our heads are not actually flames at all, but pairs of wings. The curved band is the elongated body of two birds, one beneath each pair of wings. The tear-drop shape where the two sides overlap on our foreheads is formed by the heads of the birds, crossed at the neck, the tips of their beaks meeting in the middle.
Two mockingjays, twined together, sit atop mine and Gale's heads, as we ride into the heart of the Capitol.
The design is discreet enough that most of the Capitol audience likely won't pick up on it, but it will be more recognizable to the people in the districts, who have long held up the mockingjay as an anti-Capitol symbol. But I have no doubt that President Snow will see it for what it is immediately, a fact that makes me extremely uneasy. I wonder when Cinna decided on these for our costumes - did he plan to use them all along, regardless of who the tributes were, or were they meant for us specifically after what happened at our reaping?
I peek up at Gale out of the corner of my eye to catch him surreptitiously studying the side of my headpiece, figuring out what it was that I saw that rattled me so much. He squeezes my hand reassuringly when he notices my gaze on him, but his eyes are filled with a grim satisfaction that does nothing to calm me. I sigh internally but stand up straighter, steeling myself as we enter the City Circle, pulling up directly beside President Snow's mansion where the man himself is standing on a balcony overlooking the crowd, his cold gaze fixed directly on us. No turning back now.