Author's Note: Both Aces and Gale are seventeen and Katniss is fifteen, Posy is fourteen. Prim is eleven, and Vick is four. Also, Rooba is merchant for this story, just cause it works better.
I sit quietly at the table, pushing the food around my plate. I knew he hated me, like he hated every other merchant, but I didn't think he hated me that much.
I look over at Sam who is eating like a… well, a starving child.
Haymitch stumbles in and I straighten up. He may be shit-faced drunk, but he did win this once.
A long time ago.
When he was young and kind of fit.
And not poisoned by alcohol.
Oh well.
"Ah, the new tributes. Welcome to one of the last rooms you'll ever see." He says, dropping into the chair across from me.
"You seem very certain that both of us are going to die." I say, my voice emotionless.
"That's because you always do. You, sweetheart, will die in the blood bath. This boy here, well, he won't make it past the third day." He gripes. I raise an eyebrow at him and cross my arms.
"I'm insulted." I say.
He scoffs, "Don't take it personally, you're a merchant. Both of you are. You may be more well fed but you know nothing of surviving."
I look at him in disbelief.
"I cut up and skin animals for a living."
"Oh, you're Rooba's granddaughter! Thought you looked familiar…" I roll my eyes again. Who knew I had so much sass in me?
"Yeah. I'm pretty handy with a knife. Now, what can you tell us that will help us?" I ask. I can't bring myself to say 'tell me', or 'help me.'
"Hmm. Don't draw attention. Don't die." I blink once. Twice. Three times and I realize he's dead serious.
That's not the best thing to say right now, actually.
"Oh really? I would have never thought. My plan was to run in there screaming and crying and tell them to come kill me and wait as they slit my throat." Haymitch looks at me for a moment.
"The crying might not be a bad idea, actually. You definitely could pull off a Mason."
So he thinks so too. I simply nod and return my attention to the food, eating something finally.
We gather in a living room type area to watch the Reapings. The tributes from District One are both blonde, as usual. They are both buff as well. Go figure.
District Two has a small brunette boy and a tall, scary girl with dark black hair. It goes on and on, and then there's my district. Posy walking up. Sam walking up.
Me volunteering.
"Alright then! Everyone off to bed! We have a very exciting day tomorrow!" Effie squeals, shooing is off to our respective rooms.
I change out of my dress into a cream colored top and some pj shorts. I lay under the covers and twist my mother's ring around my finger, wondering what she would say if she were here right now.
I don't sleep very well that night.
I wake up early, at six o'clock like I do every day to open up the shop. Except I'm not opening a shop today. Today I'll be entering the Capitol, where I may never exit.
I shower and put my hair in a long twist that hangs down my back before pulling on a beige shirt and dark blue cappreese.
Besides Effie, I'm the first one to breakfast.
"Oh! You're awake! How wonderful to finally have a tribute wake up on their own!" She sighs, smiling brightly at me. She's no longer the evil purple marshmallow, but a misinformed orange stick.
Odd.
I sit down across from her and begin to eat. The food here is delicious, rich in many different spices and covered in a surplus of sauces and creams.
I dig in like I wish I had last night, and before long I'm stuffed. I'm just polishing off my second plate when Haymitch stumbles in with Sam not too far behind.
"We'll be in the Capitol soon!" Effie says, urging the boys to 'eat faster!'
I'm quiet through all of breakfast, and I try to get my eyes to water again as we come to a stop.
By the time I'm on camera I have tears slowly trickling down my cheeks, my eyes trained on my feet as I trip over them to get into the remake center.
I've played my part well so far. I just have to keep it up a little longer, and then maybe, just maybe, I can actually win this and go home.
Go home to Grandma.
And Gale.
Even if he doesn't want me.
I allow the extravagant Capitol stylists to strip me of my arm and leg hair, trim my eyebrows and bangs, and wash the grime off of me that I could never have done with the filmy soap we buy at home.
I'm squeaky clean by the time a woman walks in, covered in purple and blue swirls. I resist the urge to scrunch my nose in disgust.
She sighs and walks around me, studying my body.
"Well, you aren't very pretty, and your hair is less than desirable, but I think we can make it work. I'm Janette, your stylist. Perhaps, we could… Hmm… oh! I know!" She says, grabbing some canisters from a cabinet. She opens them and a strong chemical smell hits my nose.
"Excuse me, but what exactly is that?" I ask.
"Nothing to worry about dear. It will make your hair sparkle!"
Oh Good Lord. Help. Please?
The crazy woman dies strands of my hair different colors of gold and orange and even some light yellow till my hair seems to be on fire. It blends nicely with my red curls, and I'm surprised by how… nice it actually looks. Odd, of course, but… pretty.
"There! Now, put on this and then we can paint your face and you'll be the perfect little piece of coal!" Janette says, handing me a grey dress with long sleeves and black swirls all over it. It trails a bit behind me, and I quickly slip into it. She comes back with some black paint and smears it under my eyes, swirls it on my hands and cheeks, and dots it around the edge of my face. I look in the mirror and she's right.
I'm the perfect little piece of coal.