The Irony War

3. What's wrong with me?

Chapter Three: What's wrong with me?

“My...mentor? For what exactly, pray tell?” I asked skeptically.

She rolled her eyes, “Were you not paying attention to a thing he said?”

“Well...”

Clarissa gave a very unladylike snort cutting me off, “I am your mentor for the Irony War.”

“What is that?” I asked exasperated.

With a snap of her fingers we had transported into a different room; looking like it came out of the future with loads of technology and televisions on the wall with a glass window on wall that showed out into a training room. I frowned, now what was that for?

Clarissa cut off my thoughts with her words, “The Irony War is a game purely for the entertainment of the Supernaturals and then Epics, started thousands of years ago when the first signs of humiliation and embarrassment appeared on the planet...”

“Supernaturals and Epics? What are those?” I asked before I shook my head, this was crazy!

She gave me a dry look before muttering, “Humans..” and shook her head too, “Supernaturals are those who are what you read in fairytale stories. Mermaids, elves, vampires, werewolves, faeries, demons, etc, etc. Epics are people like me.”

“You?” I inquired, “Do you have superpowers?”

“The only power I wish I had now, was to shut you up so I can finish.”

I just glared and clenched my teeth, “Well then continue.”

Clarissa gave me a sarcastic smile before continuing, “The Epics are the winners of the Irony War. And no, we don't get super powers. We only get the pleasure of teaching our students on how to win.”

“What happens if we lose?” I asked ignoring the comments earlier.

“You die.” Her smug smile lost its touch for a moment to pity, before returning, “The winners get to live and have eternal beautiful qualities. One disadvantage the Supernaturals had found that most of the kids participating in the Irony Wars were not that....good looking. So for each round they won they got a particular attractice quality added to them. For example, if you passed round one, you would get big bold eyes, or high cheek bones, or whatever. If you didn't...”

“You die.” I finished sadly for her, “If you don't mind me asking...how do you die?”

She cleared her throat, “Its horrible really...and ironic. Those who lose, die from embarrassment.”

My breath caught, “Is that even possible?” I practically choked out.

“Very much so. So we need to start working on interview tactics...of course we will have to do something about that hair and glasses of yours...” She tsked as she looked me up and down disapprovingly.

My hand immediately went to my matted hair that probably resembled a bird's nest right now, “What's wrong with my hair?”

She ignored me as she took in my body, “You don't have a bad figure...a little on the skinny side, we can probably work with that.” She frowned, “A not so busty top...” She sighed, “Oh well, as long as you win we can improve your...stature.” Clarissa grabbed my arm to drag me out of the room, “Alright lets take you to Pablo...”

I resisted and tried tugging my arm away.

“Listen honey, this will go a lot smoother if you cooperate.” She gave me a pointed look before I dropped my act and followed willingly.

My face seemed to go into a permanent gawk as my eyes took in every single detail of the hallway Clarissa dragged me through. The walls were painted a coffee brown with gold detail etched onto it, and lavish paintings decorating the walls. The carpet was of a persian history with red and golds swirling throughout each step we took. The ceilings were high and by the time we stopped at the pure gold door I thought my eyes had bulged out of my face.

Clarissa gave me a disapproving look as she tugged me though the door to be greeted by a tall man. His skin was of an Italian mocha color, his pitch black hair shining with every step he took. His chocolate brown eyes took my appearance in.

I straightened my back self conciously as he started speaking in a deep Italian accent, “My, my, have I got my work cut out for me.” My wide eyes dropped into a glare immediately.

This was going to be a long day I could tell.

Pablo, who I now found out would be my hair dresser, make up artist, and designer, sat me down in a tall spinning chair. He and Clarissa chatted discussing what they wanted with my hair and so on.

He grabbed a brush off of a makeup vanity decorated in lights and started to brush through my frizzy red hair. I grit my teeth as he didn't do it very gently. I heard a snap from behind me and turned my head to face him. Pablo was holding up the handle of the brush with wide eyes. He tugged on my hair to get the brush part out of my hair.

“Dear child, have you ever brushed your hair in your life?”

I patted my hair embarrassed, “I found it extremely difficult so I would always put it up in a bun or braid it.”

I heard him sigh behind me and find a new brush and went through it carefully this time, “We'll have to cut it Clary.” I heard him mutter. I heard some more rustles and murmurs behind me and snips.

“I think this style will go better with her makeup.”

Makeup? Well crap.