The train eased to a stop in front of hundreds of thousands of people, making you wonder how exactly you were supposed to get off the train without getting lost in the crowd. Suddenly someone bursts into your room, making you spin around in surprise. Your heart rate slowed down, but a glare marked your face when you saw who it was.
"Come on dear! It is time to meet all of your adoring fans," she speaks in a singsong voice, twirling her hand around as a motion to follow her. You grumble something unintelligible under your breath before stomping over to her and colliding your shoulder with her as you exit the room. A huff of disapproval makes its way to your ears, but somehow Tafida managed to make even that sound almost jolly.
You stride through the hallway into the dinning area that you had paid little to no attention to the day before, anger and sadness and pain clouding your senses to make you not particularly care. Just now are you realizing all of the many cake trays, chocolate fountains, biscuits, and other tasty looking treats that you pass by. It takes a little bit of self control to not reach out and take a cookie off of one of the trays, but you contain yourself. You didn't want the capitol people to think you were enjoying their 'Happy early death day' presents.
Once you're at the door that you had gotten into the train by, you realize Peter is already waiting for them to open the doors. He's bouncing around on his toes a little, making you wonder if he was planning on trying to run off into the crowd to try and get away. A part of you wanted him to try to run. He was too young to be sent to his death. Ya you were only two years older, but it still made a big difference. The other part of you hoped he followed the rules and didn't get himself shot by one of the peace keepers.
You hadn't realized how much time had passed since you had stepped up to the door, but suddenly your blinded by light, a loud click sounding as the doors open. The crowd erupts in cheers, screaming and calling at you, while you hear squeals of girls screeching Peter's name. It disgusted you how they could react like this when they new that you most likely be dead in a week.
Someone shoving you from behind makes you stumble forward and out of the train, peace keepers making an isle for you, Peter, Tafida, and the two other guards behind her. People were reaching their hands out past the guards, trying to grab onto your arms and hands. You subconsciously wrap your arms around yourself, trying to stay as far away from the ridiculously long nails of the capitol men and women.
After about two minutes of dodging hands and nails you are practically shoved into a large black limo. Your in the middle of Peter and Tafida crawls inside behind you. You mentally groan, wishing the guards weren't taking up the other two seats on the other side of the vehicle.
"Where are we going now," Peter asks, looking out the window at all of the girls blowing him kisses and waving like lunatics with an almost awed look on his face.
"You both get to meet your clean up team, and then you get to meet your dresser," she exclaims in a singsong voice. You look over to glare at her, but she has her head turned towards the window, waving like a queen would at the men and women on the sidewalk. The crowd went on for miles, like a trail leading up to the tribute building.
Your jaw dropped when you saw the skyscraper. The top floors touched the clouds, and the sun reflected off the spotless windows, making it feel like staring into a flashlight. Your vision went spotty as you were ushered out of the car and into the large building. On the first floor it was just like a hotel, except a billionaire - actually trillionaire - paid for it. There was a huge crystal chandelier hanging from two floors above you with a walkway wrapping around the edges of both floors. The reception desk was huge! Almost as long as the limo you drove up in, and only one person was running it. As you walked it felt like you were sinking into the ground from how squishy the bright blue and green spotted carpet was.
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.
"Now we need to discuss your outfit for the tribute parade. I was thinking we could do a-" you didn't hear the rest of what she said because you zoned out, thinking back to what you were before which was Sonya. Sonya, Newt, Minho, Trinity, dad, Julie, James, Helen, your friends from school. Everyone from your district was on your mind. It was the one thing you just couldn't stop thinking about. Your eyes started to water, and you had to blink furiously to keep the tears from falling.
"How does that sound dear," Gizmo asks in a delighted voice. You look up at her, and nod, not actually knowing what she was talking about. "Ahhh wonderful."
...
You definitely should not have nodded. Right now you were standing in some dark overalls with a hot pink shirt with glittery pink polkadots on underneath it. You had a leather tool belt with plastic tools. Maybe their worried I'll attack someone if I had real tools, you think to yourself. You had a necklace with a small charm in the shape of a hammer clipped around your neck, with matching earrings that, of course, had glitter on them. All in all the costume looked ridiculous.
Peters didn't look much better. He had the same dark overalls on, and a blue shirt underneath it. At least he didn't have to wear glitter. You think someone forgot to tell Gizmo that this was supposed to help people in the capitol like you, not make you look like an idiot.
"Ok and just a few touchups here," Gizmo starts brushing some sort of powder she pulled from her back pocket over your face, making you sneeze. "Much better. Seriously the makeup crew did a good job, but they missed this," she says, holding the small container of powder up and shaking it in her hand to show it off before stuffing it back in her pocket.
"Ok so what do we need to do," Peter asks, walking up to you and Gizmo. She opens her mouth to say something, but she's cut off by an all to familiar voice.
"You need to go out there and look fabulous," Tafida practically screeches in a singsong voice. You scoff. How am I supposed to look fabulous in this outfit, you think you yourself.
Suddenly a bell rings, and your ushered onto the chariot being pulled by two black horses. The chariot jerks to life when the horses start walking, and you have to clutch the handrail so you don't fall backwards. You start fiddling with your outfit, making last second changes that changed absolutely nothing, but it was mostly just to annoy your designer.
Your hair was tied up in an imaculate ponytail, so you untucked a strand so it was hanging down in front of your ear. Reaching up, you unclip the earrings, the action being a bit painful as your cleanup crew had just pierced them, and toss them out the side of the chariot, along with the necklace.
Peter seemed to catch on to what you were doing, and messed up his perfectly gelled hair. You bet the capitol men and women would still go wild for him (especially the teenage girls).
Just as he finishes messing with his hair, your blinded by light, and you hear cheers coming from all around you. You look around at all of the men and women gathered in the stands that seem to be a mile high. They're screaming, some sobbing with joy, as they throw stuffed animals and flowers down onto the runway.
You almost groan in annoyance, but you politely wave your hand at them, much like a queen would. Peter waves along with you, but he certainly does not have a smile on his face. It could be considered a grimace, and if you didn't know better, you would guess that he was in pain or about to be sick.
Suddenly you hear a bunch of girly voices squealing Peters name over the rest of the crowd. You both look over to see a bunch of thirteen yearold girls jumping up and down and blowing kisses when he looks at them. You almost laugh when his cheeks turn so bright red you can practically see it through the makeup.
Thankfully no one starts cheering your name, and your chariot slows to a stop in front of the Presidents throne, sitting almost thirty feet above you. He stands up, straightening his jacket and walking up to the stand with the microphone on it.
The crowd cheers even louder as he waves around, a creepy smile on his face. "Welcome," he calls out after a minute of waving and smiling. "To the 73rd annual Hunger Games tribute parade. Tributes! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," he tells all of you in a loud voice even though he has the microphone.
You look around to see what the tributes reactions we're. Some were bouncing up and down in their chariots with a giddy look on their face. Those were mostly the people from districts 1 and 2. The people in the later districts looked like they either wanted to burst into tears or throw daggers at Snows heart. You were the latter, or at least you hope you were.
The chariot burst back into motion, the black horses leading you away and back to the building you first came out of. Once again the crowds cheered as each tribute passed by, and the same girls squealed Peter's name, but this time he didn't bother to look over.
"That could have been better," Tafida mutters through gritted teeth. "But there's always next time."
It took everything in you not to start that games a little early and strangle her. There would never be a next time. Either you won or you lost, and even if you won you were safe from getting picked again. Right? It didn't really matter. It's not like you're going to win.
Your makeup crew fusses with you for a few minutes, trying to get you to change into some brand new clothes made of some sort of amazingly soft fabric. Non-begrudgingly you change into the comfy sweatpants and tank top, and return the hideous costume you had to wear.
The cheers and screams and cry's of the capitol people were still burned into the back of your head, imprinted into your memories. If they were that excited just to see you ride down a walkway on a chariot, then what would they do when they saw you brutally murdered, possibly by a kid from your own district? The thought made you want to puke.
With one last cry from the capitol people, your lead through a door, and all sound is cut off other than your blabbering capitol guide and your designer.