First thing the next morning, Fulvia orders my prep team to remake Olive and me to Beauty Base Zero, which basically is what a person would look like if they stepped out of bed looking flawless but natural. It means nails are perfectly shaped but not polished. Hair soft and shiny but not styled. Skin smooth and clear but not painted. Wax the body hair and erase the dark circles, but don't make any noticeable enhancements. For me, it's not that much of an effort, really, but Olive, with her acid-damaged hair, sunburned skin, and ugly scars, has to go through a whole regement while I'm simply soaking in the tub.
After I rinse the lather from my body, I turn to find Octavia waiting with a towel. She is so altered from the woman I knew in the Capitol, stripped of the gaudy clothing, the heavy makeup, the dyes and jewelry and knickknacks she adorned her hair with. I remember how one day she showed up with bright pink tresses studded with blinking colored lights shaped like mice. She told me she had several mice at home as pets. The thought was strange to me at the time, since we consider mice vermin, unless cooked. But perhaps Octavia liked them because they were small, soft, and squeaky. Like her. As she pats me dry, I try to become acquainted with the District Thirteen Octavia. Her real hair turns out to be a nice auburn. Her face is ordinary but has an undeniable sweetness. She's younger than I thought. Maybe early twenties, if even that. Devoid of the three-inch decorative nails, her fingers appear almost stubby, and they can't stop trembling. I want to tell her it's okay, that I'll see that Coin never hurts her again. But the multicolored bruises flowering under her green skin only remind me how helpless I am. Octavia pauses at the sight of the small, cresent-shaped lesions my nails left all over my arms, but doesn't comment, only offering me a timid, sad smile. I squeeze her hand in return."It'll be okay, Octavia. I'll make it okay."
She nods, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't really believe me. I'm not sure I do myself. Either way, she gets Flavius to hand over an item from the elaborate arsenal of products, tools, and gadgets Plutarch had the foresight to bring from the Capitol and sets to work on the marks I left on my own skin.
Flavius, too, appears washed out without his purple lipstick and bright clothes. He's managed to get his orange ringlets back in some sort of order, though. It's Venia who's the least changed. Her aqua hair lies flat instead of in spikes and you can see the roots growing in gray. However, the tattoos were always her most striking characteristic, and they're as golden and shocking as ever. She's intently focused on her task and the only one of the three to go near Olive without flinching in terror.
"Prim trusts her,"she says quietly but firmly to the other two when she thinks we won't hear."That girl won't hurt us. She's more like us than anyone else in this godforsaken place."
After that, Olive makes a noticeable effort to smile at them more and say 'please' and 'thank you'.
When it's almost time for lunch, I get dressed so I can head to the dining hall. My prep team huddles in a little group by the door. "Are they bringing your food here?" I ask.
"No," says Venia. "We're supposed to go to a dining hall."
I scowl at that, knowing that Thriteen has rigid rules, but also knowing that they could easily bend them just a little for these three, especially after their horrid treatment. But I guess that would be asking too much, expecting Coin to act as if she knew what empathy is. I swallow down my anger. "I'll show you where it is," I say softly. "Come on."
The covert glances and quiet murmurs I usually evoke are nothing compared to the reaction brought on by the sight of my bizarre-looking prep team. The gaping mouths, the finger pointing, the exclamations. "Just ignore them, they don't even know they're being rude," I tell my prep team - rude is a sad attempt at downplaying the people's behaviour and I know it - while Olive goes as far as flipping off a few people with a glare on her face. Eyes downcast, with mechanical movements, my team follows me through the line, accepting bowls of grayish fish and okra stew and cups of water.
We take seats at my table, beside a group from the Seam. They show a little more restraint than the people from Thirteem do, although it may just be from embarrassment. Leevy, who was my neighbor back in Thirteen, gives a cautious hello to the preps, and Rory's Ma, Hazelle, who must know about their imprisonment, holds up a spoonful of the stew. "Don't worry," she says. "Tastes better than it looks."
But it's sweet little Posy who helps the most. She scoots along the bench to Octavia and touches her skin with a tentative finger. "You're green. Are you sick?"
"It's a fashion thing, Posy. Like wearing lipstick," I say, hoping the mention of make-up might distract her. She liked playing dress-up with the kit Effie got me."Or those fake lashes I had, remember them?"
"It's meant to be pretty," whispers Octavia, and I can see the tears threatening to spill over her lashes.
Posy considers this and says matter-of-factly, "I think you'd be pretty in any colour."
The tiniest of smiles forms on Octavia's lips. "Thank you."
"If you really want to impress Posy, you'll have to dye yourself bright pink," says Gale, thumping his tray down beside me. "That's her favorite colour." Posy giggles and slides back down to her mother. Gale nods at Flavius's bowl. "I wouldn't let that get cold. It doesn't improve the consistency."
Everyone gets down to eating. The stew doesn't taste bad, but there's a certain sliminess that's hard to get around. Like you have to swallow every bite three times before it really goes down.
Gale, who's not usually much of a talker during meals, makes an effort to keep the conversation going, asking about the makeover. Olive point her spoon at him accussingly."Hold up. You'll be in the propos. Why are you not being scrubbed and prettied up?"
"I'll have you know that I have a camera ready face,"he replies with a fake-snootiness. Rory roars with laughter."Yeah, right. They just knew no one could save that mug of yours, no matter what they'd do."
As lunch comes to a close, I discreetly take Rory aside and ask him to keep an eye on my prep team, as Gale, Olive and I are scheduled to go down to Special Defense to meet Beetee.
The Special Defense level is situated almost as far down as the dungeons where we found the prep team. It's a beehive of rooms full of computers, labs, research equipment, and testing ranges.
When we ask for Beetee, we're directed through the maze until we reach an enormous plate-glass window. Inside is the first beautiful thing I've seen in the District Thirteen compound: a replication of a meadow, filled with real trees and flowering plants, and alive with hummingbirds. Beetee stands at the center of the meadow with Wiress, watching a spring-green bird hover in midair as it sips nectar from a large orange blossom. His eyes follow the bird as it darts away, and he catches sight of us. He gives a friendly wave for us to join them inside.
The air's cool and breathable, not humid and muggy as I'd expected. From all sides comes the whir of tiny wings, which I used to confuse with the sound of insects in our woods at home. I have to wonder what sort of fluke allowed such a pleasing place to be built here.
Beetee seems happy, his eyes alight with excitement, and Gale and he get into some conversation about hummingbirds and snares while I attempt to speak to Wiress. She glances at me but doesn't really seem to know who I am or why I'm trying to engage her in conversation. Olive stands off to one side, staring at Wiress as if expecting some outburst from her. Maybe even hoping for it, to somehow lessen the guilt she feels over leaving Curie behind, even if it was never her choice. Suddenly uncomfortable, I turn back to the two men."Beetee, Plutarch said you had something for us."
)o(
Octavia is a precious baby and must be protected at all costs tbh