I muse over what Cedar told me while a team of people work around me, ironing my hair and rolling it into all sorts of twists. They're making me pretty, or whatever the Capitol standard is for beauty. I never thought I was too bad looking to begin with, but it would seem that the Capitol would disagree.
"She didn't have too much hair, that makes things easier. But maybe we should augment that complexion, what do you think?" One of the women - Helena I think she's called - says while holding out one of my arms. The sleeve of the robe they've placed me in shrinks up around my elbow in an uncomfortable sort of way.
I learned after the first few times I responded to their questions that they're not asking me per se, they're asking each other. My opinion doesn't seem to hold very much weight in their minds. There's three of them, which I suppose must be the exact number needed in order to completely transform someone into somebody new. Two of them are young, they can't be that much older than I am, and they chatter to themselves about how excited they are to be working under the stylist they have. It seems like they each have a signature color, and have taken to making that their entire personality. Augusta - the taller of the two - seems to have chosen blue. Her hair is a light shade of baby blue, cut into sharp angles around her neck. Meanwhile Livia seems to have chosen red.
"Hm, we should ask Lucretia. She said she wanted to work with what was already here." She says, brushing her long crimson hair out of her eyes before returning to putting a foul smelling clear paint on my fingernails.
"She's always up to challenge herself." Helena says with more than a hint of admiration in her tone.
Through this experience I've realized what Haymitch meant when he said we wouldn't exactly like what they do to us. But I try to do my best in following his advice, and have taken as much of a path of non-resistance as I can muster - I get the feeling that it might be some of the only advice I'll receive from him. It hasn't been easy, I've wanted to protest on multiple occasions, but thought better of it. They've taken what little hair they could find from my body in one of the most excruciating methods I think could be imagined - they even 'shaped' my eyebrows and I pray that they haven't turned them into the same squiggly lines that exist on Augusta's face. I wonder if Cedar is going through the same thing. The sentiment that we from district twelve are dirty must be something that spans throughout all of the Capitol as - despite my having bathed the night before - the three women have taken to washing me more times than I've ever thought to be even remotely necessary. They've used soaps that scratch at the skin, and washed my hair so many times that I'm sure I've lost half my scalp in the process.
"What do you think for the color?" Livia holds my arm out to the other women, and I assume she's talking about my nails - I certainly hope she is, I don't think I'd be able to look at myself if they turned my skin some ugly neon color.
"Hm," Augusta leans in close enough that her startlingly cyan glittery eyelashes brush my arm. "Maybe chartreuse?"
Helena's face twists in a disgusted manner, and shakes her head. "Certainly not."
They chatter for a minute before deciding that white is the best way to go, and set out another bottle of paint. The scent makes my stomach churn in an unruly way, and I'm almost thankful for not having been able to eat anything this morning.
"You're so lucky you know," Augusta says airily as she continues to dry my hair. "It's a great honor to be a part of the games."
"And you're practically famous now!" Livia adds excitedly.
I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from asking them why they don't take my place if they think it's such an honor. I'd give up a few days of fame if it meant that I didn't have to be subjected to the horrors that no doubt await me in the arena. They congratulated me when they entered the room too, and whenever they've addressed me - though I can count the number of times that's happened on one hand - they've commented on how excited I must be. How happy I must be to have been selected.
"Should we add any eye shadow?" Augusta asks, holding up a palette of brightly colored circles that are filled with some kind of highly pigmented powder.
"Maybe blush?" Livia suggests, grabbing my face and squishing it as she lifts a shimmery red palette and holds it next to my cheek.
The other two look on for a moment, holding the occasional piece of colored fabric up next to me before setting it down. It's like they're in some sort of silent deliberation in a language I can't quite understand.
"Let's just leave it for now, maybe." Helena says, and I relax a little.
"Stay here," Augusta instructs as the three of them pack their things to leave. "Lucretia will come for you soon."
She sounds more ominous than I'm sure she means to be, and the three of them leave the room whilst still chattering excitedly. I look over at myself in the mirror, and notice that they've made my hair fall away from my face in voluminous waves. I find that my eyebrows are in fact quite normal looking, and breathe a small sigh of relief. My nails are a pretty color of almost white, and they remind me of cream. I almost look like one of the marble statues I've seen outside, I think. Maybe that was their intention. I'm glad that I don't look like them at least, as mean as it feels to think it.
I've gathered from their conversations that Lucretia will be the stylist assigned to me, and it strikes me as odd that it will be a woman. Usually the stylists - those chosen by the capitol to dress the tributes and effectively fashion their public image - work in pairs of two, with the male stylist assigned to the female tribute, and vice versa. Not that I'm complaining. I wonder what image Cedar and I will be given. Usually District Seven stylists lack creativity - for lack of a better choice of words - and their tributes end up wearing some form of costume resembling a tree, or an axe, or a piece of wood. It's all related to lumber. District Twelve often isn't any better, being dressed as Coal Miners or shiny pieces of coal - I hope Katniss and Peeta are in better hands than our previous line of tributes have been.
Before I can muse over the subject any longer, a stunningly ordinary woman enters the room. I'm shocked, yet overwhelmingly refreshed by her simplicity. She's far more toned down than the women who were in here before scrubbing me of my identity and molding me into something new - not that it'll last very long once I'm in the arena. She wears her hair in a half-up bun, and I can swear that I see her brown hair glittering in a golden manner when it passes under the light. Aside from what look to be a cluster of deep blue freckles and a splash of pink on her eyelids, she's really quite normal looking.
"You must be Willow, right?" She asks in a soft voice that lacks the typical up-turned ending that denotes the Capitol dialect. It's kind of her to ask, though I wonder who else I could possibly be.
"Yes."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Lucretia. I'll be your stylist."
"The girls were talking about you earlier…are you awfully famous?" I ask. Lucretia chuckles.
"I suppose I am, in a way." She replies with a small smile. "Or I used to be anyway, I've been retired for a little while."
I don't really have much to say to that, and the two of us make our way out of the dull and drafty prep room. We arrive in a rather large, cozy room that overlooks the city. I sit on the corner of a large sofa that's so soft I fear it'll absorb me as I sink into it. Lucretia sits beside me at an angle, and takes my hands in hers. It takes me off guard slightly, as there's a perfectly good identical couch opposite mine that she could have chosen to sit on. When I look at her, there's a genuine kindness in her eyes. And as much as I hate it, I find myself warming up to her presence.
"So I take that you and your district partner, Cedar, don't really have much established in the way of mentors right now. Is that correct?" She asks. I nod.
"Alright," She thinks for a moment. "Do you know how sponsors work?"
"I think so."
"Right, well, it can't hurt to reassess the basics." She speaks kindly and slowly, a fact I'm grateful for. "Basically, the impression you give off is what will help get you sponsors, who will then pay to send you gifts in the arena. The better the impression…"
"The better the gifts."
"Right."
She tells me a bit more, things like how expensive it can end up being to pay for something in the arena when it comes to the final days. Only the wealthiest in the Capitol can afford it, though Lucretia says that sometimes she's seen whole districts pool together enough money to send something to their tributes. She's very friendly, and I wonder how someone so seemingly kindhearted could take part in something as viscerally cruel as the Hunger Games. It makes me wary, and I wonder about whether or not I should raise my guard around her. Lucretia seems to sense my distrust, and sighs.
"Listen to me," She says with a sudden startling urgency, squeezing my hands in hers. "It seems unlikely that too many people are going to aid you here. You can hate me all you'd like but I am trying to be a friend to you. Soon, you will be in the arena, with likely no one to aid you. And when you're there you may find yourself glad to have had a friend - a true friend - on your side."
She's right, I realize. Cedar and I are almost definitely going to need anyone on our side that we can get. It'll get me nowhere to start being overly distrustful now. Besides, Lucretia is probably the most genuine and truly human seeming person from the Capitol that I've ever seen.
"I'm sorry," I say with a sigh. "It's been a difficult couple of days."
Lucretia looks on at me with what I can only describe as a deep sadness, and almost a touch of guilt. She takes out a notebook, and I realize that she's prepared something. Notes, but I can't quite make out what they're about. Her handwriting is all squiggly and strange.
"I saw you on the train platform today, talking with Cedar." She notes, her voice carrying the impression that she's about to tell me something important. "You're good with people. Use that."
I mull over her words for a bit, staring out the window at the vast expanse of city that lies outside it. The building we're in - The Remake Center as they call it on TV - looms over part of the city with a long avenue of roadway that's bordered by buildings on every side. At the very end is the President's Mansion, grand and imposing - that must be where President Snow was when we communicated yesterday. It feels like it was forever ago.
"What do you think of, when you think about the Capitol?" Lucretia asks.
A thousand things come to mind. Resentment, Bitterness, Anger. But I know none of those are probably the answer she's looking for, so I suggest something more acceptable.
"Color."
She laughs. "Not quite. Think deeper, what does it feel like to be here. In your bones, what's the feeling?"
I try to think deeper. What have I felt being here? It's dizzying, overwhelming. Everything has felt like it's somehow much grander than my wildest imagination could ever dream up. The elaborateness of the meals, the glittering of the buildings whose architecture can do nothing but astonish. I think of the colors that are brighter and bolder than anything I've ever seen, and the foods more delicious than my wildest imagination. I've felt almost a surreal feeling of watching a dream pass me by nearly the whole time since Effie called my name in the square. It's felt like I've somehow been floating through a haze this whole time, and at any moment I'll find myself awake again back in my bed in District twelve. That's it.
"It's felt like a dream, almost as if it's not real." I say.
Lucretia claps excitedly and I realize that this must have been the answer she was looking for. She flips feverishly through her notebook before showing me what look to be concepts of what she wants to put us in. Before I can really take them in, she shuts the cover of the book, and looks up at me.
"We're going to make you look like a dream. You'll be untouchable, but irresistible all the same." There's a grin that spreads across her face as she says so.
We talk for a few moments more about her idea, before a grumbling in my stomach reminds me of the fact that I haven't eaten anything all day. Lucretia pushes a button and before my eyes, almost as if to solidify her earlier point, the table opens to reveal a stunning display of what I can only imagine to be lunch.
Lucretia and I speak for a while, and by the time we've nearly finished lunch, I find myself to be utterly won over by her. She's one of the kindest people I've ever met, Capitol or not. I realize I'm beginning to release the perception that I'd placed upon her just because she's from the Capitol. I can see the person deep inside her, now that I've let my guard down, and I wonder what would happen if I did the same with all the people I meet in the Capitol. She certainly seems to have done the same in her mind when it comes to us from the districts, and I wonder what the reason is.
"You don't see me the way the others here do. Like a commodity, or a piece of cattle." I say between bites, more a statement than a question.
Lucretia pauses.
"I used to," She replies with a sigh, her eyes growing sad. "A lifetime ago."
"There was a boy, many years ago. He was from district eight. When I met him, I acted the same way I'm sure you've seen the others from around here do."
She pauses so I nod, and she continues.
"One day, before we began to get ready for interviews, he began to speak to me - really speak to me. It was like he was talking to a friend from school, and I found myself feeling like I'd known him my whole life. I felt like we were friends, he and I."
I'm on the edge of my seat as she tells the story. She recounts the events vividly, like she's right back there living them, and I'm utterly enthralled.
"There was this sparkle to him, this humanity that I must not have noticed - or simply ignored - in the other tributes I'd met before. He was so…" She hesitates, like she's struggling to grasp the right word. "He was so alive."
She goes silent, like the memory is too tough to bear.
"He died. In the bloodbath. The old me died with him."
I see. Someone came along to change her mind about the way we are in the districts, to shatter her perception of us. She's been changed because of this mystery boy and whomever he was, I thank him for what he did. I owe him a debt of gratitude that he will never know.
"Is that why you retired?" I ask, recalling her earlier comment when I'd asked about her fame.
"After a few years, yes." she says. "It just got to be too much."
She's called away, and it ends the conversation.
But her story leaves my mind alight with thoughts. One person, that's all it took to change the way she saw the districts. No falsely concocted stories to pander to the Capitol audience, no persona displayed on TV. Whomever it was, it was his real, genuine self that changed her. He made her see him as a person, not just a tribute. She saw the humanity in him, and it brought out the humanity and compassion in her in return.
I wonder if I could do what he did, cast aside all my bitterness and resentment and speak to the humanity that has to be hidden somewhere deep inside someone. I'm struck with a sudden thought that, maybe I can. It can't be all that difficult, can it? All I have to do is to act around them the same way I normally would around anyone in district twelve.
I don't expect to make it out of the arena. My odds, which would have been slim under any regular circumstances, are made even more grim by my current situation. I'd much rather Katniss to win anyway, or Peeta. Or Cedar. It's an inevitable truth that I'll likely die in the arena, and so I resolve myself to try and make that death mean something. I won't be remembered for a stunning and brutal victory, but I will make my death have purpose. I will make the people of the Capitol see me for my humanity and compassion. And when I die, I want it to feel like they're losing a friend, or a sibling, or a neighbor. I want the grief of my loss to stick to their clothes and bury itself deep under their skin, so they carry it with them always. Just like Lucretia carries the death of the boy from district eight.
Lucretia doesn't return, instead the same chattering prep team from before emerges from the door and begin to lead me to another, different prep room from before. I decide - though they're continuing their habit of talking about me but not to me - that perhaps it's a good idea to try out my new strategy on them. I steel myself and push my underlying bitterness and envy down, locking it in a box at the back of my mind.
"Have you worked here long?" I ask Helena, who's taken to opening various containers which were laid out on a table in the corner.
She looks startled by my question, like she's not used to tributes talking to her. She nods. "Nearly fifteen years now." She says.
"Have any of the tributes you've worked on become victors?" I ask, and it sends her into thought for a minute.
Augusta and Livia have taken to grabbing a gorgeous pile of fabric - the likes of which I've never seen - out of one of the containers, but they've ceased their gossip in favor of listening in to the conversation. The fabrics take my breath away, and I feel as if I'm looking at something you'd only hear about in the fairytales we're told as children. One of them, what I gather to be the base of the dress, is completely covered in small glittering objects that I can only imagine to be jewels. I wonder if they're all real. It glitters and glimmers, and shines beautifully as they move it under the light. The other fabric is what really catches my eye though. It's sheer and mostly transparent, but it glimmers and changes colors in the light - holographic material I think they called it.
"About eight - no, nine." Helena answers, taking out a palette of circles that look like they contain a similar powder from the eye shadow that they'd been holding earlier.
"Well then I'm glad you're working with me," I say with a small smile, "You're a good luck charm."
This seems to bolster some sort of pride in Helena, as she straightens up and stands a little taller at my comment. When she puts the dress - which feels almost airy, it's so light - over me and begins making adjustments, I notice a smile spreading across her face. It's the first real smile I think she's given me, and it softens her.
"We've only been working here for about a year," Augusta chimes in almost shyly, adding bunches of the holographic material to the outside of the dress.
"We've been studying design during our last few years of schooling you see," Livia adds, pinning something to the side of my dress. "we want to be real stylists some day."
I must have been right when I guessed earlier that the two of them were closer to my age. It makes me wonder what schooling is like in the Capitol. Do all of us learn the same thing, or is it different?
"What do you do?" Augusta asks. It's the first real question I think she's asked me all day.
"I'm a historian." I reply.
They chatter on about how interesting of a profession it must be, but become a bit disappointed when I tell them that it's mostly just remembering things and talking to people. Perhaps they imagined it to be somehow more glamorous than it really is. Or maybe it really is more glamorous of a profession to have when you're in the Capitol. The conversation passes though, and it drifts to other things.
Before I know it, I'm dressed and out in a long hallway without even having been able to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Towards the end of the hallway, I see Cedar and what I figure must be his prep crew standing, talking quietly. Lucretia is there as well, and I see a man beside her. He must be Cedar's stylist. He's a tall, and rather imposing looking man, with darker hair and a fierceness behind his eyes. I'm thankful to have been assigned Lucretia, since I'm not sure he would have been as keen to befriend me as she was.
They've given Cedar a suit in the same glittering fabric as my dress is made of. There's a thin layer of the holographic fabric over his suit too, and a bunch of it flowing down behind his back into a cape. He looks like he's just stepped out of a dream and come to steal me away from this place, somewhere far far away from the games.
We make our way into an elevator, and down to a vast expanse of stables. We have our own chariot, the male Stylist - Tarquin - informs us, just like all the other tributes.
"Surprising, since we're expected to share everything else." I comment with a bitter laugh. Cedar is the only one who seems to find it very funny.
We find ourselves in a large silver chariot, that's to be led by four giant chestnut colored horses. They're beautiful, but much larger than I expected them to be. I stumble as I climb onto the chariot - my foot catching on part of the dress - and Cedar has to grab my arm to ensure I don't fall and make a complete fool of myself. Once we're situated, Tarquin instructs us to wait as he leaves to go get something or someone.
I can see Katniss and Peeta in the chariot in front of us, laughing. They're wearing what looks to be a slick black fabric, adorned by capes made from scraps of fabric that look like flames. It's pretty - better than what district twelve normally gets - but I worry that it won't be enough to draw the attention away from Districts One and Two. I hope their stylists know what they're doing.
"Do you know them?" Cedar asks - he must notice my staring at them. "Back in twelve?"
"Yes." I reply.
"Are you friends?"
I nod.
"Oh."
The music from outside the stables begins to blare, and I can tell that they're playing the national anthem. It's muffled from in here, but even with that, it still sounds incredibly loud. The stable doors open, and I can see the crowds that line the avenue, high in the stadium-like seats which have been set up alongside the side of the roadway. Their cheers grow increasingly louder as District One's chariot begins to move. They look like they're wearing some sparkling outfits, similar in their adornments of jewels. I only catch a glimpse of what everyone else is wearing, noticing a shimmer here and a sparkle there. Lucretia approaches our chariot as we're almost at the gate, and leans up to talk to us.
"Listen," She calls, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. "They're going to stagger your start a little bit later than normal, so the other tributes will likely be at the end when you've been released. They want all eyes on you two, so good luck."
With that, she leaves, and Cedar and I are left to our own devices. My head is spinning, and my heart beating faster and faster in my chest. Peeta and Katniss - who have since been lit on fire - begin to make their way into the avenue, drawing nearly all the attention from the stands. The crowd loves them, and I'm thankful to see that Katniss is seemingly responding well to their cheer and excitement. She and Peeta are almost magnetic, drawing all attention away from the other chariots like moths to a flame. It's more attention than there's ever been for District Twelve, and it seems like something magical is in the air, something almost dangerous. It's electric, and even though Cedar is dressed dazzlingly, I don't think there's any way we can live up to it.
I'm suddenly hit with an almost paralyzing sense of fear. The daze-like fog that's been surrounding me since my name was called has all at once dissipated, and I'm left with a startling clarity of the reality of the situation. The importance of the crowd really sinks in for the first time today, and I'm struck by a wave of apprehension to face them. This moment, our first impression, has to count. It has to be spectacular. We must, somehow, outshine everyone else, and I'm struggling to see how that will be possible after the performance Katniss and Peeta just gave. Cedar seems to note my nervousness, and crosses my arm in his, offering a small smile.
"We have to make a good impression." I struggle to get the words out.
"We will." He assures me. But I can tell by the way the color has drained from his face that he, too, feels the weight of the nearly impossible task we're facing.
Our chariot begins to lurch forward, and with that we're off, and I can see the avenue more clearly. There's large lights that loom overhead, illuminating us from all directions, and I notice that it makes the faces of the crowd hard to make out. The avenue is far larger in person than it's made to seem on TV, and I think to myself that it must take an eternity to reach the end. I'm glad we have the horses, as I can't imagine having to walk all the way along it.
Upon our entrance, there's a hush that falls over the crowd. The only sound that breaks through their silence is the anthem, which has begun its loop again. I worry for a moment that they're underwhelmed with us, the large screens that litter the side of the avenue not yet having switched away from the faces of Katniss and Peeta. It feels as if all the energy has been sucked from the avenue. But just as quickly as the hush fell over the crowd, so too does a deafening roar of applause and cheering. People begin to scream from the stands, and it's an almost surreal feeling to be witnessing their excitement from down here.
I look to the side to see mine and Cedar's faces being highlighted on the large screens, and I begin to understand the silence we were initially greeted with. Under the shine of the lights, the translucent holographic fabric they placed on the outside of our outfits has created an ethereal glow that surrounds us. The capes that trail behind us make us look as if we've come from another realm entirely, not just a different district. I look beautiful, and unreal. I'm almost unrecognizable to myself, and I wonder if that's a common feeling among tributes. We look like we've just stepped out of a dream, as if we've been raised to a level above even the people of the Capitol. We look untouched by the plagues of the world, like a true embodiment of what the Capitol claims to be, what it should be.
"This is the part where they introduce us, our names and stuff." Cedar notes, turning to me.
"You'd think with our names that we would be the tributes representing district seven." I joke back, which earns me a smile.
"You know, I bet Caesar Flickerman is making that exact same joke right now." He teases, looking up to the side and waving at the crowd.
I try to follow his lead, and scoff at him as I do so.
"How dare you compare my humor to Caesar Flickerman," I say, feigning offense. "Of course you don't know it yet, but my jokes are far superior to his."
He laughs, and it breaks the overwhelming feeling of dread and awe that had been looming over me since we left the stables of The Remake Center. I find myself laughing too, and it's hard to stop. We wave to the crowd, and though it's hard to make out the faces in the stands, I know that they're entranced by us - transfixed even. I can hear the deafening cheers of the crowd grow even louder, and I hear them calling our names as they throw flowers onto the avenue at us. What a way to end the parade, I think. First Katniss and Peeta making the biggest impression I think anyone representing District Twelve has ever made, and then us. Something new, almost unreal. If you didn't already expect it, you might think that you imagined us. The dream-like dizziness returns as we approach the end of the avenue, where all the other Tributes are waiting in their chariots.
President Snow gives his usual speech, and I find myself not really paying much attention to it. I can hear the music from the anthem, and feel the drums that accompany it ringing out in my chest, but I hardly pay them any mind. Catching a glimpse of Katniss's face, I can see that she's determined, almost invigorated by the energy that the crowd has given her. I feel the same, it's almost intoxicating to have received so much adoration in such little time, by complete strangers. They don't even know us. It makes me feel lightheaded.
Before we know it, the ceremony is over, and we circle the city center one last time before we're stopped in front of one of the larger buildings that lies beside the circle. The Training Center, where we'll spend the next few days learning all we can about how to survive the arena. Lucretia and Tarquin are waiting for us, ready to help Cedar and I down from the chariot.
Katniss and Peeta are waiting off to the side, and so is the same woman from before who brought Cedar to the train platform. We unlink our elbows, and begin to follow behind Lucretia and Tarquin, who are leading us to the doors of the grand building.
"I'll see you later, right?" Cedar asks, and I forget for a moment that we won't be given our own lodging within the building.
"Of course. After we've eaten and changed."
"Ok."
He doesn't say much else, as he, Tarquin, and his prep crew begin to make their way towards where the woman is standing. Her familiarity bugs me. She can't be much older than Katniss, Peeta and I, but I just can't seem to put my finger on how I know her. I realize I'll just have to ask Cedar about it later. I turn to where Katniss and Peeta are standing, waiting for me, and notice that they look just as shell shocked as I feel. He didn't say as much, but I can tell that Cedar is thinking the same thing I am. We need to talk strategy, and start coming up with a plan, a task made infinitely harder due to the fact that we're to be separated during the critical times to discuss such things. I guess that's why they've made an allowance for us to leave our floors during otherwise unpermitted hours - something that's usually against the rules. It would be unfair to us otherwise.
"Hey!" He shouts. I turn to the side to look at him. "We did it!"
I smile. His words aren't entirely true, but I'll let him have the feeling of victory for now. In reality, there's far steeper hills to climb in our future. I'm sure he knows that just as well as I do. We haven't really done anything yet.
Tonight has shown me something else though, something invigorating. One of the four of us has a real chance to win. Katniss. I think back to the energy on the avenue - the way people took to her like kindling. It's a fire that could ignite something much more powerful. I know that - while I've resigned myself to die - one person needs to make it out alive. I resolve myself to do whatever it takes to help that person be her. Katniss must win, and I owe her as much to see that she does.