The PokéGames (A Pokémon/Hunger Games Crossover Fan Fiction)

Chapter 6: The Parade

(Author's note)

Yes, I know, I am a horrible, horrible, horrible person who is absolutely terrible when it comes to actually updating her story. I'm sorry. I apologize a million, billion times, and I thank you if you came back and are still reading this story. Here is the (much too long-awaited) sixth chapter.

I shivered in the thin silk bathrobe I was wearing as I looked around the little room. There were shelves lining the walls, and bottles and jars and cans labeled with ridiculous things like "Sun Goddess Instant Spray-On Tanning (Golden Glow)" and "Color Blast Fusion Ultra-Pigmented Creme Gloss" and "Rock-Solid Rock-Star Insta-Freezing Hairspray" lining the shelves. I was perched on a padded chair, bracing myself to be picked and prodded at and painted and played with by the two stylists that were circling me like vultures.

It was completely silent, until suddenly one of the stylists exclaimed, almost disgustedly, "Well, first, we need to do something about all that hair!"

And so began what was probably the most painful and torturous hour of my life so far.

Stripped of my robe, they waxed, threaded, and plucked nearly every inch of my body besides my scalp. With every rip of fabric, tiny spots of pain tore across my arms, legs, back, armpits, lip, and eyebrows, until my entire body was tingling, sore, and hairless.

I got sprayed down next. First with water and soap, and then after I was dried off, I was sprayed down again with the "Golden Glow" stuff. It made my newly-smooth skin look much to orange-y for my taste, but I was in the Capitol now, so this was nothing compared to the norm of the citizens here.

They then attempted to trim and file my fingernails and toenails, but seeing as how I kept them as short as possible, they couldn't really do much but buff the surfaces.

The pair of stylists quickly moved on to painting and powdering my face. They kept scolding me for blinking whenever they touched anywhere near my eyes. It's not like I could help it. I bet they blinked a lot when they first started stabbing themselves in the eyelid with pencils, too.

Finally, they finished with my face and moved on to my hair. I liked when my mother did my hair. It was soothing to me: her long fingers brushing through my hair, gently and expertly twirling it into a braid or a twist. These people, however, were rough, and tugged and yanked through my hair with stiff brushes and hot clamps, stopping every so often to stick pins through it and spray it with chemicals that made me gag.

Once all my hair was all pinned to my scalp, they put away all the bottles and jars and cans. One of them began wrapping a tape measure around various parts of my body and announced the numbers to the other, who typed them into a computer that was mounted on the wall. When the tape measure got rolled back up, the computer whirred and dinged, and a garment bag slid into the room on a rod leading from behind the wall. One of the stylists made a high-pitched sqealing noise like a Butterfree and grabbed the bag.

"This is the outfit that you're gonna wear tonight!" She announced. "I designed it myself! You'll love it! Try it on!" She commanded, handing me the bag.

I shot her a disbelieving look, as if to say "really? Am I really going to 'love' this outfit that you, a capitol person, have designed for me, a regular chick from Viridian City?"

She just nodded at me eagerly, her overly-white smile and unnaturally purple eyes wide in excitement. I hesitantly unzipped the bag, and grimaced at what I saw.

It looked like a Flaafy that was constantly using Power Gem. Fluffy, sparkly, and most of all, absolutely tiny. It looked like a two piece swimsuit made from the remnants of a pink, glittery tutu, which were all the rage in the capitol lately.