Bring on the Reviews, guys! Hope you enjoy this chapter c:

I was constantly being reminded that being a Snow made me no different from any other tribute.

Shortly after our arrival at the training center, we hadn't even walked twenty feet into the lobby when a group of Peacekeepers came for me. Confused, I stepped back cautiously, then scampered faster, bumping into Demetrius. I turn to see that another group of peacekeepers has assembled beside Demetrius. One of the peacekeepers on my side grabs my arm brusquely. Another follows the same action and grabs my other arm. I begin to panic and I turn to Cornelia, eyes wide. She cleared her throat and stomped- well, scampered - towards me.

"Excuse me!" She cried indignantly, standing between her tributes. "Must we be so brash?"

One of the peacekeepers, a surly man with dark brown eyes and thick lips on my right spoke up.

"They told us if they resist, we use force."

I scoff.

"Resisting? You're making me panic, is what I'm doing."

The tight around my arms tighten. Demetrius grunts, trying to shake off the peacekeeper. Cornelia is at a loss for words. Cashmere and Gloss come behind and command them to let us go.

"But Miss-"

"They're just scared," Gloss interjects, "If you let them go, they'll follow you with no problem."

They let us fall. After this hold-up, they begin to walk us to the elevator, me going right and Demetrius left. I choose to ask one of the peacekeepers on my lower left flank a question. WIth her small frame and ponytail trailing down her shoulder under her helmet and soft green eyes, she seemed approachable.

"Um- where are you taking us?"

Startled, the peacekeeper exchanges looks with another guard, then blinks quickly as she replies with a husky voice, "To the Remake Level below."

"Remake?"

"Quiet!" The surly peacekeeper shouts. I jump and continue on with them, reaching the elevator. We go down several floors, besides the fact that we were already on ground floor when we had arrived. When we arrive, I see a long hallway with rooms of concrete that looked like cells. Three peacekeepers left us as two motioned me forward. We stopped at the cell door that was marked "1: Female" and I was pushed in. Before they closed the door, the nice female peacekeeper came in and motioned to the clear and fluorescent hovering table in the middle. On it was a robe.

"Please undress and be prepared for your stylists. Your head stylist will come to see you when you are completed."

"Undress? Like naked? What-"

The door slammed behind her. I stayed motionless, realizing I was shaking. A mechanic voice booms overhead, repeating my instructions.

"Please undress. Your stylists will meet you shortly. "

I gulped, and sat on a chair in the far corner. Trembling, I unlatch my gladiator sandals. Then I slide off my leggings. Finally, I pull off my dress. I turn to a mirror in front of the end of the table at the center. I see myself in my undergarments and blush.

When they said undress…to what degree?

As if to answer my question, the overhead speaker talks: "Remove all undergarments. Please undress. Your stylists will meet you shortly."

I bite my lip and stare at my physique, clenching my fists. Anticipating being naked, I survey my body. I was smaller than most girls my age, but still rather tall at five feet and six inches. I had average sized feet, with toned calves. I smile at this, because I know where they come from. I was in short- and long-distance running at my school. Of course, I only went to practices- I didn't and wasn't allowed to participate in meets and events. My arms were lanky, but still firm. My chest…I had to admit, it was pretty average. I thank the heavens that I wasn't as developed as the past two District One tributes - Glimmer and Rogue- because I know they'd play that card with the sponsors. My stomach was flat. All in all, I was a healthy tribute.

"Remove all under-"

"Alright!" I shouted exasperatedly, following their orders. The automated voice went silent.

In my robe, I lay on the table facing upwards, as the instructions told me to do so. My stylists had arrived, and had just told me to take off my robe. Shaking, I obliged, and seeing my discomfort, my three stylists chuckled. All female, they were.

"Don't worry, darlin'," the one closest to me assures, "There's nothing to be ashamed of. What happens here stays here."

I survey her as I nod meekly. She had sleek blonde hair with pink and orange and red tips, long at the front and short at the back. Her eyes were hazel purple, and had blue eyeliner with green feathery end lashes floating out of her eyes. Fully exposed now, I closed my eyes as they inspected me.

"She's not that bad-" A huskier voice remarked, "Just some touch-ups, evening out her skin, those nails, that acne- and that hair! New canvas!"

I opened my eyes to see another woman beside me, opposite of the one before, and I saw she was older. Her hair was up in an elegant beehive up-do, bright purple with streaks of blue swirling in and out of it. She had on pointed blue glasses. Her lipstick matched her hair. She winked as she twirled a strand of my hair.

"Well," another one behind me remarks, "Might as well get started. Cinna's going to want her as soon as she's done, and I have a feeling she'll be quicker than any other tribute."

I see her look down at me, her frizzy red bob falling over as well. With streaks of orange and yellow, it looks like fire on top of my face. She has flamed tattoos coming out of the edge of her eyes, and her eyeliner is silver with blue flares.

"…Wait did you just say Cinna?" I ask, sitting up. The one with flame red hair pulls me down to the table, and slaps on some gloves.

"Yes. He personally requested to have you this year," The one with blonde hair answers. She's mixing something in a hot container. "I mean, it was practically a war for you when the reaping lists were distributed. At least fifteen stylists wanted you. But Cinna beat them out." She smiles giddily as she mixes. In my mind, I see Katniss Everdeen's girl on fire dress, her interviews dress, and her final dress at the finale. I also see his Quarter Quell look for the picked tributes - last year's Quarter Quell consisted of mentors themselves picking a child from an academy to ensure equality to some extent- and I see his District Four creations, I flowing cape of artificial water, shells and a sandy dress for the interviews, and then her sea blue dress for the victory ceremony- the girl had been the victor.

"Cinna? The Cinna?" I ask again. I falter. "But- why me? I'm not amazing."

I let out the last sentence by accident. I didn't want to say that, but in my head, I wasn't that special. Sure, I could run, but only select courses. Sure, I could use a knife, but to the extent of a few practices with a trainer in sixth year and preschool training. Maybe messing around with a house knife as well, but that's all there was. I couldn't fight hand-to-hand combat. I was a career, by definition and to some extent, but I doubt I'd do well with them. It would just be a formality in my case.

"Now, now, Lillianne." The blonde one says, "Can I call you Lilly?"

I smile. "Sure."

"Oh, how rude! I haven't introduced myself. My name is Zafrina, and I am one of your stylists." The blonde says, waving around a brown brush and pieces of paper.

"I am Bienna, and I am also a stylist for you…Lilly." The one with purple hair says from a table with a large array of creams.

"The name's Venus," The one with red hair says with scissors in hand, "Stylist too."

I grin a bit as I get comfortable in my table. These ladies were very nice. Nothing like she'd imagined. Zafrina came over to my table and held a steaming pot of yellow cream with a stick coming out of it on one hand and a few long strips of paper in the other, also pulling a cart to her. "Ready?"

I sigh, then nod. She smooths over the warm cream and pats down the piece of cloth.

RIIIIPPPPPP!

"AHHHHHH!"