Wildfire

Part One: Sparks Fly

Chapter Two:

Upon waking, Katniss always experienced a brief, momentary confusion about where, when, hell - sometimes even who - she was. It never lasted, and as consciousness set in and sleep faded, she was always brought back to reality, to District 12, and to the daily grind her life had become.

The day after she became a tribute in the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss was alert the moment Effie started pounding her fist against Katniss' door.

Evidently, her survival instincts had already started to make their presence known, but as the Capital Escort's voice faded away along with the 'click clack' of her undoubtedly torturous heels, Katniss supposed she could only be grateful.

Already up, and certain she'd not be receiving any more sleep that day, the tribute clambered out of bed with a reluctant sigh, dressed for her day, and began a slow, reluctant walk towards the dining car, whereupon she was met by Peeta, Haymitch, and an uncomfortably chipper Effie.

"Nice of you to join us," Haymitch quipped snidely. In turn, Katniss graced him with the finger, helped herself to a serving of porridge and sliced fruits, and began to eat without a word.

"Now that Everdeen has so kindly graced us with her presence, I'm going to tell you both this: when we get to the Capital, you'll both be met by your prep team. They're there to make you Capital presentable. You won't like what they do, but whatever you do, do not fight them. The same goes for your stylists."

Katniss grimaced, but she acquiesced with a nod. Beside her, Peeta did the same.

"With that out of the way, tell me what you thought of the other tributes."

Katniss stirred at her porridge, silent. She'd spent most of the night analysing her perceptions of the 22 other tributes, had even spared a few critical thoughts on Peeta's capabilities, and with a hunter's eye, she'd been able to isolate weaknesses in the major threats posed to herself, and to a lesser extent, to Peeta.

"The career tributes are arrogant," Katniss began, "They don't think anyone else as much of a threat. Justifiable, yes, but also an oversight on their part."

"The boy from District 3 is, although not physically strong, determined. The girl gave up as soon as her name was called, but the boy… there's resolve there, if nothing else," Peeta contributed.

Between the pair of them, they'd determined that their biggest threats - beyond the careers - were District 3's boy, District 5's girl, and District 11's behemoth.

According to Peeta, his name was Thresh.

"He's protective of the girl," Peeta determined, "She's his weakness."

Katniss grimaced. The girl, a tiny, fay-like little thing with corkscrew curls and a purity about her that didn't belong in the Hunger Games was too much like Primrose for Katniss' comfort. Her name was Rue, and even as she'd stood beside her enormous district partner, she'd worn a small, optimistic smile on her face.

In all honesty, it had been painful to watch.

"Poor dear, she doesn't have a chance," Effie commented, oblivious, and unwittingly callous. Katniss tried to remember that the woman, Capital born and raised, didn't know any better, but as she continued with her thoughtless babble, it wasn't easy.

Besides, they'd all been thinking it.

"Anything is possible," Peeta reasoned, but the way he gripped his butter knife, the boy was probably harbouring the same homicidal thoughts as Katniss herself. It was hard not to hate the Capital when they regularly sent off little girls to die.

"Yes," katniss agreed, "Just look at Finnick Odair. Until he got that trident, I don't think anyone expected him to win."

Odair was the victor of the 65th Hunger Games. A tribute from District 4, he'd charmed each and every Capital citizen from the get-go, and - miraculously - had been gifted a trident from his admirers for his efforts. Afterwards, he'd systematically - albeit mercifully - taken out each and every one of the seven surviving tributes, and thus, had become the youngest victor in Hunger Games history.

To this day, the Capital couldn't get enough of him.

"Sponsors are very important," Haymitch contributed, "Finnick wouldn't have had a chance if not for that trident."

"So how do we get sponsors?"

Haymitch gulped his tainted juice, scrutinised them both, and nodded decisively. "Make them love you."

Katniss mulled over Haymitch's words for the remainder of breakfast. She thought it would be easy for Peeta, who'd always been affable and charismatic, but contrarily, Katniss knew it was something she herself would struggle with. She'd never been good with people, particularly those she didn't like, and the prospect of making an entire country love her was terrifying.

If the game was survival though, Katniss was willing to do anything.

She glanced at Peeta, with his blonde hair and blue eyes, and corrected herself.

She'd be willing to do nearly anything.

They arrived at the Capital in a flurry of motion, of noise and colour and chaos. The city stretched as far as the eye could see, and on the platform, they were met by dozens upon dozens of Capital citizens, eager to take in the first sight of the Hunger Games' tributes. Peeta waved cheerfully at them - "For sponsors, Katniss" - and she followed suit, a fixed smile on her face, while inside her heart, resentment festered.

These people relished in the deaths of children.

It was overwhelming though, the shear amount of strangers, the array of colours, and their plainly obscene excitement at the sight of Peeta and Katniss themselves. Even as they both played the crowd, Katniss sought comfort in the most familiar thing to her, and without real thought, her hand found it's way into Peeta's. He didn't recoil at the contact, but instead, he laced their fingers together, squeezed her hand supportively, and gently tugged her towards the car ahead of them.

"We're headed towards the training centre," Effie informed them, "You'll be introduced to your prep teams there. They'll be readying you for your respective stylists, of course, and no doubt, they'll make you look spectacular…"

Effie continued on, but Katniss tuned her out. Instead, she watched the scenery outside her window, unfamiliar as anything Katniss had ever known. The tallest building in District 12 was the Justice Building, and that was only three storeys high. Here, in this strange new world she'd found herself in, buildings seemed to touch the sky, as strangely coloured as their various inhabitants, and probably worth more money than Katniss could make in five lifetimes.

Eventually, they reached the training centre, and as much as Katniss detested the sight of it, she was also relieved. This, at least, was something she'd seen often over the years. It was often featured in the mandatory recaps of the Hunger Games, and as much as she hated everything it represented, it was like an island in an ocean of unknowns.

"Have fun," Haymitch quipped, an unabashedly amused grin on his face. He staggered off directly afterwards, and ahead of them, Effie led the pair towards a group of strangers Katniss could only compare to bizarre, exotic birds. Three of them, introduced to Katniss as Flavius, Venia, and Octavia, then went on to lead her towards a private prep room, whereupon she was scrubbed, buffed, waxed, plucked, among other things, until she'd reached 'beauty base zero'.

Afterwards, Katniss was left to her own devices with word that her stylist, Cinna, would be with her shortly. She was naked, and although she was no stranger to nudity, or even uncomfortable with it, she did feel cold, and she wasn't pleased that she'd been left waiting.

Idly, perversely, she wandered if Peeta was naked, too.

Before she could dwell on the thought, or imagine what he looked like in nothing but his own skin, her door opened slightly, a man stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. He was, surprisingly, average looking, with olive skin and black hair. He was young - perhaps in his twenties, his early thirties at the latest - with only some golden eyeliner to accentuate his features. Though not particularly tall, there was a presence about him that made him seem larger, and he seemed kind, and in response, Katniss relaxed.

"Hello," he greeted. A cursory glance of her body followed, he offered her a robe afterwards, and he continued, "I'm your stylist. My name is Cinna. I've been… eager to meet you."

"That sounds vaguely creepy," Katniss informed him flatly. She knotted the rope at her waist, crossed her arms over her chest, and wondered if her impression of him was wrong.

The man chuckled. "I apologise. You just… left an impression at the reaping. I was… intrigued."

She frowned, perplexed. "How?"

"I'll explain over lunch," Cinna determined, "Are you hungry?"

Katniss was led towards a small dining room, whereupon lunch appeared from a hole in the middle of the table, and Katniss could only stare.

What would it be like, to live in a world where food appeared with only the click of a button?

It seemed unfathomable.

"It's horribly unfair, isn't it?" Cinna mused, "You must hate us."

"Do you blame me?" She thought about the people who'd simply given up, had died in the streets of District 12, and her loathing was irrefutable. She didn't even try to deny it.

"No," Cinna answered, "I don't."

Katniss ate, and Cinna spoke. She learned that he and his partner, Portia, had volunteered to design the outfits for District 12's tributes that year, that Katniss had impressed him during the reaping, and that he was perhaps a little - or a lot - mad.

"How do you feel about fire?"