[YLIP] hair of the dog 🍸 mini-challenge #1

Early bird gets the worm, dude! Do you know there's a 24 hour camera crew here? Kinda nuts, I've already started learning names with the producers and all them, I think after I win this and get a hot fuckin' partner I might try to strike it up good in this gig! Anyways, I've been in the gym working out since 4 am, Marley's stunning but I haven't shared a bed since I was like, a toddler. 

Not here for it right now, too much to plan! 

I'm already chugging a redbull when the intercom comes on and I'm panicking right, like do I even have enough time to hop in the shower? But I say fuck it, I'm an expert in getting undressed and I can just wear a bathrobe down there for the camera time. Too early for a nip slip?

"Morning gorgeous," I say with a wink to Marley in the hall, kissing her on the cheek on the way down to the kitchen. I'm fiddling around with the pockets of my gym shorts because I don't know what to do with my hands, but I'm pulling my robe back to show the pecs and I think that's buying me some points. We've still got like, 18 people here, that's one too many names to know in the first place.

But then walks in Jemima Quartz, and I can't lie, of course I recognize her. I don't know if Hermes'll know her, but she's like the face of POLA. Big deal! Plus she's just stunning, I mean- Marley's grabbing my hand, look at that. Bunch of pretty women, right? I clear my throat and make sure I'm the first one in line, waving to my partner as I mentally mix the hottest cocktail I can think of. 

Can a cocktail even be a hot? We're about to find out. 

"Hey Jem!" And I'm just grinning ear to ear, right. "You strike me as a Vodka Mudshakes kind of girl - don't tell me I'm wrong!" If I'm being honest, I'm mostly going off what I've heard Syrena talk about back home. I don't get hang over's, I don't know, maybe I'm just built different. "I make a mean screwdriver, hold the applause," all the spicy of vodka, with all the sour of orange juice. 

What more can you ask for! 

"I'll make you one too Marley!"





(presentation)
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(taste)
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(hangover cure!)
1-10



(charm xo)
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(one for marley too?!)
1-10

I wake up with Wolf's face basically two inches from mine and decide it's gonna be a good day. Manifestations, you know?

Annisa used to bang on our wall to get me to stop snoring - even though I always swore the walls were too thick for her to hear, I think she just liked making the noise. Wolf doesn't complain though, so, in your face sis.

I think I need to stop thinking.

We wander down to the kitchen and I pour a cup of coffee for him because I think that's what you're supposed to do for someone you just spent the night with. (What did we say about thinking!?)

Whatever man, it's game time.

Jemima Quartz looks pretty important - she's got that half-manic look in her eye that all the Capitolites do and I can respect it. I've never really gotten drunk before though. Pietro showed me how to do weed in between making pies and that's about all I've got. Except I was kinda shitty at even that, so when everybody gets the green light to move I just kinda stand there for a minute. Yo, what's the difference between a spirit and a liquor? Are some of these haunted?

There's a bright pink bottle off to the side and I grab that one just because it looks the best. I dunno who Whitney is, but she's got some style.

I claim a blender and take a sip of my coffee except it's fucking gross, so I pour it in said blender instead. I'm tryna rack my brain for any ideas here. Annie likes those tomato drinks - the julius or whatever, so I dump some tomato juice in too. Pickle garnishes? Those are a thing right? A whole pickle gets tossed in, I wanna see it float.

Except now I'm kinda getting hungry and I get distracted, wander over to the fridge, there's leftover appetizers in there from last night's event - hell to the yeah. I scoop up a bunch of those little cocktail dogs for my breakfast and suddenly we're in heaven. I grab a bunch of other stuff too, I'm starving here bro; frozen hash browns, half an egg sandwich, one of those little fruit cups - they won't care if some of it goes missing, right?

I carry my spoils back to my station and snack on half of it. One for me, one for the blender. One for me, one for the blender!

Bro this looks disgusting LMAO.

I hit the button and it all starts getting mixed together into a weird rust color and then it's like haha whoops, forgot to put the lid on. I slam that sucker on before my precious concoction goes flying. Pour it in a fancy cup, garnish it with some staple hot sauce, a big ol' curly straw, badabing badaboom.

I smile so hard it hurts (gotta hide that you're dying inside) and plunk it down on the display counter.

Food poisoning's curable, right?

presentation
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taste
1-10

hangover cure
1-10

tiebreaker
1-20

Nutritional Information: none at all
Ingredients: 4 shots of pink whitney, 1 cup of black coffee, 2 cups of tomato juice, 1 dill pickle, 2 cocktail weenies, a handful of frozen hashbrowns, 1/4 of an egg sandwich with extra cheese, half a fruit cup & a dollop of hot sauce

If you're ever curious about what a mix between three beehives, a table saw and the dam in Five running at full speed sounds like, just spend the night in bed beside Axel Morrisen. Dude sounds like he might be dying at any given moment when he sleeps. At one point, around two or something, I think he stopped breathing and I started panicking thinking about how I might have to give him mouth-to-mouth. Don't really know how that shit works, I think you just kiss 'em or something?

Anyway he started snoring again a moment later and I went back to thinking about smothering him with a pillow instead.

Somewhere in there I fell asleep. I don't remember doing it. One moment I was laying on my back, staring up at the ceiling and the next I opened my eyes and was like, an inch away from Axel's face. Our limbs were tangled together, guess that's what happens with Axel though. He's tall and warm and I'm small and usually cold. Must have gravitated towards him as I slept despite all his noise.

Embarrasing. It should have been at least, but we both kind of just laid there for a moment, looking at each other and I noticed something about him I didn't want to see. I rolled away before I could put my foot in my mouth but it was too late, I'd seen it.

That sharp, jagged thing in his gaze. I know what someone whose been broken and was never put back together again properly looks like. Seen it in the mirror every day, right?

I wash my face in the sink and Axel reads me an article about a psychic squirrel from one of the magazines in the rack beside the toilet. He sits on the edge of this massive soaker tub and I pop a zit that came up overnight from all the layers of makeup they put on me yesterday. Domestic as hell.

We leave the room together even though I draw that out as long as I can. It's nice being in here, just the two of us. Even though half the gumballs are gone and the lake isn't as pretty out the window without the lanterns, it's like a private little paradise. Axel holds the door open for me with a goofy grin though and I mutter a soft, "Fine."

We're halfway down the hall when, "Morning lovers!" suddenly cracks out through a speaker which has got to be an inch from my ear. "Fuck!" I jump a little despite myself and then lean into Axel a bit to try and pretend that maybe I just tripped a little. I wasn't scared.

Hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet and we've already got a new challenge. I lean on the counter and Axel pours me a cup of coffee as Jemima speaks. I trade him a danish from a carton beside my elbow.

The challenge seems easy enough. I try not to look at anyone else. Everyone knows that Lysander's my sister, everyone knows about her drinking problem. What they don't know is that it runs in the family. My mom used to send me to the kitchen to fetch her a bloody mary most sunday mornings. After awhile I just learned how to make them myself.

I finish my coffee before getting to it.

Tomato juice in the fridge, a jar of olives and pickled asparagus. Worcester sauce and hot sauce in the cupboard, salt for rimming the glass and a cocktail shaker is already handy. They couldn't have hinted harder if they tried. I stand there shaking my concoction absent-minded as Axel dumps things into a blender and turns it on full blast.

"You know, kind of fuckin' hilarious, but I'm pretty sure the vodka part of this drink cancels out the hangover cure," I say to Axel as the sound of multiple blenders going off drowns out my voice. Whatever. Hangover cure my ass, morning drinks like this are just an excuse to keep drinking.

Since I'm here and I've still got time, I make one for myself too before sliding some olives onto a toothpick and dropping a spear of pickled asparagus in as a garnish. Then, my little addition is a wedge of lime juice squeezed on top for that little extra pep.

1. presentation

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2. taste

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3. jem's hangover cure

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4. da pep!

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She wakes up far too fucking early. The alarms are blaring all around them and Lux’s had been having the most glorious dream in which she and Oli were—speaking of Oli, the brunette groans underneath Lux and Lux finally opens her eyes, threatening beheading at whomever wanted to get her attention at—was it really seven in the fucking morning? Lux moves her hand, fingertips grazing warm skin and—

“Good morning to me,” she exhales with a rasp, retracting her hands from Oli’s chest, despite her fingers lingering a bit more than they probably should. “Oh fuck, it’s another challenge isn’t it?” she sits up, the covers falling to her stomach. Thank goodness she had the bright idea to toss on a silk romper before they had opened up the—was it the fifth bottle of champagne? Something like that.

The room was fine. Modest even, because Wolfie and Axel got the honeymoon suite or whatever it was called, but at least the bed was comfy, even though Lux had slept more on Olivia than the bed, but minor details. 

They shuffle down the stairs, Lux trailing behind Olivia because she was chivalrous and because she wanted to sneak a peak of Oli's backside, duh.

Blinking back sleep and praying to all the gods for an espresso, because they hadn’t even been allowed to change or brush their fucking teeth before the challenge was upon them, the idea comes to Lux in a flash of inspiration and when it’s her turn to wow Jemima who is just—god, she’s fucking cute isn’t she? Lux gives Oli a kiss on the cheek— “for luck” she whispers, before tossing a wink to Arcadia because, she’s only human and two girls are always better than one particularly when it comes to sharing a bed. Arcadia stands behind her own workstation, a determined look on her face. She was cute when she was concentrating. 

Lux grabs the ingredients, tossing them all in the shaker and adding a little bit of hips and ass to the movement, hoping to catch someone’s eye—Jemima’s, Oli’s, Arcadia’s—whoever!

“I mean, it isn’t coke, but it should wake you right up, right? Cheers, darling!’

Espresso martini -
Mama B’s favorite drink during a night out

2 ounces vodka
1/2 ounce coffee liqueur
1 ounce espresso, freshly brewed (hot as the devil's tits, or Vanya's)
1/2 ounce simple syrup
Garnish: coffee beans

presentation + taste + hangover cure

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1-20

You are still kind of living in the fantasy world that your mind created. All of this was pretty jarring, actually, confusing to be quite honest. You had never thought of love to be a competition, but Petelia made it very obvious that it was the case here. You watched as she sent yet another person home, and to be quite honest, you felt bad.

However, you did not want to confuse that feeling with the feeling that you were feeling for Ty. At the end of the day, you were not ashamed of your choice, in fact, quite happy with it for the day. Second place wasnt too shabby anyway. Especially for a small town girl living in this lonely world.

You think about Bella, and how she might be half proud of you and half confused. Seeing as she never really seen you in this type of light. You would always be little miss innocent. It was time to strip that away. Panem would get to know Marley Rose, raw and uncut.

---

You wake up next to Ty and you feel somewhat relaxed. You both stayed up a little longer than usual just trying to chat and at least get to know each other a little more. He also had family in the games, he came from a career district, and he claimed that he knew his way around a kitchen. You shared some of the those interests, except for the career districts. But you told him about your garden instead and how he had reminded you of a daffodil. Bright and always shining. You both laughed before passing out, the experience of the first day really taking it out of both of you.

You are pulled out of your beds by some force of your own and walked out of the room. You were met with cameras and a bar cart full of what looked to be alcohol. Jemima Quartz had been seated not too far from it, and had looked like she had been out and about all night. You were curious to know if all the Quartz acted like this, probably so, but that wasnt your business now was it. You gave a light smile as she explained what the mini challenge was going to be.

You had never tasted alcohol before, but that did not mean that you were a stranger too it. Jemima had gone on about how she did not feel good after a night out of partying, and you had a feeling that it might have something to do with her stomach.

You watch as everyone had gone up and began to create concoctions for her to try. Ty had gone first, and the moment she put it to her lips, she had spit it out. You were slightly worried, because he had handed you one as well. You had a feeling that maybe you shouldnt try it, but you had always wanted to know what alcohol had tasted like. You lift the cup to your lips and take a small sip. It did not taste as bad as Jemima's reaction to hers was. But you put the glass down quickly after.

You didnt want to risk it ruining your own chances.

You stepped up and gave Jemima a smile. "My housemother always liked these drinks that had ginger and lime in them." You look at the bar cart and locate exactly what you were looking for. You pull forward a bottle that says ginger beer, a bottle of vodka, a piece of ginger and a whole lime. You remember exactly how your housemother had liked it. You halved the lime the squeezed as much as it as you could into the mug, before putting some ice, and then poured some vodka and ginger beer. You grabbed a straw and mixed it around before slicing a piece of ginger on a bias and then placing it into the cup. A lime wedge created, and you felt accomplished as you handed it to Jemimia.

"In ten, we call this a mule." you gave her a small smile before setting it next to her. "The ginger should help with any sort of stomach issue and the lime should help with a headache." That is what you were always told when you made them for the housemother.

Everything feels a little regimented for Trish. Up at zero seven hundred hours, she is surprised they did not sound a bugle. It is something her father does. Basically, it is just like being back home, a scheduled day with every hour filled. Even through the night, they likely had cameras on Trish and Psyche in bed, hoping for a little spicy moment to plaster all over their television screens.

Except nothing happened last night. Trish slept like a log. Probably snored. She doesn’t care.

Trish paces around the room where everyone is brewing up their concoctions. The thought of drinking a strong cocktail at this hour makes her stomach churn and groan. She just hopes they will actually serve breakfast at some point. She piles her ingredients onto a table next to a one of the plastic jugs: lime juice, sugar, mint leaves, soda water and most importantly white rum. The methodology is quite simple, none of this shaking and blending nonsense. Just stirring.

Trish muddles the lime juice, sugar and mint leaves in the jug, crushing the mint as she goes by using the end of a conveniently found rolling pin. Then she pours in the rum, stirring the spirit in with the strong minty limey potion. She serves it with ice in a tall glass. Garnishing it with more mint leaves and a cut of lime.

”You should always start your day with a fresh minty mouth.” Trish says, handing over the mojito to the host, flashing a wink to her and the cameras. ”Especially the morning after…”

presentation + taste + hangover cure

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1-20

It's a wonder that he's still here, honestly.

Not that he's intentionally being self-deprecating, but- look, Achilles was self aware, okay? He knew he'd gotten off to a slow start, knew that his scores were going to be far from satisfactory, and hey, he was far from the most confident person on the block. Sure, he'd picked up steam towards the end there, but it had appeared to be too little, too late - not quite worthy of being in the bottom of the barrel, but pretty damn close.

To be frank, he'd already envisioned it all on the television - Achilles Zhao, the flop son of the Haus of Gaultier, sent home with his tail between his legs because he didn't know how to kiss properly. How embarrassing would that be? Like, for real?

But then, suddenly, he didn't have to go home. He didn't even have to wait all that long - because with pick number five, Carly Volkov had chosen him. Him. And sure, on paper it made sense - they were the two fan-voted contestants, after all, both on the cusp of not even making it into the competition in the first place so of course their underdog story would be the perfect narrative for the cameras, but still. All the people here, and he wouldn't be the odd one out. He'd be moving on and staying in the competition.

It was hard to believe. But he already knew that imposter syndrome was a little bitch, and well, it'd just have to suck it up this time.

It's no less surreal when he wakes up the next morning to what amounts to a blaring horn. Even when the general feeling of W H A T T H E F U C K ebbs from his brain and it registers that oh, he's in bed with a pretty girl who somehow hadn't budged an inch, he finds himself having to pinch himself to really register that, yeah, he's still here.

I mean, picture it. Achilles was a pretty mild-mannered boy back in Eight, still navigating his way around manhood and all that, so to say that he'd wake up having spent the night in bed with a girl would have turned more than a few heads, even if nothing had happened beyond awkward yet endearing smiles and a strange fluttery feeling in his chest. And why wouldn't it? He was a romantic at heart, lightly teased but never discouraged back home, and this sort of stuff wasn't up his alley.

Granted, neither was waking up before ten in the morning when he could help it to make a cocktail for a grumpy producer. But he hadn't signed up for this to expect to stay in his comfort zone the entire time. That would have been boring. And hey, this way he can get some romantic experience before inevitably being sent home, right?

But right now, he was having maybe one single regret, if only for the fact that he hadn't curbed his night owl habits and was running off of maybe five hours of sleep if he was being generous, to the point that by the time he finally reaches the kitchen, there's already several others hard at work. And there he was, hastily dressed, bleary-eyed, hair spiked up on one side thanks to some good old bedhead.

Good thing this is only a prelude, he thought, resigned. 'Cause being late to my first two challenges ain't a cute look.

To be fair, neither is making a drink. Sure, he knows the basics - one doesn't practically grow up in the Haus of Gaultier without some aspects of hedonism bleeding through - but at seven in the morning, with little prep or instruction? He'd be more likely to poison Miss Grumpy than actually cure her hangover.

Well. He supposed that would technically cure her hangover, but then he'd probably see the guillotine as a result for killing a Capitolite. And he much prefers his head on his shoulders, thank you very much.

He finds an unclaimed corner of the table, grabbing his basic ingredients - vodka, ginger beer, a lime, and his ace in the hole, a blood orange. A unique taste on a mule that he'd learned, one of the first drinks he'd ever tried, and a damn good one too.

Of course, because his luck is the way it is, he's three quarters of the way done before he hears the girl from Ten - Marley? He wasn't sure, only that she was not on his kissing list - talk about her drink. Which is, of course, a mule. Fuck my life.

But well, there's no turning back from here, and he hasn't been told that if he fails this he'll get sent home, so fuck it. He'll do a mule, too, but in his own way. And better.

(Look, Achilles gets petty when he's tired. It's nothing personal, just competition).

Truthfully, when the finished product is served, ice cubes and all, he's less than confident at the final product. Mixology was an art, okay? And though he wasn't a complete noob at it, he was still very much a stick-figure artist when compared to a Vincent van Gogh of making cocktails.

Honestly, if he can just get through this without poisoning Miss Grumpy, he'll call that a win.

"We have mules back in Eight, too," he said when the aforementioned lady stepped up to inspect his entry. "But mine's unique - less minty, more like myself." His free arm raises, wrist remaining limp in a if you know, you know sort of way. "Fruity."

But all the faux confidence in the world can't change the fact that when Miss Grumpy takes a sip, his heart skips a beat. And not in the fun way.

presentation!

Ww_w7NxZxJ1-10

taste!

1-10

hangover cure!

1-10

charm!

1-20