CHARADE | Glimmer (THG)

Chapter Eleven

Trigger warnings: Nudity, Brief body dysphoria 

It's the hour where the world is only just waking up. In a couple of hours, Gwen will be knocking on my door, telling me to get up. I pull a dark coat from my wardrobe, wrap it around myself, and slip off silently out of my room and through the District One floor.

There are two guards by the door. They're half-asleep and are chatting to each other, but spotting me, they instantly step in front of the door guns at the ready.

"You're not allowed to leave." This is from the smaller of the two, their helmet falling over their eyes.

I offer them my look of wide-eyed perplexion, "Oh I'm so sorry but my stylist arranged to meet me. They said something about hair texture?" I look from one to the other wonderingly but both continue to stare, "Do you think you could possibly show me the way?"

"You're not allowed to leave," The guard repeats.

"Hold on," The other guard touches their companion's arm, "I think her stylist's Arion."

"So?" The first guard scowls.

"You know," They sigh, dropping their voice, "The one who's...free...with their money."

There's a pause as they glance at each other, then the first guard turns to look at me.

"I'll take you to Arion right away, miss."

They open the door for me, allowing me to pass through before following my closely behind.

"Once you're on the street, turn left." The guard barks close to my ear.

As expected, the Capitol street is deserted and is only lit up by a few street lamps. I'm hit with a cold wind and I wrap the coat around myself as the guard follows me half a step behind. It's not long to where the stylists work. I know that, but it feels endless walking down this cold and dark street with a stranger holding a gun right behind me.

"We're here," The guard says finally, and raps on one of the doors.

There's a pause, followed by some crashing and thumping, and then the sound of a series of locks being turned. Then the door opens and Arion stands in a white nightgown, dark hair a tangled mess.

The guard's mouth drops open and Arion looks us both, irritated, "Yes?"

"Uh," The guard prods me forward slightly and then coughs, "The girl said you needed to see her about her hair..." They turn back to me frowning, "But if this was a mistake, I'll escort her back immediately."

Arion's eyes meet mine and they raise an eyebrow. With the guard's eyes on me, all I can do is stare back.

"No, you're absolutely right," They say to the guard, and smile apologetically, "It slipped my mind and I slept in. Thank you for escorting her. Can you return in half an hour? I will compensate you for your troubles."

The guard retracts the hand they had been holding out and disappointed, salutes and walks away. Arion gestures for me to come inside and closes the door behind me.

I stare around at the studio, already so different from when I was prepped for the Tribute Parade a few days ago. Different fabrics lie stretched out around the room or hanging in various places, and there are large designs scrawled on paper stuck to the walls or discarded in a pile to the side.

"Sorry for the mess," Arion mutters, "For maximum efficiency, Snow likes the stylists to live where they work for the duration of the Hunger Games. And I...have a messy mind."