Our apartment at the Training Center is luxurious, to say the least. Walking in, we were greeted by the sight of large, expensive couches, marble countertops and a finely crafted glass chandelier that probably came from home. We're on the first floor and for once I'm jealous of the outer districts. Our windows only offer a view of freak show out on the Capitol's streets. Damn, I bet the view from the top of the Center is something. I'm itching to go explore my temporary home, but Prue informs me I'm out of luck. The parade is tonight and I have to meet my stylist. Shit.
I find myself once again hiding in my room, trying to delay the inevitable. The parade looks miserable. Every year, District One has ridiculous costumes and we have to ride out there on national television. This is definitely more of a Glimmer thing. I'm sure she'll turn up the charm and smile and wink and do whatever it takes to get sponsors. If there's any part of this she's better than me at, it's appealing to the sponsors. Hell, one look at her would cause any one of these old, dyed creeps to break open their wallet.
It's a shame I'm not better looking. I'm alright, but not in the Finnick Odair way that makes women swoon and men turn green with envy. Those tributes always get a lot of love from the sponsors. It's weird that a game based around killing people can be influenced by who's better looking, but it definitely can. Who knows? Maybe my stylist will work some magic and the sponsors will come running.
"Marvel! Stop moping in there! It's time to get you down to your prep team!" calls Prue from beyond my door, sounding way too excited.
Shit. Here we go. I open the door and allow Prue to conduct me out of the apartment, ignoring her fussing about the chaotic state of my brown hair or the "sleepy" look in my green eyes. The ride's quick, down into the bowels of the Training Center, probably beneath all the weapons and obstacle courses and dummies. Prue leads down a dark hallway that looks the same as all the others and leaves me in one of the rooms, telling me to strip and put the paper gown on that sits on one of the chairs, apparently left just for me. Or maybe not. As I pull it on, I can't help but notice it doesn't exactly hang low enough on my tall frame. Shit. I cross my hands over my junk and try to ignore the draft in the room. God, I hope nobody but my stylist and my prep team ever see me like this. I can't imagine what Striker would give to have a photo of this, a permanent record he could use to humiliate me 'til the end of time.
The smile the thought of my brother brought to my face is quickly erased when the door swings open to reveal an obscenely colorful trio, evidently my prep team. And it's three women. Joy. As if this wasn't uncomfortable enough.
"Oh, you must be Marvel! It's so nice to meet you! I'm Terri!" says one.
"I'm Tracy!" interjects another.
"And I'm Treya! We're sisters," says a third.
Yeah, that's not going to be confusing. Jesus, even their outfits look the same.
"Nice to meet y'all," I lie. Somehow, I don't think this is going to be fun for me.
The next few hours make me a prophet. I'm stripped down and scrubbed and waxed and shaved and washed until I feel like they've taken my skin off and replaced it with someone else's. The only things they didn't shave were my head, my eyebrows and my legs. Apparently a sleek, hairless torso is the latest craze in the Capitol and the trio is quite eager to bring me up to speed on it. If I felt a draft before, I'm really feeling it now.
By the time they finally leave me alone to wait for the stylist, my head is spinning. I feel like I spent the last few hours surrounding by a flock a colorful, jabbering parrots. So much conversation about the latest fashion trends and who was sleeping with who and what conditioner would bring out the best shine in my hair. I shake my head and glance back towards my clothes, yearning to put the familiar garments back on, especially the wristband Striker gave me, my district token. It's crafted out of fine leather and has a detailed image of a spear burned into it.
Striker always did love hearing about training. Each day, as soon as I got home from the Academy, he'd ask me a million questions about exactly what went on. I freely gave every answer, knowing it was the least I could do. I always suspected Striker wished he could train for the honor of the games, even if me and his illness would never allow it.
Glancing in the mirror, I have to admit, the trio did a good job. My skin is cleaned up and almost glowing, stretched tightly across the well-defined muscles of my torso. My limited chest hair is now a thing of the past. The bags under my eyes are gone and my hair has a healthy shine I've never seen in it before. All in all, it's not too shabby. I do wish I could put some clothes on, though, but the trio informed me that my stylist must be able to see all of me to get my outfit just right. That or he/she just wants to see as many tributes as possible naked. Hell, maybe he's going on a tour, checking out all the best specimens this year has to offer, from me to Glimmer to Cato to Clove and all the way to Katniss. I wonder how she's handling this. If this makes me uncomfortable, I can't imagine how someone from the poorest district in Panem must be feeling. The thought of her naked is just crossing my mind when I hear the door swing open behind me.
In steps a portly, pale man with bizarre orange hair and a matching orange turtleneck. He studies my body from behind his spectacles like it's some difficult equation. Okay, maybe this guy is just in it to see the tributes naked.
"Hello, Marvel. I'm Antony, your stylist for these games," he says, extending his hand in faux friendliness.
I take it anyway and force myself to just go along with it. "Nice to meet you. So…you got any great ideas for the parade?" I ask.
"A few, although I must say your body is giving me a bit of trouble. I designed so many excellent options, but I think you'll be too tall to fit into most of them," Antony says, rubbing his chin in contemplation.
Sorry I can't change my genetics to accommodate your designs. We can't all be fat and have that magnificent orange hair of yours. Damn, I wish I could say that out loud.
"Well, no matter. Don't worry, Marvel. I've overcome far more problematic tributes than you and I can certainly handle this," Antony says as he continues to pace around, prodding various points of my naked body.
"Um…thank you. So, you've got something that'll work, right?" I ask. Let's hope so. As much as it sucks, you don't want to underperform at the parade, way too many sponsors watching.
Antony grins like a cheshire cat, revealing two rows of gleaming white teeth. "I most certainly do," he answers.
Okay, Antony has let me down more than the elevator today. His great idea amounted to spray-painting my entire body and hair silver and slapping on a silver tunic. I look like something you'd see when you're on morphling, not a deadly tribute. Still, I can't totally suppress my laugh when Glimmer joins me on the elevator down to the chariots clad in the same ridiculous outfit. Wow, it's even hiding her beauty. I can tell by the way her face is tightened that she's pissed and that only gets worse when she sees me stifling a laugh.
"Not. One. Damn. Word." she hisses, her eyes burning a hole in the side of the elevator.
Ah poor Glimmer. Her greatest attribute, her looks, has been stifled. Cashmere will probably turn it around with the interviews, but still. For somebody going the Finnick-route and depending on their sex-appeal to win, she's not off to a great start.
The doors part to reveal a dozen chariots and various tributes milling around in goofy outfits. Seeing some of the other fashion choices, I feel a little better about being turned into a silver statue. No sign of District Twelve yet, but I can see Thresh hanging out by his chariot, smiling for once as he talks to his little district partner. Even in that stupid outfit, he still looks intimidating. Better keep that to myself, though. It's a fight to the death and if you show fear, your enemy will exploit it and let's face it…everyone her will be my enemy eventually.
"Marvel, come on! I see District Two," says Glimmer as she grabs my painted arm.
The pair from Two both lean against their chariot with their arms crossed, radiating a Don't fuck with me attitude. I'm actually kinda jealous of their costumes. The black gladiator armor makes them look fierce and deadly, like the warriors they are. Antony is such a dick.
"Hello there," purrs Glimmer seductively, "District Two, right?"
Cato and Clove both turn their imperious gazes on my district partner.
"I assume you're District One," says Cato flatly, his icy blue gaze going back and forth between Glimmer and I.
"That we are. I'm Glimmer," she says, batting her eyelashes at Cato, who just grunts in response.
"I'm Marvel," I say. Wow my voice sounds bored.
"I'm Cato and that's Clove," he says, gesturing to the short, yet threatening girl beside him.
"Well, we were so impressed with you guys, we were wondering if you were up for a career-alliance this year!" says Glimmer cheerfully.
Cato shrugs. "Why not. You both look strong. If we stick together, we'll dominate like always," he says with a cocky smirk. I find myself making an effort not to roll my eyes.
"What'd y'all think of District Four? I'm not exactly blown away," says Clove with a frown, her eyes drifting to the net-clad pair a few chariots away.
"District Four's usually useful. They can probably use spears and tridents," says Cato.
Clove frowns. "I don't want any dead weight around. If they aren't going to be useful, then they're out. The same goes for you two," says Clove ominously, her dark eyes making me really uncomfortable. Something about her really doesn't seem right.
"You don't have to worry about that. We both placed first in the Academy. I did quite well with a bow but I've got other skills," says Glimmer, her gaze falling suggestively on Cato.
"What about you?" asks Clove, "You don't talk much do you?"
No, I just prefer to talk to people I actually like. Yet another thing I wish I could say. Somehow, I think she might respond violently to something like that. Just a guess.
"Spears. I was the best with them," I say flatly. Clove nods, but Cato raises his eyebrows.
"We'll have to see about that," he says with a wicked smile.
"What should we do about Four?" Clove asks, impatient her first question wasn't answered.
"Let's watch them a bit during training and make a decision from there. I also want to see what the guy from Eleven can do," says Cato, leaving no room for argument. I guess he's already proclaimed himself leader.
ATTENTION TRIBUTES! PLEASE GET TO YOUR CHARIOTS! THE PARADE WILL BE STARTING MOMENTARILY!
I bid my new…friends goodbye and return to my chariot. The good thing about going out first is you always get a lot of attention. It's impossible to get lost in the shuffle like the other districts. The Capitol loves us anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem.
I cast a glance behind our chariot, seeing all the other chariots falling in line. Good. The doors part in front of me and the horses start moving. Make way for the new victor.
I stand firm and put my most genuine smile on, waving at the brightly-colored, screaming masses that line the parade-route. Even in these outfits, the Capitol still loves District One. The ride through the streets of the Capitol is quick and before I know it, our chariot has reached the end.
The smile drops from my lips when I hear commotion behind me. I look back and spot what looks like a glow in the distance. What the hell? It keeps getting brighter and the crowd keeps getting more frantic. Then my jaw drops so fast I'm amazed it didn't fall off. There they are, the pair from District Twelve…on fire.
It looks real too. Then they clasp hands and raise them up in a show of solidarity. The crowd goes nuts again. Damn…they're good. Here I was thinking Glimmer knew how to work a crowd.
I can hear her seething next to me. I can't help but smile. Somebody's not too happy they're spotlight was stolen. It affects me too, but I don't plan to rely solely on sponsors. At least, not like Glimmer. I didn't learn how to throw that spear for nothing.
At last, Twelve arrives and sits there calmly, listening to the President's speech…on fire. I have to admit, Katniss looks stunning and actually kinda deadly, the black makeup making her grey eyes look fierce. Combined with the flames, it's pretty effective. Cato and Clove are both staring too, but they look like they're already envisioning ways to kill the girl from Twelve.
Her gaze momentarily flickers across our faces, but pauses on mine, probably surprised by the lack of contempt on my face. She looks curious, her owl-like eyes staring back at me, but as quick as it's there, it's gone and I find my chariot heading in to unload us.
"I can't believe this! I'm ready to kill them both right now!" screeches Glimmer as she dismounts the chariot.
"Would you calm down? It's just the parade," I say. Sponsors are nice, but the games are never decided right there. The games are won years in advance by those who put in the most time preparing, a cold hard fact that doesn't exactly favor Glimmer.
"Calm down! The goddamn mine rats just showed us up on national television! They need to learn their place!" she retorts, her shrill voice hurting my ears a bit.
"It's just the parade. Just do well in training and the interviews and everything will be fine," I say. I don't really care about how she does or how she feels, but at this point I'd tell her the sky is green and the grass is blue if I thought it'd get her to shut up.
"Fine, but I'm getting them first in the arena," Glimmer huffs before storming off, probably back to the apartment.
Far back, I can see District Twelve's fire being put out by their stylist, a surprisingly normal looking guy for the Capitol. Damn, I wish he was my stylist. He probably could've come up with something more creative than silver body paint.
I glance over at District Two. Yep, they still look pissed. It seems District Twelve is already in trouble.
A/N: District Twelve is playing with fire and our hero isn't exactly among friends. Not good. As always, all reviews, favorites and follows are greatly appreciated.