𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍, finnick odair

― 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

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chapter four: i do wish death upon you, and i'll grant that wish myself

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𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓, 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒-𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄. District Two Tributes had always been dressed up as Warriors, and this time, her stylist— Lucretia— has really come through. Visha is dressed in a dress made of sheer black fabric with gold accents. It is strapless, and reveals a bit of her cleavage, but in an intimidating way. The skirt of the dress is cut in a way that reveals her strong thighs, but goes down to her ankles at the front and back. Gold bands crisscross under her breasts, down her bellybutton line, and circle around her waist. A gold circlet endows her head, shining brightly and giving Visha the impression of an ancient goddess. Black cuffs circle around her wrists, and golden sandals strap up to her calves.

"Well, well, well," Blake Damon says from behind her. "Doesn't someone look just lovely today?"

Though his words catch her by surprise, Visha knows he isn't quite finished. This, in no way, is a compliment, there had to be an insult after. And if there wasn't, she would know that something was wrong, because Blake Damon never, ever fails to insult her. Even when she was dressed to the nines, like she is now.

A smile graces her lips as Blake adds, "What a shame you won't look like this in the arena. I'd give you a gruesome death, but at least you'd have some remainder of this beauty."

Visha shakes her head, not offended in the slightest. "Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" She sighs, looking her District partner right in the eyes. "No? Well, they should've. At least, then, I wouldn't have to listen to your bullshit all the time."

"Has anyone ever told you that you need to respect your betters?" Blake shoots back. "Stop mouthing off to me, or you'll really get it." He threatens, a deadly look in his grey eyes.

She locks eyes with him, and deliberately rolls her eyes. Propping one hand on her hip, Visha's lips curls into a sneer. "Oooh, what are you going to do now, Damon? I'm pretty sure I just 'disprespected' you again," she mocks.

Blake only shakes his head, a wickedly smug look on his face. "You have a death wish," he laughs humourlessly.

"No," Visha counters, still smirking, "but I do wish death upon you. And I'll grant that wish myself."

As Blake opens his mouth to say something else, Visha tilts her head to the side, hearing soft footsteps. She does her best to slip on a mask of innocence— her sneer settles into a polite smile and she rounds her eyes.

Aife appears behind them, clapping her hands twice. "You both look wonderful," she compliments. "Now, it's time to board the carriages so stand there, and look like your usual, intimidating selves. The crowd is going to go wild for you two!"

"Do we have to do anything in particular?" Visha questions as she grabs the handle of the chariot to pull herself up. "Smile, wave, or something like that?"

Aife frowns, shaking her head. "No, you two are warriors. Not some kids putting on a costume. Stare straight ahead, like this whole parade is beneath you— because it is. Give a little show of unity— hold hands and lift them into the air— but that's it. Your outfits will be doing everything for you."