Chapter 4
Three hours. Three hours or near enough to make no matter; that's how long I've been suck in this Remake Centre, having teeth whitened and hair removed from every inch of my body, save the essential places. And that was after I'd been scrubbed down in strong smelling foam and my nails were filed into shape. Three bizarre people, as eccentric as the crowd gathered for the tribute train, hover around trying to make me look somewhat presentable, under the watchful eye of Alex. As a stylist, Alex is charged with ensuring we arrive at the opening ceremonies reflecting the principle industry of District 12: coal mining.
Aminta, a woman with short spiky hot pink hair and purple nails half as long as her fingers, brushes my hair with unnecessary force. I resist the urge to wince in pain as she talks animatedly with Alexis, who runs slender fingers gently over my skin, applying lotion that alleviates the agony that comes from having hair painfully waxed off. My red skin soon turns pinkish as Alexis dutifully continues applying more cream, her wavy green fringe constantly falling across dark red eyes. A man who introduced himself as Aiakos gives my nails a coat of clear paint that causes them to shine brightly. Upon meeting my prep team and stylist, Aiakos was the first to draw my eyes, with metallic silver hair that falls to his waist and dark blue tattoos that cover half his face. Aiakos quietly consults Alex every so often while the women gossip mindlessly. They attempted getting me to talk but it wasn't until only half an hour ago that they stopped, having given up and grown tired of my short, curt responses. They don't seem to like me much after that. It doesn't bother me. It's hard to care when you're forced to stand naked in front of strangers with only a few short moments of reprieve of wearing a thin robe.
Once Alex is satisfied with what he sees, he dismisses my prep team and tells me to put my robe on. I comply and follow him into a sitting room furnished with two armchairs and a low table. The room has three walls. The fourth is completely glass from ceiling to floor; creating a window to the city. Outside, the sun heads towards noon and the orange light reflects off the crystal buildings that form the Capitol. We take a seat and Alex pushes a button on the side of the table. The moment he does, the table surface splits open to reveal a second laden with our lunch as it rises and assumes the place of the previous top. The sight of crepes with strawberries and cream, salmon cream cheese sandwiches, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, buttermilk scones, and blueberry muffins fills me with anger rather than wonderment. Here food is accessed with just a simple push of a button while districts like 12 are either starving or barely scraping by.
Alex must have seen my thoughts reflected in my expression. "Is something the matter, Maysilee?" I try my hands on a sandwich and notice his eyes on me. One is black and the other green. His navy blue hair is tied in a ponytail and his skin is covered in a layer of pink glitter.
"No, not at all," I say, taking a bite of the sandwich to reassure him.
"That's a relief. So tell me, Maysilee, you're from District 12, aren't you?"
I nod once. "Uh-huh."
"How do you feel about wearing a hard hat with a lamp on it?" Alex asks so hopefully I try not to show my displeasure. Being from the mining district, every year District 12 tributes always end up in coal miner outfits. The stylists are hardly to blame. The mining district scarcely has anything to work with. Not compared to District 1 which creates luxury items for the Capitol, or District 3's industry of electronics, District 4 and fishing, and District 8 with their textiles.
I'm dressed in a skimpy overall that stops mid thigh and a low cut white singlet that leaves little to the imagination within a few hours. My hair is intricately braided and falls over my right shoulder. A yellow hard hat, with a headlamp strapped to the front of it, sits up top my head. Wearing short boots that add several inches to a person's height, I struggle desperately not to stumble. My only solace is that they allow me to wear the family pin. Alexis unevenly coated me in black powder and something shiny. To give the illusion of coal dust, grime, and sweat she explained cheerfully. So what was the point of washing and scrubbing my body for an hour and a half? I think bitterly. I was already covered in grime and coal dust before you achingly flayed several layers off my skin. Scowling, I'm forced to wait for the other District 12 tributes to arrive. Evelyn is the first. She dresses similarly to me. Only her overall ends just above the knee, she wears a white shirt, her hair is down, and her shoes aren't pointed and look comfortable - judging from the easy way she runs around in them. Adam and Haymitch arrive soon after, garbed in similar outfits. Like us they are clad in a minor's hat, fingerless gloves, and overalls; only theirs is full lengthened. They wear sturdy practical boots. Haymitch has a white singlet under his overalls whereas Adam wears nothing at all. His ripped muscles accentuated by the products his prep team applied on his body. They're accompanied by their stylists, each more flamboyant than the last.
We're taken to what is essentially one massive stable at the ground floor of the Remake Centre. Here our tour of the city commences and ends at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and conduct us to the Training Centre; all of which will be broadcasted live and watched by every district. The chariots tributes ride in are twice the normal size this year, supporting twice the regular amount of passengers. Wendy and Konrad appear from further within the stable, waving us over. As we walk, several tributes already in their chariot spot us and nudge each other, snickering. Ignoring them as best we can we're arranged into position on the chariot by Alex and Adam's stylist, whose entire skin is tattooed in the pattern of a jaguar. Konrad consults the other adults.
Before long, the opening music blasts throughout the city. "This will be the first time potential sponsors get a good look at you," Konrad says just as massive oak doors open to reveal the crowd-lined streets beyond. "Make a good impression out there. Remember; all of Panem will be watching."
District 1 is the first through the door and the crowd erupts in madness. They have always been a favourite of the Capitol.
The next chariot to enter the city belongs to that of District 2. Between the blaring music and thunderous roar of the crowd, my eardrums throb painfully, as more and more chariots are driven forward by their horses. So well trained are they that the horses require no rider to guide them on their way. A sudden jerk indicates that we are moving and sure enough we come into full view of the entire country. For the most part the applause does not dwindle as I was expecting it to upon our appearance. That means little and less, though, as a look at one of the many enormous screens placed around the city reveals my worst fear. They rarely show District 12 but rather focus on all those ahead of us. Evelyn doesn't let that deter her. The little girl waves wildly and smiles broadly to those few who spare a glimpse at us. I curiously eye the heartless, deplorable audience and allow a more restrained one-handed wave and the tiniest hint of a smile. It won't do for potential sponsors to know how much one truly despises them. Evelyn and I seem to have a better grip on controlling our emotions than the other two, who couldn't appear more awkward even if they tried.
Our coal-black horses turn a curve and suddenly the City Circle comes into view. Has it been twenty minutes already? The chariots strategically line the loop forming the Circle, where the windows of the surrounding buildings are reserved for only the most prestigious Capitol citizens. The president's mansion is where all the chariots are facing as the music diminishes into relative silence.
President Snow formally and officially welcomes this year's tributes to the Quell from his balcony. During his speech, it's traditional for the screens to cut to each tribute chariot. Predictably District 12 scarcely has any screen time. The national anthem plays at the conclusion of the speech and the horses take us one final lap around the City Circle before leading the chariots to our temporary home until the launch of the Games.
The doors of the Training Centre closes after our chariot arrives last, the other tributes already making their way to the elevators that will take them to their floors. Our escort and mentor are there and lead us to the elevators. We get an elevator to ourselves being the last to arrive, for which I am eternally gratified.
Wendy explains that all that is required to make the elevator move is to press the number of the district you are from. "And seeing as how you're from District 12, we get to stay on the top floor!" she adds with insufferable enthusiasm.
I ignore her and focus on the glass walls of the elevator. Looking down, the ground floor and the people there become smaller and smaller as we go higher and higher up.
Once on the twelfth floor we are shown our sleeping quarters. As can be expected of the Capitol, the new rooms are huge and lavishly furnished. A massive wardrobe of wooden oak stands off to one side of the room with a matching vanity table next to it. The shower has baby blue tiled walls on two sides, one clear side of glass, and a sliding door also made of glass. Inside the shower there are numerous bottles of different colours each labelled 'shampoo', 'conditioner', 'moisturiser', and 'soap'; each with different scents ranging from fruits to the synthetic. There is a gun-shaped inanimate object labelled 'blow-drier' which supposedly dries wet hair in virtually a second. The towels are of the softest quality and kept on a constantly heated towel rack. There is a menu list next to which a black shiny phone is placed which automatically connects to room service. I decide to try out the shower and wound up using coconut-scented soap.
After wiping off all evidence of the opening ceremonies I dress just as Wendy summons us for supper.
The table is big enough to seat twice our number which is just as well seeing as our stylists are to join us. Once everyone is at the table an unnervingly silent man in a white tunic comes around offering each of us a glass of wine. I decline the offer and instead pour myself a glass of a bubbling black soda Alex labelled Coke, listening to the praise Wendy is showering the stylists on our costumes. Dinner is served by silent young men and women, all wearing white tunics, in a blur of pumpkin soup, spicy chicken stew, buffalo mozzarella lasagne, apple berry crumble, and cookie and cream flavoured ice cream.
Supper is mainly uneventful until Evelyn took it upon herself to ask one of the younger severing women what her name is after first introducing herself. The woman looks at her with dull lifeless eyes before turning them to the adults at the table.
"Don't waste time talking to an Avox, Lyn," Evelyn's stylist says. "They've had their tongue removed for committing certain crimes. They shouldn't be spoken to unless it's to give a command." And on that note we finish supper before being led into a sitting room where the rerun of the opening ceremonies is televised. The only real conversation transpires between the two seasoned stylists testing the knowledge of their trainees.
"What industry does District 7 specialise in?"Alex asks.
"Lumber and paper," Evelyn's stylist says without missing a beat.
"Excellent. What of District 10?"
"Livestock." This from Haymitch's stylist.
"Fantastic. And District 11?"
"Agriculture."
"Right again. And District 13?"
There was a moment's pause. "District 13 is gone. What does it matter what they specialised in fifty years ago?"
"Just answer the question," was the slightly impatient response of Adam's stylist.
"Nuclear technology; they used to mine graphite."
"No point in dwelling on the past. Let's look to the future. By which I mean tomorrow, when your first training session will begin," Wendy states exuberantly as the chariots on screen are moving towards the Training Centre. "Best get a good night's rest."
We take that as our cue to leave despite the adults making no attempt of getting up themselves.
Standing in front my door I notice Haymitch heading up a flight of stairs. His room is most definitely not up there. Wendy placed him in the bedchamber left of mine, with Evelyn on the right side. Shrugging it off, I push through my door and take off my shoes before changing into something more sleep-appropriate.
It feels like I've only just closed my eyes when it's time to get up for another day. Dragging my legs towards the bathroom I prepare to take a shower, stepping out of my clothes and choosing soaps that soon have my hair smelling of pear. Back in the bedroom, a thick blue shirt with a hood and three quarter black leggings are hanged in front of the wardrobe. I dress in those, tie my hair into a tight ponytail, and head to breakfast. Konrad and Haymitch are sitting with plates of food in front of them. Apart from their plates, the mahogany table is empty.
Konrad sees me first. "Maysilee, it's good to see you up so early. Help yourself to whatever looks appealing to you." He gestures towards a long table laden with no less than twenty different dishes, situated against a wall.
"Thanks, I will." Offering him a tiny smile, I accept a plate from an Avox standing beside the long table of food. French toast, bacon and eggs, hash browns, croissants, and a bowl of strawberries with melted chocolate for dipping are all placed on my plate before I return to the table. Haymitch eyes my plate with a glint of mild amusement. "There a particular reason the sight of my plate amuses you so?"
"No reason," he says, scooping the contents of a soft-boiled egg, "only I never realised you have quite the appetite until now." Is he mocking me?
"Eating is good. Look at her. She can afford to gain more weight. And so can you, come to think about it. You've seen how enormous some of your competitors are." Haymitch and I stare at Konrad, clinging to his every word, as he sips coffee.
I dip a strawberry and plop it into my mouth.
"What's your opinion regarding the opening ceremonies?" Konrad inhales thoughtfully, which is a bad sign.
"That bad?"
"No, I'm certain we were mesmerising," Haymitch intervenes with sarcasm, adding an eye roll for empathises.
Konrad clears his throat. "Evelyn did a miraculous job, for starters. Maysilee did acceptably. You boys, though, could have at least put in some effort. Give me something to work with here."
Soon Evelyn and then Adam join us for breakfast.
Konrad waits for everyone to settle and are fit to listen before making any announcements. "Come ten, Wendy will expect all of you at the elevators for training. And you should know she doesn't tolerate tardiness." That's an understatement.
"These next three days are all about training and survival skills," he continues. "The afternoon of the third day you are to perform in private for the Gamemakers. My advice for the time being is not to show the other tributes what your strengths are. Save that for the Gamemakers."
Afterwards there is still time before training begins and so I use that time for training on my own. The next hour is spent doing push-ups, dips, sit-ups, and other calisthenic exercises. Ten comes around sooner than I would like but seeing as training is imperative, there's nothing for it but to meet at the elevators at the designated time.
Once the elevator descends, the nerves come rushing at the prospect of facing the other tributes. It's all I can do to focus on my breathing.
In less than a minute, the elevator comes to an abrupt stop with a ding. And so begins day one of training, I think as the doors open.