C.K. here: I'm not writing anymore of this story, but I felt like posting the stuff I had written before I stopped. This just isn't really the kind of thing I know people are interested in, even if I did have fun writing it.
The next morning we are led into Katniss' compartment to speak to her about the Games before we got off the train and went to the hotel to be remade by the stylists.
She is dressed in a deep blue shirt and dark pants, her hair pulled back into her customary braid. Without even thinking about it, I have done my own hair the same way this morning. I run the tail of it through my fingers.
Katniss circles us as Rome and I stand side by side, eyeing us up and down. She occasionally makes noises, until she stops in front of us.
"You have the faces of survivors," is all she says, then she sits down on the couch, putting her twisted hands in her lap.
Morning's make me cranky, but also more outgoing. So it is because of that that I say, "So? How do we survive?"
She smiles at me. "Hmm…" She stands up in front of us and begins pacing, her eyes looking as if she is focusing on something far away.
"You mustn't trust anyone but yourselves. They are all out to hurt you, in the end." She grimaces. "The traps are designed very creatively these days." She looks at us with intensity. "Not only will they physically hurt you, but they also have the power to psychologically harm you. Don't buy into the game." She looks at me. "Nothing is real in the Arena. Nothing."
Rome and I remain silent, and I think back to past Games. Beasts with the faces of humans, grotesque killings, traps designed to not only kill you, but do it with excessive gore. My breakfast pushed up into my throat as I thought of one boy who had lost his feet in a trap and was slowly eaten to death by wolves, unable to move. Mom had made me cover my eyes, but his animalistic screams still echoed in my ears.
Katniss' voice snaps me back into the present. "But for now, take it one step at a time. Get through the styling, do everything anyone says. Don't step out of line." She smiles wickedly at us. "They'll be plenty of that later."
And with that, she gestures us out of the compartment and off the train. We follow Hauna into the glittering city known as The Capitol.
It is more grand then I had ever pictured it. Everything looks like an edible dessert, all coated in baby blues and frosted pinks, sparkling with jewels and glitter.
The people are even more extravagant. There is hair every color under the sun, clothes that are three times as wide as the person themselves, and surgeries that transfigured their already comically-makeuped faces into masks of their former selves.
They all scare me, how fake they feel. Like their true selves have been left at the door long ago, maimed and virtually nonexistent.
Hauna leeds us to a sparkling yellow building fourteen stories high, informing us that this was the hotel where we would be staying for are last three nights, while we underwent training. We are corralled into an elevator.
The stylists room is on the top floor, composed entirely of plush pink furniture and plump pillows. The walls are the shade of a sunset's pink. I close my eyes to relieve myself from all the color.
Our prep team enters in a fluttering mess, reminding me of startled chickens as they moved about. Three of them grab my arms and lead me through a door into a much less pink room, all entirely made up of white marble.
They immediately rip off my clothes and hand me a robe that matched the color of the room, telling me I could put it on in a moment, after they examine me.
The tallest one, with whiskers like a cat and overly large eyes, introduces herself as Linia. "And this is Glamour and Frill." She points to a small looking women with pink corkscrew curls and a large number of tattoos, and a plump man dressed in a purple suit with a purple mustache that is about as long as one of my arms.
I finish taking off the last of my clothes, and they stare at me as if they are looking at a particularly interesting animal. There is a lot of nodding and strange noises on their part, while I try my best to cover myself. Glamour slaps my hands away from my chest.
"Now, now," she giggles, covering her mouth with her two-inch long nails. "We need to get a good look at all of you!"
I let them hang at my sides reluctantly, then tell myself that Rome is having to do the same thing in the other room. Thinking about his reaction made me giggle, something I haven't done in a long time.
"That's the spirit!" Linia says, smiling wide through her bright pink lips. She pulls out something I had never seen before, looking like shiny paper. "But I'm warning you, pain is beauty." Then she puts it, along with hot wax, on my legs and pulls.
And this is how I spent the next two hours. Getting plucked and waxed and shaved till I am red and shiny. Then they finally fill the bath with some type of liquid lotion and let me sink in. It is hot and thick, and it gave off clouds of cloying perfume that make me feel sleepy.
The prep team gets me out, dries me off, and appraises the new, more hairless me.
"Very nice," says Frill, twirling his mustache. "Your eyes are definitely your best feature. We'll talk to Aniree about that."
"Let's go get her!" Linia says excitedly, grabbing their hands and running off into the next room. I breath a sigh of relief when they leave, only if it is just for a second.
They scare me. Not just because of their appearances or manor, but because they're considered actual human beings. They looked, acted, and thought nothing like me. They were absolute aliens.
I start to feel overly stressed, so I go to my clothes lying limp on the floor and search through them till I find my unfinished flowers and fake fire sticks. I line the carving up on the edge of the bathtub and light them one by one, watching the flames calmly lick them up, their mellowness relaxing me. I sink to the floor and watch them for a moment before taking an orchid and putting it in the palm of my hand, transfixed as the orange halo of flame dances around it.
Before I know it, they're back in the room, but this time they are led by an unfamiliar women. She shoos them away, then walks toward me.
She is shocking. Unlike the other's, she is not overboard on her surgeries (though she obviously has had some), but fairly simple, dressed in a white sundress, her brown and golden striped hair flowing behind her. She is quite normal except for her skin, which is tattooed with shining gold symbols, all tracing delicately around her body. The affect was actually radiant, instead of repellent.
She smiles genuinely at me. "You must be Philla." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Aniree, but you may call me Ani."
I try my best to smile back, and I take her hand. She walked around me gracefully, almost looking like she was floating. I forget to feel self-conscience.
She finally stops, then looks serenely. "Very beautiful," she says approvingly. "And they're right about your eyes."
I look down, away from her. I had never been called beautiful.
She had brought with her a book, and she lays it down in front of me, flipping quickly through it. "These are the costumes of past District 12 tributes," she says, not masking the distaste in her voice. "As you can see, they all are very…"
"Skimpy?" I supply. The miner outfits they were dressed in were, indeed, so revealing to the point where I felt embarrassed looking at them.
She nodded. "Very. This is the only one worth looking at." She flips to the back of the book, revealing a young Katniss, adorned in flames. "Cinna was a legend," she said, her voice taking on a dream-like quality.
She snaps the book shut and stands. "Of course, I do not want to steal the design of someone so well-known. I need to pave my own way in the fashion world." She sits me down on the edge of the tub. "Now, Philla, do you know about the miners in the olden days?" she asks.
I shake my head.
She smiles. "That's fine. I will tell you." She sits down next to me. "Long before the days of Panem, miner's used to be unsure whether the air in the mine was safe to work in. So they sent in a special songbird to test it." She smiles wider. "Canaries. If they kept singing, the miners knew it was safe. If they didn't…well, you know." She shrugs noncommittally and stands up, floating toward the closet. "You will be our canaries. Testing the Games."
And with a flourish, she opens the closet revealing our outfits with an ecstatic grin. "Now go get dressed."