Author Games - Ghost Town

Interview - Winter Harley

I dodged away from my stylist's clutching hands. Rose told me that she needed to wax my monstrously hairy legs, and I did NOT want all the hairs on my legs brutally ripped out. I was currently dodging around the pretty big changing room, and I was staying as far away as possible from Rose's clutching, long nails. She was finding it hard to run in a floor length, blood-red gown with layers upon layers of silk, whereas I was having absolutely no trouble evading her in my stockings and short-ish dress. My old, ragged combat boots were comfortable and the only shoes I wore on a daily basis. We didn't have the most money, and I grimaced as I realised that my nana would be in need of money and food, because I had been the one doing all the work and getting all the money.

"Stop running sweetie. Your interview will be soon and we need you looking the prettiest you can." Rose said, almost growling. Who knew that Capitol people could be so damn freaky? It just wasn't natural. They were supposed to be shallow and airheaded, not freaky and evil-looking. Then again, why wouldn't the Capitol force 24 children to fight to the death every year unless they were evil?

"Keep trying Rose, you'll never catch me." I sang as I dodged her clawing fingernails once again. With a growl of frustration, Rose launched herself over the small island in the middle of the room, scattering her makeup supplies as she did. Her sudden movement surprised me, and I wasn't fast enough to get away. She latched on to my upper arm and dragged me to the small, white room where the hour of pain would begin. I didn't bother fighting; I was smart enough to realise that she could seriously hurt me with those nails of hers.

"Now Winter dear, isn't this much easier? Doing what you're told?" I refrained from replying with some not-so-polite words in response; I didn't want the bloody witch angry at me. Reluctantly, I followed her in to the small, white room that looked like one of those rooms where people examined bodies.

"Do I really have to go through this? Why can't I just wear a long dress to the interviews?" I whined. Rose glared at me, and forcefully shoved me in to the room where the three members of my prep team were waiting. One of them, a woman with eyelashes longer than my hair, grinned scarily at me and gestured to the sturdy metal bench. I slowly lowered myself down, and gave myself over to their ministrations.

~ 1 hour later ~

I staggered out of the torture chamber, my head light and my eyes sore. The blinding white lights they had shown on me to perform their work had hurt my eyes, and my head being repeatedly moved around had given me a killer headache. But even I had to admit that I looked good, so far. My long, golden hair had been trimmed so that there were no split ends, and it was tied in a braided bun with curled strands hanging down around my lightly tanned face. The prep team had somehow changed the hairstyle a bit, making all the blue tips of my hair become the curled strands around my face. I looked awesome, and I hadn't even gotten my costume on yet. My eyes had a bit of blue eyeshadow, so light that you couldn't see it unless you looked closely. My eyelashes were longer and darker than they had ever been before, and the eyeliner that the prep team had expertly applied to my eyelids made my eyes pop.

I looked, if I did say so myself, fabulous.

"You look marvellous. Who would've thought that a hairy beast like you were before could be transformed in to such a beautiful lady." Rose sighed dreamily. I glared at her; I wasn't that hairy; I had never been too bad. Considering that virtually no one could afford to get waxed in District 7, I was easily one of the least hairy females. Because I was blonde, and because my leg hair was naturally really thin. Thankfully.

"Winter, I have your dress in this bag. I'll let you be the judge of it, but I will tell you that it's the same colour as the tips of your hair. I hope you like it." Rose said sincerely. I nodded my head, and closed my eyes as she slipped the dress over my head. I couldn't stop fretting. If it was ANYTHING like what she was wearing, then I knew I would hate it. I desperately hoped it was something that I would like, that broadcasted what I was like. I didn't want some stunningly formal gown that made me look like a princess, because I was anything but.