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If anyone can tell me the significance of the appearance of Gale's prep team, I will give brownie points out!
Embers Burning
"Up and at 'em, Gale! Today's going to be a big, big, big day!" rings the ever present voice of Effie Trinket, the first person on my official hit-list.
I groan and pull the covers over my face. I've never been in a bed this soft and warm (unless Posy climbs in with me) so I don't feel like wasting the experience. After all, in a few days I'll be sleeping on the cold, hard ground if I can last through the blood bath.
The Games slowly enter into my thoughts.
This isn't some frou-frou, paid for vacation, this is the Hunger Games. Where one goes to die. Especially if they're from District 12, because our Mentor is a drunk now convinced that he's being haunted by the ghosts of tributes past.
"Damn you, Haymitch," I growl under my breath.
"That's probably not the best thing to say to your mentor, because you've either been dreaming of me or thinking of me, and I don't know which is worse," the slurry, sloshy voice cracks through my thoughts like a whip. I sit up; yank the covers off of my face, and turn around to see Haymitch sitting in the bright pink chair next to my bed. The bottle in his hands is about a quarter full, and I'm pretty sure that it's his first of the morning.
I am temporarily at a loss of words at not only finding Haymitch in my room at seven thirty in the morning but also seeing him this close to sober. It must have been years since anyone has seen him in this great of a condition.
"What the hell are you doing in here, Haymitch?" I splutter; my shock evident.
"I wound up in Madge's cabin last night and she was shouting your name a bit too much for my liking, but I thought I'd pass on the message," Haymitch says casually.
I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a joke or not, so I decide not to respond and hope for the best.
"I'm joking, Gale. I'm sober and trying to make a connection with my tributes. Isn't that what you wanted?" Haymitch laughs a fake laugh that's he's probably used on Effie too many times to count, then ads under his breath, "last night?"
"First of all, you're not sober," I point out.
"Fine, I'm practically sober," Haymitch argues, and I can easily see where this conversation is headed. It looks a lot like a brick wall, only worse. I refuse to be brought to the level of arguing with my mentor as if he's five years old. I've done enough of that with Rory, Vick, and Posy over the years.
"Did you come in here for a reason or not, Haymitch?"
"Do you want me to lie about thinking up some important advice or do you want the truth?" he asks.
"The truth would be a nice change," I reply, trying not to roll my eyes.
"Fine, but just remember that you asked for it," he says.
"I will," I reply, already dreading this story.
"Let's see, last night you and Madge yelled at me a bit then went off to bed like good little tributes. I was in the living room feeling like shit, so I decided to head down to my room and find something to drink. I was kind of in the mood for some Vodka, but all that was left in my room was Sherry, so I stumbled in here looking for some and found it in that cabinet. I think I tried to leave after that, but the next thing I remember is waking up to you mumbling Madge's name in you sleep," Haymitch says the last part with an evil, elfish smirk and my cheeks turn red. I remember the dream I was having about Madge, and I would have preferred if no one had ever known about it.
"Look, it was nothing. I was just having a stress dream," I say, hoping to worm my way out of this.
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Panem," Haymitch rolls his eyes for emphasis before continuing, "look, Gale, I know your dad's never had the chance to give you this advice and your mom never had the time, so I'll tell you: Uptown girls don't go for the downtown guys, unless you're like Maxwell Everdeen and can apparently make those god damn birds shut up whenever you sing."
I'm shocked at Haymitch being actually almost… caring.
"Plus, at least one of you'll be dead in a few days," Haymitch adds.
I take back my thought about him being caring.
"How do you know about the uptown girl issue?" I challenge, mostly because I'm at a loss for what else to do and my cheeks are still pink.
Haymitch laughs again. It's not the fake laugh that he uses on Effie all the time. It doesn't feel like a happy, jovial laugh either. It's a dark, empty laugh used to hide painful memories.
"Maysilee..." he sighs almost dreamily, running his hand through his hair and staring off at some distant memory. "Maysilee…" he sighs again, and I now realize why having Madge here is probably making him drunker and crazier than usual.
"So you fell for the uptown girl?" I inquire, feeling a little triumphant.
Haymitch's head snaps around and he gives me a glare, but it soon softens to an expression of sadness.
"Yeah, I did. All it took was her popping up out of nowhere with that dart gun and before you knew it I felt like an even bigger, sappier, romantic fool than Peeta- freaking- Mellark looked like when he was sitting in that cave," Haymitch says.
"So is this why you drink yourself into a stupor every single day and night?" I ask
"Partially. Let's just say that I also managed to embarrass the Capitol and by the time I was done with my Victory Tour my mom, brother, and new girlfriend were all dead in a mysterious fire," Haymitch sighs and falls back into his chair.
So, not even the winners really win when it comes to the Hunger Games.
"Look, Gale, take my hint and try to separate yourself from Madge," Haymitch starts, but I feel the need to correct him about something.
"I never ever admitted that I'd been thinking about her like that," I defend.
Haymitch starts to laugh.
"Actually, you just did, Casanova, so my point still stands. Things never work out between the uptown girl and the Seam boy. Either one or both of you is going to end up dead or heart broken, even if we were just back in District 12."
I get to breakfast and Madge isn't there. I hate to admit it, but I'm completely relieved. I can only hope that Haymitch forgets our conversation and I forget that horrible- oh, who am I kidding? That was probably the best dream I've had in ages. But I'll never tell anyone, not Madge, or Effie, or especially Haymitch.
"Now, Gale, you know I told you not to be late for breakfast! Why, Madgeret has already finished and is off getting dressed for the day!" Effie scolds as I sit down. I want to point out that she's messed up Madge's name, combining her given name and nickname, but I don't because Haymitch is staring at me with that evil little smirk.
Instead I sit there and listen as Effie explains what will happen once we reach the Capitol and how excited she is to get there, especially now that she's got quite the reputation after Katniss and Peeta's show-mance last year. Even though we're not quite as exciting, two relatives and friends of tributes are bound to make quite the impact on the crowd.
It's going to be a long day, as if the clues hadn't already been staring me in the face.
I see Madge staring out of the giant glass window at the passing mountains. They make the ones surrounding district 12 look like hills, and I too, am fascinated by them. I come up to the window, and I feel Madge jump in shock. I guess that she didn't hear me coming.
"Oh, hi Gale," Madge says, breathing a little heavily. If it had been Katniss, she would have heard me coming in an instant. It's kind of nice to be able to sneak up on someone like that. I immediately shake the thought from my head and remind myself that Haymitch will never let me forget if I'm caught.
"They're pretty impressive, aren't they?" I say, gazing out the window, as we pass a small area of orangey looking rocks that remind me of fire.
"Yes. They make out mountains look like little hills. Effie said that we'll be there around eleven thirty and that most of the ride today is towards the north," Madge says, her eyes still fixated on the window and whatever she's managing to see through it.
"I'd better tell you that Haymitch says to just sit back and let your stylist do whatever they feel they need to do to you," I'm actually not making this up as an excuse to talk to Madge. Haymitch mentioned it over breakfast, and judging by the way that he's been acting around Madge, it's very clear that she's not going to be getting the best advice from our mentor.
"So I guess Haymitch is mentoring you and then you'll be passing the word along?" she asks. I must admit that she's pretty quick with picking up on these things.
"Yeah, it looks like it. He probably thinks that he's being haunted by the ghosts of tributes past," I attempt to joke, and it's really horrible, but suddenly we're laughing hysterically because there hasn't really been anything else to laugh about in the longest time.
We get off the train in a gigantic shining city: the Capitol. It looked like a bunch of those hard candies an old lady had once given Posy had been stuck together to form buildings and even people, in some cases. Effie's style was mild compared to their crazy alterations and accents.
"Gale, now is no time for gaping like a fish out of water! You need to meet your stylist," Effie scolds as she hurries me into a familiar looking building. I'm too overwhelmed and awed by everything around me to take much notice of what Effie, Madge, Haymitch are doing.
I see Madge being lead down a long hallway and I'm following her. Then Effie pushes Madge into one door and leads me to one further down the hallway. She swings the door open, whispers "good luck" in my ears, and then I am surrounded by the craziest looking assortment of people I have ever seen in my life.
Maraschino has unnaturally bright red hair that is fluffed into an awkward looking curl that I once saw on a chocolate drop Posy found outside of the candy store. Her eyes are electric blue accented with bright pink lashes the color of the bubble gum sticks Rory used to spend every extra penny he made off of his vegetable garden on.
Othello has dark skin accented with swirling white tattoos and little green diamonds that match his eyes. Unlike Maraschino, his eyes could possibly be natural, but since this is the capitol, I highly doubt it. He wears a strange looking medal on his shirt.
Ophelia is the final member of my prep team. She has long black hair and pale skin that look natural, however, her skin is covered in tattoos of flowers and there is a diamond flower (maybe rue, but I can't be sure as flowers were always Katniss's thing) encrusted with diamonds in her cheek.
I'm striped then waxed then scrubbed until I'm bright red. My prep team stands around me and continually squeals as if they've never seen anything as exciting in their lives. I have, and I hate them all for it. It's foolish- no, it's just stupid. There are children starving to death and all they care about are my "overly prominent" eyebrows.
"Look, now you're ready for Portia to start working on you!" Ophelia squeals.
So what the hell have they been doing all this time? Playing a game? I think, stunned.
They leave through a different door than the one I entered through and then my stylist walks in.
Portia.
I'm amazed by how normal she looks. She is naturally tall in the first place- and at least as tall as I am with her heels on- with long brown hair and dark skin. Not really olive like mine, but not quite as dark as the skin of the tributes from District 11. The only things that clearly mark her as a Capitol Citizen are her purple eyes, purple highlights, and the small, glittering flecks of purple implanted in her cheeks. I feel relived by this and also because I saw what Peeta Mellark wore last year and it wasn't half bad.
"Hello, Gale. I'm Portia, your stylist. This is my third year with District 12 and my tenth year overall styling for the games. Last year, Cinna and I decided that enough was enough and that we were going to ditch the typical coal mining get up in exchange for something edgier- more exciting. We're going to try that again, this year," she says as she walks around me, a hint of pride in her voice.
"Which Districts did you do before ours?" I ask, actually curious because I can compare her work from her previous years and think of my chances.
"I styled for District Two. I was in my final year of apprenticeship, but my mentor died just before the opening ceremonies and so I was left in charge as a test, almost. I knew Cinna because he started his apprenticeship a year before I became the stylist for District 2 and we had worked together on the Victory Tour outfits for Annie Cresta when her stylist became ill. It was part of Cinna's apprenticeship and I was his instructor. Then a few years ago, someone complained that I had gotten one of the best districts without ever paying my dues, so I volunteered to take the boy from 12. It was too late to really get my ideas heard, but the Cinna came along last year when old Claudius finally retired and now here we are," Portia explains to me.
I think back and I begin to remember Claudius. It was always miners except for the one year with the coal dust and almost nothing else. That one had been embarrassing, but at least it had been different than the same old horrible miner outfits. Then I start to think about the outfits for District 2. They had always been good for just about as long as I could remember. They'd had two victors in the seven years Portia's styled them, I realize. And she and Cinna almost broke District 12's curse last year when Katniss became the girl on fire. I know that I'm in good hands and yet there's something about Portia that throws me off.
"So you got stuck with District 12 after getting the best district for years?" I ask suspiciously.
She looks at me and I can tell that she is wary but also seems to understand my angry feelings of resentment towards her. After all, she went from the best of the best to the bottom of the bucket and didn't really have a choice in the matter.
"Gale, I became a stylist because I thought that if my tributes stood out at the opening cerimonies, they might have a fighting chance to get sponsors. It doesn't matter what you look like if you're a career; I could have put them in your miner outfits for every single appearance and the still would have won the games and the sponsors. But 12… you've never really stood a chance, you know," she ends thoughtfully and I suddenly feel much more trusting towards her. It's weird.
"Subtle yet startling" were Portia's exact words to my raised eyebrows.
"Glowing and mysterious" were what Cinna had yelled through the door when I'd asked.
Portia looked at me with such pride that I was almost scared of what would happen if something managed to go horribly wrong. I knew, of course, that we would be safe from the embers, but even in the chariot I still couldn't shake the fear that we would somehow get burned to death before the games even started.
Mart from 4 is a much bigger threat, I reminded myself. Standing here, I felt even more afraid of him than I had while watching the recaps of the reapings. Now I knew how huge he really was. And I could tell which others would be threats.
The girl from District 7 (though I hate to admit it) makes me uneasy. I remember that girl from about six or seven years ago- Johanna, I think it was- and how she played the crowd and other tributes into thinking she was weak and frail. This girl looks like Johanna did after she showed her true colors.
The girl from 4 looks tiny compared to Mart. He's been eyeing her with disdain, probably because she's not as strong as he is and he believes that he will win with almost no effort. She looks like she feels the same way. Even though 4 has a reputation for having careers, it's nowhere near the level of District 1 and especially 2. This girl looks like one of the girls that thought someone else would volunteer for her, but it looks like there were no takers.
I sigh and decide to quit observing. I only end up going on tangents against the Capitol and the Games. It sounds strange, but I can't wait for Madge to get here. It feels weird sitting on this chariot all alone just watching the other tributes.
Out of nowhere she seems to materialize at my side, breathing heavily. I make out words and it sounds like Cinna was explaining how to work out costumes. I also catch the words "plug", "switch", and "extension cord" as she pulls herself onto the chariot.
Her skin is still pink, I notice, and her hair is braided up to look almost like a crown. Cinna has left her freckles uncovered by foundation and I see that her angle is going to be the sweet, innocent, maybe even naïve, girl out to just do her best. I've seen it play out many times but it's only worked a few that I know of.
"How's Cinna?" I ask, trying to start some sort of conversation instead of continuing to sweat through this incredibly awkward silence. She looks surprised, but she hasn't been here for the past fifteen minutes just watching.
"He's nice and very smart about this whole thing. What about Portia? I heard that she used to be with District 2," she asks.
"I guess she's like Cinna, only prouder and with more experience," I finally answer.
We sit there for a little while more, each of us still completely miserable with our situation. Finally the chariot carrying the tributes from District 1 pulls out of the gates and we climb up onto ours. I get up first and then lean over to help Madge up when she's done plugging in our costumes.
"Thanks, Gale," she mumbles, but I am too shocked by how she looks to respond.
It's almost like staring at a fire pit, only after the fare has died down to the point where it is almost out.
We look like we are covered in glowing embers.
And Madge has never looked prettier, an annoying voice in my head sighs.
Shut up! I try to argue, she'd look pretty in anything!
And I'm slipping down the same slope that Haymitch found me at the bottom of this morning as we ride out into the shocked cheers of yet another crowd thrilled with the startling, fiery tributes of District 12.
This might be the longest chapter I've ever written. I feel really proud, actually.
Well, please take a minute to review!