Child Of The Mockingjay

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

            The thoughts of Denny which were still lingering in my mind were soon banished when my body was invaded by my three prep team members.

            “Oksana, Eraliam, and Emilia are waiting for you behind that door, Ruebee will join you later. Do everything they say, and please don’t object to anything that either of them says. Okay?” She didn’t wait for an answer before shoving me into the room.

            I stumbled, almost falling flat on my face for the third time that morning. How could she be that strong? Must be something in the water here or something.

            Luckily sturdy hands caught me under my arms, holding me suspended mid-fall. “Don’t you dare scratch your skin, or so help me…” He trailed off, leaving the threat unfinished. I looked up to my saviour, staring into the rainbow eyes of Eraliam.

            “Sorry,” I muttered, feeling like a child being caught doing something naughty. I re-established myself on my feet, and he let me go, like my arms had burnt him somehow.

He grumbled before turning back to his other team members. “Beauty Base Zero. On the double!” He ordered to them in a stern voice.

            I was instantly surrounded by my prep team. Piece by piece, they stripped me of all of my clothing while I cowered away from them, wishing they wouldn’t. I didn’t voice my objections, however, as I remembered Effie’s words of warning.

            When I was stark naked, I was pushed into a seat in the middle of the room, a white light blinding me. The only thing I could see was three silhouettes bustling about my vision, occasionally exiting for a short period of time. They weren’t speaking to me at all, just randomly snapping at one other to get out of their way. The experience wasn’t all that pleasurable.

Beauty Base Zero was a term that meant make the subject look like she had woken up perfect and beautiful with only natural makeup and un-styled hair. Me being the subject, that is.

            They started on my legs, I heard little zapping noises, and tingles spread up my leg. I didn’t know what they were doing, but it almost made me laugh once or twice, tickling me. I had thought they would have ripped my hair out from the roots, like Ma, but no. Too many things had changed in the twenty years, though not all for the better. At first, it tickled so much that I twitched, but after receiving a hard slap across the face, I stilled.

            After about an hour on my legs, they moved on to my torso and my arms. I could hear it more clearly now, the noise a minute version of a bug flying into lights.

            It was only when they moved onto my face that I realize what they were doing. Little pen things burnt off every individual hair, moving one hair by one hair up my body. I had heard about them before, but had dismissed them as a myth. The pens wouldn’t allow hair to grow back, ever. Like adding salt to a garden bed.

            I prayed that they wouldn’t murder my eyebrows.

            And they most likely would, too, judging by their behaviours.

            After they finished on my body hair, they polished me thoroughly. It was like I hadn’t bathed that morning with the dirt they managed to cleanse off me. It hurt, but not like the slap. I felt lighter, literally lighter, after they had finished cleaning my skin.

            They massaged, plucked, brushed, painted and cleaned me more for the next five hours they had me. When they were brushing out my hair for the last time, I shivered when a member of my prep team breathed on my exposed neck, which resulted in a hard slap in the face. “No moving!” A gruff voice said.