Scars That Never Fade- A New Generation of Hunger Games

Chapter 8

I woke up early the next morning to Lina singing down the hall. I rubbed my eyes sleepily and climbed out bed, like any other morning. Except this morning was different. Now I was in the Hunger Games. Everything was different now. I soon realized that I didn't have a change of clothes. Oh no, I thought, please tell me I won't have to wear Capitol getup. I scavenged the room for any clothes, and alas! A wardrobe, with simple black garments inside. This would be suitable.

When I entered the dining area, Lina, Volker, and Haymtich were already there. I sat down to join them without saying anything, but before I got the chance to take a seat, the already-drunk Haymitch had some things to say.

"You are such a little waif, sweetheart," he jeered, "you look like a cinnamon stick. Cinnamon sticks don't win the Hunger Games." I was indifferent to this comment and sat down, but somewhat annoyed because no one really tried to defend me. Volker wolfed plateful after plateful of eggs across from me. Today, his hair was gelled and combed neatly to the side. I really wished he wasn't mute, it wasn't easy to communicate by writing on slips of paper.

I actually tried eating today. I piled my plate high with waffles, fruit, sausages, eggs and rolls. Beside me, Haymitch was pouring maple syrup into his mouth excitedly. I began scarfing down the food without thinking. Lina set her fork and knife down daintily and with anticipation. She looked ready to announce something.

"Today's a big day! We're almost to the Capitol! I believe we are in District 3 right now, actually," Lina told us, "also very exciting, you get to meet your stylists!" Great. I didn't see too much of a point in having a stylist. It's not like anyone remembered what you wore in the ceremonies or interviews.

As we waited to arrive in the Capitol, everyone turned quiet again, not talking (or writing) to anyone. I sat by the window, waiting. The train went extraordinarily fast, but I guess that's what you get when you go to the Capitol. Soon enough, I saw tall, shining buildings in the distance. I motioned Volker over, encouraging him to see the spectacle. His emotions were an easy read, which was helpful, well...for obvious reasons. He stared in amazement, as did I.

Though I disliked many of it's people, and now the President, the Capitol was undoubtedly an amazing place. Towering buildings, incredible fountains, and spinning, flashing lights were everywhere. We neared the heart of the city, and I felt the train's momentum slow, and finally stop.

"We're here!" Lina chirped, "Are we all ready to go?" Volker and I nodded in unison, and we prepared to make our entrance into the Capitol. I silently wondered what would become of us here. Would its people like us? Would we be entertaining? I wished I didn't care. Haymitch, who seemed to be sobering up for the moment, washed his pie-face in the sink. Lina waited impatiently, her long fingernails drummed on the door. Finally, when Volker and I were standing next to eachother, Lina threw open the door.

Much to my surprise, hundreds, maybe even thousands of Capitol people waited outside, cheering and whistling with delight. I was a little in shock. What was I to do? I took a que from Volker, who was smiling, waving and blowing kisses. I raised my arm to wave it gently, and smiling at the happy crowd. When I remembered why they were so excited, however, I dropped my happy expression.

You have to make them love you.

Lina led us through the swarms of people, who were reaching out to touch us. I squirmed, trying to stay out of their reach, but Volker gave out high fives, which got the crowd screaming more. Eventually we reached a tall building, which we entered, finally away from the overly-excited crowd. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"If you can't handle a crowd, then you won't handle the Games, sweetheart," mocked Haymitch.

"Who says I can't win the Games?" I gritted my teeth at Haymitch. He was almost just as bad sober as he was drunk. Why did he like to torment me so much?"

We walked down sleek halls until we reach a corridor numbered "12." The four of us entered into a mostly bare room, with six people waiting inside. One stepped forward.

"Welcome to the Capitol!" greeted one, friendly enough. "Volker and Fern, we've already heard great things about you!" She wore a light purple dress, but what really stood out to me was her height. I thought I was tall. She towered even over Lina and Haymitch. Another one stepped forward, this time a man. He wore sunglasses, hiding his eyes, and a black suit lined with metallic fabric. His hair was slicked back and he looked extremely shifty.

"We are your stylists. This is Dasha, who will be Volker's stylist," said the male stylist. Dasha and her teamed greeted Volker happily.

"I am Tybalt, and I'll be your stylist, Fern." Great. This guy isn't shady at all! Lina leaned into me.

"You're very lucky," she whispered to me, "Tybalt is the best of the best." She ushered me over to him and his team. I smiled nervously at them. They lead me into a seperate room.

"Welcome to the Capitol," said Tybalt, a stoic expression plastered on his face, "I am Tybalt, and this is my team, Abraxas and Dagny." A man and woman behind him waved happily at me. Whatever happened next was a blur. I was washed down, scrubbed and waxed for what felt like an eternity. Then Abraxas began washing my hair, pulling it, brushing it and yanking it.

"What are you doing?!" I yelped at him in pain. He shrugged unsympathetically.

"The Opening Ceremonies are tonight, don't you know?" he replied, "I'm just taking orders from Tybalt. Tybalt knows best." I looked angrily over at Tybalt, who seemed to be working on something, but I didn't quite know what.

After my scalp was tortured for another eternity, Dagny took my measurements. After she was done, she handed them to Tybalt. He began to scribble and cut fabric in a rapid fury. Then, I was dragged over to a chair for makeup.

Dagny was in charge of makeup while Abraxas messed with my hair again. I squinted and squirmed as they made a valiant effort to fix me up.

"Won't you sit still?" Abraxas scolded. I felt tears fall down my face from the pain of having my hair continuously yanked.

"Great!" cried Dagny, "Your tears are messing up the makeup!"

"I'm sorry," I shot back. Dagny hastily wiped off the makeup from my face as I scrunched up my nose.

"We have to cover up these freckles," Dagny said to Abraxas. He stopped fooling with my hair to examine.

"Definitely," he agreed, then resumed his yanking. I had a hard time believing that this could get any worse. Maybe I wouldn't die in the Games after all. I'd die at this stylist session. One last tug of my hair, and Abraxas was done. Dagny finished shortly after. They walked off, whispering to each other. I couldn't distinguish exactly what they were saying, but the word stubborn came up several times. I shot a disgusted look over at them.

Tybalt walked cooly over to me. He was holding a large amount of white, sparkling fabric.

"You were much thinner than we expected," Tybalt said to me, "I thought starvation had been wiped out in District 12." I scowled, and Tybalt flashed a mysterious smirk.

"I'm not even from District 12! I lived in 2 until last year!" I spat.

"You sure are a feisty little thing, aren't you?" said Tybalt, "Now, would you like to see what I've made for you?" His expression had softened, almost kind. Could I trust him?

I nodded.