I am hosed down repeatedly by strange looking people who peer at every inch of my body. I try to cover my modesty, though they do not allow it, physically pulling my hands away from me. The water is ice cold and pierces against my skin. I feel like a type of animal, with all privileges striped away from me. A woman, whose skin is an unsightly green colour, straps me down onto a table before applying large, glue covered, sheets onto my chest.
'What is this?' I ask, but the woman does not reply. She pulls the sheet from my body in a quick swipe, leaving my skin raw and hairless. I release a shrill yelp of pain that echoes around the stainless steel room. The piercing pain forms tears in my eyes, though I blink them back. This procedure is continued until my chest is completely hair free.

'Swallow this,' the same woman instructs. Up close I notice that her eyelashes do not even resemble eyelashes, but as if she actually has spider legs attached to her eyes. The woman holds out an oval shaped pill.
'What is it?' I enquire.
'It will prevent you from growing facial hair whilst in the arena. Swallow,' she commands. I take the pill and force myself to swallow, although I am offered no water. I begin to feel sick from the pill and vomit into the basin next to me.
'I'm sorry,' I reply, clutching my stomach. The woman simply hisses at me before handing me another pill.
'You have to swallow another now!' she exclaims in detest. I feel as if this woman believes I threw up that pill on purpose, as if protesting. For that is the strongest way to seek revenge at the Capitol, by growing facial hair whilst in the arena.

After these people have finally finished with me, I notice a vast difference to the texture of my skin. The rough, dry hands which I possessed from working in a bakery have now been replaced with the texture of silk. My body is tingly from the exfoliation that I have just endured, however, the feeling is almost enjoyable in a way.
'Portia will see you now,' a man addresses.
I am given a thin paper gown to wear and am guided into a room which is almost identical to the one I was just in. I sit down on the stainless steel table, trying to make out my reflection against the metal.
'Peeta Mellark?' I hear a voice woman question. I look up instantly to see the woman who goes by the name of Portia, with a man standing to the right of her.
'Yes, mam. It is a privilege to meet you,' I reply. Effie had instructed me that it is extremely important to show manners, regardless of who the person is. Both Portia and the man simply look at me in a peculiar way.
'There is no need for the manners here,' the man speaks, 'nor do you need to pretend that you're thrilled to be here.' I am unsure of how to reply to that statement and instead change the conversation,
'I'm sorry, I'm not quite sure what your role is?'

I notice a sudden change in the man's body language, as if a spark has been ignited in him, the moment he begins to discuss what it is that he does.
'I am your costume designer for this year's games. I will design a costume for the opening ceremony tonight which reflects your District.'
'Ours is mining,' I reply passively. I remember watching previous games and every year District 12 would wear mining hats and covered in coal. We always looked so ridiculous.
'I know, I don't want to do the traditional look,' Cinna adds, as if reading my mind, 'I want to grab the Capitol's attention. I want to give Katniss and yourself a fighting chance to gain sponsors.'
'What do you have in mind?' I ask.
'You will see tonight, I am just here to meet you first.'
'Just make sure Katniss doesn't look stupid. Her best feature is her eyes so I'd play off that for her,' I add. Cinna looks at me suspiciously before smiling,
'Don't worry, she won't. Neither of you will.'

That night I am put into a black, almost leather, body suit.
'Cinna wants to catch people's attention tonight,' Portia states whilst putting some bronzer on my cheeks.
'You'll look fabulous,' Aminta, the supporting stylist, exclaims. These people, apparently, are my prep team. Although I haven't seen Katniss, I have been informed that we each have a different team. My team consists of two excitable women who constantly speak in high frequency about the Capitol and all the luxuries they have. My favourite, if I had to choose one, would be Portia. I couldn't help but find myself fascinated with Portia's hair, which was almost as if it was made out of a cloud due to how it was styled. In District 12, many women have their hair tied back, so to see such an extravagant hairstyle up close was intriguing. Aminta is the most unusual out of the two. She is, I think, around forty years old and has a close shaved head. The little hair she does has is dyed a jet black colour. Many of her teeth have also been replaced with gold and she wears cat contact lenses.

My prep team spends the majority of their time on styling my hair and trying to make my skin look as flawless as possible.
'I wish we had a girl,' Aminta moans whilst moisturising my hand, 'I could have painted her nails really delicately.'
'Why don't you paint mine?' I ask. I feel sorry for Aminta and Portia, being a boy there isn't really much to do. I know that Katniss has been with her prep team since noon. Aminta's cat like eyes widen in delight,
'Would you really let me do that?' she exclaims in disbelief.
'It's only nails, no one will be paying much attention,' I smile. Portia walks over from the other side of the room, tilting my head back drastically,
'Perhaps I could add some gold glitter?' she asks, 'You can have it under your eyes.'
'That would look fantastic!' Aminta exclaims whilst buffing my nails.
'Do it,' I reply. I know that Cinna won't allow me out if I look completely stupid, and the worse I look the better in comparison Katniss will appear.

The gold glitter that Portia has applied to my eyes is quite complimentary in a way, making my eyes seem to 'pop' more, as she kept saying. My nails, however, are appalling. I am glad that my hands will be hidden from the crowds.
'What do you think of them?' Aminta asked in excitement once she declared she had finished them. When I looked at my nails I did not have the heart to tell Aminta that I hated them. On my left hand, each nail has a letter that spells 'P-E-E-T-A' across them in gold. However, Aminta did not plan out the design carefully, and on my right hand realised she did not have enough space for my last name, leaving 'M-E-L-L-A' spelt out.
'I prefer the name Peeta Mella,' I smile kindly to Aminta. She beams at me before leaving the room to call Cinna.

'You're very sweet Peeta,' Portia states whilst brushing her hair, 'many of the tributes we have had over the years have been very harsh with us.'
'Do you like working as part of the prep team for the games?' I ask. Portia stops brushing her hair for a second and looks up at me, tears in her eyes,
'It's...difficult, what we have to do.' I notice as Portia's eyes suddenly widen in alert, flickering around the room, as if registering where she is, 'I mean, some years we get such ugly tributes. It's hard to make them attractive. You are lucky, you are naturally handsome.' With that final comment Portia picks up her hair brush and leaves the room swiftly. I feel a sense of uncertainty rise inside of me. I can't help but wonder what brought about the sudden change of body language in Portia, acting as if we were being watched. Acting as if someone was listening to our conversation.

A/N- Please leave a review and follow the story :)