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𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐓𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐒 that night. Each tribute choked on their own body glitter and fanned themselves to keep from sweating under the harsh lighting, and yet despite this, Lucy felt distinctly light, unhindered and wonderfully happy.
She wasn't wearing that damned leather harness!
The stylists from District Ten had elected to take advantage of their tribute's youth, brushing her long hair out into soft curls. Her hair had been sectioned off into two clean pieces, half-up, half-down and tied back with a white lace ribbon.
Lace seemed to be the word of the day. Her usually tight attire had been exchanged for a long white prairie dress layered in delicate filigree and bow, with ruffled sleeves that fanned out at her elbows, and a low back, decorated with thin brown cords that hung loosely over her shoulders. The only leather on her person were her olive green cowboy boots and matching pair of long leather gloves.
Even her face was more stripped back than usual, clean and glowing with the smallest hint of pink gloss upon her lips, and sparkling highlights across her nose and cheeks. She had never looked so much her age.
"And what is our story tonight?" Lucy muttered over her shoulder as Weiss wound the cords at her back. His fingers barely glided across her skin, and she noticed how they never touched, always an barrier between them, unspoken but clear as day. District and Capitol.
Truth be told, Lucy had no clue of Weiss's background, she'd never thought to ask. But a stubborn part of her assumed Capitol-bred and must have refused to think much more on it, assuming that one man from the Capitol was about the same as any other man from the Capitol, all plastic, uncaring, and altogether brutish.
Weiss brushed a stray curl over her shoulder, "Demure young woman ready to enter adulthood, if only the Capitol would let her"
"Don't be so optimistic," Lucy murmured, "no matter what we say, everyone in the Capitol will still tune in and make their bets and wallow in their wealth once everything is said and done. I don't think a nuclear bomb could get them to cancel the games"
Across the room, Skinner chimed in sarcastically, half-way in the middle of buttoning his shirt. "We can always hope, though. How about it? If we all think really hard, maybe it'll happen"
