every star in the south | {andal/paris} blitz

"Everything stinks here!" she complained. The people, the places, the things- all the nouns. And the strangest part wasn't even that it all smelled bad- more than that, it all smelled pretty much the same. Not a good thing in a place known for raising farm animals. Even now, she was sitting in what was supposed to be one of the nicest buildings in District Ten and she could literally see a goat chewing on a discarded paper cup in the parking lot. There was no air conditioning. And also, everyone spoke like they were half-avoxed, she felt. Her old hair dresser retired to 10 after Paris fired him for giving her some atrocious bangs. Paris thought from the photos that it must've worked out pretty nicely, but now that she was here she felt a bit concerned that she'd maybe doomed the old guy to living out his golden years in the only place in the world who would have him.

Someone offered her what she thought was water but turned out to be sweet tea, and someone else touched up her forehead, where she was beginning to sweat through her makeup. Ugh. She needed to crush this already so she could get back to her room and rest her voice before the night's performance. She nodded to someone off camera, and they counted her down from 3, 2, 1...

"Howdy y'all! It's me, Paris VanBuren! I'm so excited to be the headlining act for the 92nd Hunger Games Victory Tour, and I just wanted stop by and tell y'all that I just dropped a brand new version of my album just for District Ten, one of my personal favorites! Be sure to get your copy now at the District Square Market, right between Sue Dillon's Piggly Wiggly and the Crooked Creek Canteen! See y'all tonight! PVB signin' off!"

As she spoke, she held up the updated album for everyone to see. She thought it had turned out pretty nicely, given how quickly it all came together. The cameraman yelled cut, and Paris was like lightning on her way out the door.



"You want me to ride a horse to my hotel room?" Thank goodness Amanda, her assistant stepped in and roped in a covered wagon to sweeten the deal a bit, but even still... Paris was still fighting the urge to cry from how awful everything was when the wagon came to a stop.

"Thank god. We're finally there?" she asked hopefully. The heat inside the wagon was somehow worse than outside, like an oven. Amanda looked down at her watch with a confused look on her face. "I don't think so."

A moment later, the... driver? Rider? Whatever, someone poked their head inside: "Sorry Missus but um... the path is blocked."

Enraged at this point, Paris stormed out of the wagon, shoving past the man. Blocked? By what? A tree? One of those protestors who keep trying to accuse her of wearing real fur in her album cover?

"Is that a bear?!"