I spent that night on the train crying, thinking about my family. I wasn't really sure why. Jade could take whatever came her way and then some, always could, especially when my life was on the line, and Roy was far from a lightweight. Still, the tears welled up until I decided to just let them flow freely and uninterrupted.

When I woke up the next morning, my head hurt, my eyes were red and my mood was irritable. The last thing I wanted to do was see another human being. Still, hunger won out, so I dressed and made my way to the dining room.

And there was Queen Bee, sitting by herself in a corner, primping in a little hand mirror, and Kaldur'ahm, talking to Oliver Queen, who was sitting at the table with Dinah. They all glanced at me when I entered, Kaldur'ahm actually getting up and pulling out my chair for me again.

Kaldur'ahm sat back down before he said to me "I was just asking Mr. Queen about strategy." Oliver gave a humorless laugh and replied "Here's your strategy; survive."

And this four word sentence alone made me see red. "That's funny," I told him, simultaneously grabbing a fancy knife and stabbing it into the table between his fingers. "But not to me."

Everyone went silent, except for Queen Bee who angrily muttered "That was antique mahogany." Oliver looked at his wife and went "I like this one." Then he looked back to me and asked, "Can you hit anything with that knife, besides a motionless table?"

Now I wasn't not bad at throwing knives, though Jade was undoubtably better. At first I didn't want to do anything Oliver asked of me. He was a drunken fool who hadn't kept a tribute alive since he became a mentor. What could he possibly teach me?

But then Jade, and Roy and my not yet born niece or nephew flashed through my mind. This was the man who is supposed to help me get back to them. I needed to get in good with him. So I pried the knife from the table, got a good hold of the blade, and threw it at the wall across from us. I was just hoping it would stick, but amazingly it lodged directly between two panels, making me look better than I really was.

Oliver looked impressed, as did Dinah. Kaldur'ahm not so much. "Both of you, stand up. Please," Dinah asked us. We did, and they both circled us, making a little comment to each other now and then, like "She's mostly muscle. Good for her, bad for her stylist" and "Like to see what they make of this kid's tatt's". Finally they both faced us.

Dinah was the one who spoke. "Here's the deal. As long as both of you do everything we say, I'll make sure Oliver stays sober enough to help you. And you'll have my unofficial mentoring." Both of us nodded. It wasn't a great deal, but it was probably the best we were gonna get.

And even Kaldur'ahm knew better than to argue with Dinah Lance-Queen, daughter of the former head Peacekeeper, who was known around the Seam as the Black Canary. Canary because supposedly she could charm anyone who met her. Black because she could take anyone she couldn't charm.

Dinah nodded in response to us. "Good. Now, we're about to pull into the station. From there, you two will be taken to meet your personal stylists, who will prepare you for the opening ceremonies."

I'm sure my face was reflecting how I felt about the "prepare" thing, because Dinah chuckled and told me "It won't be very pleasant, but it's not like they mean to harm you. Just do what they say."

I nodded to that. I mean, I'd survived everything else thrown at me. How bad could a few hours of primping be?

Very very bad, was the answer. I'd been in the Remodel Center for about three hours, and I still hadn't met my so-called stylist. What had happened was that my body had been scrubbed until I was completely free of any kind of dirt, along with a few layers of skin. My nails had been manicured. First, and probably last, time in my life.

Right now, three members of my prep team are ridding my body of any hair that isn't on my head.

A very very pale red-headed woman with green flowery vine tattoos called Ivy was waxing my legs, another red-head, a young, giggly, happy girl with bright green skin maybe my age named Megan, was plucking my eyebrows. The third member, yet another red-head but the only normal looking member, named Whisper, was standing of to the side, complementing my success.

"You're doing a good job. If there's anything I hate most it's a whiny tribute. Rub her down ladies!"

Ivy and Megan rubbed some kind of lotion over me, one that first stung then soothed my angry skin. After that they had me stand naked while they looked me over, occasionally plucking a hair that had escaped their first assault. If I should have been embarrassed I wasn't. Mostly because even I knew I had nothing to be embarrassed of. Secondly because these women seemed so unnatural themselves.

Eventually they stepped back and admired their work. Whisper declared "Viola! Now you look like a human being." It made the phony smile I'd been using for the last three hours slip a little, so I remembered Dinah's words. I hadn't snapped once so far. Why start now?

"Thank you for all your hard work. We don't have very good reasons to dress up in Twelve." This of course plucked at their heartstrings, and they chorused me with "Of course you don't" and "Poor thing", also "When Zatanna's done you won't even recognize yourself". Then I really had trouble maintaining my fake smile. If I could of seen myself, I probably looked like I was in pain.

They finally left the room, to fetch Zatanna, whoever that was. I found that, though I wasn't a fan of them, I didn't exactly hate them. It's like Dinah said; they didn't mean to hurt me. They were just ridiculous. Too ridiculous to actually hate. And hey, if I'd been born in the Capitol, this could have been me.

My hands went straight my braided hair, the one thing I wouldn't let them touch. The door opened and a young woman stepped through. I'd have been shocked if she was older than thirty. Of course in the Capitol you never knew. I was also shocked by how normal she looked. Long wavy black hair, fair skin. Her clothes were a white blouse and a black skirt with sheer tights and tall boots. Her only noticable makeup was silver eyeliner that complemented her blue eyes.

"Hello Artemis. I'm Zatanna, your stylist." Her voice was also normal, if a little soft-spoken. "Hello."

"Let me say that that was probably the bravest thing I have ever seen. I'm sorry that this happened to you. I want you to know that I'm do to help you in any way I can."

Again, not what I expected. "So far all everyone's done is congratulate me."

"I don't see much point in that. Well, let me look you," She asked, walking around me in a slow circle. Again, if I should have been embarassed I wasn't. "Who did your hair?" she asked, giving the braids a light touch. "My sister." "She did a fantastic job."

I asked what had been on my mind since Zatanna first walked in. "Your new, aren't you?" Zatanna smiled and answered "Very. This is my first year in the Games." I nodded. Then it all made sense. "So they gave you the shaft and stuck you with Twelve."

She shook her head, saying "I asked for Twelve. It just seemed to be the place for me." Again, not what I expected. Zatanna smiled again. "You now about the tribute parade tonight, right? That you're gonna be dressed in some way that represents your district?"

"Of course. Mine is coal miners."

"Yes but that's much too simple. I just think someone so brave shouldn't be stuck in some ridiculous costume. Do you?"

I can feel a sly smile, one I know Dick would be proud of, creeping it's way along my face.

"I hope not."