144Never in Our Favor 22
Author Note: In a shocking turn of events, I am still very much alive and well, and I have no intentions of discontinuing or putting this story on further hiatus. I've been at a pretty pivotal time in my young life for the past two years, hence my updates have been few and far between. Reviews are encouraged to re-engage me consistently, but for any remaining old readers/reviewers and new alike, I will try to do better. I hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the wait!
My sister's hand shakes as she holds a blade in front of me, so I steady it with my own as she brings it closer to my skin until it finally connects.
She called the tool a 'razor blade', and insisted she was doing me a favor by ridding my body of as much excess hair as she could before I met my stylists. She said they were nice enough for Capitolites, but they were still ruthless when it came to their job. The thought of them ripping away hairs with long plastic strips and transforming my body with tools unnerves me, so when she suggested trying to shave me ourselves I was eager.
In the time we've been in the bathroom, I think we've made significant progress. The beautiful white tub left us more than enough space to sit in it together, my sister cautiously guiding the tool across my legs, arms and underarms. She said they would still pull hair from places we weren't aware there ever was any, but these areas were the worst. I thank her repeatedly and hug her close, softly assuring her I would be fine as she left the bathroom in order for me to fully strip and shower.
She showed me last night how to work the various knobs and buttons, but I can't resist playing around with the temperature, speed, and scents as we near the Capitol itself. I know that once Effie begins prompting that we get ready to exit the train, it's going to be important to cater to what the Capiolites want and expect from me. Of course I'll providing my Sponsors for Rory's sake, but to do that I have to be careful. I am the younger sister of the youngest Victor that ever emerged from the arena; they will want somebody brave and kind, just as much as my sister was in her Games. But they won't want a replica, so I have to find some kind of angle to push them over the edge with me. I usually take pride in being my true self, but I know that they're going to want someone bolder than who I really am, someone who will give them a good show.
As I pull the mint green dress back over my newly cleaned and dried body, I wonder what angles my District mates will choose, if they choose any at all. Rory is a more relaxed person, not at all fierce and angry like his brother once was. Maybe he'll try a comedic approach like some tributes have before to win the interest of the public, or maybe he'll try and imitate Gale in order to seem like he's got more of a chance of victory. Either way I know he's been studying the Games for years since his sibling's death, coolly watching them and taking mental notes on how to and to not survive. I know he's afraid as much as I am and he's in doubts on how far he'll get, but he never stopped having to fight to survive. He's already got that advantage over several others, including myself.
I'm sure Clarke will opt to be himself. He's a tough young man, built to work in the mines and already weathered by hardship. I doubt he'll want to win them over in any fashion, and his survival will depend on himself alone. I feel bad for him momentarily, but figure that if that's what makes him the most content, he should pursue it in what could be his final days.
Melaina and Ciana are still mysteries to me, so it's hard to say what they'll do. Everyone can tell that Melaina is a lot tougher than her twin, more aggressive, more likely to kill. She seemed to have mp qualms about fighting until she realized it wasn't in her favor, so I doubt she'll have any problems going all-out in the arena. People like her are ticking time bombs, and would do anything for the people they've sworn to protect, including themselves. She reminds me of Katniss, which only makes the idea of killing her make me want to vomit.
Ciana reminds me of myself, fragile and hopeful for the world around her. By her kindness to Haymitch I know that all we want to do is help others, but we both know that's not going to be much of an option if we want to live. I'm willing to compromise this logic in order to keep Rory alive, but I don't think she will be willing to give in so easily. She wants her sister to survive as mutually as the other, so she might try to plea for her and get the Sponsors to protect her where she can't. It might be a very smart approach in my opinion, but I know sharing my idea would be out of the question. If Katniss knew how sure I was I'd die for Rory, it would shatter her beyond belief, and it would only earn the judgement of my fellow tributes.
I'm just beginning to put one half of my hair into its usual braids when I feel the floor shift beneath me and see the lights flicker. In another room I can hear Effie squealing for us to come to the window and see the people 'pushing for us to win', and I decide to leave my hair down as I obey her requests. The people are extravagant, colored in every shade imaginable, all cheering for the train slowly gliding into town. I've seen handfuls of them touring the Victor's Village before, but I can't help but be taken aback at the sheer amount of diversity in them. District 12's inhabitants all look similiar; I had no idea how wildly different people could look when they're freely mixed.
For now, my fascination isn't an act. I look around with wide eyes, leaning into the window glass and even grinning at the people waving eagerly. I can feel Katniss behind me moments after I begin, which only seems to excite those looking at us. I wonder if they'll react this strongly when I die, or if they'll remember me this time next year.
"They really love you, Prim," Katniss comments hollowly as we slowly approach the building where we'll be prepped for the Chariot Ride.
"I know," I reply slowly. "Maybe that will put the odds better in my favor?"
She smiles grimly for a moment and I catch the sadness in her eyes; the odds are never in our favor. If I survive the Games, it will be out of pure luck, and I'll get sick like Mom was. The only things I have to live for are the promises I made, but if I'm not the same as I am now, I wonder if my being alive will truly be worth it.
"She's such a cutie pie!"
"Oh, I know. Who knew such a hideous District could produce something so lovely?"
"Well, there was that one...Oh, what, seven years ago? She was blonde and blue eyes."
"Yes, yes, but she was much too tall. This one matches her age perfectly. If I didn't know any better, she almost looks like one of our own!"
I can hear the words being spoken in the darkness, but they can't be real. There are three different voices, two female and one male, so I imagine they're the stylists Katniss told me about. They seem to be impressed by someone, but I can't imagine it's me. My sister and mother always insisted I was beautiful, but when I look into the mirror all I can see is a shell of who I could be. I'm weak and I crumple in the face of battle; even I am attractive, that won't do me any good in the arena.
When I reach up, I feel a smooth cloth over my eyes. I don't remember ever losing consciousness, or anything after the train stopped and we were led inside the building. Fear bubbles in my chest and hitches in my throat- what if they had to subdue me? Have I already panicked and shown them who I truly am? Katniss will be petrified to leave me alone, and if they'd had to contain her-
"Oh, she's awake!" One of the female voices squeaks, and at once I feel pointy nails on my cheekbones, slowly lifting the cloth from my face.
The three standing over me- Flavius, Venia, and Octavia- are just as diverse as the Capiolites I saw when we first arrived. Flavius's hair is a dark orange in a corkscrews with his lips painted purple, whereas one of the women is dressed in much more simply with her hair graying and blue streaks in the top. The second woman is radically different than both of them; her skin is a forest green and her hair is a blood red, and she's much more plump than her companions. She also seems to be the most excited to see me, which is a little scary but is also comforting in a way.
"We were beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep this whole process away!" She giggles, and in the back of my mind I decide she must be Octavia if what Katniss told me before was true. "I don't think I've seen anyone drift off like you!"
"This one is unique," the other woman, Venia, comments calmly. "She is Katniss's sister."
"Yes, but most tributes cry out in pain when we wax and scrub them! She barely stirred! Darling, did you not sleep last night?" Octavia muses excitedly, reaching up to brush some hair away from my face.
"We need to focus on her body, not who she is," Flavius snips from near my feet. "We'll have plenty of time to learn otherwise from tonight on."
His two female companions are obviously annoyed by his attitude, but they stop talking to me as they continue 'making me lovelier'. The process feels unnatural, but it doesn't hurt as much as Katniss insisted. They do pull away more of my hair and cover me in mysterious liquids that are somehow cold and hot, but it's more uncomfortable than painful. I almost want to believe I have higher pain tolerance than my sibling, but I know that's not true. Perhaps she just remembers it differently than me, or maybe things have changed this year.
"Your hair is so beautiful," Octavia finally croons as she sits me up and begins combing through it. "It just needs a bit of a trim and care and you'll look as endearing as one of us!"
The thought of her cutting my hair sends a shock through me and I can't help the tears threatening my vision. My hair has never been cut before, always braided twice to keep it from being in my eyes. Even if I am thirteen now, I hate to lose any of it, but it's only natural. If the arena is hot at all, it'll just make it worse on me, and I can't afford to have it in my face if I don't have the time or resources to braid it. This is for the best.
"I hate this for, you know," my plump stylist says in a voice so hushed in my ear that I barely catch it. "Such a pretty young thing sent to die. I'm rooting for you, Primrose."
The main stylist's name is Cinna. He seems very different from the Icarus Katniss has told me about in a tight voice full of anger in the years past. He looks young, only slighter older than my sister, and dresses in a simple shirt that sparkles and black pants. His eyes are kind, accented by gold and green, and when he looks at me he offers a small smile.
"So you're the lovely Primrose everyone has told me about," he says as he takes a seat across from me. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Cinna, and I will be your stylist for the days leading up to the Games. Though, I'm sure you already knew all of that."
"It's nice to meet you," I reply softly. "W...What happened to the old stylist? Icarus?"
To my surprise, Cinna grimaces. "Icarus le Ville has been transferred to District Four. He impressed our bosses enough with last year's stunt that he was moved this year."
I cringe a bit myself; last year the tributes were wrapped in fuse wire that was meant to make them look dynamite sticks, but halfway through the parade they'd been lit on fire. The tributes were mortified and the burns that showed afterwards were grotesque; not severe enough to hinder their participation apparently, but bloody and obviously painful. Those two didn't last a single day in the arena, and I wept for them.
"You remember," Cinna speaks with a gentle voice. "And I can assure that as long as I am here, nothing like that will come to you or your fellow tributes. You're all much more special than that."
"Special?" I reply with a confused frown. District 12 is considered many things by the Capitol, but we aren't special in a positive way.
"Yes, very special," he insists at once. "You're survivors, especially you, Primrose."
"I...I prefer to be called Prim." I'm only called that by people I love and trust, people who know me, but there's something about him that makes me know he's on my side.
He smiles. "Prim it is. Why don't we get started?"
