"Oh! You look even better in person!"
Gryffon raised a brow in the direction of the voice and tilted his head down to look at the four-foot tall, purple-hued lady that stood before him now. "Uhm . . . " Attention was great and all, and it was almost flattering to receive so many smiles by so many strangers, but at the same time it got a little overwhelming.
"Honey, come, come, come!" She took hold of his hand and pulled him toward the metal table where two other people now stood around, each with their own strange skin color. The taller of the three, who seemed to stand around five-nine, had a rainbow gradient hue to her skin, whereas the man seemed to be dyed a light purple color that wasn't quite lavender yet.
"That's Summer, Joyce, and I'm Mira!" the little purple stylist giggled as she pointed to each of them, resting her other hand on Gryffon's arm. The tribute sighed, already annoyed at her shrilly voice.
Mira giggled and tugged a bit on Gryffon's shirt. "Go on, dear, don't wanna hold us up, right?" He stared down at the little person, confused for a moment as to what she meant.
Right . . . They had to make him "Capitol presentable" . . . Uhg.
The tribute sighed and gently swatted the woman's hand away from him before he pulled his shirt over his head. "Completely . . ?" He asked, though not nearly as hesitant as he could've been.
"Sure," Joyce responded with a little laugh, rolling his caramel eyes. In seconds Gryffon stripped, and was pushed back onto the metal table by Mira. He would be their guinea pig for the next few hours, and as amusing the thought was to the fifteen-year old, he wasn't exactly pleased with the idea.
Summer busied herself in lathering the hot wax over the areas they had been taught to make completely hair-free—which was relatively everywhere besides the tribute's face, unless needed. Gryffon blinked a bit in surprise, not having expected something so warm. As first it wasn't uncomfortable at all, the warmth of the wax was actually soothing, and when Joyce went ahead with the waxing tape, nothing was much different. Until the damned thing was actually pulled.
Gryffon grimaced and flinched a bit, or at least as much as the table would allow. "The—" He cut himself off, biting his tongue to keep from finishing the cuss.
"It's going to hurt," Mira warned a moment before Joyce pulled again. Gryffon was tensed already, but not exactly prepared for it. How the hell was this normal!?
"Gee, thanks for warning me," he growled, his voice tapering off into a groan when again the hairs tore off his leg. Reflexively, Gryffon closed his eyes and shut what thoughts he could off and let the team work.
Always showing off. Always giving off that smile. Always needing to be on his best behavior. Always needing to tolerate someone else. But he had fifteen years of practice. He was used to it. Tolerance never wasted his ass. There was only so much a person could take from another person. God, you're so fucking stupid!" "For doing what!? The only one being stupid here is you! You don't try to understand one fucking thing I say - " "Do not speak to me like that!" A hand flew across a couple of feet and struck Gryffon's face, sending him stumbling back. "You're going to throw everything away for nothing!" "Trying to make something of this damned life is throwing everything away!?" Gryffon retorted, staring into his father's eyes, not caring that the man took it as a challenge. His face stung and his jaw was fixed in a painful clench, but he wasn't going to pull back away. Not again. The man had been so unreasonable for so long. He was tired of it! "What am I doing that you don't approve of!? Huh? What is it this time?" "Planning to volunteer for that fucking thing - " "I thought you liked that 'fucking thing'! I'm doing for you!" he snarled. "You're the one who asked me to!" Of course he was drunk. He was always drunk when he wasn't on duty. Gryffon would rather he never get breaks. He didn't need his father. He didn't need this Capitol activist teaching him how to act like another Peacekeeper. He certainly didn't need a crazy, drunk father trying to discipline him by reversing everything he had grown up with. He didn't need this influence. He didn't need these thoughts . . . His father should have just kept it in his pants - then none of this would be happening. "I said don't speak to me like that!" Again his hand came down, this time punching Gryffon in the shoulder, pushing him back against the wall. His head slammed against it, causing his vision to distort for a second. "Fuck you, damnit!" A year ago, Gryffon would never think of saying this to his father. Mostly for the sake of Stephen so he wouldn't become a target at his young age. Their dad wasn't all that bad. He was just violent when drunk, and more recently a downer when sober, and Gryffon could understand that. But it was annoying. False mother and crazy father. He was really only fun when he was teaching them how to throw a punch or how to kick, but damn, even when drunk and with bad aim he was strong. "No fucking thirteen-year old's gonna speak to me like that, got it?" Gryffon had time to look up at him and catch the dark scowl before the man's foot met his chest. With a groan, Gryffon slammed against the wall, stuck between wood and an army boot. His breath came short and it was like his lungs forgot how to pump air and his eyes forgot how to see. Colors mashed together and swirled in his vision, trapping him in a nauseating, vomit-colored world for a moment. "No fucking show dog will talk to me like that, got it, you little shit?" Show dog. Oh, of course. Going into the Games would mean parading for everyone to see. To be scrutinized and fixed until he looked and matched the Capitol's expectations. But wasn't that was his father was? Another cute little show dog put in a white suit, tied up with a pretty little bow to be marched down the street with a huge "Fuck you . . . " Gryffon choked, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. "I want respect." "And so does every other damned person in this district." He pressed his foot harder against his son's chest, smiling when another loud groan escaped Gryffon's lips. "And you aren't doing yourself a favor by trying to please them." "The only one I'm trying to please is you . . . And this is the thanks you're giving me," Gryffon spat back, the fury in his eyes dying down to indifference. "But - " he grunted when Alick's foot pressed harder against his chest, " - fuck that, right, dad?"
"Yoo hoo, Earth to Gryffon!" A purple hand flashed in front of his eyes, bringing him back to the present day. Right. Flash forward two years and he was standing in the spotless white compartment where his prep team stood around him, examining their work. Every part of his body seemed to ache where they 'fixed', but Gryffon had more or less ignored it as it happened. He could hardly even remember if he had complained or not. "You okay, kid?"
"Yeah, fine," Gryffon confirmed with a smirk, looking down at the stout woman, trying not to stare at her lemon-colored hair and plum-hued skin. "Feel drowsy, actually."
"Four hours, boy, you just barely have an hour with Canworm now!" Summer chided sadly, playing with the tips of Gryffon's hair, seeming to want to arrange them but no matter how she touched or moved them, the locks would fall into their own place. Seemed like his hair listened to no one, either.
Gryffon rolled his eyes, but was quickly distracted by Joyce who was trying to give him a robe to wear. "Thanks," he said bluntly, shrugging it on. "So . . . Where - who's this Canworm?" The purple lady's plump lips spread into a gummy grin and her small fingers rested over his arm.
"Come with me, dear," she chided with a giggle, leading Gryffon to another room. So many words fluttered out of her mouth in those few seconds, but none of it entered Gryffon's ears. There was so much he didn't care for despite the attention. It felt oddly good and flattering that his prep team was so excited to ready a pair of 'siblings', but did they really need to talk so much? Couldn't they tell he didn't feel like listening to their shit?
"Hello, Eleven," a deep, nasally voice greeted all of a sudden, making Gryffon jump. "I'm ever so happy you were reaped; I've heard a lot about you." Reaped? The man obviously meant volunteered. Gryffon merely nodded and stared at him as he slowly walked toward him. This room was larger and darker, leaving only a spotlight over a single body-length mirror in the center of the room. From what he could see, Gryffon noticed a few racks on the far side of the room, which he guessed held Canworm's finished and created designs.
"Glad to hear that," Gryffon answered without surprise, raising a brow when Canworm stopped directly in front of him. The man had incredibly pale skin and his tattoos covered half his face and seemed to trail down that same side on his torso. The intricate patterns made up of swirls and stripes slowly changed color from blue, green, to red. He simply wore a jeans vest with a red pair of jeans, which greatly contradicted with his shortly cropped, pink-dyed hair.
"Mhm! Lovely, lovely!" he mused with a slight smirk which lit up red as the tattoo changed color. "You heard of this year's parade, correct?"
"Not really," Gryffon said as he let Canworm pull him toward the mirror. The man fussed with Gryffon's hair for a moment, scooping up a bit of what looked like a blue jelly to spike the tribute's hair up, making them almost resemble razor-like feathers. When he finished with that, Gryffon was fitted into a skin-tight shirt that loosened up at the sleeves, defining his biceps before it gradually sagged down by his wrists. Meggings that followed the same concept was forced onto him, and the idea of the outfit so far was not appealing to Gryffon in the least. "So what is this ridiculous thing for? This doesn't look like flowers to me." However appalling that getup would be as well.
"A more elegant take on a masquerade," Canworm answered as he adjusted the fabric along Gryffon's shoulders a bit. "We're focusing on our tributes this year - make them look absolutely gorgeous. And I suppose you could say we had a prompt this year. Make the tributes match the 'first impression' you had . . . But we took advantage of your personalities."
"What personalities?" A long, king-like robe was fastened around his shoulders and draped dramatically over his arms. The collar of the robe was covered in a soft, fur-like material that reminded him of a lion's mane - and convinced him even more so that it was a lion's mane when he noticed that the fur circled around his shoulders and neck and ended in a tapering, rounded shape in the center of his back. The robe itself seemed to be split in three: the left was covered in dark gold and brown feathers, the center was the amber color of his shirt and pants, and the right, too, was splotched with royal feathers. The feathered parts were the sides that fell over his arms, which made it look like Gryffon had wings.
"A griffin's and a blue jay's, of course," Canworm mused, rolling his eyes. "Griffin: strong, wise, vengeful. Blue jay: intelligent, fearless, and faithful. Perfect pair." The stylist smirked a green smirked and nudged a pair of gold boots toward him. "Don't you think?" Gryffon clipped them on and looked up at himself in the mirror. The outfit had looked so simple and ridiculous at first glance, but now that he actually let his eyes settle on it, Gryffon could see how wrong he had been. The shirt seemed to glow and swell with an almost scarlet light, and he noticed how, depending on where the light hit, the outfit made it seem as if there was shimmering fur over his body.
"Sure," he finally responded without really having heard the explanation, lifting an arm slightly, smirking when the feathers on the robe ruffled and arranged themselves as if he were readying to take flight. "This looks like some sort of weird Capitol masquerade suit."
"That's the prompt, dear boy," Canworm turned toward his supplies and pulled out a mask that had a pair of miniature arching wings that sprouted from the edges of the eyes. From the bottom center of the mask curved the eagle's beak, which gleamed its trademark yellow-gold color. "You and Jay will put these on the moment you pull out to where you're visible. Remember this will be the first time the sponsors see you. Look confident."
Gryffon blinked as Canworm simply touched the mask to Gryffon's head and it stuck there. "No string?"
"Nonsense, child, this is the Capitol! Us stylists have our ways," he chimed with a small laugh. "Come . . . It's almost time."