Haymitch and Effie walk us into the Training Center as far as the elevators. Even though we've only met a day ago, I find myself craving their odd company as I'm introduced to a strange colored hoard known as my styling teams.
A small woman, with blue tinted hair at the roots fading to yellow is the first to reach me. She introduces herself as Zia. Calix- naturally dark hair, but has a certain affinity for silver tattoos- and Ivo- a mousy man, with wispy purple hair and pointed cheek bones- are the other two helpers, and seem less exuberant than their female counterpart.
While I smile, trying to mentally prepare myself for whatever is about to come, when their hands begin grabbing at my clothing, forcefully helping me undress.
Ivo tsks, walking around me the same way Haymitch had. "You can always tell which tributes are from district 12," he continues, as they usher me to a large silver table. "The soot," he says, pointing out miniscule specs of dust caught in my nails- I thought I cleaned myself very thoroughly, but I must be mistaken. "We need to get you sparkling before Portia joins us."
"Okay, then. Let's do this," I agree, trying to sound convincing.
It works, and they smile at my enthusiasm, and continue to do so as they unleash a barrage of steaming water and gritty foam. I'm suffocating in soap, but I hold perfectly still, letting the scalding water clear most of it away.
The next phrase is removing the hair on my arms and chest. It seems unnecessary, but grit my teeth, breathing deeply right before each time Calix pulls a strip away. I don't have much body hair, but somehow, he keeps finding more and more to rid.
"Just a few more," he promises, in a sing-song voice.
"I'm good," I lie literally through my teeth, as another strip feels like it's ripped off more than some stray hairs.
I tell myself the worst is done, and torture wise, it is. They rub lotion all over my tingling body and I relax as the worst pains seem to subside.
"Phase one is done!" Zia trills, scuttling to my side. She hurriedly whips a bowl of white- I don't know what to call it, but it looks like overheated frosting. The smell, however, is a jarring mix of chemicals. "How are you doing? Not too hungry?"
I notice her glancing over me, like I'm a poor, malnourished child. "I'm fine," I say, lightly, but I can't help but wonder if they've ever seen one of the Seem children, or their equivalent.
"Great! Now it's all about fine tuning, so just sit back and relax. You won't even recognize yourself when we're done."
I smile anemically- how I hope that isn't true.
With a carefree laugh, Zia puts the foul smelling stuff in my hair. Once I get over the smell, I realize despite Zia's massaging fingers it irritates my scalp.
Don't resist, I begin chanting in my head when Ivo grabs one of my hands. I can't imagine what they're doing to Katniss. If they're playing with my nails, I wonder if she'll be sporting bedazzled claws like Effie.
After Zia rinses my hair, she pulls out scissors. As the trimmings drop to the ground, I catch a glimpse of its new color. They lightened it a tad, giving my hair sunnier tones.
"Do you shave yet?" Calix asks, trying to pry the lid off of a jar.
"No…?" I promised I wouldn't complain, but they're mixtures beginning to frighten me. I especially do not like the looks of the green goop in his hands.
He sighs, "Oh well. Better be safe than sorry." Once Zia is out of the way, Calix immediately goes to work slopping warm goo around my mouth to the hairline. Luckily, it doesn't smell as strong as the hair dye, but after a few minutes my skin feels warmer. Weirder. I can still feel the burning sensation even after the goo is removed.
"You're taking this pretty well," Calix notes. "Last year, the boy kept complaining because he didn't like the heat. Very annoying for an eighteen year old."
"But your fun to work with," Zia continues.
"Thanks." I'm taking that as the highest of compliments attainable. "I'm not having such a bad time myself," I say, even though I experienced more pain and torture in this Remake Center than ever before in my last sixteen years.
"I just can't stand it when the tributes won't let us help them." Ivo touches his cheek dramatically- he makes it seem like a great tragedy. "Everyone knows the better you look, the more sponsors line up. Just look at Blaze, Ruby, Finnick…"
"Oh! I heard from Mona that she has his tribute. I guess, that means she gets to meet Odair later," Zia swoons. "District Four usually has good lookers though. Oh! And District One, too."
"What do you think, Peeta?" Ivo asks.
I start- it's the first time I think they've used my name. "I don't know," I mutter.
Even though we've never missed a single game, I never try to remember the tributes afterwards. If you personally knew them, they become something of a taboo subject locked in your memories- but as hard as I try, sometimes it's too difficult to forget the ones who were particularly gruesome. Titus, Enobaria, Brutus…
"You look like a Naomi boy to me," Calix notes, joining Ivo with a pair of tweezers. He focuses on my eyebrows with a determined look. "Hold still for a moment."
"I'd say he's more of an Annie. Naomi was a bit…" Zia drifts off looking for the right word. "She was very smart, but I bet you like the quiet girls, right?"
I have no idea who they're talking about. "You're good."
After what they call their finishing touches, the trio leaves the room. My eyes scour the surroundings for any distraction, but there is none. With my prep team in the small space, I hadn't realized it was colorless and bare- it's an anomaly for the Capitol. Without their conversations to keep me focused, I become too tired to think of useful strategies to help win, but too distracted not to notice the glaring, obvious problem with this set up.
Portia and Cinna are the district 12 stylists- one male, one female- so why isn't Cinna mine? Personally I have no problem with nudity- it's embarrassing, but so is crying in front of cameras- sometimes you just have to grin and 'bare' it. My main concern is Katniss- it seems odd to me, and must be for her as well, to strip down in front of some of the opposite sex.
…Cinna is a man's name, right?
The door opens, and a young woman comes in. After meeting with my prep team, I imagined Portia to be a little crazier; a few tattoos, maybe a few body enhancement surgeries for the fun. She does have unnatural white blonde hair, and a certain flare for darkening her lips and eyes- but other than that, she's semi-normal. "Hello, I'm Portia."
"Hi-" I bite my tongue before I introduce myself- given the situation, it seems pretty ridiculous. I wouldn't be surprised if people were already placing all sorts of bets on my name. "Nice to meet you."
"It's an honor," she says professionally. Portia walks around me, nodding, sometimes narrowing her eyes. "How was earlier? Not too bad, right?" She stops directly in front of my face, grabbing at my chin. Her fingers trail along the outside of Haymitch's bruise.
"Yeah, not too bad. I can't ever remember feeling this clean." I might be missing some skin, but the amount I have left is floral scented and stinging.
"What happened? I didn't notice that during the Reaping."
"There was an accident on the train."
"You weren't fighting with the other tribute, were you?" she asks.
I laugh, "No." "It was nothing like that." The Capitol can think whatever they want, but the stylists wouldn't be inclined to keep it a secret from the gamemakers if that were true.
"Good." She sighs, smiling slightly. "That's good to hear. While we talk, would you like something to eat?"
Capitol food- "Yes."
She presses a button, and two dishes of white sauce covered noodles appear along with glasses filled with red juice, and purple melon slices. Portia doesn't bother with her own portion, seeming to enjoy watching me eat the same way Delly would marvel at the rare animals grazing just beyond the fence.
Back in District 12, seeing a turkey or a squirrel was one thing, but deer drew the big crowds. They were like the careers of nature, everyone enjoys seeing them, but their death is favored. Everyone rather see the underdogs, the small prey that too easily defeated, run free.
It's the same in the games. I have no idea where I stand on that chart, but if I want to have any shot at surviving, I can only pray Portia doesn't make me look too ridiculous tonight.
"Anyways," she begins after a few minutes, "later tonight, you will be going through the city. My partner, Cinna, and I have been working on your costumes for a while, and I think we have them just right. You see, we had a harder time with district 12, because our stylists have tried every angle of a coal miner they could imagine."
I wonder if this is the same speech they gave to the tributes that were paraded in the nude.
"So, tonight we'll be focusing on coal itself, rather than the people."
Yup. Definitely the same speech.
"What did he say?" she mutters to herself. Suddenly her eyes light up. "Peeta, what do you do with coal?"
I furrow my eyebrows. "Light it on fire…?"
"Exactly! That's what we'll be doing tonight."
"You're lighting me on fire?" I ask, trying to seem less terrified. Did Katniss agree to this? Does Haymitch know what these people are planning?
"Well, not quite. Cinna and I found a way to simulate it- so you shouldn't be burned. Also, this," she says, pulling out a black jumpsuit. "I think they're just perfect. Dark, deadly, and they won't take away from the main attraction."
A roasting boy and girl.
"You'll look amazing."
I nod, absent mindedly tossing strawberries into my mouth.
My prep team comes back into the room carrying different bags. Portia personally steps in only to apply make-up. Though I expected her to cover the bruise, she neglects the area almost entirely- Haymitch must have spoken to her. Either according to my mentor's instructions or of her own plan, the Capitol will see the burning, bruised baker of district twelve tonight.
Lastly, I slip into the black jumper, and pull on a pair of knee high boots. All I can say is, if Katniss is wearing the same thing she probably looks a whole lot better than I do. Never in my life have I ever worn anything this tight fitting, and I just feel awkward.
Portia stands behind me, with the same pleased look on her face.
I like my stylist, but only another man could possibly understand how uncomfortable this is. It makes me wonder if Katniss has the same problem with Cinna, only a little different. Maybe he went overboard with makeup, turning her into a creature you'd only find within the Capitol.
Portia walks up, adjusting the collar. "You look like you want to say something," she accuses.
I look down. "It's nothing important…" I wish I said, however, what came out of my mouth was, "I just was wondering why you chose to be my stylist." Haymitch is going to even up my cheeks tonight. Even to me that sounded a bit ungrateful.
The question catches her off guard, and it takes a moment for her to answer. "It's a long story, but I met Haymitch last year. In the end, Cinna and I asked for District 12, and I can't say I regret it."
I'm shocked. I didn't know Haymitch could be sober without striking deals. Portia and Cinna didn't need him as far as I know, so how in the world did he manage to enlist both?
"Is something wrong?" she asks.
I shake my head. "No. It's just I meant, mine personally, and not Katniss'? Or vice versa."
She raises her eyebrows. "Are you a shy one?"
"No," I laugh. Haven't I been sitting here nude and perfectly normal? "I sound stupid, don't I?"
"No, you don't. I chose you because my forte is men's wear; Cinna's is women's. As plain as that."
"That makes sense."
When I emerge, the trio bursts into cheers of joy. Zia and Calix, become overly emotional, and hug me before we leave to meet up with Katniss. Towards the elavators, three walk quickly ahead- I remind myself I shouldn't laugh, but the way they hustle away, looks like some weird birdlike dance.
The whole spectacle becomes worse when I see Katniss- her prep team seem just as high strung as mine, if not more. The six jumble together in an odd mix of color. Between the shrills and cackling laughter, it's hard to remember these brightly colored objects are people.
Katniss on the other hand looks so much the same, but simultaneously different. Her makeup makes her features look sharper, but still recognizable.
Suddenly, I can't wait to see what the fire looks like.
I almost miss her stylist, Cinna- the one who plans to set us aflame in front of Panem. If it weren't for the exuberant compliments I doubt I would have known he was part of the team. Plain, brown hair, simply dressed in black, and the most astounding fact- for any Capitol citizen- no makeup. Even more surprising, he seems happy enough to escape, as he leads the four of us into the elevator.
On the very lowest level of the Remake Center, the room is crowded with people filing around the horses.
I smile, watching other tributes prodded onto their chariots. District eleven's tributes are dressed in costume version of farmers' rags, but the difference in their size makes them seem even more ridiculous. Far down the line, I catch a glimpse of the boy from District Two is trying to regain whatever pride remains, leaning against the wall in a golden skirt. During the Reaping video, I was instantly worried about him- now pity doesn't even cover it.
When Portia zipped up this getup, I was mortified. Now, I can't complain- compared to other costumes this is the most tamed I have seen in years. Not to mention the most concealed either.
Our horses are coal black and surprisingly calm. I reach out a hand, touching the right ones neck before hopping onto the chariot.
I feel much taller after I step on- luckily most of the other districts are easily visible from my viewpoint. Back in Twelve, whenever the parade aired, Eban, Delly, and I would gather in front of the justice building. Though we knew it should be met with a sobering reminder that the majority were about to die, we couldn't help but laugh at the tributes' costumes.
Once I get my fill, I stand perfectly still, listening to the muted sound of the crowds cheering on the other side of the large stable doors.
Portia grabs me by the arms, gently tugging me to an angle. "You want to face the crowd- make sure they see your face," she says with a wink.
"What do you think?" Katniss asks warily, after our stylists left. Cinna needed one more consultation before they play with fire. The sick feeling in my stomach from earlier gets worse, when the mad genius himself doubts his creations safety. "About the fire?"
I breathe a sigh of relief- she's just as nervous as I am. "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine."
"Deal," she agrees. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle."
Speaking of which, I don't see him anywhere. "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"
She smirks. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame."
Our laughter is cut off as the music thunders over the speakers, and the doors begin to open. Far ahead the line begins moving forward into the streets. Lights shine down brightly illuminating the path and cheering crowds, though the skies above are dark.
District One- I can just make out their bright pink headdresses- Two, Three, Four. Just as Eleven begins to move, Katniss gasps- it's only then I notice dancing behind us, and the flames flowing down her back. Other than the initial shock, she seems fine. Then Cinna jumps up onto the chariot, holding the flame to our headdresses. I resist the urge to cringe as he holds the flame closer and closer to my head.
"It works," Cinna says happily. He reaches over touching her chin gently. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"
He jumps down, and runs to the sidelines with Portia. There he begins shouting at us, pointing to his hand.
…Am I hearing him right?
"What's he saying?" Katniss asks, staring at me. Her green eyes look impossibly lighter- the simple makeup seems like artwork itself, drawing the lines of her cheeks higher, her eyes bolder. She's amazing.
I swallow. "I think he said for us to hold hands," I tell Katniss, grabbing hers before she can object.
The chariot rolls forward, and were engulfed into the city.
The screaming takes hold of all my senses, draining the fear I once felt. They love us. The twenty minute ride to City Center is a blur of "District 12" cheers and our faces projected onto large screens for everyone to see. Even though we appear to be on fire, the hand gripping to mine is the warmest thing.
I smile proudly, hoping that Eban is watching right now.
The screens are dragged away from the other districts, focusing on us. The fire illuminates our path, and the audience is in awe. Katniss, the girl on fire. People throw roses, reaching towards us. Katniss shines in the fire light, her excited eyes the brightest shade of green I have ever seen. From the corner of my eyes, I watch as she manages to snag one out of the air, and happily blows a kiss back to the sender.
She's won them over completely.
The chariots enter City Circle; I notice Snow in the distance, watching the twenty-four of us from his balcony. I've seen his stark white hair and deformed face, and heard his voice so many times, but it seems unreal to me. The games are really starting, and I'm really here. And so is Katniss.
It's easy to forget, dressed up in over the top outfits that at the end of the week, the fighting begins. Soon enough only one victor will remain, and I can only pray that it's me.
Katniss tries to slip her hand free, but I clutch it tighter.
"No, don't let go of me. Please," I say, trying to mask my pleading. She thinks of us as rivals- I know it- but for now I want to forget it all. "I might fall out of this thing."
"Okay," she smiles.
The horses make their final loop around the Circle, and pull up before the president's mansion, where the chariots come to a standstill. The same repetitive music cuts off with a flourish of trumpets.
President Snow steps forward, pausing as the crowd dies down. "Welcome, tributes," he finally says, before being broken off by another loud roar. "We welcome you." The screens flash pictures of each tribute, however, Katniss and I seem to be getting the lion's share of attention. "We wish you a happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor."
The nation anthem plays before the horses move again- once more around the City Circle and then back to the Training Center. As the night set in it became harder to see the others, and once again our faces dominated the screens.
Maybe it's only me, but the ride back seems so much shorter.
As soon as we pass the threshold of the Training Center, the doors close tightly behind us, but leave us in a whole other chaos. Our prep teams, Zia leading the charge, pounce on us with a gush of praises. Flames and all, we're trapped at their mercy until Portia and Cinna rush over.
"You were wonderful," Portia notes, detaching my flaming cape and headdress. Once both sets are off, she douses them with some sort of spray, instantly extinguishing the flames.
Katniss peels her hand away and begins to massage her fingers- my own feel brittle from her grip.
"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," I quickly amend.
"It didn't show," she promises me. "I'm sure no one noticed."
"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you." Face irradiated by firelight, waving, smiling, blowing kisses to screaming fans. She was radiant. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you," I say without thinking. It's too much, and even as I feel my face smiling, I can't look directly at her.
She doesn't say anything, but walks right up to me and presses her lips to my cheek.
…Why did she kiss my bruise?