Emily groaned audibly and pulled the blankets up over her head as her mother came bustling into her room and changed the window to 'ridiculously sunny' setting.
"I had a little chat with your stylist because obviously we don't want you dressed like some District Nine charity case when you should be dressed in proper Capitol finery..."
"Go away," Emily mumbled from underneath her fortress of bed clothes.
Her mother continued on as if she hadn't heard her. "But honest to goodness, it was like talking to a wall – I swear, she acted as if she didn't even hear me. The nerve. Apparently the costumes are already made up and it's too late to change anything. Well, you can rest assured that this will be her last Games if I have anything to say about it."
"Go away," Emily repeated, using her pillows to cover her ears.
The blankets slipped out of her grasp as her mother grabbed the opposite ends and tugged them off of her. "Get up, get up. We've got lots of work ahead of us. We're already at a disadvantage; the other children have been preparing for this their whole lives."
Emily let out a small scream and threw the nearest pillow in the direction of her mother's voice. "Get out!" Hopefully her mother would be affronted enough to give her a few more minutes of sleep.
Unfortunately, that didn't go quite as she'd hoped because almost immediately thereafter, Matthew came and sat on the end of her bed, laughing. "You should have seen the look on your mom's face – she ispissed, muttering to herself about your bad manners and how she should leave you to your own devices to teach you a lesson... It was hilarious."
"Matthew, I swear, if you don't let me go back to sleep, I will hit you so hard your whole family will feel it..."
He just laughed harder and she was very seriously considering killing everyone if it meant getting another hour's rest. Then, as if on cue, her door burst open yet again and, with a frustrated shriek, she rolled out of bed, kicking Matthew onto the floor as she did so.
"You, get out," the newcomer demanded of Matthew, "Girls only."
"Good luck," he chuckled as he picked himself up, though which one of them he was speaking to wasn't clear.
"Emily, warrior princess" the woman grinned, smiling widely as she shooed her towards the bathroom to shower. "I'm Penelope, your stylist...but you can just call me Garcia." She winked conspiratorially, since the two had been friends since her mother has first taken the job as district escort and Garcia had taken pity on the sullen, lonely girl being dragged along everywhere. "Not that you need to worry about having people forget you – the little Capitol girl that could – but I'm here to give you that 'wow' factor that will make sure everyone is talking about you!"
Emily had always known Garcia was a ridiculously overly cheerful woman, but as of this moment, she decided she was far too cheerful for so early in the morning and she couldn't help but hate her just a little.
Emily was used to being dressed up and shown off like a doll, it was a routine she was good at after years of practice. The night of the tribute parade, she was dressed in a long gold gown that shimmered in the light in a way reminiscent of a gust of wind blowing through a field of wheat. A circlet of wheat stalks rested up on perfectly curled and coiffed hair, making her head itch.
She had tried to escape her stylist's enthusiasm by hiding in the stables, in the lower reaches of the training centre. She loved horses – they were her favourite part of the Tribute Parade, possibly the Games as a whole – she'd always connected much more easily with horses than with people (her mother always said it was because she was anti-social, but in fact, it was much simpler than that...she just didn't likeother people).
Despite the glamourous gown she wore, she knelt down next to one of the horses and fed it bits of carrot and braided its mane with wheat stalks like her own. She laughed softly as the horse snuffled at her hand, grabbing the carrot from her palm with its dexterous lips. She could almost forget in that moment that she was about to be paraded for the world to see like a steer at auction.
It was a short-lived respite, though, because with uncanny skill Garcia soon tracked her down and insisted on attacking her 'atrociously pale' skin with make ups and powders Emily didn't even know the name of until she didn't recognize the face in the mirror. It wasn't tacky like most women seen throughout the Capitol, but it wasn't her – she wouldn't be caught dead in make up if it were up to her.
When Matthew eventually found her later, looking like a cheap televangelist in his matching golden suit, she watched him try to contain his laughter upon seeing the layer of colours on her face. To his credit, he managed to contain it quite well, managing to keep a straight face as he told her that she looked stunning.
She flashed a fleeting smile, but it was overshadowed by the dread of being put on display, along with the rest of the Capitol's collection of new toys.