"Okay, this is the last one," came the shrill voice in my ear.
IwillnotcryIwillnotcryIwillnotfuckingcry-
Riiiiiiiiip.
That's the sound of hair being torn from my leg.
"Aaaaaahhhh!"
And the sound of pure manliness, torn to fucking shreds.
"All done!" another one of them cried, and I sigh in relief, bringing my hand up to scrub my teary eyes.
Then I inspect my hand. It is now smooth and clean, the nails neat and clipped, and pink because they had scrubbed off three layers of dirt and at least two layers of skin cells off.
My hair was washed, but they didn't dare try to flatten my curl again after I jabbed one of them in the eye with my jabbing fingers of death~!
...
"You know, you're really not horrible at all, even if you are from District 12," one of them tried to compliment me.
"What do you mean from District 12?" I snarl, because my skin was fucking sore and that put me in a pissy mood.
They jump and resort to tittering among themselves at my handsome self, then called in the head stylist.
Oho. I can't wait to see what he looked like, if his stylists were anything to judge from.
Think multicolored birds with human limbs and drowned in fucking rainbows and glitters.
Anyway Mr. Stylist arrives and before he even walks through the door he orders the other three out.
And they left without giving me my clothes back.
Fuuuuuck.
Now another one of those freaks are going to come in.
But you can understand my surprise when a young man walks in, looking completely normal.
He only looked a few years older than me, with sandy colored hair, which seemed to be - shockingly - his natural color, and wide bluish-green eyes, which I assumed to also be natural. The only makeup he wore was a hint of glittery eyeliner that brought out the flecks of gold in his eyes.
"Hello, I'm Toris Cinna Laurinaitis," he says, smiling warmly at me. His voice even lacked the silly Capitol accent. "You can call me Toris."
"Uh, hi," I said, all smooth and sophisticated.
Not.
"And, uh, you can call me Lovino."
Duh.
He stared intently at me, and I fought the urge to cover myself.
"U-um, so you're new? I haven't seen you before on TV," I said nervously, because if he starts inching closer to me I fucking bitch-slap him - no slap him like a man! - and maybe give him a nice kick in the balls too.
"Yes, I'm new," he says in a quiet, musical tone.
"Oh since you're new I supposed they dumped you in the crappiest District," I mutter.
He shakes his head. "I specifically asked for District 12."
Huh. Maybe he was just stupid because obviously District 12 end up dead last (or should I say first?) every year in the Games.
"I'm not stupid," Toris says with a small smile. "I think you have a chance to win."
GAH! Mind readers everywhere!
"Is your hair naturally like that?" he indicates my curl.
"Yes," I say sternly. "And you may not do anything to it, which includes flattening it. Because if you do, I'll fucking castrate you, assuming you have balls, of course."
Toris ignores my rudeness. "Don't worry, Lovino. I wouldn't dream of altering it. It gives you personality."
Gasp!
Someone actually liked my messed up hair the way it was!
"And you do have a nice, male figure."
...
Dude, way to ruin it.
I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out.
So I decided to be both.
Toris must've seen me flinch because he walks towards the closet and comes back with a simple white robe. "Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Please dress in this robe and we'll talk about costumes over lunch."
I slip the sheet off and pulled on the fluffy robe. I follow him down the hallway and into a bright, sunlight room. There were two, comfortable couches facing each other, and in the middle was a table already loaded with food.
What caught my attention was the entire wall made of glass, and I could see the motherfucking hugeness of the gorgeous Capitol all laid out. We must be in one of the taller buildings because I could see for miles.
I sat down on the couch, and even though I still felt full from last night and this morning's binge, I started heaping up my plate- with pasta, of course.
Because one can never get tired of pasta.
Ever.
Still, I sampled other interesting dishes because I'll probably never get to try them again in my life.
Because once the Games start, I'll be dying at a ripe old age of sixteen and four months.
But let's not think about that because it could kill my appetite.
Toris didn't eat, but merely watched me eat.
As I shovel another of forkful of food into my mouth I wonder what it'd be like to eat like this everyday. To never go hungry. To have to constantly worry about weight gain instead of starvation.
"We must all seem despicable to you," Toris says quietly, echoing my thoughts.
I swallow the last bite of food on my plate, pause for a moment to make sure my stomach wouldn't explode, and then started loading up on dessert.
"Well, it's not your fault," I mutter, scooping up a slice of tiramisu.
"Ah, thank you Lovino."
Huh. I actually said something nice for once. And to a complete stranger too.
Maybe I shouldn't always act like a sourpuss asshole.
As a reward, I dump three scoops of ice cream on top of my plate of molten chocolate and various cakes and cream.
Probably just slightly under three thousands calories. Yum.
Since I wasn't inhaling my food like a fucking maniac anymore, Toris began telling me about his plans for my clothing.
I had been dreading this.
In case you don't know, each District's Tributes are supposed to be dressed up in costumes and shit that represent the District. For example, since District 1 produces luxury items, they got to be dressed up as sparkly queerbags every year.
And then each pair of Tributes are paraded through the streets of the Capitol to attract sponsors.
Kind of like advertising.
Actually, more like prostitution.
...
ANYWAY.
District 12 has the most horrid costumes every year. Because we were the coal mining district meant that every previous stylist has been trying to dress Tributes up in shitty coal miner outfits.
And last year they were stark naked covered in coal dust.
Coal dust. What kind of fucking dipshit high on crack thought "gee, wouldn't they look so hot cover in dried shit"?
If you think I'll subject my Italian self to that you'll be dead wrong.
Emphasis on the dead.
Maybe if I could just finish the rest of that cheesecake I'll die of indigestion right now.
"N-no. I don't want to be freaking naked covered in dust!" I protest.
Toris smiles at my agitated expression. "No coal, I promise. But guess what the theme will be?"
"Unicorns?"
Toris frowned. "Why would it be unicorns?"
"Tomatoes?"
"Just tomatoes?"
"Roma tomatoes?"
"Roma tomatoes? Oh I see. Romano, Roma. But I'm afraid there's no tomatoes involved."
"Dang."
Toris leans closer, his eyes shining with excitement.
Now that's what I call a passion for fashion.
The next words out of his mouth made me rethink my opinion of him as a sane if not slightly gay man.
"Tell me, Lovino, are you afraid of fire? Or tights?"
Make that a flaming repressed homosexual man.
Time skip!
My makeup is minimalistic; Toris just had a bit of flame marking around my eyes and a bit of gold eyeliner.
So now I'm dressed in a black unitard (like the ones chicks wear to do gymnastics ... fuuuuck) which should've showed off my sexy Italian body anyway... if not for the just a little bit of extra padding around my waist.
I frown a bit in the mirror, poking a finger at my pudginess.
"Ahh, you look lovely, Lovino," Antonio says, grinning like the goofball he was.
I turn around and then quickly turn back to my reflection, because like hell I would drool over the way his black unitard (which happen to be made from a heavier, thicker manlier-looking [dammit!] material than mine) showed off his abs and muscles and he looked so yummy so very very delicious -
I thought you were full already, Lovino.
Mind, shut up.
A-and the light eyeliner around his eyes made his eyes look so h-huge and green and fucking g-gorgeous -
Antonio held up something that looked suspiciously like black leather straps. "Toris said to bring this to you for you to put it on."
I glanced over to see Toris and Antonio's stylist messing around with a bundle of black fabric.
"If Toris wants me to wear them, the bastard can tell me himself," I tell him coldly.
"But Lovi!" he whines, waving the straps around.
"Don't 'but, Lovi' me!" I growl. "You wear them yourself."
I was not secretly hoping that he would wear bondage gear.
Nope. Not at all.
Antonio held the outfit out in front of him, frowning. "I don't think I fit."
"Try it anyway," I snap impatiently, staring at the way his biceps flexed whenever he moved his arm.
Antonio did, but it really was too small.
"Ah, how do I say it without sounding like I'm flaunting," he says after a minute of fighting with the straps and giving me a lovely view of his flexing abs. "But..."
"You're too fat for it," I say bluntly.
"Yes~! That doesn't sound like I'm flaunting whatsoever~!" Then he narrows his eyes. "But I bet you can't fit in it either."
"Wait a fucking minute. Who said I can't fit in it?"
"Me~!"
"Give it here." I yank the weird-ass outfit from him and struggle into it.
It fit perfectly.
"Ha! Not only are you fucking wrong, you're also a fucking liar."
Antonio was gawking at me in a way that was making me feel uncomfortable.
"W-what are you staring at?" I turn to the mirror and scowled.
Those leather straps looked exactly like bondage gear, and it enhanced my curves and bones in all the right places, and would've looked so very disturbing if it wasn't for the unitard.
Damn, that homo-stylist knew how to turn a sexier piece of ass into an even sexier piece of ass.
Antonio might of thought so too because his hands were twitching in my direction as if he wanted to grope my fiiiine ass.
Fortunately I was saved from molestation when our stylists hurried over and fastened capes over us, and Antonio looked disappointed that he couldn't rape my backside with his eyes anymore.
We were seated in the carriage, and I scooted as far from Antonio as I could - which made his perverted expression turn into kicked-puppy mode - which I ignored ruthlessly.
We had to listen to all the shitty music and hear the crowd cheer for the other team's shittier costumes, and then it was our turn.
"We're not really going to be set on fire, right?" Antonio says nervously as our stylists or would-be murderers approached us with suspicious lighter-thingies.
"If they do, I'll tear off your cape if you tear off mine," I mutter.
"Yes," he nods. "We wouldn't want that sexy outfit of yours burn."
Whaaaat? But before I could cuss him out Toris lit us on fire.
The flames were so bright I was forced to shut my eyes, but I didn't feel like I was being seared into bacon yet. There was a warm ticklish sensation on my back, and I slowly opened my eyes.
Our capes were on fire.
And my butt itched.
But we were still alive. Yay!
Toris sighed in relief. "Looks like the fake flames worked." He looks up at me and smiles softly. "Smile and look happy, Lovino. Tonight's your night."
I want to tell him that I am not a dog that could smile on command, but then we started moving. Toris said something else but I couldn't hear him over the roar of the crowd.
I jump when I felt a warm hand envelope mine.
Antonio grins at me. "Toris said to hold hands. Something about presenting us as a team."
It would be so rude for me to pull away, not because his hand felt n-nice and warm and s-strong while mine was clammy and shaking.
We entered the city and it seemed like the cheers were louder than ever. I'm sure we looked like we were literally on fire as we paraded through the darkened streets, and I couldn't help but feel a bit hopeful.
Antonio was smiling and waving at the crowd. Then he squeezed my hand lightly and smiled even brighter at me.
And then something shocking happened (suddenly, out of the blue, just like that, I never saw it coming, yadayadayada).
The corners of my mouth tilted upwards.
OH MY GOD.
There was actually a smile forming on my face. Slowly, but steady. And a big one too, because I felt my smile getting broader.
I beamed right back at him, then at the people in the audience. Someone threw me a rose and I caught it.
Then I blew a kiss in the general direction from where the rose came from and that area cheered even louder.
The fuck?
…
Seriously, just… just what?
I... blew... kisses?
"You're so beautiful when you smile," Antonio whispered and I could feel my face redden, but I was having too good of a time to smack him.
As we were arriving at President Winter's mansion for his speech, I could see us on the huge screen. We looked almost ethereal with the flames framing us against the darkness, and we were getting a lot more screentime than any other District.
I was zoning out for most of the speech, and then the national anthem was played and all the chariots made a final circle around the parade route and then it was back to the Training Center.
As soon as we arrived Toris and the stylists extinguished our flames. I realized that I still had Antonio's hand in a deathgrip and quickly dropped it.
Antonio looked disappointed. "But, Lovi~!"
Finally I could smack him.
But it didn't feel as good as I thought it would.
"That's for calling me 'Lovi'," I huffed as Toris peeled the cape off me.
Antonio rubbed his reddening cheek and turned his head to give me a tired, but at the same time very sweet (h-how the hell did he always manage to do that, dammit) look. "I apologize. But I have to say you looked amazing tonight. So very, very sexy."
I wanted to run away because I did NOT want to like him and then watch him die.
Because it would be so fucking cliche like Romeo and Juliet and would make me empty the contents of my stomach and I could probably kill someone with the mere weight of my partially digested -
Ugh. Not going there.
But i-it was all his fault! Didn't he know that we both stood an excellent chance of dying?
As I was wallowing in my own moodiness - well, I was always moody, but still. Now I had to wait for my brain and body to process the current situation and make me feel like a stressed puddle of shit.
Ooh, goodie. I couldn't wait for that to happen.
Then the bastard leaned over and kissed me.