A/N: So I said I'd work on my other stories first. Turns out I lied. I'm too into this story to stop. Bet you guys don't mind! :D
Today we'll be revisiting these two lovely tributes:
Jayce Newman and Tyberios Palatium. They are differing lengths because in Tyberios's, for example, which is a good bit longer than Jayce's, we meet lots of other characters, so the focus isn't just on him like it is in Jayce's POV.
We will also be meeting all of the stylists; their POV's will be short and only a small paragraph, sort of like LadyCordeliaStuart's Pre-Parade chapters in her SYOTs. Enjoy!
Also. Age of consent is 16 years old in the Capitol. There's no sex, just a kiss. ;)
Trigger Warnings: Profanity & Sexual innuendo, cuz, like, stylists XD
Cityscape Skeletons
Taking shape and growing skin
Layer and layer is peeled away
Exhausted
From the repetition of always needing to rebuild
Worn down faces in colorful barren places
City lights and skylines
Jayce Newman, 17
District Five Male
The jolt of the train stopping wakes me up. I jerk awake, sweating profusely, and I throw the too-thick and too-soft comforter off of my body. The door cracks open, and I see a shyly smiling Anneliese standing outside of the door, bags under her eyes.
"We're here. You have a half hour before we disembark and head off to the Tribute Center to prepare for the annual Tribute Parade happening later tonight. Shower, get dressed, choose something nice out of the wardrobe." She click-clacks away, apparently wearing heels. Anneliese didn't even wear heels to the Reapings. I'm guessing getting off the train is somehow a bigger occasion than choosing two tributes to die?!
I open a sliding door set into one of the walls. One touch on the flat square of metal where a knob should be, and the door glides open soundlessly. Lights flick on by themselves, revealing an ornate bathroom. A huge shower and a tub, dipping low, fill the room along with a porcelain toilet and a granite and mahogany vanity with one silvery sink spout sticking over the raised granite bowl. I strip off my clothing and step into the shower.
I'm perplexed by the many buttons and dials laid into the wall underneath the shower head. I press a navy blue one, and icy cold water splashes out of the shower head, drenching me. I instinctively step back, and I try to inch around the waterfall of chilly water to press the maroon button that must make the water hot. The freezing water slides across my arm as I dart forward and press the hot water button. The water cuts off for a second, and then warm water floods out, wrapping me in its comforting heat. I sigh, and I look over the other buttons. I press a periwinkle one, and large, iridescent bubbles sprout from the rim of the shower head, raining down on me, as the water shuts off for a moment. I close my eyes as I'm coated in bubbles that smell of lilac, and suddenly there's things scraping at my skin and my scalp. I open my eyes in fear, but I realize it's just the bubbles; Capitol soap is really weird, I guess. My eyes sting from the soap and I close my eyes again, trying to assuage the burning pain. A minute later, just as my body is starting to get cold, the warm water turns back on automatically and drenches me, washing out all of the soap that's sunken into my pores and my follicles. I feel like I've shed a layer of skin when I step out of the shower. I feel so clean, it's wrong. It feels like my entire body is breathing. That thought makes me shudder, but it's true. I slip out of the bathroom after toweling myself dry, and the lights automatically turn off on their own. I walk over to the other door in the room, the closet. This one has a sensor too, and when I press my hand against it, the door soars open. I step inside.
Several dozen outfits, tailor made to my size, hang on the walls. I gape. There's silk and cashmere and a million other fabrics I cannot name, all of them expensive, in a variety of colors, all here for me. The waste. I'll only wear one of these outfits, the other several dozen will probably just get tossed in the trash and pushed into the ocean or whatever Four does with the garbage once it's sent to its sanitation department. I cluck my tongue in disapproval, but I can't help smiling as I push through the racks of clothing. I find a nice pair of khaki pants and a smoothly stitched orange dress shirt. I pull them on, and then I see the tie and belt also tucked on the hanger. I guide the belt through the loops in the pants, and then I fumble around with me tie. No one ever taught me how to tie one. It's not like my parents couldn't or didn't want to, I just guess no one really wears tie in Five besides the super rich people, so why waste your time learning a useless skill?
I call in an Avox, and he expertly ties the tie for me in a windsor knot before bowing and leaving the room. I put on dress socks and a pair of dark brown shoes that match my belt and then I walk out of the door after combing my hair. I walk quickly down the well furnished hallway and into the dining car. A ticked looking Ambrosia, dressed in an extravagant yellow and purple dress, waits impatiently next to Anneliese, still in her heels, and Bernie, who is wearing a long mint green dress and is trying to put on a smile. Anneliese squeezes the girl's hand as Ambrosia twirls and spots me.
"Chop chop chop, you're a minute and a half late!" she squeaks. She opens the door, putting on her best smile then, and motions for us to walk out. Anneliese steps forward first, Bernie sticking right behind her. I step out a moment after Bernie does, and Ambrosia is the last out.
I'm shocked by the crowd of nearly four hundred who have gathered at the station. The incessant flashes of cameras blind me and the cheers undulate from the crowd. They're not saying the same thing so I can't make out any specific words, just all out hysteria. I almost want to ask if they're okay, but then I remember that they're Capitolites. The Games are their favorite holiday. They love watching us die. I put on a good smile as Ambrosia and Anneliese lead my demure District partner off of the platform and down a cleared promenade. A huge building sparkles on the horizon, and I gasp. Everything is flashing with beautiful colors; the skyline amazes me. My head is titled back as I stare all around me in utter wonder. I swear the sky is more colorful and lively than the sky back at home! The people are like an undulating, living sea of rainbow on the streets, and the buildings twist and arch and glitter all around me. There's laughter and smiles and full bellies everywhere. Everyone is healthy and happy and jubilant and everything feels so alive. My now ever-present tiredness fades as I soak up the electric atmosphere of the Capitol all around me as we walk forward towards the Tribute Center in awe. Now this is really living.
See the world outside of Five. Check.
Fashion!
Step into the room
Like it's a catwalk
Fashion!
Singing to the tune
Just to keep them talking
Fashion!
Walk into the light
Display your diamonds and pearls in mine
Fashion!
Married to the night
I own the world, we own the world
The Stylists
Junova Wesleyan, 46
District One Stylist
Trinity walks into the room and makes the temperature drop five degrees. She's icy blonde, icy blue eyes, icy glare. Her frosty white skin has been plucked and gleamed and scrubbed until it shines like fresh snow, and she doesn't look amused. A small smile fights its way onto her face as I open the black bag hanging alone on the silvery rack, revealing her Parade outfit. She's bathed in the glittering gold-white light streaming through the outfit, looking on in awe.
"District One is awesome," she whispers. I wholeheartedly agree.
"District One is definitely wonderous," I mutter in reply. "Want to try it on?"
"YES!"
Grecia Mathilde, 52
District Two Stylist
"Don't make me look too pretty," Ardin commands as she sits in the chair in front of the sky scraping mirror, polished so there isn't a smear of anything on it. It's perfect. "But don't make me look drab, if you can do that."
"Going for the subtly beautiful warrior, I see? Let me guess your angle...the Viper, like Lucia?" I reply, adding a thin golden line underneath both of her eyes, making sure both swipes of makeup perfectly fit the contour of the bottom of her eye.
"No. I'm going for the Swan," she murmurs, and I finally understand. The Swan angle isn't your usual angle. I usually get the Brutes, the Vipers, the Hawks, and the Grasshoppers. I don't know who the last Swan was, really...
"Serephina," she mutters. I must've spoken my thoughts aloud. "It wasn't official, but the Swan...it's her angle."
"I see. Quite a legacy to live up to."
"Quite."
Amandus Brushes, 38
District Three Stylist
"Hello sir," Millard mutters quietly when he enters the room, extending his hand. I shake it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr..."
"Brushes. Amandus Brushes." I guffaw for a moment; I sound like that antique James Bond whose movie remakes have just become the latest cinematic hit the Capitol theaters. And this time it wasn't even intentional. Millard doesn't even flinch as I giggle before calming down.
"Sorry there, bud. I'm an excitable fellow, have been for the past sixteen years that I've done this, and I'll always be. Now, tell me. Do you like keys?"
Pufelle Chassy, 29
District Four Stylist
Why does Cordelia not look amused? I know it's not the threatening ancient warriors that Grecia tirelessly pounds out like a machine or the mesmerizing wonders of crystals and precious metals that Junova always expertly crafts, but they're soo serious and sooo old! Even with her treatments, I can still tell that Grecia's over fifty. Aaaaanyway, I wanted to change it up. Who doesn't like a fun loving, laughable tribute?!
"Say arrrrrrrrrrrrr!" I shout, posing to take a picture with her in her costume, as Cordelia scowls, looking like she wants to tear off her so-called "wacky" outfit. I think it's rather creative, if a bit childish. But hey, take a chill pill there girl. It's kids fighting kids, no matter what she tries to tell me. She's not an adult yet. You only live once, kids, so enjoy your childhood while it lasts! I wonder if Cordelia's will last past the end of this month. I wouldn't bet on it, if I were allowed to. Now CHAVEZ! That guy is a different beast entirely. I can't wait to fit his snug eye patch around that chiseled face...
Speciallo Canty, 27
District Five Stylist
Jayce walks into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. He looks weak and tired and he trembles a little, but his smile is bright and his eyes vivacious and his face could be considered handsome with some hardcore TLC. It's always the hurt guys that I fall for. Too bad he's literally ten years younger than me, and is destined to go die in a death match by the end of the week, and there's also the fact that he's probably straight.
"So, umm...don't know how the ask this," Jayce mutters. He clears his throat. "One of my prep team, Verona, she said you're...homosexual...and...well, see, I have this bucket list...I'm straight, but I've always been curious...umm...would you kiss me?"
I lean over and plant a quick kiss on his lips, and then I quickly pull away and start looking at his outfit. He blushes, but I don't. Kisses are nothing when you're a decently famous, kinky twenty-something homosexual living the good life in the Capitol.
"Kiss a guy. Check," he mutters, and I just chuckle. So sweet. Too bad he's probably going to die.
Twinkle Petyr, 34
District Six Stylist
Fender stands before me in no clothing as I measure his height and his waist length. He's definitely a beautiful specimen and he keeps making me blush. I'm such a prude, and seeing a handsome man, a real man, buck naked in front of me, well...it makes me all nervous and tingly. My hands shake as I hold up the tape measure by his left arm, measuring it. Umm, I can't read it...he's not even that good looking! It's just stupid Twinkle being insecure little old me from high school, the little chubby, geeky girl with tattoo implants gone wrong. They SHONE so bright that I had to paint over them, and they still do. I'm Twinkling Twinkle Twinkie Eater all over again, and I hate it. I hope he dies, just so I don't have to feel so insecure ever again.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his deep voice genuinely concerned.
I don't respond. My throat won't let me. My brain sings Twinkling Twinkle Twinkie Eater over and over again, and it's all I can do to keep measuring Fender without screaming and crying and making him leave the room so I can be alone and be read of that evil tune in my head.
Glitzya Hispa, 23
District Seven Stylist
"OOH! You're that girl that flipped off that guy at the Reaping! You're SOOOO cool, baby girl!" I shriek, hugging Ivy. She immediately recoils.
"I'm naked, for Snow's nice to meet you, too." Sassy! Fiery! I know just what to dress her up as! This will be revolutionary! This will change the course of Seven's reputation in the Capitol and in the Games forevermore! I will leave my mark-
Oh. I guess they don't have giant golden hydras in Seven. Maybe that's Six? Well, I guess it's back to the botany book...hey, what about trees?!
Fashionista Pink, 37
District Eight Stylist
"Honey, you have to take off the towel to put on the costume," I coo, trying to coax Calico into dropping his towel.
"No," he reaffirms for the tenth time, rather forcefully. "I am putting my foot down."
"Do you want to go in front of the whole nation wrapped in just a towel, honey?"
"Point made. Close your eyes."
I follow his instructions after removing the complicated outfit from it's bag, and in moments I can hear a seam ripping. Not my darling creation! I fly forward, opening my eyes and pulling him out of the costume. He hasn't done that much damage, I can fix it in ten minutes tops.
"Hey! NO PEEKING!" he wails, covering himself. "I-I don't like when people look at my body."
"It's okay, honey. It'll all be okay..."
Cravat Lumbroux, 54
District Nine Stylist
I was going to dress Luke and Sage up as simple planters, but this pair has more potential than I've had in over five years. I haven't had anyone older than 16 since the Fifteenth Hunger Games, nearly seven years ago. Also, they're both pretty healthy, not living skeletons like most of the sickly kids I usually get. I have to do better for these two. I'm aging, and my muse is fleeting, but she comes to me as I stand before Sage, inspecting her inquisitively.
"I have just the idea," I grumble, and then I immediately begin sketching.
"Beautiful drawing," Sage compliments, trying to make conversation.
"Thanks," I mutter before turning back to my drawing. Sometimes kids don't know when to let someone let their creative juices flow.
Powder Lyanne, 26
District Ten Stylist
Miriam looks like she wants to squirm as I pull out my trays upon trays of makeup. I select a dark red, glossy stick of lipstick, and she seems to be avoiding it as I try to put it on her lips. The evasion becomes to intense that she eventually turns her head just as I'm about to swipe it across her upper lip. The whole tip of the tube of lipstick smears across her cheek. I sigh, and grab a wipe and scrub it off of her face.
"Don't like makeup, eh?" I remark once I'm done, folding my arms.
"Eh," she mutters, looking at her hands.
"I was crazy about that stuff when I was thirteen. Still am."
"Well maybe I'm not like you."
"I'd hope not," I chuckle. "I had the hots for Zeus Madadore in seventh grade! Eww!"
"Who?" she inquires, mystified.
"Oh, never mind, you wouldn't know him." Ah, memories. When I kissed the guy that tried to murder Snow three years ago when we were 13. It was one fateful night. Calla Espenson had just been crowned Victor, and he told me to meet him at the fountain in Abaco Park...he kissed me then started talking deeply about independence and making our own lives and governing ourselves...I should have known he was a crack head.
"Hey miss? Can I eat one of these candies?" Miriam asks, holding up a glassy red bead that must have fallen off of her costume.
"NO!"
Ygga Tossel, 32
District Eleven Stylist
I try to smile as Omri walks into the room. I cannot believe Alehenia would break up with me on the day of the Parade, like the only night I work in the entire year! My fiancee leaves me to go screw around with her brother's best friend. Like...you told me you were homosexual, not bisexual. I get people change, but still. It's Amoranthen. Zoudele. What good can come from that?
"Are you alright? You've been staring at my feet for five minutes," Omri says suddenly.
"Of course I'm not alright!" I wail, slamming my fist against the wall.
"Did I do something?" Omri inquires innocently.
"Of course not!" I howl. "Just put on your outfit and tell Soya to get in here, maybe she'll be more bearable!"
"Of course," Omri whispers, and he starts to get dressed. Was that snarkiness I detected in his tone?!
Amazingus Amarillo, 21
District Twelve Stylist
"LIKE OHHHHHHHHH EMMMMMM GEEEEEEE! I AM A FUCKING STYLIST, BITCHES!" I shout in my beautifully nasally voice, taping a video to send to all them damn haters out there. I do a kissy face for the camera. My huge lime green and yellow mohawk wobbles on top of my head. The door opens, and Gaylord steps in.
"Omg, like, why is your name Gay!?" I squeal once the door's closed behind him.
"Ask my dead parents," he grumbles, definitely put off by me. WHEE WHEE WHEE! HATER ALERT!
"Are you sassing me, young man?" He sure looks hot, with those muscles all waxed...
"Are you sassing me, old fleabag?" Now that's not hot. Not at all...winkwinkwink. I could gorge on this little dude.
"Ready to get your costume on?" I inquire, giggling, and pulling out a pot of coal dust and a brush.
"Fuck no!" he shouts. He's cuter when he's angry!
"Ever considered homosexuality?" I step close, and start to pull off my shirt.
He makes for the door, and no one stops him.
"Amazingus!" one of the prep teamers, Veruca, yelps.
"Oops," I chuckle. SOOOO worth it.
We paint white roses red,
Each shade from a different person's head
This dream, dream is a killer
Getting drunk with a blue caterpillar
I'm peeling the skin off my face
'Cause I really hate being safe
The normals, they make me afraid
The crazies, they make me feel sane
Tyberios Palatium, 18
District Two Male
I step forward, out of the waiting room, once Ardin steps out, all dressed up in a matching costume. The splendor around me, all the flashing lights and sculpted buildings and bizarre works of art that seem to be human are distracting me, and the ache in my head has faded to a dull, soft thud in the back of my head. Grecia emerges behind Ardin, lips pursed. She folds her arms and looks us over, making sure every minute detail on our outfits is correct and in place.
"Stand close together for me. Tyberios, on the left, Ardin, on the right." We do as she says, and she walks around us, tapping her pointer finger against her lips in thought as her eyes glide across our bodies, searching for any imperfections. "Ah ha!"
She stoops down, a needle and a spool of golden thread in hand. She kneels down at the edge of my leather skirt and fiddles with something, pulling out a torn section of thread before sewing in a new strand of the shiny golden stuff. Then she stands, nodding.
"I think everything is in order. Makeup, outfits, hair, and...oh, smiles! Tyberios, yours, as you know, will have to be thin and not too bright. Ardin, grin as wide as you can, and seem very welcoming and kind honey. Oh, Ardin, come here, there's a hair out of place..."
The next half hour is spent with Grecia fiddling with small errors in our outfits that no one else would have noticed if they inspected them for a millennia, but to Grecia they're a huge deal. Gradually there's a slight crescendo in my head, as the pain goes from tamped down to a thick stamping against my skull. Soon it's scalding and aching like it's bleeding in my head. I just squeeze my eyes shut and I try to breathe evenly. Just give it a minute, Tyberios. One minute, and you'll be in the spotlight, on a chariot, with millions screaming your name. Everything will be gone, and you will feel so damn good.
Just thinking of the promenade where the chariots roll down makes the pain recede a bit, but that won't last for long. The pain's just getting worse now that I've had things like the Reaping to distract myself. It's like a drug addict, where the depression gets worse and worse between each blissful dose. If I win though, I can overdose so many times in the spotlight and no one will care and I'll be living the high life. That thought just makes me more determined. Maybe there's a way to solve these migraines; there has to be. Maybe when I win the Games they'll give something to me-
"Tyberios?" Grecia speaks up. "So, I've heard about your chronic migraines, and how they can sometimes be effected by intense sound. It's going to be bombastic out there with all the Capitolites screaming over the two of you, and I don't want you to look weak. Therefore, I contacted Head Gamemaker Ludum and President Snow about giving you a small dose of Zorion. It's this newer, effective drug to solve headaches. It's damn expensive, but Snow got a special dosage just for the parade and for the interview and for the launch so you don't look weak. He likes his rough and tumble Careers after all."
"You...you have something to cure me?" I whisper breathlessly.
"It's not a cure, it's an analgesic-"
"I don't give a crap what it's called if it stops my headaches. Give it to me."
Grecia beckons an Avox over. She has a small orange bottle and a glass of water in hand. The bottle reads Take Two in large black script across the front of the bottle. I pop off the top, and pour two of the round, glossy, pastel pink pills into my hand, and I slam them onto my tongue and knock them back with the water, drowning the pills and the whole glass of water in one massive gulp. Ardin looks at me with a brow quirked, and Grecia looks surprised.
"Are they really that bad?" Grecia murmurs.
I don't reply. All I feel is bliss, spreading through my skull. No, it's not bliss. It's not tingly or sweet and soft and cuddly. It's nothing. And it's so beautiful.
Grecia practically leads me by the hand down the hallway once the pills have set in. "You can't look like you're high, though," she grunts. I nod sleepily, and I blink rapidly, trying to wake up a little. I'm afraid that the rapid motion will lead to an onslaught of pain, but it doesn't. I grin wildly.
Soon enough, we're walking out of some door; I haven't been paying attention to how we've gotten here. We're in a long, darkened tunnel, with a few large, bright, white lights on the ceiling casting illumination on the twelve chariots, twenty four horses, and emerging tributes and stylists. It's a wonder. I see blinking lights, twinkling crystals, swirls of blues and greens, and so much more. As Ardin and I are mesmerized by the people and things around us, Grecia taps us both on the shoulders. We turn around to see her holding two silvery necklaces, one in each hand.
"I have something for you," she mutters. She clasps the necklaces around our necks. Mine has a silvery sword pendant, and Ardin's has a swan with its wings raised as if it's about to take off. I smile graciously at Grecia as she shoos us off.
Ardin and I are quickly approached by the cackling pair from One, dressed in a seriously dazzling outfit. I'm not a hundred percent sure what they are. Are they... crystal chandeliers?! They look hella impressive, however. They're laughing at the pair from Four, who are sort of sulking in their...in their...I start to laugh as well, and Ardin smirks a little as well. How could...they're Careers! Not childish little pirates!
"Enough nonsense," the male barks. We all stop. His voice is loud and imposing, and he's bigger than all of us and probably stronger. "I am Chavez Belasco, and I think I'm going to be leading this Career pack this year, if none of you mind."
"I thought I might do that," Ardin sniffs. "Two usually leads the pack, and Tyberios and I agreed that I'd be the better fit as leader."
"How about I'm the leader?" the One male, something a Z, jokes, but no one pays him any attention. He just huffs and rolls his eyes.
"We'll sort this out later," the One girl mutters. "I'm Trinity Vegas, and this is Zircon O'Dile, my...delightful...District partner."
"I'm Cordelia Nile," the really short Four girl speaks up.
"Hey, weren't you the Reaped girl? You're good enough to be a Career?" Ardin questions.
"She'll be fine, Ardin Varnell," Chavez says in a deep baritone voice, smiling devilishly, and Cordelia looks at him, a little confused for some reason.
"I'm Tyberios Palatium," I grunt, and everyone nods, scanning me over like I've been doing to them. We continue to chit chat idly until a large, purple haired man shouts, "FIVE MINUTES UNTIL THE PARADE BEGINS! I AM ODORE EHRMPHELT, THE HEAD GAMEMAKER OF CEREMONIES! IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, COME SEE ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT! OTHERWISE, PLEASE BOARD YOU CHARIOTS AND AWAIT THE BEGINNING OF THE PARADE!"
The pack splits up after a few, meaningless goodbyes. Ardin and I lift ourselves into our chariot. It's the same as all the others, tinted silver, but we have two dark gray steeds that are bigger than most of the other horses. One has two slimmer, golden-white horses, and Three behind us has white and black horses, and I'd bet there's lots of other colored horses behind us. I've never seen a horse. I lean over and pat one on its head while we're waiting. It just whinnies and tosses it's head, and I almost fall off of the chariot, losing my balance. Ardin giggles, and I roll my eyes, straightening.
"GET READY, KIDS! THE PARADE'S ABOUT TO BEGIN!" Odore wails. "FIVE. FOUR. THREE. TWO. ONE. ZERO!"
The cover over the exit of the tunnel, almost like a garage door, slides upwards, revealing the millions of Capitolites packed into huge bleachers and dressed in exotic colors and outfits. The moment the door stops rising, the One chariot is lead out onto the promenade as the huge timpani that line the street start banging and the anthem, the Horn of Plenty, starts ringing throughout the city. The screams are overwhelming, and I am happy that Grecia also gave us earplugs just in case we can't stand it. Ardin slides hers on, and so do I, just as our chariot starts to roll forward, the hooves of the horses clopping against the street. The screams and the hysteria of the Games crazed Capitolites engulf us, and everything feels so good and so, so right.
A/N: Whew! That was definitely fun to write, between Jayce being Jayce, the stylists being stylists, and Tyberios being Tyberios! I hope this was an enjoyable read! I will try to get the parade out today if I can, it will be considerably shorter and won't be from any tribute's POV, it will be from a Capitolite POV, either Marionette (She's going to be my staple Capitolite citizen whenever I need one XD) or the announcer, Nuntius Calpor. We'll see what ends up happening, it will probably be Marionette and her betting friends.
So we finally did hit the Capitol, and we're off to a dazzling start! :D
Who did you like better here, Jayce or Tyberios? Have your thoughts of them changed at all? What did you think of the stylists? Favorites? Least favorites?
(I'm SO sorry about Amazingus. I just HAD to make one stylist like that. XD)
Jayce (1 pt.): What color is the shirt he chooses to wear?
Stylists (1 pt.): Who is the oldest stylist?
Tyberios (1 pt.): What is the name of the drug that helps his headaches?
Until Next Time,
Tracee