Chapter 12
Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games, nor will I ever, unless Suzanne Collins sells the rights on EBay!
I sit there with my head buried in Peeta's shoulder, engulfed in one of the tightest hugs anyone has ever given me. After about a minute, he pulls away and gives me a sad yet determined smile. I try to return it, but my heart just isn't in it. Peeta seems to notice this because he reaches over and tugs up the corners of my lips to give the illusion I am smiling. I giggle and swat his hands away. He retracts them and I give him a genuine smile. Like I said before; he can cheer me up no matter the mood I am in. He gives off a certain vibe that just instantly makes you happy. Amidst the quiet, I hear heels hitting the floor and a while later, loud rapping at the door.
"Time for breakfast you two! We will be arriving at the Capitol soon," she says in her ridiculous accent that after hearing so much, has seemed to grow on me. Ok, maybe not entirely, but at least I don't feel like ripping out my eardrums whenever I hear it.
I look at the clock for the third time today to see it is ten o' clock on the dot. I forgot how punctual Effie is when it came to schedules. I went to gather my crutches and leave when I see that Peeta already has it covered. I stood in front of him and held out my hand, trying to look as threatening as possible. He chuckles, and hands them over without protest. I need to work on being more threatening for the arena. All the tributes already know I am an easy target because of my faults, and will try to kill me off first. Or maybe they will think it is too easy and save me for later, when I have hopes of going home. But then again, I have no hope. I shudder at this thought, and leave for the dining car. Peeta is already outside in the hallway, smirking. I get lost in my thoughts a lot, and he is used to it. I glare at him as I walk past him. He just gives me a cocky grin as he walks beside me.
Again, it takes us about two minutes to get to the dining car. I see Haymitch and Effie already sitting there. I straighten my shoulders and crutches as I walk to the table confidently. I don't want to show my mentor how absolutely terrified I am, making me seem even more weak. Upon reaching the table, I take my seat next to Peeta. He gives me thumbs up, showing me he is proud of me. I smile in return, and set my crutches next to me. Haymitch is on the other side of the table looking at me with a calculating eye that makes me feel extremely uncomfortable.
"So, you are the tributes from district twelve, huh? Well, the odds don't look too promising for you," he says as he leans back in his chair, swigging his beer. I look at him with a disbelieving look on my face. I can't believe he was so blunt when telling us we had no chance whatsoever. At least he got to the point and didn't lie saying we would be ok. Peeta has a surprised expression too, with a hint of anger.
"What do you mean we don't have a chance? Isn't your job to prepare us as best you can?" he asks, his fists clenched so tightly they are paper white. I reached across the table and took his hands, which immediately relaxed. Haymitch swiveled in his chair, and turned to face Peeta head on.
"Of course it is, but look at you two. Peeta, you may have a chance because you are strong, and look like you can hold your own pretty well," explained Haymitch. He then turned to me, with a disapproving look on his face.
"As for you sweetheart, you will be lucky if you make it to the final twenty," he stated plainly. I respected him for his honesty, telling me I was going to die; I just had to accept it, I guess.
Right as our conversation ended, breakfast came out. So many rich foods lay before me; most I have never seen or heard of before. Much like the first night, I just sat there; thinking instead of eating. I was going to die, so why try to put on weight? I sighed and crossed my arms, looking at Peeta. He was eating in large quantities, building up strength for the games. I smiled knowing that when I died, he would be ok.
He must have seen me staring at him because he glanced my way. He looked down, and saw the empty plate sitting in front of me. He had a slightly sad look as he silently mouthed 'eat please.' I was going to refuse, but I saw his worried expression. I decided he had enough to deal with without me being difficult. I grabbed the first thing I saw, which looked like eggs of some sort. I spooned some onto my plate, and ate slowly. While I was chewing, Peeta kept shooting periodic glances at me from the corner of my eyes. He had a look which was a mix between scared and determined. It was as if he was telling me with his eyes he wasn't going to let me starve myself and give up so easily. It told me he was going to fight to keep me alive. I had to look away because I knew he would keep that promise, even at the stake of his own safety.
After I was done with my eggs, I pushed my plate in front of me and resumed my thinking of how to try and help Peeta's odds of winning. So far, all I came up with was he could not make an alliance with me in the first place because I would slow him down. Also, my other option was jumping in front of a blade for him if he was being attacked. That would stop him from being hurt, and rid him of my dead weight. The first one sounded better to me, so when the time came to make an alliance with Peeta, I would politely decline. I smiled to myself, satisfied with my decision.
Suddenly, the whole room went from being sunny and bright to pitch black. I looked out the window to see we were going through a tunnel. On the other side was a sight that amazed me. Thousands of cheering people dressed very weirdly were all gathered outside the train to see the tributes.
Peeta got up from the table, and pulled me up with him over to the window. He started waving and blowing kisses to them. I looked aimlessly out the window, staring at all the different people. All of them looked like the Capitol people described in school; bright colored wigs and crazy outfits.
I decided why not, and started waving as well. They went wild, waving back with a wealth of enthusiasm and screaming. The train finally passed the fans as we pulled into the station. I got my crutches and got off the train with Peeta at my side.
"Now the first thing that is going to happen is you will be put in the hands of your stylists. Whatever they do to you, no matter how painful, do not resist."
I vaguely heard this advice, as I was guided out the door by Peeta. He helped me down the one steps on the train so I wouldn't fall flat on my face. Even if we were about to be thrown in an arena and forced to kill each other, he is still a gentleman.
We were guided into a building with a sign that said REMAKE CENTER above it. I guess this is where we were going to meet our stylist. A strange looking woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos for eyebrows came up to me, squealing.
"Oh my gosh, we are going to have so much fun making you over! I can't wait to get started!" she exclaimed, with way too much enthusiasm for my liking. With that, she grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me away. I shot Peeta a pleading and terrified glance. All he did was smile and whisper 'Relax. You'll be fine.'
The odd looking woman dragged me into a room that was brightly lit and resembled one you would find in a hospital. I'm glad I had my crutches for support because the sight before me made my knees buckle with fear. There was a group of brightly colored and surgically altered people standing in front of me.
"This one looks like she needs some help," commented a man with bright purple hair and lipstick to match.
"We've never had a tribute who was a cripple," said a woman with neon pink hair and white lipstick. There was no venom in her voice, but it still hurt.
They all advanced on me at once, and I involuntarily took a step back. One of the women came and stood in front of me.
"Hi sweetie, I'm Octavia. This is Vienna and Flavius," she said motioning to the other people behind her.
"Nice to meet you; I am Nicole Loomwood," I said, my voice wavering a little. She smiled, and handed me a robe.
"Please go into the bathroom, strip, and put on the robe. Then, come back out," I nodded and went to do what was requested. Stripping off the outfit I previously had on; I slipped on the thin robe. I made sure to put my braces by the door so I wouldn't forget them. Using my crutches, I walked back out to my stylists.
They led me to a bed, and told me to lie down. The first thing they did was pull all the hair out of my arms and legs. I slightly winced, but otherwise kept my composure.
"Great job sweetheart; usually people complain when we do that part. You are very brave. Grease her down!" Flavius said. The other stylists put lotion all over my body to soothe the burning. They then told me to take off the thin robe so they could bathe me. All the stylists started scrubbing me, getting off the remains of the district twelve dirt and grime. After 'greasing me down' again, I was allowed to put the robe back on.
"Now that we have you looking like a human being, we can call in Cinna," said Octavia. As they left, they all gave me a hug, saying how well I did.
I waited in the room for about five more minutes before a man entered, who I guessed was Cinna. He was a man who looked as if he was in his twenties; with dark, short brown hair and kind brown eyes. Unlike all the colors capitol people wear, he was dressed in all black, with gold eyeliner.
"Hello, my name is Cinna. I will be your stylist," he said with a warm smile and his hand outstretched. I returned the smile and shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you; I am Nicole Loomwood, sir," I say back. He chuckles, and I look at him slightly confused.
"Please, no sir. Just Cinna," he clarifies.
"Sorry, I am just so nervous," I apologize. I look down at my feet, which is what I always do when I am nervous. He comes over, and gives me a hug around the shoulders.
"Don't be; you'll be amazing, just trust me," he said with a look that told me I could trust him. "So I hear you are a very special tribute because of a certain disorder. Would you like to tell me about that, please?" he inquired.
"Oh, I don't want to bore you with that story," I say while looking down and playing with my fingers.
"Please? I like to learn everything I can about the tribute I am helping. It helps with my creative process," he says. He lifted my chin so I can see him giving me a reassuring smile.
"Ok, um, where do you want me to start?" I ask him.
"At the beginning I often find is the best place," he answers.
"Ok, let's see. When I was fifteen months old I was diagnosed with Viral Encephalitis. It basically means an attack on the brain. I almost died, so I was airlifted to the Capitol, where I got treatment. Long story short, I now have to wear leg braces and use forearm crutches to get around. I understand if you are disappointed you have such a broken tribute," I tell him. He just gives me a hug.
"You are not broken; you are a survivor. All those things you went through don't make you worthless, just more special and beautiful," he says as he moves my bangs out of my face, and rests his hand on my cheek. I feel the tears coming, and try desperately to keep them in. Cinna sees this, and he tries to comfort me.
"It's ok to cry. It doesn't show weakness at all," he says soothingly. The tears come back, but I can no longer hold them in. I sob into Cinna's shoulder for about five minutes. Then we pull away and I give him a sad smile.
"Sorry about that. I never usually cry in front of anyone except my family and Peeta," I tell him truthfully.
"It's fine; I am happy I could lend my shoulder for you. Now, onto your outfit," he exclaims, while going over to the large, black garment bag in the corner. He pulls out the most amazing dress I have ever seen, and my jaw hits the floor. It is all black and goes down to my feet but not long enough for me to trip on. It is accented with red, orange and yellow, and the short train looks like a lake of fire.
"Wow," is all I can say about this dress. He chuckles then tells me to take off the robe and close my eyes. I do, and feel the material run down my skin like a calm waterfall. He tells me to open my eyes, and I am amazed how I look.
"Thanks so much Cinna! This is fantastic!" I exclaim, as I give him an excited hug.
"I'm glad you like it. Since your district is coal miners, I decided to focus on the fire instead. Fire has both the power to create and destroy. How you choose to use it is up to you," he says.
"Umm…. Cinna." I begin nervously. He turns to me with a raised eyebrow, indicating for me to continue. "I love the dress and all, but I have to wear my braces and I am skeptical it will throw off the dress," I say gently, not wanting to hurt his feelings. I cross over to the bathroom and retrieve them. I bring them back and let Cinna look at them. "I am really sorry," I tell him.
"Its fine. The dress is long enough to cover them. I even brought socks and a cool pair of black sneakers when I heard. I just wanted you to explain it more," he told me, squeezing my hand. That is so sweet of him to have already heard what happened, but wanting to know from me.
"Thank you so much Cinna," I say, while throwing my arms around his neck in a tight hug. Wow, there is a lot of hugging today. He returns it, stroking my hair. I momentarily forget where I am, because it makes me feel as if I am back in district twelve.
"You are welcome. Now let's do your hair and makeup," he gathers all the supplies he needs and comes back over to me. He sprays my hair with water, and combs it out. It felt relaxing, a nice rhythmic pattern. Seperating my hair into three sections, he braids each section. Then, he braids those together. It looked really cool when he showed me in the mirror. Next he did my makeup. He didn't do much; just blush, pale red lipstick, light orange eye shadow and red eyeliner, which was winged at the corner to look like a flame.
I took one last look in the mirror and gave a face- splitting smile. I looked amazing; almost as if engulfed in flames.
"One more thing," he said while retrieving a headpiece, a cape, and a lighter. My eyes widened a little at the last item he picked up, but I knew I could trust him, and he didn't really want to hurt me. He put on the headpiece and cape and then explained about the fire.
"This is synthetic fire, which I concocted with Portia when we figured out the outfit. It has the look of real fire, but it can't burn you. I swear on my life," he says honestly.
"I trust you," is all I say. He smiles and comes over to light me. It tickles but doesn't burn like he said it wouldn't. Feeling confident, I grab my crutches and follow him out. This was my chance to be remembered, not for my weakness, but my strength.