Defying the Odds (The 4th Quarter Quell) [The Hunger Games Fanfiction]

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Asher

Stepping off the train is all a blur. There are so many people dressed in a million different colors, some that I have no name for. I feel sort of repulsed by everything, the people mostly. All of them have come to catch a glimpse of this year’s tributes, most of which will be dead by the end of this month. It’s sick. All of it. I don’t make eye contact with any of the capitol citizens. As far as I’m concerned, they aren’t even real people.

By the time I reach the remake center, I’m fuming on the inside. But I don’t let it show. Blight’s words echo in my head ‘Do whatever they tell you to do. Don’t fight with them, Don’t argue. Just do.’ As much as I don’t want to give myself over to them, I know that arguing won’t do me any good. So I follow Blight’s advice.

A woman with abnormally pink skin, almost a pale rose color, and dark, black designs covering half of her face instructs me to follow her. The woman, I forgot her name almost as soon as she spoke it, leads me to a room with a metal table in the center. All along the walls of the room are, what looks like, tools and supplies. Suddenly, I’m nervous.

“Take off your clothes and lay on the table.”

Excuse me? I almost say it out loud. But I take a second to remind myself that I’m not supposed to argue. I’m not supposed to object. And so I strip off my clothes, quickly so I won’t have time to rethink, and lay back against the table. The metal is cold against my back.

The woman doesn’t say anything as she makes her way around the room. The silence is deafening as I wait for her to do something. Anything.

I hear her shoes clank against the floor as she walks up to where I’m lying on the table. The closer she comes, the more I want to cover myself with my hands. I hate feeling this vulnerable, exposed. But I take a deep breath and keep my hands at my sides.

The woman scrubs all of the dirt from my body. She doesn’t seem at all fazed by the fact that I’m completely naked in front of her. She simply carries on making my skin smooth and clean. Every scar I’ve ever had, every splinter, gone. My skin is left completely flawless. But that isn’t enough.

The woman spreads a warm liquid across the top of my chest. It actually feels nice. Well, until she flattens a paper on top of the area she spread the liquid over and rips it off. And damn, does it hurt!

I lose track of how long the woman spends ripping off the hair on my body, but, by the time she’s done, my jawline and chest are completely free of hair. And I have a feeling they will be for a while.

So this is how the male tributes don’t grow facial hair in the arena.

The woman spends the remainder of the time rubbing my body down with a lotion that soothes my raw skin.

“You’re stylist, Corona, will be in here shortly,” she says and then walks out the door.

I take a look at myself in the tall mirror that hangs on the wall. I feel the same. I look the same, mostly, except healthier.

I can’t stop myself from tugging at the suspenders. Of course Corona has me set up to be a Lumberjack for the Chariot Parade. Very original. Well, except for the part where she insists that I be shirtless. I roll my eyes at the look I know she’s hoping I’ll pull off. A sexy look. I’ll make all the Capitol women swoon when they see me. I laugh at the thought. Well, I laugh until I see myself in a mirror. And that’s when I realize that I could actually pull of the sexy look. Corona dressed me in denim jeans meant to look faded. They hung low on my hips and attached to them, were black suspenders.