When the time comes for me to face my prep team, I don't bother waiting for them to ask me to disrobe. I already know how this song and dance goes. Besides, the Capitol succeeded in bullying modesty out of me years ago.
I make no attempt at small talk. The thoughts and lives of those working on me are of no interest. I recognize the two older men as having done prep on my male tributes for years now, but I still haven't learned their names. In my experience the only Capitol workers worth discussing pre-Games strategy with have been the head stylists and the escorts. And even that worth has been questionable most years.
The youngest of the team, a slender girl with glittery fuchsia hair, seems to be a new addition. I certainly can't remember ever seeing her before. She keeps blinking owlishly at me with her comically large fake eyelashes. Her gawking is obnoxious but not entirely unsurprising. I may very well be the first client she's had who is neither young nor riddled with plastic surgery. People in the Capitol tend not to be big fans of the natural aging process.
While I certainly didn't expect these three to be thrilled about working with me, their disapproval seems a tad excessive. They frown and gripe and sigh throughout the entire session. Many a snide comment is made about my perceived lack of personal upkeep. This is especially unfortunate considering that the last few months of exercise and reduced drinking have left me looking more fit now than I have in years. I have a bizarre impulse to point this out to them but thankfully manage to remain silent. I remind myself how unimpressed Katniss and Peeta were by my progress as we trained together. How unimpressed anyone would be if they discovered that this was the best I could do. There's a tight feeling in my chest, and I'd suddenly give anything to just be in the damn chariot already. Anywhere but here.
Portia finally arrives and wordlessly gestures for the prep team to leave us be. She has struck me as being a fairly laid back woman during our few prior meetings, but today she is all business. She affords me barely more than a glance over her shoulder as she places her supplies down.
"Stop that pouting," she says. "And stand up straight."
I blink at her in surprise. "I wasn't pouting."
"Well whatever it is, stop doing it," she says. She holds up one hand to cut off my further protests and gets to work dressing me.
My opening ceremony costume turns out to be a fairly conservative black jumpsuit. It's really not much to look at on its own, but that's just the canvas. Activating a hidden switch invites light to transform the entire piece. The flickering hues of orange and red are unmistakable. They are embers- living embers somehow transcribed onto fabric by Cinna and Portia's careful hands.
"Going with the classics, I see," I say.
Portia nods. "It's important to maintain Katniss's brand. But only the parts of it that still hold relevance. When you get on that chariot, neither of you are to smile or wave at the audience."
"Wasn't really planning on it," I say dismissively. I fiddle with the button that controls the costume lights and begin making my way towards the exit. Portia means well, but I've spent far too much of my life in front of cameras to subject myself to a lecture on stage presentation.
"That's not all," says Portia. "Haymitch, I need you to be angry."
"Great, I'm pissed. Can we go now?"
Portia tuts impatiently. "No, you're being sullen. I'm asking for angry."
"Aren't angry and sullen the same thing?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "Sullen is passive. Resigned. It implies that you have no control."
I roll my eyes. "I was kidnapped by the government so that I can be murdered inside an arena full of stronger victors. If I seem like I don't have any control, it's because I don't."
"Wrong," says Portia. She grips my shoulders and forcibly yanks me back over to the mirror. "Look. You know who this is? It's the only damn victor still living who knows the first thing about making it through a Quell. Maybe you'd prefer to ignore that and put on the helpless act, but I don't have the patience for it. You know what this is and how to beat it. So start acting like it."
I force myself to nod, alarmed by her sudden intensity. But much as I look, I cannot find whatever it is that she sees in that mirror.
Portia briskly flips off the lights on my suit. "And for pity's sake, remember to stand up straight".
By the time I finally make my way down to the ground floor of the Remake Center it's clear that I'm one of the last tributes to arrive. If I didn't know the building so well I might have thought that we were all in the wrong place. The scene before me looks nothing like any opening ceremony that I've ever seen. Tributes from every district are mingling and wandering freely from chariot to chariot. An outsider would never guess by looking at us that this group of people is supposed to be fighting each other to the death in less than a week's time.
Normally I'd appreciate this bucking of Hunger Games tradition, but I'm too busy cursing myself for not having seen it coming. Usually socialization between tributes doesn't start until training day at the very earliest. I should have thought to give Katniss a talk about making allies last night rather than putting it off. A bad first impression on the other victors could easily end up spelling her death. And when it comes to making friends rather than enemies, I don't trust that girl as far as I can throw her.
To my surprise, I find that she hasn't been standing around by herself ignoring everyone. In fact, she is actively engaged in conversation with the Capitol-darling himself, Finnick Odair. Who at this moment appears to be hovering inches away from her. Barely dressed. Leering provocatively. While she glares daggers at him.
Guess we're getting this train wreck started early.
Finnick notices me making my way over and seems to take it as his cue to leave. He shoots me a dazzling smile that is half amused and half apologetic before disappearing into the crowd.
"Do I even want to know what that was?" I ask Katniss.
"He offered me sugar and wanted to know all my secrets," she says in a mock seductive voice. "I don't know how you stand spending time with these people."
I frown at her. "These people are all in the same boat as you. And if you were smart you'd make an effort to avoid getting on their bad sides. Finnick would be one of your better picks for an ally if you gave him a chance."
She scowls. "I don't want to ally with some half-naked creep."
"And I'm sure he doesn't want to ally with a giggling love-struck girl who spends her time twirling around in pretty dresses. But unlike you, Finnick has been around long enough to realize that there's more to victors than the person they pretend to be when there are cameras around."
Katniss has the decency to look thoughtful at this, but our conversation is interrupted by the sound of music and cheering. That'll be the cue for District 1 to get moving and for everyone else to start getting into position to do the same. Katniss and I climb into our chariot.
"Have you seen your suit turned on? District 12 is going to be fabulous again," says Katniss as she reaches up to straighten her headpiece. This is one feature of her outfit completely absent from my own, and I smile as I get a better look at it. It's a half crown, just like the ones she and Peeta received when they won their Games last year.
Katniss and I switch on the lights of our costumes. I know without having to ask that we are both taking comfort in the meaning behind the fire and the half-crown. For all the effort we put into making sure that Peeta wouldn't be taking this chariot ride today, it still wouldn't feel right to ignore his influence entirely. Thanks to Cinna and Portia, he will be here with us symbolically if not physically.
And we're not the only ones who the costumes resonate with. As we cross the threshold a roar of approval bursts forth from the crowd. There had been no need for Katniss and I to recap the plan to avoid smiling or indulging the audience- that has never been a part of who either of us truly are. Tonight we are both stone-faced and unyielding. I can't remember ever being given an excuse to so publicly turn my nose up at the Capitol while sober. There's a kind of thrill to it.
The crowd is absolutely enamored with Katniss, as well they should be. My most important job tonight is to not drag her image down. I steal a glance at one of the large monitors broadcasting us in order to check my progress on that front. And I look… not bad? Better than not bad, even. Like someone forged in flame itself to be deadly and strong. Like someone able to hold their own.
You know what this is and how to beat it. Portia's words spring back into my mind. I've spent these months leading up to the Quell thinking that the only thing I have left to offer anyone is my quick and unavoidable death. And maybe that's still true, at least partially. The odds are not in my favor. But I do know what this is, and I do know how to beat it. Survival has never meant winning. Not when it comes to the Games. So I don't have to survive in order to beat this. I just need to make sure that every inch of it will burn to the ground after I'm gone.
I tighten my grip on the chariot. I stand up straight.
As we pull into City Circle it becomes clear that this year's opening ceremony is going to serve as a harsh lesson to stylists everywhere: trying to make teenagers look like adults is not nearly as difficult as trying to make adults look like teenagers. The costumes worn by the other victors are largely horrendous. Most of the older folk here have been stuffed into clothes that appear either embarrassingly childish or inappropriately revealing on their aging bodies. I send out a silent thank you to Cinna and Portia for their decision to dress me like a grown-ass man. Although the lighting effects on our costumes are exactly the same, it isn't lost on me that the actual cut of my outfit is noticeably less flamboyant and skin-tight than what Katniss is wearing.
We suffer through one of Snow's stupid annual speeches before finally being released. We've barely made it inside the Training Center before we're pounced on by our team. Peeta, Cinna, and Portia all seem genuinely happy with the night's events. I'd like to tell Portia about the moment of clarity she inspired while I was on the chariot, but there's no way for me to fully explain it with so many other people (and bugs, no doubt) listening in on us. So I have to settle for just giving her a small smile and hope that she somehow understands.
They aren't the only ones waiting for us. District 11 disembarked their chariot only moments before we did, so Seeder is quick to rush over and wordlessly pull me into an embrace. We stay like that for a couple moments before letting go, but it's clear that neither of us feel like discussing our present situation. What is there that needs to be said? We both know why we're here.
Seeder gathers a surprised Katniss into a hug next, no doubt out of gratitude for all the girl has done for Thresh and especially Rue. That's when I notice Chaff making his way over to us and feel my body go cold. Chaff. With so much else going on I had nearly forgotten how furious I am at him. How dare he throw away his life for a Game he wasn't even reaped for and then just stroll over here like it's nothing?
Katniss and Seeder release from their hug, and I'm just about to start giving Chaff a piece of my mind. Then he catches all of us off guard by throwing an arm around Katniss and kissing her square on the lips.
The girl leaps back from him in pure shock. The contrast between her bug-eyed expression and Chaff's stupid grin is so priceless that I can't help but lose my train of thought and erupt into laughter. The rage that had seemed so clear to me only seconds before is replaced by a warm feeling in my chest, and I know then and there that I will not be confronting Chaff about volunteering today. If these are truly the last days we'll ever have together, I don't want to spend them fighting.
The Capitol attendants have apparently smelled joy in the air and decided that it is their patriotic duty to put a stop to it. The mentors and stylists are shooed away so that myself and the other tributes can be corralled into the elevators and deposited back into our rooms.
The four of us are joined inside the elevator by Johanna, who ends up making a very… memorable first impression on Katniss by stripping butt naked for the whole world to see. While not exactly shocking behavior given that it's Jo, the nudity does seem a tad too coordinated coming so soon after Finnick and Chaff's teasing.
I tactfully avert my gaze from Johanna's bare ass long enough to lock eyes with Chaff, who immediately confirms my suspicions with his extremely unconvincing attempt at an innocent smile. Apparently the others still have enough free time to plan out entire hazing rituals for my tribute when they aren't busy worrying about their own imminent deaths. Good for them, I guess.
Katniss appears relieved once we finally return to our floor. And not just because it frees us from the impromptu strip tease. I doubt that the girl even realizes it, but she does have a noticeable tendency to perk up whenever Peeta enters a room. Enduring the chariot ride without him by her side must have been hell on her nerves.
It's a short lived calm. As Katniss scans the room her face drains of all color, and I immediately turn to follow her gaze. The thing that has shocked her so deeply is from home, hundreds of miles away from where he should be.
My heart sinks. They have made Darius an Avox.