Hi! I know this is a day late, but the last chapter was a day early... So I think it cancels out. PEMDAS or something. Either way this is a longer chapter for me, so... hope that helps
Also, I've realized the the majority of this story will be Peeta's POV. Mostly because I'm keeping in a lot of the original plot–it's just better with a fresh perspective.
PEETA
Those crowded around the train scream, trying to get a glimpse of us. The tracks dip under the huge building directly in front of us, and the sunlight cuts off. I'm staring into the tunnel, lit with fluorescent lighting when Effie gives me a light shove. "It's time for your remake! Go on." She shoves me out of the door with Katniss close behind. I take one step before a strangled groan reaches me.
We both whip our heads around to the noise. "It sounds like it's from that room," Katniss says, pointing to a door numbered 3F.
"What do you think they're doing?" I know my voice is breathless. When Haymitch had said the Remake center would be painful, I didn't expect it to be torture. But the faint sounds echoing around the tunnel suggested otherwise
"I don't know," she says. "But I'm willing to bet–"
"Ms. Everdeen. This way please." A man with green hair walks up to us.
She scowles. "What are you going to do to me?"
But he grabs her arm and practically drags her towards a door labeled 12F. She's gone before I can say anything, but she glances back before the door closes. If her expression is anything like my own, I need to control it. There could be tributes watching, looking for those showing fear.
A woman comes up to me, breaking my thoughts. "Mr. Mellark. This way please." The exact phrase given to Katniss. When I don't move, she pulls the same trick, shoving me though an open door. 12M. District 12 male.
The woman leaves me alone with only the tools for company. They look like torture devices. Rods, clamps, needles, and other metal instruments line the walls. There's a long table in the center of the room, so I take a step forward.
The door flies open.
"Oh, we're so happy you're here!" A man exclaims. He looks insane. Long, orange hair paired with bright blue, jewel studded skin. Two women filter in after him: one with rainbow hair and cat's pupils, the other with a long purple braid and pink lips. They look absurd. Like someone threw up colors all over them. The man claps in almost childish excitement. "The last boy wasn't nearly as handsome. After prep you'll look decent, and Portia will make you stunning."
Rainbow and Purple start to organize various jars and tools on the counter. It's probably best to ignore any of their comments. One second in and I'm already insulted. But even if they seem harmless, those tools don't.
"Who's Portia?" I ask.
Orange smiles. "She's your Stylist, of course! Don't worry, she'll take good care of you." He seems sincere, but I don't trust anyone from this place.
I'm silent Purple pushes me on the table, bottles are lined up, and they ready the room in a minute.
They look at me expectantly. What?
Orange signs. "You need to take your clothes off so we can assess you."
Oh. Back at home, I don't care much. Nakedness has never been an issue for me. Even though Merchants are generally more 'proper' than the Seam, my brothers and I were friends with some Seam boys. We kept it from our mother. They erased any modesty I'd developed living in town. But in front of them, I feel exposed, even with clothes on.
Purple giggles and lifts my shirt up. They're like birds. Obnoxious, harmless birds.
It helps, but I'm still uncomfortable as Orange circles me. It seems like he's the one in charge. "Ok. Let's start with a deep clean."
It seems like hours as they press mixtures into my skin, let them sit, rinse me off, scrub my skin, lather my hair, cut my nails, rub grit on my legs, dissolve any scruff, pluck my eyebrows, oil my body, rinse me again until I'm exhausted. My skin is stinging and my face feels strange. Bare. They said I won't be able to grow any face hair for a month. The tingles are still wearing off when they sit me in a white, milky bath. Immediately, some of the pain fades. I lift my arm up to see the angry red is already fading to pink.
I've been tuning out their chatter until Rainbow says something to me.
"What?"
She gives a strained smile. "I said, you two will look gorgeous together. Cinna and Portia have created a masterpiece."
I just smile and nod. Finally, they sit me in the last bath: a silky, oiled water. I'm only in it for a moment before Orange gives me a robe that I gratefully put on. The three of them back out of the room, leaving me waiting for my Stylist. Portia.
District 12's costumes are always terrible. We either get a miner's costume, or coal. The miner gettup has been baggy some years, others skimpy. The coal outfits aren't as terrible. Usually. One time the Stylist put our tributes in coal dust. Just coal dust. Humiliating.
I'm hoping my Stylist will let me retain some dignity when a woman walks in. She's surprisingly normal looking. Pale skin with black hair, there aren't any obvious body modifications. But as she comes closer, I notice something off. Her eyes are purple. They'd seemed black, but it's a deep, rich indigo. There's a sharp wing of eyeliner with long, thick lashes that draw attention to her eyes. It's unnatural, but still attractive. More unusual than anything. She's the first Capital citizen I've seen that doesn't resemble an alien. Though the eyes are otherworldly.
"Can you take off your robe? Just for a second. I want to see what I'm working with." The prep team had asked me the same thing just hours ago, but I don't have a jolt of fear. The velvet voice seems sincere. Sounds apologetic. So I do so without complaint. She circles me twice.
"Ok. Put it on and we can eat. Are you hungry?" She turns around before I answer, walking through a doorway that just appeared. I follow, sitting at a table for two. When Portia presses a button, a steaming lunch is instantly in front of us. It's an absurd amount of food for only two people. We couldn't possibly eat it all, but the train had prepared me for this. I don't let my disgust show on my face. Telling Portia that she was spoiled right before I was sent in front of the entire country would be stupid. So I just pile chicken and rice on my plate.
"I know you may not want to talk, but I'd like to know a little better, if that's ok," she says. Huh. A Capitolite with a bit of awareness. Seemed like the rest of them couldn't understand how I'd be bitter about this. I nod, letting her continue. "As your Stylist, I'll be a part of your team, just like Haymitch."
I don't know why she'd need to know me in order to make my clothes. Haymitch couldn't care less. Then again, he doesn't want to help in the first place. At least Portia is trying. I swallow my mouthful. "I'm a baker. Well, I'm in District 12's baker family. But with three boys, only one would inherit the shop. Guess I don't have to worry about my future anymore." I give a rude laugh.
She smiles softly. "As a baker, you must work with heat a lot. Are you scared of fire? Burns?"
An odd question. But I'll answer it. "No, I've been familiar with burns for too long." I show her my forearms, littered with different shades of skin. Most burns don't scar, but once and a while I'll get a bad one. Since we can't afford any medicine, it heals with a permanent silver patch. There are a couple spots of red and pink–places I'd burned in the last month, in varying severities and stages of healing. There's usually a makeshift bandage over some part of my arm.
She turns my hands over, murmuring something about concealer and tones. Probably about how she'll cover them up. I try not to take it personally. But I like them. They're my stories. The rope of scar tissue ringing my wrist, from when I was pressed against a scorching wire rack. The discolored spot on the back of my hand, from a hot, heavy pan dropped by my brother. My scars are special–they all mean something.
Portia drops my hand and sits back. "What do you enjoy?"
"Art," I instantly reply. "I decorate the bakery cakes and cookies. But when we're not strapped for money, my dad will buy me good pencils and paper. He'd given me watercolor for the first time last year. It was amazing. To be able to paint with color, rather than a thin black ink."
"I know how you feel. Even though most of the Capitol lives in luxury, some live on the outskirts. The wealthy and influential pay them as servants. To do their housework, help manage children. They still do much better than any of the districts, but nothing compared to the city. I grew up there."
Portia drifts off for a second, staring past me. Maybe that's why she looks normal. And is–different. She blinks and focuses back on me. "I'd always loved clothing. Patching up pants, making new pieces. But it was with a needle and thread. More often than not, my fabrics were cut up from clothing that no longer fit. But one day, my father came home with a huge box."
She laughs softly, a smile creeping on her face. "I was so impatient, but he made me wait until my mother came home. It was worth it. I think I screamed when I opened it. Probably what made my father go deaf."
I could see the memory dancing in her eyes. The joy. "It was filled with different materials and fabrics. Square yards, not strips and patches. Patterned, soft, sequined, it was all there. My little gold mine." Her eyebrows draw together, and another expression descends. It's not wistfulness. It's shaper, angrier. I blink and it's gone.
"I'm sorry, that seems insensitive. That I was able to create my way out–" she cuts herself off. Like someone's listening. Because as innocent as that sentence may sound, I understand the little implication. That it is wrong she gets to create, while I have to kill. That I have to slum in District 12 and die in the games.
"I know, it's fine. I like hearing about that." I smile, trying to tell her with my eyes. I understand. I know. I don't blame you.
She nods her head slightly, the sadness plain on her face. Then she straightens, and the moment is gone. "Katniss's Stylist and I have decided to match both of you. The costumes may be frightening at first, but I promise you won't be hurt."
She stacks our plates to be taken down while I give a nervous laugh. "That doesn't sound reassuring."
"Cinna has developed a synthetic flame," she starts.
Oh shit.
"We're going to set your suit on fire. I promise, you won't feel a thing."
She seemed different than the Capitol, but fire? Set us on fire. She reads my expression easily. I'm sure horror is written all over my face.
"Trust me. When we're getting ready, I'll let you test it. Ok?"
No. Not ok. She wants to set me on fire. Literally. But she's my Stylist, so it's not like I can do anything. "Sure." My voice is unconvincing. But Portia moves on.
"Dressing both you and Katniss together may not be your first choice, as in the arena you'll have to–"
"No," I cut her off. "I mean–we've made an alliance. I'm fine with dressing the same. We're a team." Saying those words spreads a warmth through my chest, but I stomp down the visible signs on my face. Portia's looking at me, calculating. I don't like it.
"Well, in any case, you'll want to amass sponsors that support you as an individual as well, even if at first Haymitch will pool your money. If she dies, you'll need enough of them to keep backing you. And if both of you make it far enough, you'll have to split one way or another. I'd say work with Katniss, but define yourself enough that they won't pick her over you."
"I want them for her." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Stupid. And… truthful. I haven't even thought about the end. Refused to. But to let Katniss die… I can't. She could live through it, get back to Prim and pull herself together. Me? My fate was decided when I was reaped. Because to live through those horrors… There's a reason Haymitch is constantly drunk. To kill kids who are struggling to survive, just like me. If I become a Victor, I think I'll die anyway. I couldn't live with myself. And if I can't live… Katniss should. She's strong. The thought of sacrificing myself isn't frightening. I'm sure it will be. It'll hit later. But for now, I just need to work for her.
Portia breaks the silence. "You… don't want sponsors?" It doesn't sound like a question. More like she's looking for conformation. Looking for an explanation. But I don't want to explain.
"Peeta, you need someone in your corner. That's me. And to help, I have to know what you're aiming to do." I just twist the edge of the napkin, avoiding her gaze. Even if she's not like most of the Capitol, she couldn't understand. Hell, most of the district wouldn't understand. Why would anyone throw away their chance at life?
She puts her hand over mine, stilling my fingers. "I don't need to know why. But I need to know what."
"I want Katniss to win," I say quietly. "I want to lose." To die.
She's silent for a moment. I glance up for a moment, spotting the sad twist of her lips. "Ok. Well, in that case, our approach will be different. You'll compliment her, instead of being equal. Just enough so she's the center."
"That's fine. That's good." I hate how I sound. Small. Meek.
"Peeta… " she drifts off. I can see pity. And something else. "If you need anything, I'm here." She stares until I meet her eyes. I see the tears there. But she won't let them fall. I'm sure of it. Even with one meal together, I've seen who she is. Someone who cares too much, like me. But strong enough to keep it together.
"Let's get you ready."
I stare at myself in the mirror. I look...different. Makeup creates the illusion of a shaper jaw, while powder makes the angles of my face more pronounced. Not enough that it's obvious, but I can tell right away. I wonder if my family will be able to notice. Because I look older, imposing. Dramatic. And so does the suit.
A glittering, coal black costume. If Portia hadn't told me about the fire, I would have thought this was it. It already looks way better than most years. Resembling a tight jumpsuit, the material hugs my body. Sturdy black boots give me a few more inches. Paired with the sharp makeup, I'm scary. Guess it's a good thing though.
Portia comes up from behind and places her hands on my shoulders, giving me a small, proud smile. "You look handsome." I just stand there, looking into the eyes of my reflection. She runs her hands down my arms, searching for any flaws that might have been missed.
"It's perfect, Portia," I say. And it is.
Purple bursts into the consuming room, almost bouncing with excitement. "Ok Portia let's go! Cinna is done with Katniss!"
They steer me through the doorway. If I look this good, she must be gorgeous.
When the elevator stops, I can feel my heart start to pound. Already, the crowd is loud enough for me to hear through the elevator doors. As they open, the noise becomes almost deafening, bouncing around the cavernous room. You couldn't even call it a room. It's huge, with people milling around, horses lined up, and tributes scattered around. There's a tunnel that leads outside, but it's closed with thick bars.
I'm pushed forward, passing other tributes. Some look good, like District 1's jewel dripping costume. Others, like District 7's tree, are less than impressive.
"Wait here," Portia says, turning to the elevator. "I'll find Cinna. Stay with the chariot."
"But–"
And she's gone. There's nothing to do except awkwardly stand next to the horse.
The Tributes are all sticking with their district partners, with the exception of the Careers. District 2's male–Cato–towers over all of them. He'll be in charge of the pack this year. Even without the clear physical advantage, he's arrogant and confident. Their type of leader. All of them are well fed and clearly strong. But the girl from Two is at least a foot shorter than the rest of them.
I whirl around when a hand lands on my shoulder. "Calm down, it's me," Portia says. I look past her to see Katniss with her stylist.
She looks amazing. Dressed in an outfit almost identical to mine, but it's a bit more feminine, molding to slight curves. They've used makeup on her. It's nothing like the Capitol women I've seen. Cinna has made it simple. Sharpening angles, covering blemishes. The only thing different from mine is the dark powder on her eyelids and lipstick. The shimmering black makes her grey eyes even more piercing. But she's still her.
"You look beautiful." She looks away, pressing her lips together. But it's bashful, not out of annoyance. And she hasn't hit me. A good sign.
Her eyes flick back to me. "You look good." She turns away, hiding her face. I feel myself heat up. At least there's makeup to cover my blush. She's never responded well to any of my compliments. To be fair, most of them aimed to antagonize her, but they were always genuine. I just knew they'd bother her.
Act normal. "Where's Haymitch?"
She sighs, facing me again. "I don't know. It's probably for the best though."
"Why?" I'm trying not to stare. How do I usually look at a person?
She smirks. "He probably shouldn't be around an open flame."
There's a moment before we burst into laughter. Loud, shaking laughter. It feels good. The nerves probably made her joke funnier than it was, but it doesn't matter. I just enjoy this brief moment of normalcy, where I'm laughing with Katniss Everdeen.
Gradually, we stop roaring and try to stifle the giggles.
"You guys ready?" Cinna's standing in front of us. I immediately sober up. Nothing like the idea of being burned alive to stomp out any humor. I trust Portia, but I don't see how fire could just be harmless.
She comes up next to Cinna. "I know you guys are scared. Thank you for trusting us to go this far." She takes out a lighter and starts a flame. It grows in size until the fire is half a foot tall. It's almost the same color as a real fire. But the blue is more of a dark turquoise, rather than a deep blue. It's barely noticeable, and I can't see any other differences. "Touch it. There won't be any pain." She puts her hand over the lighter, the fire streaming through her fingers.
I extend my arm, hovering over the flame. I don't feel any heat. Slowly, I let my hand drop until it's cutting through the fire. Nothing. Katniss breathes a sigh of relief, reaching into the flame. I step back, letting her try it. "What, you were going to let me test it out before trying yourself? I thought you were the brave one?" I tease.
She smiles, eyes lighting up. "It's called being smart. Not that you would know."
I'm about to reply when Portia cuts me off. "It's going to start soon, we need to talk through the last points with you. When you come out, the cameras will be on you for a good three seconds before cutting away. That's the guaranteed screen time we have, and it'll have the biggest impact. Specifically for those watching at home."
"We'll remotely set it off." Cinna takes out a little cube with a button. "Don't be afraid when it first happens, it'll just be a bigger version of the lighter's flame. Don't let any emotion show on your face. Nod at the crowd, give them smiles, acknowledge their support. But don't act as if you yourself are surprised."
The bars in the entryway start to lift, District 1's chariot rolling towards the crowd. The screams reach us, echoing through the chamber, drowning out anything Cinna could say. I climb into the chariot and offer my hand to Katniss. She takes it.
The horses start to move as Cinna gestures to us. I can't hear him, but he's motioning to hold hands.
I tap Katniss, yelling in her ear, "I think Cinna wants us to hold hands!" She turns around to see him. I offer my hand again, while Cinna nods. She takes it without complaint, just as we enter the runway.
It seems to stretch on forever. At the end, President Snow is little more than a dot. The stands are filled with Capitolites dressed in every color and material imaginable. Feathers, gems, fur, leather. But no fire.
I can see the banners hanging from posts cut to our faces.
Any second.
And we explode in a fireball.
Soooooooo? Nothing that interesting. Again (Ugh, sorry). I'm dying to get into the arena. The scenes I have planned... Oh...
Thank you to Fire1, I Am Your Tribute, The Girl Who Reads Way Too Much (same btw), dancer0109, and owlthewriter for reviewing. I appreciate everyone who's following! (And 13 people favorited it? Wow. Y'all are amazing.)