Chapter 6
"Come on, dearie. We're here to make you look extravagant, and we can do nothing with that messy look you have going on, with your tousled, District 12 Seam look; right now you look totally unappealing." Do they really think I care about how they think I look? I'm here to win the Games, not become a fashion icon. "…and we're going to give you that special, no-one can top it look…" Goodness, did they never stop that incessant chatter of theirs? I pity those who have to live with this scum in the nearby vicinity day in, day out. "Just get on with the official preparation then. You're here to make me, and I quote, 'extravagant'; nothing progresses if it's left to stagnate in favour of other ideals, idiots." The looks of surprise on their faces was evident, clearly they did not expect a tribute with backbone who had no care about what had happened or what was going to happen in their worthless lives. I scoffed. They probably had thought I would be a normal, plebeian tribute, who would have been comforted by their 'normalcy' before arriving in the arena. Yet, all this team did was serving to infuriate me. Oh, how I wish they were fellow tributes in these Games. I would have taken so much pleasure in hunting them down; knowing their every attempt of survival would be futile, that in the end they would have suffered greatly.
As afternoon approached, I was released from the vicinity of that idiotic prep-team, and entered into the hands of my stylist, Cinna, the male from last night. He smiled as I arrived, and gestured for me to lie down before he started. "So, Katniss, I take it you're prepared for your entry into the arena?" Supressing my instincts to take out a possible information leak, I sneered at him. "What makes you say I am ready? You have no knowledge of me, or my past." He chuckled. "You strike me as someone who will do anything and everything for glory, even murder. I believe you are ready, so we'll be looking towards victory. You'll be similar to Peeta, yet vastly different. Beautiful, a warrior, unique, strong, victorious. Blue, black, purple and crimson. Dark and elegant. The Girl on Fire." I raised an eyebrow; so he was actually competent. Maybe he'd give us a good costume this year.
Fire licked at the end of the braid, and curled around my back. The flames were different; they had a life of their own; blue, black, purple and crimson tongues of fire. Teamed with the dark blues and purples hidden within the blackness of the costume, I saw the truth in the stylist's statement; I was the Girl on Fire, ready to consume those who stood in my way.
The peacekeepers stationed outside my rooms led Cinna and myself down towards the bottom of the Remake Centre; this was where we entered to win the hearts of the Capitol. The other tributes were already filling the stables, whispering to their mentors about how they were to enthral those watching. Yet, once we entered the whispers ceased; perhaps because for one time we weren't dressed as coal miners but rather the coal, ready to be lit alight.
Mellark arrived seconds later, dressed in nearly the exact same outfit, though whereas I had darkness floating around me, he was in loose terms the epitome of light, with warm reds and yellows snaking through the leather of his costume. The look on his face, however, was weakness. Pure weakness. So little Loverboy was scared about being set of fire? How much fun I could have with that information. My dark thoughts were interrupted when Cinna gestured for me to climb into the chariot, led by the coal black horses. Following his instructions, I stepped onto the ledge, with Mellark hunched beside me. "Stand straight you fool. How will I be adored when I have a weak willed boy accompanying me? And stop fidgeting; I grow impatient of your constant moving." He flinched. "And I repeat; you're weak, and unworthy to be standing here, near those who actually wish to compete in a way which honours them, no matter whether they become the victor or die." This time he shuddered and inched towards the side of the chariot. I smirked, I will enjoy his death. During our little conversation, the other districts had set off in their own chariots.
Cinna flitted up to us, and ignited my costume whilst his fellow stylist did the same to Mellark. I could feel the sensation of the flames curling their way up my back, weaving through my braid and illuminating my face, bringing out the darkness I emitted.
"Hold hands." I turned to see Cinna crouching by my side. "Hold hands. The crowds will love you even more." I gave the slightest shake of my head, watching as the flames circling my hair flicked towards Mellark. "No. I refuse to be seen as someone who cares for an idiotic boy who cries at the slightest touch. I refuse to be seen caring for him, when he will be one of the ones to die." Cinna shook his head. "Just play it cool and win over those crowds then. Don't start a fight just yet, and remember. Shine. Make them adore you. Be unforgettable" I nodded abruptly, as the chariot started rolling and District 12 was announced. The stylist slipped down from the ledge before he was trapped in the moving cart. The music blasted into my ears as we rolled through the doors to the city; the whole city was suddenly quiet, no one chanting the name of any districts or tributes. One lone voice shouted "District 12" and the streets erupted with shouts of our names; though noticeably mine was chanted more and more frequently as I twirled in the chariot, sending the dark flames swirling around me, rising towards the roof.
The overhead screens were focussed solely on our faces, my smirk filling the screen as I played the crowds, in contrast to Mellark's pettiness and weakness, blushing as he gave a slight wave. A rose was thrown in my general direction and so I caught it in one hand, placing it in the centre of the band running across my skull, blazing with the purple fire. Some tendrils of fire wormed their way around the rose, and for the first time in the presence of the crowds I let a full blown smile spread across my face instead of my usual smirk, as I basked in the adoration and atmosphere of the crowds.
No one here would forget my name after tonight. No matter the outcome of the Games, they will always remember me. Remember my face, my name, my hunger for honour and praise and glory. My hunger for the Hunger Games. Me. Katniss. The Girl on Fire. The girl who ignited the Games in a way never seen before. I gave one last twirl as the chariot came to a shuddering halt, joining those of the other districts, standing before the mansion of the President of the Capitol and of Panem. President Snow. I smirked as the anthem played. Still the attention had not faded from the beauty of the flames; my own were blazing in a furious combination of blacks and blues, crimsons and purples. To the roar of the crowds, in the aftermath of the silence caused by the speech spoken by the President welcoming us to the Games, the chariots gave a jolt as they moved off in the direction of the Training Centre. I looked behind as my chariot moved on, for once giving a soft smile as I heard the cheers of the crowd. It quickly faded into a smirk; if this was their reaction now to the Girl on Fire, how would they feel when I set alight the arena in a blaze of destruction and death, in a quest for victory, survival and most importantly the glory and honour offered.
We dismounted from the chariot as the doors closed, sending the floor into darkness until candles flickered and started to burn, casting tendrils of light dancing across the room. Mellark hesitated beside me. "They're all angry at us. We stole their glory tonight. Please, don't enrage them further Katniss." I turned. "And why don't you shut up Loverboy? You really do believe I care about your opinion. Newsflash: Leave. Me. Alone. And whilst you're at it, why don't you go and cower in the corner over there like a good little puppy dog, and leave the socializing and winning to me." Mellark was so weak, it was pathetic. Behind me, District 2 started clapping. I smirked. Leaving Mellark by the chariot, I strolled over to the careers. "Well 12, you sure know how to give a 5 star performance."
I gave a mocking bow. "Why, thank you Clove. I'm sure the real performance starts in the arena though, don't you? For that's where dreams are conjured, fought for and made or lost, don't you agree?" We locked eyes; both mouths turning up into a smirk. The other careers looked on, watching the outcome of the subtle power play. "Well, then, Katniss, why don't you join us for training tomorrow. We'll see what you are made of then." Clove looked towards Cato for confirmation. So, it seemed he was the default leader of this year of careers; he would have to obviously be the strongest, fastest, smartest and most malicious to be leader, otherwise they would not look up to him automatically for each power play and statement they make. Now I knew the fellow tribute I would have to combat for leadership and default allegiance of the careers; Cato Hadley.
I looked on as the careers, specifically Clove and Cato, were dragged away by their mentors, speaking in furious whispers with the occasional glance back. I smirked. The mentors had no desire for me to be acknowledged, it seemed. Too bad the careers have interested me, especially District 2. They knew power plays. And they surely knew weaponry. Oh, how much fun I would have fighting alongside them; for it seemed Clove shared my spirit for battle. But, I would have to wait for training to know my position. I vaguely registered the drunk berating me for 'fraternising with the enemy'. I sneered. "And your opinion matters to me? I shall work with who I myself desire to work with. I will win these Games on my own terms, with my own knowledge and alliances. So, drunk. Shut it, and run away to your loyal little puppy dog." I stalked off towards the elevators, slipping in before it was sealed off. Leaning back against the wall, I let my eyes close, letting the silence wash over me. There was no way I'd be co-operating with the drunk and Mellark. My stylist had already realized that; he knew I had no care for them, that they were worthless to me, mixed in with the scum I despised. It was represented in my costume he had designed, where the darkness radiated through the night.
I pushed off the wall as the elevator came to floor 12, and strolled forward into my rooms. The following day would be interesting. That, I would ensure.
The morning light trailed through the closed curtains, bouncing off the walls. Training day number 1. So this day I would make my alliance with the careers. And ignore the pathetic 'advice' given to me by the rest of my entourage. For really, if the skills you have, give you a higher chance of survival and prey if seen by others, why supress them? It was idiotic advice, and was sure to get Mellark killed. Though, I would ensure that his death was by my hand. He deserved nothing less than the death I would give him, slowly destroying every glimmer of hope of survival he could see, watching as he ran trying to hide, hunting him down step by step.
I glided through the doors to the dining room inside the floor. No one was awake; how easy would it be to kill them all now. Yet, that would mean no fun for me. Preparing a slight meal, I sat at the table waiting for the idiots to wake. Legs up, hands behind my neck, a couple of knives thrown at the sideboard. Almost an hour passed before any noise could be heard, disturbing the silence I had come to revere. It was akin to what I imagined the silence to be when all others were dead in the midst of the arena. Finally someone emerged through the doors. Mellark. It had been over an hour since I awoke, and more than 50 opportunities had passed where I could have killed each of them in turn. How I despised the rule for morning training; no tribute was allowed to emerge from their floor without the company of their fellow District tribute and entourage before the training session in the morning; a rule implemented to hinder the tributes who desired to kill their opposition before the official start to the Games within the arena. "Puppy dog, hurry yourself up. We now have officially less than an hour till the start of training, and I wish to meet with the tributes before that. Or do you rather they all viewed you as lacking neither the initiative nor the attitude required to survive?" He flinched. I heard the whispered sorry as I stalked back into my rooms. How pathetic.
The time finally came for training. I flew down the stairs, a maniacal grin spreading across my face. 10 minutes before the due time I arrived in the training suite. The weapons were so enticing, yet we were all forbidden from handling anything before training started. Instead I ignored District 12 as they futilely attempted to catch my attention, and headed towards 2. "Well, well, well. Female 12 has decided to stray into the nearby vicinity. How sweet." Enobaria. One of the mentors from 2; famous for volunteering for the 62nd Hunger Games as soon as she was eligible to compete, and for ripping out another tribute's throat with her teeth. One of the few tributes that were actually worthy of being remembered; her skill and brutality were qualities I admired. "Enobaria. I'm quite sure your female tribute, and therefore your male also, has invited myself to join the other inevitably more skilled tributes in training today. Maybe we could spar, with no limit on weapons, one day? I would love to learn from a victor who has no qualms about doing what must be done to win." She raised an eyebrow, baring her teeth. "A 12 with a backbone. Cato; Clove. You must let her train with you. I looked forward to hearing how you fare, 12." I smirked. Was this approval from one of my more revered victors?
My eyes locked with Clove's; she gestured towards the circle of tributes, each of whom were watching our little conversation avidly, Mellark frowning. We ambled slowly towards the competition, each scouting out or reaffirming potential threats or allies. The tributes from 11 looked as if together, in the right situation they could win if my assumptions were correct, with the girl's possible cunning and the boy's strength. Once more, the girl from 5, Sorcha, was classified as a threat; "Female 5, watch out," and I received a nod in reply. Clove must have seen the same danger she emitted as I had. "District 3, potential threat or ally. Female 4, weaponry, knives; not social." Once more I relayed information to Clove, and received a nod of affirmation in reply.
We took our places within the circle of tributes, Clove on my immediate right and Marvel on the left. Each tribute's training outfit was designed in accordance to their district and personality by their stylist; my own was eerily similar to the costume from the opening ceremony, purples, blues, blacks and crimsons flickering through the leather. Atala started to speak.
"Welcome to the training centre, tributes of the 74th annual Hunger Games."
