Worth it | F.O.

XV

Sleep had not been kind to her. 

It never had been, on that matter, but it didn't seem to want to start now. Especially when it's sheer stubborn nature proved rather problematic that morning, more so than usual. 

It was the day of the interviews, a day in which Nivea knew she would be plucked clean once more by parrots and eggplants and forced to practice etiquette with Olethia, and her usual temper was worse than usual. Though it was very rare for any to truly get a peek at that teenage angst, there was just something about her stylists that never failed to trigger every button possible. Here she was, attempting her best to keep from budging an inch like a good little tribute, but they wouldn't stop fussing.  

Eggplant man leaned close, so close in fact that his peppermint infused breath fanned uncomfortably on her cheeks, eyes wide in comical horror. He was soon brutally shoved aside by Parrot One, her skin a strange shade of red that contrasted terribly with her still-bright-pink plume of hair akin to feathers. 

She too leaned close and exclaimed much too loud for comfort, “What did you do?!”

Nivea rolled her eyes and shoved them away with a single hand as she could care less. However, just as had happened last time, Parrot Two took great offense, “Get your hands off her!”

The girl was even worse than last time as, where her skin had once been a wonderful dark chocolate, it had now been tainted with pure unaltered yellow. And, though she would never dare say it out loud, the color was much too similar. Nivea thought she now posed a striking resemblance to a walking embodiment of urine. 

Ew. 

Just as Nivea was about to retaliate with equal nastiness, the three were shoved aside by the one of the four she found she could tolerate. Once again, just like the last time they had met, Parrot Three's posture was slouched, her hair and eyebrows a pleasant green, and her height rather staggering when she stood alongside her teammates. She pursed her immaculate gray lips when she came to a stop a respectful distance away, dark eyes focused around Nivea's own. 

She said, “The eye-bags will be difficult to obscure but I believe we can manage.” The woman - Nivea really needed to get her name - turned to the others, a single brow raised when she continued, “You made me believe it was so much worse with the dramatics.” 

Unlike the strong front they put up before, they seemed to cower under her sharp glare and the eggplant man only let out a squeak of apology. Nivea felt an insistent twitch in her lips. “Shouldn't we get this over with?”

“Probably,” her favorite parrot agreed as she turned back around on gray stilettos. Her smile was sharp yet warm. “Apologies, miss.”

“What's your name?”

Thick lashes fluttered when the darkest of brown eyes blinked. “Pardon?”

“Your name? I don't think I should keep referring to you as the parrots.”

She laughed as a voice yelled, “The outrage! How dare you-!”

But they were cut off with a glare from No-Name before she, once again, turned back to Nivea. “Pandora.”

“Finally.”

“And these are H-”

“Oh,” Nivea cut her off not too unkindly. “I don't care.”

It may have seemed to the others who were currently gasping in outrage that the usual flat line adopted her lips but Nivea saw something they didn't: a smirk. 

However, it could not be lingered on for too long for, without letting a moment pass, Pandora spun on her heel with her emerald green cape-like overcoat that resembled feathers with hues of blue embroidering the edges floating behind her in an extravagant flourish. And at her request, they began that day's first round of torture.