I lay on the cool metal table waiting for my stylist to come. My skin is tingling even minutes after they yanked out all of the hair on my body except for on my head and part of my eyebrows. Finally a young woman looking to be in her twenties enters. Her strides are sweeping and graceful and her blonde hair tipped with purple is braided elaborately down her back in a style that reminds me of the girl from 12. I remember from what little of the reapings I saw.
"I am Bianca," she says in a soft voice somehow absent of the clipped Capitol accent. She comes over to me. "Sit up, please," she says, and I can't help thinking she is one of the tamer Capitol people. I sit up and watch as she fingers my hair, a smile touching her lips. "Put on your robe so we can talk." She helps me down from the table and studies me as I walk to the hook where the white silk robe hangs. I feel her eyes on my back as I tug the robe on. "Come with me." Bianca leads me to a room that's large, but small by Capitol standards, that overlooks the city.
I run my eyes over her as she sits down on a couch, studying her in the same way she studied me. I like her quiet, calm manner but I'm not sure what to think of her yet. Her appearance also perplexes me. Her long blonde hair seems to be its natural color aside from the purple tips and her skin is not altered grotesquely. She does not have a ridiculously high voice or an accent, either. I tilt my head slightly. She pats the cushion next to her. "Sit down! What are you waiting for?" I sit down, the cushion making a slight poofing sound. "So. For your costume I have decided to dress you up as farmers." I sigh inwardly. Year after year District 11 tributes are always farmers. Seeing the expression on my face, she smiles. "But," she adds, pausing for a momment. "there's something to spice it up a bit. You'll just have to wait and see," Bianca finishes, flashing a grin.
A few hours later I am dressed. My costume is a red shirt made of silk that goes to my elbows and overalls made from black denim. I like how the black contrasts sharply with the red. This Bianca must have good taste. My hair, now stick straight, is pulled into a bun. It was straighted by some sort of iron with two sides to it. Finally, the finishing touch is a crown of sliver laurel leaves that eventually fall down the back of my head and split once they get to the bun and twirl down, finishing in sparkling ribbons. It is beautiful, too elegant for the rest of my costume.
At the bottom floor of the Remake Center we are ushered into chariots with a team of four dapple grey horses. Their manes are twisted with silver ribbons. Thresh climbs in after me looking weary. He is dressed in a similar outfit but his shirt is checkered with blue and white and the crown of laurels is less elaborate. Both of our faces shimmer with glitter.
"You're beautiful," he whispers. That is the last thing I hear before the chariot rolls forwards into the city after the other chariots containing the other tributes. My enemies, the people that will kill me if I don't kill them. My stomach twists at the thought. Suddenly, over the blaring of the anthem, the audience's cheers and applause are wild as 12's chariot rolls in. On the huge screens around us the tributes from 12 are projected. My heart thuds in my throat when I see the flames engulfing their bodies. They're stunning. And for the other tributes this is very bad. Everyone needs good sponsors and they all know that. I see the looks the other tributes throw them, especially the ones from the Capitol. What 12's stylists did to try to help them made them the main target. I shake my head slightly.
"Katniss! Katniss!" the crowd chants. I know they will remember her as the girl on fire. And me? What will I be? Nothing, as always. The little girl, always overlooked. I sigh heavily and don't listen as the president gives an opening speech, but who is he kidding? Everybody's eyes are on the tributes surrounded by flames.
When we're exiting the city the cameras attempt to get at least one shot of each of the districts and I watch as my shimmery face flashes on the screen for a split second before the cameras turn to the tributes from 12, Katniss and Peeta, the tributes on fire.
Blah. That was boring to write. I hope it wasn't boring to read. Once we get to the games, though, the fun shall begin!
Review! Please?