Capitol Pawns

When I wake, I’m nestled in a warm cocoon of blankets. I don’t remember crawling into bed last night and settle on the idea that Colby or Blight must have brought me back to my compartment.

The sun is up and everyone is bustling around the train when I make my way to the dining car.

“Ah, you’re up, I see,” Mercury announces. “Just in time for breakfast, sit, sit, Scout.”

I take my place next to Colby, whose plate is already half clean. He takes notice that I’m there and nods his head as he forces half a roll into his mouth. I nod back, acknowledging his small gesture of kindness.

I reach across the table and carefully choose a piece of toast. I’m not hungry. I know I should be because I didn’t eat anything last night, but I still have a sick feeling in the bottom of my stomach and I don’t yet trust myself.

I take a small bite of toast and move it around in my mouth to test myself. Everything seems okay, no waves of nausea, so I allow myself to swallow. That’s how the entire piece goes; small bite, move it around in my mouth, swallow. It keeps repeating until Johanna’s voice breaks my concentration and brings me back to reality.

“Child, if you want any chance of surviving these Games, you’re going to need to eat a real meal.”

My eyes meet hers and I study her face for any hint of cruel intentions, but I find none. For the first time since I met her, she seems genuinely concerned and interested in my success.

She takes my plate from in front of me and scoops a hearty serving of scrambled eggs onto it, then accompanies it with three strips of bacon.

“I can’t eat all of that,” I say. “It’s just gonna go to waste.”

Johanna looks me up and down as best as she can from my seated position. She shakes her head.

“You’re too small,” She says honestly. “You’re going to be so easy to overpower. Put some meat on those bones, you can afford it.”

Slowly, unsurely, I pick up the fork and force a forkful of eggs into my mouth. I chew quickly and swallow without thinking, hoping they won’t be finding their way up later. For the next twenty minutes I choke down the plateful of food as Mercury talks about the day ahead. We’ll be arriving in the Capitol very soon at which point Colby and I will be handed over to our prep teams and stylists for the Opening Ceremony later tonight.

“I’m so excited!” Mercury squeals, clapping his hands together in the same manner he always does when he gets over-stimulated. “The chariots are my favorite part!”

Johanna spears her fork into the small pile of remnants on her plate and sends Mercury one of her famous death glares, a glare that can only be aimed at Capitol residents after one of their insane quips about how exciting the Hunger Games are.

“I need to talk to Scout before we get to the Capitol,” Johanna announces, pushing back her chair and motioning for me to follow.

I nod and place my napkin on the table and follow Johanna through three different compartments until we find ourselves in the last car.

We sit and stare at the scenery whipping past us for a long while before I break the silence.

“I’m not gonna give up,” I whisper, looking her straight in the eyes. “I want to make it back to my family. I don’t want to die.”

She looks at me long and hard and finally speaks. “I know you don’t.”

“Why did you change your mind about me?” I ask.

I try to read the expression on her face, but can’t decipher it completely. “I don’t think I have – not entirely, at least,” She pauses and turns to look out the windows again. “You remind me of myself; everybody thought I’d be an easy target – and I let them think that – and then I showed my inner fight,” She turns to me and smiles slightly. “You might be able to pull that off. I mean, if I thought you had it in you. You’re gonna have to prove it to me before anybody else will even buy it.”

Suddenly, the lights black out and the entire train is engulfed in complete darkness. Johanna must sense my uneasiness because somewhere nearby her voice says, “We’re just passing through the mountain to the Capitol.”

After a few moments of blackness, the sunlight returns and everything in the train comes into view and all around, the Capitol looms. It’s so much bigger than the TV specials let on to and it’s so much prettier.

The sleek, geometric buildings glisten in the sun as the train speeds towards the center of the busy city.

All around, citizens stop and point at the tribute train, smiles plastered to faces as the pandemonium of the Games soars to new heights.

Johanna helps me to my feet.

“Smile and wave, Scout. These people are your new best friends.”

I walk to the window and look out at the sea of colorful people who all manage to look even more ridiculous than Mercury. Plastering the best fake smile on my face as humanly possible, I lift my hand cautiously and wave to the crowd.

They wave back in masses and I can only imagine the thoughts rushing through their heads. I’m just another piece of the Games to these people. They want to bet on my success in the arena, they want to come to love me while seeing me through this tragic part of my life.

The train pulls in to the station and I’m escorted by Mercury to a large room that is empty except for a cold, unwelcome looking metal table and three very made up, very freaky looking Capitol citizens that I can only imagine are my prep team.

They scurry over to me and immediately start poking and prodding my body.

“What are we going to do with these freckles?” One of the two men asks. He has periwinkle skin and a salt and pepper hairdo that is somewhere between Mohawk and mullet.

“Oh, Maximus stop it,” The woman scolds. “Freckles aren’t anything we need to be worrying about now, especially when they look so cute!”

She pokes the bridge of my nose with her spiny grey finger.

Finally, they acknowledge the fact that I’m standing right there and I’m not just some object – that I have the ability to speak.

“Oh, hello dear,” The woman says in her thick Capitol accent. “I’m Albia and that’s Maximus and that’s Felix.”

Maximus has the same overly excited, over-stimulated presence as Mercury. He scuttles around the room, losing track of his assignments and looks completely overwhelmed. In only the very best way.

I don’t have time to be self-conscious when they tell me to strip off my clothes or even when they start waxing away any hint of hair on my legs.

“My, my, do we have an adventurous little lady, or what?” Albia quips. “All these scars and all this dirt!”

Her comment brings me back to my home. District 7. The trees, the dirt, the carefree joys of childhood. I lose myself in the memories of home. Mama’s warm arms. Daddy’s stories. Callum’s bravery. Cadence’s singing. Bug’s mischief.

“Ow!” I yell, being torn out of my daydream as quick as the hair is being torn from their roots on my legs.

Felix, the third, quietest member of my prep teams sends me an apologetic look for his partner’s careless work as his hands work meticulously to perfect my body. I like him. He has this silent intensity about him that balances well with the other two who are still babbling back and forth about how dirty my nails are and how frizzy my hair is. And it’s his fingers that find themselves interwoven in my hair, weaving the intricate pattern of my fishtail braid, but incorporating vines and flowers that I assume are supposed to represent my district.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Felix stands in front of me and smiles proudly. It’s the first time I’ve seen an ounce of happiness out of him since I met him and the smile looks good on him.

When he allows me to look at myself in the mirror, I’m taken aback at how beautiful the hair is. Not me, but my hair. I’m still that unassuming, adventurous girl I was yesterday despite their best attempts to scrub it all off.

Felix admires his work, moving a piece of hair that has already managed to frizz and fixes it.

The other two are off in their own world while I stare at Felix, insanely curious about him. His skin is black, not as if he has naturally darker skin, but like he dyed it that color and his eyes are this intense blue color that can’t be natural.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” I ask without thinking. My hand snaps up to my mouth as if I’m ashamed for my curiosity, but I’m only slightly. I can’t tell if it was rude or not.

He studies me for a minute. “I’m a man of few words, Miss Scout,” He answers.

“You don’t have to call me ‘Miss’, Felix. That makes me feel old, or, or important.” I stare at the ground.

His expression shifts from one of indifference to sadness.

“You are important,” He replies. “You are representing your district. You are representing all the little twelve-year-old girls out there whose names are in the reaping ball. You are very important.”

Albia wanders over, dragging Maximus behind her.

“Oh, you look stunning, Scout!” She squeals. “It looks like our job here is done!”

They explain to me that I will be meeting my stylist, Remus, in just a few minutes before leaving me alone in the cold makeover center. I had hoped for a female stylist, just because boys aren’t exactly my strong point, but I guess I’m out of luck.

I’m only alone for a few minutes before the door opens and a young man walks in. At first I think it must be a complete mistake because he looks far too young to be a stylist in the Games and because he looks far too, well, human, to be a resident of the Capitol at all.

“You must be Scout,” He says, finding his way to the table that my legs dangle awkwardly off of.

I suddenly feel very self-conscious next to him. He isn’t just some freaky Capitol resident who relies heavily on makeup and crazy fashion to distract from any real flaws, he’s a real person. And he’s quite beautiful.

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, crossing my arms across my barely covered body.

Remus smiles and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Scout. I’m gonna take good care of you.” He pauses. “I’m Remus, by the way.”

“What exactly are you going to do?” I ask as he instructs me to stand and he inspects the work my prep team did on my body. “Like, what does a stylist do besides style my clothes?”

He laughs, which somehow makes me feel 400% better. “That’s pretty much it,” He explains. “But it’s my job to help you to stand out – not that you don’t already – but nonetheless, bring every bit of attention to you.”

After he determines they did a good job, he shows me what I will be wearing tonight during the ceremony. It’s not much, quite honestly, and I wonder if he’s brave enough to pull the sexy tribute act with a 12-year-old.

“Don’t worry,” He says, obviously reading my mind. “I promise you’ll be covered up much more than this.”

I pull on the brown shorts which cling awkwardly to my body. They cover little more than a regular pair of underwear and I feel incredibly naked. He then helps me tie a slinky little green top around my back and neck that looks more like a bra than a real top.

The outfit does nothing for me and I can already tell he’s going for the typical District 7 tree look with the green top and the brown bottoms.

Remus sees my look of disgust and chuckles lightly, motioning for me to come lay down on the table.

“I’m not finished,” He says, opening a drawer next to the table and pulling out a paint brush and body paint. “Not by a longshot.”

Over the next two hours, we make small talk as Remus paints my body in different hues of green, adorning my body with intricate vine and leaf patterns until anything that wasn’t covered by the small flaps of fabric are now concealed and camouflaged as a realistic interpretation of a tree.

“How did you become a stylist?” I ask as he works on the underside of my arm.

He stops for a moment to re-dip his brush before returning to work. Not halting a single stroke, he finally says, “My mom was a stylist, my dad was a stylist, my older sister is a stylist, it’s just what’s expected.”

“So you hate it?” I whisper.

Remus looks up and cracks up. “No, I absolutely love the work I do. I just meant to say it’s in my blood.”

There’s silence for a few minutes before I find another question to ask.

“Is it hard?” I say. “Having to help all these kids and see them go into the arena and not come back out?”

This question takes some thought and he pauses his work momentarily to put all his effort into correctly wording his answer.

“Well, it’s my first year working in the Games,” He starts. “So you’re my first tribute,” I don’t know if this is comforting or unsettling, but either way, he continues. “My sister Prima – Colby’s stylist – last year was her first year and she worked with Johanna. She says she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to lose your tribute. Do you just pick up and start all over again the next year, like they’re all replaceable?”

He continues with his work and stops talking entirely. I take this as my cue to shut up and stop with my curiosity. For now.

Finally he helps me to sit up. My body is stiff from all the different positions I’ve sat in for the past couple hours and I hope it’s done soon.

“Almost done,” He says.

“One more question?” I half ask, half announce.

Remus laughs and I feel the swift motions of his paintbrush on my back.

“What is it?”

“What’s it like living in the Capitol?”

“I can’t answer that question like you want me to,” He says. “We’ll never know what it’s like. We can never even begin to imagine what it’s like to live in the districts, but it’s not like we’re taught that we need to even think about it. It’s all entertainment to us, until we’re brought in to work and then we see the real terrors.”

Remus stops for a moment, but the strokes continue.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Scout, I really am. But I’m here to help you get noticed, to make an impression to where the audience won’t be able to ignore the little spitfire from District 7, alright?”

I nod slowly and feel this strange connection with this man I’ve only known for a few hours.

He stands close to me, and for the first time since the reaping, a person’s presence has brought me comfort. His body emits warmth and I can smell his cologne as his arms brush in front of my face, diligently putting the finishing touches on the vines just above my eyebrow.

“And, we are done,” He announces proudly, placing his brush down on the table and delicately helping me to the floor.

We end up in front of the mirror and I am blown away at the transformation. He stands behind me with a smile on his face, his arms crossed, and his eyebrows raised in almost a ‘well?’ kind of way.

“Wow,” Is all I can manage.

His smile grows, spreading so wide his perfectly straight teeth show. “Did I do well?”

“Most definitely,” I answer, turning and wrapping my arms tightly around him. I sense a bit of hesitation for a quick moment before he engulfs my body in a comforting embrace.

“Alright little lady, we have an Opening Ceremony to get to!” He says, not even attempting to pull away.

I’m the one who finally breaks the hug, but not willingly.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “For understanding.”

He crouches down to my level. “I’ll never understand what you’re going through, but I can assure you that I will forever be your biggest fan, got it?”

“Yes.” I nod my head slowly in astonishment.

I’m sure this is wrong on so many levels. Stylists aren’t supposed to be humans. They’re supposed to be Capitol engineered robots that take the form of humans, but ultimately don’t feel emotions like those from the Districts do. This can’t be safe for him, either, but it makes me respect him all the more.

My prep team enters the room and completely fawns over the handcrafted art Remus has produced all over my body. Felix, who seemed completely indifferent to most everything earlier and seemed rather annoyed with Albia and Maximus, is beside himself in excitement as well. His face lights up with a huge white smile and I can’t help but smile along.

Before long, we meet up with Colby, who is donning a very similar costume, minus the bra-like contraption on my chest. Apparently an artist hand is genetic in Remus and Prima’s family because Colby’s vines are almost as dazzling as my own.

We head down to the bottom of the Remake Center and are surrounded by the other tributes and their prep teams. It’s overwhelming, but Colby and I make our way to the District 7 chariot and climb in.

We’re both visibly nervous. I’m glad my skin is painted green because it’s probably the same shade my skin is underneath.

Colby looks at me nervously as the District 1 chariot makes its way into the street. The crowd erupts as District 1 is a favorite. Its tributes look absolutely stunning, draped in silver fabric that is covered in all sorts of jewels. They disappear as the District 2 chariot is moved into position.

It isn’t long before Colby and I are readied at the gate, waiting anxiously for the doors to open to reveal the crowd. I’m so nervous I’m sweating profusely and I’m extremely surprised when I look down and the paint isn’t running off my body at all. It’s still as crisp and clean as it was when Remus first painted it.

“Ready?” Colby asked.

I almost couldn’t hear him over the deafening cheers from the crowd. I almost lose my balance as I take one look back at Remus who has two thumbs up in the air and the cheesiest smile plastered to his face. I think it might be fake, either that or he is trying to keep me from freaking out. Either way, it’s not working.

“Just smile and wave, Scout,” Colby says, holding tightly onto my elbow to make sure I don’t keel over and faint.

The giant doors open and we are met with a blast of cheers. Screams from the audience. I’ve never heard anything so loud in my entire life.

I find a screen and see me, looking as great as ever. I’m smiling confidently and playing with the crowd, waving lovingly back at them as they toss flowers at our chariot despite Colby’s firm grip on my arm to keep my on my feet. Inside I want to die. My sweating hasn’t subsided and even with the minimal clothes I’m wearing, I’m hot.

The cheers don’t even get any quieter throughout the twenty minute ride to the City Circle. From what I can tell, the crowd loved us. We weren’t stunning, but we kept their attention long enough to get a good look at us. I don’t know if that can be said for a lot of the other tributes.

We parade right up to the front of the president’s mansion where he stands. He’s a small man, but a powerful and cruel one.

As the other chariots make their way to the loop, the cameras pan over the faces of each tribute. No one district stands out above the rest, but there are a few that lack any real flare. For instance District 5, whose industry is power, shows little creativity in their costume choices. They are both in black unitards with power chords wrapped carelessly around their bodies. And District 8, whose industry is textiles, are dressed as Peacekeepers. Peacekeepers because that’s the main export of District 8.

I’m suddenly very glad I’m dressed as a tree.

President Snow stands, looking out over the tributes. It’s nerve wracking to be in the presence of such a powerful man; he can literally snap his fingers and you can be dead.

As District 12’s chariot pulls into the City Circle, the music stops altogether and the cameras study each tribute carefully.

I try and watch each tribute as they pass on the screen. The reaped Career tributes from District 1 who still look as thrilled about being in the Games as you are when you find out your childhood pet died. The brutal and cunning tributes from District 2 who have a fire in their eyes. The volunteer girl from District 3 who looks like she is out for blood and her unfortunate district partner who is still a nervous wreck. The athletic and muscular Career tributes from District 4. District 5’s tributes who are both so small and so green it secretly makes me feel better about myself. District 6’s tributes who seem to have to stuck together throughout the entire thing, both standing tall and smiling at each other. Colby and I who, surprisingly are holding our composure well. Then there’s District 8 with the tall scary dark-haired girl and the extremely adorable boy. District 9’s two twelve-year-olds, whose personalities are bubbly enough to have won extra praise from the audience. District 10’s sibling pair, where the older sister is still trying to assure her brother it’s going to be okay. As if. Then there is the large dark boy and small, light skinned girl from District 11. And last but not least, the blonde haired blue eyed girl and the brown haired grey eyed boy from District 12. Although they look like complete opposites, District 12’s tributes are beautiful in their own right. Despite the apparent hunger from the district, they both look healthy and strong.

Suddenly, I’m whipped back in the chariot as it begins to move once again towards the Training Center which will be my new home until the Games begin.