Tribute or Victor

Chapter 7

You were shoved over to the reception desk, where they stuck you with another needle, and scanned it. Once you were confirmed to be the real (Y/n) (L/n) you were taken to the elevator. Your jaw almost dropped to the floor when you saw that there were thirty lower floors. How the shuck did they build down into the ground thirty floors? The upper ones must be where the tributes stay until their sent into the arena to fight to the death.

The elevator sinks down until it stops at floor 25, a small ding coming from somewhere in the room before the doors open. In front of you is a long row of metal tables with curtains separating each one from the side. Three capitol people stand in front of each stall, a tray of supplies sitting next to them, tools arranged neatly on top.

Once again your shoved inside - seriously what does this guard have against you - and Peter is dragged away from you into a stall at the opposite end of the room. Your ushered over to one of the middle ones, where three scary looking people are waiting for you.

A woman, her name tag says Trixy, has a pitch black dress on, with makeup that makes her look like something hiding under your bed at night. Another woman, Klare, has a bright orange dress, with blue eyelashes and eyeliner that matched her eyes. The third one was a man with the oddest name you had ever heard, Clappy. He was in a green suit with a purple polkadotted tie, and his hair was dyed purple.

After looking at the capitol people for a minute, you glance over at the tray of supplies, and your heart practically stops. If their gonna be using all of the tools on here, then your probably gonna die sooner than the games.

"What is all of this for," you ask nervously as you nod your head over to the cart. They don't say anything, just make you lay down on the table.

All you can think about at the moment is that you might be dead in the next thirty minutes.

...

The whole "operation" thing turned out to not be as bad as you thought it would be, but it still hurt a lot. They ended up waxing pretty much every part of your body, gave you fourteen showers (you counted), and they cut about four inches of your hair off. You were pretty ticked when you realized how much they had cut off, but the guard standing watch at the corner of the curtain made you rethink you plan of attacking your cleanup crew.

Now you were sitting in a small room with steel walls and a uncomfortable steel bed. There was a blue hospital gown laid on the bed when you walked into the room, and you almost ripped it from trying to get it on so quickly, really not wanting another human being to see you naked. Your arms were wrapped around your torso as you leaned over, resting your head on your knees. You were nervous to meet your clothing designer, because you remember years where some of the tributes were practically naked in front of the entire nation for the tribute parade, and you would prefer to keep some sort of dignity.

You're shot back into reality when the door to the small steel box is opened, and in walks a brightly dressed woman. She wore a maroon dress with glittery polka dots covering it. Her wig was in what you could only describe as a curly Afro, and it was dyed a deep red, even darker than her dress. Her face was decorated with swirly pink designs, and her pink high heels clicked on the floor.

"Hello dear," she says breathily, walking up to you and kissing each of your cheeks. Your eyes go a little bit wide at the gesture giving that you hadn't even met, but she was already talking again before she saw your reaction. "My name is Gizmo and I just need to say that what you did at the reaping was very brave. I can't believe that my first year as a designer, I get a volunteer for a tribute! I'm honored."

You didn't know whether to smile, or cringe. It was just another reminder that you would never see Sonya again. Before you can think to much about the subject, she's speaking again in her oddly breathy tone.