Heeelllloooooo fellow wattpadders!! I am so so sorry about the lengthy wait for an update...two months...oops ehe. My plan is to try and breeze through the Training and Interview so we can get to the Games already!! I hope you all are enjoying my story, and I CAN'T THANK YOU ALL ENOUGH FOR READING MY FANFIC, IT MEANS A LOT!! I LOVE YOU ALL AND HAVE A NICE DAY :) I hope you enjoy Chapter Five! Comments, votes, etc are much appreciated :)

Chapter Five

Tribute Parade

 "Wakey wakey!" Someone roughly shakes my shoulder. After a short second of mumbling, I peel my eyes open.

"Gah!" Two pairs of purple eyes are inches away from mine, and Basia wears the smile of a maniac. "Guess what day it is?" He says with giddy.

"Um...Wednesday?"

"No you goof. It's the Tribute Parade tonight!" He claps his hands and suddenly pulls me off the couch. "We have to get you ready!" Yanking my arm, he drags me out of District Four's floor and into the glass elevator.

"But what about Lorem?"

"Eh. I let Theodore deal with him. Boy's got social issues...and plus, I want to see you get ready for the Parade." His eyes are still wide with that sugary energy that only Basia manages to keep day and night. A little beep signals that we have reached another floor, and the elevator doors open, revealing a sign that reads Remake Center in big bold letters.

"Remake Center? That doesn't sound good." I mutter, following Basia into a large room containing small curtain cubicles. I am lead into a near curtained area where three members, (I find out later that they are my "prep team") are gathered around a low table, awaiting my entrance. After uncomfortably changing into a hospital-like gown in front of my prep team—and Basia—Saffra, one of the members with piercings covering half of her face, lays me down on the table.

"EEEh this is so exciting!!" Basia bounces on his heels, leaning eagerly around the curtain "door."

"Out!" Inala, a stout woman with bright green cat eyes, shoos. "You know you're not supposed to be in here! Go do your job."

"Nope." Basia says, popping the "p." He skips over to the small counter at the head of the bed, seats himself on it, and, oh my gosh please don't tell me that he's actually wearing that, starts to swing his magenta, skin tight leather pants.

Inala rolls her eyes, clearly giving up. "Now, let's start."

***

Three hours later, now freshly plucked, waxed, pulled, rubbed with gritty green sand, and left with a stinging sensation throughout the entirety of my skin, they finally tell me that my stylist is ready to see me. A tall, bald woman with faintly pink skin walks in. Immediately, a sigh escapes her lips. "Well, they did the best they could." She teeters on her 4-inch heels and grabs a wide toothed comb out of her immaculately large bag. "Name's Zipporah. But you can call me Zip." She makes me stand up and starts brushing my slightly tangled hair, humming an odd tune while she works. After it is brushed into a limp ponytail, she proceeds to my body, carefully pulling on a large tan object (I have yet to identify any actual fabric) that practically weighs more than me. At last, after two hours of adjustments, another one hour of hair-curling, and two hours of makeup, I am finally finished. Zip takes a step back and lifts her chin. "Good." She says, nodding to herself.

She leads me to the large mirror. What reflects back surprises me so much that my mouth drops open. In front of me is a pale creature wearing a giant conch shell. A large piece of plastic spirals up my body until it reaches my neck, where it curves to form ruffles that mix with (oh, there it is) fabric in a color of light pink. It ruffles in the middle, and then disappears a bit above my knee on one leg, while a long piece of tan fabric/plastic drifts down to my ankle on my other leg. Thankfully, my dirty blonde hair isn't nearly as exotic. From what I can see, my curled strands are bundled into a decorative bun, where sections have purposefully been pulled out to hang loosely at the sides.

"So?" Zip asks, tapping her toes. "Good, right?"

"Um" clearly the shock has not passed.

"Um? Pah. This is why I don't try to talk to tributes." She sighs before adding "Don't move. I'll be back soon." She grabs her mammoth bag and breezes through the curtain room, leaving me alone—Basia got kicked out after trying to explain that my eyebrows didn't need to be plucked to the stylists—with only a hospital gown and an eerie, steel metal table for company.

****

I step onto the Chariot beside Lorem and Theodore instructs us on what exactly do. The horses pull our chariot in line behind the other districts, and outside in the city streets the opening music begins. Suddenly the two massive doors open, revealing thousands of Capitol citizens lining the brightly lit streets waving and screaming as District One rolls through. Soon enough, our chariot pulls into the city. The energy is breathtaking. Whoops and shouts pillow every direction and multiple screens tower from sides of buildings portraying the Tributes riding in their odd arrangements of costumes and chariots. After a good twenty minutes of smiling, trying to keep my balance with the ridiculously embarrassingly heavy conch shell, and waving at the crazed Capitol citizens, (not to mention hearing Lorem groan the whole way) District Four's chariot ends up in the City Circle along with the other Districts, stopping in front of the President's mansion.

A tall, lean figure enters the balcony of the mansion, and I immediately recognize him as President Bristol, and all at once, the music stops. The President clears his throat and welcomes us. After he finishes with a long round of applause, he says in a clear, surprisingly low voice: "And now, for the Anthem." Capitol citizens and tributes alike become silent as the first tune begins to play. Suddenly I hear a faint squeal to my right. Basia is standing a few rows behind in the crowd, jumping up and down in his ridiculous pants, waving with giddy at us. His face falls after he receives a death glare from Zip.

****

"You guys did great!" Theodore claps his hands together and helps me off the chariot, the Conch shell dress nearly smacking him in the face.

"Oh my god I know right?!" Basia beams. "Group hug!" He pulls me and Lorem to him into an awkward embrace, dragging in Theodore. We hurriedly push ourselves away.

"Right..." Theodore straightens his tweed jacket. "Next stop, Training center."