Reaped for the 66th games Rowell felt as if everything was over. Even having training by her father, she felt like she would join her sisters fate as a decided unremarkable tribute. That is intill she wins.
Rowell Castor from my A message to those...
Once Rowell had been escorted to the building, off the train and past the capital citizens, all reaching for her, wanting to see the new tributes. See who to put bets on this year. She was walked into remake centre. A small 5 story building that was room after room of small, cramped spaces made specially for ripping put hair, perfecting teeth, restyling hair, only to be greeted by a freakish sight of several very Capitolian dressed people ready to change her appearance completely into something almost unknowable. Into something elusive, attempting to make her mysterious and attractive, as per her mentors request of course.
Everything is white and clinical. A hospital looking setting. Much like the rooks in 5 which you are sent to after factory mishaps. Everything so white it almost glowed, no personal aspect anywhere. Rowell finds it soothing. The lack of anything that draws out emotions, unlike the train, which caused her anger to grow. However, the room is, for her, a representation of the Capital. Looking beautiful from the outside, but empty from within.
Every work surface in the small white room was covered in silver utensils and equipment, laid out neatly. Waiting to connect with her skin to complete its aim of perfection. Whatever that meant.
A woman enters, shocking Rowell out of her mind, removing her eyes away from the clinical setting and onto the newcomer was a mistake. Rowell could barely contain her laugh as her gaze sweat the woman's body. Died a pale blue all over, skin matching the hue of her eyes and hair. Nails a darker shade that notched her eye shadow and eyelashes, reaching out many inches away from her face. Dressed in a simple blue jumpsuit that hugged her curves highlighting her figure in a way that was only acceptable within the capital city. A way that was viewed as improper in district 5.
As Rowell was assessing the woman, she failed to notice how the other was reciprocating the gesture, eyes raking themselves over every inch if her face, hair and body, before landing themselves back to her eyes. "Hello, lovely to meet you, I am Penelope, and I am the lead member of your prep team this year-" She broke off with a little clap of her hands as 2 other people walked into the room, all as strange in appearance as her, "-how exciting, yes how amazing, right so straight to it. I see we have lots of work to do before you stylist can see you my deer" eyes once again raking the young girls form, before stripping her down and beginning the prepping process.
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The urge to punch them never overcomes the young tribute from 5, instead she takes this time to play the game. Learning how to communicate with capital citizens will be the first step in achieving greatness, in winning. Learning how to flatter them, while still keeping a morsel of dignity would be a hard skill to master. Luckily Rowell had hours to practise.
Hour after hour of waxing went by in unaspiringly slow movements, each strip of hair being ripped if with brutality that Rowell felt could be a part of the games, then plunged into bath after bath, spraying Rowell with interesting smelling liquids between each bath, which Rowell felt to be counterproductive as it would only get washed off by the next dunking into icy cold water.
