Pyromania | The 60th Hunger Games

SIX

There was no opportunity to stop once the train did. We were taking off the train by district and ushered into vans with blacked-out windows where we sat in silence for the most part. Lys was running through what would happen within the next few hours. We'd meet our stylist, Gia would go with Martial, Trix with me, then we'd meet up at the City Circle where our chariots would display us to all of Panem. Twenty Four tributes, all together for the first time.

"This ceremony is vital," Trix spoke, crossing her legs and sitting up straight, "first impressions are everything in the Capitol. You two have a head start, but sucking up to the privileged for a few more sponsors won't hurt."

Lys cleared her throat, frowning at Trix briefly before looking at her roster again. After that we'll be taken to the training centre where we'll begin our training. Etc. Etc. Etc. It all sounds incredibly tedious but, from Trix biting her nails and Gia's fingers drumming on her knees, I can tell that I should listen.

Thankfully, I didn't have to listen for long. The van stopped abruptly, the doors opened to blind us with the early morning sun, and before we could even glimpse the capitol, peacemakers ushered us into a building. Lys had waved us off at the door, claiming to catch up with us later, and Trix took me roughly by the elbow and ushered me down a separate corridor to the others.

She introduced me to the prep team, three people whose names were something out of a furniture catalogue that had made its way to kindling, before leaving the room.

I was tackled to a table. They explained what would happen in loud voices and I did everything in my power not to fight at their grips. They undressed me, washed me, cut and styled my hair before proceeding to wax every other strand of hair from my body.

And then they left me alone. Naked.

Using the paper sheet on the table they'd put me on to do my makeup, I cover myself up as the door opens again and a tall, Asian man storms into the room with his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a suit that clearly had not been worn before, it still had crisp folds and he reeked of fresh laundry. But, it was the mismatch of patterns that patchworked throughout the jacket which caught my eye. They were tiny squares, so many different shades of pink I had never seen before against a series of greys and yellows to create some sort of pattern.

"Uh..."

He flashed a sparkling grin and swept into the room, taking one hand from his pockets to usher me into a back room.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Terra. I'm Nero, your stylist."

"That means you're gonna put me in clothes right?" I looked down at the sheet barely covering me as he barked out a laugh, back turned to the rack of gowns on the rack as he tossed a dressing gown at me.

"It certainly does," he turns as I'm tying the robe shut, flourishing at the rack, "how do you feel about dresses?"

Kill me now.

Much to my dismay, the Capitol citizens loved to see a girl in a dress. Almost as much as they loved a tribute covered in the blood of children. And it was obvious Nero knew his audience.

My dress was tight and left little space around my ankles to walk, a blood red marble pattern finding all the right places to make my hips look rounder, my abdomen fuller, my arms tougher. The collar (sleeves?), an ornament piece if I'd ever seen one, was two concrete grey pieces of fabric and joined over my bicep in a point. If I raised my arm too far above my head it poked me in the eye but, luckily, I was reassured I wouldn't be doing any compulsory waving.

Trix met up with us in time to escort me to our chariot. She was wearing a dress as tight as mine that cut off above her knees. She had a cotton sweatshirt wrapped around her waist and an uncomfortable frown that she banished upon giving me a once-over.