006. a terrible case of deja vu

"You stupid girl!"

Emerald cringes slightly as the man pushes his way towards her, wrapping her up in his arms. The brunette savours the embrace of Phoenix, who is visibly angry at her but also deeply upset. He pulls away slightly and puts his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

"Why would you do that?" He asks her, the girl's eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She shrugs, too emotional to actually answer the man. She doesn't tell him of the echoing memories in her mind, her mother's hurtful words rolling over and over again. "I'm so mad at you right now, but Em, what you just did is perhaps the most selfless thing I've ever seen,"

The girl sniffles quietly, sinking into his embrace even further. The train is already on the move, the tributes not given any times to say goodbye to their families — not that either of them have anybody to say goodbye to. Emerald can almost guarantee that her mother would not have given her a second glance, she probably turned around and walked away the second her hand flew up to volunteer.

Everybody she would want to say bye to is standing on this train right now, and by everyone she simply means Phoenix. She is a little saddened by not being able to at least give Esmeralda a hug before leaving though, now the blonde woman is all alone in her and Phoenix's large home without anybody to turn to.

They stand in the same position for a few more moments before she pulls away, wiping underneath her eyes in an attempt to mask the fact she'd been crying. Over Phoenix's shoulder she can see Silas standing there, watching the scene before him with slight disinterest. She can't really blame him, the two of them hardly know one another. Her emotional expression would be the furthest thing from his worry, the fact that he could die in a few days time probably taking top priority.

"One of you will be coming out of this the winner, I will make sure of it," Phoenix promises.

Emerald appreciates the sentiment, that he would want to try so hard to keep her alive, but she knows it certainly won't be her coming home. The last time she competed in the Games, she lived because Francisco decided that her life was worth more than his. He'd died knowing he had saved her life, helped her on her way to going home. Sometimes she wishes he hadn't, that he had let her fight her own battles, and then perhaps he'd be the one standing here.

"Thanks Nix," Emerald croaks out softly, grabbing his hand and giving it an assuring squeeze.

The shouts of the Capitol residents is enough to bring back horrific memories that she's tried her absolute hardest to repress. They scream as loudly as they can in order to celebrate the Games, celebrate the deaths of twenty three people without feeling the slightest hint of guilt. It's sickening really, not that it matters to them in the slightest. Emerald could be dead in a weeks time and her death would be admired.

They act as if they care about the Victors, the people who had won their twisted Games over the years, but they don't really. Why would they? Them caring would simply get in the way of a good show.

Emerald feels a hand lightly touch her shoulder and she turns her head, raising her eyebrows in confusion as the woman stands there. It is obvious from first glance that she is from the Capitol, her hair neatly arranged into several braids and pinned to the back of her head. Her eyes are painted are midnight blue with small diamonds stuck underneath them, a precise wing of mascara accompanying the look.

"Hello, Emerald. I'm Lenora, your new stylist,"

The information is rather shocking, this girl could not be much older than her. Most of the time, head stylists are of an older age as they've climbed through the ranks to get where they are. This girl, looking no older than twenty two, was the youngest stylist she's ever seen.

"What happened to Rhea?" Emerald questions quietly, the older blonde woman flashing through her mind. Rhea was a kinder woman, but for a stylist she had the absolute worst taste in clothes. Emerald remembers feeling like an utter fool every time she was dressed up, mismatching colours and wild hair.

"She passed last month, I'm afraid," Lenora comments in response, placing her items down on the table beside the tribute. "I've been rushed in to do this for you. She had plans for this year's tribute, but I'll be honest with you, they were pretty hideous. So I drew up some new ones,"

Lenora pulls a piece of paper out of her folder, handing it to the brunette who looks at it curiously. Already she can see the improvements, no court jester like consumes, and she's extremely thankful for that. Instead, it seems as if Lenora has taken the whole 'textile district' in a completely different direction. It's a long lilac dress that has utilized stitching at the top section to make it look as if there is a beautiful flower pattern. The material seems to be rather thin, in comparison to the thick carpet like material Rhea had used years prior.

"It's beautiful," Emerald breathes, her fingers running over the scratchy surface of the paper. Lenora is smiling behind her, proud that her first outfit is one that is actually liked.

Lenora helps the girl get changed into her outfit, zipping up the dress at the back and making slight adjustments to make sure that it fits her correctly. Emerald almost feels like a princess, dressed up to the nines. She wishes she could have felt this way the first time around, it may have even helped her with getting sponsors for the arena.

"I'm glad you like it, I just thought it was more fitting for a Victor," Lenora comments, standing behind the brunette and beginning to curl her hair gently. Emerald is appreciative of the way she seems to be performing the task as carefully as she can, not pulling the girl's hair like she'd experienced the first time. "I've got some of the flowers that are native to the outside of your District. I'm going to weave them through your hair,"

Emerald watches as the stylist pulls out a thin string with several purple flowers along it. She can't say she recognises them, her mother had never been one for gardening and as a result, neither was she.

The victor is almost in awe at the way the woman easily assembled the hairstyle so that the flowers are visible but the string isn't. Her hair is slightly pulled back at the top but falls back in beautiful curls.

"There we go. You're all ready to go," Lenora comments, applying one last layer of lipstick to the girl's lips. Emerald almost can't accept that it's her in the mirror, that the reflection is of herself. If only those tributes who had giggled at her attire in the first games could see her now, elegant and bold.

Emerald gives her thanks to the new stylist, the woman smiling in response. Now, now comes the part she hates the most — seeing all the other tributes brought her an enormous amount of anxiety the first time, it'll only be worse now. The crowd is echoing in her ears once again, a group of them standing above and looking down as each new tribute passes by.

"Emerald! Emerald!"

The calls of her name cause her to look up and she sees a little girl smiling down at her with a pretty insistent wave. Emerald fakes the best smile she possibly can and waves back at the girl, who gasps and excitedly turns to speak to the girl beside her. It must be nice, to be so delusional about the world you live in. These children will grow up thinking that the murder of innocents is normal, that there is absolutely nothin wrong with the event that happens every year.

Thankfully, she likely won't be around to see any more of them happen. It's a nice thought, probably the only one when it comes to this event, that she won't ever have to see another Hunger Games happen.

"We're matching,"

Emerald startles a little at the sound of her District partner's voice, this being the first time she's heard him speak since they got here. Actually it's the first time she's heard him speak, period. His attire matches her's in colour, a lilac suit with a crease free whit tie.

"It's a lot nicer than I expected it to be," He adds, actively trying to create some type of conversation with her. It's nice, he's making an effort.

"I saw the original plans, you should be very happy," Emerald's voice is quiet, almost as if she's afraid that she'll offend him by speaking. Silas nods his head, a grimace on his face which means he likely saw them too. It would've been another year of being dressed up as silly jesters, she's forever thankful that isn't the case.

"Trust me, I am. Phoenix wants us to get to know some of the other tributes, thinks it might be best if we make some allies," Silas shifts the conversation, his eyes searching the room.

"How do we trust any of these people? Lots of them have known one another for years, I mean look at Phoenix and Haymitch," Emerald nods over to where their mentor is standing and laughing with Haymitch Abernathy of District 12.

"I know," Is all Silas manages to offer up in response to her question, evidently wondering the same thing that she is.

Silas is just as inexperienced with the rest of the victors as she is, having taken several years off from his mentoring duties to care for his mother.

The two of them are practically walking targets on display for everybody around them to see. In some ways, Emerald is a little thankful for the way she doesn't know the victors properly, because these games would hurt so much more than normal. If these people were her friends, well, Emerald would fall apart at the seams.

"Who should we be talking to then?" Emerald whispers to the boy who bites his lip as his eyes dart around them. A few of them are more familiar than others, Finnick Odair is standing in the corner with the older lady from his district whilst Johanna Mason is cursing out her stylist quite openly. To their right stands the two most recent victors, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. They're once again clad head to toe in a black material that will no doubt catch alight when they're riding in their chariot.

"I mean, I met Johanna very vaguely once," Silas responds. "I let her have the last piece of cake at that party they threw,"

"You could try," Emerald encourages slightly. She won't admit it aloud to anybody, especially not Johanna herself, but the woman scares her a little bit. There seems to be an underlying threat with every action she makes, even when it doesn't even seem to be intentional. "The worst she can do is turn you away,"

"Or cut my hand off,"

"Yeah, or that,"

Silas takes a deep breath and makes his way over to the District Seven victor on his lonesome. Emerald, on the other hand, has no idea where to go but in the end it doesn't matter. A soft call of her name causes her to turn around, eyes glittering in confusion as Peeta Mellark grins at her.

"Oh, hello Peeta,"

The greeting is both shy and awkward, unsure of how to approach the situation. Conversation has never been her strong point, nor does she think it ever will be. Emerald has always preferred to be a listener, somebody who people can speak to without needing any sort of response — Phoenix has gotten quite good at knowing when she just needs to have somebody speak to her.

"I didn't mean to bother you, but I thought I'd introduce myself," Peeta comments, holding his hand out towards her. Emerald stares at it for a few moments before placing her hand in his, rather delicately, and giving it a shake. "I also wanted to say that I really admire what you did at the reaping. It was incredibly selfless,"

Not really used to praise, or compliments in general, her cheeks flush a bright red. "Thank you. I'm sorry that this is happening to the two of you,"

Emerald is referring to the fact their wedding can no longer go ahead now, not that both of them are in these Games. She can only imagine how much it must break their hearts, to have the one you love be your enemy in the arena.

"Thank you," Peeta replies with a small flicker of a smile, his face soft and patient. It's obvious that he's been tipped off about her lack of conversational prowess, and he's trying his hardest to make sure the conversation continues along. "Well I must be going. It was lovely to meet you,"

"You too!" She calls back rather quietly, watching as he walks away from her and towards Katniss and who must be her stylist.

Only moments later, all the tributes are being loaded up onto the Chariots, the President obviously ready for his show to start. Emerald closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, steadying her breathing and bracing for what's to come.

What a truly terrible case of deja vu this is.