Chapter Three, Tribute's Parade

❝ oh would you let me see ❞

❝ beneath your beautiful tonight. ❞

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

UPON ARRIVING AT THE CAPITOL, Peeta and I are met with our respective stylists. Nevertheless, we go through painful procedures right before.

I am stripped naked, the cold metal of a silver table hitting my skin. What feels like dozen of Capitol stylists analyse every inch of my body, secretively whispering between themselves where to start, what to do. I had never felt so out of place. I collect their distinct names, their conversations lacking any sort of discretion. Octavia, Flavius and Venia.

Instantaneously, they attack my body, getting rid of any hair, extra skin or imperfection I carried with me. They focus on every single detail, and I feel even more denuded than before. I screw my eyes shut as I feel the spread of a hot substance on my skin, pulling my hands into a tight fist, readying myself for the sudden surge of pain.

RI-IP !

I gasp when the final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. Yet, I somehow manage to keep my mouth shut, the suffering bubbling in my chest.

"There's nothing we hate more than a whiner! Octavia, grease her down!" Flavius orders, applying a coat of purple lipstick to his mouth at the same time.

Venia and Octavia rub me down with a lotion that soothes my body, and my lips quirk up at the sensation, taking away the stings tingling my skin. The process then starts all over again, following a torturous loop.

After what feels like an eternity, they've stopped torturing me with their burning wax and other utensils. I frown, not sure how my plucked eyebrows were going to help me win the Hunger Games.

"Oh darling, you look beautiful now!" one of them exclaims, staring at me, widely smiling. I'm not sure how my lack of body hair seems to emphasise me physically.

"Thank you. We don't have much cause to look nice in 12." I mutter, followed by a subtle grin, inching to win their appreciation, and show that I was still grateful for their effort, despite their obnoxious personalities that reflected the ignorance of the Capitol.

I get the exact reaction I was expecting, full of "Aw"s and "Oh"s, while they touch my hair, as if I was an animal on display, my state winning them over completely.

"Of course, you don't, you poor darling!" Octavia agrees clasping her hands together, in distress for my situation.

"But don't worry," says Venia. "By the time Cinna is through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!"

"We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" Flavius articulates encouragingly, supposedly attempting to make me feel better.

"Let's call Cinna!" Octavia adds, a beam forming on her mouth.

"Cinna?" I question, the name ringing no familiarity in my mind.

"Your stylist dear!" they all interject in unison.

"Oh right..." I nod, wondering if he'll be just like them, with their pretentious hair and horrid makeup. The trio darts out of the room, and I realise it's hard for me to hate them. Clearly, they're total idiots, but, in an odd way, I can tell they're sincerely trying to help me.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I sit patiently on a vermillion chair, picking at my clean nails, a glitzing shine coating them. Cinna shortly appears and I unconsciously gasp at how different he looks from any other Capitol stylist.

Simplicity shines though his clothing, the only aspect that would associate him with the rest are two wings of golden eye-liner on each pupil, brining out the blond specks dotted in his eyes.

I smile, thankful that such a man was going to chose the type of clothing I would be given.

"Hello dear. I'm Cinna, your stylist" he starts in a quiet voice, lacking in the Capitol's affection.

"Hello..." I venture cautiously, eyeing the man.

"That was the bravest thing I've ever seen, with your sister." he comments, shaking my hand. "I'm sorry this happened to you, and I'm here to help you any way that I can" Cinna states firmly.

"Most people just congratulate me." I answer, now broadly smiling, already taking liking to the man, that seems so unlike the rest of my team.

"I don't see the point in that. As you probably know, tonight's the tribute parade, so you're going to have to make an impression." he continues, approaching me.

"I'm going to be a coal miner right? To represent my district?" I ask apprehensively. To be honest, I was dreading it. The majority of the time, we were assigned ridiculous costumes that never managed to brighten or to value a tribute.

"Jade, I want to do something that they're going to remember. I don't think someone as pretty and brave as you should be dressed in a stupid costume" he says, looking straight at me.

"I hope not." I mumble, putting my faith into his hands and discreetly crossing my fingers, hoping that I wouldn't look ridiculous.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You look cute," I whisper in Peeta's ear, a cloud of pink spreading on his cheeks as he replies with a similar remark.

This year, District 12's costume consists of a black unitard and leather boots, with a cape and matching headpiece made of streams of yellow, orange and red that could be lit with synthetic fire using a torch. I had light, nonetheless fruitful makeup that rewarded my features.

On previous occasions, District 12's costumes usually consisted of nothing special, usually over-shone by the other tributes, such as the Careers', which were always assigned the best stylists.

One year, the two tributes from 12 appeared to be stark-naked, their body barely covered by a thin layer of black coal. This design is much better, to say the least.

"Remember kids, this is not real fire. The suits are built so you won't feel a thing." Cinna describes.

"Looks pretty real to me." Peeta comments, a puff of air leaving his lips in possible dread.

I smile a little as Cinna responds "That's the idea".

If his costume did indeed work, this might just be the first time our district wins over the audience.

"Don't be afraid" he says, handing me the torch.

"I'm not afraid" I reassure my stylist.

Truthfully, I wasn't afraid. I was just hoping that I wouldn't be remembered as the girl from District 12 that went up in flames and died during the tributes' parade.

"I'll rip your cape off if you promise to rip off mine." Peeta half-jokes, whispering into my ear.

"Deal." I nod, grinning.

As much as I'd hate to admit it, an innocent sort of excitement pumps through my veins. I want to make a remarkable impression on anyone that may lay their eyes on me. Life in the Seam was poor, and the occasion to dress up rarely came by.

Suddenly, the chariot threatens to knock off my balance as it commences its ride through the Capitol.

Shrieks originating from the enthusiastic crowd fill the air and it takes me a few seconds to adjust my eyes to the sudden, blinding lights, contrasting to the dark interior of the changing rooms.

I catch my own reflection in one of the banners and can't help but notice how frightened I look. I feel like I'm on display for the world to cheer on to death. However, as soon as all my senses come back to me, I replace my scowl with an upbeat and thrilled smile which translates my face into an appearance of pure happiness.

I joyfully wave at the horde of overdressed individuals, craning to get a worthwhile glimpse of this year's tributes. Wanting nothing but to put on a show, I don't remove Peeta's hand when he grabs mine. Without a second thought, we lift our united hands in the air, symbolising our somewhat friendship.

This was an act, of course, but a very effective one. In a giddy haze, I continue to blow kisses, laugh and catch roses. The Capitol's roars take a whole new level when they notice the flaming capes and our unique gesture, accompanied by the triumphant music.

At the end of the steady ride, President Snow makes an appearance, standing on a platform at least fifty feet higher than the ground, fifty feet higher than our chariots. It was as if he was sending a message, emphasising his superiority, the superiority of the Capitol compared to us tributes from the working districts.

"Welcome, welcome" Snow begins. Applause follows his two words.

"Tributes, we welcome you, we salute your courage, and your sacrifice. And we wish you a Happy Hunger Games. And may the odds be ever in your favour." he says.

I feel suddenly sick, my previous enthusiasm fading away like wind. His words mean nothing to me, considering it's his fault entirely we are here, preparing to fight to our deaths. The hatred I felt for this man was unmeasurable. Simply having him so close to us, instead of being an image on the local television, feels surreal and incredibly angering.

As the parade ends and each tribute steps off their moving golden chariot, Peeta and I are rapidly packed with an incredible amount of compliments on our performance.

"That was amazing!" Effie interjects. I thank her, guilt due to my temper the previous nights gnawing at me.

Hope intertwines itself with my emotions, considering that my first real appearance seems to have gone well. There must be at least one sponsor willing to give me a chance, right?

"You two are all Panem is going to be talking about." another stylist comments.

"My, how brave." Haymitch laughs, a glass of moonshine unsurprisingly present in his hands.

"Haymitch, you sure you should be near flames? Wouldn't want you getting burned before you can properly tutor us." I point out, raising my eyebrows.

However, as the dialogue continues, I can't help but feel a pair of eyes watching me. Chills run down my spine as I turn around, my gaze meeting another boy's.

Cato Hadley. The strong male volunteer from District 2 that held a menacing and jealous glare. He wears a Roman-like gold outfit, along with his district partner Clove Kentwell. If our fiery costume hadn't been the main source of attraction, I'm sure his would one of the best, if not the best. Too bad we stole the show.

At that particular moment, I am overcome with an emotion I couldn't identify, but answer his deathly stare with a light smirk. To my surprise, he returns another arrogant smile, matching mine. Our gaze don't leave one another's, as if we were participating in a staring contest.

I can't help but feel slightly drawn to the boy, most probably fuelled by hatred.

"Earth to Jade?" Haymitch calls out, tearing me away from Cato's piercing eyes and deathly smile.

"Yeah?" I say, averting my attention back to my team.

"Think we lost you for a few seconds. Remember to not entertain the Careers' threats, or you'll be first in their death list. Let's head upstairs." Haymitch states, looking at me stoically, having noticed my small interaction with the boy. I stick my tongue out at him as a response, clearly noticing how aimed his advice was.

I choose to turn around one last time to find the boy from District 2 still peering over, and make my way out with Peeta and the rest.

Perhaps I really am becoming a target to the Careers' soon to be made and predictable pack simply because my costume got more attention, but something told me I would be able to fight back.

After all, I was nowhere near weak.