Pieces in the game. (The Hunger Games)

Chapter 5: Preparation!

Lilly's POV.
R- i- i- i- p! I grit my teeth as Amaryll, a woman with cerise hair and silver tattoos running up her neck, yanks a strip of fabric from my leg, tearing out the hair beneath it. "Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent. "If it makes you feel any better, you're less hairy then your sister". As if on cue there's a ripping sound and another threat from Katniss from the cubicle next door. It makes me smile, slightly lifting me out of the mood I have been on since I had my realisation about Peeta. As Amaryll, applies another strip of fabric I think about how I could have been so wrong about Peeta. Amaryll makes what's supposed to be s sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" she asks. I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final patch of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. Katniss and I have been in the Remake Centre for more than three hours and we still haven't met our stylist. Apparently he has no interest in seeing us until our our prep temps so have addressed some obvious problems. This included scrubbing our bodies down with a gritty foam that has removed not only dirt but about three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms and parts of my eyebrows have been striped of the stuff leaving me feeling very bare. My skin feels sore and tingly and intensely vulnerable. I huff out a laugh at Katniss' sigh of relief from next door, she must be finished too. In fairness, we kept our side of the bargain with Haymitch, although Katniss had many many threats she didn't object to anything they did.

"You're doing very well," says Dusk, the only man on my prep team. He takes down his long green hair only to tie it back up the same way it was. "If there is one thing we can't stand in here, it's a whiner. Grease her down!". Amaryll and Tempest, a tall lady who has been dyed a deep shade of blue everywhere, rub me down with a lotion that at first stings but then soothes my raw skin. Then the two ladies pull me off the table and remove the thin robe I've been allowed to wear intermittently. I stand there completely naked, as they had to give my necklace to our stylist so they could show it to some board or something, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they look so unlike people that I'm no more self- conscious than if a trio of oddly coloured birds were pecking around my feet. Then the three of them step back and admire their work. "Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" Dusk says and the three of them laugh. Even though I didn't like that comment I force myself to smile. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District Twelve". This wins them over completely. "Of course you don't, you poor darling!" Tempest croons, clasping her hands together in distress for me. "But don't worry," Amaryll pipes in. "By the time Cinna is through with you both, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!". "We promise! You know, now that we've got rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" Dusk says encouragingly. "Let's call Cinna!". They dart out of the room followed by Katniss' prep team. It's hard to hate such total goofballs. Just then the curtain separating us is pulled back and I squeak. Even knowing it's only Katniss I wasn't expecting it. Katniss' hair is still in the braids that mom did but mine has been washed, dried and brushed out. I gasp as I realise I left moms dress and shoes in the train.

Just then the door opens and a young man who must be Cinna enters. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stencilled and surgically altered they're grotesque. But Cinna's close- cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black shirt and trousers. The only concession of self- alteration seems to be a metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. "Hello Katniss, Lilly. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol's affectations. "Hello," we both greet back. I freeze slightly as I realise we are both still naked. "Just give me a moment, all right?" Cinna asks. He walks around us, not touching us at all, but taking in every bit of us with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. "Katniss, who did your hair?" he asks quietly. "My mother," Katniss says. "It's beautiful. Classic, really. And almost in perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," he says to her. I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying trying desperately to look young, someone who viewed us as pieces of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of these expectations. "You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before," I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life. "Yes, this is my first year in the Games," Cinna says. "So they gave you District Twelve," Katniss says. That's usually what happens. Newcomers generally end up with us, the least desirable district. "I asked for District Twelve", he says without further explanations. "Why don't you both put on your robes and we'll have a chat".