I want to slap Helen in the face.

The Capitol woman, complete with her dollish makeup and turquoise hair, smiles apologetically at me as she rips off another wax strip, making me grit my teeth in pain again.

"Sorry!" She squeaks in that stupid Capitol accent. They all sound like mice. "You just have so much hair!"

Another member of my prep team, Atalanta, a woman who has short black hair and makeup that makes her look like a man, rolls her eyes.

I've been in the Remake Center for three hours and still haven't met my stylist. Apparently, he doesn't want to see me until I'm at my very best. Apparently, the key to looking 'my very best' is to powerwash me with a hose, scrub off most of my skin with some sort of soap, powerwash me again, and rip out all my hair except for what's on my head. It takes all of my willpower not to leap off the metal table I'm lying on and scratch everyone's eyes out.

"Good news!" Helen says. "Last one!"

I grit my teeth as she rips off the strip.

"You're doing well," Mitchell, a man with long blond hair braided into a crown on his head and covered head to toe in a purple powder, said. "Way better than last years. We had to tie her to the table!"

Atalanta and Helen nod in agreement, reminding me of ducks.

They slather me in a lotion that first stings but then soothes my skin, before circling me with tweezers, plucking out the pieces of hair they missed. I should be embarrassed, being butt naked in front of these people. But with their weird hairdos and extreme makeup, they don't look like people to me. More like exotic fish, or birds.

"Excellent!" Mitchell says after they finish. "You almost look like a human being now!"

The others laugh, while I barely hold back the insult rolling on the back of my tongue. Oh, I'm the one who doesn't look like a human? Pretty rich coming from the guy who is literally purple.

I force a smile on my lips. The last thing I need right now is a bunch of people holding tweezers to be mad at me. Especially Atalanta, who has a rage in her eyes that I'm pretty sure never goes away.

"Thank you," I said. "I've never had an occasion to look nice in District 3, and if I did, I'm sure I wouldn't look this nice!"

That won them over completely. Even Atalanta smiled.

"Much better than Holly," Helen said. "Much better."

Holly was the tribute from District 3 last year. She made it to the top three, the highest District 3's gotten since Vulcan's Games.

"I think you're ready," Atlanta said. "Let's call Blitzen!"

I assume that Blitzen is my stylist. The three of them dart out of the room. I find it hard to hate them. Now that all the waxing is done, I see them for what they are; two idiots and a rage-filled woman who I like the most out of the three.

I look at the cold white walls. I wonder where Malcolm is, and Percy. Did they get the same treatment? Then I wonder why I care. I'll have to kill them both if I want to live. I shouldn't get attached.

The door opened, and a man walked in. He's around 5'5, and had black hair and a dark complexion. His nose looks like a lightning bolt.

What interests me is how... normal he looks. Sure, he's wearing one of the Capitol's crazy suits, but besides that, he looks like a normal person. His face is untouched by makeup, and I can see every imperfection in his skin.

"Hello, Annabeth," He said, his voice free of the Capitol's mice-squek accent. "I'm Blitzen, your stylish."

"Yo," I said, immediately wishing I could take it back. Who says yo to their stylist? Talk about great first impressions.

He laughs and quickly surveys my body. Unlike my prep team, I feel self-conscious around him, and resist the urge to cover my chest.

"Are you new?" I asked. Most stylists appear on T.V every Games, and their faces are much more familiar to me than the tributes they dress like dolls every year. Some have been around for as long as I can remember.

"Yup," He said, apparently taking my un-intelligent speaking as a factor of my nervousness and deciding to use it himself to make me feel better. Either that, or that's just how he speaks. "How about you put on your robe and we have a chat."

I pick the robe they gave me off the ground and pull it on, before following him to a sitting room. The room consists of two red chairs that look like hands, a table with water inside it, and the walls look like they were splatter painted. The room looks like it belongs to a twelve-year-old, and relaxes me.

After we both sit down, he presses a button on the side of the table, and our lunch rises out of the bottom of the table. It consists of simple food; two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with two bananas. I'd never had a banana before. They were far too expensive for me to afford.

I imagine what it would be like to have food appear in front of you with a touch of a button. What do these people even do all day if their food is so easy to come by they don't even have to work for it? There's only so much time decorating your body and waiting for new tributes to roll in to die for your entertainment can fill.

"We must seem so evil to you," Blitzen says, almost like he read my thoughts. "No matter. So, Annabeth, my partner, Venus, and I have decided that we're going to dress you in complementary outfits."

Of course. It's customary for us to wear an outfit that relates to our district. District 3's outfits are always something factory-related. Seeing as factory uniforms aren't very flattering, our stylists usually make them skin-tight and oddly colored. Normally, they are as ugly as hell and do nothing to gain us any favor.

"So I'll be in a factory uniform?" I asked.

Blitzen smiled and shook his head. "Oh, no. You see, Venus and I have decided to not focus on the factories, and decided to focus on what's made in the factories: technology."

I tilt my head at him, wondering where he's going with this.

"You're not ticklish, are you, Annabeth?" He asked.