[CHRYSTIE’S PARADE] - [R13] (d8)

Instructions

-Preparation - Chrystie perched on a chair, chattering away at her costume ideas, the stylists nodding in acknowledgment. The whole room seemed to be abuzz with energy despite the noise, darkness, and humidity making her fur frizz. Her stylists constantly swapped hairbrushes for makeup, packets of dye for heavy costume pieces. Her fur and body were being pushed around in every which way, a fierce tug of a brush here, a smear of dye there. Some even were lugging around what seemed to be large pieces of copper machinery, two stylists carrying each one. She felt sticky. A piece of art, not a person. So far, her stylists had shaved off at least ninety percent of her fur, slathered her face in oily dyes, and covered her in scratchy fabrics. /bleh./ A sharp pain flared in her ear as a stylist attached a clip-on earring of a Capitol silk fan, jolting her back to reality. Chrystie bit back a hiss. It reminded her too much of the grim reality she faced. The stylist grimaced at her expression and nodded apologetically. /Well, at least they seem nice enough./ Chrystie thought, though she couldn’t help wondering if they secretly felt disgusted at her matted fur and cracked paws. Fortunately, they also seemed to have taken some of her suggestions to heart, but she internally groaned at the stereotyped, stylized version of her district reality. The coarse, copper-strung fabric was rough and patchworked with pretty designs, more display than functional. Nevertheless, it was too late to change it. She extended her arms and allowed them to slip on the coat without a fuss. A stylist handed her a mirror. Glancing over her shoulder, they grinned, "Perfect. They'll love it!" It certainly didn't *feel* perfect. Made up of metal and fabric, woven with multiple varieties and techniques, it showed off the craftsmanship of District 8 but not the culture. Heavy bits of metal squeaked around her costume and surprisingly, at the top-heavy part of her corset. Bending down, a stylist crouched in front, pointing to somewhere under the orange scarf. "Press this if you're going to go outside." /Huh. I guess that means there's a caboose./ she thought. Staying silent about the script and tight clothes, Chrystie pawed at her face, the oily makeup and dark dye making it feel like a mask. /So uncomfortable.../ If this was how the Capitol citizens felt like everyday, she wouldn't want to be one. No matter how privileged they were. -Parade - As her stylists led her to the train, she waved a goodbye and smiled in thanks. The district 8 train car was decorated with draperies, soft plush cushions and privacy curtains, and a massive gleaming district emblem. Contrary to her assumption, there was no platform outside. The train car was no better than the dressing room, between her tight-fitting corset, the weight of brass, and the acrid vapors from the locomotive stinging her nose. The whir of steel on the track jolted her forward as soon as she stepped on, hurtling her towards the expectant Capitol audience. As the train rounded the bend, the cheers and murmurings of the Capitol, those who were rich enough to see them in person, grew louder, overpowering the sound of the train engine. Peering through the heavy violet curtains, Chrystie could just barely see the shadows of the Capitol through the heavily fogged window. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for the show of a lifetime. - Reveal - The violet curtains parted, as if on a stage. A mysterious silhouette appeared through the heavy steam and crystalline window, causing the whispers and shouts of the Capitol to die down in anticipation. The figure opened the copper-framed window, a slight flashing through the fog, sharpening the shape, previously blurred from behind the window. The dull clunk of gears turning and the hiss of pneumatic steam, along with a faint scent of earth and smoke, seemingly poured from the window. +++++