There isn’t really one specific word to describe the Capitol. It’s many things- impressive, spotless and bleak compared to its colorful citizens.
Maybe that’s why they always dress so flashy, to brighten up their bland existence. Perhaps that’s why they’re cheering so gleefully at our arrival, too. We must be their new means of entertainment- this is more than just revenge, anyway. To them, the Hunger Games is just that, a game. A deadly game I’m forced to compete in.
And if I want to win, I have to play by the rules. So, listening to Taylon’s advice, I plaster my most convincing smile on my face, wave at the crowd and make my way inside.
“In a minute you’ll meet your prep team and stylist,” Taylon addresses Jasmin and I as soon as the door’s closed behind us- muffling the ecstatic cheers of the horde outside. “Their job is to help you make a good first impression, so let them.”
“What are they planning on doing, then?” Jasmin asks him tentatively.
“Nothing drastic, don’t worry.”
“They better not plan on dyeing me green, because that’s not going to happen.” she murmurs.
“Could come in handy in the arena, though.” I try to joke, but she’s not amused. I shrug and turn my attention back to Taylon as he says, “I’ll meet you after the parade. Good luck, and remember; smile, wave and keep an eye out for possible allies.”
+++
Apparently, there’s a lot wrong with how I look. My hair is a mess, my skin is dry, my nails are gnawed and my prep team is probably not even done listing off all my flaws.
“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll fix you.”
I’m not sure whether to be relieved, offended or frightened. As I watch my prep team sort out all kinds of implements, I’m afraid it’s the latter.
My hair is the first thing they go at. After a rinse, Vibia, a peppy redhead, cuts a considerable amount of hair and combs it neatly to one side after using numerous hair products.
My skin is next on the list. After waxing, they treat my sore skin with awful smelling (and looking) ointments. It’s soothing though, so I don’t complain when they smear it all over my body. It’s awkward to say the least, but my prep team is too busy chattering to notice my discomfort.
After another eternity of them making sure I look ‘Capitol-worthy’, they’re finally happy with the result. They squeal, clap their hands and tell me how handsome I look at least a dozen times before finally letting me see their finished product.
I draw a relieved breath when I look at my reflection and still recognize myself. Who knows what they would have done, had they’d gone all-out.
I hear her before I spot her. I turn around in my chair to see a purple-haired woman, who I presume is my stylist, approaching me in a steady pace, her heels click loudly against the concrete floor.
“Juniper Dugald.” she introduces herself. She sounds much older than she looks, and she talks in a heavy Capitol accent. She’s tall for a woman, and the high heels she’s wearing make her look even lankier.
I take her outstretched hand in my own after a moment of hesitation, fascinated and grossed out by her way too long, purple varnished nails, “Alec Mercer.”
“Well, I think you’re done here.” she says after giving me a curt once-over, “Vibia, Magnus,Dorothea. Great job, he looks absolutely handsome!”
Juniper leads me to another room, and I follow obediently.
The room is spacious, practically empty apart from a huge mirror and a mannequin, dressed in a white uniform. Even though it’s slightly altered, I recognize it immediately.
“Well, what do you think?”
I look at her incredulously, “You expect me to wear this?”
“Yes. The Capitol citizens will love it.” she states simply.
“And the tributes will hate it.” I counter.
“It’s the Capitol you need to win over, Alec. Your fellow tributes will try to kill you anyway.”
She’s got a point, but that doesn’t take away the fact that this will make me a bigger target, “That doesn’t mean I should give them an extra reason to.”
She sighs, “It’s just an outfit, boy. Relax.”
But it isn’t ‘just an outfit’. It’s the characteristic of the despised peacekeepers. She doesn’t understand how much they’re hated in the other districts. “Haven’t you got anything else for me to wear? Or can I atleast leave out the chest plate?” I try to negotiate.
She doesn’t budge, “Cordo and I came up with this idea, and we’re going to stick with it.” She leaves no room for argument, “So get dressed.”
+++
“I can’t believe they’ve made us wear this!” Jasmin complains as soon as she reaches our chariot. She’s dressed in a similar uniform as mine, hers being more feminine. It highlights her curves and actually suits her well, but somehow I know that she won’t particularly appreciate me saying that.
“Yeah,”
The silence that follows is tense, but I don’t dare to interrupt it. I’ve got nothing meaningful to say anyway.
So, instead of indulging ourselves in a little conversation, we watch our competition arrive- all dolled up, and eying us with aversion.
“keep an eye out for possible allies.”
Taylon’s advice seems idle as I realize that no one in his right mind would want to ally with me. It isn’t just because of the outfit- it’s because of me in general. I have nothing to contribute- no special skills or strengths. It’s a depressing thought, but it’s better not to pretend that it isn’t the truth.
“Tributes mount up. Tributes mount up.”
I hop on the wagon and hold my hand out for Jasmin. She rolls her eyes at me, whacks off my hand and gets on by herself- I don’t know what I was expecting.
The opening music begins to play and two massive doors slide open. The tributes from One are the the first to ride out, and Jasmin and I follow shortly after. Eventually all twenty-four of us are agoing.
“Smile and wave, remember?” Jasmin reminds me. Though her words were drenched in sarcasm, she knows just as well as I do that that’s exactly what’s expected of us. So, with my most winning smile plastered on my face, I wave at the roaring crowd.
By the time the chariots comes to a halt in front of a huge mansion, my head is pounding and my cheeks are sore from smiling.
For a moment I wonder why we’ve stopped here, but as I look up at the balcony, I know. Looking proud as ever, President Jenkins stands there, glancing down at us with a content smile on his face. He looks different in real life- older, and less intimidating.
As the music ends with a flourish, the crowd falls silent too, and waits for its beloved President to speak.
“Welcome tributes, it’s an honor to finally see all twenty-four of you here and ready to represent your home district. We, as a nation, are proud of each of you who will be in the first ever Hunger Games. May the first annual Hunger Games begin!”
After the surprisingly brief speech, the national anthem plays loudly and the twelve chariots disappear into the Training Center.
The doors shut out the clamor, and I rest my head against the cool surface of the chariot, the screams and booming music still ringing in my ears.
“You okay?”
I glance up at Jasmin, “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“If you say so.” She shrugs and looks past me, “ Taylon’s here.”
We spend the time it takes us to get to our floor discussing today’s events. Taylon’s content with how we looked and conducted ourselves, and certain that we’ll get sponsors. I can only hope he’s right.
