The prep area is full of people, with the twenty four tributes crowded around by their respective stylists. Lavender is busy fixing my skirt, meticulously arranging each fold around my legs. My feet are killing me; the toll of standing on high heels for the first time in my life hits me hard. I don't dare to move though; Lavender would probably murder me for ruining her perfect arrangement of my chariot costume.
"Give the folds a rest, Lavender," Chaff tells her, "She's going to have to move, you know."
"It has to be perfect though," she mutters in reply, tweaking my hemline, "There, that should do it."
Due to Lavender's request for an early chariot, I am the only person from the pool of tributes to be standing on my chariot ready to go. Thresh is beside me, still half a head taller than me despite my heels and the fact that I'm standing on a platform. Evidently Cardamon had given some thoughts about his comfort, unlike Lavender. Dressed in a skin tight suit of a dark brown, he can still move about without tripping over and breaking his neck. The same cannot be said for me.
"Do you want to see yourself?" Lavender asks as she straightens up, her face wearing a satisfied smile.
I nod. The dress looked amazing when it came with its hook and cover, but I have yet to see it on me. Sage wheels over a huge mirror at Lavender's signal, pulling it up to my left side so I can see my full body.
"Wow," is all I can manage.
The dress feels tight on me, hugging my legs and my body uncomfortably. But I can see why Lavender designed it so. The soft skirt flares out halfway down my calf, the brown material flowing off the chariot platform. Rugged and dark, they look a lot like the roots that Lavender wanted them to be. The dark brown skirt changes into a deep orange hue as it reaches my waist, making the top half a mirror of the orchard dawn I told Lavender about. The neckline is tainted with soft pinks and yellows, the perfect edging for a sunrise. The most amazing thing is the vine though, a twisting thing that starts at the bottom of my dress and twines around my body. The shoot curls around my left hand, its many leaves tickling my arm as it sprouts miniature berries and fruits.
"You look beautiful, Rue," Seeder tells me, "Much better than how I looked on my chariot ride. Why, they made us wheat costumes that were ridiculous! We looked like walking cereal grains!"
"Better than dressing up as a platter of fruit salad, as we did," Chaff says, "I still have nightmares about that apple costume."
"Oh Rue," says Thresh, "How will my wheat ever outshine your orchard now?"
"Ah, just you wait until you see the headpieces!" interjects Cardamon, his voice bubbling with excitement, "Shall we arrange them now, Lavender?"
"Oh alright," she says in a mock-grudging manner, "Marjorie?"
Marjorie stumbles over with two huge boxes in her arms, dropping them heavily onto a nearby trolley. Cardamon rips the lid off the first box, taking out what looks like a bronze crown. Telling Thresh to bend down, he sets the headpiece upon Thresh's head. Upon closer inspection, I can see that the circlet of bronze is not really a crown at all. Rather, it is a wreath made of interwoven wheat stalks, all fashioned out of metal. It matches the sheaths of artificial wheat on Thresh's shoulder perfectly.
"Nice touch with the wheat theme there," says Lavender approvingly, "Even the bronze embroidery, you subtle thing!"
Thresh's suit is of the same colour scheme as mine, brown at the bottom and dawn at the top. But where my material is plain, his is lightly embroidered with wheat patterns in bronze thread. I don't think the male tribute from any districts have looked this good before. This must be a good omen.
"Alright Rue, keep your head still," Lavender commands, "This is a tad heavy."
It is more than a tad heavy. The headpiece that Lavender positioned on my head weighs a tonne, and for the first time I know how Aqua feels with that ridiculously big wig on her head. It is as if my neck is going to snap from the weight.
"Oh, that is perfect Miss DuBois!" says Cardamon excitedly, almost clapping at the sheer sight of the thing on my head.
Resting atop my dark curls is an elaborate wreath, glossy green and alive like the vine curling around my arm. In addition to the miniature berries, there are tiny apples and pears woven in between the leaves. Over my right ear is a tiny model of a bird, its beak open as though halfway through singing a song. The mini mockingjay is just like the real thing. Somewhere close by me, someone whistles four little notes that break my heart.
"Mockingjay for the mockingjay," Thresh says.
"How do you know that tune?" I ask him, "I thought it was just an orchard thing."
"Ah, you don't know how far and wide your mockingjays travelled then," he tells me, "Most of District Eleven knows that tune. Us workers in the wheat fields even dubbed it Rue's Whistle."
"Really?" I can't help but ask him.
"Really, Rue," he says, grinning at me, "You're pretty much a celebrity back at home and you don't even know it."
"Well, your chat's all nice and lovely, but I think we have to go now," interrupts Lavender, "District One is already pulling out. Thresh, get up on the right side of the chariot. Careful of Rue's train though!"
He gets up obediently. I can feel the standing platform shift slightly under his weight. I totter slightly, and he reaches out a hand to steady me. I don't get the point of these heels. Beside Thresh I am still as dwarfed as ever, and the extra four inches do not help whatsoever. But the reason for these painful shoes is not for me to level with Thresh, at least not according to Lavender. She said she was hoping they'd help me clear the hand rail on the chariot. It must've been a joke, because even though I am small, I am not that tiny.
"Remember, heads up, spine straight," reminds Aqua, "And don't forget those smiles!"
"No holding hands, don't try for any sign of comradeship at all," says Seeder, "Like we discussed last night, it will not go down well with the Gamemakers. So try not to do it, you two."
"And don't fall and break your neck on those sky-high heels of yours!" adds Chaff, managing a small smile out of me.
The horses have already started moving, their hooves beating a soothing rhythm on the stone ground. The District Eleven team calls out something to us as we reach the double doors, something that sounds an awful lot like "Good luck". Thresh squeezes my hand before the doors burst open for the eleventh time that night. Our chariot rolls onto the paved parade, the chestnut horses pulling it looking majestic and proud. Thresh lets go of my hand before anyone can see us, and with my empty right hand I clutch onto the chariot's hand rail. Plastering a smile upon my face, I reach out my left hand and wave. The small shoots on my vine bursts into full bloom as the crowd erupts in applause, the little white and yellow rue flowers brushing my bare arm like freshly fallen snow.