꧁ ꧂

"You're an angel darling, truly." Aharon buzzes around my head as Sorrel and Violet pick and prod at my hair and clothes, detangling, and dismantling. "If you become our next Victor, you should really consider modeling as your hobby!"

"What are you talking about Aharon?" I just want to curl up and sleep forever, the ever-moving Capitol life is taking its toll.

Before Aharon can explain exactly what he means, Milos flutters into the room - well he walks precariously in skinny heels, and he has a surprisingly detailed pair of wings attached to his back.

"Very well done dear, even if you did look a little murderous," Milos semi-compliments me. The assistants are finished disrobing me and have slipped me into a pleasantly soft, plain dress. "Although, I suppose that's what they're looking for." Milos grabs my arm and yanks me out of the room, I hear the click of heels as Aharon and his assistant follow. We meet Haymitch and Aspen at an elevator and we all squeeze inside.

"Top floor please, Aspen," Milos calls back from where he is squished at the back of the small room.

"Where are we going?" I push a glazed Haymitch off my arm and he instead leans heavily against a mirrored wall.

"Well, you two are lucky to be from District 12 -" yeah right "- because you get to stay on floor 13 – the penthouse!"

We zip up far too many floors, 12 apparently. The doors open and I push my way out of the suffocating room, stumbling into the biggest living room I've ever seen. I used to think my father's home was obnoxiously large, but his entire house could fit in this one room. In the center of the wall on my right, a cluster of leather chairs sit in a semi-circle around the television the size of my shanty's roof. Floor to ceiling windows line the back wall, we're so high above neighboring buildings that the view stretches on for miles. On my left is a black marble staircase leading up to an overhanging loft where a sleek black dining table sits surrounded with holographic chairs, their colors rotating like the kaleidoscopes I used to play with when I was young. Doors that I assume lead to bedrooms and offices are spotted around the loft and the left wall. I look down and catch my awe-struck reflection in the rigorously polished floors. I snap my mouth shut and swivel around to a very pleased Milos, no doubt this penthouse is the sole perk of being 12's tribute escort.

"Where do we sleep?"

After Milos deposits me in one of the bedrooms, I wander around, testing out all the Capitol luxuries and gadgets, begrudgingly impressed. I make my way into the ensuite where, at the push of a button, a white bathtub the size of the queen bed in the room next door appears from an opening in the wall. I lock the door and set the hot water running, well I try to. The wall is lined with buttons and switches, all unhelpfully unlabeled. When I give up, the tub is full of multicolored foam and smells of berries and lemons. I try to scrub the gel from my hair and the extensive black make up from my eyes and lips.

I leave the bath with my skin rubbed raw but feeling far lighter than before. Milos collects me for dinner with the rest of the team.

Haymitch and Aspen, as well as our stylist team, have already taken their seats on the shiny chairs, I see Aspen's own wet hair and I wonder if he had better luck with the buttons. Milos pulls out a chair for me before taking his own seat at Haymitch's right hand, of course my 'mentor' would seat himself at the head of the table.

A plate topped with a cloche sits in front of me, and before I can decide when I'm supposed to lift it, a red-sleeved arm reaches around me to grip the silver handle. I move my chair back a bit as I flinch away from the surprise, and it digs into the person behind me. I look up in surprise at the person I hit, and the owner of prior mentioned arm, and see a grim-faced girl with defeated eyes and a turned-down mouth.

"I'm sorry," I apologize for bumping into her.

Her eyes widen a little in shock and she quickly pulls the cloche away, giving me a small shake of her head.

Violet leans over from my left side and whispers urgently, even a little harshly, "you're not supposed to talk to the Avoxes, only when giving orders."

The word stuns me for a second before I can place it, Avox. That's what the girl is. Someone who's committed treason against the Capitol or wronged them in some way. No wonder she didn't say anything, even when I hit her. Avoxes have their tongues removed before they're enlisted as Capitol slaves. I keep my eyes down at my plate for the rest of the meal, but I watch as the unseen, unheard, servants quickly swoop into refill drinks and switch out places at the end of courses. I look over to the front of the table as dessert is presented. Spun sugar woven to create the head of a dragon roars up from each person's plate, the Avoxes light a fire on each dragon's snout and the sugar burns and withers away to reveal layers of cake that melt on my tongue topped with a perfectly rolled dollop of light cream. The sugar keeps burning, sweet wisps of smoke curling up from burning eyes of the decimated dragon. I see Haymitch easily talking to Milos and Aharon. He chuckles at something one of them says and as he talks an Avox moves forward to top up his half-full glass. He quickly swipes his hand over the glass, not even looking up or pausing his speech, and the Avox takes a few brisk steps back. He's been doing this so long he can blend in with the Capitol citizens, ordering around slaves so naturally. He pretends to hate the Capitol residents, but he can't even spare a word for the Avox, just like they wouldn't. I grip my dainty fork a little tighter.

Haymitch finishes his conversation and addresses Aspen and I, he's been more serious since we arrived at the penthouse. It's stressing me more than when he was just an absent mentor, this is all too real. "Alright, now you two are going to have to prepare yourselves for tomorrow. You'll begin training. They'll explain most rules while you're there, but what they won't tell you is this: there will be people watching, Gamemakes, sponsors, the lot, but under no circumstances are you to show off. There will be time for that when they decide your scores, so there's no point in revealing your hidden talents to the other tributes."

"Speaking of which, what are your other talents?" He looks between us. Met with silence, Haymitch waves a hand, "we can sort that all out tomorrow, they'll be replaying the opening ceremonies soon anyways."

Our little group spreads out across the leather seats as the anthem plays before the replays. As I watch the chariots roll in, I have to admit, Aharon did surprisingly well with his designs. Of course, we still look ridiculous, but at least we don't look as bad as that one pair of tributes a few years back, who were unfortunate enough to be doused in coal dust and butt naked for their parade, with headlamps of course. I don't think anyone will be forgetting them any time soon. The camera pans to a closer shot of each pair of tributes and Aspen and I are at the very end. He looks cheery, but slightly in pain, his smile just a bit too forced.

I look like a cut-throat wannabe.

My expression is loose but set in my natural position of scrutiny and boredom. But that kind of boredom where I might lash out and slit a few throats to soothe it. I watch myself look over around the crowd and roll my eyes, my mouth opens slightly in a dramatic sigh. Even the godforsaken head lamp doesn't tone down my glare, the way the thin strip catches and refracts the light it slips across my forehead and disappears into my hair. It looks a bit like a crown, a silver circlet. Paired with the big gown and gauzy shawl wrapped around my shoulders, I look like a spoiled princess. I can see this going well for me, but also very, very, badly.

I lean back in my seat to try and gauge my comrades' responses. Aspen looks a little peeved, although he did just watch himself in a suit of dust wink at the camera, so I can't rely on him for a clear answer. Milos looks a little stunned, but he has one of those faces that always looks a little surprised. Aharon, Violet, and Sorrel are beaming, again, not really reliable, anyone would be happy when their work gets televised. My real answer lies in Haymitch's reaction, he appears to be smothering a smile with an indifferent frown.

Still trying to contain whatever emotion he's hiding he says, "we can work with that."

I toss and turn in my Capitol bed. It cushions me perfectly, the foam molding to fit my shoulder and hugging my hip. I feel like I can't breathe in the thick comforter and feather pillows. I kick my way out of the snug nest and take one of the thinner decorative pillows and the sheet off the bed. I curl up on the thick carpet next to the bed. I tell myself that I'm just preparing for sleeping arrangements inside the Games. But maybe I just want a little bit of home, even if that home is heavy with baggage.

A/N: I forgot this existed tbh, but at least twice a year I collapse back into my hg obsession, so…