Buttercup: Finnick Odair X Reader

May the Odds be ever in your favour

I hold my breath in my own sort of coping mechanism to try and deal with these waxing strips. Because they were something else, every time Flaxe pulls one off it feels like she is taking my skin with it. 

Flaxe is my stylist that has been assigned to be during this year's hunger games. I don't remember her from last years hunger games, so I'm not sure if she is new or if she just had a different district last year. 

She reminds me each time she places one down on my skin that: "beauty is pain, my darling," in her sickly Capitol accent. 

If this is beauty, then I don't want it. 

I've been sat down here in the Remake Centre, in what feels like forever but in reality has only been about two hours. 

So far, she has decided to pluck my eyebrow's of their entities, and has left a hollow misguided shape which looks absolutely revolting, yet she assures me that it's how all women want their eyebrows. Hers don't seem to follow that rule. She has waxed my entire body from head to toe, to ensure I am as naked as the underbelly of a shark. Let's just hope this year hunger games isn't in a cold climate. She has also taken my nails from which would be an ordinary shape to something I could easily mistake as feline claws. She has scrubbed my whole body countless times, with stuff that feels as rough as sand paper. She claims that it was to get rid of the stench of fish. Although, I hadn't been down near the sea in the past week, of which I regret, so I don't know what she was talking about. 

I had been covered in a robe, of which Flaxe had removed and replaced so many times I had lost count. She takes it off one more time for good measures. She tosses it to the side. She makes me just stand there naked, as if I were a fresh catch. She calls in her assistants, Prong and Torrac to come and assess her work. They circle my body without saying a word. 

Torrac is a small man, of about 5" his skin dyed a pastel yellow, which makes him look ill, and his hair a wisp that's a light green.

Prong is a plump man of a similar stature but a little bit taller than Torrac, although I also seem to tower over him. His skin has been dyed a dark purple and his hair a small blob in the centre which is a pink colour.

Flaxe herself looks like she has natural beauty. Her skin tone looks to be unedited unlike her assistants, as it is a deep shade of brown. Her hair seems more natural flowing down her back, it is a deep velvet black, with a single strip of electric blue. Her make-up is still in Capitol favour, but you can tell she isn't as fake as the rest of it's residents.

As they circle my body and they all agree that they are finished mocking me up to the Capitol standards Flaxe makes the other two exit the room. 

"I don't like giving others credit for my art piece," she tells me.

 I don't have anything to reply to that. I just stand there in silence. Because in her eyes that's all I am, and all I'll ever be to her. Just some art work. She doesn't view me as a person, yet an opportunity; an opportunity to show her skills off to the Capitol in the hopes of getting some more publicity and gain whatever tokens of popularity that she can. 

But I don't hate her for this. She doesn't know any better. This is just how it is. 

"This isn't my first show," she continues not caring if I'm in the conversation or not.

"I've been a designer for many games. Many different tributes, and many different districts,".

"This year, I was assigned four. And I've got to be honest, I was not looking forward to it," 

"The other districts tend to have more to go with, more options, more flavour. District 4 may be rich, but it's all just fish".

"But I do endorse a challenge," she says turning to me.