The Hunger Games (Peeta's Point of View)

Chapter Five

I stare up into glinting green eyes. The owner of these eyes is a man called Ferdie: a tall, tan man with hair as dark as coal and a goatee beard on his pointed chin. With his nails cut so they almost look like claws and curving black tattoos up his wrists he looks animalistic. Like a wolf. This man is a member of my prep team and insists on 'perfecting my image' before I can meet my stylist. From what he said it sounds like my stylist is refusing to see me until he does so. I am scared of what Ferdie has done. These people- the prep team- have cleaned me up so I am 'satisfactory' and there's no telling what parts of me they have erased. It probably involved concealing my scars. Sure, I'm happy for them to work on some scars, like the one I acquired from tree climbing, but the ones I have acquired from slipshod baking and careless mistakes in the bakery- I want to keep them. They are like a part of me; the very essence of who I am. Peeta Mellark, the baker's son. Fading those scars means a part of me will fade too. Getting rid of the scars will just be the start. The Gamemakers will try to mould me into the image of a perfect contestant- or at least into someone people will want to sponsor. I don't want that. I want to remain Peeta Mellark.

            I guess there's no chance of that. I can't resist - Haymitch advised us against that. And we have to keep our word. Katniss and I must lie down and let these people have their wicked ways with us. This rigorous process has included waxing most of my hairs off my body, scrubbing me raw, removing all dirt from under my nails and shaping these nails into appropriate shapes. I hope they're not like Ferdie's nails. When he rises up again from my nails, brandishing a nail buffer, he gives a low whistle.

            "Do you think he looks presentable enough?" Ferdie's voice is high and he hisses on the letter s. His voice goes up as if he's always asking a question. The words must just escape from his mouth as it barely opens when he talks. All people who live in the Capitol speak like this but it's odd coming from a wolfish individual like Ferdie.

            "Yes, Ferdie- we've done an excellent job." The person talking is called Ander who looks the exact opposite to Ferdie. He's slightly chubby with milky skin and eyes the colour of the Capitol's too-blue sky. His blonde hair falls down to his shoulders in a low ponytail. He is completely different when it comes to personality too.

          "You're good enough to eat!" shrieks Cill, which is disturbing. She is dressed, head-to-toe, in a pale orange jumpsuit that contrasts horribly with her lilac hair and matching eyes. "We've done an excellent job," she echoes.

            "We have." Ferdie looks me up and down. "Rub it in." I get worried then as he says that- my body feels raw enough already- but then I see it's Ander carrying the lotion and I feel more relaxed. They rub the lotion into my skin and it is soothed. I can almost feel my skin turning back to its usual colour instead of a stinging pink- the colour of Ander's eyeliner. I smile inwardly as they give me the robe I have been allowed to wear now and then during these long hours. Finally. I'm not exposed! I want to say something that will let them know I'm not going to forget my District roots that easily; that I'm not a Gamemaker's pawn, but I must stay true to my word. Instead, I smile pleasantly and say:

            "Thank you. There is no money or cause to look nice in District 12. It's amazing to have that pleasure." My words- along with the fact I hail from District 12- convince them. I know this because even Ferdie is smiling with everyone, not looking at all wolf-like now.

            "No, of course not! But it's alright, you do now." Ferdie sounds sorry for me. He has no idea.

            "Yes! And just wait until your stylist gets hold of you! You'll be pulling in the sponsors before you know it!" Ander prattles with a soppy grin. They must say the same thing every year. I think they sincerely believe it.