Chapter 3~ Styling
Coal Miners From District 12
"You simply won't do," my stylist, Lenka remarks in possibly the most condescending voice capable of being uttered by a human being. I roll my eyes. I've gotten quite good at that in my 13 years of living.
"You're too short, too flat chested and your hair! Where do I even begin?" Apparently this woman has never seen a more foul looking human being that me. I can't help but smile.
"Maybe you should just ask for new tributes," I say coldly.
She shakes her head and furrows her brow, "Believe me, Teto, I would if I could, but I can't. So we're just going to have to make do, I have a lovely idea that will most certainly make you look gorgeous!"
Her voice is too high pitched and I want to cover my ears. I don't want to look gorgeous or lovely. I look to my left and see Ted staring at God knows what. I shake my head and my curly pigtails bounce from side to side.
"Stop shaking your head! You'll make your hair even more unmanageable than it already is!"
I can't help but smirk. Something about making this woman mad makes me feel better.
Hours of waxing and scrubbing go by and by the end of it I don't even look like myself. I am wearing nothing but a black strip of fabric around my chest and a three inch tube that barely qualifies as a skirt around my waist. I'm covered head to toe in black dust and my curly hair has been fashioned to look like drill bits used in the mines. I don't look lovely or gorgeous, I look scary.
Lenka is still shaking her head in dismay, "If you only had more cleavage, than this outfit wouldn't look nearly as preposterous. Perhaps we could stuff it with some sort of padding..."
In this situation, back at home, I would've lost my temper. I would've screamed and punched and kicked until this situation turned in my favor, which it always did eventually. But today is different. Today I'm not myself. Today I'm a charcoal freak exposing her body for the entire world to see. Today I can do nothing except smile and try to look desirable for sponsors that I know won't pick me.
Staring in the mirror, I see Ted has walked up behind me. I cover my eyes with my forearm. Once you are a tribute no one can see you cry.
"That idiot Lenka got charcoal in my eyes," I say through clenched teeth. Lenka says something about me being an ungrateful little swine but I barely hear her. I hear a door slam.
"She's gone now," Ted whispers, "We're alone."
I fight to maintain composure, but maintaining composure has never been one of my strong suits. I always let my anger flare up or my tears fall down. As unpredictable as my mood might be, I've never kept my feelings hidden from anyone.
I feel a hand lowering my forearm from my face. I see Ted smiling at me in the mirror. The tears I fought so hard to keep from flowing have cascaded down, leaving streaks in my charcoal painted face. Ted continues to lower my arm until it is resting at my side. He entwines his fingers in mine. We look at our reflections. By ourselves we might've looked ridiculous, but together, we look determined, like we're fighting for something.
There'a something to be said for safety in numbers.
The Lucky Ones From District 1
Outside my door I can hear the hushed murmurs of paparazzi. It's against the rules for them to interview us before the opening ceremonies, but still they persist.
"Why don't you just let them in so I can give them something to write about?" I ask my stylist.
"Mikou, don't speak so loudly, they'll hear you!" she says, shushing me, "Besides, you should be thinking about your strategy for the games!"
I roll my eyes and straighten my tie in the mirror. This stylist obviously hasn't worked with district one tributes before. For other districts, it's different, they only care about what happens in that arena, whether their tributes live or die. But district 1 isn't like the other districts. We're not here just to win the capitols meager games, we're here to do more than that.
To us the hunger games is a business venture. Us tributes are chosen not for our physical superiority, but for our ability to be impressive. Miku and I are tributes because we can put on a good show. We're entertaining, persuasive, intelligent and good looking. People in the other districts say that the capitol alway looks kindly on district 1, that we have it easier than they do. This is completely true, but there is a reason for it. District 1 sends the capitol brilliant little playthings each Hunger Games. We represent our district well, and are rewarded for it. Each year, a new tribute from district 1 takes the stage and dazzles the capitol. This year the torch has been passed to me, and I intend to make the most of my opportunities.
"Mikou, I'm dressed," Miku announces as she exits the changing room. She stands beside me, the mirror reflecting to ideal individuals, what tributes ought to be.
"You look lovely," I say, flashing her my winning smile, I've worked hours to perfect.
"And you look like a handsome devil," she says, squeezing my shoulder. To anyone else, the compliment would've seemed sincere, and the physical contact, natural. But I know it is nothing more than a marketing ploy.
Miku and I stare at the door. Just beyond it, droves of reporters wish to bombard us with questions and proposals and scams. Let them. I've spent my whole life preparing for it.
The Electric Pair from District 5
Last night I had a dream that almost made me cry. It was a dream about when Rin and I were little kids playing underneath the electrical lines in the hazy summer heat. I remember she was laughing the way she used to, jovial, innocent, free. The dream itself was beautiful. It was reality that made me want to cry.
I shake the dream out of my head and try to pay attention to our mentor, a hardheaded, unpleasant woman in her mid-thirties, SeeU.
"The Hunger Games isn't just about physical strength, it's also a social game. Because of this aspect, you two might actually have a chance of winning."
I notice Rin perk up noticeably. She hasn't given up on survival yet. It makes me smile slightly, maybe I shouldn't give up either.
"You two have a thing that people will remember. You're siblings! Twins! People will remember that. So we are going to have to play that up as much as possible," SeeU says.
"How do we do that?" Rin asks.
"Well, we'll start with the opening ceremony outfits. District 5 is the power district so your outfits will have something to do with electricity or generators. Your outfits will be identical, but that isn't enough. You two will have to be the same, act the same, eat the same, move perfectly in sync, finish each others sentences. People will notice that and remember you. That's the key to winning the Hunger Games, having people remember you," SeeU, concludes.
Rin looks optimistic, too optimistic. SeeU makes it sound as if winning the Hunger Games will be a cakewalk.
"I have a question," I say, "If Rin and I are the final two people left, what then? One of us will have to die."
"You'll have to work that out amongst yourselves," SeeU replies, her voice sickly sweet, her smile even sicker.
"Why would you say something like that, Len?!" Rin shouts. She has tears in her eyes, she storms out of the room slamming the door behind her. SeeU turns to look at me.
"Well, if you keep making her angry, you won't have to worry about killing her because you'll already be dead," SeeU says before walking out of the room as well.
I know Rin won't kill me, or even stay mad at me for long. She's just upset because I brought her back to the reality of the situation. As much as it pains me to do that, I have too. Rin is like a bird, meant to fly up in the clouds, but life is like a rock, thrown at birds like her to send them plummeting to the ground.