Flashes of Gold
Chapter Two | The Fattening
The male tribute is scrawny looking. I find it relieving, actually, because he's so obviously weak and probably can't lift an axe. I most likely won't have to kill him. The Careers have a habit of weeding out anyone who doesn't make it through the bloodbath, and the weak are always the first to go.
I guess the majority of the days before the Games are spent gorging, because that's what everyone's doing. The Chariot Rides are tomorrow, and the day was mainly spent with my prep team. It was annoying, watching them fight over who gets to do my hair and makeup – probably a more rewarding job than waxing my legs. The woman who ended up with the triumph wasn't gentle, either. She pulled at my long black strands and coaxed them into doing things I didn't think possible. It was like an evaluation – they were deciding what to do for the Rides so that, when the time came, they can be quick about it. Hopefully a lot quicker than they were for the Chariot Rides.
Unfortunately, I didn't get a glimpse of my costume, but I'm shifting between happiness and discomfort on the matter. Last year, the tributes were stuffed into plastic tree trunks and given branches to hold and swing around. It was a ghastly ordeal, but the whole 'tree trunk get-up' seems to be a bit popular for District Seven. After all, what else could you do for the lumber district?
Now, as I sit at the table watching everyone eat, I can't help but feel a little angry at those stupid artists. My legs were still searing with pain, and my scalp itched with a residue that was probably still attached to my hair. I glared down at my food, suddenly not feeling as hungry as I was five minutes before.
"You'd better eat, idiot. You'll need more than your energy in the days to come."
I sent my glare up across the table, to where my mentor sat. Unfortunately, we had a lot in common, because her narrowed eyes seemed even fiercer than mine. Johanna Mason participated in the Games only a few years back, but her vast knowledge of techniques was the reason she was back here at the Capitol. Just because she shared my stubbornness, however, didn't mean I had to like her.
I don't respond, because I know that if I do, my cutting words will probably earn a slap. I learned that after the first time. I also learned that she can hit like no one I'd ever known. I won't admit that the sentiment makes me slightly proud, because I'm supposed to hate her.
Because I can still feel her glare on my face, I force a thick chunk of potato into my mouth. If eating makes her happy, then I'll eat. But as I continue to chew, I feel like nothing more than a pig being fattened for slaughter. The thought sickens me so much that my stomach churns restlessly and I have to stop again.
"Alrighty!" comes the cheery voice of the woman who the names. Her name is Hayley, and she refuses to be called by her last name. All in all, that's a good thing, because I can't really remember what it was anyway. "Tomorrow is the Chariot Rides. Are you both very excited?"
By the blank look she receives from all of us, Johanna included, she frowns. Apparently she's the only one whose the least bit excited. It probably has something to do with the fact that her life isn't going to be risked, or, more than likely, ended entirely.
"Well, you should at least try to be happy. Your entire District will be watching, after all. Being honored with the chance to prove yourself should be fun!" I bit the inside of my mouth to stop from saying something nasty – a habit I've lately been trying to reign in. Something about not getting Sponsors if I keep acting like a bitch or whatever.
"Anyway, I'm sure you'll both look absolutely lovely in your costumes – " she glances at me, but stops when she sees the way my eyes are shimmering with rage. Quickly, she turns to address the boy, – Matt something-or-other – who doesn't look nearly as lethal. "Last year, the tree costumes were especially nice." And the year before that, and the year before that. But I kept my mouth shut because Johanna is shooting me that shut-up-or-you'll-regret-it look.
Dinner doesn't end fast enough. I sit there and endure half an hour more of Hayley's incessant jabbering before we're finally dismissed. Later that night, when I finally fall into bed, I'm so exhausted with emotions and locked in worry that I fall asleep in record time.
Upon waking up to Hayley's annoying, pitchy voice and then remembering what awaits me today, I find myself wishing I could sleep longer. But snuggling into my pillows is useless, because I know I have a schedule to adhere to, and if I'm late for my costume fitting, there'll be hell to pay. So I force myself to get out of bed and stumble into the shower, which I still don't really understand how to use.
Somehow, I get it to shoot out hot water, and scrub myself clean. My hair feels silky beneath my fingertips, but I know it won't for long. No doubt the Prep team will pile that sticky stuff onto it again. My scalp will probably hurt by the time I get back to my room later tonight.
As I make my way down to the Prep room, my mind is abuzz with frightful images of the costume I'll be forced into. I can picture Calan's face now, sneering and laughing her giddy, melodious laugh at the sight of me stuffed into a tree trunk. My face seems to be set in an irreplaceable grimace by the time I reach the room, but surprisingly, what awaits me is not what I had been imagining.
It's much worse. I find that I'd rather be stuffed into a tree, because after donning the outfit, it's so sheer that you can practically see through it. It's made of interwoven leaves, which might have been pretty had there not been so many spaces between them. It's very scandalous – more risqué than I'd ever worn.
My grimace intensifies as my fingers fly over the silken leaves, trying to draw them tighter against my skin. I wish they'd let me wear something underneath it, because I'm going to be cold and ridiculous. Unfortunately, my Prep team can only smile at the sight of me. They find nothing wrong with the dress. They think it's stunning on me. They don't seem to care that my District will probably be wide-eyed and shocked at the sight of their grumpy, biting tribute wearing nothing but leaves.
I wished they at least gave me some of those damned tree branches from the year before, so that I could at least try to shield myself a bit. It's not like the dress actually showed anything, but it was the least I'd ever worn without being utterly bare, and the fact that I was going on live television before all of Panem didn't help much.
But Johanna, when she saw me, only smirked. "Put some make-up on her before she blushes it off," she told the Prep team loudly, and I swiftly curse at her as they pull me back to do just that. By the time they're finished with me, my face is fixed with shimmery foundation that's as sheer as the dress itself.
I have to admit that the make-up isn't all that bad. It could have been much worse. The skin shimmers a greenish color that runs over every revealed inch of skin, from my face to my arms to my legs, but it isn't a sickly sort of green. I look rather otherworldly, as though I'm a sprite or fairy in one of the trees back home. I'm just glad I don't have to wear wings.
Matt Devons, District 7's male tribute, looks similar to me when we meet each other again. His outfits tailored to his male body, however, and leaves most of his chest bare. His facial make-up is minimal, but his Prep team obviously did something similar to mine when they highlighted his features. Together, we look like a team. I try not to grimace at the thought as we step onto our Chariot.
Hayley tatters away as we grasp onto the railings. The first of the Chariots has already pulled into the crowd, and it's almost District 7's turn. I try not to think about how my family is watching right now, or what Evon might think when he sees me. But it's hard to keep my thoughts from anything else, and I feel miserable the entire time we wait.
Luckily, once we roll into the crowd's sight, my thoughts turn to more pressing matters, like the fact that everyone's quietly marveling at our shimmering costumes. I try not to look like I'm the unhappiest person alive, but I don't think I convince anyone. Matt, on the other hand, smiles and waves like it doesn't bother him at all. Following him is a good idea, so I try to lift up my mouth a bit. I suppose I couldn't hurt. After all, I'll need Sponsors once I'm in the Arena, and getting on the Capitol's good side is a smart step. Haughtily, my lips curve into a deadly smirk.
I don't care if I've won anyone over, though. I try to, but the only thing I feel toward these Capitol people is hatred. By the time our Chariot rolls out of sight, I've already convinced myself that I don't even need a Sponsor. I can't take whatever they throw at me. I've always strong. A bad sentiment, but I guess I've been feeling rather empty from the moment Evon and Calan – no, I tell myself. I don't want to think about them right now. I don't want to imagine them huddled up together, watching me with the rest of the District.
The only thing I see as I stalk back to the elevator after being dismissed is Johanna's smirking face as she watches me leave. I'm struck with a realization then, that maybe she and I are more alike than I think.
My Interview gown is more substantial than the Chariot one. It's not puffy, but rather slim and hugged my curves. It didn't take long for my Prep team to realize what my attitude was like. The dress, certainly, matched it well.
It is risky in it's own way – different from the leaf dress but still scandalous in the way it dipped over my hips and plunged into my cleavage. It hardly has any back to it at all, and the entire fabric, which is colored a deep green, is silky and satiny.
It seemed that they tried to match my outfit with Matt's once again, but I don't think they did a good job. Matt's overall personality is lighter than mine. There was no way they could stifle his carefree nature. He looked out of place in his green dress shirt, as though stuffed into a new attitude that was completely different. And it was, of course.
I can't keep the scowl from my face as I wait for my turn. District 4's girl is really peppy and annoying, but I feel like I can see right through her. She's obviously putting on a farce in order to gain Sponsors. I'd be willing to bet that inside, she'd not nearly as happy.
Johanna had coached Matt and I in our Interviews separately, and she mentioned that I might try a similar tactic. I assume it was a joke, though, because she choked on her laughter right after she'd suggested it. We pretended to go fabricate a plan, but we both know I'm not going to follow it once I get out there. I could never get a handle on my sarcastic nature, and I don't intend to try now, when my death is imminent.
Girls go before boys, so when it's District 7's time, I take my stand and walk onto the stage. The shoes my Prep team stuffed me into are really uncomfortable, so I'm honestly surprised that I haven't fallen yet. Huh. Maybe if I do, people will find me humorous and decide to be Sponsors that way. The thought is laughable to my nervous state.
"And here's District Seven's first tribute, Wren Fey!" The broadcaster reached out to shake my hand, and I kept a silent expression as I smoothed it into his grasp. After the clapping had diminished, we took our seats and my three minutes started.
"Wren, you come all the way from District 7 – the lumber district. How are you liking your stay at the Capitol so far?" his eyes twinkled at me, and I felt as though he were mocking me, but I tell myself that he's just being a good Capitol host.
I'm hating my stay, I thought. I almost want to just kill myself and get it over with. But I don't say any of that aloud. Instead, I open my mouth to respond, "Oh, it's lovely. Nothing like District Seven. I'm sure I won't be able to get accustomed with life back home ever again." Ha. As if going home is even an option.
I grit my teeth and force myself to look out at the audience, who are smiling amongst themselves at the compliment I've seemingly given them. But this isn't me. I don't want to just play nice like the girl from District 4. In response to my thoughts, I smirk, and listen to my interviewer as he asks another question. "Oh, that's sweet, really. You must be excited to be a part of the games. District 7 is always a fairly popular district. Are you feeling like a winner?"
My smirk tilts into an emotion that even I can't understand. Bitterness creeps into my eyes. With a steely edge to my voice, I tell him, "Oh yes. I feel very much the winner." My smirk becomes a sneer, "In fact, I'm so pleased I could keel over and die."
Alright, so I don't know where that came from, but I probably wasn't the best thing to do. The interviewer's eyes flash with anxiety, as though he were really afraid of me. But what can I do? I'm just a fattened pig, waiting to be slaughtered, stuffed into a silky dress that compliments only my brusque personality. He chuckles, sounding just a little nervous, and the crowd remains silent. Sponsors? Why would I care about getting Sponsors?
"Well, I, erm, and very pleased to hear that." He doesn't sound pleased at all, but I don't call his bluff. My eyes suddenly loose their edge and I smirk again like before, without the hard emotion or stiff, prejudiced nature.
The clock is almost up, but in the last twenty seconds, he asks one last question, and it's a question I don't want to answer. "And are there any family or friends watching you from home?"
I open my mouth and then pause, not really knowing what to say. Surely, there was my mother, who didn't want me to leave but couldn't go against the Capitol. There was Calan, who I didn't think of as a twin, but more as an evil step-sister. There was Evon, but he never cared about me any more than at a friendship level. When he betrayed me for Calan, I – stop, I tell myself. Not right now.
I'm aware of how long it's taking me to answer. The audience is on the edge of their seats, waiting with baited breath, wondering why I haven't said anything yet. They hope I say something they can gossip about, I think. They want to hear that I don't have a family or friends, because that will make me impressionable. That will get me Sponsors. Which I need, right? Oh, damn it all to hell.
When I respond, I look straight into the cameras with a dead sort of look to my eyes. "I don't have any worthwhile family, and I certainly don't have any worthwhile friends." And that was that.
That's chapter 2 :] I'm writing up a storm, so for now I'll be able to post a chapter a day. Feel free to drop a review on the way out~! Maybe then I'll have something to talk about xD