[YLIP] viva la romance! :: limo entrances

"You get one outfit picked by your stylists." She glances hard at the producers ushering her into the limousine, and then lowers her gaze to the mess of pink they've wrapped her up in. It's ridiculous, not her personality type at all, but time is not something she's willing to gamble so soon before her grand entrance. "The rest are up to me. Just point to the wardrobe, and I'll manage." She doesn't cut corners. Morty once asked her in his deadpan tone, "where's the line between your bluntness and your cruelty?", and she's reflected on it often. No matter how small she's often felt in her life, she has never shied away from asking for what she wants.

She grips her handbag firmly, giving her advisors one last glare over her rose colored glasses. Lowering herself into the leather seat, she closes the door behind her with a resounding thud, forceful enough to cover the sound of her voice. "Brought this for you. I don't care if another contestant is ahead of me, work your magic and make damn sure I'm the first there." She leans back against the cool seating, breathing calmly through her nose, holding the stranger's gaze through the rear view mirror. Unflinching.

Half of her wages for the last two months is a sizeable enough tip, so she rests assured that her request will be accepted. There's a lot of things that she wants out of life, and with all the bravery she can conjure, she will do everything in her power to secure it. There's more to the world than district nine, more than the camera shop and her silly ghost adventures with her friends. Gunshots echo in her mind, and she replays watching Aneesa Warden die on her television screen. Faster than she could process, a cannon that needed no invitation.

Frame to frame, tragedy shifting into acceptance.

Erasure.

Nothing in her knows how to accept that being the last time she saw her best friend alive. Even as the thought troubles her, she sucks in a deep breath and pushes the car door open, witty enough to know when the right time to exit is. She squints at the scene behind the tinted glass, focusing on the host waiting in all her fineries to greet the first contestant to paradise. She wants many things, and she will have them all. Nodding at her driver, she emerges into the spotlight of her own accord, walking with purpose to the beautiful woman waiting for her. She offers her hand in greeting, a firm and polite handshake.

"Carly Volkov. The honor is mine."

All hers.

[ 💌 ]

The whole idea of having a stylist was initially actually quite appealing. That is, until he actually started the whole styling process. The first thing that was pointed out to me by the stylist was that I needed to cover up the fact I was missing some fingers somehow. I tried to argue with him, insisting that it was just part of who I am.

"No one cares who you really are on television," he insisted.

I didn't want to admit it, but I had a feeling that he was right. So, reluctantly, I complied and allowed him to put some gloves on my hands. The gloves had the spots for my missing fingers stuffed with some sort of filler so it'd be harder to tell that they weren't really there. It's what I used to do back home, up until the time that I decided that I didn't care what people thought of my hands anymore.

The rest of the outfit, of course, had to be made to look decent with the sleek black gloves I was now wearing. I decided that I might as well just let them do whatever they thought looked good. If I was going to win this, I had to take any help I could get. I wanted the money for my family's vineyard. It wasn't that we desperately needed it or anything, but things hadn't been going as smoothly lately, so it certainly wouldn't hurt to have some extra money in my family's pocket.

That, and I certainly would like to find love here. I've heard that people don't really find love on game shows, but I'm not sure how much I believe that. There have to be some people who actually find love on these sorts of shows. Otherwise, that wouldn't make for very good television, right?

What they put me in was a bit tight on me, but honestly, I think it was intentional. The shirt showed off my muscles a bit by being just a little bit too tight. It wasn't too much, though. It was like they'd taken my measurements and taken half an inch to an inch off of them before giving me a shirt. The pants were the right length, but still a little tight. I knew why that was, but you can use your imagination on that one.

The hovercraft ride was different than anything I'd ever experienced before. I thought it was pretty cool, honestly. It made me both nervous and excited before we got up into the air, but once we were flying, the nervousness went away, leaving only the excitement.

When I got off of the hovercraft and was moved to the limousine, I thanked the man who held the door for me. The ride there was mostly in silence for me, and when we arrived, I thanked the driver. Typically, I would've given him a tip, but I didn't exactly have my wallet on me right then. Honestly, it made me feel kind of bad, but I was sure he would have understood.

After arriving at the Resort, I was quick to explore. While others were busy introducing themselves to the host, I started to look around the place. There were pools, there were bars, and you could even see the ocean from where we were. It was all honestly quite beautiful, and the perfect romantic setting.

[ 💌 ]
[ 557 words]

Sunglasses have guarded Eneas's delicate eyes for a number of days at this point. He's unsure why the Capitol requested him of all people to quarantine for their newest television show. He did not reside in the lower districts, where dirt catches underneath their fingernails and remains for days at a time. District One prides itself on its cleanliness, and between both of his parents' finances, Eneas possesses enough self-care material to be the best-prepped for a temporary move to the Capitol; to Saturn City, where a chance at love awaits him like a source of pure gold waiting to be cashed in upon.

The bottom line now is that he feels quite foolish. Is this place really going to be a promise of love and happiness? What does that even mean, anyway! Eneas can't remember the last time he saw true love, let alone felt it for himself. What could the other districts and their finest residents have to offer that Eneas couldn't get for himself back home? Twelve is too dirty, Ten too smelly, Six too brainy. The thought of taking a boat in District Four leaves him disgusted, and even District Two appears too centered behind its mining business. Maybe the Capitol will be able to knock some sense into them, civilize them in a mode of luxury and pristine nature.

Today is the day, though, where his ambitions will become some version of his optimistic reality. The limousine that arrives to pick him up is much more elegant than the blowing winds of a landing hovercraft. "Pick-up for Eneas. The villa, yes?" Without hesitation, Eneas grabs his jewelry, a pair of rings and a gold necklace, as well as a hat, to get on his way. He's ready for this, he was born for love. He deserves it after years of fight, push and pull, and taxing experience.. No, no. No sob stories here. Call it arrogant or call it joy, Eneas wants to win this silly game of love.

The vehicle is unlike anything Eneas has seen before. Modes of transportation don't exist aside from his own two legs. And for that, he's grateful, as they are toned and long. Perhaps if none of the contestants from the districts deserve him, one of the Capitol residents will swoop him up and help him immigrate to the Capitol entirely. District One is nice and all, and he loves it very much, but the wonders of the Capitol's skyscrapers amaze him, and he can't help but feel drawn here. The dimmed windows mask the outside even more with his sunglasses shading them further. One leg crossed over the other, Eneas stretches his arms and leans his head back, waiting to be told that they've arrived at their destination.

"The villa, Mr. Denílson. Welcome to Young Love in Panem, sir." The voice of the chauffeur is firm and cold in his welcome, almost as if he hates his job. But for Eneas, the outer ring of the mansion-like villa ahead of him left awe across his lips. "Mr. Denílson?" He calls Eneas to attention and he fixes his sunglasses. "Oh, thank you, buddy!"

He steps out to see a woman waiting for him: Petulia Quartz, the host for this show. Eneas removes his glasses, locking the sides into the hole of his necklace. Brown eyes and shining teeth reveal themselves as he approaches her. "Such a lovely place? Maybe I?" He reaches in for a hug.

Paradise may soon be his.

[ 💌 ]

Top ten would have meant death if she followed the path of her sister (well unless it was a replica of her games). Except fuck her sister’s path, nineteen is creeping around the corner and it is already round two of dabbling in the reality TV show world for Beatrice Morrisen. The talent show was just Trish’s chance to test out the training wheels, now they are off, and she is about to be shipped away to join a whole different genre of reality tee-vee.

Love.

According to the title, it really can be found in Panem but certainly not in District Four. It has been tried and tested by Trish. Nothing takes her fancy and well, a ticket to get away from her father and family for a few weeks with the deal of returning not in a box like Arc? Yeah, she will take it. A chance to stamp out the shadows and grow her own fame? Yeah, she will double take it.

”Do you realise how heavy this is?” It seemed a little too simple at first, each piece that the stylist brought out for her. Then one accessory to out them all donned the tightly fitted long silver dress. ”It is your armour Beatrice, they are calling you the Warrior Princess after your talent show performances so this is my inspiration from that. At first I would have followed your fiery costumes or that amazing electrifying outfit but I wanted to bring something new.”

Something new and heavy to drape across her back. A chainmail cape that flows to the floor and rattles whenever she moves. ”At least they will be able to hear me coming…this is just for the arrival right?” The stylist is insistent on getting the finishing touches signed off as perfectly as possible. A dozen strokes of makeup brushes later and finally, Trish is ushered into the limousine.

Already she has been presented with the faces and biographies of the others, a little teaser on what is to come. It was easy for her to sort through the trash to pick out the treasures. Her father was hard to please when she announced that she signed up for the show, bringing up the lower District scraps to her home would have caused nuclear fall out in the Morrisen house. There are at least a handful of recognisable names, she is not disappointed at all.

The limo pulls up to the flashes of paparazzi and the buzz that swarms the already landed contestants. It is time for Trish to be swallowed up by the attention and perform the poses for cameras that she rehearsed with the stylist before setting off. Trish steps into the atmosphere, the chainmail cape doing its job to draw the attention to her. Maybe she is a fool. Maybe she is fashion icon. Regardless of what the tabloids say, at least her name is in them.

”You already know my name but in here, you can just call me Trish.” She says, catching the hostess with a hug and a kiss on each cheek. ”You are a rose amongst all the thorns today Miss Quartz. I am excited to be here.”

[ 💌 ]

I’ve got to be honest, being locked up for two weeks with cousin dearest wasn’t exactly the glamorous start to this little side project that I’d been expecting.

It sounded like a breeze on paper. Fly to the Capitol, get paid to live in a villa for a few weeks with a bunch of eligible, attractive teens looking for love. Bingo.

What had not been disclosed to me were the initial formalities in all of their painstaking structure. When I’d learnt we had to complete two weeks of hotel quarantine before arriving on set, I’d been… frazzled. The thought of being trapped in some tiny apartment room for fourteen days had me shuddering. It’s not that I’m “privileged” or “spoiled” or anything, but you just never know who’s been in a place like that – even if it is in the Capitol.

Or, especially if it’s in the Capitol.

Suffice to say I’d suggested an alternate arrangement.

“Really, it wouldn’t be a problem – we’ve already got the guest house set up, after all you never know what’s around the corner, you know?” Laying on my bed with my phone held out in front of me, I make sure to jut my lip ever so slightly as I stare down the tiny digital camera with big, brown doe-eyes. The pixelated screens of three unamused producers glare back at me, but I’ve been dealing with the peanut gallery my entire life. My face doesn’t falter for even a second.

I know what they see when they look at me. Another snotty white girl with a grand total of two whole brain cells and more money than she knows how to count. A damsel in distress who’s never had to work a day in her life, forever coddle and never accepting no for an answer. The list goes on and on.

Well, if that’s what they want to think, then that’s what they’re going to get.

“It’s a win-win if you think about it. You don’t have to deal with any of the logistics of hotel bookings or security teams or meal prepping – and I can enter the show rested and stress-free singing the praises of how wonderful and accommodating everyone has been for me!” I keep my voice light and syrupy as I watch the strangers on my screen slowly begin to soften. I can’t tell if it’s acceptance or resignation in their eyes when they murmur their agreement, but I’ve learned that getting your way looks the same no matter how many faces it has.

Smooth as butter. Easy as pie.

Of course, Trylle had decided to invite himself and tag along for the ride. Given he’s not my least favourite cousin and the producers were probably already struggling to accommodate his last-minute spur-of-the-moment decision to join the show, I’d agreed easily enough. I know, how considerate of me! And I’m sure it would be nice to have some company for the next fourteen days, right?

No. Wrong. Very wrong.

Trylle Fray snores. Loudly. And he’s soooo conceited, and vain, but of course I knew that already. By the third day, I’d threatened to smash all the mirrors in the place if I caught him checking himself out again. By the sixth day, I’d piled up all of his dirty dishes outside the front of his bedroom door, take a hint, dude. By the thirteenth day, I was about ready to tear up my contract altogether so long as it meant I didn’t need to hear Trylle’s stupidly loud voice for a single second more.

“Let’s promise to just avoid each other at all times,” I’d told Trylle on the last day as I watched him load my suitcase into the trunk of a glossy black car. I’d had more than my fair share of quality time with someone who was fast becoming one of my least favourite cousins. Not to mention, the last thing I needed was to be paired up in some couple-y challenge with him. Major gross.

Not that I think the producers in Saturn City want to promote incest on their newest hit TV show. Who knows what kind of damage that might do to ratings?

Surely they wouldn’t want to find out, right?

…

ANYWAY, it doesn’t matter, because Trylle agreed and that’s why we’d travelled in separate hovercrafts and limousines and timed our entrances exactly four arrivals apart. Like hell was I going to be the other half of the Trylle Fray Show. I’ve found existing in the shadow of someone else is quite unbecoming. People find you much more enchanting when you’re able to stand on your own two feet.

So that’s exactly what I do when the door of the car opens and a hand reaches down to help me out. The dusty pink silk of my gown slides seamlessly over my skin as I offer the chauffer a smile and make my way down the pathway: towards Paradise.

“Oh my gosh, hi! I’m so excited to be here!” I hear the clicking of my heels against the cobblestone as I envelop Petelia Quartz in a massive bear hug and kiss her lightly on the cheek. The fragrance of her designer perfume is dizzying, and I pull away from the embrace after a few seconds, slightly unsteady on my feet – gosh, how embarrassing would it be to fall over right now?! I look behind Petelia and take in the view of the luxury villa. “This place is truly so beautiful!”

And then: “Shotgun the biggest bed!”

[ 💌 ]

"Dirty," the producer says, tone calm, as they tug the dart out from between Wolf's lips. "Where'd you even get this one? I thought we'd confiscated them all."

Wolfgang's face stitches itself up into an annoyed grimace as he blows out one last little bit of smoke. "Charmed it offa Vena," he says with a shrug, "He says I look mysterious and cool so it's okay."

"That's not-" the producer says and then pinches the bridge of their nose with a tired sigh, "What is it with you Maes and your vices?"

Wolfgang just shrugs again. He doesn't have a good quip lined up for that, no wait, "Probably all the sister death, you know, standard shit." Then he grins, because then it's a joke and it isn't grief over losing Hazel, Lysander and Sutton all in a row like that.

Well, technically Lysander's alive, but at what cost, you know? She's lost her fucking mind. "Just one of Mae-ny," Wolfgang mumbles to himself and shoves the carton of cigarettes down deeper into the pocket of the high-waisted, pleated black pants they've got him in for the arrival.

"What?" the producer says and looks up from their phone, "Did you say something?"

"Just that I been tryin' to quit," Wolfang lies sweetly. He learned that from Bamber. His twin sister can get away with anything as long as she bats her lashes and looks demure enough.

An extra-long car pulls up then and Wolf steps forward, eyes running over the black-tinted windows and then the driver getting out in their little uniform. All the pomp and grandeur shit for little old him, damn. "Go on then," the producer says, they spray some floral scent at him and gesture Wolfgang towards the car, "You're already running late." Somehow they make it sound like that's Wolf's fault. As if he's the one who chose layers of shimmering make-up and decided he needed pink hair at the last moment.

He wonders if that's how these people treat Lysander, like she's not a human, but a product.

Then he shudders and reminds himself that he doesn't care about her anymore, something that he always forgets. Turns out it's hard to just give up on someone that you were born loving.

The ride to the resort is short and Wolfgang spends it laying down on the seat, watching the world pass by through this little window cut through the top of the car. The sky is clear, not even a cloud in the sky and for a moment, everything is silent. Wolfgang smiles a little. He likes this. He liked quarantine and the absence of everything. For a couple days, he dreamed that was just his home, there was nowhere he was going to have to go back to.

Then the dream ended and now he's got to kiss someone or something.

He squeezes his eyes shut and nerves roll through him like the grey smog that coats Five. Wolfgang talks big, mostly because he's a Mae, but he's never done that before, never even really thought about it. The fact that he has to now is kind of annoying.

The car pulls to a stop and there's no time to think about it anymore. Wolfgang pushes the door of the car open before the driver can come around and get it for him. When he steps out, the sun hits his shirt, a thousand little faceted crystal raindrops sewn to mesh catch the sun and refract light everywhere. He's a walking piece of art.

Wolf stands there for a moment and squints up into the sun and then runs a hand through shaggy pink locks. That lady, that one who they said was in charge or something, is standing on the walkway waiting for him and the others. Wolfgang catches the tail end of one of the other contestants entering the house.

And he's supposed to step forward, he knows that. Not like he hasn't seen a camera before, they've been around since Lysander came home, but it's rare for them to be trained on him, specifically. It' snot like he's nervous though, no way, definitely not even a little bit.

He pastes a cheeky little smile on his face and then starts moving. Not going to get anywhere standing still right?

"Hiya Miss Quartz," he says, and when she holds out her hand to shake, he takes it and gives her knuckle a little kiss as if he's paying homage to a deity rather than a woman. "You shine brighter than me!"

[ 💌 ]

One thing you'll come to learn about me is that I cannot ever leave the house without perfect hair. If I have a bad hair day, which is few and far in between, I simply just do not leave the house. Cancel every obligation. Barrsy cannot be seen with bad hair. Every single hair must be in place perfectly.

Luckily, today was not one of those days. I looked like a fuckin' rocket. My suit fit every inch of my skinny-buff body snug in all the right places, my hair was slicked back like it was done by the God's themselves, and I even decided to shave the last remnants of facial hair that I had been growing out for months and left this baller ass mustache.

Game time, lads.

"Hamilton, y-"

"Barrsy, please," I correct the producer who walked into the styling room, a disapproving look on her face as I smile. No one calls me Hamilton anymore. Hamilton was the name of someone who gets no bitches. Barrsy on the other hand? Fuckin' legendary.

She clears her throat, and if I paid enough attention I bet her eyes rolled a bit, too. "Excuse me, Barrsy. You can't bring this with you," in her hand she held a pint and frowned.

I mimicked her frown. Guess it made sense - Panem didn't want to advertise underage drinking, but goddamn, you're telling me I gotta party on this game show sober? Oh well. I've experienced worse, and at least I'll be sober in the company of some rocket. I quicky snatched the drink from her palms, and before she could react, I bit the side of the can and brought the hole to my lips for quick little shotgun.

Fuck, I should've timed that. I think I just broke my shotgun record.

The producer looked in horror as the rest of the crew ushered me away into the limo. I tossed the empty can behind me with a grin. It was time to make Young Love in Paradise my bitch.

Pulling up to the villa in a limo was pretty mint. Like, I kinda felt like royalty. And this house was massive. Man, I should've gotten Taxxon to sign up with me, we could've snogged ladies and gotten absolutely silly. 'Betcha he's got mad FOMO right now because man, this looked pretty sweet.

I adjusted my suit before I stepped out of the limo. Game time.

"Miss Quartz!" I greet her with open arms, my host for hopefully the next few weeks. And then I offer her a hand, dabbing her up with the standard District One greeting and giving her a heart slap on the back. "Pleasure to meet ya, I'm Barrsy. Honoured to be staying here for the next little while."

[ 💌 ]