[Warning: Berlyn may have a hateful thought here and there. This is part of the character, just read with grace and mercy, please.]
Maybe I shouldn't be such a "cocky bastard." I was being sarcastic when I was thinking about this being a challenge. The stylists have freaking vice grips. Every time I see myself in the mirrors during their procedure, I look younger and younger. I'm going to look like an three-year-old if they keep going.
"Don't move your face around, you'll make the foundation crinkle."
I think that one is Reggie. I don't care what its name is, I can't tell if its a man or a woman and I don't like it. So I scrunch up my face as much as I can to let him or her or whatever know how much I appreciate their work.
"I give up!" Reggie, I think, declares, and stomps out of the room. The orange and green wig bouncing like a bladder.
One down, two to go.
"No! Don't try to bite! Ugh! I can't do this! I didn't sign up to lose my beautiful fingers!"
"What's the point? You're just going to ruin whatever I try to do."
Now I'm alone. I'm putting my pants back on. Nobody should be allowed to see you naked unless you want them to. Or you're on fire and they're trying to save your life. I bet Layla isn't faring much better in her dressing room. She's a girl, maybe she has experience with some of this stuff. Once I've got my pants on, I decide I'm going to do my own stupid make up. I look too young without any on. Let's add the goop they call foundation to hide my freckles. Now add the dark pink powder to my lower cheeks so they look sunken, older. Mentor (no, I refuse to learn his name) said I'm Capitol bait. So, let's look a little more Capitol. I hate what I'm doing, but I really, really don't want to die. Sponsors are the way to live. Sponsors like this crap. My eyes are green. What will make them stand out? Opposites. What's the opposite of green? Red. I love red. Let's do red and black. Oh yeah, I look awesome. I think I look almost thirty now. In a good way. Like a fashion model from District 1. I covered my eyelids with red eye shadow and added black liner to make thick lines. I think that's enough, but then I see the lipsticks. They're all flavored. One of them is strawberry. Just because I love the flavor of strawberries, I put that one on. It's colorless, and just makes my lips shiny. I think it looks Capitol-bait enough.
Hair is next. This, I have always wanted to try. Dad never let me near his razors. He didn't want me to cut off an ear. He's not here to stop me now. I pick up the razor and carefully start shaving the sides of my head. I'd like to take off all my hair, it's too long for fighting. But Blondes get more sponsors. So I leave it long on top. There's gel I can use to style it however I want. I experiment with spikes, a side part, mid part, sleeked back. Then I get the idea to curl it a little and then sweep it back. Ha! That looks like it was done professionally by someone who knows what they're doing.
I'm still short. Nothing to do about that.
There are some costumes hanging in the makeover room. All of them are meant to portray aspects of District 4. One of them is a speedo made of a piece of coconut and rope. Gross. Another is a fish costume. Literally, a fish head that covers almost all of me. There is something that doesn't look too revealing or ridiculous. It's a white tunic with a fishnet vest. I'd rather wear that than any of the other crap. It's too simple, though. Behind that costume is a silk red button down. I put that on immediately. It's the same color as my eyeshadow. Yeah, that will look like a professional did it. Now it has to be more District 4. No sleeves. I hate sleeves anyway. So, I take the sleeves off with the seam ripper in the repair kit. I know my way around sewing stuff because of my mother. She loved sewing. I unbutton the top two of my shirt. Nope, the collar's got to come off. I use the seam ripper on that too. Now I need pants. My shorts aren't going to cut it. There are some pants that are black. They're really flowy, like a skirt. I think they're supposed to be like a fishtail. Those might work. I put them on and tuck in the button down. I look at myself in the mirror again. I think I just disgusted myself. My back tightened up and my stomach clenched. If I didn't know any better, I'd say my Dad got his little girl after all. Okay, final touches. I have to look like a professional had me at their mercy. I need a cape. The fish costume is big enough. And the green and blue colors look good against the black and red. The inside of the suit is black. That's perfect. I cut the sides of the fish suit into two, big triangles, and attached them with silver chain from the jewelry stock. The two triangles do exactly what I wanted them to, they fall over my shoulder blades and brush the floor behind me. Vaguely fish.
There's one more piece of jewelry that catches my eye. It's and earring on the mannequin head that has a chain attaching a silver stud to a cuff shaped like a butterfly. It's so girly, I wonder why it's in here. Ingle loves butterflies. I pick up one of the needles from the repair kit and take a deep breath. I've been stung by a fire urchin. Piercing my own ear is no big deal.
When I'm done, I leave the room without ever meeting my stylist. He or she is probably a moron anyway. I think about waiting in the lobby for Layla and our mentor. Then I think Layla is stuck with the same idiotic excuses for artists that I was. She's better off looking like I do. So, I do the logical thing and break into her makeover room. Just as I suspected, she's getting dolled up like a grandma. I guess Mentor Mc-Meddle-Face spoke to the stylists about the idea I told him was stupid. The three goobers in the room with Layla freeze when I bust the door open. You'd think the Capitol would invest in something other than simple knob locks. You know, a deadbolt or something. Anyway, once I'm in, the make up people freeze, I guess they think I'm Layla's stylist.
In a spurt of instinctual wisdom, I snap my fingers and wave at the door. The three skip out quickly and close the broken door behind them.
"Ha!" I laugh out loud, "I can't believe that worked!"
Layla gapes at me. She can't recognize me under the make up.
"Layla, it's me, Berlyn,"
"Whoa!" she exclaims. Then she realizes she's not wearing anything. She folds over on herself and rolls a little in the chair, trying to cover herself, "What are you doing in here?!"
"Making sure those idiots don't turn you into a grandma," I say and turn away from her, "I took over my costume, I figured this was better than what they had planned."
"What, the rope and coconut panties?" Layla jokes. She saw that costume in here too. I can hear her moving around the space behind me, putting clothes on.
"You should have everything I used in this costume in here with you." I keep my eyes on the floor and make my way over to the make up and repair kit. I can recreate the costume on her in time for us to get down to where we're supposed to be.
"The red silk shirt?"
"Yeah, and the big, flowy black pants, and the fish suit."
"The fish suit?" she sounds horrified.
"Just for the cape."
"Oh," now she sounds relieved.
"Bring the fish suit over here. I'll cut it up while you get dressed."
"Okay," she plops the suit beside me and goes back to the costume rack.
I cut triangles out of the fish suit a little bigger than mine. Then I find some silver, gold, and bronze chains in the jewelry. I decide the gold looks better for Layla than the silver and use that instead. Then I pick through the eye shadows to find the one I used on myself. Layla's eyes will pop just as much as mine under this color because its so bold.
"I'm dressed," Layla calls.
I turn around and see her standing there in the costume. She's very pretty. I won't go as heavy with the make up on her like I did on myself. I hand her the cape I made and start looking at the hair styling supplies. Her hair is long and dark. I don't know what to do with all of that. Maybe braid it? I know how to braid. There are flowers in a box. They look real, but they're made of cloth.
"Now what? You gonna do my make up?" Layla asks.
"Yeah," I say simply. I gesture to the chair and she sits in it again. "I'll make this quick," I say.
I figure it would be advantageous for us if we looked similar in age. Where I made myself look older, I try to make her look younger. I use a lighter blush on her cheeks, less foundation, less eye shadow. The liner I put on is thinner lines. She's a girl, so I use the mascara on her eyelashes. Then I give her the lipstick to use herself. I think stroking her lips is a little too intimate for us. Applying her makeup felt weird. Layla sees herself in the mirror and she gasps.
"You should have been a stylist," she tells me.
"Meh," I shrug, "My brothers would literally tease me to death."
Change the subject. This feels too personal.
"Let's see what we can do with your hair while we still have time," I pick up the box of flowers and grab a brush. I walk around behind her and turn the chair so she can see what I'm doing. I don't want her to think I'll try to kill her or anything. She watches through the mirror as I brush and braid her hair, sticking flowers in to hold the braiding in place. When I'm done, she has a half-crown of flowers around the back of her head and four thin braids falling from the crown. She has so much hair, that most of it I left down underneath. It's like a waterfall. I put a few more flowers in the braids and call it done.
"Berlyn, if you don't mind, um, you don't strike me as the kind of person who will kill."
She caught me off guard. I have to blink at my own bizarre reflection a few times before my brain lets me start churning words again. Nobody has ever thought that about me. I'm not that person at all. I guess I didn't realize how good of a show I was putting on.
"I can if the situation calls for it. And, no offense, you don't strike me as the killing type either."
"You're right about that. I don't see myself being able to kill anyone."
She's just a sweet, innocent girl. Yeah, she's older than me, but she's... She doesn't deserve this. Not to mention, she can't do this. She can't kill.
"Well, then I can do the killing and you can do the cooking." I say with a smirk.
Layla turns and looks at me. The make up on her eyes makes the blue of her irises so bright, they're almost glowing. "Berlyn, are you proposing an alliance?"
"Well, I'm not proposing marriage."
"Well, then 'I do.'" she giggles.
"Okay," I say, "You pick your earrings and meet me in the lobby."
"Thanks, Berlyn," Layla smiles a real smile at me.
I smile back. Then I leave the room and go to the lobby. It's not until I'm there that I realize I'm not wearing shoes. I'm barefoot. Maybe that's okay. I hardly ever wear shoes at home. Layla joins me and I see she isn't wearing shoes either. We decide to walk down to the chariots together, without anyone's supervision.
It's at the chariots that we finally meet our stylist. She's wider than she is tall and has a green head. Like, hair, face, ears, all green. She catches sight of us and waddles to us.
"I can't believe it, I thought you'd been kidnapped- what are you wearing?" She stops and stares at our costumes. Her face is full of something unnatural, so it doesn't move like a normal person's. I briefly wonder if she had the stuff put in all over her so she'd be shaped like a cube.
"I did it," I confess. I can't help the little smirk that tugs on the corner of my lips.
"Well!" she looks us up and down a few times and then nods approvingly, "Just let them think it was me, alright? I don't want anyone to know I was late to your rooms."
"That's an awfully big secret you expect two children to keep," I warn. I'm joking. She doesn't know that and it shows in what little expression her jellified face allows.
Layla, the spoil-sport, ruins my game by saying, "He's joking, we can keep a secret, Yilen."
The green-head looks relieved. How does Layla know her name? Am I just that bad at listening? It makes sense.
I get in the chariot before I have to listen to anymore conversation. Standing in the chariot makes me really think about where I am. Then I think about Dad.
I can't cry because my eyeliner will run.
After this parade, I have something to ask Greenhead.
