Hiya everyone! Sorry it's been a while...a really long while :P School is killing me. Had to write a Term paper about flaws in our government (we have it better than you think. O.o It was hard to write about actually...I thought it'd be easy) heehee.
Anywayyyy...Here's the parade. I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. I can't make any promises :P Enjoy! The girl and boy on fire!
When we get off the train, we are immediately swarmed by crowds of people. Peacekeepers rush to keep us covered as best as possible, but we can still see their faces and hear their voices. Katniss manages to sneak a whisper in my ear, reminding me to woo the crowd; and of course, she has no trouble with it. Everyone is screaming our names – especially hers. A group of boys about our age dressed in ridiculous Capitol fashion scream for her. They want her phone number, some of her time. They want Katniss Everdeen in general and have no shame in screaming it. She gives them a flirtatious wave, and they nearly break each other's arms trying to claim it.
I feel a tinge of jealousy inside my chest, but I push it down. She's just working the crowd, like she should be. I don't try very hard – I don't want them to be on my side. I want them to love Katniss. More than me. I keep my gestures small and few - so when a girl close to Madge's age screams for me, I shoot her a wink and nothing more. She nearly collapses into her friend's arms and I want to scoff, but I catch myself. Right now, I am Tribute Peeta Mellark – charming, brave, quiet. I want them to like me, but not as much as my companion. And it seems as though my plan is working - Katniss has me beat. And I couldn't argue - I'd pick her over a grumpy brat like me. And when we are introduced to some of our stylists – I can tell that mine would have much rather had Katniss. She's a very green woman. Hair, smile, eyes, tattoos, and clothing – all stained green like a pasture or meadow.
"You're handsome," she states simply. "That's good."
The next moments are an embarrassing rush of clothes coming off – specifically my clothes. The room seems to have dropped 20 degrees and I fight off a shiver. I've never been particularly comfortable naked, but I've been able to deal with it. But as the green lady stands back, her green lips pursed and takes a look at me, I can't help but feel embarrassed. Her eyes are narrowed, almost like she's studying me. I have to clench my hands into fists not to cover myself up. "Not bad," she says lowly, and it makes me think that I wasn't supposed to hear it. "I'm Venia," and with that she extends her hand.
So now she wants an introduction.
"Peeta."
"I know who you are," she dismisses. "Everyone knows who you are – for now. But we want to make sure they don't forget." She guides me over to lie down on a table and proceeds to roll out a long, silver table of torture devices – sparkling, sharp metal.
I attempt to sit up, but she shoves my shoulder back down. "I'm not going to gut you." She rolls her eyes. Her choice of words makes me cringe, and she notices, I think, because her next words are softer. "I'm just here to touch you up – make you look nice and squeaky clean for Portia." She scrubs every inch of my body, basically. I force myself to zone out – think of something other than the fact that I'm stark naked, being violated by a stranger. Eventually, I'm numb enough that no emotions can touch me. I'm just a shell of a man – being polished.
In my state of comatose, I can hear the faint snipping of scissors my right ear. I trust her to not make me look too freaky – but then I remember that I'm in the Capitol. Freaky is normal.
Then I wonder what they're doing to Katniss at the moment...
"Are you okay?" I hear her ask faintly, drawing me out of my tangent. "I know what I'm doing, you know." She cracks a smile – and I can tell under all the green that she is truly pretty. What a shame – to have a face turned hideous by fashion.
"Yeah," I lie. "Anxious about the parade." The last part is true. I'd been trying to avoid all Game related thoughts, but it's hard considering they're within days. The parade was supposed to be the easiest part of the whole ordeal – you get gussied up in a costume, smile, wave, look pretty and go eat a good dinner. But, you see, I'm from District 12. The costume was supposed to represent our District's trade – District 1 always had really extravagant wear, even 2.
12 had coal.
What were we supposed to do with that? Hopefully nothing as awful as I'd seen previous years. Most of the time, 12's were characterized in cheesy coal miner outfits, but there was one year where they paraded around the tributes butt naked – cloaked in nothing but black powder. If I had to choose, I'd rather deal with the over-played miner costume. I just pray that our stylists wouldn't be so bold.
"It's not hard," she murmurs. "They'll throw themselves at you when they see you in what Portia has in store. You'll be on fire," she chuckles. This gives me a glimmer of hope – that maybe I won't look ridiculous tonight – or naked. "Do you want to keep the scruff?" she asks, brushing a hand along my cheek. "It makes you look rugged; if that's the strategy you're going with. Is that what you and your mentor worked out?" I unconsciously run a hand along my cheek. No hair? I can't remember the last time I didn't have it. If I did keep it, would it affect the strategy Haymitch had been planning? Am I supposed to look strong?
You may not think it, but appearances matter a lot more than you'd guess. Attractive tributes get more sponsors. Katniss is a glowing angel without even a smudge of makeup, so I have no fear that she'll have trouble scraping up sponsors.
I, on the other hand, don't see myself that way. I've been told by many people that I'm good looking – whispering Merchant and Seam girls included. But was I the heart-breaking, earth-shattering, sponsor-nabbing looker that I needed to be? Would facial hair be a deciding factor in my strategy? Haymitch hadn't been dropping any hints as to what his plan for me was – maybe it'd be okay if I kept it...
No.
If I look rugged, like Venia said, I'm going to get targeted. I don't want to pose as a threat. The most that the other tributes have seen of me is the Reaping – where I cried and hugged my fellow tribute. That looks wimpy, and if I look squeaky clean and soft, maybe they'll leave me alone so I can keep tabs on Katniss.
"Shave it," I say through gritted teeth.
"Okay," she says hesitantly. And the sound of sharp metal and liquid being squirted just about makes my heart stop. I close my eyes and breath slowly in and out of my nose. The tickle of metal gliding over my foam covered cheeks and neck causes me to laugh. "Your face is like a forest!" she complains. "When's the last time you shaved?"
I chuckle, "Never shaved. Just trimmed." I peek under my closed eyes to see the look of disgust cross her face. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a single Capitol man with facial hair yet – minus Snow and Crane. But their hair is so processed and unnatural is looks like another hair piece.
"That's ridiculous," she mutters, giggling lightly. "What does your girlfriend think of the hair?"
"I don't have a girlfriend."
Her eyes widen, looking doubtful. "But...I thought – what about Katniss?"
I raise an eyebrow. "What about her? We're just friends." Never before has the word friends sounded so dirty – empty. Not enough.
"You could have convinced me. That hug –," she swoons a little and bats her eyelashes playfully.
"You know, she did volunteer to go for my sister. What was I supposed to do? Just shake her hand? She fully knows that she could –"
Die.
But that word didn't seem to want to come out. The image of a pale Katniss Everdeen lying dead on the ground somewhere in a forest or a meadow – even a desert shreds my heart to a bloody lump and I squeeze my eyes tightly, fighting the pictures away.
She's going to be fine. No harm will come to her.
Venia gives me a sad smile and continues sawing away at my face forest. "Friends," she scoffs. Before I can argues she cut me off, "It looks like my work here is done. I'll send Portia in." She grabs my hand – and I think she's going to shake it, but she only squeezes it. "I'll see you in a few days. It's nice to meet you, Peeta," and struts out.
The woman I assume to be Portia flies into the room before the door even swings all the way close. She actually looks normal, pretty gold – but no freaky tattoos or odd colored lipstick. She might have even fit in back at 12. I don't recognize her to be a stylist from a previous year though, her face doesn't seem familiar.
She extends her hand out to me, completely unfazed by my nakedness. "Peeta," she breathes. "It's an honor to me you."
The comment was nothing that I expected, and I'm not quite sure how to respond, but I somehow manage to mumble out something that makes sense. "I don't know why you would. You're Portia."
She smiles. "Yes," and rolls her eyes. "Why wouldn't I be honored?" She hands me a robe from under the table I was spread out on and I slip it on. It's possibly the most comfortable article of clothing that's ever touched my skin, and I'm thankful to be covered up. Warm at last.
"We're 12," I say. Isn't it blatantly obvious? We're the losers of Panem.
"I asked for 12, Peeta."
I raise an eyebrow. "Why would you do that?"
Her smile grows impossibly larger. "When I watched the Reapings – I was completely enthralled by you and Katniss," she says, and I can tell by the way her eyes sparkle that she means it. "I've never seen someone embrace at a Reaping before." Portia then gets me off my feet and has me extend my arms out to my sides. She takes a couple measurements, doing a speedy and detailed job. By all the angles she taking, it makes me really start to wonder what she's planning to put me in. "And I think it'd be amazing to say that I was stylist for a winner," she says softly.
She thought I could win.
I wanted to protest – say that there was no way I was coming out. I wanted to say that I'd already given my life over to Katniss and was set on getting her out of that arena – regardless of the cost. But Portia cut me off, "Peeta – how do you feel about fire?"
I'm a rock.
I think...
Or...coal?
I really have no idea at this point – I feel dizzy, and I'm not even sure if I'm actually in my skin. The black body suit that I've been sewn into leaves little to the imagination and it's suffocating me like a boa constrictor – making my already nervous breaths even shorter.
I was going to be set on fire.
WHAT. That's...is that even legal here? Can you set your tributes on fire before they get in the arena? Portia and Cinna, both, had tried to explain to me that it wasn't real fire – a synthetic flame that would make us the talk of the whole nation. We even argued about it. They threw a bunch of big-worded scientific facts at me about how safe it was, trying to convince me to wear it.
My only argument was that fire was hot. And it would burn me.
I sounded pretty dumb, to say the least.
Haymitch escorted me over to the chariots, even slapping me on the back, saying comforting things that I'd never thought would come out of his mouth. He must have been drunker than I thought – but then again, he seemed to be walking in straight lines, but his fowl mouth also seemed to find its way back.
"Now," he began. "When you come into view, wave the shit out of them."
Okay.
"And wink at them goddammit! Katniss is winning the girls over! That should be you, princess!"
I nod, my speech suddenly gone because from behind Haymitch, I can see Cinna escorting Katniss towards us.
I see her round the corner to come stand by our chariot. In a word – she looks stunning, even with a terrified look on her face. The Capitol didn't lay a freaky hand anywhere on her. Her face looks as pure and wholesome as it did back in 12, except...livelier, if that's even possible. She radiates a healthy color – her eyes and cheeks accented by a rosy, gold blush. Her hair is mostly down, but twisted into intricate, spider-web like braids that have black bands weaving through them. I immediately know what is causing the look of terror on her face.
She throws herself at me and crushes me to her. I feel her cheek brush mine lightly when she whispers in my ear, "They're going to set my hair on fire."
I laugh. "It won't burn you. I promise." She buries her face into the crook of my neck and groans – obviously not the answer she wanted to hear. The excessive touching is not lost on me – was this a nervous habit?
"I knew you were going to say that. They all say that," she mutters. I rub her back. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing, never having a girlfriend and all, but it feels natural, so I just go with it. She needs to be protected right now – and it's the least I can do.
"Get ready," Haymtich lays a hand on my shoulder. "They're beginning," and then he leans in really close and whispers low enough for only Katniss and I to hear. "Remember what I said?"
"Wave the shit out of them."
"And?"
I sigh, "Win the ladies over?"
He pets my head. "Good girl. Knock them dead, you two!"
Cinna helps us up into the chariot, and I can't help but notice how his hands linger on Katniss. It makes bile rise in my throat to know that if her designers had been as open as mine, he'd surely seen her naked.
"You'll be okay," he says to Katniss, grasping her hand. He pulls out a wand type whisk and drags it across his arm, the fire igniting instantly. He then lights her headdress and then her cape, the glow touching her face. The flames are beautiful, delicate yet fierce – everything Katniss. She gasps a little when she sees it, and then smiles. And then full out giggles.
"They tickle," her nose scrunches. "They – aren't even hot."
Cinna winks, "I told you, silly girl."
He helps me, too. And she's right; they do kind of tickle – like a cat licking your fingertips, minus the wet part.
Katniss stares at me, eyes wide enough that I can see my flaming self reflecting in them.
"What?" I ask.
A non-Capitol blush graces her cheeks, one that's all hers. "Nothing," she mutters before clutching my hand in hers. "Don't let me fall?'
I shake my head. "Never."
The chariot starts with a jolt, and I feel the blood immediately rush from my face to my feet. I see black, fuzzy patches creep into my line of vision and my head begins to swim.
I wobble, I think, but Katniss grabs onto me fiercely. "You're okay," she soothes. "Don't lock your knees." I manage to shake out any tension in my joints before the gates of the Capitol open.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome the Tributes of the 74th Annual Hunger Games!" I can tell even from yards away that it's Caesar Flickerman announcing tonight. I hear him begin to comment on District 1's costumes – apparently they're very extravagant, as every year. Dazzling with pink and feathers. Ew. He goes down the line. I can tell he's bored by some of them – District 4 is fish related as always. The others are unoriginal as well. I basically zone out until I realize that 10 is leaving ahead of us.
I hear Katniss inhale deeply and it's shaky. Her eyes look glassy, and her lips are looking a bit pale. I squeeze her hand.
"Did I tell how you how beautiful you are?" the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Her head whips towards me, her mouth dropped open slightly. "You should wear flames more often. They suit you." And the smile I'm rewarded makes my heart stop beating.
But the chariot jerks forward again, and it restarts.
This is it.
I am Peeta Mellark. I am the male tribute from District 12 in the 74th Hunger Games.
And I'm on fire. Literally.
The lights of the city are blinding, and the noise is deafening. It's overwhelming, but Katniss' firm grip keeps me here, reminding me of the promise to not let her fall.
People scream. And mean, scream. It's mainly a roar, but I can make words like, "12, Katniss, Peeta," but mostly "Everlark." They chant it over and over again. Everlark. The Capitol thought of us as a team. They were accepting that Katniss and I were a solid unit, working together in this – they wanted the both of us to do well. Caesar was ranting about our flames, calling us "The Spark of Panem."
"These are the best costume I've ever seen – truly a masterpiece! What a handsome pair of tributes!" he rambled, thrilled. His commentary companion agreed with him, and so did I. Katniss was radiant - beaming, blowing kisses, waving, stealing their hearts. They screeched and ate it up.
Wave the shit out of them.
Oh yeah.
I did my part, trying to keep up with her, so when I held up our joined hands – they crowd basically died of happiness. It was an amazing feeling – to control a crowd of people with the flick of a hand, to be adored for doing nothing but holding hands of a gorgeous girl. So, I did as the Capitol did.
I ate it up.
Sooooo...WHAT'DYA THINK? :D Ain't Peeta a cutie?
Review? Pretty please? :-)
