Chapter Twenty-One
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Catching Fire
Rated M for language and violence
I know it took me for freakin ever to get this out, but I was in no mood during the holidays to write something as unfestive and depressing as the Forgotten Victor, and then right after Christmas I went to Disneyland! But thank you for waiting; I really think that it was worth it. I'm really happy with how this chapter turned out and by the way I did not edit this because it is literally eleven o'clock at night and I'm lazy. Please follow and favorite and review because it makes me smile.
"Wake up! Today is a big, big day!"
Good God, Effie. I swear if I get out of here I am going to strangle her. Grudgingly, I roll out of bed and walk out to join the others for breakfast. As always, I am the last one to join them. Silently, I sit down and begin to serve myself some juicy pineapple.
"Oh I had this grand idea the other day, and I just had to through with it!" announces Effie, breaking the silence that I was particularly enjoying. "Since Katniss's pin has become such a big fashion trend in the Capitol, I decided to have customized trinkets for all of you with the same emblem."
Reaching into her sparkling purse she withdraws three gold objects and passes them out to us. Haymitch eyes his gold bracelet suspiciously, while Peeta slips his necklace on without hesitation. I examine the gold ring I've been given closely. It has a simple band and a cutout of a mockingjay on the front with a tiny diamond where its eye would be.
While unhooking my necklace, I smile to myself, knowing that this was not Effie's idea. The mockingjay isn't just a fashion trend in the Capitol but also the official unofficial symbol of the rebels. It was originally Cynthia's idea to have all of the rebels in the Games have the mockingjay on them; she thought this would show Katniss who she could trust.
The mockingjay ring hangs around my neck along with my dolphin and Thresh's ring. All of them a different part of me and having them with me comforts me in an odd way. The rings to me show who I really am and no matter how the Capitol changes me they cannot take these away. That thought gives me a little more hope.
No sooner had I finished breakfast and gotten dressed that we arrive in the Capitol. Just like the first time, the citizens of the Capitol scream and cheer for us as we pull up to the Training Center. We exit the train and enter a tunnel of blinding flashes and deafening shrieks. Even though we're only out there for a few seconds at best my eyes have spots of multicolored lights dancing in front of me.
I can understand how these people can heartlessly bet and cheer for tributes when they don't know them, but this time the victors are going in. The Capitol people adore their victors even more than the Districts do, so how can they throw themselves at us shamelessly knowing that we're going to die. Wouldn't any decent person show a little respect to us? Who knows? I'll never be able to comprehend these people, so why even try?
"Claire!" I hear my name and I come out of my daze. Walking towards me is Cynthia. Her hair is pulled back elegantly, and she wears the same tight, black clothes as always. However, I notice a glint of gold on her wrist and recognize that it's her mockingjay.
"Cynthia!" I exclaim. She is the one person in the Capitol whom I can trust completely, which makes it such a relief to see her again. She hugs me briefly, when we meet.
"It's good to see you again," she says, smiling at me.
"You too."
"Let's go get you ready," she announces and leads me away from the others.
Cynthia opens the door to the bare room where I've been dressed so many times before. The bath, mirror, and stylist's chair look as out of place as ever, but it's familiar and gives me a small sense of belonging. The one thing that strikes me as odd, however, is that my prep team is nowhere to be seen.
"Where are the others?" I ask her.
"I put them in charge of Finnick. Every other victor has their original stylist and you and Finnick were the only ones who shared a stylist. They were here during his first Games, and said that they'd take over the job of being his stylist," she explains.
"You honestly trust them?" I ask.
"It was better than having to track down another stylist in such a short amount of time, although I am every bit as worried as you are," Cynthia admits.
"I'll keep my fingers crossed," I joke.
"Let's get started then," Cynthia says. Since it's just the two of us and I am little to no help, the time it takes getting me ready is probably twice as long as the other tributes. My body is waxed, my eyebrows plucked, and my hair is soft and shiny. After all the excruciating prep work, Cynthia goes to get my costume.
I hold my breath in anticipation, waiting for what I'm sure will be amazing enough to even top last year's Woman of Death look. I am not disappointed. The dress is made out of gold silk and puffy black lace. Half-sleeves that begin below my shoulders are embroidered with intricate stiches. But despite all of that, it is the back that is the most incredible. Covering my back is a jeweled spine and ribcage; it will match up perfectly with my spine, and make me even more death like that before.
"It's outstanding!" I exclaim once I'm in it.
"Good, I really put a lot of effort into it," elaborates Cynthia.
"It definitely shows."
If I had assumed that since we got the dress on we were close to finishing I would have been sorely mistaken. Now my face is being covered with creams and powders and God knows what else. My hair is piled on top of my head and teased for ages, until Cynthia's happy with it. During this time I just space out and think about nothing, for there's nothing that I could even imagine that wouldn't make me nervous, confused or depressed. So I suppress my thoughts of the Games, and Finnick, and Logan, and Loretta, and the rebellion, and Katniss, and Peeta, and Iris. Instead I stare at nothing and think of nothing, until Cynthia puts me in front of a mirror.
I do not even remotely recognize myself. My face and neck are covered with a peeling gold paint. My eyelashes are easily twice the length that they were before and curl up. Dark blue-green and black eye shadow coats my eyelid. Cream colored feathers flow with my piled up hair. The hair itself swoops and curls itself around my gold head, and it is flecked with flakes of gold.
Last year I was just terrifying-powerful but terrifying all the same- but this year I am elegant, yet threatening, powerful and intimidating, controlling and radiant.
"This is…I can't even…wow," I stutter, feeling like an idiot.
"Thank you, it's not often one leaves their own model speechless," Cynthia replies.
"Are there any special effects?" I ask. "Or am I already so spectacular that I'll give the audience a heart attack without anything else?"
"Oh you could easily give them a heart attack alone, but this year I want to give them a stroke."
I laugh and shake my head at her. I can't wait to see what she planned.
Just like the year before everyone has already gone out, even Katniss and Peeta. I am rushed to my chariot by a very flustered Effie. The chariot is also black and gold and covered in tiny skulls. Even the skeletal looking horses are shimmering with flakes of gold.
I take a deep breath and the horses pull out into the stadium. Like the year before I do not acknowledge the crowd. I'm better than them and they do not deserve my attention, at least that's what comes to my mind.
All of them watch me just like they did before in silence. Dead silence. A silence that seems to stretch on for eternity, that makes me feel uncomfortable, yet fantastic at the same time. I feel like pure electricity as I soak in the quiet. But before long a cloud of black erupts from beneath me. It startles me, but I keep composure not wanting to show anything to these people but strength and fearlessness.
But it's not a cloud. Not a real one, but a cloud composed of birds. Mockingjays. Genius simply genius. While the mockingjay has been nothing more than a fashion statement in the Capitol, in the Districts it stands for hope, and rescue, and a future. It stands for the rebellion.
And in this moment the birds do not belong to Katniss or the rebellion. They belong to me just like the crowd. In this one moment every single one of them are mine. And I love it.
The same surge of power rushes through me.
The sense of control is intoxicating.
The knowledge that, in this moment, these people do not belong to the Capitol.
In this moment they are completely, undeniably, one-hundred percent, mine.
That makes this feel more powerful than the Capitol, that even its own people belong to me. And if I can control its own people I can control the District with ease.