Chapter 5
I've been in the remake center for the last two hours as the three people on my prep team have been remaking me by making me bathe in a gritty loam that has removed all the dirt on me as well as at least four layers of skin, leaving me a raw-pinkish color. They've also made me bathe in three different solutions, ripped any chest hair I might have had off me, and shaved my face, giving me a small mint-green pill afterwards. Now, I'm having my hair trimmed, combed and lathered in what I think is now the fifth hair product, by a woman named Khione, who has dyed her skin icy blue, ringed her eyebrows with sapphires, and dyed her hair snow-white, making her look as if she was left out in the snow a little too long. As much as I feel tingly, vulnerable, and, to be honest, ridiculous, I've done what Haymitch told me to, and kept quiet the whole time.
"You're doing very well." Says Calida, a woman with blood-red hair, eyeliner and lipstick with curly red tattoos on her chest of the same color, making her look as if someone cut the designs into her chest with a thin knife. "If there's one thing that irritates me, it's a whiny boy." She finishes. Then she and Gaius- a man with spring-green hair, emerald green lipstick, eyeliner, and unless I'm seeing things, pointed ears and leaf patterns cut into his arms and up his neck, ending at his cheeks- begin to rub me down with a lotion that stings at first, but soon soothes the tingling the loam and solutions left my skin with and I notice I'm not as pink anymore. At least it's something.
When they're done, they pull me from the table I was sitting at, remove the robe I had been allowed to wear and make me stand completely naked while they circle me, fixing anything they might have missed. In a normal circumstance, I would be self-conscious standing naked in front of three people like this, but they're just so strange in appearance, that I don't feel self-conscious at all. When they're done, they step back to admire their work.
"Wonderful! Now you almost look like a human being!" gushes Khione and they all laugh. I fake a laugh to make them think I'm okay with all of this; comfortable with it. "Thank you. We don't really have much reason to look good in District 12" I say to them. I've always been good with people and it hasn't taken me long to figure out what will flatter the prep team. Their favorite subject, of course: themselves.
They all beam at my comment. "Of course you haven't." says Calida with a sigh of pity.
"But don't worry. Once Portia's through with you, you'll be the most handsome boy from District 12 they've ever had!" says Khione. "Now that we've gotten rid of all the filth and hair on you."
"Let's call Portia." Says Gaius. With that, they dart out of the room. I had expected my prep team to be a lot easier to hate, maybe expected them to be like Effie Trinket, constantly yammering excitedly about the Games in a way the makes the people of the Districts sick. But they're just not very bright. Not mean or cruel, just dim. And they seem to be sincerely trying to help me. Well, whatever makes them happy, I suppose.
I continue to stand waiting, resisting the urge to look for my robe, since I'm pretty sure that this Portia woman will just make me take it off again. Finally, the door opens and a young woman who must be Portia walks in. It surprises me how normal-looking she is. Most of the stylists seen on the interviews are so surgically altered and stenciled that it's freakish. But Portia's only changes to her appearance are her long, straight platinum blonde hair, which has obviously been dyed that color, and the lightly applied snow-white eyeliner that brings out the emerald-green hue in her eyes. She's wearing a simple outfit of a black shirt and black pants. Despite my disdain for Capitol and their hideous fashions and freakish alterations, I can't help but notice how attractive she looks.
"Hello, Peeta. I'm Portia. You're stylist." She says in a high, soft voice.
"Hello." I answer politely.
"One moment, please." She says and she walks around me, not touching me but studying every inch of me with her eyes. I resist the urge to attempt to cover myself.
"Alright then." She says after she's done inspecting me.
Portia is not at all what I expected. I had expected someone like what I've seen over the years. Someone flamboyant, someone older trying to look younger, someone who viewed me as some sort of lapdog to be shown off to the public, Portia is none of these things. I also realize something else.
"Are you new to the Games? I don't think I've seen you before." I ask, since she's an unfamiliar face among the familiar stylists that have been on television my whole life.
"Yes, this is my first year in the Games." She answers.
"So they gave you District 12?" Since we tend to be the least desirable district, newcomers end up with us.
"We asked for Twelve." She says with no further explanation. "Why don't you put your robe on and we'll have a chat."
I pull on my robe and follow her through a door into a sitting room. Two beige couches face off over a low table. Three of the walls are blank and the fourth wall is made entirely of glass, giving a spectacular view of the city, with the midday sun shining off the candy-colored buildings. Portia invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes her place in front of me. She presses a button on the side of the table, making food rise up from the center of it. Chicken and pieces of orange in a creamy sauce sit atop a bed of white rice, tiny peas and onions, rolls baked into the shape of flowers and for dessert, a honey-colored pudding. I think of how easily this food came up, and how this kind of food is never seen in District 12, even for the people in town. How easy it must be for the people in the Capitol to get food. I wonder what they do all day, besides constantly decorating themselves with tattoos and dyes and waiting for the next Games to begin, if they never have to work or scrounge for food.
After a minute, I realize Portia's been watching me. "We must seem awful to you. Don't we?" she asks. I want to deny it, to be polite, but I realize she's right. They have all this food and luxury and so much free time to sit around and constantly alter themselves and watch the Games without fear, while people back home barely get by, while some starve to death. The image of Katniss soaking wet, pale and starving flashes in my mind, and I hate these people. Hate them for letting both images: the shiny, rich Capitol with all its splendor, and Katniss malnourished and shivering in the rain, exist in the same world, without doing anything to fix it. They truly are awful, so I keep silent.
"No matter," she continues softly after my silence. "Now, about your costume for the opening ceremonies, Peeta. My partner, Cinna, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Katniss. And we decided to put you both in complementary costumes." She says. "As you know, the usual tradition is to dress the tributes in an outfit reflecting the flavor of the district."
The tributes are always dressed in something representing their industry, District 12 wearing something to represent coal mining. Usually, the tributes are dressed in some awful-looking coal miner's getup or, like one year, they're stark naked covered in black powder to look like coal dust. No one likes it, not even the ridiculously fashioned people of the Capitol. I brace myself for what Portia's idea is.
"So I'll be in a coal miner's outfit?" I ask, trying to hide my dislike at the idea.
"No, not exactly, Cinna and I think that idea has been far overdone. We want you two to look memorable and no one will remember you in that."
I'm going to be sent out there naked. I think, cringing internally at the idea already, thinking of how Katniss will be out there as well. I try to keep my face from going red while Portia continues. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're focusing on the coal. And what do we do with coal? We burn it." Portia takes in my expression at her words. "You're not afraid of fire, I hope, are you Peeta?" she says.
A few hours later I'm dressed in what will either be the most spectacular thing anyone's ever put me in, or the last thing I'll ever wear. It's a simple outfit, a black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck with black leather boots that lace up to my knees. The things that stand out in the outfit are the cape made up of streams red, orange, and yellow fabric and the matching headdress. Portia and Cinna plan to light them on fire before the chariots roll out onto the streets outside.
"It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe." Cinna, Katniss's stylist, tells us. Though I'm not entirely convinced that I won't be roasted alive by the time we reach the Training Center.
Thankfully, the prep team didn't cover me in make-up as I've seen them do to other male tributes in the past. In the end, they only put on a powder to keep the lights from the city and the flames from washing me out. Better than being painted so many colors, I'm unrecognizable. My hair was styled simply, so other than being lit on fire, I'm going to look how I normally do.
Portia and my prep team lead me out to the chariot where Katniss and her stylist and prep team are waiting. She's dressed in a similar outfit as mine. Her hair's been braided back and she's wearing a little bit of make-up. Only enough to highlight what was already there. Her eyes, which are lightly ringed with black kohl that make her gray eyes look almost silver, show relief. Maybe she's just glad that she won't be the only one lit on fire. We meet up, and our prep teams gush in excitement over what a splash we'll be making in the opening ceremonies. Portia and Cinna stay detached from it all, Cinna looking almost weary when they offer congratulations.
We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, where they hold all the horses and chariots. The tributes from each of the districts are being loaded into their respective chariot that is each pulled by four horses. District 12's horses are coal black. Cinna and Portia direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our capes and our body positions before moving off to consult with each other. When they're out of earshot, Katniss turns to me. "What do you think? About the fire?" she asks.
"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine." I say through gritted teeth, trying to hide my nervousness at the whole situation.
"Deal." She answers. Hopefully we can get them off before the worst burns happen. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle." She says, sounding a little exasperated.
"Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"
"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." She says with a tiny smirk on her lips.
And suddenly we're both laughing. Maybe it's the stress of the situation and the Games that makes us not act sensibly. Her laughing is a nice sound, though, and actually makes this whole thing a little more bearable, and I relax a little as the opening music begins to play. The massive doors in front open to the crowd-lined streets. The ride is a twenty minute parade to the Training Center where they play the anthem and escort us to where we'll stay until the Games begin.
The tributes of District 1, spray-painted silver and wearing bejeweled tunics, roll out onto the street. The crowd lets out a cheer. They're always crowd favorites. Then District 2 gets into position to follow them. Soon, we're getting into position to roll out. I can see the sky has turned overcast and evening is beginning to fall around the city. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out as Cinna climbs up before us with a lighted torch. "Here we go then." he says, and before either of us can react, he lights our capes and headdresses on fire. I gasp involuntarily, waiting to feel the burns, but there is only a faint tickle. Cinna lets out a sigh of relief. "It works." Then he gently lifts Katniss's chin up.
"Remember, heads held high. Smiles. They're going to love you." He tells her. I feel a slight twinge of jealousy at the way Cinna speaks to her, touches her, but it's gone as quickly as it came. With that, he jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something to us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures. He wants us to hold hands.
"What's he saying?" asks Katniss. She turns to me and I get my first real look at her. She's beyond beautiful. Her beauty's something wild. Something only found beyond civilization. The flames embrace her, looking like they're a part of her, as if she's a creature of fire. Her eyes reflect the flames, looking almost white in the lighting. Her eyes widen when she looks at me, making me wonder how I look. Certainly, nothing as good as she looks. After a moment, I find my voice. "I think he said for us to hold hands." I find myself hoping that she'll go with what Cinna asked. Without waiting for an answer, I take her right hand in my left and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives us a thumbs-up as we ride out into the city.
The crowd's initial alarm turns to cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!" Everyone is looking at us, pulling focus from three districts ahead of us. I catch sight of us on a television screen. I look spectacular, the flames curling around me like they do with Katniss, but I'm nowhere near as breathtaking as she is. Dusk is falling around us and the flames illuminate our faces. Katniss saw us on the screen as well and after a moment, she lifts her chin a bit higher and smiles widely, waving at the crowd with her free hand. She even begins to blow kisses to them, which makes them go nuts. They try to catch her kisses, as if they are actual things. They begin to throw flowers at us and shout our names, our first names. But I know that they are looking at Katniss. And who wouldn't? Our fire costumes have done more than just make her look beautiful; they've given the Capitol a glimpse of the spirit the people back home admire her for. Cinna has made her unforgettable.
As we enter the city circle, Katniss looks down at our hands, loosening her grip on mine. I squeeze her fingers a little bit, trying to keep her hand a little longer. "No, don't let go of me," I realize my want to hold her hand might confuse her, so I give her a reason that's still true, but less serious. "Please. I might fall out of this thing."
"Okay." She says, and her grip tightens on me. I like the way her hand feels in mine, even though I know that it won't last. That she'll soon see me as an enemy, that she might already see me as an enemy. I try not to think about it though, and just focus on the way her hand feels in mine. Warm and a little bit soft, but strong.
The twelve chariots fill the loop around the City Circle. Our horses pull us right up to President Snow's mansion and we come to a halt. The music ends. The president, a small, a thin man with bone-white hair, gives the official welcome from the balcony above. It's traditional to cut away to the faces of each of the tributes during the speech. But I notice that Katniss and I are getting far more than the usual amount of airtime. As night falls around us, the cameras focus on our flickering forms more and more. When the anthem plays again, they make an effort to cut away to each of the tributes, but the cameras linger on District 12 as the chariots circle once more around the City Circle and go into the Training Center. The doors have only just shut behind us when the prep teams bombard us and babble out their praise. I can see the other tributes giving us dirty looks. It's obvious that we have outshone them all. Portia and Cinna are there and they help us down from the chariot, carefully removing our capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes them using a spray from a canister. After a few minutes, Katniss begins to loosen her fingers from my hand. When she lets go, we both massage our hands, having gripped the other tightly the whole ride (not that I minded).
"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there." I tell her, feeling a little nervous speaking to her.
"It didn't show." She says. "I'm sure no one noticed."
"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often, they suit you." I say, smiling slightly, my stomach feeling like it jumped ten feet. Her face seems to soften a little and I think she almost smiles again. Then she stands on tiptoe and kisses me on the cheek, right on my bruise from Haymitch. As she walks away, I look down, hoping no one sees me turning red.