Perfection

The prep team had to get their tribute perfect before passing them onto the stylist. Every inch of their body had to be scrubbed clean. Every hair had to be taken off every girl, apart from the hair on her head, which was usually infested with lice. Every boy was clean shaven and sprayed with a chemical to stop them from growing a beard in the arena; if they started to look like men then the fun of the games would be lost. The tributes were smothered in body butter and their hair was washed, brushed and restyled if necessary.

Realisation

You work hungrily on the tribute you've been given. They don't smile, they never do. You don't understand why they don't smile, this makeover is worth thousands of credits and they're getting it for free, surely they should be happy? You work on their hair, plaiting or straightening or some other fancy style. But still they don't smile. They stare blankly ahead at themselves in the mirror, their eyes dead, showing no emotion. You think it's ungrateful, you're working really hard and they don't say anything. Then you realise, they won't smile because they could be dead by next week.

Excitement

Waiting for my tribute to come through the door was one of the most exciting parts of the games for me. Some years, I didn't watch the reapings so the tribute I was given could be a complete surprise. It was like when a mother asked not to be told the gender of their baby, the excitement would just build up and up until you were ready to explode! Sometimes it was a disappointment if you had heard rumours about big, bronzed, gorgeous tributes from District 1, 2 and 4, and ended up with a pale, skinny twig from 12.

Peeping

Sneaking a look at the costumes for the chariot ride was almost a tradition for the prep team. The measurements had been sent in advance so the costumes could be made in time. Most of them could keep it a secret that they had looked, but others couldn't control heir giggles. You could hear a snigger from behind a hand as the tribute entered the room, the tribute sometimes looked hurt but most times they had a glazed look about them. You could picture them in the costume, they nearly always looked hideous, but you knew how to fix them.

Twelve

"I want District 12, please." Cinna hadn't worried about missing out on his spot; no one wanted District 12, apart from him, obviously.

"Can I see your design for the first showing of the tributes?" This was expected of all stylists applying for the games, if they were rubbish, then they were given District 11 or 12, or just not given the job. Cinna placed his designs carefully on the table; he had worked non-stop for the past month, he had to get his job. The man didn't even look at them, "Ok, you can have 12", Cinna was ecstatic.

Enthusiastic

They hustled and bustled around you, flicking your hair, pulling at your clothes, inspecting teeth and nails, and all with a stupid grin on their face and a silly little comment to match. They said they loved the colour of your hair, but they changed it, they liked your eyes and they make you wear contacts, you were an example of excellent health but they still put you in figure hugging clothes to reveal your body to the crowds. You were fine with that, it was just the smile they wore constantly on their faces, they were way too happy.

Annoying

Like a little bee buzzing in your ear, you always had a stylist or a member of your prep team floating around you. If it were possible for them to come into the games with you, you wouldn't find it surprising if they followed close behind you, fixing a stray bit of hair or insisting that you brush your teeth, to keep up appearances. They would give away your position in seconds. What they were doing was nice, you had to admit, the clothes were gorgeous and the make-up was to die for. But you'd never met anyone more annoying

Master

I was the master at my job; skilled hands ran down the material, fixing sequins and jewels to the dress. The sleeves were just made out of large sequins that had been sewn together. There was no back to it but the front was made from a bottle green material that grew into a puffball skirt as it reached the tribute's hips. The skirt was covered in emeralds and diamonds, weighing it down massively, but the tribute would have to deal with that, I was aiming for beauty, not comfort. My prep team loved me and I was so excited.

A/N: I promised myself I would update yesterday, but I only had an hour at home before I had to go out again, I'm sorry! The awards ceremony I went to was pans anyway, they said they would be finished at 9.30, they weren't, so I said "I have to go...to play in my recorder concert!" I mean, come on, 9.30 at night? I was stupid, but it worked :] Please review xx