"Just sit still," England's stylist, a tall, think women with extremely short black hair and huge hoop earings, name Willow, instructed. England did as she said, sinking back into the leather barber's chair he was positioned in. While Willow began gutting gel and other products in his hair, England stared around at the room he was sitting in, taking in the plain navy blue walls, hardwood floor, and floor length mirrors reflecting his figure right back at him.
Willow suddenly moved toward England with a long, thin sheet of sticky white paper, that, only too late, England realized the prurpose of. "AHHH WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING, YOU CRAZY WOMEN!" he screamed as the paper ripped across his forhead, sending a sharp pain whoozing thorugh him like he had been stung be a million bees.
"Finally!" Willow exclaimed, sighing in relief. "Those bushy things just had to go! What would the audience think?" England glanced back at the mirror. Only two thin, wispy lines of hair remained above each eye. He reached up to touch his forehead. Definatly a lot less hair up there.
"Truthfully, I don't give a damn what the audience thinks..." England muttered under his breath, sitting back and folding his arms. "After all, they're the ones who want to see us all fight to the death."
Willow reached into a large wicker basket, and pulled out a bundle of fabric. "Okay, this will be your costume!'' she exclaimed, wrining it out and holding it in front of her client. It was a long, black overcoat trimmed with gold on the edges, and a matching pair of gold trouser that only showed below the knee, due to the long coat, accomponied by a black and gold hat with a makeshift golden hook and eyepatch. "It's a pirate's outfit, but the gold edgings indicate your currnet life as a gentleman, cute, don't you think?"
"Yeah, whatever," England snorted as she began to dress him.
"Ooh, have you been shaving your dick?"
"No, that's...not for you!"
"I see a French flag tatooed on here!"
"Just dress me in the damn costume!"
After a few awkard exchanges, England stood in front of the mirror, twirling around in his classy pirate outfit. Truthfully, the black and gold theme clashed horribly with his green eyes, but it really wasn't like he cared anyway. Just the thought of being paraded in front of brutes (sorry, 'potential sponsers') betting whether you lived or died in the Hunger Games sickened and angered him at the same time.
"And you're all set!" Willow chirped, adding a few final touches of gel to England's thick, blond hair. "Just remember to sit up straight, smile and wave!" she told him, grabbing his arm in a tight brick, and leading the Brit down a plain, white hallway that lead to the entrance to the gaint stadium where the tributes would be parraded. "Here we are!" she declared, pointing to a heavy, wooden door. "They're all waiting over there! Good luck!"
Snorting slightly, England pushed open the door, and stepped inside a large, circular chamber with a dirt floor, and brick walls surrounding it. On the other end of the room stood another door, leading out into the stadium filled with 'sponsers' who bet on each tribute's lives. Each tribute was assigned a set of two horses fixed with a chariot. In the regular Hunger Games, the horses and chariots reflected the individual attributes of the districts where the tributes were from, but it seemed this time they were made to reflect each nation's aspects and past. For example. England could see China's chariot, standing near the exit door, was set with a red silk veil covering the sides of it, and the horses, white stallions, had reins filled with images of golden dragons and fireworks.
Right behind China's chariot, England spotted his own, his name stated on the side on bold, golden letters. Striding over to it, England could also see that the horses were beatiful, sleek black paliminos with bright golden blanket-like drapes strown over their backs. The chariot itslef was also golden, but had black specks on it here and there, obsideon maybe? The seat was made of silver silk, smooth and soft to the touch. Even if he had gotten a pervy stylist, England still had a pretty awsome chariot!
"Everyone, please take you places now! The parade is about to begin!" Effie Trinket's sweet voice squealed through the loudpeakers that circumcrossed the room Engaland and the other contestans were currently in. At this announcement, the contestants clambered into their chariots. England's was second in line, right after China's, and directly behind him was Hungary in a dark bronze chariot. Abruptly, with a loud bang, the exit door swung open, and the parde began.
Letting out a whinny, China's horses reared their heads, and started to clonk into the massive stadium, about the size of four American football fields smacked together in a circular shape. Above the tributes, rows upon rows of bleachers rose upwards, seating the potential sponsers, as everybody liked to call them. When China's horses strolled out the door, England's followes suit, bringing him into the staduim. Just before he headed out, England craned his neck and looked for a sign of Sealand. The small boy was at the very back of the row, dressed in a rather cute white sailors outfit with his hair cut short.
The roars and cheers of the crowd were so deafening, England was sure his eardrums had popped like a cap on an overfizzed soda bottle. His horses, along with China's, clonked across the inner perimeter of the stadium,clearly visible to every audience member. High above the ground, multi colored fire works exploded and banged like rockets streaking across the dark blue night sky, letting out a shower of beatiful sparks, but only adding to the din. By now, with the light of the fireworks England could see some of the other tribute's chariotsas the rode across the dirt ground. Germany's was a large, boistrus green one, with two of the largest horses England had ever seen in his long life as a nation.
Behind him, Japan's white and red chariot seemed quite meager to his Axis counterpart's. Both him and his horses were completely white as milk with red dots, stading out against the night sky. A bit further off, Italy's yellow ride looked like it was woven out of pasta, zigzagging lines intersecting throught the outside structure. Italy himslef was dressed in a red suit that was perhaps supposed to represent tomato sauce, but was not getting very much attention from the crowd. The jolly Italian waved and blew kisses at the throng, but was ignored. America's stucture was alos very pronounced, being made to look like a red, white, and blue rocket, with two dark brown horses pulling the arrogant American.
Poland, at the back of the line just if front of Sealand, was trying to pet his gray Arabian horses, much to their irritation, and England was quite sure that the Pole was crooning "Pony, Pony!" to them over and over again, just like he had done when he ordered an entire fleet of 10,000 ponies in meager attempts to fight Germany, which miserably failed. Keeping his directions in mind, England merely sat back in his chariot, and waved at teh crowd, flashing his artificial golden hook at them as he did so. At the very top of the stands, England could see Effie Trinket, nodding down at everything approvingly as if she liked the way this year's batch of tribute's turned out.
"Ladies and Gentleman, we hope you have closely examined our tributes this year, and began to form some ideas for your bets and favorites!" A loud, male voice boomed across the stadium as England horses finished their seventh lap around, making everything still down. It was Claudius Templesmith, England recognized his voice from his broadcasts on previous Hunger Games he had watched while here and on the train. "The Hunger Games starts in thirteen days, so you'd better be ready!"