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Jun 1, 2023 16:10:07 GMT -5
Post by pup on Jun 1, 2023 16:10:07 GMT -5
[googlefont="Gelasio:400"]
thomas
thomas
The stylists were trying to force a phone into my hands the second I woke up. Not trying to make them my enemies, and because I knew they were trying to get me to post on social media to boost my popularity, I steered clear of them. Each time one of them saw me in the common areas of our suite, they would swoop in like ravenous vultures. I, being the wary stylee that I am, would desperately find any excuse to get out of their warpath.
Ducking back into my room to "find something I forgot" was starting to become an old excuse. What I found worked the best was running into the bathroom with a "One sec, Jenus," when the green haired capitolite made a beeline for me. That was a painful half an hour of him waiting outside the door for me, tapping his shoes increasingly loudly until I grunted out, "You might want to find another bathroom, I think I'm going to be a minute. The caviar tarts last night aren't sitting well in my stomach." I should win an award for the grunting noises I had to make to get the fashion shark to leave me alone.
This morning was no different. When I left my room after breakfast, I saw Jenus and Bellezze's eyes immediately shoot my way. Before they could get a word out, I had already sprinted past them and made it to the elevator with a quick explanation that I was heading down to training for the day. They can't argue with that, so I was free again.
I know that they're only trying to help me get sponsors and make a story people like. The other tributes are probably doing the same, getting carefully manufactured posts put up on their accounts. I just can't bring myself to do it. Phones and pictures and getting dressed to the nines are all foreign concepts to me, and every time I think about them, I feel like a patient just threw up all over me. It's all just so performative and loud, two things that make me want to puke.
When I reached the training center, I knew I couldn't just keep going back to the first aid station. After Xaa made an unnerving appearance behind me to watch me stitch up a wound, I decided I didn't want anyone else sneaking up on me. Something that requires less attention would be nice, maybe swords. Yea, swords don't require a lot of attention I think.
I just need to go swish swish stab stab and make it seem like I'm doing something, right?
Going to pick up a sword, I immediately regretted my decision. Picking up and moving bodies once in a while with my dad's help felt a lot different from trying to balance a weighted object clumsily in my hand.
That's when I saw the other tribute at the station, phone out, taking pictures of herself. She's dolled up, clearly a favorite from her stylists. I think she's the girl from eleven, but she looks a lot scarier in a full face of makeup than most of the careers. There's something unsettling about having all of your features hidden.
I see a trainer starting to make their way over to me, clearly seeing I'm not practiced. I don't really want to talk to the girl posing with a camera, but anything is better than having someone lecture me on proper swordsmanship.
"Do sponsors like the duck faces? I gotta know, you know," I say, trying to sound good natured with my level voice, "For when my stylists force me onto the apps.". Balancing the sword against the ground, I see the trainer stop out of the corner of my eye. They're not going to interrupt a conversation between tributes. I let out a breath of relief. Dealing with her has to be better than trying to nod my way through a trainer's speech.
Ducking back into my room to "find something I forgot" was starting to become an old excuse. What I found worked the best was running into the bathroom with a "One sec, Jenus," when the green haired capitolite made a beeline for me. That was a painful half an hour of him waiting outside the door for me, tapping his shoes increasingly loudly until I grunted out, "You might want to find another bathroom, I think I'm going to be a minute. The caviar tarts last night aren't sitting well in my stomach." I should win an award for the grunting noises I had to make to get the fashion shark to leave me alone.
This morning was no different. When I left my room after breakfast, I saw Jenus and Bellezze's eyes immediately shoot my way. Before they could get a word out, I had already sprinted past them and made it to the elevator with a quick explanation that I was heading down to training for the day. They can't argue with that, so I was free again.
I know that they're only trying to help me get sponsors and make a story people like. The other tributes are probably doing the same, getting carefully manufactured posts put up on their accounts. I just can't bring myself to do it. Phones and pictures and getting dressed to the nines are all foreign concepts to me, and every time I think about them, I feel like a patient just threw up all over me. It's all just so performative and loud, two things that make me want to puke.
When I reached the training center, I knew I couldn't just keep going back to the first aid station. After Xaa made an unnerving appearance behind me to watch me stitch up a wound, I decided I didn't want anyone else sneaking up on me. Something that requires less attention would be nice, maybe swords. Yea, swords don't require a lot of attention I think.
I just need to go swish swish stab stab and make it seem like I'm doing something, right?
Going to pick up a sword, I immediately regretted my decision. Picking up and moving bodies once in a while with my dad's help felt a lot different from trying to balance a weighted object clumsily in my hand.
That's when I saw the other tribute at the station, phone out, taking pictures of herself. She's dolled up, clearly a favorite from her stylists. I think she's the girl from eleven, but she looks a lot scarier in a full face of makeup than most of the careers. There's something unsettling about having all of your features hidden.
I see a trainer starting to make their way over to me, clearly seeing I'm not practiced. I don't really want to talk to the girl posing with a camera, but anything is better than having someone lecture me on proper swordsmanship.
"Do sponsors like the duck faces? I gotta know, you know," I say, trying to sound good natured with my level voice, "For when my stylists force me onto the apps.". Balancing the sword against the ground, I see the trainer stop out of the corner of my eye. They're not going to interrupt a conversation between tributes. I let out a breath of relief. Dealing with her has to be better than trying to nod my way through a trainer's speech.
