Pawn of Panem | Finnick Odair [2]

Groom or Create? : 9

Chapter Nine

Another force to contend with. Another power player who has decided to use me as a piece in her games, although things never seem to go according to plan.

First there were the Gamemakers, making me their star and then scrambling to recover from that mouthful of justice during my Games.

Then President Snow, trying to use me to put out the flames of rebellion, only to have my every move become inflammatory.

Next, the rebels ensnaring me in the metal claw that lifted me from the arena, designating me to be their Muse, and then having to recover from the shock that I might not want the privilege.

And now Coin, with her fistful of precious nukes and her well-oiled machine of a district, finding it's even harder to groom a Muse than to create one. But she has been the quickest to determine that I have an agenda of my own and am therefore not to be trusted.

She has been the first to publicly brand me as a threat.

I run my fingers through the thick layer of bubbles in my tub. Cleaning me up is just a preliminary step to determining my new look. With my acid-damaged hair, sunburned skin, and ugly scars, the prep team has to make me pretty and then damage, burn, and scar me in a more attractive way.

"Remake her to Beauty Base Zero," Fulvia ordered first thing this morning. "We'll work from there."

Beauty Base Zero turns out to be what a person would look like if they stepped out of bed looking flawless but natural. It means my nails are perfectly shaped but not polished. My hair soft and shiny but not styled. My skin smooth and clear but not painted.

Wax the body hair and erase the dark circles, but don't make any noticeable enhancements. I suppose these are the same instructions the first day I arrived as a tribute in the Capitol. Only that was different, since I was a contestant. As a rebel, I thought I'd get to look more like myself. But it seems a televised rebel has her own standards to live up to.

After I rinse the lather from my body, I turn to find Volumina waiting with a towel. She is so altered from the woman I knew in the Capitol, stripped of the gaudy clothing, the heavy makeup, the dyes and jewelry and knickknacks she adorned her hair with. I remember how one day she showed up with bright pink tresses studded with blinking colored lights shaped like mice. She told me she had several mice at home as pets. The thought repulsed me at the time, since we consider mice vermin, unless cooked. But perhaps Volumina liked them because they were small, soft, and squeaky. Like her.

As she pats me dry, I try to become acquainted with the District 13 Volumina. Her real hair turns out to be a nice auburn. Her face is ordinary but has an undeniable sweetness. She's younger than I thought. Maybe early twenties. Devoid of the three-inch decorative nails, her fingers appear almost stubby, and they can't stop trembling. I want to tell her it's okay, that I'll see that Coin never hurts her again. But the multicolored bruises flowering under her green skin only remind me how impotent I am.

Auricula, too, appears washed out without her purple lipstick and bright clothes. She's managed to get her orange ringlets back in some sort of order, though.

It's Thalia who's the least changed. Her aqua hair lies flat instead of in spikes and you can see the roots growing in gray. However, the tattoos were always her most striking characteristic, and they're as golden and shocking as ever. She comes and takes the towel from Volumina's hands.

"Sage is not going to hurt us," she says quietly but firmly to Volumina. "Sage did not even know we were here. Things will be better now."

Volumina gives a slight nod but doesn't dare look me in the eye.