I apologize this 'finished' chapter is so terribly late. I've gotten hit by a large courseload and, more dramatically impacting the fic's progress, my computer crashed over the summer resulting in my losing all of my planning materials. (Yes, I did make the joke, 'NOW HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHO DIES WHEN?'). I'm working on recreating my outline, getting everything sorted out again. As a result, though, this chapter is still shorter than I'd like it to be, and I have to add in the parade and a bit of info on the other tributes along with what'll be covered in Chapter 6. I figure this is okay, though, as I'm saving the space Collins used to describe food so lovingly. XD Anyway, I hope this lives up to expectations, and I also hope to get back on a more regular schedule soon, once my exams and courses die down a bit. Thank you as always for the kind words of support and favorites. 3

Note: remember, this is just the finished chapter, but there is a lot of new content so it's probably just as good as a typical update. If you recognize the fist couple of paragraphs, though, don't be alarmed. XD

"Can I braid your hair?"

While that wasn't the most alarming question I had been asked upon entering the Remake Room, I couldn't help but hear it in a little girl's voice. As a result, that particular question made me lose the carefully maintained façade of nonchalance I had adopted upon being handed over to the stylist, and I found myself laughing. It was all so absurd.

I stood upon a podium, surrounded by mirrors and wearing, well, nothing. I was pretty sure that wasn't a requirement but the conscious decision of my prep team, a trio of girls that I could only think were hand-selected by Tilla. They each had a gemstone theme to them. If they had ever introduced themselves to me I had forgotten almost immediately, and I instead thought of them as 'the diamond one', 'the emerald one', and 'the I-guess-it's-supposed-to-be-amethyst' one.

"Is that a yes?" The probably-amethyst-one asked, pale-purple-jewel encrusted fingers inching towards my hair. Her eyes matched the gems, as did her lips. Unnervingly, her eyes had no pupils, just pure pale purple.

I shuddered, then replaced my mask. "I'm just gonna do what you tell me to. I've got nothing to do with fashion."

And I didn't. While I knew that the prelude to the games could be just as vital as the games themselves, as all the tributes scrabbled to get sponsors, I also knew it was probably a vain hope for me or any of the District 12 tributes. We didn't have the best track record with stylists or sponsors, so I refused to get my hopes up. At this point, it looked as if the four of us were going to get a gem motif ourselves…

… or maybe we were going to end up naked and covered in coal dust, as the joke back home on the Seam always went. Every so often our tributes ended up wearing nothing but coal dust- it was the fall-back option for District 12, and every kid growing up teased the other that if they were reaped they'd better be comfortable in the nude. I didn't buy into it, as the last time it had happened had been when I was one and very poorly received due to the unfortunate nature of the male tribute (a rather chubby Market District boy) but then again, it didn't seem as if they were in any rush to give me clothing. The fact that one of them, the emerald one, was walking towards me with a jar of vaguely metallic black powder, did nothing to allay this fear.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumbled under my breath as the emerald one began dusting my shoulders. "You have seriouslygot to be kiddingme."

"Not at all, sweet," the emerald one replied, and with a start I realized that their voice was deep. Possibly too deep for a woman's. "Never hurts to fall back on a good thing, and you've got a great body. Some rich Capitol woman is going to pay for all manner of gifts for you to thank you for the fantas-"

"Stop stop stop stop,"I said in a rush, eager to not hear what she- he? –had to say on that topic. A sudden realization dawned on me and I hissed in a rush, "Are you doing this to Lissa, too?" The thought was horrifying.

The third one finally reappeared, bearing a glittering piece of what I hoped and prayed was clothing. She smiled and shook her head, her tinsel-like hair lazily swishing about with the motion. "She's being dusted as well, yes, but the little one has a leotard on. Not that it's your business, you know. You're supposed to listen to your stylists, not interrogate them." She paused for a moment, surveying the progress being made on me, then sighed. "Ralla, would you stop braiding his hair? You know Flore's plan, and it most certainly does not involve a bejeweled braid. Or have you forgotten we're on a timeline?"

The amethyst one frowned, "Oh, Camilla, you're so dull. Always sticking to plans!"

"Yes, because the plan is good. We want him to be impressive, not… whatever that is," Camilla insisted, waving a hand at my hair. "Step aside and let me do that."

As Camilla rapidly undid the careful braid Ralla had been working on, the third one began to dust my chest. "You're probably wondering where Flore, your actual stylist is, no?" Camilla asked conversationally, producing a small pair of shears. "Well, due to the overwhelming amount of tributes this year," she continued, as if I had indicated any interest, "one stylist has to cope with two tributes each. Your partner, the pretty golden one, requires much more attention than you, so Flore is there, and you get us."

I snorted, earning me a quick glare from the duster, as my movement had caused the brush to veer off course and smear black metallic dust on my elbow.

After a couple quick, decisive snips, Camilla stepped back, admiring her work. My long hair was now roughly cropped around my chin. It was an intentionally messy job. I glanced at my sheared hair impassively; I wasn't vain, and my long hair was really a creation of laziness about getting it cut. For an absurd moment I wondered what Olivia would think of it.

Then I remembered I'd likely never get to find out.

The emerald one finally finished liberally dusting me. He stepped back to join Camilla. Once Ralla realized she was the only one hovering around me, and not even doing anything at that, she hurriedly joined her companions. I got the feeling Ralla was new at this, trying desperately to impress everyone and consequently coming off completely clueless. Just my luck.

"What do you think, girls?" The emerald one asked, eying me appraisingly.

The question was clearly intended for Camilla, but that did stop Ralla from sulky pouting, "I liked his long hair."

Camilla tut-ted in an almost motherly fashion, disturbing from someone who looked as manufactured as she did. "Oh, my dear. That long hair might've killed him, sweet. Besides, this short look accentuates his ruggedness. Very survivor, the crowds will adore it. They like something raw every now and then, you see."

I rolled my eyes and scowled. "How about some pants, or is raw a synonym for nude here?"

"Alas, no," Camilla replied, a smirk on her face. "But clothing is Flore's domain. Until she gets here, well. We get to bask in your raw presence."

"Do I get a chair, or should I hold still so you can practice your still lifes?"

"What's he saying? I don't get it," Ralla asked, wrinkling her nose and squinting her eerie pupils eyes at me as if I smelled like a rotten cabbage.

Camilla just laughed. "Don't worry about it, it's not your job to worry. Why don't you run along and fetch some hair gel for me, there's a dear, and why don't you go get me some accessory options?" She asked, referring to Ralla and the emerald one in turn. They both immediately did as they were told. I figured in my actual stylist's stead, Camilla was in charge, and I truly did not know how I felt about that.

As soon as they were gone, the diamond one rolled her eyes, grabbed a damp towel and began viciously scrubbing the coal dust off of me. "That fool has no idea what highlighting means. We don't want it to look like you're burnt! And he even covered up those beautiful scratches on your arm that dear Tilla gave you, I wager. I truly don't understand how either of them got hired, they're simply useless."

Instinctively I yanked my arm away from her and took a step back. I had been content to coast on autopilot through this charade of make-up and glitz, but even though I had assumed Tilla had a hand in everything hearing Camilla use the phrase 'dear Tilla' aroused every instinct of distrust in me. It was another test, and I refused to lose this one.

For her part, Camilla just smiled, and held the towel out to me. "You don't trust me. That's fine. You don't really have a choice, sweet. And Tilla dear knows that. Wipe the rest of that muck off yourself. I was content to let the others follow some silly plan to make them think they were of use, but now that I've got them off on fools errands the real work can begin."

Despite my immediate urge to do the opposite of whatever she told me to do, the black powder was beginning to itch and run into my eyes as it collected in my sweat. It was hot underneath the spotlights being shone on me, after all. I rubbed the gunk off my face then began to work on my arms, while regarding her with disdain. "So you're not content to just mess around with the tributes? You're turning on your own allies?"

"Well, of course. That's not just a tactic for the Games, my pet." Her smile was icy sharp, matching the diamond of her nails. Just like Tilla's, they were encrusted with actual diamonds. "The Capitol may appear glitzy, and truly it is a playland for the blind, but, well… if you can see past the glamour, you can play the game so much better. And you are going to help us do just that." Seeing the look on my face, she laughed. "Oh, don't say anything naively heroic, like, 'I'd rather die', because I assure you, dear, that is the only alternative."

The words caught in my throat. Talking to her was like playing a game where the other player had two moves to your one and already knew what you were going to use your turn to do, anyway. While Tilla was sickly sweet like a cloying rose, preferring to distract you with the bud so you didn't see the thorns, I could tell Camilla preferred to adopt the blunt, straightforward sheen of her favored diamond. The sparkle only came out when she needed to be dazzling; until then, she preferred to be useful and hard.

"What's the relationship?" I asked instead, working a particularly dense bit of powder around my navel.

"Nothing of your concern. You shall learn rapidly, the less you give of yourself to others, the less they have to hurt you with. Therefore, I shall tell you as little as I need, and only what suits me. Are you taking notes? This is very helpful information."

I threw the soiled towel at her face. She caught it with one sharp motion. For a moment I wondered what Camilla would to do me in retaliation, and prepared for an assault of some sort. The woman was just so like Tilla I couldn't help but expect some sort of violence, but she just smiled infuriatingly at me, as if she were pleased at my aggression. It was exactly what she wanted, after all; I had been lured into a false sense of security by these people, thinking they were safe simply because it was their job to beautify me for public appeal. I had never thought that a true threat would be lying in wait among them, but here she was, sharp edges and ears waiting to inform Tilla or carry out her business.

Nothing was safe, whether I was outside or inside the Arena.

Just that moment the door opened and a young girl bustled in, burdened with two large bags and looking barely older than I was. "Apologies I'm so late," the girl chirped in an odd, high-pitched voice. "Maysilee and I got to talking, and it was just so interesting I couldn't tear myself away even though she's been perfectly dressed for an hour now, and I fear we'll run short on time for you, but it all should be well before the parade of trib-"

"Flore," Camilla drawled, resting her chin on one fist. "You're babbling."

"Oh. Of course."

My stylist. She was small in stature, barely five feet if that. Her skin was dyed the rich brown of a tree trunk, with darker whorls dyed into it to emulate wood grain. Her hair stuck out from her head at angles and was a leafy green, with a wreath of flowers nestled into it. It looked as if her outfit was woven from plants, and I feared I was about to be coated in a cape made of rose petals and sent on my merry way. It seemed like something Tilla would arrange.

Instead, the small woman, still hauling her bags, hopped up next to me and looked me up and down quickly, before rummaging through her bags and producing a few choice garments. "Well then! You're Haymitch! I'm Flore!"

I just nodded, amazed that this creature was smiling so brightly, as if we were fast friends meeting at a reunion.

She continued on unabashed, talking rapidly. "Well, you see, District 12 is all about mining, as I'm sure you know- seeing as, well, you're from there and all. So we thought- me and the stylist for your other two, the cute little one and the lanky one –that each of you should, perhaps, embody something different of what goes into all that mining. It's so dull if you're all the same, and you want to stand out, now, don't you? So you've each got your theme, and yours, my dear, is the product of mining!"

I glanced at the coal dust-coated rag I had thrown at Tilla, wondering if I had scrubbed all that off in vain. Noticing my look, Flore giggled.

"Oh, not just coal. Metals come from mining, too, don't they?" She seemed truly uncertain of herself here, but she pressed on, anyway. "We're going to dust parts of you with that, but the real flash is going to come from this."

She held up a cape, shimmering softly, made of a metallic fabric that I was certain no one back home could replicate on their looms. Copper, silver and gold sworls danced on the fabric. To my infinite relief I noticed a pair of pants made of a solid black as well, accentuated by a belt of what looked like raw ore disks of each of the three materials.

"We know that you mine coal for our power," Flore continued on as she swooped behind me to fasten the cape about my shoulders, "but it's just so dull, and the citizens of the Capitol shall hardly mind the inaccuracy- so long as we don't cover you with gems, anyway. District 1 might be a little annoyed, but since it's only one of the four I think they'll overlook us bending the rules a bit. Besides, you have a splendid facial structure for this sort of thing- you look like a striking prince from a storybook, the children will love it. Plus I do so adore making unique fabrics… I just get carried away."

I said nothing. The cape was remarkable, and infinitely better than being naked, but I couldn't get excited over it. Not with Camilla smirking in the background, clearly Tilla's eyes in the Remake Room. She permitted me to put on the pants, belt, and waiting shoes (plain work boots, also black- mercifully normal), then glanced at a nearby clock and gasp. "Oh my. We have to leave. We have to get down to the bottom level, now!" Suddenly realizing only one of my prep team was there, she turned quickly to Camilla, a frown on her face. "Camilla, wherever are Ralla and Cameo?"

Rising from her chair in a fluid motion, Camilla shrugged. "I believe they went to fetch me some supplies, but it seems they got themselves lost. I expect this of Ralla, but I thought Cameo knew his way about here."

"Curious…" Flore muttered, but the time was more pressing than her concern. "Well, they'll know where to find us. Come, come, we have to hurry, we can touch up things downstairs!"

A flurry of rushed activity later and I was deposited next to an oversized chariot, with nothing left to do but wait until the procession began. As we rushed down, Flore and Camilla had dabbed at me with the coal dust powder, coating parts of my face and hands in it, as well as darkening my eyelids and lining them. I felt ridiculous, but hey. At least I had pants.

Reed and Lissa were already there. Reed had been selected to portray the miner, I could tell right away; he wore an updated version of our work uniform and had a light strapped to his head. It was nothing fancy, but he was clearly the most comfortable of all of us, and that natural ease might help him more than all the primping and fancy clothing in the world. Little Lissa, like me, was a 'product' of mining, only she was simply coal. She wore a black leotard and was liberally sprinkled with coal dust on her face, limbs and hair. It gave her a sickly, impoverished look, but she was clearly determined not to show that it bothered her.

Finally, Maysilee appeared, flanked by her own prep team. It looked as if she were literally flying, due to pale gold wings that had been carefully attached to the dress that she wore. It looked to be made of thousands of small feathers. Her shoes were also feathered, and she wore a headpiece of flowers that clung to the top of her golden hair like a veil.

The effect was stunning.

"What are you supposed to be?" I hissed as the two stylists carefully arranged us (Maysilee and I in front, Reed behind holding Lissa as if she was the coal he had just plucked from the earth).

I could see a faint blush under the careful, soft make-up they had coated her in. "A canary. I'm not sure what it has to do with mining, to be true. But it's better than some alternatives."

I was deeply grateful for the dimness of the area. It hid the furious look that passed over my face. Of course she was a canary. I was amazed the rest of them weren't decked out in feathers as well. Tilla's mark was clear all over this costume choice, and I was the intended recipient of the message.

The smaller canary was impacted more strongly by smaller amounts of gases that could collect beneath the earth, so they alerted miners to the presence of such deadly vapors. A canary, the miner's warning system, intended to reveal danger to the miners… by dying.

Tilla's message was loud and clear. I was the superior product of mining, the desireable metals. The rest of my district was just the team that would produce me, the ideal specimen of District 12. The rest of them were expendable; I was what was really wanted.

Despite the fact that I knew it would have to end with them dying for me to live, the actual thought of it being used as ammunition to fuel my success made every part of me seek to reject it. I wanted to protect Lissa, teach Reed, and even cooperate with Maysilee, if it meant I wouldn't have to watch them die one by one, warning me of the danger we were all in.

She had no idea that, with that gesture, Tilla had started me thinking about ways for all of us to escape the Games.