They burned his skin in acid and rubbed it raw. They waxed his legs and arms and torso. The space between his eyes. He heard snipping and buzzing and bickering and his body felt new and unfamiliar.

Not clean. Polished.

"You must be Eren."

The sound was so sweet. It didn't belong in a world like this.

Eren sat up from the operating table, cringing because his skin was still sensitive to movement.

The woman was small—petite, he would say—and she smiled at him gently. She didn't carry any trace of the Capitol beyond the silver feathers in her auburn hair. "Petra," she introduced. "Your stylist."

Eren sighed. Each pair of tributes was assigned a stylist to help them make an impression at the Opening Ceremony. Only, they had to design costumes that represented the tributes' home districts. Petra sat across from him. "It's my first year as a stylist for the tributes."

"And you were assigned to Shinganshina?" Eren suspected, pitying her. District 12 was known for its fishing industry. A large river ran through the district and out the channel in the wall. Fish. Fish smell. Fish people. Fish children.

"I chose it," she contradicted, noting Eren's surprise. "I was inspired by a young man's selflessness."

Eren flushed red under the intense lighting. "So what are you thinking? Scales?"

She laughed. "12 is known for its fishing. But it's also known for its river. A fresh, powerful, flowing river that cannot be stopped. And you know where that river ends up, don't you?"

Eren's eyes lifted to hers, and her auburn irises warmed something in his chest.

"The ocean."

OoO

"They're going to what?" Eren choked.

Petra rolled her eyes. Oluo, one of her prep team, mumbled something behind her, something about not paying any goddamn attention, and she shushed him.

"Your clothes. They're going to liquefy."

"Completely?" Mikasa wondered, glancing down at her beautiful blue dress and frowning like the idea of televised nudity was only slightly humiliating.

"No. Hopefully not."

They stared at her.

"If for some reason, the suits malfunction, then at least they'll all have something to talk about. Any publicity is good publicity."

Eren shot a fearful glance at Mikasa, and for a second, it almost looked like she'd cracked a smile. Almost.

As they boarded their carriages, Eren took in the other tributes. There was a range of ages, but most were sixteen or older. There was a blonde girl in front of him who looked impatient to strangle someone, two boys who appeared beyond uncomfortable in their gladiator costumes, and a girl and boy in matching…potato outfits? There were others, but their own carriage began moving to file in the back of the line, and Eren turned away, feeling queasy.

He would be ordered to kill them all in less than two weeks.

OoO

"Ready?" Eren asked, as they entered the giant stadium packed with Capitol citizens and fans of the Games.

Mikasa shook her head.

"Me neither."

In unison, they activated their outfits, and the material dissolved, slowly, into gel-like molecules, leaving behind a curtain of billowing cloth and water. Eren could feel the water spraying his face, rushing behind him, dissolving into mist before brushing the ground. The crowd quieted, awed, before erupting into manic squeals and gasps.

They loved it.

He spared a glance at Mikasa, and he almost fell off the carriage.

She looked like a goddess.

Her makeup was sparse. Only a trail of blue and white on the crescents of her eyes. Her hair was free, flowing and curling behind her like satin. Like water. Her dress had dissolved into running, splashing liquid, so abundant that it concealed her chest and lower half, but thin enough that he could see the substance gliding over her pale, smooth skin.

Together they were a wave crashing against shore. A force to be reckoned with. A rising tide.

Eren couldn't help it. He grinned.

Eventually the carriage slowed, and Eren could sense the other tributes glaring at them. Envious. Potato girl was gawking at them mid-chew.

The water dissolved, and they were left in slim, blue outfits, like swimwear. Too much skin for Eren's taste. He kept his eyes far from Mikasa's figure. Definitely too much skin in that direction.

Up above them on the balcony of the large arena, stood the president of Panem.

Zeke.

He raised a hand, silencing the cheers and the wild, sickening excitement of the citizens.

Eren tried not to glare, but he failed. There was too much anger for this man. The individual who carried on the Hunger Games, who relished the tears of the districts. He was the greatest murderer known to man. And Eren feared him.

He felt something brush his hand, ignored it. When it happened again, he grabbed the tickling device. Mikasa's soft hand slid into his, and their fingers laced.

I know, it meant, understanding his rage. But you're on television. Don't let it show.

"Welcome, Tributes. Happy Hunger Games!"

More cheering.

"100 years ago, an uprising led to war, and war led to famine. Brothers slayed brothers. Mankind was nearly wiped off the face of the planet. But in the end, we prevailed. The traitors payed their price. And we must be reminded that Panem should never again fall to treason. You brave, courageous tributes have shouldered this responsibility. You pave the path for a secure future. And the sole victor shall be rewarded with everlasting riches, to illustrate our generosity. Our peace…" Zeke paused, gazing steadily at the camera that projected his face over enormous screens. "Welcome tributes. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Yay! Things are picking up. Can't wait to introduce the tributes. :D