An Unlikely Pair

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and still looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 9

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Apparently the man is my actual stylist, named Cinna Lautrec, the freaks are under his command. He puts on an easy smile and asks me what I'm doing so I just shrug and say, "Making sure they don't touch me more, mister." I'm not sure what his reaction to that is because his smile doesn't change and his eerie calm is hard to read. He then asks an assistant, Venia, what I've done and what more needs to be done.

The bitch calls me a very silly girl, says that I'm using the harshest, most potent things (the only stuff with intelligible clear labels and instructions!), begrudgingly admits that over all I'm doing alright (Ha! It's not so hard you fussy shit bags!) but then shoots out a million suggestions she has and where to go from here.

Mr. Lautrec just stands there smiling for a second, taking it all in and looking at me then says, "My you are an interesting one." Again he is so calm there isn't a clue to what he is thinking. "Please follow Venia's advice and I'll be back in 40 minutes." There isn't a chance to protest before he leaves or the bitch starts ordering me around.

I sigh but decide as long as they aren't touching me I can agree. So many things happen after that point it's a blur. After she figures out to explain what she wants clearly, before I start, she and I get into a fast rhythm. I'm skilled with my hands and I've used Madge's weird blow dryer a few times so what she orders doesn't take much. The last thing she has me do is wash off the gel and the cream; it's a shock how soft and healed my skin is left. Very, extremely, awfully reluctantly I murmur thanks to her and get a clean robe.

We definitely were fast because the freaks leave 13 minutes before the stylist returns; when he learns this he stares more. He asks me to leave with him, I do after grabbing my things and inquire about Hawthorne, he responds, "He'll be in there for a while yet, you were unusually quick."

I think his smile rises a bit higher at the corners but I have no idea if that's a good thing or not. It's very odd for me not to get a read on a person, sure lots of times I don't understand them or they have too many emotions for me to pick out; however, from him… absolutely nothing. The hallway we are in seems so long and it makes me edgy to get further and further from him here. "Can I check in with him once he is done?"

"Are you two close?" he asks in a light tone.

What the hell does he care for? I try to keep my voice polite even if my words aren't. "You didn't answer my question, Mr. Lautrec."

"Neither did you, Miss Mellark." Utter politeness tags me back.

He leads us into a room, surprising a Capitol woman inside, she spins to face us and catches herself on the window behind. Well actually she really surprises me since she is the first citizen I've seen that is actually beautiful. Her face, tan skin and clothes are normal and if not for her long forest green hair with thin navy blue stripes she could come from the districts.

"Portia, what are you doing here? I thought you were taking the next room."

She comes closer and smiles sheepishly "Yes sorry Cinna. I just like the view from here better," then she gets a good view of me, "Oh my you two are ready already?" A concerned look crosses her face. "Is my tribute waiting for me too?"

He chuckles. "No, it seems he will be some time so if we could please have the room?"

She starts grabbing her things, saying "Of course, of course."

Did she mean Hawthorne though? "Please wait, can you tell me if you're the other stylist for 12?"

She giggles, smiles then answers, "Oh yes, I'm Portia Porter nice to meet you Peeta Mellark. I will be the stylist for Mr. Hawthorne. Now if you'll excuse me I'll go and let you two start."

She exits before I can say anything more and now I wish she hadn't. I instantly liked her better than Mr. Lautrec, if only because she is very easy to read, but if she really is assigned to my teen companion maybe it will be better for him.

My stylist asks me to disrobe so he can see me without the goop on and circles a few times. Then he asks that I flex my arms and legs and tense my back and stomach, I do but don't see the point. When he asks about my scars (a lot which seem too faded for me to find suddenly), I start listing the injury from the fight that made it. I am very proud of each scar, they were signs I was not afraid to fight even if it hurt me; it's strange not to have the older ones there.

Finally he lets me re-robe, has us sit across from each other and pushes a button for food to be lifted in. I'm not really hungry, especially for this rich food but I thank him and eat anyway; it's fat for the arena. After a tick it occurs to me to tell him too. "I guess you should know that I plan to gain weight before the games start so it might be good to keep track of my measurements."

He smiles, "A smart plan, it should help you in getting home."

I almost choke on a spoonful of pudding. After getting myself under control I just lie "I hope so." Somehow I get the feeling that it is not the reply he was hoping for. Well what does he expect me to say to him?

"Portia and I already have your opening ceremonies outfits but has your mentor said anything about your strategy for your interview?"

"Nothing that is set in stone yet." The words are evasive but I don't want to tell him Mr. Abernathy's under construction plan or my plan. Even if he seems and sounds almost normal he is still Capitol scum that works for these games thus I don't trust him worth a damn.

"Who are you hoping to go home to? Besides your girl of course." He truly is a master at controlling his voice because the question sounds more conversational than nosy to my ears.

Shoot. Haymitch is right; everyone thinks that about us. I only answer him so maybe when he gossips he can set things straight for me. "Madge is my best friend, we've been friends from the first day of school but she is someone I would very much like to see again. My family and a few friends would be nice also." Technically it's all the truth however he seems to sense there is something wrong with my words and looks at me for another long moment.

Completely randomly he ask, "How do you feel about fire?"

What does that have to with anything? None-the less I am very familiar with fire due to having a father like mine. "My family owns the town bakery," he scoots forward on his seat, "so it's a useful thing for baking and cooking to me." If his smile turns a little creepy it may just be my imagination.

It is hours later that I see why he was so interested in my answer; synthetic fire, huh? I'm not scared; I've been burned enough times by the real thing to know that particular pain and the flaming pieces seem easily removable (though I might loose my braid if it comes to that). I guess I would be nervous if I didn't know the Capitol had such awesome medicines. Hawthorne on the other hand appears to be a stiff, scowling kind of nervous.

"H-Gale, even at it's worst it won't be so bad, I've actually lit my sleeves on fire three times, all when I was younger yes but each time it was easy to put out. If it all goes to hell we'll still be the talk of the ceremony and if it doesn't sponsors will notice. Plus the medicines they have here make it worth any risk." He does not relax with my words until I promise to rip the fire off him if he'll do the same for me.

Time seems to be speeding by now, with the stylist putting just a bit of makeup on us (I can't tell them to stop with both Mr. Abernathy and Trinket there) and positioning us, with Haymitch telling us to hold hands and how to react to the masses and with our escort giving us a quick lesson in proper posture. That last one I don't think is important until I scan around. Every single Capitol citizen has perfect posture, only some of the mentors do and the only tributes that do are from District 1. I point this out to the hunter, watch his eyes go wider as he notices and I make sure to thank Ms. Trinket sincerely for her help. It seems to make her ecstatic.

The music is well under way and District 5 has just left when I remember. "Madge's pin! Please let me have it." Everyone looks over me and in this skintight matching costume set I know it is impossible. There is no good place to put it and there aren't pockets.

"Pin it to the front of her boot, the chariot will hide it." Hawthorne offers and I give him a grateful smile. He nods once and turns forward again.

When District 11 leaves Mr. Lautrec lights us, it works as planned and I pretend I did not just feel my hand be squeezed powerfully. The second we start for the City Circle we wave and smile. From the corner of my view I see him switching between a cocky smirk and a casual smile. I am beaming my friendliest smile and keep mouthing 'hello' and 'thank you' to the roaring cheers we are getting. I don't remember a time when our district has been called like this or when our previous tributes' names were being shouted like now. I don't know what makes me sicker, that they will still demand our gory deaths in a few days after all these warm yells of admiration or that it takes clothes and costumes and such superficial things to rile them up so.

As this procession goes on I realize that the masses, the cameras and even some of the commentators on the split screens are more than riled, they are frenzied for us and it doesn't stop even as the President (douche bag) Snow gives his stupid speech. Is this overexcited reaction really a good thing?

Finally we enter the Training Center, leave the public sight and get mobbed by the goddamn freak show. The prep teams for the both of us are chattering and grabbing at us so much I lose my temper and howl at them to back up! Mine don't look surprised, more like annoyed that I'm raining on their parade but his team looks frozen, stuck between shock and fear. This of course gets me a disapproving look from all four adults (Haymitch you traitor).

They all look about ready to launch into a scolding when Hawthorne interrupts. "We should get going and celebrate elsewhere." He makes a discrete sweep of his hand and the four notice all the stares, glares and open hostility coming from some of the other district teams.

We leave to the elevators where our mentor makes me apologize to the prep teams before we separate from them. Ms. Trinket takes over from there and scolds me the whole way up. It's a bit embarrassing as Districts 9 and 10 are in the lift with us. When we get to our floor Hawthorne immediately leaves to find a bathroom to get the make up off him. I move to do the same when my name is called.

"Miss Mellark, a word in private if you please," Mr. Lautrec words are overly polite but his voice is upset, how much so is difficult to gage.

I glance at the elder Seam male but he nods me off with my stylist. Following him leads me up stairs, through a dome, around the roof and to a windy garden that chimes. This place is a good one for a quiet conversation and it's a deadly sort of beautiful up here. Do all 12 tributes get to see this sight?

"You lied to me." He starts in a whisper, "You didn't tell me about your and Haymitch's plans." I just nod. "I had to hear about it from Portia."

I don't feel the slightest bit of remorse, "Well then Hawthorne shouldn't have told her."

"Haymitch informed her after she left us."

This unsettles me, why would he do that. I thought my fellow tribute had let something slip not that they were actively informed. "He didn't seek you out to inform you though." There is suspicion that leaks into that come back, as if he specifically wasn't included.

His smile is still there, "No but he confirmed it when I asked during the trip, he thought you would have told me."

So he actually trusts them? Why would he trust Capitol stylists, and new ones to boot? I mean neither had been in stylist interviews the years before so I know they are new; I would know because stylists fascinate the witch. I don't understand that decision and for the first time wonder if an old drunk's judgment is sound. Well too late now. "Then I'll let him keep you in the loop, Mr. Lautrec."

His shoulders drop minutely, but his voice is that same steady calm. "We are so repulsive to you." It hangs in the air without reply. It's a statement that would be a lie to deny and an act of meanness to confirm. "I am your stylist, I am here to help you and your goals. You are supposed to trust me like I trust you. It is one of the only comforts of the games."

The wind picks up and it gets cold. I just want to leave because he asks the impossible and lies while he does it. He is Capitol and I am District, there will never be trust between us. To pacify him I throw this out, "I will not lie to you anymore but I won't always answer you either."

More watching me, then "You are free to start trusting me back any time you like," and he leads me back down.

I thought that was the end of it but it seems all Capitol citizens are staying for dinner, the recap and permanently in Ms. Trinket's case. Before I can get away from any of the adults Porter gives me two bags, one for Hawthorne and one for me. They both have three jars of cream in them and mine has my things.

The sleeping quarters are huge, the closet is huge, the bathroom is huge and all very high tech. It takes a short though frustrating time to figure out the mechanical closet enough to get a gray shirt and dark pants like on the train. Straight away I change; it is a relief to be out of the bra, in my bindings and with Madge's pin on again. Now it's just the make up to get rid of.

I'm washing my face when it happens so I snort water in surprise. In the mirror the back wall to my large bathroom slides away to a deep, dark void with a shadowy person standing there. I twist around to an equally stunned Hawthorne on the other side in his own bathroom. I blink a few times to get a clear view and see tracks along the borders of the wall, ceiling and floor. "Is it meant to do that?"

"I don't know. I was just trying to get the damn lights on again." He fiddles with a button panel.

"Can you put it back?" I would very much not like to share a bathroom like this.

"Maybe?" The lights restart but the panel begins shooting little sparks and makes fizzing noises.

Shit! Yeah that's just what we need. "I'll get Mr. Abernathy. Oh," I lob his bag, "Porter wants you to have this." I really hope he didn't break this place… Though I have to wonder what other walls slide out?

Our mentor sees, quickly turns on both showers and starts laughing. It is a low crafty laugh of a madman but there is a cunning gleam to his gray orbs. Grinning, he grabs each of us to him and whispers, "This is a stroke of luck kids, I was wondering how to get around the no extra training rule and these bathrooms are the only place they don't have cameras or mics." My viscera freeze to hear that but he goes on. "You'll still have to worry about your rooms' microphones but the shower noise or some music will drown them out. And with this space you can train here, share information here and work things out here."

"What do you mean train here? And what information?" Says the younger Seam, somehow having the competence of mind to ask when I'm still stuck on sharing a bathroom like this. How do we stop the other from walking in on us on the toilet?

"You'll see in training stations tomorrow, there are skills one of you may know more than the other and I don't want the more skilled of you giving away your hand. Best save your top talents for the private session. Then there is a skill like fighting. Sweetheart you need instruction but boy-"

"Gale." Hawthorne interrupts.

The elder Seam rolls his eyes, then, "Fine. Boy-Gale, you don't need teaching like that. You're fast on the uptake. If she can learn it, she can show you and you both get better without tipping your hand. Now sweetheart, you'll have to hold back a lot of strength with the combat instructor but perfect and learn what you can. Work on speed and-."

"Wait, I don't like this, won't she be showing off a skill to the other tributes if she does this?"

Yes. That thought had occurred to me. But then I think of the angry looks the other districts gave us down stairs. "Better they see me than you Gale, you're the one we want to come out victor."

"Peeta," he says. It is the first time he has ever said my name and it sends electricity all through me.

Part 9 End.

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Side Note: Hey & hello, I'm posting this part early to help make up for the long wait. Sorry about that again. The part after this will be posted in around a week but not much more. Oh and I still need a beta. Grammar ain't my forte and I'm sure my work is riddled with errors I just don't see so I'm really, really, really hoping for that beta!