The Hermit Games

Chapter 3: The Capitol

"Is this really necessary?!" asked Grian, wincing as his prep team plucked strands of hair from his eyebrows.

"It may surprise you," huffed a member of the team, "but the districts aren't exactly luxurious places to live."

"I knew that. But why does a single eyebrow hair out of place affect whether I live or die in the games?"

The prep team member sighed. "There, you're done."

Grian turned to look in the mirror next to him. He hated to admit it, but it actually had made quite the difference. He couldn't help but smile at his new reflection.

"Your stylist is waiting in the next room. I'd suggest you don't keep him waiting too long."

Grian took pity on the team and left. He could only imagine how annoying it would be to listen to his own complaining for... however long it takes to completely reform a distinct mongrel.

He opened the door, revealing a tall-ish man with a mop of blond hair, and a small ponytail at the back tied with a black bandana. He sat on a stool, resting his leg on top of the other.

"Erm, hello?" Grian experimented. The man looked up and smiled.

"Hi! Grian, right? My names Martyn, I'm your stylist," he exclaimed, standing up to greet Grian.

Martyn shook his hand. "Well, no time to waste. You've got a big day ahead. The parade is starting in a few hours, let me show you what I have prepared for you."

Grian couldn't believe his eyes. He already had low expectations for a district specialising in bread, so this creation blew him away.

The mannequin was clothed in a pair of khaki trousers and a plain white shirt with a black velvety tie. It was covered by a soft rose coloured blazer. The long coattails brushed the floor and curled up slightly at the ends, where the fabric transitioned into something more rough.

"What's at the end of the coattails?" asked Grian.

"You'll see," winked Martyn. "Why don't you see how it fits? There's a dressing room just there." He gestured to his right.

When Grian emerged from the dressing room, he was met with a delighted gasp from his prep team.

"How does it look?"

"Stunning. Just one more thing," replied Martyn, reaching towards a pile of Grian's old clothes he'd left on a table. He reached into a pocket and pulled out Grian's feather, his district token.

He carefully slid it behind Grian's ear.

"Perfect."

Grian was escorted onto his horse, where he met up with Freya again. She wore a puffy long-sleeved khaki blouse underneath a soft red dungaree dress, the skirt swishing just below her knees. Her signature steampunk goggles were sat atop her now silky blonde hair.

"Wow Freya, you look great!" exclaimed Grian.

"Thanks, you too," she responded with a smile. "And I probably could've mentioned it before, but you can call me False. That's what all my friends call me, at least."

He grinned. "All right."

Martyn approached them. "Looking good, guys. Time for me to introduce the pièce de résistance of your outfits."

He brought out a box of matches. "Tell me, Grian. In district 9, when you've made bread dough and put it in the oven, what does it do in there?"

"It... bakes?"

"Close enough. Think more along the lines of... fire."

Grian stood speechless as Martyn brought out a match, lit it, and held it above Grian's coattails. Before he could ask what Martyn was planning on doing, he set alight the rough fabric on the ends.

"I- Martyn?!"

"Don't worry, it's fake," he laughed, setting the hem of False's dress on fire too. 'But it sure gives the effect.'

The horses set off and Grian and False were met with bright lights. Cheers and shouts echoed around the hall.

Grian blinked, adjusting to the strong lighting. He looked over at False, who was grinning madly. "Isn't this cool?" she exclaimed, but Grian could barely hear her.

He watched as his face appeared on the large screens. All his nervousness about the upcoming games had disappeared (for now) and all that was shown was an cold expression of resistance. False could gush over her dress all she wanted, but Grian remembered the true purpose of why they were there.

Thankfully she realised as well, just before her expression was reflected back at her on the screens.

As False's face was replaced by that of a lean boy with stark white hair, the two of them continued on their horses, trying to sneak glances at the other tributes, analysing their competition.

After the parade, two Avox's escorted Grian and False to where they'd be staying until the games.

Grian was already stunned by his room on the train, which made this feel like utter paradise. The carpets felt like walking on clouds, and Grian was tempted to kick off his shoes there and then and bury his toes in the soft wool. A grand chandelier hung from the high ceiling, laden with small crystal-like attachments.

He and False stepped into the dining area where Cub and Jevin met them.

"Welcome back, guys," smiled Cub. "How was the parade? Well, obviously I've seen it from the audience perspective, but it must be pretty nerve-wracking out there, millions of eyes fixed on you..."

"Don't scare 'em, Cub," said Jevin with a slight smile.

"Don't worry, we've been through the parade already, you can't scare us now," laughed False.

They continued talking about the parade and the upcoming games, eating their luxurious Capitol meal.

"Well, you guys should get some good night's rest, training starts tomorrow," mentioned Jevin.

Training. Grian would finally get to meet the people he was up against properly. He only hoped they wouldn't seem too intimidating.