Stephanie Lauter has been played her entire life. But she has been playing too.
Her father won the Hunger Games forty years ago, and all it ever brought either of them was pain. It ruined him, even she can tell, and she has only known him in the after, can't imagine what kind of bright eyed, whip smart boy he was before he became a manipulator and a killer.
She used to worry she'd go the same way, grow up to be cruel and bitter. She doesn't think she is, or at least not yet - but her heart sinks a little more each day at the thought of what she will be when all of this is said and done.
Paul had taken her out for a walk in the gardens the other day and told her everything - a rebellion, a plan to change everything.
And for the first time, she had been glad that she was raised by Mayor Lauter, because it means she has a very unique set of skills, and they're exactly what are going to save her and Pete, and as many others as they can manage, if this plan goes right. It was hope and terror all at once, because she had almost resigned herself to the end, but now there is a chance that this isn't it.
"And blink!" Zoey chirps, and Steph does as the older woman applies another thick coat of mascara to her lashes. They feel heavy and sticky.
"Thanks, Zoey." Steph says pointedly, but the woman carries on anyway.
"That's it." She hums. "You're so beautiful, darling."
Steph doesn't have anything to say to that. Pretty won't help her now, hours away from being sent into an arena full of people trying to kill her. Besides, she has always felt that being called pretty isn't any good to anyone unless they're hearing it from someone they love. Compliments from strangers have always turned into ash before they've really hit her.
"What are you taking in with you?" Zoey asks as she switches to a sharp looking eyeliner pencil.
"Oh... I hadn't really thought about it." She doesn't have anything of her father's, and sentiment is the only option she really has since they aren't allowed to bring anything practical. She supposes she'd just thought she wouldn't bring anything at all.
"Your family didn't give you a token? Close your eyes." Zoey applies the liner, and the touch feels more delicate than Steph was expecting.
"My dad wasn't at the Reaping." Steph explains. "I didn't see him."
"Mayor Lauter had a difficult time in the arena. He was young and so he decided to-"
"I know what he did." The teens voice is low and empty. She has spent her whole life being told this story, but his story doesn't matter anymore; it's time now for hers.
Zoey moves to crimping her hair with a hot curler. "Well, you're his blood." She shrugs. "You've got it in you."
"What?" Steph can't keep the disgust out of her voice. "Sociopathy?"
The Escort frowns like she doesn't know what that word means. "I meant the steel." She says like it was obvious and Steph should stop being such a silly girl. "The steel of someone who is going to live." She moves to the other side of the chair and as she does so, the curler brushes the back of Steph's neck. She doesn't flinch away, lets it burn.
"Maybe I don't want to be steel. Maybe I want to be gentle, and soft."
There is silence and the heat of the curler is gone. Steph feels her cheeks going red; what a thing to say, hours before she goes into the arena. The her escort of all people, someone who is supposed to have complete and total faith in their tributes. She moves to turn around in her chair, to meet Zoey's eyes and backtrack. But Zoey's hands are behind her, long fake nails struggling with one of her many necklaces. She finally manages to dislodge one and untangles it, holding the silver chain out in front of her triumphantly.
"Maybe you can be both." She smiles, taking Steph's hand and guiding the necklace into it. It's a fine chain with the daintiest sliver butterfly pendant she has ever seen. It looks like it might break if she dropped it, but when she brushes her fingers over it she notices how heavy and solid it feels. She looks back up at Zoey uncertainly.
"Now if anyone asks you when you're a Victor where you got your token from, you can send them my way." She winks, and Steph can't help but laugh. "I could use the publicity."
It's silly. She's covered in makeup and her hair is half curled and this absurd woman is suggesting that she might become some kind of fashion icon after all this is over. But she reaches back and quickly slips the chain around her neck, fastening it so that the charm falls in the spot just between her collarbones. And she tries to remember this moment; the calm before the storm.
