A/N: I'm back and actually excited to write again! I might turn this into a collection of ficlets about characters so minor they don't even have names, but for now, I'm happy with this. I'm leaving for college in a few months, so any and all writing will likely be postponed indefinitely, but I'll sure try to stick around!
"... and for those of you hoping to incorporate District Thirteen into your summer plans, we regret to inform you that a study has just determined that the graphite mines are still too toxic to approach." The people back home will see her standing before the rubble of the Justice Building, her trademark pink-and-white hair hidden by the protective suit meant to keep her safe from radiation. Beaming at the cameras, all Bernice can see is the sleek interior of her usual recording room.
She lets out a high-pitched giggle and throws a wink exaggerated enough to be seen through her mask. "If you're looking for a new vacation spot, the rustic beaches of District Four are always charming. Who knows, you might even catch a glimpse of our beloved Finnick Odair!" With a few more quips, she signs off and doesn't stop smiling until the cameraman makes the signal that they've finished recording.
Immediately, she is swarmed by a small army of stylists who strip the outer suit away and get to work fixing her hair, touching up her makeup, adjusting the feathers-and-fringe dress she had worn beneath the suit. They chatter on about the parties they're going to after the workday is over- and such unimportant parties too, she thinks, certainly not ones that will grace the front page of the newspaper tomorrow morning- before reluctantly releasing her. "Great job as always, Bernice!" one of them chirps.
"It's always a pleasure to work for you," another adds, practically salivating at the chance to speak to her. Bernice can't remember either of their names.
"Thank you, dears," Bernice says sweetly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to chat with Cressida. We're very dear friends, you know." She sweeps away without waiting for a response, hearing the stylists murmur with amazement behind her.
"Oh, Bernice." Cressida glances up from where she leans over the shoulder of the cameraman to point out something on the screen. "Excellent work today. Are you ready to shoot the weather report in a few minutes? You'll have to change your outfit, of course." She raises a hand to beckon over one of the stylists, but Bernice interjects.
"Actually, I had a teensy little question for you."
Cressida's smile turns brittle. "Fire away."
"The report I just did, I wasn't really in Thirteen. What's all that about?" she asks coyly. With that almost fearful reaction, there must be something more going on here- is Cressida stealing the funds needed to transport them to Thirteen or is she just incompetent? Either way, she'll have another bit of leverage over the director. Cressida might not have her name plastered on billboards, but she knows people in this industry, and Bernice knows that she can use Cressida to get to the top.
But she's disappointed in her quest for gossip when Cressida lets out a genuine laugh. "Oh, that? It's nothing bad at all, I promise. What you said about the study is completely true: District Thirteen is still toxic. It's too dangerous out there to risk putting you in the field for real just for a thirty-second report." She runs a hand through what's left of her hair after she shaved some off to make room for what Bernice has to admit is a lovely tattoo, even if vines aren't in style any more, and continues, "After all, we do have to keep you safe. Whatever would we do without our star reporter?"
Bernice can feel herself flush through her makeup. How could she ever have doubted her friend? "Oh, Cressida, you're too good to me!" she gushes. "No worries at all, dear, no worries at all. I understand completely."
Cressida's professional smile cracks just enough to show relief. "Thank you." She hesitates for a moment like she wants to add something else, but just then a stylist totters back over with Bernice's next outfit, this one patterned in tiny bejeweled raindrops to match the weather. Cressida slips her headset back on and grins before clapping her hands sharply. "Let's do this."