For the second night in a row, sleep avoids Dahlia like the plague. This time it's for a different reason. The bed feels too large, too empty and the room feels too formal, overly sophisticated. She can't lie, it's a comfortable area, but it's not a comfortable environment. There's no Lavender snoring obnoxiously loud in her ear, no Rosie clinging to her side. She never thought she could miss such a simple thing as sharing a room with her sisters. It's hard knowing that they're not there with her. It's even harder knowing she might never see them again.
All her demons come out at night, finding entertainment in preying on her worst fears and laughing as she struggles to beat them back. Everything seems so much more terrifying when you're stuck alone with your thoughts. How can she hope to return to her family if she can't even win the battles inside her head?
After hours of tossing and turning, going from one temperature to another, she gives up. The dining area is already prepared with an array of food, most of which Dahlia doesn't recognise. No one else appears to be awake as she slumps tiredly into a chair at the table. Lazily picking at fruit she's never tasted before distracts her from the three empty chairs. At home, they would be filled by two yawning girls with barely a moment of peace to be found. There was always mindless chatter, always a conversation to be had. Dahlia found it too quiet.
"You are allowed to eat more than just fruit." A deep voice startles Dahlia out of her mournful daze. Alaric hovers in the doorway with drooping eyelids, barely dressed for the day.
"You are allowed to actually enter the room." Dahlia quips back, popping a red berry into her mouth. Alaric is caught offguard for a moment before he nods reluctantly and strolls forward. "Why are you awake so early?"
Alaric sits across from her at the table. "Memories. From my games." He sighs, pouring the dark steaming liquid into a mug. "You can take the Victor out of the game but you can't take the game out of the Victor." Taking a long gulp from his cup, Alaric sighs to himself. "Why are you awake?"
"My bed is too big." She replies, making Alaric let out a small chuckle. She realises that it sounds like an odd complaint but Dahlia didn't need a life of luxury to be happy. Her home and her family was perfect just the way it was. "It felt like I was lying on a cloud and any minute I would just fall right through it. I miss the springs digging into my ribs to remind me that the bed is still there."
Alaric nods in understanding. "You never get used to it. Everything is different in the Capitol. They like to spoil the tributes, let them have a taste of what's waiting for them if they get out. It's like dangling a treat in front of a dog, only to rip it away once it's fallen into the trap." He speaks like a ghost still trapped in the house he perished in, doomed to haunt it forever and never move on.
"I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday." Dahlia apologises sincerely, taking Alaric by surprise. "I was emotional and I let my anger get the best of me."
"Then I'm also sorry for snapping at you. I understand that I'm not exactly the mentor you hoped for. I've lost many tributes in my time." His eyes glazed over as the memories of all those children that never came back flash through.
Dahlia reached over to grab the tan hands of the broken man before her. "I understand that it's not an easy job... But I need to get home. I can do it without your help, but it would be a lot easier if I had you on my side. I need you to work with me, not against me. Please."
Alaric took a moment to ponder over her words. None of his other tributes had ever shown such determination before. Some of them believed they could have a chance, but none had come in with a strong mindset such as Dahlia. Maybe this could be a chance to redeem himself. "Here's my deal. When we get to the Capitol, I will see what you are really made of. If you do well in the Parade, I will mentor you the best I can. Deal?"
Dahlia nods and lifts her hand out to offer a handshake. "Deal." Alaric accepts her hand but instead squeezes it three times. Dahlia smiles at the sentiment, repeating his actions. It wasn't an exchange of familial love that Dahlia is used to. But it was a silent agreement that they wouldn't be at each other's throats like they had been yesterday. An agreement of friendship for the moment.
The rest of their morning was surprisingly relaxing. Alaric pointed out various new food and drinks for Dahlia to try and she told him embarrassing stories about her sisters. It was strangely domestic. Dahlia could fool herself into imagining that she was just talking with her late father over the breakfast table. They watched the sky get lighter as the glorious sunshine welcomed a new day. Magenta was the next to join them and Dahlia was entertained by Alaric's antagonising comments. However, all conversation halted when a dishevelled Wyatt showed up. Just like that, the calm atmosphere fizzled away.
"Please continue." He grumbles with a dismissive wave of the hand, slumping lazily into the available chair. "Don't stop your chat on my account."
"Okay, we won't." Dahlia retorts with a roll of her eyes. She goes to take a sip of her orange juice when Magenta gasps dramatically. The orange juice is inhaled and she coughs and splutters in shock. "What?"
"We're near the Capitol." Magenta exclaims, shooting up from his chair to gaze out the window. Dahlia scoffs at the near heart attack the man caused her as she wipes the juice from around her mouth. "Look at it. Home sweet home. Ah, back to civilization. That, dear children, is a land of chandeliers and colour."
Dahlia, Wyatt and Alaric aren't as relieved to see the glistening buildings of the Capitol. It is a serene, beautiful place as long as you don't venture inside. Contained inside are the sick people who enjoy watching children fight each other until only one remains. They are so out-of-touch with the districts, unaware of the suffering and oppression they face daily. Dahlia's eyes narrow at the clean and luxurious city, a far cry from the humble sceneries of her childhood. She hates that she must grovel and suck up to those people. They don't deserve the air they breathe.
The sight is ripped away from them as they enter a tunnel and Dahlia receives a gentle kick to the shin. She looks up quickly to the perpetrator to find Alaric sending her a pointed gaze.
"Get ready." He mouths with a subtle nod. Dahlia's eyes widen and she takes a deep breath as she prepares to greet the horrible people of the Capitol with the widest grin of her life. Positioning herself at the window as they emerge from the tunnel, a blinding range of colours assault her eyes. Still, she smiles and waves as if she is royalty and they are her subjects. The crowd cheers loudly at her and the train slows to a stop. Glancing over her shoulder, she notices Alaric with a gentle smile on his face that she had not seen before. He winks at her and nods proudly. Alaric realises he may just have a winner on his hands.
•——————•°•✿•°•——————•
Nothing could have prepared Dahlia for the bizarre fashion choices of the Capitol. She had never seen so many colours. She was starting to think she should be wearing sunglasses at all times to block them out. She also wasn't prepared for the extreme transformation they were conducting on her body. She was scrubbed so clean she was sure they had revealed a new layer of skin and any hair out of place was quickly plucked or waxed with little regard for Dahlia's flinches of discomfort.
"Beauty is pain, my dear." The flamboyant woman with abnormally long eyelashes had told her in a sing-song voice. Dahlia just had to grit her teeth and bear the agony because these people showed no sign of halting. Was this part of the torture the Capitol subjects them to? Won't the tributes suffer enough in the next few weeks?
Once the team is finished with their onslaught of abuse, Dahlia is left alone in a small grey room. She lies still on the cold metal table, like a lifeless wax figure, waiting for them to "fix" whatever feature they deemed as an eyesore next. But a pleasant surprise awaited. "Oh! What a beauty!"
Dahlia bolts upright in shock to find a beautiful woman walking towards her, silky black hair flowing behind her like a cape and a genuine smile on her lips. Her eyes narrow in suspicion at the unusually cheerful woman and she sharply asks, "Who are you?"
"I'm your stylist, silly." The woman replies with a feminine giggle, unbothered by Dahlia's hostility. "My name is Juno."
"I'm Dahlia." The girl responds with less enthusiasm.
"I know. You are all anyone can talk about." Juno exclaims happily, clapping her hands together. "My first year as a stylist and I get the Black Dahlia herself. Such luck! Wait till I rub this in Zeus' face."
Dahlia's eyes widen and her mouth drops as she splutters, "The what? And why is everyone talking about me?"
"The Black Dahlia. That's what they're calling you." Juno explains softly, as she inspects the canvas the ladies have left her with. "For your dark nature. You know... the hair, the dress, that terrifying stare. The people love you." Dahlia's shock slowly melts away into a smirk of triumph. She had succeeded in making an impression and allowed the Capitol to do the rest of the work for her. Playing the game may get her further than she thought. Now she just needed to get Alaric on her side. "You are the reason I have been up all night working. As soon as I saw your Reaping, I knew you couldn't have just any outfit. You needed something special. Something that will make a statement. An outfit worthy of The Black Dahlia."