We Could Make It

4. The Avox.

I apologize for this one is kinda long, but I worked really hard on it. Took a while to write, I hope you enjoy. Carry on!

Gale's POV

I've been in the remake center for over three hours, and it's been hell. My stylist has no interest in seeing me until my prep team is done torturing me and preparing me for slaughter. This has consisted of scrubbing my body down with foam that has removed dirt, shaping my nails, and trimming my body hair. Apparently, body hair is considered unattractive in the Capitol. Women shouldn't have body hair in general, while men should be well-trimmed. Amazing that those are the things these people worry about. I hate them.

They've groomed all my body hair, waxed my torso, arms, and eyebrows. They decided that it was better to leave my stubble alone. That it looked good.

They silently start to rub lotion onto my skin that first stings but then soothes my irritated skin. They pull me from the table and remove the robe I was wearing. I stand there naked as they circle me with tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but it's hard to be if you don't think of them as people.

They step back to admire their work. "Wonderful! You nearly look like a human being now and not as revolting!" They laugh.

"Now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and grime, you're not terrible at all!" I hate the Capitol. "Let's call Portia!"

They leave, and I wait.

Eventually, the door opens, and a woman who must be Portia enters.

"Hello, Gale!" She says excitedly. "I am your stylist!" She smiles at me with unnaturally white teeth.

"Hello," I say tentatively.

She walks around my nude frame, not touching, but taking in everything with her eyes.

"Are you new?" I ask her. "Never seen you before."

"Yes, this is my first year."

"Ah, so you got saddled with District Twelve, huh? How unfortunate for you," I remark sarcastically. She stays silent.

"Why don't you put your robe on, and we can have a little chat," she says with that ghostly white grin.

I put my robe back on, and follow her through a door and into a sitting room. I sit on one of the red, plush couches, and she takes a seat on the one across from me. There's one wall that is entirely made of glass. I can see by the light that it's around noon. She pushes a button on the side of the table. The top breaks open, and from underneath, arises a secondary tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges made in a smooth sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, green peas and onions, rolls in the shape of flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey.

I try to imagine what it's like to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button. What would I do with the time that I usually spend in the woods with Katniss? What do they do in the Capitol? Besides decorate their bodies, and wait for more tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment?

"So, about your costumes for the opening ceremonies," she says, startling me from my thoughts. "My partner, Cinna, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Katniss. Our first thought is to dress you in complementary costumes. You know, since its customary to reflect the character of your district."

"So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" I ask, hoping we won't be naked. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust.

"Not quite. It was mostly Cinna's idea, but we were thinking that the coal miner thing is very overdone. You won't stand out in that. And it's our jobs to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," she says.