Chapter 4: New Arrivals

Over breakfast, Celestia explains that because District Seven has no viable mentors this year, a gamemaker will be taking over their sponsorship fund. York asks how it will work, but Celestia has no further answers. He shares a glance with Amber that acknowledges how uncertain they both feel about the situation. It doesn't matter though, there's nothing that can be done to change it.

In preparation to depart, Celestia pulls a dark green dress from the closet and insists on Amber wearing it. The escort explains that it's a material called silk and that it's very popular in the Capitol. Multiple versions of the same dress had been produced to be able to fit a wide array of potential tribute sizes. It's painful to see how small some of the dresses get.

Celestia yanks the ribbon on the back of the dress and the fabric tightens around her waist. Another way to have a single dress fit an unknown occupant.

"Many women will refer to you the next time they see their doctor," Celestia coos. "It's like they said on television! The new rave will be large eyes, honey-colored contacts, and of course, being skinny is always in style. I can already see it! You'll be such a trendsetter!"

Competing for thinness is not something Amber has ever heard in her life. It confuses her that Celestia would ever even suggest that starving is attractive. She doesn't know how to respond, so she says nothing. When Celestia leaves, Amber pulls her bow out and has a servant tie it so that it's no longer suffocating her. Even though she tries to thank the servant and asks for their name, they only look at their feet.

Amber returns to the main compartment, sits, and watches out the circular train windows. York returns as well in a green button-down that matches Amber's dress. Amber watches the reflection of him in the window as they speed through a pitch-black tunnel. The clothes are tight on him and he pulls at the collar, revealing his discomfort.

Amber gasps as they emerge back into the daylight, the site making her forget anything she had previously been thinking about.

"We're here!" Amber marvels at the Capitol unraveling around her. Buildings that kiss the sky and come every color of the rainbow. She's never seen anything like it before. The train flies by grand fountains and finely dressed citizens. They all turn to point as it goes by. They must recognize it as a train for tributes.

Amber looks at York and sees that not even he is able to hide his awe. Temporarily, the two are mesmerized by the beauty. Amber's face remains bright with amazement, but it dims as the train slows and pulls into a station. York follows suit.

There are hundreds of people packed around the station for the chance to catch a glimpse of the tributes from District Seven.

"Showtime!" Celestia squeals, lining up to be first off the train. Amber is placed behind her, with York at the end of their line. The train's security gives them nowhere to run, so they step off.

As soon as they are in view, the Capitolites yell and reach out. Peacekeepers loosely form a circle around them but it doesn't stop the Capitolites from pushing forward. Amber's hair brushes between their fingertips, some grab to feel the fabric of her dress, others scream her name for attention. The only thing she can feel is completely astonished. They're like a pack of vultures and she was the prey. Cameras flash bright lights at her, making her uncertain of where she's even walking.

York places a hand on her shoulder and lightly presses her forward. Amber appreciates the additional guidance, but the crowd is starting to make her panic. The feeling of suffocating sets in.

Desperately looking for anything to keep her grounded, Amber is reminded of what Celestia had said over breakfast. The people who would come to see her off the train are significantly more likely to be open to sponsoring her than others, so she really needs to wow them. Some sponsors pick tributes based on training scores and odds, but some just try to keep the ones they find most entertaining alive for as long as they can. So far, Amber figures she is doing a pretty bad job at putting any sort of semblance of charisma on her face. She takes another deep breath and straightens her shoulders.

They're paraded directly into another transport vehicle. York crosses his arms, refusing to look anywhere but the headrest in front of him.

"Are you okay?" Amber knows the answer but wants to give him the opportunity to speak whatever is on his mind. The two have barely spoken a word to each other up to this point.

"They're taking bets on our lives as we speak. Am I supposed to be okay?" He bites back. He's not angry at her, just the situation. Amber is familiar with that emotion after years of Ivy's ramblings. Celestia poses for photos, making a whole performance of getting in the car. "We're just her props," York says.

Amber barely has any time to process the magnitude of the Tribute Center before she's handed off to her styling team. They are an odd duo named Zeta and Lazarus. They talk just as much as Celestia.

"The Remake Center is so magical!" Zeta says. She's a woman with neon pink hair to the floor. It takes Amber a moment to realize she's talking to her. She brushes through Amber's tangles as she continues on. "This is Lazarus and I's first year working for the Hunger Games. We'll be able to experience everything for the first time with you!"

"Yes, yes!" Lazarus is hovering over Amber's face, examining her features. "Don't worry though, we might be new, but we know how to make you beautiful!" He has rhinestones for eyebrows. As he winks, Amber can see glitter pressed into his eyelids.

They look at their tribute, who blinks, attempting to process their strange, disfigured appearances and make out their words through the thick accent. "Thank you. And congratulations." Although it was all odd, she supposes it's good that they have obtained what seems to be their dream job. She wonders how many of the previous stylists were removed after the last games. Maybe they were suspected to have some sort of connection to the rebellion. Likely, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Thank you, dearie." Lazarus' skin is like porcelain and he is draped in metal jewelry. "This will only hurt for a moment."

Amber shortly finds out that statement is a lie, repeated for just about everything they did to her.

"I'm still going to look like myself, right?" Amber puts her arm up to push Lazarus away.

"Of course!" Zeta exclaims as if it was obvious. "Just a-" she puts a long pink fingernail to her chin to think, "A more improved version of yourself!"

"So you're not dying my hair?" Amber tries to think of previous tributes. How had they changed from the time they stood on the Reaping stage to when they were in the arena? Johanna Mason had acquired some red streaks, she was pretty sure.

"We wish!" Lazarus and Zeta act as if everything she says is hilarious.

Lazarus catches his breath first. "As much as I think powder blue would really match your features, we can't."

Zeta lets out a sigh of disappointment. "Making you look like us, although glamorous, would really ruin your charm. The Games are about the districts, so we have to keep your vibe. It's, like, the whole point."

Amber doubts that.

She feels her skin grow raw, pink, and sore. How was any of this possibly worth being considered beautiful? She's bathed, her teeth are whitened, and her nails groomed. The list of items seems never-ending. Eventually, Lazarus gives up on the speckles of remaining dirt and calluses on her hands and they call for the head stylist, Ezio, to come check their work.

Ezio is another strange man with shimmering skin and metallic silver hair. Even his extravagantly groomed facial hair reflects under the bright fluorescent lights of the styling room. He's mesmerizing, even if it's clear how artificial all of his features are.

"It's nice to finally meet you," He says.

"What are you going to do to me?" Amber can't contain her curiosity any longer.

There's a chorus of laughter in the room before Ezio speaks. "I'm going to make you famous." He tilts her head with his hand, staring intently. "We should take the innocent route for you," He says matter-of-factly before flipping through a sketchbook of costumes. "Do you know how hard it is to make trees look innocent?" He scrunches his face.

Amber shakes her head. Her district had been dressed as trees for as long as she could remember. She figured this year would be the same.

"Right, so we're gonna be a little bit more creative this year. Trees are so overdone anyway. Instead, you're going to look like a little forest princess! It will be perfect!"

Amber smiles and nods. She has no idea what he means, but it sounds pretty. She is dressed first in a short silver strapless dress. Once again, they tie it so tightly that she struggles to breathe. This time, she can't get out of it. She runs her hands across the flowy beaded layers that make up the skirt. It must've taken countless hours to complete this embroidery.

The stylists, mainly Ezio, spend the next hours painstakingly pasting individual leaves and vines all across her torso, arms, and legs. The synthetic material of the fake foliage is weird, but Amber does her best not to scratch them off.

The prep team spends a long time trying different hairstyles to determine what they like. Up or down. Messy or neat. Curled or straight. Finally, it is decided that she will have a curly, 'perfectly disheveled' updo. Her regular curls don't pass their standards, so they use tools to dry her hair straight and curl it again. It seems like a waste of time to her.

Right when Amber thinks they're done, Ezio decides it's time for the finishing touch. He opens a black box Amber hadn't previously paid any mind to. He pulls out the padding to reveal a magnificent headpiece. It's unbelievable. A grand set of glass antlers. She watches in the mirror as they secure it to her head. Flowers and leaves are pinned into place to hide where it connects to her scalp. Jewels and strings of beading are draped along her head and the antlers to mimic a crown. With each detail, the vision comes more and more to life. Amber knows she looks ridiculous, but stunning. Besides, tributes are normally just lucky to not be naked. This is a huge step up.

Amber looks at herself in the mirror. The makeup they applied is light and glittery. It's like she's been transformed into the faeries in the District Seven legends. The stories of tiny, beautiful, and mystical creatures that live in harmony with nature. Amber loved the idea of them, powerful and free to live however they want. She wonders if Ezio even knew of the myth he was portraying.

Finally, they lace up a pair of tree-branch-inspired boots that bring Amber's height up several inches. She's already top-heavy and awkward from the weight of the antlers and the shoes only make her more clumsy.

"I can't do this." Amber stares at her feet.

"Sure you can! It just takes practice," Ezio says. The two assistants begin to demonstrate for Amber. She holds onto them and circles the room until she is able to walk on her own. As she walks, Ezio continually makes adjustments to his work. He goes on and on about the importance of perfection.

A Peacekeeper comes to collect Amber and escort her down to the parade assembly area. The stylists, nor anyone else, are allowed to accompany her. This is fine for the stylists, who are eager to go secure a good seat in the crowd.

When Amber makes it to the stables, York is yet to arrive, but Celestia is there. She's laughing loudly with some other escorts, paying no attention to Amber besides briefly showing her off to the group.

Amber entertains herself by petting the horse for her chariot. She's never been so close to such a creature before. It's big and muscular, yet gentle and comforting. Amber runs her hands down the white mussel and feels the heat from its body rising into her hands. The softness of its hair is comforting. The creature twitches under her but insistently makes eye contact. Amber stares back. It trusts her, she can feel it.

As she looks up from the black beady eyes of the horse she catches a different pair of eyes. Surprisingly green, even in person, and even from this far. They belong to a boy with a strong build. Another tribute, yet like the horse, he isn't threatening in his observation of her. At least not right now. She recognizes him immediately as District Two. His outfit is some sort of twist on a Peacekeeper uniform. They hold each other's attention only momentarily, as Amber is drawn away by the sound of her name.

"Amber," Celestia sings. She turns, the skirt catching the wind as she spins. She uses the horse to steady herself. "Doesn't York look so handsome!" Celestia places a hand on York's shoulder. She fusses over everything, but it's appropriate this time. He does look stunning. He wears a long pair of high-waisted brown pants that flare as they get closer to the ground. With his strength and height, he actually does look like a sturdy tree anchored into the floor. Vines and leaves are placed between his bare upper body and his look is also finalized with a set of antlers.

They leave plenty of room for York's muscles to be defined and admired by Capitolites. This is common for tributes from Seven. Capitol citizens adore pretty, and as far as the Capitol is concerned, the only 'pretty' that can come out of a man from Seven is in the shape of strength. Although they're from the same district, Amber and York couldn't be more opposite.

Celestia turns her attention away almost as rapidly as it appeared. York frowns at Amber. "What was that?" He asks. "Making friends with the Careers already?"

"What? No!" Amber defensively responds, hoping the redness of her cheeks is hidden by the makeup. "I wasn't staring at him, I was just spacing out. It was an accident."

"I'm kidding." York has never really seemed like one for jokes, but Amber feels relieved. He's not smiling, but there is something hidden in her voice that Amber recognizes as humor.

"Friendliness is a good look on you," She mocks Celestia, who has been begging him to lighten up.

He shakes his head. "They told me I'm supposed to be inhumane. Like someone who is already a killer. It's confusing because they say that and then they dress me as prey." His hands motion towards his antlers.

Amber bites her cheeks. He was right, it was counterproductive. What did they expect from her? She knows the answer, as does York, but she says it aloud anyway. "They expect me to be as naive as they are."

"Exactly," York crosses his arms. "But if a bit of acting lets us live another day, then I think that is what we should do tonight." Amber smiles, but York hides his. "Acting stupid won't be very hard for you, will it?"

"Don't be mean!" Amber laughs, pushing into his arm. It reminded her of something Bran or Weston would tease her with. It pangs her heart momentarily to think of York like a brother. Once again, Amber is asking fate why it has brought her here.

Amber sneaks another glance in the direction of the boy from Two. He's chatting with the female tribute from his district and his back is turned away from her. What did he see in her when they locked eyes?

An intercom echoes throughout the stable. "Tributes, please mount your chariots."

Amber and York follow the instructions. She closes her eyes and takes in the moment. The chariot gives just enough room for the two and their headpieces. Even in the tall shoes, Amber feels tiny next to York. She shifts her weight between her feet. The shoes are incredibly uncomfortable, and she questions how people in the Capitol parade around in these devices all the time.

Amber stumbles, clutching the side of the chariot as it begins to move. She instinctively looks to York as they are pulled through the tunnel, but he's fixated on what's ahead of them. His face is cold, hard, and unmoving. It's what the Capitol wants from him. Amber purses her lips. How does one portray innocence?

The roar of the crowd begins as District One's chariot emerges from the tunnel. Of course, they're favorites. But Amber's whole district is counting on her and York to make an impression on sponsors right now.

Smile, Amber repeats in her brain. She forces herself to summon one. At first, it feels stiff on her cheeks. However, when they hit the parade street, it begins to feel more real. The Capitol was glowing and its citizens all continued their screaming. Flowers, coins, and other finery land at her feet. Amber doesn't know if she should be terrified or not, but with how ridiculous it all is, she finds herself stifling a laugh.

She thinks of how her siblings would be leaning into the television screen right now, desperately looking for any glimpse of her. The thought keeps the smile on Amber's face. She wishes she could send them a message. 'I'm okay. I'm going to figure my way through this. My story isn't over yet.' Do they even recognize her in this costume? What would they be saying about it? She tries to imagine the faces of her district in the crowd rather than the Captiolites who are all desperately hoping to be noticed by the career tributes.

Amber looks forward and sees President Snow on the balcony of his mansion. Her smile falters. The horses halt and Amber can't pull her eyes away. This is him. The man at the core of all of Panem. The pain, the suffering, the theatrics. Amber can't absorb any of what's happening anymore. The music stops and the crowd quiets.

President Snow looks smaller and more sickly in person. He's all white, down to his suit, hair, and rose pinned to his chest. For his age, his features are pulled tight, leaving an unsettling appearance. He begins the same opening ceremony welcome that he always gives. This year, there's a special emphasis on the Capitol prevailing and the District's need for their mercy. What happened in Twelve is an obvious inspiration for this addition. His face is projected all around her as he speaks, and all Amber can be reminded of is a snake. It's not even the alterations, it's the way his body moves, the way he hisses his words, and the way his eyes narrow. He is the predator, the tributes are the prey. At the end of all of this, he is the victor.

Just as soon as it seems to start, the parade is over. The cameras glaze over all of the contestants, the horses turn, and in just a few moments they are back in the stables of the tribute center.

Celestia gushes over them and the prep team appears to pridefully flaunt about. This seems to be the same experience for all of the tributes, at least from what Amber can see. Ezio carefully strips the antlers from her hair and places them back in their padded box.

"I'm sure of it. These will be preserved for a museum about these games." Ezio pridefully kisses the box.

Celestia eventually pushes Amber and York toward the elevator. She excitedly talks about the residence they have been assigned. Amber has already abandoned her shoes, leaving her tall, foliage-covered socks exposed. Celestia had tried to scold her for the unladylike action, but Amber shrugged it off, saying she would twist her ankle if she had to keep going.

The elevator amazes Amber as it rises. She had been in it twice already today, but this is the first time she's actually been able to pay attention to it. Before today, she has never been in such a machine. It flies up to the floor labeled District Seven and opens to a huge suite. Celestia begins explaining the fabrics, decor styles, and glassware. It all might as well be a different language to Amber. As soon as she can, she sneaks into her own room.

Peeta Mellark's bit with Caesar Flickerman about how complicated the showers in the Capitol are turns out to be an understatement. Amber feels like she just caught on to an inside joke and laughs. Once she's able to get the water running, Amber pulls the flowers and pins from her hair. Next, she takes to plucking leaves away from her skin. She drops them into the wastebasket and kicks the dress to the side. She can't wait to wash the product from her hair and face, desperate to strip the Capitol's persona of herself away from her one piece at a time.

The water is pleasantly warm, which was something they usually didn't have in Seven. She sits on the tile floor, letting the comforting stream run over her for a long while before crawling out. She pulls on the first pair of clothes in the drawer and is making her way to the bed when Celestia comes through the door.

Celestia insists that they all sit together for a meal. Amber had already eaten more in one day than she would in multiple at home. Still, after years of constant hunger, it's hard to leave the food in front of her unattended.

The meal is mostly silent except for Celestia, but eventually, she goes to the powder room to adjust her wig. When she's out of earshot, York turns to Amber.

"She's not going to be much help," there is a sense of urgency to his tone.

Amber tries to be optimistic. "She seems social enough, maybe she knows some sponsors. But also that's why we have the gamemaker helping us." The gamemaker that Celestia says they likely won't even meet. Who knows if it's even a real person?

"I'm just sayin', I wouldn't rely on any parachutes to save you."

Amber smiles, stands, and lightheartedly states, "I don't plan on it anyway."

York watches her walk back towards her room for a moment but calls her name once more. Amber curiously turns back towards him.

"Do you…" He pauses, then restarts again. "Do you really think there's a chance they let either of us win?"

Let us win. Amber ponders the words. He's surely referring to the gamemakers. Of their need for a successful, unproblematic game this year. "We have to think so, right?" If not, there would be no reason to even make it to the arena. Amber couldn't afford to be so negative. She has to believe there's at least the chance of a fair game. "The Capitol may not know it yet, but we will prove ourselves. And then District Seven will eat well for another year."

"Thanks." York stands up and leaves. Just like that, the interaction is over. Amber fixates on it longer. He had requested a comforting thought from her, and she had given it, but she really hoped it was the truth.