Secrets of the Sea | Finnick Odair

- chapter 19 -

CORDELIA

Cordelia thought she'd peaked in nerves just before her friends and family interview for Finnick last year. But with the way her prep team was circling like sharks, she felt this might take the top spot.

"I saw her interview last year, that hair! Isn't it just darling?"

"Oh but her skin, the freckles are cute. Sea water does not do justice."

It almost felt like she wasn't there. Just a bystander to her own styling. She tried her best to stay still as she let the team examine her. They poked and prodded, pulled, and rubbed. Cordelia imagined she was in a whirlpool, one strong current, constantly making its way around and around her body. Her hair and face seemed to take the most time and attention before they slowly worked their way down her body.

Once they finished their search for who knows what, they led her into a private-ish room. Cordelia looked around, maybe calling it a room was an overstatement. The main space was large and there were some hallways to different sections. Some parts had labels and signs but Cordelia wasn't quite close enough to read them. She'd been led into one of many curtained-off sections. Despite not having actual walls it felt closed off from the rest of the room. There must have been something to dull noises from outside because all Cordelia could hear now was her stylist team muttering in front of her. Despite it being possible to listen closely and make out what they were saying, Cordelia focused her attention elsewhere. More specifically on not shaking and keeping her breathing even.

Finnick had told her to just go along with any and all processes the team wanted to do, Mags confirmed that was the best option. Elora had introduced Elliot and Cordelia to their respective teams. In all honesty, she'd given up attempting to remember their names. Unfortunately, she'd incorrectly assumed that simple, easy-to-remember names like Elora were common in the Capitol. Apparently, it was just an escort thing. It didn't help that they changed outfits and styles more often than Finnick looked in a mirror. Even if she could remember their names, who's to say they'll look the same tomorrow? Or with that logic, change their name to suit or fit in with the latest trend. It seemed like a lost cause. At least she'd smiled politely and greeted them all as she was introduced, Elliot looked bored the whole time and insisted he didn't need a team of stylists and that he would win the games with pure talent.

It wasn't often you saw anything but positive emotions from a Capitolite, Elliot's actions might lead one to believe pissing them off was a competition. Maybe he missed the memo about how this group of people was basically dressing you up to sell you, winning them over so they didn't screw you over. These people were the only Capitol connection you would have other than your mentors and escort, and you had to share those. Your style team was all your own. Hence the title of 'Personal Stylist Team'.

Even though Cordelia was going to put her trust in her team didn't mean she wanted to. Finnick and Mags may have given her advice, but the idea that she now had no say in her look was intimidating. With red hair, it was hard to find colours that didn't clash, or wash out her already pale skin.

One of the team walked over.

"Okay, we are ready for you now." There was a tilt to her accent that was slightly off-putting. "You just need to strip and then this won't take long." Maybe it was because it didn't sound natural. Did she just say strip? Had she heard wrong? The whole team was still here, watching her expectantly.

'Don't question it.' Finnick's voice reminded. 'They just want to help.' It assured. She may not trust this team, but she did trust Finnick. Cordelia slipped off her shoes, grateful Mags had laid out simple ones that came on and off easily. Slowly Cordelia peeled off her dress, letting it sit loosely on her shoulders while she carefully unbraided her hair. Never in her life had she been so thankful that her hair was long enough to cover her chest and keep some semblance of dignity. At least for the moment. Subtly moving her hair to equal halves to lay on her chest under the guise of not having it get caught, she let the final fabric of the dress fall. Picking it up she folded it to rest on a chair.