Chapter Twenty-Eight: Painful Perfection
The Parade is Nigh!
Faolan Drover, District Ten Male
I had pretty high expectations for the building that housed us before we were sent into the Games.
I've seen it before, in pictures and on television, so I have an idea of what to expect: a tall, imposing building that's nearly impossible to escape but sure looks nice. I just hope the inside is as luxurious as others have made it seem, because then I'll at least get to enjoy the week before I get tossed into the Arena.
When the van driving us turns one final corner to approach the building, my suspicions are confirmed. The place still has the same white paint covering the exterior, bright and free of stains and ivy. There doesn't appear to be any windows- or at least any windows I can see, anyway. Even the security is intense: nearly a dozen Peacekeepers are standing guard at the entrance, a garage-like opening that leads to who knows where.
After the van extricates itself from the bumper-to-bumper traffic in the area, it screeches to a stop just short of the entrance. Several of the Peacekeepers peer inside the windows, presumably to make sure we're actually the tributes and not some imposters. Then, they step aside and let us pass, and the van inches forward.
I say inches, because as soon as we get through the entrance, the road takes a sharp dip, plunging us downward for about five seconds before we come to a stop in what looks to be a dimly lit parking lot with spaces marked for exactly twelve vehicles.
Once the van pulls into the space marked with a "10," it shuts off and the doors open, allowing all of us to spill out and get our bearings once more.
Artesia asks the obvious question. "Where do we go now?"
"The hallway to the left of the glass doors." Artesia's mentor, Kitty, has obviously been here before, having won the Games and all that, so if anyone knows their way around here, it's her.
"Just so you know, that hallway is a passage to the stylists' building-" Tractor, my mentor, makes a gesture with his arm as he says that- "the one to the right leads backstage for when we do interviews, and the doors lead into the basement of the building you'll be staying in."
I nod. So does Artesia. Kitty leads the way, followed closely by Tractor and Swan. We bring up the rear, entering the tightly enclosed space. The hall is badly lit and claustrophobic- I can barely see three inches in front of my face and I can feel the walls pressing into both shoulders, at least when I step to the side to get off one wall.
Finally, a light appears at the end of the tunnel. As I follow the others along, it gets brighter and brighter, until we round a corner- the first in the hallway- and emerge into an enormous building.
We've entered something that looks like any girl's dream. We only see this one room, but everything in said room is designed to make someone beautiful. A hundred shades of eye shadow and lipstick reside on a shelf, situated next to bottles of strange substances I've never seen back home alongside more common things, like the thin, watery shampoo that we only used once a month, save for a special occasion. Everywhere is lit up with dangling fixtures that hang far, far above our heads.
They also illuminate the people, and then things start getting strange. One of them has his hair dyed a deep blue and sculpted into a wave design like it's trying to break loose from his head. A second one has skin that's dyed hot pink and something red and sparkly implanted into both elbows. The final one passes me and takes a brief look, revealing that her face is marked with intricate designs and her eyes are modified to be a bright, luminous purple.
I manage to keep from gasping at the sight of it all, but Artesia fails in that regard. However, I'll never get used to how these people look, for as long as I live. Even if that might not be that long.
Someone who appears to be the head stylist walks up to Swan, who suddenly seems normal by comparison. He says a few hints to her before turning on his heel, and that leads Swan to tell us, "We're not here. You'll be going to the fifth floor. After that, you'll be separated and meet your personal stylists."
As if that was all she needed to do, Swan then walks ahead of us, while Tractor and Kitty follow behind as we start to walk.
For now, at least, this looks like it might be enjoyable. And I'll definitely look nice by the end of it.
Who knows? Everything here is a new experience for me.
Let's just hope my first experience with the Capitol is a pleasant one.
Toren Laris, District Nine Female
I've always heard the rumors that the Capitol has too much of everything.
I usually dismissed them back home, thinking that we had too much of everything, and how nothing and no one would be able to top how excessive we were.
Well, that belief held up for less than five minutes, as soon as I entered the room I'll be "prepared" in. Based on the way they said it, I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to go out to the parade or be served as the main course to a thousand hungry Capitolites, but I digress.
I wait for a few minutes, collapsed in the most comfortable seat I've ever been on in my life. It feels so good that I'm nodding off when someone throws open the door and tells me, "Follow me to the bathroom. They're starting with some basic stuff first."
The two of us file through a narrow hall for about fifteen seconds before the man throws open another door, presumably the one to the bathroom. He struts in, and I wander along behind him.
As soon as I enter, I let out an involuntary gasp. They might call this place a bathroom, but it looks more like some kind of water treatment plant. A pool posing as a tub occupies the center of it all. Shelves are stacked high with washcloths, bars of soap, and strange cleaning products in brightly colored bottles. The floor is made of some kind of deep gray tile I've never seen before- or maybe it's just painted. Further to the side, a couple of stalls jut out of the wall- I'm guessing they're either toilets or showers- and look so out of place with the rest of the room that I'm not sure what to think about them.
The man who led me into the bathroom has disappeared somewhere- I don't even know how he could have gotten out of here without me noticing, since I can't see any other doors from here. However, I'm not left to wonder where he is for long- he quickly returns with three more stylists, luckily all women. (It might just be me, but I'd feel really uncomfortable bathing with a guy I've never met watching me and telling me what to do.)
"Toren," the man says, "These three are Ivory, Selene, and Strawberry, and they'll be your stylists for this event." He points to each one as they're mentioned, but they look so different I don't know how anyone could possibly confuse them.
"Hi," says Ivory.
"Hey there," says Selene.
"Nice to meet you," says Strawberry.
"I will see you again when we put you into the costume for the parade," the man says. Then, he exits the room, leaving me alone with my stylists.
"Okay, honey," Strawberry says, "We're going to run a bath to get you into a position where we can work on you. It might be a little uncomfortable at first, but wait until we tell you the process is done."
Now I'm really confused. "Position that you can work on me?"
"You need to be one hundred percent clean, or some of the things we use on the costumes might not work properly," Selene says. "Let's get everything set up."
They begin adding hot water to the pool pretending to be a bathtub, as well as some soap and a few bottles of things I don't recognize. After a few minutes of waiting, they tell me the water is hot enough that the "process" will work, but I'm hesitant to strip, even though I'm only being watched by other women. Putting my body on display is not exactly something I enjoy doing.
I try to keep it mostly sensible as I take everything off, but probably fail in that regard. Eventually, I'm in the gigantic tub, with only my head above the surface.
Then, I begin to feel an awkward pulling sensation all around my body. It becomes worse the longer I stay in, and I'm half tempted to jump out of the tub right now, nakedness be damned.
"Don't worry about the weird pulling feeling you're getting," Ivory says. "It comes from the stuff we dumped in with you. It's designed to remove all the dirt and grit from your pores."
Yeah, I'm sure it's doing that, but the chance that it's pulling off skin along with it is pretty high. I don't trust this Capitol technology.
After a few minutes, they tell me to get out so they can drain the tub. "We need to add some new stuff into it and do it again. There are other things we need to do with your skin, and if we did them all at once it'd be way too painful."
Inwardly, I groan, even if I remain expressionless on the outside.
How long is this going to take?
Remi Hamick, District Six Male
I'm currently lying on a table in nothing but underwear, with three people circling me like vultures and looking for flaws.
It's been almost an hour since we started this eternal process, meaning that I've had to soak in several strange liquids, take some kind of bright purple pill (which is supposedly so I won't have to go to the bathroom while the parade is going on), and had to rinse my mouth with a nasty-tasting solution that turned my teeth so white they look artificial.
They've been doing this for a while, so I know what's going on at this point. Eventually, one of the three twenty-something men will notice something that isn't exactly the way they'd like it. Then, they all rush over to me so that they can fix it. Sometimes, it's painless (although usually, it hurts pretty bad), then they repeat that process.
I have no idea when (or even if, at this point) this is going to stop, but not only am I starting to get embarrassed from lying exposed to the world, I'm starting to get really cold. I'm not sure how Capitolites perceive temperature, but based on the fact that there's a frosty wind coming from a vent that gives me goosebumps and some of them are still complaining that it's too hot, I'd say they have to be way more resistant to cold than I am.
I know this feels really awkward, but honestly, I don't mind it too much (nakedness aside, of course). If it means I look pretty for the Capitol so I can get some sponsor money when the Games roll around, I'm all for it.
After what feels like an eternity, the three of them finally stop circling me. "Okay, kid. We finished most of the process, but we're going to have to make a few more small changes to you before this costume is going to work."
All I can say is "Uh, okay then."
I start to immediately regret my choice when one of the three stylists leaves and comes back a few minutes later with the tallest pair of shoes I've ever seen.
"Am I supposed to be a stilt walker or something?"
One of the stylists, a man named Ronan who's dyed his hair snow-white so that he looks like some sort of mad scientist, shakes his head. "No, but-" he pauses for a second- "We just designed the costume for a much taller person. You're going to have to wear these if you don't want it to look ridiculous on you."
My first thought is, "Won't these shoes look even more ridiculous?" However, I bite down on my tongue, hard, and try to get the things on.
It's not easy, by any stretch of the imagination, but when I finally manage to put the things on and stagger to my feet, I can only take a few steps at a time before falling over. Staying upright on the chariot while wearing these things is probably going to be a nightmare.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to them," one of the stylists says. "They always do. Now, I'm going to get the head stylists to give you a final evaluation before we get you into your costume, and then you'll be good to go."
He proceeds to match briskly out of the room, while the other two stylists stay back in case something goes wrong (or something, anyway.)
That's not necessary, however, and the head stylist hurries in. He's an older man- or at least he looks older, I'm not sure if his hair is naturally gray or if he dyed it that color for some inexplicable reason- with the biggest glasses I've ever seen. He's not all the way to fat, but he definitely carries a few extra pounds around his hips, and his shirt is infused with so many colors it looks like he's wearing a patchwork quilt. The only visible body alteration I can see is that he's wearing a double set of earrings (one pair of plain silver ones, and one pair of those big dangly earrings that look like they hurt to put on).
"Hello. I'm Alexis, and I'll be your head stylist," the man in front of me says. He takes a few more seconds to scrutinize me before saying, "You've cleaned up enough. Let's go over what I think your final costume will be."
Well, at least it means that I'll get to put some clothes back on. I'm done exposing myself to the world.
If nothing else, it means I'll be ready to put on a show for the Capitolites of the nation soon enough.
Fox Angel, District Twelve Female
I grit my teeth as hard as I can when they start ripping the hairs off of my leg.
This "beautification" process is stupid, the way I see it. First there was the foam that was supposed to clear my pores (which just made my eyes hurt and inflame the few zits I did have), then another, stronger foam to try and supplement the first one (which, while it did force out my pimples, also made my eyes start watering like crazy). Then they came with nail files, then some pointy things that were supposed to clean out my teeth, and now this. And I hurt. All over.
Seriously, what is it with Capitolites and pain?
"Don't worry, you're looking more normal by the second!" This comes from one of my tortur- er, stylists, a spindly lady with color-changing eyes and pants so tight I'm pretty confident I can see her bones.
I'm pretty confident I looked normal to begin with, and that crack really is not helping my mood. At this rate, I'm about five seconds away from jumping up and trying to bash her stupid face in.
I mean, what the hell can they do to me at this point? Kill me? They've already done that.
"Not much longer to go," says another one of my stylists, a man who looks like he barely graduated high school, but has bright purple hair that stands straight up, like it's trying to escape from his head, along with several vivid tattoos that probably spell something but look like gibberish to me.
However, I lose my focus as yet another patch of hair is ripped off my body. I somehow suppress the curse words, but a loud, vicious grunt takes its place, making the stylist who did the deed hop backward.
"Calm down," he says, a trace of fear in his voice. "This might take a while, but trust me, you'll look way better than you did fifteen minutes ago."
Except I don't care if I look better. All I want is for this to be over, but that's probably not happening, considering they already have another one of those sticky patches on my legs and are getting prepared to rip them off.
As this one gets torn off, feeling so sharp that I'm guessing it took some skin with it, I can't clamp my mouth shut anymore, letting loose a pretty realistic "OW!"
"Just stay quiet," the tattooed man says. "You're almost done with this part."
Thankfully, he's right. Three sharp yanks later, just as I'm ready to start screaming every expletive I know, they finally stop ripping the hair off my body.
"Okay, only a few more steps to go," says the lady with the tight pants. She pulls out some sort of electrical thing and talks into it, receiving some staticky response back, before jogging out of the room as fast as her pants allow. She's not gone for long, however; two minutes later she comes back with a clear cup full of bright blue liquid.
"Drink this," she says. "It's so you don't have to go to the bathroom during the parade."
I take the cup from her and stare for a few seconds at the unnaturally shiny liquid before taking a sip.
It takes all my willpower to not immediately spit it back out. Not only does it taste terrible- like someone mixed oil and mint leaves and dirt into one potent, slippery, disgusting mixture- it burns my throat so bad it feels like my insides are on fire. How the hell do they test these products and think that they're okay to use on people? Or do they test these horrible concoctions, period?
"Hurry up, we don't have all day," the tattooed man says. I lift the cup towards my lips, but I can't force myself to drink the rest. Screw having to go to the bathroom, I can hold it for half an hour. I'm not two.
"Okay, then," the man says. "If you won't drink it on your own, I'll help you out." With that, he takes a purposeful stride forward before tipping the cup hard, forcing the liquid into my mouth. Thankfully, I manage to spit it back out, coughing and hacking and gagging. I don't care what it takes, I'm not letting another drop of that crap inside my body.
All of a sudden, another young woman enters the room, dragging something huge covered in what looks like a couple of bedsheets. "Are they done? The parade's going to start soon."
"Close enough," the tattooed man hisses. He gives me a not-very-subtle shove in the back before he leaves, the lady with the tight pants skulking along behind him.
"Hello. I'm Sunny, and I'll be your head stylist, the woman introduces herself. "Let's get down to business, and then I can show you two your costumes."
Well, at least that means the nightmare is almost over.
Even if it means I'm probably going to be plunged into another as soon as I see the thing.
Thomiah Marshall, District Eleven Male
I've been finished for half an hour already.
Once the stylists wrap things up with Odysea, our escort will lead us to the chariots, meaning we'll get to see all the other tributes in person for the first time. That makes me really nervous, to be honest- I might be a reasonable threat once we get dumped in the arena, but that's a big problem because it will paint a gigantic target on my back.
So, my best hope is to scout the other tributes and try to see who'll make decent allies. The best thing, statistically, I can do is go in with a team- each victor of the last nine Hunger Games formed an alliance of some sort, either before or during their time in the arena.
Odysea, based on the time we spent together on the train, is pretty high up on my list of potential allies, but that may change once I actually get to meet everyone else.
A few very boring minutes later, Odysea's head stylist finally comes out with some kind of device in her hands. Several seconds of her fiddling with the contraption later, Odysea gets wheeled out on some sort of motorized platform.
"You look great," Odysea says. My stylist, standing next to me, blushes quite noticeably.
"Thanks," I reply.
Odysea's stylist interrupts us both. "Okay. Now, we have to take you to the place where the parades start, which is in the lobby of the tribute buildings. Thomiah, you can walk if you'd like, but I'll have to wheel Odysea out there."
My stylist responds with "Okay, why?"
"I don't want her legs sticking out the bottom of the costume unless it's absolutely necessary. It would ruin the whole thing."
Before those two can start going at it, I respond with, "I can walk."
"Nice to know," Odysea's stylist says. "Let's get this show on the road."
Thankfully, the walk is only about fifteen minutes. However, with the near-total darkness combined with the eerie whirring coming from the machine transporting Odysea, fifteen minutes is about as much as I can stand. It feels like it's been forever by the time the light finally appears at the end of the tunnel.
Once it becomes clear that we're near the end, both stylists feel that it's the perfect time to start a speech about how we should conduct ourselves during the tribute parade. Even though I'm not actively trying to tune it out, it's hard for me to understand a thing they're saying when they keep trying to talk over each other.
"If someone waves at you, wave back…"
"Pay attention to people who are likely to give you sponsors…"
"If someone throws something at you, it's really bad form to drop it. Or not try to catch it at all…"
"Above all else, smile for the crowd…"
Then, we stumble (or, in Odysea's case, roll) into the lobby, and I suddenly get a headache that might be from my brain exploding.
Of course, every piece of technology here is some of the fanciest stuff I've ever seen or heard of. Sure, every piece of furniture looks fit for a king. Sure, there are people everywhere (some Avoxes, some not) darting around with cleaning supplies to make sure everything's perfect. But nothing prepared me for the sheer scale of the place. I guess I should have expected it once I saw the stylists' building, but it takes my breath away nonetheless.
My stylist runs to the wall and presses a button, and a few seconds later, what I thought was a window splits open to reveal a much smaller room, devoid of furniture. I start to question its existence until our stylists usher the two of us in.
"You might want to hold on to the railing," Odysea's stylist says. "This thing moves pretty fast."
I have no idea what that means, but I find it pretty quickly when the doors slide closed once more. A split second later, the floor begins to plummet out from under me. Not too fast, but just enough to startle me and make me wonder whether or not this thing is safe.
However, the feeling quickly passes, and the doors open up to reveal a windowless (but well-lit) area with simple light fixtures illuminating the gorgeous chariots we'll be traveling in.
As I follow the others over to the chariot, I force myself to swallow my nerves. Helena would be so much better at doing this than I'm going to be.
But that doesn't matter. This is the only chance I'll get to make a first impression on the Capitol, so it has to be a good one, at all costs.
Nascar Galluci, District One Male
The parade will be underway very soon.
As part of District One, Clara and I will be in the very first chariot, the first thing that all the Capitolites get to see. Our costumes look incredible, and I wouldn't have it any other way, but there's a part of me that wonders whether it will be good enough. How high their standards are for us.
Clara hasn't said a thing since getting off the train, and I don't really blame her too much. Even now, with her hair cut into a neat ponytail and her face covered in black paint that's supposed to look like war paint, she just wants to keep to herself.
Thankfully, our costumes are easier ones to move around in than I expected. When our mentors tell us to climb onto the chariot via a couple of wooden stools acting as a staircase, we manage to do so without much difficulty.
Once we're up there, the first thing Clara does (oddly enough) is turn her head backwards.
"What are you doing?" I try to say this quietly, just in case the other Districts are listening in somehow.
She doesn't even turn to face me. "Scouting the competition," she says.
That's probably a good strategy, so I decide to do the same, especially since the elevated height of the chariot allows me to see all Eleven other Districts at once.
The boy from Two is somehow standing, despite the fact that his costume looks ridiculously heavy. His District partner's costume is lighter, but it's designed in such a way that she's forced into a crouch.
The pair from Three are steadfastly ignoring each other. The boy taps his foot over and over again while the girl stands perfectly still and rigid, looking like she'd fall over and shatter if someone pushed her.
The girl from Four, despite almost definitely being a Career, looks exhausted, leaning on one of her props for support. Her District partner follows her example, but his face shows far more alertness.
The pair from Five is one of the most mismatched duos I've ever seen. The boy is almost as big as I am, while the girl is maybe a third of his size. However, unlike most of the other pairs, these two appear to be having a conversation. I can't really figure out much else, because their faces are hidden from my view.
Both of the tributes from Six appear to be smiling, but I'm not sure if it's genuine. The boy has such a dreamy expression that I'm starting to wonder if they gave him a hit of morphling to keep him calm, and the girl keeps toying with her costume and tapping on the clear pane that covers her face.
I can't really compare the two from Seven, because their costumes obscure most of their features. All I can really see from here is that the boy's face is deadly serious.
The same phenomenon occurs when I see Eight. This is to an even worse extent, because their costume appears so clunky and difficult to move around in I honestly wonder how they got here on time.
The pair from Nine finally look like two normal tributes from what I can see. These two appear to be friends, because they're leaning close to each other to have a whispering conversation like a pair of five-year-olds. Every few seconds, one of them breaks out in laughter at something the other says.
Ten, Eleven, and Twelve are all really far away, meaning I can't tell that much about them from here. However, I can't see the girl from Eleven at all (meaning either her stylists held her up or she's so short she can hide behind her District partner), and I'm surprised to find that District Twelve's costumes actually have some color in them for once. I'm not sure if they're good costumes, but at least their stylists are trying to be original instead of the coal miners that District Twelve brings out year after year after year.
It takes quite a while, but everyone manages to get into their chariot unassisted (except for the girl from Eleven, whose costume didn't allow her to use her legs, meaning four Capitolites had to lift her into place). Everything is quiet for a minute, but then the doors leading out towards the city circle open, and a loud announcement echoes throughout the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present your tributes for the Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games! Now let's give them a hand!"
At that, the chariots start to move forward, and I turn to Clara.
"You ready for this?"
Clara doesn't respond. I take that as my cue to turn and face front once more.
Then, the horses pulling our chariot step into the warm rays of the summer sun, and I'm welcomed to the Capitol with a resounding roar...
Author's Notes:
-I am not dead, repeat, I am not dead! Just got sidetracked for a little while with college applications. Not helping was that this chapter wasn't exactly the most fun to write. However, the parade and post-parade chapters aren't going to be very long, and then we'll get to the training (which will be pretty fun, since everyone gets to interact with each other).
-I hope to have the next chapter out on the one-year anniversary of me uploading this fic (the 16th, if you don't know), especially since the parade will be a very short chapter (by my standards, anyway)
-The parade will be from an alternate POV. After that, there will be a post-parade but pre-training chapter to cover the last six POVs (Godric, Sotia, Spark, Romeo, Artesia, and Odysea, in case you weren't keeping track). Hopefully, I can bang those out one-two.
-See you next chapter, and here's to hoping it doesn't take as long as this one did!