Chapter 6: The Capitol (Part 1)

I wasn't allowed to see much of the Capitol. Just a couple streets filled with dramatically dressed citizens.

The training center was big; intimidating so. Orpheus and I went into the elevator and up to the eighth floor. It opened up to an apartment style place I'm sure will never exist back home in District 8.

Leather couches, white walls, dark brown wood floors, red carpets strewn about rather haphazardly, paintings decorating the walls. A flat screen TV was mounted to the wall and turned off.

Orpheus looked around, and took a deep sigh. "This is…"

"Amazing?" I suggested.

"The Capitol," he finished, looking at me as if I was crazy. "This is one of the few places you're going to be allowed to see."

And I was pulled back to reality. My brief thoughts of glamour and happiness were yanked away, but still dangling in front of my face.

"Right…"

Nixon and Marcus came in from wherever they'd been; the former looking rather pissed off. Orpheus looked at the escort, but I had no idea what kind of silent exchange went between them.

"The two of you are supposed to meet with your stylists soon, or whenever they decide it's convenient for them to show up." Marcus explained. "When you're meeting with them, Orpheus and I should-"

"We should let the two of them get acquainted now, and we'll start our discussion now." My mentor told him.

I sat down on the couch, almost afraid that someone would start yelling. Probably at me, too. It'd been easy for my grandmother to do that for no reason.

"All right then," Marcus said, and then sighed. "To the rooftop for some privacy?" he asked.

"Fine," the two went back into the elevator, leaving me alone with Nixon.

Silence hung between us. I drew my knees up to my chin, feeling vulnerable with the two men gone. Vulnerable, alone, and stupid.

"So, are you bi-polar or something? Don't like talking if they aren't around?" Nixon asked me.

I looked at him, feeling something start to uncoil in me; anger. Like a viper, I nearly felt the urge to pounce on him. But I stayed coiled up, waiting for a better time.

"My guess is that they're both using you, eh? Don't like the boys in District 8? Not good enough for you?" He continued on, and I began to tune them out.

Using me? They're helping me. He needs to just shut up. I'm not asking much.

The elevator doors opened, and I hoped to see Marcus and Orpheus; there to save me from Nixon. But it was two people who I'd seen on TV before—the stylists.

The man had wavy purple hair, shocking green eyes, not to mention porcelain skin that was paler than mine. His lips were normal; compared to last year when they'd been a dark purple. I couldn't remember what District he'd been for, I think it'd been 8, but it could've been 12…

The woman was…

I swallowed as I remembered.

She had been Orpheus's stylist. They still occasionally did interviews together. She had short, pixie blonde hair with streaks of grey and orange. Her skin was tan and she had soft red lipstick on. Her eyes were a soft grey.

I stared at her, and I felt my mouth opening slightly. She was so beautiful…

She had on a red shirt that rested right above her belly button, and over that was a cropped pink silk jacket with bell sleeves. She had on grey denim short shorts and white lace up boots to her knees. In addition, she also had several pieces of jewelry and a large white crossbody.

"Bonjour!" she said as she walked in. "Je m'appelle Blair, et il appelle Thomas." She told us.

She'd lost me at 'Bonjour.'

"I'm Cleo," I told her, standing up and extending my hand.

She smiled at me. "I've heard a lot about you already," her voice was singsong and sweet. "In case you didn't catch it, my name is Blair." She re-introduced herself.

"Oh," was the only intelligible-ish syllable to fall from my lips.

Just at that moment, Orpheus and Marcus stepped out from the elevator. I almost fainted from the pure elation that I would not be struggling to hold up my end of a conversation.

That quickly disappeared when I realized the two had been arguing about something.

Orpheus was staring at the ground till he'd bumped into Blair, having been completely oblivious to her being here. He looked up at the woman who had now turned around.

"Blair?" he clearly hadn't known that it would be her that was one of our stylists.

"Hey," she said, placing her hand on the back of the couch. "Ever heard of keeping in touch?" She asked, cocking her head slightly.

"I… ah… Marcus! This is Blair," he said, pulling the escort by the arm.

Marcus glanced at me before giving his attention to Blair, shooting me a small smile. "Hello, I think we've met before; perhaps at one of my sister's parties?" He asked the stylist.

"Perhaps. Sorry for arriving late, but Thomas over there stayed out a bit too late and drank a bit too much." She explained.

Marcus glanced at Thomas. "Maybe this morning as well, eh?" He joked.

Blair smiled. "Possibly," she responded. "Shall we get to work?" She asked us. "I brought some sketches for the dress Cleopatra would wear for the interview." She opened her bag and pulled out a sketchbook.

Within a few minutes, I found myself sitting in next to Marcus, looking over his lap at all of Blair's sketches.

All of them were pretty, but a bit outrageous. I couldn't imagine myself in any of them…

"She is not wearing that one," Marcus said as Blair turned to the page to a dress with a slit starting at the top and ending at my hips. In the sketch, my cleavage seemed to narrowly avoid falling out.

"That one wasn't for her," Blair said, clearly flushed. She quickly moved to the next page. "This is my last one, and then we have to go to the drawing board." She told us.

I gasped at the sketch. The skirt was full ballroom style, then a leather corset that would lead up to a silk upper top. The three quarter sleeves would be fitted with lace at the end.

Marcus was silent for a moment, staring at it. "She'd…That'd be perfect," he said softly.

I wouldn't say 'perfect' but it was a great improvement. "Orpheus?" I said to my mentor.

He was looking at it, then looked up at me, and then finally at Blair. "It'd be good; you'd look great. We just have to finish it before the week is over. Would that even be possible?" he asked Blair.

She bit her lower lip for a moment. "It should be. If I get Cleopatra's measurements now, while the two of you are meeting with Thomas about Nixon, I should be able to start it tonight." She explained to us.

"Then it is a done deal?" Marcus asked her.

"Yeah, I'll just look for some accessories and we should be good." She told him.

"Great!" Marcus clapped his hands together. "We'll talk with Thomas now, see what he has, if anything." He told Blair.

"Okay; Cleopatra, do you want to go get measured now?" She asked me.

"Sure," I felt so nervous still. She was nice, and hadn't given me a reason to think she wasn't, but I almost didn't want to leave both men behind, leaving me alone with Blair.

We walked across the living room and to a set of doors that slid open. Blair walked in first and gestured for me to come in. I obediently followed.

She produced a tape measure from her bag, and then took it off.

"If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can do this with your clothes on," she told me, sensing my hesitation.

I nodded my head, my voice suddenly failing me. I could feel the discomfort in it; a sign talking would be a poor choice.

She kneeled in front of me and put the top of the tape measure at my hip, and down to my foot. The next measurement was the inseam of leg, and then from my hips to my shoulders. Next, it was from my shoulder to the middle of my forearm, and then from the underside of my arm to the same place.

"There! All done," Blair told me, smiling. "You were so much easier than Orpheus! You know, he actually tried to attack the other stylist? Poor man could barely help the girl!" I noticed how she didn't say their names.

I thought back to Orpheus's nightmare, and how he'd cried out 'Virginia.' Had she been the other tribute from District 7?

I almost asked Blair, but the doors slid open and Marcus walked in. "We have to go to the Tribute dinner in an hour," Marcus told us. "Are you done?"

"Yeah, we just finished." Blair told him. "Should I help Cleopatra get changed?"

"Changed?" I asked them.

"The Tribute dinner is when all the tributes meet, along with their escorts and stylists. I guess the mentors as well this year." Marcus explained. "It's usually a sob filled affair."

I could tell that a yellow shirt and jeans wouldn't be the best of choices for that. I resigned myself to Blair's choice in clothes and her doing my hair.

I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn't look like Patrice from District 8, the old hag's granddaughter. I looked like Cleopatra Shaft, the Tribute from District 8 in the 13th Hunger Games.

As we walked out of my room, Blair went over to a patiently waiting Orpheus. Marcus came over to me, putting his arm around me. A comforting gesture.

His head bent down, his lips right next to my ear.

"You look beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you," my voice was a whisper as well; if I tried for anything louder, it'd be a rasp.

All six of us, Nixon, still in his same traveling clothes, with Thomas, went down the elevator, where a limo was waiting for us. We all got in, and I sat next to Marcus.

I out my head against his shoulder, breathing in his soothing herbal scent. His words still rang in my head as my eyes closed for a nap.

However much later, I woke up when Marcus gently shook me awake. "Little cub, we're at the hall." He told me.

I gulped.

It was time to meet the other tributes.

Author's Note: Wow, it feels like it's been a long time for this! Anyways, I wa kinda stuck in what I wanted to happen in this, but that's past and I should be good for a while! Please read and review, and until next time!

~HolleringHawk65