"Come on, Jacob!" A charming voice was heard near where he was sleeping. Jacob opened his eyes, looked around with slight alertness, and then calmed down.
"Aren't you early?"
Upon hearing Jacob's question, Portia, his stylist, said, "Considering your messy hair in the mornings, I wanted to come in advance to ensure a good schedule... Seeing that you're still not awake makes me assume you didn't sleep well last night..."
Jacob got up and walked to the bathroom, lightly washed his face with cold water, and walked to an open space where Portia was preparing things to attend to him.
The thrilling atmosphere of the Capitol was infused in every corner as the Hunger Games approached rapidly. Jacob, one of the most promising participants, and one from whom more was expected, as his previous performance was bloody and honorable, felt somewhat anxious as there was something more behind these games.
Portia, his loyal stylist, entered the room with a bright smile on her face. Her colorful hair and elegant attire made it clear why she was one of the most acclaimed stylists of the Capitol in recent times, just like Portia. Jacob looked at her with admiration and felt relieved knowing that she would be by his side during his transformation.
"Jacob, darling, I have big plans for you," Portia said enthusiastically. "First, we'll take care of your hair. It's your trademark, and we need it to look perfect on the runway."
Jacob nodded and sat in the chair as Portia began her work. Carefully, she skillfully combed his dark locks, removing any tangles and giving them a smooth and silky look. Then, she applied special products to strengthen and nourish his hair, ensuring it was in optimal condition to withstand the stress of the show.
As Portia worked, Jacob gazed at his reflection in the mirror, marveling at her ability to transform people. However, something caught his attention. "Portia, don't you plan on doing any makeup this time?" Jacob asked, a little intrigued.
Portia paused for a moment and smiled understandingly. "Jacob, dear, in these Hunger Games, authenticity is what makes a difference. People want to see the tributes as they are, without layers of makeup hiding who they truly are. We want you to shine with your own light, just like the other victors."
Portia's words resonated in Jacob's mind. Authenticity. It was a refreshing perspective amidst all the extravagance and facade of the Capitol. He decided to fully trust Portia and her vision.
"I agree, Portia, only professionals are competing this time," Jacob replied with a smile. "I want you to show me just as I am. I don't need a mask to stand out, I don't need it."
Portia nodded, impressed by Jacob's maturity and bravery. She continued her work, subtly enhancing Jacob's features without hiding his essence. Then, she chose an elegant yet understated outfit that perfectly complemented his strong and determined personality.
When Portia finally put on the finishing touches and Jacob stood up from the chair, both of them silently looked at each other, nodding in approval. Jacob felt confident, ready to face whatever came his way.
"Portia, your hands are magical," Jacob sincerely said. "Not only for your talent but also for reminding me of the importance of being authentic. I'm ready to represent our team, and remember, you're too important to keep me happy."
Portia smiled proudly. "Jacob, you're more than a tribute. You're an exceptional human being, and I'm sure you'll leave a lasting impression on everyone who sees you this time."
With that final statement, Jacob left the room, with renewed confidence and a fierce determination in his eyes. Portia had worked her magic, not only on his physical appearance but also on his spirit.
Portia's eyes welled up as she watched Jacob's figure recede, finding it increasingly difficult to pretend that nothing was happening amidst all the suffocating tension surrounding them.
The parade was about to begin, and Jacob was ready to show the Capitol his authentic self. At that moment, he became more than just a tribute. He became a symbol of strength, courage, and authenticity in the Hunger Games.
...
Renewal Center.
Katniss headed to the Renewal Center much earlier than Jacob, which housed the massive gathering place for the tributes and their carriages before the opening ceremonies. She hoped to find Jacob and Haymitch, but they hadn't arrived yet.
Unlike last year, when all the tributes were physically attached to their carriages, the scene was more social. The victors, both the tributes of this year and their mentors, were scattered in small groups, talking. Of course, they all knew each other, and she didn't know anyone, nor was she the type of person to go around introducing herself to others. So, she contented herself with stroking one of her horses' necks, trying to go unnoticed.
The answer? It doesn't work.
The crunch reaches her ears before she even knows what is beside her, and when Katniss turns to the side, the famous sea-green eyes of Finnick Odair are inches away from hers. He pops a sugar cube into his mouth and leans against his horse.
"Hello, Katniss." Finnick says as if he has known Katniss for years, even though they have obviously never met before.
"Hello, Finnick." Katniss responds just as casually, although she feels uncomfortable with the proximity, especially since Finnick is so exposed.
"Do you want a sugar cube?" Finnick asks, offering his hand filled with sugar cubes and pointing, "They're supposed to be good for the horses, but who cares? They have years to eat sugar, whereas you and I... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quickly."
Finnick Odair is like a living legend in Panem. He won the 65th Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, making him one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so luck was already on his side, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty.
He was tall, athletic, with golden skin and bronze hair, and those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were struggling to obtain a handful of grain or a few matches as gifts, Finnick never lacked anything, be it food, medicine, or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realize he was the one to beat, but by then, it was already too late.
He was already a skilled fighter with the spears and swords he found at the Cornucopia. When he received a silver parachute with a trident—arguably the most expensive gift ever seen in the arena until Jacob received the 12 landmines—the games were already over.
The fishing industry is the mainstay of District 4. He had been on boats all his life. The trident was a natural, lethal extension of his arm. He wove a net from some kind of vine he found, used it to trap his opponents so he could impale them with the trident, and in a matter of days, the crown was his.
Due to his youth, they couldn't really touch him during the first year or two. But since he turned sixteen, he has spent his time in the Games being pursued by those desperately in love with him.
But obviously, no one retains his favor for long. He can go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, charming or ordinary, rich or very rich, he keeps them company and accepts their extravagant gifts, but he never stays, and once he's gone, he never returns.
Katniss cannot argue with anyone that Finnick is not one of the most stunning and sensual people on the planet. But she can also sincerely say that she has never found him attractive.
Maybe he's too handsome, or too easy to get, or maybe what it really comes down to is that he would be too easy to lose.
"No, thanks." Katniss declines the sugar. "Although I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime."
Finnick is covered in a golden net that is strategically tied around his groin so that technically he can't be considered naked, but he's as close to it as possible. She's sure his stylist thinks the more Finnick sees the audience, the better.
"You're really terrifying me in that costume. What happened to the pretty girl dresses?" Finnick asks, lightly moistening his lips with his tongue.
This probably drives most people crazy. But for some reason, all Katniss can think about is the old Cray drooling over some poor, hungry girl.
"I grew up." Katniss responds.
Finnick takes the collar of Katniss's outfit and runs it between his fingers.
"It's all messed up with this Quell thing. You could have stood out as a bandit in the Capitol. Jewelry, money, whatever you wanted."
"I could take your fingers, Finnick!" But at that moment, a cold voice is heard right behind Finnick, surprising both him and Katniss.
"Jacob!" Katniss is a little surprised to think that Jacob might react inappropriately, but her concerns are obviously insignificant.
"Jacob Barber, a legend in his respective games, a very honorable warrior," Finnick responds with a carefree smile. "I wonder, which weapon would be more dominant, your chain or my spear?"
"Should we put it to the test in the arena?" Jacob's eyes scan Finnick's expression, no emotion exposed, but Katniss's eyes, as well as those of other participants, are fixed on his sudden silence.