A/N: Huh. Last chapter was a lot shorter than I thought. Oh well. Introductory chapter.
I also wanted to let y'all know that this is honestly a fic of whim. I have the story planned out but no details; they're all going in as I write it. It's sorta kinda a… experiment? Me trying to get into the swing of writing regularly, I think. Also I'm pretty sad that I had to discontinue AWWRTA, so this is my outlet for that, too. So yeah. Do enjoy. Though don't expect much?
Usual warnings apply. I don't own The Hunger Games, or make money off of this.
…
She does not have any family, and the Matron and other community home children will not see her off at the Justice Building. So Adrian sits on the train, waiting for Juniper Combe, Samhain Vinpointe, and Livius Portshore to arrive. She is sitting across the three Victors of District 12, with the drunk — Haymitch Abernathy — across her, looking uncharacteristically grim-faced despite the drink in his hands. Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen are on either side of him, which cements her theory that their love story was constructed for the sake of publicity; they would be beside each other, otherwise.
Adrian blinks at them quietly, observing them as she does everything.
Katniss Everdeen is not gorgeously pretty, not like many of the District 1 Tributes are, but there is a comforting prettiness about her that makes you look at her twice, then thrice, then again and again. Her brown hair is in that famous braid, her grey eyes conflicted and tormented, darting around at Adrian's body: the bruise on her face, the bandages on her arms, the boniness of her limbs.
Peeta Mellark is thick-framed and strong and classically handsome, but his face is kind and gentle, blonde hair styled softly and that same soft theme permeating his entire presentation. He gives Adrian a weak smile, but seems to also categorize her every wound and blemish, trying to figure her out, trying to decipher why a starving Seam girl would volunteer to die.
"So. Why?" asks Haymitch Abernathy bluntly.
The two teenage Victors glare and glance at him, Peeta the former and Katniss the latter.
Adrian smiles a little. She does not trust any of them.
(She knows, from watching the 74th, that Haymitch Abernathy chose to focus all his efforts on Katniss Everdeen, the one who would survive. She will expect abandonment early on, no matter the soft hearts of the teenagers — they are not as clever as Abernathy, they are not as jaded. He will convince them, when they are all in the arena trying to kill each other, that Adrian Valencia must be left to die. She chose to, didn't she?)
(This is what they want to think. Adrian doesn't care.)
"Is it so hard to imagine that I simply wish to compete?" she asks.
Everdeen and Mellark blink in surprise as her level voice, her confident manner, her intelligently-toned words. Abernathy is not so surprised.
"A twelve has never won the Games."
Adrian Valencia smiles. "I do not want to win."
He raises a brow. "Why did you enter, then?"
The door slides open and the three other Tributes enter. Effie Trinket is ushering them in, twittering about something or other. The noise is background as Adrian leans forward, baring her teeth — which she has used as weapons many, many times — in a vicious facsimile of a smile.
"I want to kill."
The entire cabin is silenced. The three other Tributes look at her in horror.
Abernathy throws back his head and laughs, long and hard. The attention is focused on him, but he doesn't care. He downs his drink in a single swig and tosses the glass behind him, not looking back when a surprised Samhain Vinpointe accidentally catches the crystal and fumbles with it, ultimately dropping it and letting it shatter. No, Abernathy is staring at Adrian in the eye, assessing her in a way that reminds Adrian of how she observes others.
(Like a predator, licking its lips. Sizing others up, categorizing weaknesses and strengths and advantages and disadvantages.)
"You just might have a shot." Haymitch Abernathy says, grinning with dead eyes.
(Strange. She has always thought that people abandon the more vicious creatures, if only to preserve themselves. Adrian should have known better, she supposed — the Hunger Games was created for these monsters inside Panem.)
…
Dinner is luxurious, and Adrian is sure not to eat too much. She will make herself sick if she ingests rich foods en masse right after years and years of starvation. The other three — no, make that two — Tributes don't eat much, either, though; everyone but Juniper Combe looks on the verge of vomiting. Now that Adrian thinks of it, the only ones who ate normally were Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy; everyone else seemed sickened.
They don't know how to balance their morality with the knowledge that most of them will be dead in a few weeks. Adrian has bypassed that entire emotional and mental conundrum by throwing away her morality; it was so weak already, after all. Years and years of being treated like an animal will do that to a Seam brat, breaking off their ties to societal views on justice and empathy and whatever else as easily as bones.
You deserve to live.
Wait. One remains unbroken in her, she supposes. Only one.
(It smells like hope and makes her dangerous.)
She watches the others eat. Juniper Combe is as Seam as she is, but obviously not as intelligent. She shovels food into her mouth, hunched over her plates like there isn't and never will be enough. Like she's back in 12, fighting to eat and sustain that skinny frame of hers. Adrian knows that she will be sick later, her stomach rejecting the promiscuity of the Capitol even as her mind hungers for it. The way Juniper's brown eyes dart over the table makes Adrian think she'll be gorging in her room, on stolen breadrolls and fruitcakes and all this colorful paraphernalia they're consuming, or in Samhain Vinpointe's case — her fellow 12-year-old — picking at. He is from town, some minor storeowner's youngest child, a Reaped child. He has a semblance of manners and a fear in his gut that prevent him from copying Juniper Combe's desperate gorging.
Her eyes flicker to Livius Portshore, however, and she almost wants to smirk. She does not like the boy, with his handsome smiles hiding his cruel eyes. He is seventeen and beautiful, alabaster skin and chestnut hair and soft grey eyes, so different from the harsh slate of Katniss Everdeen. Where Livius Portshore's pretty face is drawn in unblinking horror, feeding himself listlessly, Katniss Everdeen eats slowly, her portions birdlike, and watches Adrian Valencia none-too-subtly.
She supposes most people would be afraid of a child who wants to kill.
(She deserves to live, and this is how she will live. There is no other way, after all.)
(Adrian Valencia learned long ago that it's by trampling on others that you rise. The Capitol — and everyone else — simply need to know that it is by killing others that she will feel alive.)
What was the word? She searches her mind, perusing the thousands of books she's read in between pickpocketing for her meals and fighting others away from those same scraps of bread.
Nihilism, she thinks. Adrian snorts a little, softly enough that no one who wasn't paying attention would catch her. Which rules out Haymitch Abernathy and Katniss Everdeen, their eyes like hawks', trained on her every little movement, trying to figure out how so little a child could utter such bloodthirsty words. (Peeta Mellark is trying to make soft conversation with the others, aided by the colorful Effie Trinket.)
They must think she's a demented little nihilist.
(Good, they must muse to themselves. Innocent 12-year-olds are not all that interesting. One who has the heart of a rabid dog will pull the audience in. And, in Katniss Everdeen's case, it will be a good distraction so that President Snow does not keep his empty-eyed gaze on her for her puttering flames.)
When dinner finishes, they retreat to their bedrooms. Most of them.
Adrian Valencia is tempted — sorely tempted — to simply sink into that Capitol-worthy bed and sigh and rest her weary body. Her stomach twinges uncomfortably with how unused to a full meal it is, and it is warm and comfortable in this small space. It would be easy, to simply pull herself from her spot in the corner and burrow under the crimson comforters, trimmed with silver. But she steels herself, as she always does, and leaves behind the warm-colored room to slip into the dark hallway again a half-hour after first shoving herself in between the metal wall and the little metal chair.
She presses her ears against four other doors: Livius Portshore's, where he is snoring already. Juniper Combe's, where her sobs are muffled and gasping. Samhain Vinpointe's, which is silent except for periodic sniffles. Effie Trinket's, the furthest from her's and closest to the head of the train, which she is sure is occupied despite the silence.
The compartments of the Victors of 12 are empty, and that is why she stalks towards the dining/living cars again.
Adrian is practiced as she slips into the dark and stays there, ears listening. But rather than straining for information or rumors or the jingle of coins or the crunch of paper bills, she easily picks up on their voices.
"There's something wrong with that girl," mutters Peeta Mellark.
Haymitch Abernathy snorts. She can imagine that he's drinking now. It's hard to imagine that man sober, actually. "Better for us. Better for her. The kid they Reaped, she wasn't ever gonna make it. This one? She's got what it takes."
"Like I did?" asks the Girl on Fire.
A grunt.
An exasperated sigh. "She's just a kid! How can she-?"
"She's going into the Games like a Career," says Katniss Everdeen bluntly, "She asked us if the Capitol had the technology to get her to a healthy weight on time. She's going in to win."
"Not to win! To kill, didn't you hear her?"
"Calm down, Mellark. God's sake. This is good. This'll keep eyes off us. You. You two," the drunk says, chuckling a little at the end. "You wanted Snow's eyes off? You've got it. That little girl sleeping back there? She's the mirror opposite of that little girl you saved, sweetheart. That's what you need."
"What? A killer?"
(Adrian Valencia will admit to smiling at this point.)
"Why do you think they love their Careers, huh? Capitol likes drama and death. You gave them the drama. Too much, actually, sweetheart. Now you need the death. Simple."
"It doesn't feel right," sighs Peeta Mellark.
"Welcome to Victory." snorts Abernathy.
A sigh.
"Who's mentoring who?"
"Someone's going to have to take two Tributes."
"I will. I think Juniper and Samhain will be more comfortable with me." Peeta says.
"Why not Portshore?"
A snort. "You call him by his last name and he's your age. Figure it out, sweetheart."
"He's a prick." She mutters.
A laugh. "You want the prick or our little volunteer?"
Katniss Everdeen hesitates. "The prick. You should take her. You have more experience mentoring."
"Wait, wait, wait. We're gonna concentrate on all of them… aren't we?"
"Not how it works, kid," Abernathy says casually, "We might have more support because you're the Capitol's star-crossed lovers, but this is Quarter Quell. We've got four Tributes to provide for. Your names ain't gonna cover that many kids. Especially since neither of you make regular Capitol appearances, not like, say, Finnick Odair or Johanna Mason."
"Who are they?"
"Four and seven. Odair won when he was fourteen, the little prick. Mason played the vulnerable card all the way until she got her hands on a pair of axes, then she murdered everyone. Vicious bitch."
Adrian nods in the dark. Odair and Mason are dangerous, beautiful, and a little unbalanced. She can tell, the way their eyes rove over the crowds and camera. Mason is a bit more outwardly psychotic, but Odair is the smiling murderer and it makes even her skin crawl when she watches the news and sees him smile at certain, random Capitolites. She is sure that she is one of few who can read their body language like this, a mixture of her instinct, her having watched both their Games, and her desperate need to read body language in order to pickpocket right.
She settles, listening as Abernathy has to explain a bit more about the two Victors.
It's funny, she thinks, that even after the Games, Victors still compete. Instead of 'I have to live, I have to survive, I have to get back to my District, I have to live', it becomes 'I have to bring them back, I have to make sure they can survive, I have to go back to my District without empty hands, I have to keep them alive'. She wonders if that wound on Abernathy's stomach — the one he'd gotten during his Games, the one he'd had to clamp his hands over so his intestines didn't spill out — hurts more than the fact that he has not been able to bring back his District's children for decades until Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.
"We're off topic!" says Peeta Mellark suddenly, snapping even Adrian from her relaxed stupor, "The Tributes. The kids. Aren't we… Aren't we going to help them all? Give them all an equal chance?"
Everdeen sighs. "Peeta…"
He pleads on. "A chance, they all need a chance. They all have people to go back to."
Abernathy chuckles darkly. "Not Adrian Valencia."
She blinks in interest, straightening in her perch, sitting against the wall just outside of the open door.
"But-"
A crash, and a shatter. She's willing to bet that Abernathy threw his alcohol-filled glass.
"This isn't a fucking fairytale game, kid," he snarls, "You think they'll let a miraculous four Tributes win this year? We're not getting them all back. We've never gotten one, until you two showed up."
"I'm not an idiot, Haymitch!" Peeta almost-shouts, "I know not all of them will survi-"
"Then concentrate on the one who's most likely to come home. One of them's a spoiled rich boy whose daddy's money couldn't buy him a better personality. One of them's a starving Seam brat who can't move from the margins. One of them's a kid that threw up all his three bites of dinner. And one of them… One of them's a vicious little pickpocket that's wants revenge on the world. Who do you think's gonna keep themselves alive the longest?"
Everdeen interjects softly, "She's only in it to kill."
"Then as her mentor, it'll be your job to drill in the fact that she better be in it to survive, too."
"Me?"
Adrian Valencia nods to herself, and slips back into the bedroom cars. She only wanted to know who her mentor would be. If she were honest, she would've rather gotten Abernathy, but Everdeen's a nice compromise. She doesn't think she'll take to a bow and arrows, of course, but the Girl on Fire, at least, is Seam through and through. And of course, Everdeen will likely be working in tandem with Abernathy; if only for her lack of experience.
They want to keep her alive. They want her to be the 75th Victor.
Something inside her burns at the thought. Another part of her laughs. Good, it says, that snarling corner of her heart. Good, let them keep her alive. Let them give her everything they have, let them teach her how to craft time for herself, let them. She needs to know how to survive.
That something that burns, though. It whispers. The others will die so you can live.
You deserve to live.
She will fight for those words, that hand that brushes her hair gently. She will live the way she wants to live, and if she has to kill to do that, so be it.
I don't need to win, Adrian Valencia thinks as she finally allows herself into that bed, under that warm comforter (it's like wrapping herself up in a cloud), I don't want to.
She doesn't, really. Though she doesn't particularly want to die, she's accepted it.
Her eyes close.
She sleeps peacefully.
…
She dreams of hope.
There is a hand brushing her hair down, not intimately. But gently. Before then, she has never remembered someone gently petting her hair down, smoothing the thick, black tangle of curls. The other hand is between her teeth, oozing blood and spilling it down her face. Her sallow skin shines with it.
"It's okay, it's okay," that soft voice whispers.
She is crying. It's what makes the memory blurry.
"It's okay. You deserve to live. It's okay."
No one has ever said that to her before.
When she gently loosens her locked jaw, she tastes the iron and salt more clearly. She's used to biting but somehow, the taste is bitter now. The touch is still gentle, and she watches as that hand is wrapped up and immediately goes back to comforting her like the child she isn't and the child she knows she could have been.
(The books say that children aren't like her. Bloody, dirty, messy little wastes of space. Therefore, she isn't a child, right?)
"You deserve to live. You hear me? It's okay. You deserve to live."
She whimpers, and hates her weakness. "No one's said that to me before."
"…Then you should say it to yourself. Don't listen to them. Are you hungry? Here."
It's just a half-eaten sandwich. It probably saves her life. If she knew what ambrosia tasted like, it was probably that.
"They told me I should just die." She whispers.
"That's ridiculous. You deserve to live, remember? You deserve to live."
"I don't know how."
"It's easy. Watch."
She does. She learns how to live. She's kicked down more times that she remembers, but she gets back up. Keeps rubbing bruise paste into her skin. Keeps stealing little things from littler people to eat. Keeps baring her teeth at those who would knock her down. She goes to the Archives to watch how people live, how they survive in the Games. Then she moves onto movies. Then books. They teach her how to live, even as people tell her to die.
All except one, whose face she can barely remember for how the tears crowded her eyes.
(Hope smells like salt and iron and ambrosia.)
(It's lovely, and she will kill to protect it.)
(It tastes like blood.)
…
The next morning, Adrian Valencia sits at the table to eat. She listens closely as the mentors explain to them all about how they will be divided. Juniper Combe and Samhain Vinpointe with Peeta Mellark. (Because they are soft, they are weak, and they need the comfort he can bring.) Livius Portshore with Haymitch Abernathy. (Because he is softer and weaker still, but he is arrogant and cruel and rude; his mentor is ruder, and has watched soft little boys die for years.) Adrian Valencia with Katniss Everdeen.
Because they are both female? asks Effie Trinket titteringly.
(Because Adrian Valencia is a rabid dog, and Katniss Everdeen has been hunting those since she first took up her bow and crawled unto District 12's fences.)
Haymitch Abernathy laughs.
The drunk tilts his head towards Peeta Mellark. "Bit less feisty than you two were, last year." He remarks.
Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen's lips twitch.
"You haven't punched anyone." Mellark says accusingly.
"You haven't knocked my booze outta my hands." Abernathy replies.
"I guess no one's going to mention that I stabbed your fingers, either," Everdeen throws in.
The drunk grins. "You missed."
"Um… Miss Everdeen?"
The woman herself startles at the sound of Samhain Vinpointe's hesitant voice. Or maybe at the term of address. She looks at the boy — he is like a weed, but not as skeletal as Juniper Combe and Adrian Valencia are — and waits for him to speak, despite his reddening face.
"Why… Why did you st-stab Mr. Abernathy?"
"Call me Haymitch, kid."
"Uh. Right. Him."
Katniss Everdeen looks considering, then she answers, "We wanted him to teach us how to win the Games. He wouldn't, at first."
"You're going to now. Aren't you?"
That voice is testy and snarly and hoarse. Livius Portshore. The boy looks decidedly more haggard than usual, his ever-present smirk gone, chestnut hair tousled and messy. Adrian knows that if they were up any earlier, the teenager's eyes would be red.
Abernathy snorts at the boy, who narrows his pretty, grey eyes.
"All of you, stand up. Apart." He orders in lieu of answering.
They obey, leaving their breakfasts.
There is enough space between them all, lined up like soldiers, for the District 12 mentors to circle them. Or rather, for Haymitch Abernathy to circle them. The two newest Victors make a lazy oval around them all, trailing after their own mentor, and then stand to the side while Abernathy prods and pokes them. Adrian Valencia knows that he slows when he comes to her, his eyes sharpen in their scrutiny. There is an annoyance or anger there; she is probably too skinny and weak now.
(She promises herself to get better as soon as possible. They have the technology for it, she hopes. She has to be ready for the Games. She has to be ready to catch up with forty-seven other Tributes, many of which will be in much better shape than she is.)
(They will not be able to feel the buttons of their spines, the grooves between their ribs.)
(She must not, either.)
"Hm. Not entirely hopeless," concludes Abernathy. Then he points at the girls. "You two need to shape up. The Capitol tech will help, but you won't be at your best when the games start in a week. You'll just have to make do." Then to the boys. "You two are more fit. Merchant boy especially."
"You're all going to go to stylists," says Peeta Mellark quietly, "They'll fix your appearance up. Just go with it."
"Haymitch, are they getting our old stylists?" asks Katniss Everdeen.
He shrugs. "The stylists do as they please. So, probably. Usually stick to one gender if they can. Who knows? But he's right, kiddies. You'll have stylists, and you're not gonna resist them if you know what's good for you. Especially you Seam brats. I know how you are."
Adrian Valencia and Juniper Combe nod.
"We'll be getting to the Capitol soon. Cameras are everywhere. This is your second-first impression. Your first was the Reaping, but this one isn't any less important. Be friendly, be desirable." Peeta Mellark advises.
"Except for you."
A murmur in her ear. Adrian Valencia blinks at Katniss Everdeen, who moved to stand nearer to her. She is dwarfed by the Girl on Fire. They are both Seam, but even in the dredges of 12, there are divides. The community house is probably the lowest anyone can possibly go. And a year of Victory certainly helps Katniss Everdeen's health.
"You made an impression, volunteering the way you did."
"We can't all be fire, Katniss Everdeen." Adrian replies softly. Always softly.
The girl's grey eyes bear into her. Everyone else is moving to sit, and they follow. Katniss Everdeen sits beside her now, having moved her place. Peeta Mellark is answering fluttery Juniper Combe's questions and reassuring Samhain Vinpointe. Livius Portshore is slowly speaking out, returning to his caustic self; Haymitch Abernathy is throwing back insult for insult.
"No, we can't all be fire," says her mentor.
Katniss Everdeen's gaze travels all over her, from her delicate fingers to her mass of black hair to her coal-black eyes, set deeply in her face.
"Sometimes, we're smoke."
"Not as impressive," Adrian Valencia tests.
"Just as deadly." Katniss Everdeen says.
Adrian Valencia smiles, just a little bit. She thinks it is very unfriendly, the way Katniss Everdeen stiffens, then nods approvingly. (She finds she does not care. She will not be a performing monkey for the Capitol. She has one goal in all this, and she will stick to it. That she has an audience will not change that.)
"Smoke," she muses aloud, "The quiet killer."
Just then, Livius Portshore stands and rattles the table. He bellows something at a laughing Haymitch Abernathy, then storms away. A door slams somewhere. A pause, and then Peeta Mellark is speaking to his Tributes again, and Haymitch Abernathy decides to rummage for whiskey in the cabinets. Effie Trinket is lecturing him, having previously chimed in to try to calm Portshore down.
Katniss Everdeen snorts. "Never liked that kid."
"No one did. That is why he was sacrificed to die." She says, shrugging.
"Sacrificed?"
Adrian Valencia snorts a little. "It's all sacrifice. Someone has to die so the rest of us will live."
"…You're a cynical kid."
(You are nothing like my sister. Like Rue.)
"It will keep me alive in the arena."
(I have never wanted to be.)
The Girl on Fire smiles a little. "You're a lot easier to work with, at least."
"I'll take that as a compliment, Katniss Everdeen."
"Call me Katniss. Quicker."
"Adrian."
Another almost-smile. It's more like a grimace. "Get ready, Adrian. We're almost there."
…
No more stylists are hired, actually. It will be a challenge to the normal District 12 stylists, to have to clothe two Tributes instead of one. Peeta Mellark's stylist, Portia, goes to the boys. First Livius Portshore, then Samhain Vinpointe. Katniss whispers in Adrian's ear that the girls will have Cinna, who is not as despicable as the rest of the Capitol, trust her. Adrian decides to do so, albeit reluctantly.
They want to bring her home, apparently. She will trust them to try.
The Remake Center is a flurry of activity. Twice as many Tributes means more prep work to be done, to take as much work off the stylists as possible. The older, voted Tributes go first while Samhain Vinpointe and Adrian Valencia wait together for more prep teams to find the time for them. The boy is fidgety and nervous and glances to and fro with his beady eyes. He is frightened of her, which she doesn't mind so much. There is a certain level of fear that is acceptable.
(It's when it gets to much, when they are afraid enough to lash out, that Adrian Valencia knows to disappear first. It's too bad she can't disappear from the community home, except to when she is walking to her death.)
Samhain Vinpointe is taken away by colorful figures walking on stilted shoes and wearing candy-color makeup and wigs. It is the same for her, three men with metallic pastels approach and herd her away into a room.
It is… uncomfortable. They strip her from her raggedy grey dress, first; one exclaims that it's an abomination and should be burned. She snorts (she doesn't think she's ever laughed in her life, actually, now that she thinks of it) and agrees, and the man — egg-blue hair twisted complicatedly around bright, white eyelashes and heavily blushed cheeks — chirps at her happily. She fights to hold herself still, stiff with discomfort, as they wash and scrub away at the layers of dirt on her skin. She doesn't remember the last time she had a true bath. Probably never; a washbasin and a cloth to wipe herself down is the most she's ever gotten, and since she has been evicted from her rooms, not even that.
One of the men — bright green braids and glittery nail polish and striped clothing, shining like plastic — tuts at her disapprovingly. "We're going to have to give you another bath, dear. The water's filthy."
She wonders if she should be polite.
Katniss Everdeen told her to stay true to her character, that she will do a sort of Johanna Mason: be quiet, be elegant, be superior. ("You hold yourself like you're proud," says the Girl on Fire, her brow furrowed in confusion, "When you're not sneaking around. And you speak well. That's good, I guess. That'll surprise them.") Adrian Valencia glowered at the thought of acting, and Katniss seemed to respect her desire to remain herself, to refrain from performing — perhaps remembering the fact that she has pretended to love a man, whom she will marry soon, in order to survive. So instead they compromise. Adrian must remain quiet, must hold back. Then she will reveal her true intentions for the Games later, perhaps during the interviews. Katniss wants to run her plan over by Peeta Mellark and Haymitch Abernathy first, but Adrian can accept this withholding of information and sees the appeal this small caution will provide.
A small Seam girl that holds herself like a noble. A diamond in the rough. Then, that diamond turns out to be a shard of obsidian, sharp as a knife, and as willing to kill as one, too. That is the death that the Capitol needs, now that their thirst for the dramatic has lessened with the ring on Katniss' left hand.
(She thinks she and Katniss Everdeen get on well because they are both naturally quiet. But where Katniss is embers, waiting for the tiniest breathe to coax her into an inferno — Primrose Everdeen, walking to Effie Trinket's pale smile and waiting arms — Adrian is content with being smoke. She will choke the breath out of their throats and blacken their lungs silently.)
So Adrian nods to her minders. It is no issue to be polite to those who are trying to help her. Contrary to popular belief, she is not a barbarian. She simply reacts to others after they've treated her like garbage. Badly.
"I apologize. District 12's hygienic situation is… lacking."
The green-haired, glittery man laughs. It's high-pitched. Annoying. "Of course, dear! Well, we'll fix that right up, won't we, boys?"
Noises of cheerful agreement. Then another bath is drawn.
By the same they move onto other things, she feels red and raw. Her skin has never been cleaner and smoother, though. Underneath the pain, that is. She is right in the middle of puberty — unfortunately — so they're forced to rip out those soft, fine baby-hairs that are beginning to sprout on her arms and legs. But she observes her hands, her now-smooth arms, and marvels at the color. She is not quite as dark as she thought, though her skin is naturally tanner than Katniss' or Peeta Mellark's or Haymitch Abernathy's.
Her hair is long and smooth, too. Without the tangles — it was matted in the back, until the blue-haired one (Fabian) left and came back with a bottle of sticky, cotton candy-blue goop that apparently fixed that — Adrian's hair was soft, the gentle black waves crawling down to her lower back and curling at the ends naturally. It has always been bothersome, but she sees now that it makes her… somewhat childishly endearing. Cute, she thinks the word is. That will help her, or so they all giggle.
She wants to surprise the audience, after all.
"You look like a doll!" squeals Marius, the green-haired glitter-man.
"Thank you, Marius." She says, nodding to them.
"You're very welcome!"
"And you too, Fabian, Creon."
They look excited that she remembers their names so easily, giggling as they leave. Adrian Valencia's sighs as the door closes, and feels cold. Perhaps because she is standing on a podium, naked. Of course she remembers their names. Adrian Valencia cannot forget things very easily. It's why she doesn't pay attention in school. And probably why she is not like other children.
She waits, reciting the books and words she has seared into her memory in her head, and when the stylist Cinna comes, she believes she should put more stock into Katniss Everdeen's words.
The man is not glittery or shiny or walking on stilts or wearing pastel colors at all. His colors are neutral and soothing, lined with silvery accents. His dark skin is uncovered by obvious makeup except for the eyes. His eyes are lined with white, the eyeshadow like puffs of gold. They make his eyes very, very green.
"Hello, Adrian. I'm Cinna."
You deserve to live.
Adrian stiffens, just a little. Such a soothing, baritone voice; it almost made her trust him completely. She knows not to do that; even with Katniss Everdeen's words in her head, Adrian must make judgements based on her own observations. She trusts herself far more than the Girl on Fire.
"Katniss speaks highly of you." She says, not betraying her thoughts further.
Cinna smiles. "She told me about you, too. It's a good thing we have similar tastes. And that I have a good eye. Portia and I almost returned to miner's outfits, until you volunteered, you know."
Adrian Valencia blinks. She doesn't think being a miner is very flattering to the image she and Katniss wish to portray.
"Come, let's get you something to eat. I ate with Juniper already, but I'd like to speak to you. There's some special supplements, too, that they usually give to your District. Wasn't needed last year, I don't think."
Capitol technology to make her at least strong enough to put up a fight. Good.
She robes herself and pads after Cinna quietly, watching his movements. He walks like a cat, all slinky and balanced. It puts her on edge, because in the Capitol, he is ridiculously out of place. The clothes, the voice, the intelligence. It's strange.
The room they enter is dominated by glass and metal edges. Sleek couches invite them.
There's a strange, sloshy, blue fluid that comes with her food. She downs it — surprised that it tastes like nothing, when she is used to odd-colored liquids that are bitter and very, very healthy for her, according to Herriot — then proceeds to eat. Cinna speaks as she does, after watching her for a few minutes.
"Smoke," he begins. "We're going to make you smoke. Your dress will be big and billowy, won't feel like it weighs a thing; but don't worry, it's dense. And it'll be like you're trailing ink, you'll really look the part. No fire this time."
"All of us?"
"Livius and Juniper are going to be embers."
(They're not bright enough to be fire, she thinks he means. They're not Katniss.)
She chews on the rich meal. Fatty pork and mashed potatoes. Sour cream and chives, melted cheese. Rice and carrots and peas, dipped in a salty brown sauce. It call goes down her throat, to nourish her body, to make her strong enough to kill forty-seven other children.
Cinna continues. "We don't want to copy last year. It'll make you all look cheap. But you helped us with the idea, the way you volunteered. Katniss volunteered, too, but in a very different way. Portia and I tried to apply the same thing. The way you'll be riding out in those chariots, it'll be doubled. Juniper and Livius will go first, the embers. Then you and Samhain, the smoke."
"How clever," she remarks, finishing her meal. (The Capitol concoction must have done something to allow her to do that.) "People's eyes are drawn to smoke. Am I to be the centerpiece, then?"
He's quiet, eyes studying her intensively. From her steady hands to her dangling, newly-painted toes. Then, slowly, he grins. "Oh, they'll love you. You're already the centerpiece, darling. We stylists are just here to make you a frame."
Adrian almost smiles. She likes clever people. They're hard to come by, and she tended to avoid them in the District. Clever people made bad targets and dangerous opponents. Here in the Capitol, she doesn't need to worry about that until training tomorrow.
A thought occurs to her.
Where there's smoke, there's fire.
There was that girl, last year's games. She lit a fire, brought the Careers to her. They saw the smoke, they knew where the prey was. This would be almost delightfully ironic, though she was sure the symbolism would be lost on these brainless Capitolites. Cinna was wasted here, she thinks quietly to herself.
(Her thoughts are always quiet.)
Their eyes will be drawn to her and Samhain. Her moreso, because she truly doesn't believe Samhain will survive, not the way he carries himself. He acts more Seam than she does, in truth, but that's perhaps because her head is always in books and movies more than in her own self-pity and starvation, like Juniper. So their eyes will follow her.
Livius Portshore and Juniper Combe are not the fire. Who is?
Katniss Everdeen.
They will see Adrian Valencia, and they will look for Katniss Everdeen.
She wonders why. And if this is purposeful.
(The look in Cinna's eyes, she thinks it is. But it's not her place to say anything.)
"It's almost time," Cinna murmurs. Then he looks up at her. "Shall we get set?"