Chapter 3

When he entered the dining compartment his stomach was rumbling furiously and the smells of all the food made him achingly ravenous. He could only make three quarters of his plate, being so used to the small portions of his usual mealtimes. The food was insanely rich for his stomach but the taste was beyond anything he could've ever described. He looked around at the tributes with huge appreciative grins on their faces, cheeks bulging with food. He couldn't help coming back to it, so deliciously irresistible and something he revelled in. He felt as though the food he'd consumed had changed him in a way that could have only been epicurean.

His mentor had said a few things to which he should probably have listened to, but ignored. He was too overcome from the recent experience he'd encountered, which he decided had already made his death a lot softer and easy to deal with. He thought then that his perspective would probably change once they arrived at the Capitol and he was absolutely right. When the train pulled up at the station and he stepped out, he was greeted by people behind barriers, the most bizarre looking mob he had ever seen. It was hard to believe they were human; some of them had tattoos all over their body and face, unnecessarily huge and precarious wigs, a few of them even had a completely different, extravagant colour of skin. They were clamouring, shouting, smiling at the tributes that walked past, obviously already entertained by their very presence. His startling physical appearance clearly portrayed his feelings in that moment, going back on everything he'd thought on the train. He felt angry at how the Games had clearly started already. He was the only one out of the tributes looking unimpressed and rageful. His mentor skipped past, her large fingernails scraping his shoulder.

'Look cheerful, Basil. You'll never get sponsors.'

'It's Bas.' He said resentfully, teeth gritted, and every word he said enunciated with infuriation. He felt exploited, exposed, uncomfortable. All the things he detested. His eyesight was trained explicitly on the path ahead of them, watching as other tributes reached for the audience's hands or waved at them excitedly. He was glad once they were out of their sight and he had time to calm down. The people of the Capitol had already annoyed him with their naïveté and joy. While the buildings were a sight to behold in all their dazzling beauty, his mood hadn't improved. The first thrills of being amidst such lavishing surroundings had dissipated to a disgust. Which was unusual for a District 1 tribute but he had been alive far longer than other people to know everything about this was wrong.

They were transported immediately to a place called the Remake Centre, in where he spent a considerable amount of time being remade. Hair was ripped off his body and the thin robe that had been wrapped round him was slowly becoming unravelled. Three highly ostentatious Capitol stylists flocked around him like hawks, pulling and scrubbing and tugging until he felt sore all over. They trilled their apologies but they didn't really matter. He was mostly just conscious of the fact these three women were circling his body and that he valued his privacy some more than others. One of them had appeared at his head, eyes rolling up just to catch the sight of long and wickedly sharp scissors. His panic soon turned to anger.

'No, no, no, no, no not the hair!'

'This one's a feisty one,' she grinned to her fellow stylists, then looked back down at him. 'No worries, every tribute keeps their hair as they want it.'

'Then what-' he was about to reply, but his head was smacked back down on the table and the scissors advanced near his eyebrows.

'Not them either!' He shouted, laughs coming all around at his request.

'You want to retain the image of an angry owl, do you?'

Coming from a woman whose hair was dyed electric blue and her own eyebrows were practically flying off her head. She looked like a rare type of skinned bird.

'I guess he wants to appear angry and brutal for the Games.' One of them said. Completely unintentional but whatever won him the right for his eyebrows, he was sure to go along.

'Fine.' The other sighed.

He wanted to be himself as much as possible, not the Capitol's own varied image of him.

They finally let him out of the uncomfortable seat and let him stand. Yet what came even more as a surprise to him was all of them taking off his robe so he stood completely naked. His eyebrows tightened ragingly as he took a few steps back from what only could have been described as his 'eager' stylists.

He felt self conscious and mildly embarrassed as they swarmed around him, clipping a few more hairs and neatening his whole body generally.

'He's certainly tough. A little skinnier than what we'd expect from One but it's probably come with age.'

He sighed impatiently as one of them circled round his thigh.

'Ooh yes, he has fine thighs to say the least.' She made an effort of trying to rid him of hair but he couldn't help wonder if they were dawdling just a little. It didn't seem much like they were doing anything but staring. He cautiously retrieved his robe from the floor, wrapping it right around himself. His chest was stinging and completely hairless, as was the rest of his body.

'You shouldn't do that, your stylist will want to inspect you, too.'

He grumbled but let go of the cloth, subconsciously playing with his signet ring to distract himself from how awkward he felt. It was anyone that could now come in now to gawk at his body and he felt somewhat violated. Finally she came in, just as flamboyant as the rest. The presence of too many women were starting to get him down and he wanted nothing more than to put some clothes on. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. She walked in a slow circle, like he was her viewing pleasure, stopping at some points but not saying a word. His expression only became further anguished.

'I'm sure I can make you up for the ceremony just fine.' She smiled.

'Good, now you've decided that, could I put my robe back on?'

'What a temper! Could go down really well with the crowd. Mean and lean, you are. We haven't had someone like you for years.'

'Good to know.' He said, uninvitingly picking up his robe again.

'Follow me.'

He was lead to a sitting room, where they talked over dinner about the design of dress for the opening ceremony. He really didn't want to be shown off again to so many people, he longed for another bed to retire to.

It was no time at all before he was fitted along with the rest of the tributes with glittering tunics that were itchy more than they were glamorous. Bejewelled jackets were thrown over them too and he stood at the back with the young tribute girl, whose name he couldn't remember.

'Remember, smile, wave, look cheerful. Anything to win over the sponsors!' Their stylist announced, staring deliberately at him. He snorted, turning his attention to the snowy white horses that were about to lead them out to the City Circle. He couldn't help noticing that the girl beside him was looking defiantly brave for such a small girl. He smiled a little at her before asking her name.

'Ashildr.' She said starkly.

He nodded, muttering to himself once the parade had begun and they were shunted along where everyone was in good view of him.

'I hate all these people watching me.' He muttered, looking around at the building and trying his best to ignore the roaring crowd. His image appeared on one of the flags, one by one, and it was clearly portraying a man of physical countenance. His impenetrable eyes glared ahead of him, to where Danny Pink was standing there in all his glory, thick skinned and strong demeanour waving at the crowd. What a prat. Bas turned his eyes to Ashildr, who stood at least a few heads shorter but was nonetheless making an impression.

'I hate these people too.' She agreed, although she was smiling and waving innocently and sweetly at the sponsors.

'Then why are you tolerating it?'

'I don't have an appearance like yours, I can't look as tough and angry as I am the way that you do. I like your approach but you should at least try to win over some sponsors.'

'I don't want to.'

'It could be the difference between life and death.' She said, turning to him.

He smiled just a fraction down at her. She seemed smart, wise, strong, for her age.

'I don't plan on living.'

She nodded understandingly, yet went back to charming the crowd. As the carriage came to an eventual stop in front of President Snow's mansion he briefly looked around him, at all the tributes of all the districts standing their either proud or shrewd. Some were even still addressing the crowd like they were the only part of the ceremony worth taking interest in. As he looked back a few carriages, he spotted one particular tribute with her arms crossed stubbornly over her chest and a look of pitying boredom, like she was unimpressed by everything she saw. After a moment he noticed the costumes they were in, all of them lit up like stars. She was easily the most beautiful one there but she didn't take pride in it like others did. He guessed by their get ups she was District 5. He couldn't take his eyes off her as she suddenly caught sight of him too. They stared and glared, feeling their gazes burn one another, directly in the eyes. A moments contact and as President Snow was about to begin, he turned his head to look up at him. While he made a speech about the special event taking place this year that was the Quarter Quell, somehow Bas was craning his neck just to get another look at her. She had peculiarly struck something within him, a level of understanding. He turned his attention back to Snow.

'In light of recent events, the rule this year about the age was unlimited, along with the extra twenty four tributes. This might possibly become one of the greatest Hunger Games ever seen. Be proud that you are all apart of this,' he said, in his sharp, clipped tone. 'and may the odds be ever in your favour.'

With that the carriages were led back to the stable of the Remake Centre, and as he climbed off he glimpsed the young woman leaking against her own carriage, trying to take off her costume. He watched her for a second, becoming even more oddly fascinated by her every second. He couldn't tell what it was but as soon as their eyes met again he felt it. Neither one of them looked away until it had turned into a silent game playing amongst everyone else moving toward the exit doors. She smiled a little once he had ultimately blinked and he couldn't help the corners of his mouth curling upward into a friendlier smirk. Eventually they were shuffled out with their own district's team and lost sight of each other. He couldn't help feeling like he'd just made a sort of negotiable ally.

They were led up to their apartments afterward in the Training Centre and rode the astounding elevator, to which was a pure crystal. He gasped slightly at how he could see everything below and around him. The ride was cut off extremely short however when they reached their room first. District 1. He almost wanted to ask his escort if they could go up all the way to the top. The only thought that ran through his mind when he saw their living quarters was how insanely huge it was. The beds were even nicer than the ones on the train, a carafe of water even standing by his bedside. He snorted. Water just didn't come as freely as it should back at home.

If he thought the bedrooms were big, the outstretch of the living room was massive, with fabric throws and puffed cushions. Some of the small chairs were even embedded with small rhinestones. He could only have imagined how much that would cost in a shop and the quality of the materials used.

Despite how incredible it all was there was still a sense of detainment in the atmosphere, the entry door having being shut profoundly behind them.

For the second time Bas washed his hair, feeling so much more natural than the wild makeover session he had received upon arriving. His whole body felt like it had been scrubbed clean of everything, his skin almost raw. His unkempt curls had gone flat but with drying they would be bouncier than ever. He'd never had a proper shower before, instead snuck out to the small woods and bathed in the lake.

Their escort told them supper would be served in a short while but he couldn't think of his stomach. He felt like he'd already eaten half a cow back on the train and the Remake Centre. Once again, he trailed to his temporary bedroom, most likely the last he would ever sleep in. He felt drained of all energy from the events today, especially being out in front of a crowd. He couldn't help thinking that despite his stature, he was a lot older than his other tributes and possibly the oldest one out of all of them. He wasn't as strong or vigilant or fast as he used to be and he couldn't help but feel that it would surely lead to an early downfall. In fact, if he had been reaped back in his youth he bet he could've won the Hunger Games. He would have been a lot more cheerful in both spirit and physical appearance and of course now he beheld a solemn face and attack eyebrows.

He thought once again of the girl, who had caught his attention immediately, but not the crowd's. Which confused him a lot. He yawned tiredly, desperately hoping to fall asleep rather than stay up all night contemplating the Games.

When his eyes subsequently closed and he drifted asleep his last thought was of home. He was leaving it behind having lived his life extended, and perhaps that was better than dying back in his district never having to know the grandeur of the Capitol. But then again, he was still infuriated by the Games and of the lives surely to be lost.