The 53rd Hunger Games- Two Words

6.The Tribute Parade

My prep team made me feel like I was run over. I sit on the bed, looking at myself. I'm covered in a paper thin gown, which I've been forced to remove countless times, only to put it back on later. Each member of my prep team was dressed differently. Each was following a different trend. My arms, legs, torso, underarms and parts of my eyebrows were waxed. With each strip of clothing ripping my hair off, I would mutter all sorts of profanities under my breath. Of course, before we could even get to waxing, I had to be bathed twice, with a combination of soaps and shampoos that managed to take off at least the top two layers of skin. I have no idea who my stylist is yet, but my prep team have been dropping annoyingly vague hints.

"I bet she'll come up with something fantastic!" One of my prep team, Anatara, had said. She'd smoothed her purple hair back from her lilac forehead as another of my team, Hender, had clapped his hands. His whiskers had positively bristled with excitement.

"Yes! Did you see what she did with that tribute last year?" he had said.

My prep team liked to talk. Not to me, but about me.

"This tribute is beautiful!" Anatara had said when she'd first seen me. The others had agreed, all adding their indirect complements.

So after at least of couple of hours listening to my prep team talk among themselves about petty issues only residents of the Capitol could have, all I found out was that my stylist is female.

The only light in the room comes from a row of harsh-white bulb hanging overhead. The shelves of the room are lined with make-up and other styling products. The bed I sit on is hard, cold, leather, which is cheap to make in Eight. I'm wishing that my stylist would hurry up. Ten, fifteen minutes have passed since my team left to fetch my stylist. I'm not use where we are. I assume we must be beside the station, and on top or beside the stables where the horses and chariots from the tribute parade are kept. Chances are they are being prepped too.

I shift uncomfortably, the material of the bed sticking to my sweaty skin. What will my costume be like? Some tributes end up stark naked, some are painted, some are wearing such little clothing they might as well be naked.

Will I end up like that pair from One last year, with not a scrap of material but spray painted bronze and gold and silver? No. That stylist was male; mine's female. But perhaps it's a trend this year?

The door opens, and I immediately sit up straighter. My stylish appears in the doorframe, the typical Capitol citizen. Her hair is bright blue, and her outfit fuchsia with puffed sleeves and a massive skirt that barely fits through the doorframe. The oddest thing is, predictably, her make-up. There aren't any implants on her anatomy, as far as I can see, but her make-up is one of the most radical styles I've seen yet. A huge butterfly consumes her forehead, eye and nose area with its colourful, patterned wings. It's like face paint on a child - only the paint is applied with an expert hand. Her lips are painted the same colour as her hair, and a bright yellow stripe intersects them. Her eyelashes couldn't possibly any more fake; extensions that curl up half an inch, and are dyed indigo.

"You must be Eunia!" she trills excitedly in her Capitol accent. "I'm Marcille!"

She orders to take of my robe and stand in the middle of the room. I am reluctant to do so, but think of what Tule would want. I don't need to irritate her further today. She's already had a rant at me; I don't want to make it two.

"Nice figure," she says, more to herself than me. "Nice length of hair. Very long legs."

She smiles at me. "You know what? I think this year, we might just have a victor!"

She then spots my right wrist. "Are those your token? It's gorgeous!"

Without realising it, I have kept on my woven bracelets. I have two of them. One is from Silvia, with blue, pink, white and black string. The other is from my eldest brother, who crafted his out of red, orange and yellow string. Both have never been taken off my wrist, and I never plan to let them be removed. I wasn't given a token, but these are as close as I have to one.