Greetings! Welcome back to yet another installment of 'Unlikeliest of Victors'. I normally don't respond to reviews in writing but I thought this one deserved attention from me now.
The question was brought up of whether Katherine was being made a deliberate copy of Katniss.
In short, the answer is no.
While there are some superficial similarities in a such as their names (Katniss Everdeen/Katherine Emerson), they're both opposite in many ways as well. Katherine's from the top of society. Katniss is not. My goal in writing Foxface was to simultaneously allow you guys to see Katniss' character from another side and flesh out some aspects of her character further while simultaneously comparing that against another.
If this doesn't quite make sense to you know, I'm confident by the end of this fiction you'll understand. No. Katherine is not a carbon-copy of Katniss. My interpretation of her has enough differences that are still hidden that you'll see in the end that they're very much different people.
With that being said, please enjoy this chapter!
9
Thursday dawned equally as overcast as yesterday. Persephone next to me was snoring softly and was sleeping soundly for once. Hopefully my pep-talk a couple days ago helped. I went to change and prepare myself for today when I remembered I had left all my clothing inside my room. Perhaps if I could move fast enough I would be able to grab an outfit before the room was occupied.
I got up off the cot and stretched out my back before tiptoeing across the hall to my room. I opened the door quietly and took several steps towards my dresser.
"No Hermes. I don't think she's the one."
I froze as I heard Cinna's voice coming from my bathroom. I backed away quietly but Cinna stayed in place. I moved forward a little more and looked around the corner at the mirror.
Cinna had his back turned to me with a sketchpad in one hand and a phone to his ear. He was sketching a bird of some sort in one hand.
"You'll have to look at this year's litter then. She's not the firebrand you're looking for. I doubt you'd be able to train her with what you have in mind.
Another silence.
I moved towards my dresser and extricated an outfit slowly from my dresser. I opted this time for something that was more geared to running and motion before slipping away carefully towards the door.
"Look, I thank you for this opportunity but I don't think she's ready yet. I think if you wait a few weeks, maybe you'll find what you're looking for. She already barely trusts me as it is. What makes you think she'll even be picked anyways? When you find what you're looking for, let me know. I'll be ready. Okay?
I tiptoed out of my room and when I was almost out of my room I stepped with too much pressure and the floor creaked a little and I winced.
"Okay. Alright, well I do have a job to finish for the Emerson family in Five. I think you'll love what you see tomorrow okay?" he laughed. "Alright. Take care."
I heard him set the phone on the counter.
"You know, you don't need to sneak into your own room." Cinna called out.
I froze and started thinking of ways to cover my approach.
"Did you need something? I was just talking with a friend back home and working on a couple designs for your dress."
"No." I said loud enough that he could hear. "I'm all good."
"Well, do you want to see what I have so far?" Cinna asked.
"Sure." I decided after a moment. I walked back into the bathroom where Cinna gestured to the stool I had sat on yesterday.
"What are you doing up so early?" Cinna asked.
"Force of habit." I shrugged. "I have to wake up slightly earlier for my job." I said glancing at an atomic clock on the wall.
Cinna nodded once and flipped through a few pages.
"I just have a couple ideas sketched so far. I think these were a little too...Capitol-esque. Here." He said handing me the sketchbook. "Why don't you take a look yourself?"
I accepted the sketchbook with some caution, cracked open the first few pages, and was instantly taken aback by the drawings.
Cinna had beautifully drawn illustrations of various items of clothing. I flipped to the back and found what looked like dresses designed for me with little notes scribbled in describing various aspects of the dresses. Some of these dresses evoked animals; there was one that suggested a fox in shape and color, another two suggested birds. I recognized one as a mockingjay with its dual color scheme and two more as two types of finches.
"Wow." was all I managed to get out.
I spent more seconds in silence before I dared to find my voice again.
"How did you learn to draw like this?" I asked admiring the artistry he had put into these drawings.
"Practice. Lots and lots of practice. It sounds cliche, but it's true. Like I said, it's Capitol-esque so, unless you'd prefer to be flashy, I'm going to go back to the drawing board."
My expression soured. I didn't want to make him start from scratch and completely disregard his previous work.
"It's okay. It was a nice artistic exercise. I have other ideas that I'm almost ready to move forward with. Don't worry, you'll look yourself."
My concerns alleviated, I allow myself to relax a little bit.
"You know, whoever is reaped this year will be lucky to have you as their stylist."
"You think?"
"Absolutely. This is so much better than some of the things I've seen Tributes wear before."
"Well I'm glad you think that way. I think people are a little tired of skimpy overalls and covering people in black. You'll just have to wait and see."
"Who were you on the phone with?" I ask changing topics.
"A friend." Cinna answers simply. This explanation isn't enough for me so he divulges a little more.
"The Capitol has a dog show that they do every year a couple months after the games before the Victory Parade. It's nowhere near as televised. Do they televise it out here?"
"Uh, can't say I've ever seen one. I don't really watch the TV more than I have to."
"It's probably not something that would thrill you a lot. I've got a litter of puppies at home though. My friend wants to take one to train so that he can compete and overthrow the reigning champion at some point in the future. However, the one he has in mind has trust issues with others and is incredibly shy.
"Sounds like we share something in common." I say watching his reaction. I'm not entirely convinced he's telling the truth.
"Perhaps you do. Do you want to see her?"
"Sure."
Cinna scrolls through the phone for a second before showing me a (frankly adorable) picture of a black dog with an adorable smile with Cinna beaming widely.
"Isn't she adorable?" Cinna says with the same smile he wears in the picture. "I've already given away her brothers and sisters and I'm not ready to give this one up quite yet. Perhaps in a few weeks when I'm too busy to take care of her full time."
"So what's the plan today?" I inquire.
"I think after breakfast the prep-team will be ready to do their work. We're just going to do a basic body scrub, remove excess body hair, trim your eyebrows just a little, trim up the rough edges of your hair where the fire burned it, and at that point I should have something ready for you. Sound good?"
"Sure."
"Go get ready for the day. You can shower if you want but you'll have to take another one regardless."
I thank Cinna and collect my outfit before the day starts.
I skip a shower to avoid having to repeat the process twice and I instead go tend to the greenhouse again. There's not much for me to do but I remember to check on the berry bushes. A smile comes to my face as I see one of the blueberry bushes is now heavily laden with dark blue fruit. When I checked yesterday, they weren't quite ready but there isn't any doubt now that this plant is ready to yield fruit for consumption. I pick a couple blueberries and nod at the taste. As I walk around to check up on other plants I mentally name each one that pass like I normally do.
Within minutes the blueberries I ate have awoken my hunger and I leave the greenhouse to make myself food. There is staff to make things but today I'm in the mood to make things myself. Breakfast takes a little longer to prepare than I want but in the end I prepare an enormous stack of pancakes with a blueberry syrup that I make from heading back to the greenhouse and plucking large handful of blueberries off the bush before washing them, boiling them down, adding sugar, and mixing in a little cornstarch to thicken it up.
The result is so good I eat a third, then a fourth, then a fifth pancake which I regret afterwards.
To burn off some of the extra three pancakes I move to step outside for a run. When I retrace my steps to change into something more active, I notice that my shoulder has almost completely healed. Where an ugly, scabbed-over gunshot was, a smooth and slightly red patch had replaced it. Best of all, it doesn't hurt. I can regularly move and flex all of my body easily. The realization brings a smile to my face.
Today's going to be a good day. I decide.
When I step outside I run for a few paces to test things out. When I don't encounter any pain that hampers me, I run for a few more before I increase my speed. Soon, it doesn't matter that the sky is overcast as I run faster and faster around the manor. My fears about President Snow, the dam attack, and even the upcoming reaping disappear. What does it matter when I can run? My insecurities evaporate like the dew as the temperature gradually warms up.
I can't help but let a smile break out onto my face. I feel alive. I feel free.
A laugh escapes my grinning face and I even let out a cheer in a more reckless moment. When I reach the back of the house I take off again running towards the bluff like I did yesterday. When I reach there I dance and twirl around the bluff (making sure to stay away from the edge) for a few paces before sitting on a rock and stretching out.
A flock of birds fly overhead, finches from the sound of them, which brings a bigger smile to my face. I've always identified with the bird, partly because of my nickname. They're always racing about like I am when I'm running messages around. Among some of the more traditional families, the finch is supposed to herald good times approaching and they're always a joy to listen to in spring.
According to my mother, my grandfather was late getting into the hospital because he was trapped at work in an important meeting with Capitol official, but he knew the moment I was born because of a flock of Finches that suddenly took up song nearby. He relayed the incident to my parents and they had given me the middle name Finchley to remind me that good times are always forthcoming, even when you're in the midst of the bad.
The sun peeks out momentarily from a patch in the clouds and I'm content to sit on the bluff for a while and imagine what's going on in the valley. Today my friends will be on their last full day of work before they have a respite tomorrow with the President's arrival. They've probably been at work for an hour now and for a moment I miss being with all of the other messengers and people of Edison. I want to be off this mountaintop retreat from District 5 and integrate myself back into the society, even if it's to be on the edge of it.
I turn my head back to the house and I catch the lights in my parent's bedroom flip on. The house will be waking up and the prep-team will make their appearance. With some reluctance and I turn back from the bluff and run back to the house. I run around to the front door just as a car carrying the Prep team arrives. I don't know where they slept but they look slightly frazzled but happy to be here.
I jump inside the house and I run upstairs to my room.
"Prep team's here." I call out.
Cinna hasn't moved from the bathroom but acknowledges my comment and tells me to relay the message that he's going to setup shop in a different room of the house to work.
The prep team enters minutes later beaming and bouncing. They greet me warmly and I relay Cinna's message. My mother appears seconds later from her room and helps move some of his stuff to a small office on the second floor. The Prep team announces that they're ready for me when they come upstairs and I catch one last glance of Cinna carrying a box full of fabrics to the office. He nods and gives a thumbs up before my bedroom door closes and the prep team arms themselves with the tools of their trade.
The process is not as bad as I was expecting but it definitely put a damper on the mirth I felt earlier. The first thing they do is order me to strip which of course I'm extremely reluctant to do. The prep team may not resemble "normal" humanity which helps in a sense, but I'm extremely self-conscious and definitely not an exhibitionist. An argument springs up and it's only by compromising that we settle it. They dig out a thin gown that I can cover myself with and I change in my shower. I'm still extremely uncomfortable but at least I'm preserving my modesty somewhat. They prop me up on a metal table that they connect to the tub. A large pipe drains into it while they hook up a hose to the faucet of the tub and turn it on.
It's definitely an odd setup but they tell me that they've managed in far worse cases. With their experiences from the Capitol I'm not sure how to judge that statement. Perhaps they are being genuine but most likely those "worse cases" include not looking good during an assignment or breaking nails in the process. Definitely the sort of national emergencies I worry about when I sleep at night.
They begin by scrubbing me with an (overly) gritty foam that removes dirt, oils, and a layer of skin from my body. I'm hesitantly allowed to do it some of it myself. I follow their instructions well enough and they grudgingly approve. A woman with pea-green skin named Octavia actually makes a comment that I've done a better job than most stylists in training which gives me some satisfaction. She then turns her attention to my nails because of course they must be exactly uniform or else some poor woman is going to have a coronary in the Capitol. I feel like I do a decent job of maintaining them but of course our standards of beauty are not Capitol standards.
She scowls a couple times after observing them and eventually after a little bit of effort they are judged to be "completely uniform".
As they work, they gossip among each other. I learn from listening that they must have stayed in a couple apartments in the Justice Building. On the whole they think District 5 has a better sense of fashion than most of the other District's they see but they think the wardrobes of the workers could use some updating.
"Too drab." A second woman named Venia comments. "I know it's a uniform but honestly. I liked the messenger uniforms we saw though. Now that's a uniform I can get behind."
The others bobbed their heads up and down.
"I have one of those." I say from my face up position on the table.
"Do you really?" Flavius, the final member of my prep team, gasped. He sported orange hair that corkscrewed upwards and a rich purple lipstick. "Let me guess, those fabrics are from Eight aren't they."
"Yes."
"Ah!" he cried out. "I knew it all along didn't I Venia."
Venia let out a huff on her end and pulled a little too hard on a pair of tweezers connected to my eyebrows.
"Do you have it with you? I'd love to take a look at it." Octavia said in a high squeak.
"Don't have it." I sighed. "It was destroyed when I caught fire."
You would have thought it was the end of the world from their reactions. In fact, it was so ridiculous that I hid a smile and pretended to agree that it was indeed as worse as the dye shortage of two years ago. I had to resist laughing when their reactions got collectively pained. They were so naïve and such idiots that I couldn't help but feel sympathy towards them. They weren't evil, just clueless.
"Speaking of fire though— "Flavius said after a tearful confession of how he once burned some of his clothing as part of a fad months ago, "Look at your hair! It's a beautiful shade of red, but look at this damage!" he said pointing to some strands that had been badly damaged. "I might just have to cut it off."
"Oh no! We can't do that!" Venia gaped.
"I've been using the shampoo." I said remembering the bottle in the shower.
"What shampoo?" Flavius asked.
I pointed to the shower and he caught sight of the bottle.
"Dear me. You got this stuff? Well it seems I might be able to leave it be."
"No. Get rid of it." Octavia countered.
"How about I ask Cinna?" Flavius suggested. There was an argument but Octavia took Flavius' side. He disappeared and with a moment returned with Cinna. He didn't look too happy at the stylists for dragging him out for such a life and death question.
"It's her hair. This isn't the Capitol we're in and this isn't the Games. Why don't we let her decide?" he said after arguments for keeping and cutting it had been made.
This idea left the prep team open mouthed.
"How much would we be talking about?" I asked.
"Not too much. It won't make too much of a visual difference either way." Flavius admitted.
"Why don't we just cut it then."
The prep team breathed a sigh of relief and Cinna smiled.
"Just a couple more hours and I'll be done okay?"
I nod and he retreats back to the office.
Flavius takes a pair of scissors and surgically removes the offending hair. He holds it up for me to see. He's right, it's not a lot but to the Prep team it's everything.
Venia finishes tweezing my eyebrows and she and Octavia move on to removing every ounce of body hair on my body. There's not a lot on my arms and legs where my skin was exposed but they must have my body de-haired if I'm to look like a normal being. The process is uncomfortable and occasionally I grunt. This annoys them and I re-double my efforts to keep quiet. I don't need more people in my life annoyed with me.
Eventually they rinse me off and I'm lathered down with a lotion that soothes my stinging skin. They do a final touch up and it's only then after another hour that they are finally done.
"Look at you! You finally look gorgeous!" Flavius says.
The comment hurts. I know they meant no harm by it, but it still takes a swing at my self-image. It seems to be popping up frequently this week. Why I even care I don't know. "Brains before beauty." I repeat to myself.
"Well I think we're finally ready to present you to Cinna." Octavia says approvingly.
"Well we still got another hour. Send someone else up here. They don't have nearly as long a process to do as you do." Venia requests.
"Thank you." I say forcing a smile. "It means a lot that you would spend this time to make me beautiful."
"Oh you're so sweet." Flavius says flattered.
They descend into gossip again and not seeing a reason to surround myself with idle words I dismiss myself. I grab Hugo who's the first person I come across and send him to my room. He's a little apprehensive but he sees me and somehow it reassures him. I'm not entirely sure what I look like other than I feel kind of sore and a little irritated that I can't just be given a dress and sent on stage.
I attempt to pass the hour in Persephone's room. She's somewhere else downstairs. There's also not much to do in her room other than making both our bed's and doing a little straightening up. I decide to review my notebook again for the games. Perhaps I can figure out something else to write in my notebook.
As soon as my mind ponders this I freeze.
Where is my notebook?
Normally it would be sitting stuffed inside a large pile of my stuff but I brought a minimal amount into my sister's room. I look around. It's not in any of the things I brought with me. A heart stopping possibility enters my mind.
Did I leave it in my room?
The more I look, the more I'm convinced that I left it in my room. I want to go back and check but Venia and the others don't want any visitors while they're working. Shoot. I'll have to wait for a break. I could attempt sneaking back inside but that failed this morning. Better to wait it out.
"Finch?" I hear Cinna call from the hallway.
I sigh and step out of my temporary bedroom into the office.
It's been completely transformed from a neat space dominated by a long wooden desk, to a miniature factory. Cinna must have just put the finishing touches on because he's just now cleaning up the scrap thread and material lying on the floor.
"Yes?" I say.
He looks up. "Oh good. Stay there for a second." He orders.
I nod and he stands up from the chair where he was sitting while I stand there in my gown feeling a little more awkward than I was with the prep-team. He slowly walks around and examines me.
"How do you normally do your hair?" he asks as he comes around and faces me again.
"Put it in a bun. Sometimes two."
"Can you show me?"
The single bun is easiest to do. Just a few seconds and I'm done. The second one I usually wear if my hair is shorter (which it definitely is now) and ask Cinna if he has any bobby pins and he produces a couple from a pocket of a large briefcase. I make the second one by pulling two tiny pieces of hair out of the front and tying them together for a moment to keep them out of the way. I start on the right bun by tying my hair back in two bunches in the middle of my head before tying the bunches into a loose and messy bun. When they're secured, I bobby pin the stray bits up and then bring one of the strands from the front up to my temple, make a loop and then pin it up making sure the strand falls across my face again. I repeat the process on the left and put my hands down to let Cinna know I'm done.
"Beautiful." He comments. "How did you learn to do this?"
"My older sister." I sigh. I bring a hand up and fix the left bun just a little bit.
Cinna fills in the rest of the blanks and his face turns sympathetic.
"I'm sorry."
I don't say anything in response but stand there waiting for him.
"You don't wear this one often?" Cinna asks after moving to the back and observing the twin buns of hair.
"No."
"Why not?"
"People call them 'Fox Ears'."
"And that goes along with your dislike of the name Foxface." Cinna replied filling in the blanks.
"Bingo."
"Is there some sort of negative connotation to being compared to a fox?" he asked curiously.
"I guess."
Cinna's eyes ask for more clarification and I give in.
"They have a reputation among those who live on the outskirts of my District for causing trouble. The farmers don't like them because they sometimes raid the chicken coops. It's the coyotes that you have to worry about. Sometimes they'll kill small children and pets when there's not enough food. They look sort of similar enough that everyone my age just equates the two together.
"Well, have you thought that being compared to a fox could be viewed as compliment?"
"Yes." I answer truthfully. "I don't see the point if they're going to use it for spite."
"So turn it around. Tell me a few things about foxes that are admirable.
Why is Cinna doing this? I wonder.
"Well, they're intelligent for one, they're masters at stealth, and they manage to wheedle their way out of every situation."
"Exactly. I was told before I came here why you were getting this honor. That was a pretty brave thing to do. I don't know many people who could do an act as comparable if not more so than yourself, certainly nobody where I live."
"Are you trying to flatter me?"
"No. The point is, if people are going to compare you to a fox, be proud of it. You don't necessarily need to wear it like a badge of honor, but remind yourself about all the noble attributes. Your peers are just jealous I think. If they can't recognize you for the person you are, then that's a tragedy worse than a few burned strands of hair."
I recognize the implied jibe at the prep-team and we both share a laugh.
"Do you feel better now?" he asks.
"I guess."
"Good. You won't shine on stage if you don't think you shine already. Now, close your eyes."
I do so and feel a silken weight drop over me. He makes a few adjustments and then stands back.
"Open your eyes Finch."
I do so and he turns me to a full-length mirror.
My mouth opens. The face is me but I don't recognize the creature who's taken over my body. My hair looks more radiant and fiery than usual. I have to admit; the prep team, has done a fabulous job. My gaze turns to my dress and I gasp.
I'm draped in a long dark green dress that beautifully compliments my hair. It looks sophisticated enough but the more I look at it, the more the dress suggests an aura of mystery. I clearly see the aspects of the dress meant to appeal to the Capitol but also how Cinna has made painstaking efforts to cater this dress to me by not making it overly flashy, showy, or loud. Wearing this dress tomorrow, I will look confident on stage, yet humble and thankful for this opportunity. It's easily the most beautiful thing I've ever worn in my life.
"Well?" he prompts.
I turn around and seize him in a hug. He takes a step back in surprise but returns it.
"It's beautiful." I say awed.
"If you think you look amazing now, just wait until tomorrow when we do your makeup and such." Cinna says taking a step back. "I think we'll keep your hair like this, it fits you well." I help him remove the dress and I'm in the gown again.
"Alright Finch, I'm done with everything for you today. You're free to do whatever."
"Thank you so much!" I cry out before I exit and change back into a normal set of clothes and leave the gown on the doorknob to my room. I'm tempted to sneak back inside for my notebook but I resist the urge by heading downstairs and flipping on Capitol TV, partially motivated by Cinna's comment earlier about the dog show. Nothing I see references it at all.
In preparation for the upcoming Hunger Games, the Capitol has all of the programming focused on this year's Games in some way. There's a "special program" going on about the Gamemakers and how they control the arena. The camera cuts away to a smiling Seneca Crane with his uniquely shaped beard and light blue-gray eyes. Seneca is taking the audience on a behind the scenes tour of the control room. The room sits on a two tiers, a lower one, and a higher one. A large table displays a hologram on the table and Seneca explains how the Gamemakers can control everything in the arena. A montage of clips from previous games plays on the hologram and I ignore them. I don't need to see more people die. My attention is forcefully seized suddenly when there's a clip of my sister Julia running in a storm.
My breathing grows short and I begin to sweat. I know exactly what's going to happen. There's a flash of lightning and a tree falls with a crash on top of her. Thankfully they cut away before they showcase her pursuer slitting her throat and the interviewer is actually laughing and going on and on about how he loves when the Gamemakers will occasionally intervene like that.
The good feelings I had earlier have been replaced by an ugly anger. I had always known they were responsible, but to see someone laugh at a series of deaths without a care as to who they belonged to makes me sick. I want to push my hand through the screen and punch the interviewers but I clench my jaw until it hurts. I turn off the TV in disgust and throw the remote to the other couch. So much for wasting time.
Cinna must be incredibly fast at what he does because he brings all of my family members (with the exception of Dad and the Mayor who he says he's already taken care of) through within a two-hour period and deems his work complete. The boys receive haircuts—much to Thomas and Hugo's displeasure—and my sister and mother receive manicures and touchups on their hair.
I decide the best way to rid myself of my anger is to help in the kitchen. Tonight is supposed to be our final dinner with our Capitol guests and my mother helps make them. I help bake some breads and sweets, and assist in making some of the entrees. My father and grandfather even pitch in when they arrive home and in a couple hours we sit down to another enormous array of food. On a suggestion from my mother I gather an enormous basket of blueberries, wash them off, and serve it with dinner. Cinna and the others are appreciative of our hospitality and the fresh fruit and we immediately go through the plans for tomorrow.
At ten o'clock we are going to be dressed; Cinna will help with my final preparations. At eleven-thirty, we travel by car and make the 15-minute drive downtown. My family will take the stage at once and be there to meet President Snow who will arrive at twelve. I will be off to the side sitting with Cinna who will make any final adjustments to my attire. The President will give a speech and I will be brought on stage. I'll receive whatever honors President Snow has planned for me, and afterwards is to be figured out as we go. The President will leave to recommission the dam and there will be a banquet in the President's honor later when he returns. After that, we'll say our goodbyes and part.
"But how am I supposed to act?" I ask feeling that this hasn't been addressed when the plan's been explained.
"Act naturally and be respectful. That's really the only protocol you need to remember." Cinna says.
My grandfather suggests that we break out some alcohol to celebrate (I'm content to drink water) and we first toast the prep team, then Cinna for his artistry, and then the prep team offers a toast to myself.
"To Finch, the girl who saved the Capitol from a fashion disaster." Octavia offers. The rest of the table bursts into appreciative chuckles.
"And may your odds always be in your favor." Cinna adds with a smile before we all clink glasses.
I attempt to save room in my stomach for dessert but I gave up on that attempt. I've eaten too much and any more might put a hole in my stomach. I make the decision to eat some of the blueberries and I savor those as my dessert.
Satiated and sleepy I thank Cinna and the Prep team for their work and I'm dismissed to go to bed. I remember to look for my notebook under the pretense of picking out clothing to sleep in tonight and I'm not able to find it.. There's too much stuff lying around. I'll have to look tomorrow when there's daylight. I'm frustrated I haven't been able to retrieve it yet so there's nothing more to do other than apply another round of medicine and wonder at what point I'll need to stop. There is no clear direction and there's not a lot left in any of the bottles. Once it dries on, I sit in bed and think.
I feel more comfortable about tomorrow after seeing Cinna's dress but I'm still incredibly anxious for this event to be over so I can go back to a normal existence.
Of course, that begs the question of whether anything will ever be normal again.
With those thoughts I close my eyes and sleep comes again.
Thanks for reading! Next chapter see's the President visit Five. We're not that far off from reaping.
Yours in writing,
theotherpianist