Updated as of July 9th, 2022

Was going to put this chapter and the next one together, but the word count proved too great. I'll post the next one soon.

Onto the story.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Hunger Games. Still.

FLASHBACK TO THE LAST CHAPTER

"Fine. Tomorrow's the only day we get to prepare you two brats. Would you rather be coached together, or separately?" He grumbled, turning to look at both of us. Emery looked at me, his expression unreadable. I mirrored his look.

"Separately," I said at the same time as he said, "Together."

Haymitch rubbed at his temples.

"I'm going to need a drink..."

Effie woke me up the next morning with her daily catchphrase. I glared at the door, waiting until I heard her heels clicking away before fully opening my eyes. With a groan, I kicked the covers off and trudged into the bathroom, washing the tear trails off of my cheeks and the drool off the corner of my mouth. Hopefully I hadn't made too much noise during the night. I'd hate to have bothered anyone just because I'd had a nightmare.

Because training was over, I decided on a simple yellow shirt and a pair of pants to slip into, shuffling out the door after buttoning the last button. The floor was as quiet as usual, with only soft chatter coming from the dining room. I took my seat across from Emery, digging into the food already laid out before saying a word. Haymitch didn't even so much as glance in my direction as he spoke to my district partner, and I did my best to tune them out. My heart was torn between wanting this day over as soon as possible, and wanting it to take as long as it could. After today, I would be another day closer to being in the arena.

"You two are going to start off working with Effie. She's going to teach ya how to present yourselves tomorrow night. Four hours after that, and you'll be stuck with me learning content. Now, hurry up with your breakfast," Haymitch instructed, draining a cup of coffee like it was nothing. I swallowed the last bite of my eggs just as Effie strutted into the room, flashing Emery and me a winning smile.

"Come, come! We have a schedule to maintain," she announced, gesturing at us to follow her. Taking one more sip of my water, I pushed back from the table and followed her out of the room, Emery right behind me.

"We're going to start with walking. Now, I know what you may be thinking-" I interrupted her with a snort, earning a glare, "But! Walking properly is an absolute necessity when one is presenting themselves. Come along, right into this room please."

I narrowed my eyes at the unknown door, stepping through the threshold with slight caution. I hadn't known about an extra room on our floor, but I guess that goes to show how I need to improve at observing my surroundings. Emery seemed slightly off-put by it as well, much to my relief.

"So, what do you want us to do? Just...walk around?" Emery asked, raising an eyebrow. Effie smiled sympathetically as she lightly touched his arm, shaking her head.

"Oh, you poor dears. No, I have a much better strategy when it comes to such things like these. First off," she plucked a very tall set of heels out of a closet along with a dress I would never be caught dead in before presenting them to me, "Put these on."

I blinked.

"You realize those are five inches tall, right?"

"Five and one-half inches, to be precise."

"That dress is way too long for me."

"That is why I picked the heels."

"You also realize I've never walked in heels before, right?"

Effie grinned. For once, it looked genuine.

"Well, I suppose today is your lucky day, then."

For the first half hour, Emery got to sit back and relax as I failed miserably, nearly breaking my ankle on more than one occasion. Practically every other step I had Effie swooping in like a hawk to adjust my posture or straighten my shoulders. I was sweating by the time she let me sit down. She tutted, pressing a manicured finger to her lip as she stared at me in thought.

"Despite your poor upbringing, I would have thought that you would have caught on by now," she sighed, shaking her head like a disappointed mother. I frowned.

"I told you. I've never walked in heels before today. Did you think I could just slip on a pair as ridiculous as these and move flawlessly? Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not the kind of girl you seem to think I am," I muttered, pulling off the offensive footwear. Her eye twitched once before she composed herself and turned to Emery, decidedly ignoring me.

"You are up, Mr. Grimmins. Let's see how you do with my instructions," Effie said with a smile, motioning for him to stand up. He furrowed his brow.

"I don't have to wear those, do I?" He asked, pointing at the heels I'd discarded on the floor. Effie laughed, waving her hand dismissively.

"Oh, dear, of course not! It wouldn't do for a strapping young lad like you to parade around in those," she said, scurrying over to the closet once more. "You'll be wearing these."

Emery had a tendency to look at the ground as he moved. I noted that every time his gaze started to trail down his shoulders seemed to curl in as well, as if he was trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Effie berated him constantly for it. I massaged where the heels had caused my feet to ache.

"Confidence is key, Mr. Grimmins. If you go around looking like a scolded schoolboy nobody will take you seriously!" Effie complained for the umpteenth time, physically pushing his shoulders back and raising his chin. The moment she turned to step away from him, Emery's face darkened, his upper lip twitching upward. At least I wasn't the only one upset with Ms. Trinket's "strategy".

The woman decided it would be best if we moved on from walking to something more productive, which just so happened to be smiling. Or rather, "Using jovial expressions to hide your distaste with whatever is being said around you."

"Do you use this method a lot?" I asked, resting my chin in my hand.

"Only when I'm around you, my dear," she said without missing a beat. Emery barked out a laugh before smothering it with his hand, looking at her apologetically. I felt my lip tip up at the corner.

Smile training proved to be more rigorous than the walking exercise. Effie taught us how to smile "correctly" for certain situations, when to smile, and forced us to practice with each other. After giving us a list of phrases to say, she pulled up a chair and sat daintily on it, waiting. Emery was the first to say something.

"Uh, 'How have you been? It has simply been forever since we last spoke,'" he said, smiling as stiffly as he had read the words from the paper. I glanced at our stand-in mentor to see what she was thinking, but she was only looking expectantly back at me. Clearing my throat, I scanned the sheet to find what sort of phrase she would want me to say.

"'I have been lovely,'" I replied, squinting to make sure I was reading the words right. "'The weather has been treating us rather pleasantly this time of-' Who talks about the weather? And why would we need to practice this for the interviews? This is-"

Effie cleared her throat and shot me a warning look. Rolling my eyes, I picked up the paper and scanned the phrase list, looking for something worthwhile. Emery seemed to have fixated on one particular phrase on the list, but his sheet was at just the right angle that I couldn't see what it was without making it obvious I was looking.

Sitting in silence for a few precious moments, I brought my leg up and sat on the foot, wondering how long this portion would take before Effie would skip ahead to the next topic. Running my finger along the words, I read through the list before I reached one that seemed out of place with the other small talk centered listings. I pursed my lips, considering whether or not to say it as I scanned the next few, feeling the tips of my ears turning pink. Swallowing hard, I realized each one was more intimate than the last, and suddenly I didn't want to be there anymore. Why had I caved in to Haymitch and agreed to being coached together? I should have stuck to my gut.

I glanced up only to find Emery's eyes already on my own. Once again his face was closed off, but his lips were parted, as if he was about to say something but didn't know how to say it. And judging by what I'd just read, I could only imagine what he had in mind.

"You two have the social etiquette skills of rocks. I'm surprised you are doing as well as you are with sponsorships," Effie huffed, looking at the time. "We have but a few more bases to cover before you will meet with Haymitch, and please, try your best. I really am only trying to help you here."

Over the course of three hours, Effie ran us through more posture tips, advised on how to sit (me: crossing my legs at the ankle, Emery: either with both feet planted on the ground or with an ankle resting on top of a knee), made sure we were making the right sort of eye contact and just what we were conveying with said eye contact, and hand gestures. By the end of it, I had had more than my limit of Effie Time, and Emery wasn't exactly helping. He got along fine with the woman, actually he got along great with her. He would make comments about something or other that must have been the most charming thing she'd ever heard by the way she would react. I practically ran out of the room when it was time for lunch.

Haymitch took us into the sitting room after we ate, gesturing to the couch for us to sit. Expecting a lecture of some sort, I sat back, grabbing a pillow and picking at the fabric. Emery plopped down next to me, a little too close for my liking. I looked at his hands from under my lashes, remembering what I'd seen them do back in District 12. How many kids just like me they'd hurt in The Ring.

"You're gonna rip it if you keep that up," Haymitch said, bringing me back to the present. I turned my gaze to the pillow in my lap, letting go of the piece I was about to pull off.

"So...What are you doing exactly?" I asked, clearing my throat. Our mentor scowled, narrowing his eyes as he examined us.

"I'm trying to figure out which way to sell you," he started, his eyes flickering to Emery when he chuckled. Haymitch raised an eyebrow.

"Something funny, boy?" Emery met his look with one of his own.

"No, sir. Not at all."

Haymitch considered him for a minute, his hand rubbing his stubble thoughtfully.

"Sarcastic. With a tinge of bad-boy. That'll get the women going," he announced, smirking when Emery stiffened. "Work that angle, and they'll be eating out of your hand. Think you can do it?"

"...Yes," Emery murmured, sitting up a little straighter.

"Good. Let's pretend this is an interview then. I'll ask a few questions, you'll give me some answers. Try to win me over. Got it?" Emery nodded.

I hugged the pillow to my chest and listened to the two of them as they talked. I couldn't help but hear a similarity to the way they spoke, the bitterness that would slip through more times than not. To Emery's credit, he played the angle well, using just enough biting commentary without coming off as too much of an asshole. Haymitch appeared genuinely impressed by the time they finished.

"Not bad, boy. Though, I would appreciate it if tomorrow you tried harder at making your lies convincing," Haymitch said, pulling his flask out of his pocket. Emery's face hardened at the comment, but he didn't try to deny it.

Taking a swig of his drink, Haymitch looked at me, his eyes narrowing again. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"You're going to be a bit of a problem." It was a statement of fact, not a comment. I stayed silent.

"You're a volunteer from a district that never gets volunteers. You blew all the other competition out of the water with your Parade outfit. You got an eleven. You've got a short temper, yet you defend the little guy. Who do you think you are?"

Legitimate question this time. I blinked, not sure how to answer. He seemed to understand.

"Exactly. Who are you? Emery over here's got a dark side. Are you going to try that angle too? Or should we paint you as some kind soul people can sympathize with? Maybe we could make you alluring. After all, sex sells," he mused, tilting his head with each pondering.

"Can't I do what feels right?" I asked softly, my brow furrowing. "Can't I try to be honest?"

"We're trying to get you sponsors, brat. We need to get people more interested in you than they already are. We need something that will hook them, make them root for you specifically- you too, boy. And I don't think just plain old honesty will get us there."

"Well, do I try to be aggressive then? Use my short temper?" I asked, figuring out how I would incorporate that without sounding dimwitted. Haymitch shook his head.

"No, there'll be plenty of other tributes trying that."

"What do I do then? Be bright and bubbly and act like I'm not about to die in a few days?" I asked, my frustration gradually giving way to anger.

"Why do I get the feeling that you couldn't hold that act up?"

I crossed my arms, falling back against the couch with a pout. How come it was so easy for him to give Emery an angle?

"How about you try and be as bright as you can be for as long as you can, and we'll see where that takes us, alright?" Haymitch asked, waiting until I nodded before resuming his role as interviewer.

I really did try to do as he said. I tried to act like nothing was wrong with what was happening, and that I was thrilled to get the opportunity to represent my homeland in the Hunger Games. But I felt my smile slipping with every question he asked. I knew right when I started getting defensive. I saw the tiredness in Haymitch's grey eyes, the bags underneath them, and my mind got side-tracked. Had he not been sleeping recently?

"Okay, okay. Obviously that didn't work. You just don't have it in you to be that kind of person, and I get it. Little tragic, but I get it. But we need to get you an angle, and right now, nice girl ain't cuttin' it."

"As if I hadn't already known that," I said sarcastically, staring at one of the corners of the walls. "Could you tell when I was lying, though?"

"Lying?" Haymitch asked, his lips quirking up in a smile. "Brat, you honestly couldn't. That's good. That'll help you out there."

I picked at the pillow again. Was it really good to be able to lie so easily? If honesty gets you nowhere fast, was lying the better option?

Over the next couple of hours, Haymitch and Emery brainstormed for what I could do. I wasn't good enough to pull off funny, let alone witty. I was too uncomfortable to be anywhere close to sexy, especially when I wouldn't allow my hair to be moved from where it was covering my neck. Haymitch came up with the idea of me trying to be a flirt, but I came off as flirty as a brick. They forced me to attempt a bad girl angle, but I couldn't keep it up long enough before I became disgusted with what I was saying.

In the end, we didn't really accomplish anything. We were right back to square one, just with a lot of crossed out choices.

"The best advice I can give right now is for you to try not to piss off the wrong people," Haymitch sighed. "Maybe you should go the honesty route. It's better than having no plan."

Dinner was tense. Effie seemed much more comfortable around Emery, but he didn't really talk to anyone. Neither did I. Aronn cleaned the table when we were all done, and I was torn between asking him if he'd take me to the roof and asking him if he'd come to my room with me. In the end I decided against both and went to my room alone. On my way out, I couldn't help but hear Emery ask Haymitch if he could talk to him privately in the sitting room, but I was too tired to pursue what he was doing.

The next morning I woke up to my prep team invading my space instead of Effie. They dragged me out of bed and chattered the whole way there, usually trying to include me in on their conversation before they got the hint that I didn't want to talk.

We went through the same routine as last time. They scrubbed me down, washed me off, scrubbed me down again, put lotion on my skin to soothe it, and scrubbed it again. They fixed my nails that had chipped because it was ridiculously hard to keep my nails pretty. They got rid of all the hair that had grown since last time. And then it was makeup time.

They drew on my skin, creating dark lace designs that made it look like long sleeves went down my arms. Then they placed a substance I didn't quite recognize over the lines, being extra careful not to get it on my bare skin. Domencio began working on my hair, weaving a few small braids near my temples and pulling them to pin against the back of my head, hiding the pins with more hair. I watched him pick up a piece of black metal and bend it into a design that looked distantly like a crown, but I wasn't sure. He placed it on top of my head, humming quietly to himself as he fastened it in place by using other pieces of my hair. Thankfully he left the rest alone, meaning that I could still hide my flaw. I noticed curiously that the "sleeves" didn't quite go up my shoulder.

Murcia covered my face with pale makeup to make a fresh canvas for them to work with. Lucinia started with my eyes, creating a dark smokey-eye that brought out the blue in them, and making my lashes longer than I considered possible without looking too outrageous. Murcia made my cheekbones more prominent and defined my jawline, moving out of the way for Lucinia to put on my lipstick. It was a rich maroon color, duller than I thought they would make it but I wasn't going to question their methods.

For the finishing touch, Domencio came towards me with a tub of what looked like coal dust until he started putting it on. On my skin, it looked like darkened silver, glinting in the light.

Portia came in after that, which meant that showtime was coming quicker than I was prepared for. However, that went to the back of my mind as I took in the black garment bag in her slim hands. She grinned at me.

"It's a surprise. Close your eyes and I'll try not to mess up your hair."

I obediently closed my eyes, bending forwards slightly so that she didn't have to reach as high. The fabric fluttered against me, feeling almost like silk, but not quite. It was fairly light, ghosting against my bare skin like a whisper. It sent a chill up my spine.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" I asked only to be shushed.

"No. Take Domencio's hand. I've got to get your shoes on."

Reaching out blindly, I grabbed hold of what I assumed to be Domencio's hand and held out my feet one at a time, my heart rate increasing when I realized that they were heels.

"Relax. They're only an inch and a half, so you should be fine," Portia reassured, meaning she had to have spoken with Effie recently. My hands started to get clammy and I apologized to Domencio about it once I was steady. Tutting under her breath, Portia went about smoothing down parts of the dress, adjusting it where she saw fit before stepping back. The room was silent.

"You can open them now."

She'd turned my body towards the big mirror in the room so that I was the very first thing I saw. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to react. I stepped towards the mirror, touching its surface and staring at my reflection.

The dress wasn't extravagant. There weren't any gems, or intricate patterns woven in it. It was black, but as it got closer to the ground it blossomed into silver. The slight sleeves were made of lace, and they looked like they were connected to the patterns on my skin. A slit crawled up my left leg, stopping just below my mid-thigh so that I wasn't showing too much skin. And the wire Domencio put in my hair had morphed into a crown of sorts, but parts of it were overrun with my hair, looking like an old gate that had been reclaimed by nature.

I looked wild, yet elegant, like smoke rising into the night air.

"I don't know how you guys are so good at what you do, but wow," I whispered, turning back to look at all four of them. I smiled. "Thank you, for everything you've done for me."

Lucinia started fanning her face as if she was going to start crying and scurried over to me, hugging me tightly.

"Darling, the pleasure was all ours. Now go out there are make your prep team proud!" She exclaimed, beaming at me. Portia laughed.

"Not so fast, Lucinia. I have one more trick up my sleeve for tonight that I need to show Laurel," she said, winking at me.

"Oh, my goodness! I am so sorry! She's all yours," the round woman said, backing up. I looked at Portia expectantly.

"We're going to make you shine in this interview, Laurel," she started, walking towards me. I raised an eyebrow, but kept quiet.

"If it goes as I expect it will, then at some point Mr. Flickerman will ask about the dress. When he does I want you to press the button I've hidden here-" she lightly touched my hip, "-and keep your arms at your sides until the magic happens. Sound good?"

"If it's anything like the Parade, then yes," I said, earning a smile.

"And Laurel, when you're up there, just be you. Don't you see that that's the reason that you've gotten so many people wrapped around your finger? They see the fire in your eyes and you bring them a sense of change that hasn't been seen around here for a long time. Use that," she said. "I'll be sitting with the other stylists on the main platform. I know you'll make us all proud."

"...Thank you, Portia." She grinned.

"You're welcome, Laurel."

Everyone else was already at the elevator because of course we were the last to arrive. Emery was dressed sharply in a black suit similar in design to my dress, but there were hints of blue flame accents to contrast with the silver that plumed upward. His breath caught at the sight of us walking towards them, his eyes trailing from the very bottom of my dress, up the slit, and to my face, where he tried to catch my eye but all I could focus on was his hands. And then I had to look away.

"Lookin' good, brat," Haymitch muttered to me as we stepped into the elevator. I whispered a quick thanks, surprised he said anything.

"Ah! This is so exciting! I can't believe they've switched the order! These Hunger Games seem to be causing a lot of firsts this year," Effie practically gushed to no one in particular. Confused, I turned and stared at the eccentric woman, about to ask what she meant when the elevator doors opened and everyone was ushered out.

The other tributes were being lined up to take the stage, each in different stages of stress. I bit my lip as I looked over all of their outfits. The stylists had definitely stepped up their game tonight.

My eyes trailed down Cato's suit before I could stop myself, a small part of my mind appreciating how it hugged his body in just the right ways. He was facing forward, mumbling something to his district partner as he watched the stage ahead of them. Klew and Hive were right behind them, and I couldn't help but love Klew's dress. The top consisted of a stiff, brown corset that ballooned out into pale yellow ruffles, falling just below her knee. Hive's suit was in the same sort of old style. It was a deep brown color with tails instead of a straight edge. They were talking conspiratorially to each other and seemed barely aware of what was happening around them.

My eyes stopped on Finnick just as his stopped on me. A smile automatically brightened his face, crinkling his eyes at the edges. He was wearing a bright white suit with a sheer, golden undershirt, yet its white somehow paled in comparison to his teeth. His gaze lingered on the extra skin showing as I walked to my place in the line, and he raised an eyebrow teasingly. I averted my gaze, trying not to look at anything in particular as I fidgeted with my fingers.

Soon they called for us to move onto the stage and my stomach fluttered nervously. A warm hand splayed along the small of my back, but one look over my shoulder at Emery had him retracting it.

The lights were bright and I was relieved to sit down in my designated chair, afraid that if I didn't get myself together everyone would see and it wouldn't matter what I did, because tonight, everyone was watching. From our fashion designers in the front row, to the Gamemakers on the balcony, to the Capitolites that crowded the streets just to get a glimpse of us, to all the people at home. No one would dare miss tonight.

The way the people of the Capitol screamed when we walked onstage was almost sickening. They pressed up against each other, reaching out as if we would come and take their hands like some sort of celebrities. I suppose, in a way, we were. But by watching them I was able to calm my uneasiness and revert back to an indifferent mask that I felt safe behind. I felt my hair to make sure that it was where it needed to be as I sat down, attempting to remember what Effie tried to teach me the day before about sitting.

Looking down the long row of tributes, I couldn't help but feel like it was off. I was on the very end, with the pattern going girl boy all the way down the line. Wasn't it usually boy girl? I turned to look at the stylists, meeting Portia and Cinna's eyes with confusion. Portia pursed her lips appearing apologetic, but for what?

...What was going on?