Drop Dead Gorgeous [PAGEANT THREAD]

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

According to the schedule, he was due over at one of the main stages in the mid-afternoon. As the sun crested and began its fall, Mace made his way through the crowds, his wide-brimmed stetson pulled down over his forehead, sweat lining it and dripping down the sides of his face. The fact that he had a schedule, or was heeding it at all, had a lot to do with Julian, who had been curiously MIA throughout the fair. Well, maybe not curiously. He was definitely The Most Famous Person in all of Ten these days. Mace couldn't begrudge anyone who wanted to spend time with him. Didn't make missing him any easier.

He drew on a straw of hay as he made his way to the pageant area. The fact that he'd been tossed this "honor" said a lot about how he ranked in the district. High, certainly, but those with the most cache made speeches instead of judging pageants. He didn't figure on doing a lot of public speaking when he'd been crowed victor, but it sort of came with the territory. Today that was the Mayor's gig, and he wondered if maybe Julian, as a part-time resident, would be enough of a fascination to get a few words in front of a mic.

But the only words Mace would be saying publicly would be the ratings of young girls.

It nagged at him, the fact that some of the contestants could be from the Community Home. Some of the contestants could even be people he'd been intimate with. Not that he minded rating them. He'd already done that, albeit privately. But it seemed strange that anyone would value his opinion enough to put him on this pedestal. He'd been around enough girls and boys at the home to realize that these rankings mattered, would be talked about until the next fair. And he was going to decide that?

Not by himself, thankfully. The strumming of the guitar was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. It rather surprised Mace when he approached the stage's stairs that it was none other than his fellow judge that was manipulating the instrument. Elias Poers was certainly a man of many surprises. He took a moment to soak in the tune, spit out the hay, and adjust the stetson so that his grey eyes shone in the afternoon light. None of the Peacekeepers bothered him as he ascended.

He took his appointed seat, brushing aside the name tag. It was a good way of reserving it for him, but he didn't need it. He'd wished anyone - any fucking single person in the District - would forget his name and face. But they wouldn't. Not after what he'd done. He folded his hands in his lap, staring passively out over the crowd. The pageant had a strong draw. He hadn't seen so many clustered together at the fair yet. Apparently, everyone wanted to know who was the most beautiful. Very quietly, in a space he couldn't yet explore, he felt his heart tug. He already knew the answer, but he very much doubted the other victor would stoop to being put through his paces on stage. Mace would be judging for second place.

He smirked at the shameless - but entirely truthful - plug for Poers Farms. And then he coughed over a chuckle at the entirely inappropriate invitation. "Damnit man," he said under his breath, collecting himself. As Elias drew to the side to allow the contestants a chance to yap, Mace stuck out his callused right palm. "Reckon they'd pick you for this," Mace said beneath the level of the mic. "Seems you're a natural."

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,“And if anyone even thinks about touchin’ my makeup, I’ll burn their pretty litle fingers with a curlin’ iron,” Tallow announced lazily to the little tent that served as a dressing room, not bothering to turn around as she stooped to press her head next to Swallow-Anne’s for a moment, lightly dabbing at the gloss on her lips. Tallow had started mixing up her own makeup when she was thirteen- the only way anyone could ever really get at cosmetics in district ten. It started out as an imprecise art (her mother, with her wrinkled ruddy skin, cracked lips and plain, heavy lidded eyes, didn’t know enough to teach her, about that- or about anything really) but over time, Tallow learnt to mirror the colours and consistencies that she saw once a year, powder hiding the drained faces, lipstick smeared across the trembling mouths of the tributes. Crushing beetroots with pestle and mortar stained the cupids bow curve of lips as close to blood as anything you might find, while a little shortening mixed with honey made a serviceable gloss and oil and ash on the tip of a pencil lined her robin’s egg blue eyes dark as crows’ feathers. A few years practising and working at the funeral home in town putting makeup on the bodies to raise a little cash for the family she’d amassed quite the collection, laid out on the table in the dressing room and as jealously and fiercely guarded as any of the other things that Tallow regarded as hers.

Like the fourteen year old in front of her, who’s hair Tallow was tackling- and taking it very seriously too. With a few bobby pins and the end of a comb sticking out of her mouth, Tallow’s face was set into a grim sort of frown as she carried out her task, yanking on her friends head like she'd forgotten there was a person attached to all that hair- but behind all that the truth was that Tallow Tansy was in her element. Turning a probing eye to a girl, picking up on her flaws, her strengths and making whatever was there beautiful with a combination of emphasis and deceit was like finally going home to Tallow. She didn’t belong here in the dirt of district ten- she belonged in the capitol, with real cosmetics, giving real makeovers. But that was never going to happen, so for now, the pageant in district ten would have to do.

What happened after they were done getting ready was of little concern to Tallow really; she preferred doing the judging to being judged normally, didn’t usually open herself up for scrutiny so obviously. Similarly, winning the moniker ‘Ms Pride of Panem District 10’ was not part of the appeal-nor had it been last year when she’d entered too and hadn’t actually placed anywhere- this of course being before her boobs had grown in (and okay, privately she was hoping that she might at least get third, because last year had just been an embarrassment). But she’d have jumped through fire for this excuse to pile together all of her makeup into her satchel, breathe in the distinctive scent of burnt hair wrapped around her curling iron, wash away the mud and slip into something bright, light and soft against her skin and always would do. Looking in the mirror though, Tallow noted that her eyes were still dilated from the ‘special’ brownies that Swallow Anne had picked up from Duck. Perhaps it might have been wiser to sit out this year, all things considered.

“I reckon you’ll win, everyone else might as well just not even bother...it's sort of pathetic really,” she said smoothly to Swallow Anne, after removing the comb and pins, the proverbial devil at her young friend’s shoulder, dripping her poison as though from the fanged tip mouth of a snake, not even bothering to speak under her breath. Psyching the other contestants out was all part of the fun, wasn’t it? Tallow took a minute to very obviously scan the room, a look of curling disgust on her face, lingering over the trembling blonde in the, okay admittedly sort of pretty dress, the way that wolves tend to circle weaker members of a herd of cattle. ,“You’re so much prettier than anyone else here. Specially now,” she added, reminding her friend that this was all Tallow’s doing. ,You better win- I created you.

As someone poked their heads through to give the girls a five minute warning, Tallow caught her friend’s eye, feeling a strange frisson of energy coursing through her. It was like pins and needles, only…less unpleasant...her nerves were more sensitive, she could feel things on her skin more, and Swallow Anne’s hair between her fingers felt fantastic. Tallow began to snigger to herself.

“Swal,” she said quietly, in between a few giggles that escaped her lips. “Swal I’m still a little high.” Her giggles subsided as she tipped her head, assessing the slutty dress she’d coaxed her friend into, pulling down the top part a little more. “You know Mace is a judge, right? Get em out.” Tallow followed suit on her own dress. It was a home altered teal number that had started out life as dead woman’s wedding dress, ended up at the funeral home when her widower had finally died too- he’d wanted to be buried with it or some bullshit, but Tallow had pilfered it when no one was looking. The important part was that it looked good on her; it brought out her eyes and had been cut up to the thigh on the right side. “No…no…don’t toss your head like that,” she instructed Swallow sharply,“You’ll shake it out…like this…,” Tallow held her head high and steady, put a hand under her chin to tip it up.“Smile and don’t f-ck it up.” Swallow looked great though, and that was all Tallow could do really. And she didn’t look so bad herself either.

Composure now , Tallow ,she instructed herself firmly as they stepped out onto the stage. Try not to look so obviously wasted. But at least she wasn’t nervous. But then why should she be? Tallow was a stylist in her head, and it was just the capitol’s loss that she was stuck in such a backwater freaking district like this one working with whatever she could make herself or get from the dead and why would she be nervous? She knew how to do this- from the tribute interviews that she watched every year intently, taking notes on the outfits, remembering the new ways that capitolites were wearing their hair that game’s season. Scutcher was in the audience, so she gave him a little wave so he knew he’d seen her. He didn’t have to come, but it was still a nice gesture, coupled with the sinking feeling that she hadn’t gone to his pig thing earlier and that he would have been more disappointed by that than she would have been if he hadn’t shown up for this.

Her smile wouldn’t win any awards, it was unnatural looking and didn’t do her sizable nose (thanks for that, dad) any favours- but she hadn’t smiled last year and she hadn’t placed-backwater judges didn’t know sophisticated beauty when they saw it. So her tactic this year was to just lie and grin like a cretin, which was actually proving to be easier since she was so high, walking around to the music with the dead eyed smile of a prostitute- also probably off her face on something. Tallow caught Elias’ eye as she walked passed him and gave one of her slow twisting smirks. The idea of winking and acting extra flirty made her feel physically sick, though; she wanted to place, but she wasn’t gonna sell her soul to be Ms Pillock of Panem or whatever it was. She’d blown a judge; surely that was automatically a third place? But then again, Elias got around and she didn’t know all that much about the other candidates, they might all be loose little cows. So she turned to the side so the split on her dress faced the audience and the judges, Tallow shifted her outfit a little so the gap in her dress rose just that little bit higher to the point where it was obvious that she couldn’t have gotten away with wearing any underwear.

That music sounded really good just proved that she was still under the influence. “Hi,” she said, approaching the mic pushing out her tits, and biting her lip like she was a little shy. “I’m Tallow Tansy and, well, I guess District Ten, my home, makes me proud to be a part of Panem!” Predictably this drew a whoop from the crowd, so she thanked her lucky stars that she was up so early; it was the easiest answer in the book. It was kind of tedious too though, so she elaborated. “The air is fresh if you don't mind the poop, everyone you meet is as kind and obligin’ as anythin’, and the pies at the produce fair are hot and sweet and'll make you feel real good …just like me and my best friend, Swallow Anne”

Moving back to her place, she scanned the line with a look that clearly said, ‘Yeah, now which one of you bitches wants to dance?”

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Backstage, Tallow reached for her curling iron as though ready to make a couple of touch ups- but instead just sort of clacked the metal in a sinister fashion while watching Motel enter with a sickening cocktail of arrogance and childish exuberance. The clacking got a little louder as he started slapping Swallow-Anne’s backside and talking smack. He hadn’t bothered to wash, she’d noticed with distaste, and his hair quite frankly made her feel physically ill. “Uh…it’s called a Pride of Panem contest,” Tallow said lightly to him, not bothering to hide her disdain. “Why would anyone be proud of…that?” she leaned against a table, pointing the length of a battered leather ensemble as though he had just fallen in the foulest smelling manure. “And, to be honest, you look like you have diseases.”

With a sunny smile in his direction, Tallow stooped to apply a little more lip gloss as the sound of laughter filtered through from the audience. She didn’t crane her head to see the cause, only gave a sort of knowing smirk to herself in the mirror. Lyric St Clair, with her beautiful head of dark hair, long lashes, pretty dress and just general ‘Ms Pride of Panem’ air about her ran through the dressing room in a flash of bare legs and underwear, ducking behind a screen as the sound of tears filled the room. “Oops,” she said lightly, catching Swallow Anne’s eye in the mirror. “Looks like we got a wardrobe malfunction. I guess some people just can’t get the hang of walking in heels with long dresses,” like the when poor pretty Amber Huffers had fallen off the stage and broken her leg in three places last year. A lot of girls who entered pageants with Tallow couldn’t quite get the hang of walking in heels it seemed. “What a shame.”

Stepping out of her dress, Tallow didn’t bother to hide what was underneath as she changed for her talent. It was the part of the show that she liked the least and, despite feeling a little better knowing that Lyric St Clair was out of the running, Tallow wished that she’d eaten a little more of that brownie.

See, the problem was that Tallow had a lot of talents, but unfortunately not a lot of them transferred well into a pageant scenario. She was good at making people feel small, good at rolling her eyes in a perfect circle and giving dead people bangs at the morgue without anyone noticing. She could make her boobs vary in cup size by will power and angles alone, frighten pigs with a single look and convince the girls at school that you could get pregnant from riding a saddle after a dude had been on it. She knew her way around a dress well enough to stitch one together from old curtains (as well as how to un-pin and un-hem it in certain places where it would almost certainly catch or rip) plus, she was good at drawing blood when she bit people- but none of it was the sort of thing you could do on stage. Last year she’d done impressions and it hadn’t ended well. So instead of worrying about herself, Tallow turned her attention to Swallow Anne- her creation.

“You need to smile more, and your feet look weird when you walk,” she said, sticking the girl with yet another pin that seemed to do nothing for the structural integrity of her hairstyle. “And next time they give you a question answer it in f-cking English…I literally had…no idea …what you were saying and I’m tripping balls, so if it didn’t make sense to me…I just…” Tallow pressed her thumb and forefinger to her temples, trying to keep herself calm. “Your hair is perfect,” she reminded herself, “Your hair is perfect,” like a mantra repeated over and over. “I made the right choice not tanning you; it does make a girl look like a backwards ass farm hand” Tallow added with a nod of her head, maybe looking in the direction of Fawn, up on the stage with her talent. Then she stooped her head to whisper lightly in Swallow Anne’s ear, “and I suppose if worst comes to worse I could always get with Elias again and give Mace Emberstatt a giant cake or a whole roast pig or whatever. You’re gonna win, Angel; you’re my best work to date,” she kissed her friend on the cheek, before remembering her gloss and swearing loudly, grabbing a handkerchief and rubbing at Swallow Anne’s face. “I’m up,” she said fluffing her hair a little as the applause for Fawn carried her off the stage.

Tallow took up her makeup satchel and bag of tricks, stepping onto the stage waving to the crowd. One of the hands put out a stool, just as she had asked and Tallow stepped up to the microphone, “Well hey there!For my talent I will be giving y’all a demonstration entitled ‘How to trick people into thinking you’re good looking..kind of, when actually you’re super ugly’.” There was a slight smattering of applause as she fiddled with the microphone and un hooked it from the stand.

“So first off I need a volunteer,” scanning the crowd it wasn’t exactly difficult to find someone completely tragic looking in the audience. Pointing, Tallow selected a slightly portly woman with a masculine ruddy face, stringy ginger hair pulled up into a hair knot so tight that her entire face inhabited her forehead and a knitted sweater with an angry lopsided looking cow pattern on it. She pointed and the woman visibly stiffened, “Come on up,” Tallow said with a disconcerting smile, “I promise I won’t bite.” Her teeth flashed under the poor lighting that had been rigged up for the talent contest. “Let’s have a hand for the victim…I mean volunteer.”

“What’s your name darlin’?” Tallow said in a low voice as the woman, now the shade of a beetroot wobbled onto the stage, pressed down onto the milking stool in the middle of the stage.

“Marleen,” the woman trembled.

“Let's have a hand for Mary! Great, well Mary here is about fifty eight or so and probably--”

Marleen tugged a little on Tallow’s dress trying to grab her attention, “I’m thirty nine.”

“Really?” Tallow leaned in away from the mic to whisper, “Sh-t. Ouch.” Women did not age well in district ten, that was pretty much a general consensus and was almost enough to make Tallow think that maybe being reaped at seventeen and murdered while you were still moderately attractive wasn’t such a bad thing after all. “So yeah anyway, Mary is thirty nine,” from somewhere in the audience came a few chuckles. Tallow almost wanted to frown; this was not a comedy bit. “And she’s tired and she works hard and she almost definitely doesn’t take care of herself or have particularly good genes.”

“I..I…”

“That’s right Mary, honey, its pretty freaking embarrassing isn't it?” Tallow patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. “But before your very eyes Mary is about to be transformed.” Tallow opened up her bag and began to pull out her makeup and brushes, turning Marleen around so she faced away from the audience as Tallow began her work.

“Now obviously there are a couple of steps we can’t take on stage but they really do make all the difference,” she continued talking to the audience. “I’m talking basic personal hygiene here, people. I can’t stress enough how important it is to wash your dirty body more than once a month. Preferably with soap. If you get caught in the rain, that does not count as bathing. Neither does falling in a water trough, spilling soup on your chin or being peed on by a farm animal.” Tallow furrowed her brow, peered at Marleen and loaded up her brush.

“So what I’m doing now basically translates as slapping on an entire fricktonne of makeup all over her face,” she continued. “All of this is homemade by the way- if you come see me after the show we can talk recipes and I sell a little too, if you’re a woman who wants to hide being so damn ugly or a man who’s sick of looking at his wife’s face then it’s the perfect gift.” Elias had plugged his farm, Tallow didn’t see much problem in plugging her own homemade makeup. Might as well make a bit of money out of the pageant as well. “There’s a mixture of oils and pigmentation and acids in the foundation and I’m just caking her in it…all over…lots and lots and lots.”

“Acids?” Marleen squeaked but Tallow gallantly ignored her.

“Now some people prefer a more natural look, but the idea is to hide how ugly you are and real things are disgusting! Or so they say in the capitol. Mary has very pretty green eyes, but they are just so damn small no one can see them,” Tallow smiled and peered at them. “Like piss holes in the snow, I’m telling ya! Oops, your eyes are…leaking a little bit there, Mary, lemme just mop them up with a tissue. Eye shadow will fix that. So much eyeshadow. Remember, the goal is to make yourself look nothing like yourself. Then I draw on some fake eyebrows and some nice slutty lipstick and charge up the hair iron.” She flicked the switch on her ominous metal clamps, heavy enough to brain someone over the head with and filled with boiling water.

“So we can just abuse the crap out of her hair,” Tallow said with a gleeful grin, uncoiling the hair from its tight top knot and battling through it with comb and hot iron, “People ask me where a lot of the styles I like come from and when it comes to my personal hair heroes I always look to the Hunger Games. District four pulls them out of the bag year after year, though I don’t know the name of their usual stylist. No disrespect to our judges of course, but I think their’s is a little…short for me to pull off.” She smiled and there were a few titters. “And of course, I can’t talk about hair and not mention district ten’s Damaris Benson. She was…” Tallow took a sigh and looked skywards with a dreamy expression, “magnificent.” And for the first time in the night Tallow meant every word of it. The colour of her hair…the weight…the body, the original Ms District 10 for always and forever and the first tribute not to make Tallow ashamed of her backwards ass town.

Aware that she had to wrap this up soon or risk taking longer than Fawn and loosing the audience, Tallow gave one last flourish with her straightening iron, making sure that Marleen’s hair framed her face to give the appearance of slimmer features, surveyed her work and nodded approvingly before she stood to the side.

“Now Mary, if you would be so kind as turn to face the kind folks in the audience.”



It wasn’t as though Marleen had been magically transformed into a sixteen year old hottie- Tallow was a stylist not a wizard- but all the same, there was a marked improvement, if only because releasing her hair from the tight top knot had dropped her forehead down at least three inches. Her skin looked better under a mountain of makeup and her eyes did pop underneath all of the black. Tallow was best at hair and it showed; bringing out the natural shine and framing her face just right. The audience applauded politely and Marleen, looking in the mirror gave a little gasp and beamed- which was a good sign.

“I know that Fawn gave her talent as a gift to Mace, and I don’t think that Mary would mind that one bit -but I think her husband might have something to say about that!”

“I..I’m not married,” said Marleen with a nervous grin and a giggle looking over at the judges table- the limelight going to the sad
little woman’s head presumably. “Hi.”

Tallow put a coy hand to her mouth, pretending to be scandalised. “Not for much longer I bet, you little minx! Let’s give a round of applause for Mary ladies and gentleman! Thank you!” The curtsey was a little much, upon reflection, but she still did it and bounced off the stage beaming from ear to ear.

A beam that immediately vanished into a set sort of grimace when she stepped back into the dressing room. “I dwawwed you a pwetty picture, Mace,” she said in a mock-baby whine to Swallow in ear shot of Fawn. “Oh my freaking devil cow, I think I’m gonna barf.”