Inevitable | PJO

Annabeth

POV: Annabeth Chase

Standing straight, exaggerating what little height she had, Annabeth stood in the middle of a tiny blue-and-pink room the the remake centre, a shower head above her, tools of all kinds littering the walls and three Capitol idiots twittering about her dreadful state, circling her and teetering on stupid heels whilst they complained.

" Such dry hair!" The tiny one in the massive green dress squeaked, accompanying her comment with a jerking quiver.
"Not the fashionable shade at all!" Another warbled in return, orange and blue wig on the verge of tumbling to the floor.
The third, a mean-looking strip of a whiteish-clearish solid dangling from her turquoise-taloned hand, decided she'd join in too.
"The hair! It's the same with them all!" She fussed. "All over them and hanging in big clumps from their heads! No care!"
Annabeth may have been on the verge of slapping them, but the application of the aforementioned whiteish strip to her leg caused her to look down in alarm. What on earth was that?

She was answered very quickly when the one in the silly wig pulled it straight back off again, taking loads of hair off Annabeth's leg with it.
"Ouch!!!" Annabeth screamed, more as an expression of shock than pain, but the three stylists  stared at her in surprise of their own.

"It just leg wax!", Turquoise-Talons piped up. "We use it all the time!"
"Yeah!", agreed  Green-Dress. " It doesn't hurt that much!"

Annabeth bit her lip to stop herself from retorting. If they wanted to be so patronising, why didn't they volunteer for the games? Though come to think of it, Annabeth would soon be facing much, much worse than hair-destroying wax. And if she complained about that...
Annabeth's thoughts completely left the remake centre and focused in the arena instead. In her minds eye, desert plains with nowhere to hide, thickly wooded forests with hidden pools that fell into unfathomable depths and plains of freezing, sub-zero spikes, rose, filled with the most violent of tributes, and proceeded to haunt her mind. A million " what-if" s flew around in such a frenzy it physically hurt. The prep team probably thought she was mad, hitting her head off her hands and moaning, but they just pulled more and more leg hair off her, ignoring everything but their high-pitched gossip and the work ahead.

What hope did she have? She'd be dead by the bloodbath, blood pooling around her head inside one of those terrible, currently fictitious, arenas. Tributes running past her, just glad it wasn't them.
What was the point in dressing her up now, then?

The blonde girl sighed as large amounts of a smelly liquid were squirted into her hair by one... Person, and her nails were scraped at by the other two.

Would they ever learn?

She didn't think so.