Celina 8
I opened my eyes, crusted over with the make-up I couldn't be bothered to wipe off last night. I crashed into bed face down, only stopping to take off my dress. My extensions had tangled themselves everywhere. They snaked around my arms, the bedposts, and my legs. I sat up, causing about 2 of them to ping off, making me roar in agony. I carefully unclipped the remaining 8 of them, throwing them onto the chair next to the bed. I stumbled over to the shower, pressing random buttons, letting the foams and jets of multi coloured water blast me clean. I only got out when the massage pads pummelled me so hard I was sure to have bruises. Great, that was just what I needed in the arena.
I walked over to the sink and pressed a button that dried my hair immediately, making it fall about my shoulders in a perfect, unbroken sheet. I found a drawer full of make-up, and washed the beautiful, smudged face away from last night, revealing remarkably clear skin, and almost invisible, golden eyelashes. I slowly, carefully lined my eyes with dark blue liner, and dabbed golden glitter on my eyes in a tribute to Kitty's stunning work the night before. I still needed to make an impression. I walked into my bedroom, wrapping a short silk robe around me.
"Hey there," A masculine voice purred from behind me, "I thought I should give you some last minute tips." I slowly turned around, and there was Finnick, obviously straight from the shower, with rumpled, damp bronze hair, and a sapphire towel wrapped around his waist.
I sat down on the bed, taking it all up, and started going through my wardrobe, choosing my last outfit before the games. My dress and hair extensions were taking up both of the white wicker chairs, and the only place available to sit down on was the rug on the floor. Finnick decided to remain standing.
"Now, I know you have ruled the careers out," Finnick started, "But please try and form an alliance. Somehow I don't think Martin is the type of guy you want to end up on the wrong side of."
"Mm Hmm," I nodded in assent, but pulled out two flowing dresses and held them up to Finnick, "Turquoise or white?" Finnick shook his head, thoughts of reconciliation dispersing, and walked out, muttering angrily to himself. I decided on the white dress, and golden flats. I knew gold set off my eyes perfectly, and wrapped a thick necklace around my throat, and strings of pearls around my ankles and wrists. I decided to use a piece of seaweed as my token. It still smelled like seawater.
I walked towards the front room, knowing Ferrero would be there. Martin's stylist was poring over the fabrics with him, trying to decipher the clues that were always in the clothes. Ferrero wore a puzzled expression, which made the snakes move in a drunken way. I decided to ask him about them.
"How do the snakes move?" I realised too late I had interrupted him, and whispered sorry.
"It's ok dear," Ferrero smiled and patted my shoulder, "You look very nice today, and gold really brings out the highlights in your eyes. The tattoo is linked to my heartbeat, and responds to my emotions. For instance, they are moving slowly at the moment because I am very confused as to what the arena will be from the outfit we have been given."
He handed me a light linen jumpsuit which was dazzlingly white and knee high tight fitted boots with soles that seemed a bit too wide.
"Well, I assume it is going to be boiling," I gestured to the jumpsuit, "because this won't offer any protection from the cold, and white reflects heat. That's why me and my father wore it when we went fishing on hot days."
"Yes, that's what I thought at first," Ferrero brought out a mass of black fabric, "until I saw the coat."
It was thickly padded, ever so slightly reflective, and had a large hood with large amounts of fur on the inside and spilling out to cover the edge of the hood that faced the air.
"The reflective hue looks a lot like the insulating material the gamemakers sometimes use for sleeping bags," Ferrero puzzled, "and I have no idea why such extremes would be together…" He wandered off murmuring to himself, leaving me to go back to my room to change into the outfit provided.
I slipped off the dress I wore for about 5 minutes, and put on my jumpsuit. It was loose under my arms, and around my knees, but had incredibly tight sleeves that went down to just above my elbows, long tight trousers, and it clung to my stomach, making me look curvy, and accentuated my…best features, shall I say. It looked fabulous on me, but I was toned and had 2% body fat. I knew this because Ferrero's scales calculated BMI, body fat percentage and loads more numbers that meant nothing to me. However, some of the tributes were carrying a little bit of extra weight, especially the ones from poor districts, who just stuffed themselves with the fatty foods in the Capitol and did no training whatsoever. It would make them look like a sack of potatoes. The jumpsuit was definitely designed to show off our bodies, so the Capitol citizens will know who to bet on.
My boots were soft leather, and the sole definitely was too wide for the boot. There might be sand, because my father and I often tied sticks to our shoes to make them wider when walking across soft sand. This was to stop us sinking. My heart soared as images of sandy beaches and cool clear waves filled my mind's eye. Finally, I put on my coat. It fell down to my knees, and I started sweating even walking down the cool corridors of our floor.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. The hovercraft arrived and a painful injection was administered in my forearm. Apparently this was a tracker, so they knew when we were dead, and where they needed to pick up our bodies from. Well, at least that's what I thought they would be used for.
The windows blacked out and a ladder appeared and as soon as I stepped on it I felt frozen in place by some sort of electric current. I got an itch on my nose, and I couldn't even scrunch up my face to scratch it. All the way down to the underground tunnels that was all I could think of. I looked up and saw Ferrero's puzzled expression as I immediately started clawing at my face. I awkwardly laughed and quickly explained my theory of a beach or at least some sand.
"There's no way I can lose!" I gushed; ignoring my stylist's concerned expression, "This arena was built for ME!" I twirled around flinging off my coat that landed at Ferrero's feet. He picked it up and handed it back to me.
"Keep it. From past games, I have learned that tributes that discard part of their arena outfits invariably don't survive the first night. Keep it, even if you can't stand wearing it, stash it somewhere easy to get to but hidden." I stopped twirling, falling into Martin's surprisingly strong arms. I quickly pushed myself up, wriggling free of his iron grip and hurriedly following Ferrero down the dark metal corridor. As I twisted to catch my coat he threw behind him to me I clocked Martins stunned expression and slightly flushed cheeks. He still looked like he was holding someone but he was whisked away just as I was about to say something. I shook my head and ran after Ferrero. I couldn't let Martin get to my head. It was probably all part of his master plan to mess me up.
Ferrero fussed about me, reminding me of ways to extract water from trees, and how to shelter in them.
"What if there aren't any trees?" I questioned worriedly. Most of his survival techniques involved trees somehow.
"There are always trees." He said firmly, guiding me with one strong hand towards the glass cylinder that would transport me into the arena. I stopped and hugged him tight, letting him fasten the seaweed around my neck. He had soaked it in seawater again, and the smell drifted into my nostrils, instantly calming me. He stuffed several pairs of socks into my coats many pockets and put a finger to his lips, grinning.
"Ferrero," I slowly started, but this was not a time to be meek, "If I get any sponsors, make sure they send me water. I can do without everything else, but I will go insane without water. Tell Den…"
I realised too late that the cylinder had closed and Ferrero was showing me to act out what I wanted. The cylinder started rising, and I crouched down to act out the waves of the sea, but it rose too quickly, and I stood up, making sure I was nowhere near the edges of the circle of metal. Hot sun took my breath away as my body rose up into the arena that was surely going to kill me. A bright orange sky stretched as far as I could see, where it merged into unbroken azure sand, scattered with a few cactuses here and there. No trees in sight Ferrero…
I realised I was crouching again on the metal plate, and I couldn't seem to move. The countdown rang in my ears, but I still couldn't do anything except dart my eyes around, and try to concentrate on not letting my heart burst through my chest.
"3
2
1
GO!"
The 67th Annual Hunger Games had begun, but I still couldn't seem to move towards or away from the shining gold Cornucopia, even though I could see a morning star glinting, not even 10 metres away.