Author's Note: I'm so sorry! I know I haven't updated in a while, and I suck. But exam reviews are eating away at my brain. Plus the weather has been so nice recently and I've developed a problem where all I want to do is tan. But the chapter is finally done for you all.
Enjoy!
Chapter Five
The last time I checked a clock, it was about two thirty. The preparation team got their hands on me at around ten and hasn't taken them off since. The moment I stepped off the train, before I had a chance to give a winning smile to the cameras, I was basically whisked off my feet by God-knows-who and pretty much dragged to God-knows-where for them to do God-knows-what to me. It all happened so fast that my mind is still trying to process it all. As of right now, the three outrageous-looking people in my prep team are circling me, like a predator around its prey. But it's not like they're intimidating or anything; they're too ridiculous looking to be taken seriously by me. The only thing that got me was that they're not only ridiculous to look at, but ridiculously thorough.
In District 2, beauty is prided almost as much as skill. Almost as if being beautiful is a skill. Both of my parents are exceptionally good looking, and I suppose I inherited some of that. But mostly, the beauty gene was soaked up by my older brothers. I – unfortunately – take after Grandma Rene, although I would never admit it aloud. Still, I like to take care of my appearance; a little more than one might think. It takes effort to make it look effortless. And it's almost offending how much work they have to do to me before I even get to see my stylist.
Most of the time was spent bathing me as if I hadn't been washed in my entire life. I've been soaked in about three different concoctions and have been washed down in just as many different mixtures. And apparently this "bathing" process needs to be done in repetition. The prep team apologizes somewhere in their babble, but it's hard to pick out. At first I attempt to keep up with their conversation in case there's something important for me to know. In time, I realize that there is no important information I should know from them. So, I fill my mind with other things to occupy me as they treat me as their doll. I think of things such as how grand my entrance will be, planning my interview angle, and trying to put the fragments together from a forgotten dream I had last night.
The ridiculous-looking-ridiculously-thorough prep team stands in front of me, seizing me up. I think part of the reason why they are so nitpicking of my appearing is because my skin isn't surgically dyed with poka-dots like – what was his name? – Victor. Or maybe it's because I don't have curly hair like Lotti that doesn't move even if she tried to give herself whiplash. It could be because Orion thought that my eyes aren't owl-like enough, like his. The morning was filled with their chatter, but suddenly, they went silent, just staring at me. Here I am, standing in front of strangers. Did I mention I'm stark naked?
Well, this isn't weird.
"…Um, can I put some clothes on?" I gingerly reach for the robe draped over the swivel chair in front one of the multiple mirrors. The mirrors aren't for my benefit.
Victor slaps at my hand and waves his finger at me. "Not just yet," he says in his surprisingly low voice.
I do my best not to scowl. I imagine doing something very violent but restrain myself. "But… it's kind of cold…"
"Don't worry," Lotti says in her shrilly, Capitol-accented voice. "Ilari should be here at any –" as she says minute, the door bursts opens and I feel a very cold, uncomfortable breeze. "See? Here she is!"
My stylist struts in front of me. It's kind of surprising to see how small she is; she's shorter than I am. That isn't accountable for her age, however. It's almost impossible to determine her age with her skin pulled back so tightly. Everything about her just jumps out to scare the crap out of you. Her hair was very distracting; dyed golden hair puffed out around her as if she were wearing a cloud on her head. Her clothes as well; while the prep team wore matching jumpsuits with specialized colors for each person, Ilari decided she wanted to wear something that looks to be straight out from a Capitol Culture magazine. That's not a good thing.
Before saying anything to me, she scans my body for any flaws my prep team may have missed. The three behind her shift uncomfortably, as if intimidated by this little woman. But oddly, I can relate. While the prep team examined me, I only felt mildly annoyed and uncomfortable. Ilari's eyes make me feel vulnerable.
Suddenly, Ilari claps her hands, making everyone else in the room jump out of their skin. Orion, Victor and Lotti immediately move to her side, straightening themselves up and looking as if they're preparing for a monster to emerge.
"Look at this girl," she says in her weird Capitol accent. It's a wonder how she's able to even speak without the risk of having her skin rip. She tilts me chin up with her finger even though she's already looking up at me. "What do you see?"
The prep team stumbles over each other for the correct answer. "A girl, a face, a tribute," they say all at once.
Ilari dismisses their answers as if they hadn't said anything. "I see a victor." Her tight lips curl into – what I suspect is – a smile. It's absolutely terrifying.
Despite her unsettling smile, Ilari's comment makes me swell with pride. "Thank you," I say airily.
Again, Ilari dismisses this comment. She pinches my cheek and looks at me wistfully. "I remember when I was the stylist for your grandmother like it was yesterday. It was invigorating to have such a fresh faced young girl after having so many duds before her."
If her appearance didn't confuse me enough about her age, that comment did the trick.
"Oh, yes. You are the splitting image of Reen's younger self, my dear." Great, just what I want to hear. "Now, in honor of that, you and that cute partner of yours will be dressed in the same costume as Reen's back in her year!"
That makes my eyes narrow. This was the Capitol's brilliant idea to draw attention to the family, whose odds are never in their favor, or Ilari is just a stupid, old, sentimental who has run out of ideas. But Ilari doesn't seem to be as intimidating as I had thought; in fact, she seems to be the standard, dimwitted Capitol citizen. That is fine with me, because that doesn't make her dangerous.
But that doesn't change the fact that I'm still naked.
"Can I put on some clothes?" I burst in the silence that followed. Honestly, does no one have any regard for nakedness around here?
"Hm?" Ilari already seems to have forgotten I'm here. "Ah, right, of course, Reen. We'll have lunch, also. All this work is making me hungry. Come now." She wanders off into the other room without waiting for a response, or realizing I'm not Reen.
The tension in the room dissolves and the prep team gives an audible sigh of relief. As I pull on my robe, I glance at them curiously. "Something wrong?"
Lotti ties the knot on the belt of my robe. "Oh, no, no," she said in her shrilly voice. She glances back at the boys nervously. Victor breaks first.
"That lady is just dreadful!" he gushes, the colored dots on his face pop out because of his suddenly pale face. "She may be a sweet old lady at first, but she's just horrid."
After this first outbreak, a rush of complaints burst so fast that I hardly have time to register each of them.
"…temperamental and…"
"She's a conniving…"
"…even remember my name…"
"…had more surgery than Caesar Flickerman…"
"…stole my idea about…"
"She ate all the rhinestones!"
Word of mouth in District 2 is that Ilari is legendary for being the stylist of nearly all of 2's victors in the past fifty years. But, from what I gather, Ilari is an old, two – or three – faced woman who keeps herself on top by destroying her competition. Huh. No wonder why she favors my grandmother. They must have gotten along famously.
Orion puts his big hands on my shoulders and looks at me with those unnaturally large eyes of his. "You be careful now, sweetie," he tells me earnestly. "You eat, make small talk, get dressed, and get the hell out of there."
I brush Orion away and wave my prep team away. "Don't worry, I can handle myself." I grin at them for their sake. "If I can handle being related to Reen, I can handle an old woman."
The other room is nothing too spectacular; just a white room with one side of entirely glass, a window looking out at the city. Ilari is already seated at the table and, without caring enough to wait for her guest, is eating what looks to be beige sauce with orange spots and red cherries on flat noodles. My mouth waters at the smell and I sit down across from her without thinking.
"Crab stew," Ilari says proudly, as if she herself had made it. "I specifically ordered it for us."
"That's nice," I say absently, filling up a plate.
"…That's nice? That's all you can say?" I glance up as her voice rises, bewildered at her growing anger. "This was your grandmother's favorite dish! The kitchen hardly even remembers how to make it anymore! You should appreciate this!"
I hesitate. I'm not sure whether or not to retort sarcastically. "Um… that's great?"
Another terrifying curl of the lips. "Better." Ilari goes back to her food as if nothing happened and I'm left questioning her sanity.
As we eat, I can't help but think about Riley and his sister. When I come back, I'll make sure they will be able to eat such fancy food without having to be in the Capitol to do it. I subconsciously twist the silver bracelet around my wrist – I didn't allow them to remove it from me, in fear the halfwits would misplace it. His little sister, Kiya, would be about five or six now. I wonder if she's in school yet.
"So what do you think of that boy?" Ilari asks suddenly, having finished her food some time ago. I realize she has been sitting there just staring at me. Studying me.
"I like him," I answer immediately, thinking of Riley.
She makes a sound to what I think is supposed to be a laugh and stand up. "I don't doubt it. He's a looker, that Cato boy." My face heats as she coaxes me to my feet. I blindly follow her to the make-up counter. "Let's have some girl talk while I draw on your face." She makes the odd laughing sound again.
"I-I wasn't… I didn't mean…" I couldn't formulate words as Ilari attacks my face with brushes.
Again, as if skilled in the art, she ignores my words. "Have you made your move on him yet?" she asks, as if it's any of her business.
"Look, I don't think that –"
"Well, you should. You're not going to find a boy that handsome just anywhere, Reen," she says, again forgetting I'm not my grandmother. "And since he's going to die anyway, there's no shame in having fun with him beforehand."
Why does everyone want me to have fun with Pitney? I'm too flustered to respond. But Ilari is more than content with having a one-sided conversation. "But it better before you enter the arena, Reen. A few years ago, a boy was shot in the back with a spear because he was trying to flirt with a girl from Four. Or was it in Two? Well, you get the point."
"Can we stop talking about him?" I ask warily.
"But be sure you'll get enough sleep. It's not good to stay up all night," her eye twitched in what may or may not be a wink.
That was the last straw. I scowl deeply and snap "Can I just put on my damn outfit and leave already?" I then brace myself for an outburst from my stylist.
Surprisingly, this wins Ilari over. "Just what I expect from you, Reen." She pinches my cheek and leaves my hair to do myself. "Whatever you're going to be doing with your hair in the arena, do it now." So I put it in my normal puff-balled pony tail. When I'm finished, I look around and see she's already at the three part mirror, where my ensemble awaited me.
It's a gladiator-esque costume. Golden armored breastplates, covered with what looks to be gold feathers poking out from the neck down to the abdomen. Ilari helps me put it on over black undergarments. I have to wear a heavy golden skirt. It's made of thick, stiff silk that glitters when I move. On my head, I have to wear a hefty golden hat with wings with a span that's twice the length of my actual head. On my feet are open-toe sandals, the tips of the wings reaching the middle of my calves. My wrists have bands with similar but smaller extensions. I feel like a golden turkey.
Ilari turns me to the mirrors and I'm surprised at my reflection. My make-up is relatively light, but my features are skillfully outlined with a careful hand. It doesn't hurt that my face is highlighted by the reflection of the gold. In fact, the reflective gold gives an impression that I'm glowing. The wings on my head promise that I'll fly over the competition. The armor itself foretells that I'm heading into battle. The gold says that I'm already a winner.
"You love it," Ilari says with pride as she sees my expression. "I knew it." Her lips curl up to the point where I'm afraid her skin might tear. "And Cato will love it as well."
I would scowl, but I don't want to ruin my glory with such an expression. Ilari sends me out to the lobby which will lead me to the oversized stables that hold the carriages. In the lobby, Cato is relaxing on one of the couches, dressed in a gladiator outfit like mine. The only differences are that on his head is not a cap like mine, but just a headband. His chest feathers go to his collarbone, whereas mine cover my whole neck. And, the other difference, he doesn't have armor underneath the feathers. Actually, he doesn't have anything beneath the feathers. Just bare skin. I try not to look.
"'bout time, Sunshine," Cato says. "I've been waiting forever." He pauses for a moment, watching me as I walk towards him. This makes me feel self-conscious for some reason, but I know I look as golden as my costume. "Huh. No wonder why you took so long. Your prep team did a good job of making you look presentable." He smirks and stands up, towering over me. "Now it doesn't burn when I look at you."
"You're forgetting that Capitol fashion is about looking as abnormal and horrifying as possible," I say sweetly. "That's why they didn't do anything to your appearance."
We continue to spit insults and bicker all the way to the Remake Center. All the chariots and the tributes are already lined up in their order of districts. Our stylists magically make it there before us to make sure our chariot is up to par. Cato's stylist – Welby, also quite old – had dubbed us "The Golden Ones" and had therefore requested our horses to be colored likewise. I can spot our chariot from the elevator doors. It's so bright compared to the others. I can't help but hold my head up high as I pass all the other tributes, satisfied that none of their costumes seem to hold as much impact as ours. Except for maybe One. But they're dressed in pink fluff, so I count that as just disturbing. Cato makes a point of this by stage whispering insults to me.
"Now remember," Ilari says as I mount the chariot, positioning myself the way Welby instructs, "smile and wave as much as possible. The Capitol loves a good smile. Sponsors only get to see you now and at the interview before the Games."
"You have to make an impression," Welby adds quietly, adjusting the left wing on my head.
The opening music sounds and the gates open. Ilari pats my hand, which is gripping the sides of the chariot. "Good luck now Reen," she yells over the music.
Before I can respond, the horses start to trot forward. They're so trained that they don't need a rider to conduct them when and where to go. As soon as we start moving out of the Remake Center and onto the street, I see hordes of people lined up on the streets, cheering and screaming my name. There are cameras flashing and flowers flying my way. I immediately give my best smiles, wave gracefully and blow kisses. The crowd trip over themselves to get a glimpse of me. I had been a little distraught about the twenty minute ride to the City Circle, the center of the Capitol, but, if all of it is going to be like this, I hardly mind.
I realize it's not only my name the people are screaming, not only my picture they're taking, not only at me they're throwing flowers, but also Cato. I sneak a glance at him and am surprisingly pleased to see Cato is just as enthralled with all the attention as I am. He's smiling like I've never seen, waving and looking so… natural. I have the same feeling. It's like we're meant to be the center of attention. The feeling of it is amazing, the feeling of being the object of everyone's affection. The feeling of being wanted by all, it is euphoria. The people aren't looking at anyone else but us. The Golden Ones.
And then something catches my eye. It's when I turn to look at Cato's smile for the second time. Something behind us flashes, shines. The crowds on the street seem to notice as well, because their attention shifts away from us. Then they start calling out names that aren't ours. Cato takes a moment to realize what's happening and glances back as well. I have already seen. He stares for a moment then looks at me, as if to if see my reaction would give some sort explanation. On his face shows an expression of confusion, wonder and anger. I know that my face reflects his.
The tributes of District 12 are on fire.
Author's Note: Well, there it is. It took me a week to get the first two paragraphs down, and I dedicated all of today to finishing it. XD Will power.
So, to make up for not updating in a while (and I probably won't update for another little while after this) I've decided to make a little one shot (there may or may not be two chapters) about Haymitch.
Anyway, tell me what you think of this chapter =3 If you have an idea about the plot I could use, don't hesitate to tell me! I'll even give you credit if you want.
Thanks for reading!