all that { glitters } // nylon+ridley

Look, the Capitol really knows how to treat its famous people. That includes me now. The only thing better than being a tribute is being a victor, so it’s not a very long staircase to the top.

About twenty-three steps I’d say.

They say killing is hard the first time, but it gets easier afterwards. I guess that’s why mom bought us all pets that we had to kill once we’d gotten attached to them. Because real careers can’t hesitate. Too many in the past have and that’s why the lower districts win so frequently.

Falling in love—making actual friends, they’ve forgotten that the point is to win. The parties and the friends come afterwards, once you’ve got that bloodstained crown. Of course, you can still have fun on the way there.

Breakfast is an awesome spread, and omigawd, Ridley Le Roux just talked to me. I shrug, the edges of my hair bouncing a little as I do so. Can't fangirl, it'd make me look like a dweeb. Mom always said there are three things in life that everyone needs to think about.

An active social life, a successful career and enough sleep. The problem is, you can only pick two of those. So I rarely get enough sleep. Stimulants baby! Coffee, energy drinks, Adderall. I probably won't live long enough for any long-lasting side effects.

The plan is to die spectacularly in the Capitol before I hit thirty. I'm thinking murdered by a jilted lover? That's pretty newsworthy.

“Play hard, work hard! I don’t maintain this figure by skipping my shakes in the morning.”

Strawberry-mango and a helping of protein powder. Gawd, they even managed to make that taste good.

I adjust my headband and smile at her.

“What about you? Does living the high life ever get tiring?”

Say no, please.

She’s like—a goddess okay?

What every girl in district one wants to be, present company included. I just—I really hope she's as inspiring as I've hoped.

Gods only have power as long as people believe in them.

Awesome.

She’s saying that its tiring but for all the right reasons.

Fuck. Yes.

But like—why is she drinking tea this early? It’s time for an iced mocha or something. She asks me why I want the crown like it isn’t obvious and then asks about my strategy like she’s blind.

Hello? I just rolled out of bed and I still look like a twelve. Makeup, lotion and hair products are like— an extra two points when you’re already a ten. At that point it’s not about looking good, it’s about making everyone else look worse.

Like—if she wasn’t one of my heroes, I’d say something about doing the exact opposite of whatever Emerson Le Roux did a year ago. Cause I know that’s fucked up. I’m not completely heartless you know— just mostly. And maybe I don’t want to piss off my mentor just yet.

“Use every weapon at my disposal.” I’d slap my ass for effect, but alas there is no junk in my trunk, only lean muscle. So I cup my chin with the backs of my hands instead and flutter my eyelashes to get the point across.

“Charm, seduce and murder everyone in my way. But like, if you have pointers, I’d love them, I mean, you did this already. And so stunningly.”

Gawd, I can’t believe I’m talking to Ridley Le Roux.

She’s so stunning. I mean—she knows who she is.

I’m enough for myself.

I was twelve years old when I heard her say those words to Bell. I’d just gotten through my first reaping and I remember that some of my siblings were aching to volunteer. But mom said no. Said we couldn’t steal thunder from a Le Roux or there would be hell to pay.

I didn’t understand Ridley’s words then, but I do now. I’ve taken that to heart. She inspired me. I’m enough for me; I don't need or want anyone for longer than the fun lasts and it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Nylon is more than my name, it’s my brand, which means it’s my essence. If anyone has a problem with that, I’ll kill them and dance on their graves.

“You’re my hero, Ridley.” I don’t mean to say it out loud, but I do, and I cringe, because that’s the first uncool thing I’ve done in years.

Stunning, badass and humble too?

Come on Ridley, I’m district one’s next victor, leave some for the rest of us okay?
“You’re the best Ridley,” I say brightly, echoing a warrior of a girl from district two. “Who else is supposed to be my hero?”

For a moment I debate disarming her by knocking her prosthetic loose, but that’s like—I mean like, if it were anyone but Ridley Le Roux, I would, but she’s too much of a hero to me to like, do that. So I walk towards the nearest drape and a rip off one of the drawstrings.

It doesn’t quite have the same rigidity as a whip, but it’ll have to do. I pour some water along the length and then I snap it to test, before snapping it towards Ridley. She shouldn’t have picked a knife. Satin’s been threatening me with them since we were young.

I learned how to turn the tables a long time ago.

The damp cord curls around the blade handle and I yank it away. It spins up into the air and while I know it can’t have taken more than a few seconds, it feels like an eternity. There’s a rule about falling knifes. Not to try to catch them, because a falling knife has no handle.

I’ve never been one for the rules.

I catch it handle side and hold the blade out towards Ridley, before realizing I’m holding a knife to the Grim fucking Reaper and I rotate it around to the handle, offering it back to her. Fuck me, this is the woman that raised a flaming scythe to Penelope Marcet and told her she’d come to collect her soul, what the hell do I think I’m doing?

I smile, and maybe it’s even a little nervously. Thank fuck none of the other tributes are here to see this.

Can’t let my image be tarnished by a bit of hero worship.

“I’m a really pretty face, but that doesn’t mean it’s my only asset. I’m ready to win this. Like you told that boy from ten, Killing is nothing personal.”

Oh yeah, I took all of her lessons to heart. Rewatching her games was one of the few things that brought all of us kids together.

"What's going to drag me out of the arena? Everything I trained for, and everything I learned from watching you."

I—I don’t really get what she’s trying to get at here. Yeah like—her cousins trained and so do all careers and like, yeah they’re dead.

Cause they were too slow, or too weak or too trusting. They didn’t keep their heads in the game. They fell in love with people for real, hesitated to sever the bonds of friendship, or walked into a mutt they should have kept an eye out for. I’ve watched reruns of old games you know? We need more of whatever Stark Harper was smoking 28 years ago and less of careers getting weepy and having feelings because they killed someone.

Like—hello? It’s the point!

I for one, am looking forward to finally putting these skills to use. It’s what I was made for.

"Well no!" I gasp. "I haven’t won a games yet and you have. I don’t think I’m better than you or any of the victors. I am better than my twenty-three opponents, like—“I suck at my teeth and put my hands on my hips.

“I mean, I figured I’d get hurt eventually, but that’s what first aid training is for.”

Like sure, there’s victors that managed to make it to the final eight without killing anyone, but they still bled along the way. I don’t think I’m untouchable or anything. I tap the table in front of where her golden hand is resting.

“I mean, its not like I want a platinum hand or diamond studded hearing aids, but like, sometimes that’s the price of victory? It’s worth it. Right?”

And like, as wide as my eyes are, I think I’m actually asking, cause I could definitely rock those if I had to.