rhinestone jitters { nylon & mortem

[tick 12a / calla]

M I S S M O R T E M

So what if she's nervous? It's her first year on Sampson's team and there's spiders in her stomach, all creepy crawly. There's real taxidermied Nakoms in her hair that quiver a little when she moves. And lord does she move! She flits around the backstage area like a hyperactive little bee, because the interviews are supposed to be starting in fifteen minutes and the District One female always goes first, and here the girl of the hour still is, sitting in the chair looking bored with only half her face on.

Mortem holds two eyeshadow swatches up to Nylon Gingham's face and then reaches over to grab a third, because of course Sampson had to pick the hardest violet shade to match her makeup to. Is it so hard to stick to the staples? Gold shimmer on the brow bone, a dark two-tone lip, white on the water line, Mortem even did their own face up the same way in camaraderie.

Not that it's helping right now.

Nylon's got the kind of cheekbones careers would kill for - Mortem's obsessed with her already. And it's not just because Nylon's the first tribute of her career, no, she painted Janus Shields when he played Ansgar Todd, her damn biggest break, and she handled that just fine.

But now, starstruck isn't quite the right word. Mortem's like any other Capitol kid - she grew up rooting for the fighters and the careers and the hot ones, and her first crush ever was on Exar Shan who had just so happened to be all of the above.

Nylon blows a bubble with her gum and Mortem pops it with one wickedly sharp nail, unimpressed, before going back to lining her lips.

"You smudge this makeup, you'll be the first one out." But there's no malice in it. She talks with an oddball's sort of dark humour and the rest of the world's just always had to work with it.

"Don't be nervous." Mortem says, and wipes a little bit of stray lipstick away with their thumb, "No one else here looks even half as good as you."

[charade]

Mother always said it was important to remember your station and not interact with those beneath you, but like I’m pretty sure anyone who’s not an avox here makes twice as much money as her. I’m not stupid, I know district one is better than the other eleven, but the Capitol still outshines us in every way.

I mean like, look at the stylist team. We’ve got hairdressers and whatnot back home but while they talk a good game, they don’t measure up.

Not that I’m going to tell Mortem that. Can’t let people get too high an opinion of themselves. That kind of thinking is reserved for victors and future victors like me.

Nervous? Me?

“Nervousness is for poor people,” I say with annoyance. “And obviously, no one looks as good as me.”

Obviously.

The interviews are going to start in fifteen minutes or so and like, maybe there’s one or two other tributes that might be almost—

Nah. I mean, sure, there’s definitely a few three’s and fours who’re gonna need all makeup they can get. I might even consider a certain someone a ten. Too bad for them, the dial in my district goes up to eleven.

I spit my gum out just as Mortem moves out of the way, and it lands in the sink under the mirror. I look good, and it’s not bragging if it’s a fact. I pull another stick of gum out and pop it in, glancing at Mortem.

“Nakom’s.” I say offhandendly, staring at her hair. “Are you a fan of Cricket?”

Sure that victor from district two is older than dirt, but we have to study ancient history as part of our training, learn why careers won and what mistakes the losers made. Cricket is a great example of how to have showmanship and perform.

We need more victors like her in one.

You know, like me.

“So what do I have to fight for you to decorate yourself like me?”

[tick 12a / calla]

M I S S M O R T E M

“Nervousness is for poor people.”

Mortem bares her fangs when she grins.

"You know your stuff." She remarks, one hand drifting up to the Nakoms that she had so painstakingly tracked down for her collection. She plucks one of the smaller ones from her hairline, then takes a pin from the dressing table, using it to tack one lock of hair away from Nylon's face and fastening the Nakom to hold it in place there.

Frida's already finished with the hair, but Mortem's sure they won't mind. It goes with the outfit, anyways.

Sort of.

Then "Have you seen Cricket's eyebrows?" She leans in conspiratorially, scandalized almost, still dead serious as she shuffles through brushes, "They're legendary."

She steps behind Nylon and puts a finger on either side of her face, angling her head just the right way so her highlight catches the fluorescents. Mortem makes eye contact with Nylon in the mirror, then dusts a little more gold onto the tip of her nose.

"Come back with a crown," She tells the reflection, tapping one nail against Nylon's temple, "Then we'll talk."

Mortem moves Nylon's head back and forth slowly to watch the shimmer do its thing. It's subtle but still noticeable, warming her face the same way the golden hour light does. It makes her look very, very much alive and Mortem tries not to focus on that point for too long.

"Who's your hero then? Ridley? Opal?" Mortem's something of a Career connoisseur, she was in the same room as Belladonaa Ruze's punctured heart once, it's something she's proud of, "Do you kids still learn about Topaz?"

[charade]

Eyebrows.

Yeah, I guess I could see why Cricket’s eyebrows could be a talking point. But it’s really hard to resist the urge to say something testy about the crown.  So I don’t resist it, and once she’s stopped moving my head around, I have something to say.

“I’ll remember that on the victory tour,” I say with a sneer. “Maybe you can polish it for me.” I cross my legs and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like a proper celebrity now. Just like the victors she mentioned.

“Ridley, duh. Opal’s a traitor who ran off to district eleven to romance some ditzy blonde.” Honestly. It’s not a good look for a district one victor. Love ‘em and leave ‘em sure, break a few hearts here and there, but getting married to someone whose surname is a fruit?

Gag.

Ridley’s prettier anyhow.

Not—not that I’ve noticed or anything.

“You forgot Justice Fray though.”

Gawd, imagine forgetting to name a dreamboat like him. I’ve got posters of him in my room. Him and Shy Aubergine. Oh right, Topaz. I think I remember something about her in school. She’s one of those ancient victors that keeps to herself. I dunno, I don’t really pay attention to anything older than the 70th except for quells and interesting victors.

“Have you talked to Ridley at all? She’s seems really nice for a grim reaper. But like, edgy too, like she stares into people’s souls in her spare time.”

It’s been real hard to get a read on my mentor. If I didn’t know any better I’d say she like—doesn’t like being a victor.

Crazy talk, I know.

[tick 12a / calla]

M I S S M O R T E M

Nylon talks like someone's who never wanted for anything in her life. She's a spoiled little brat from a spoiled little district, born with a gold-plated spoon straight from the Capitol. She's confident to the point of cocky and holds herself above everyone else.

Mortem looks at her, really looks at her, and then decides that she needs more blush.

"Well I think it was very romantic." She says, moving to find just the right magenta shade, not too red, not too purple, "Besides, Ky's a cutie, he's around your age, isn't he?"

How old are teenagers again?

Mortem's not sure if she's seen an actual child since Omen grew up. They don't exactly frequent The Bloody Drip, and it's been a long, long time since Mortem's done a Halloween party. Kid's face painting is usually seen as a step down from doing the gore effects on a Gyllene film. Would she rather be doing a neon green zombie paint or the most realistic gouged out eye you've ever seen?

The answer's in her resume.

Nylon brings up Justice when Mortem holds up the blusher, triumphant, and Mortem stops the career right there.

"You're much too smart and much too efficacious to be getting involved with the Frays." She wags a finger without turning around, tries not to let her bias bleed through so strongly, "Keep an eye on that district partner of yours, Bambi's good at making her boys look prettier under the right light."

Lucky for Nylon, lucky for them both, she looks great in any light.

"Ridley?" Mortem repeats thoughtfully, then more teasing, "Ohhhh. I see. Not a bad choice, all things considered."

"She doesn't come around very often. Something something honour, something something family, you're better off asking Sampson about it." Mortem holds one clawed hand over her heart and tips her head back, dramae personified, "That bone structure though."

[charade]

I have to roll my eyes when she brings up that victor kid. Romantic? There’s nothing romantic about commitment. It just means someone decided to be boring and settle down to be even more boring. What do adults like that even do? Converse about the weather and mortgage payments I bet. That isn’t me. I was built for so much more.

And I already know I’m not going to get old. The hell with that, I’m going to go out with a bang, hopefully in a way that splashes me all across Victor’s View. But Mortem talks shit about the Fray’s and I’m intrigued. I bet she knows more about them than she’s letting on, living in the Capitol and all.

Watch out for Bastian though? No duh. He’s my biggest threat, and I fully intend on drowning him in his own blood once the two of us make it to the finale. But I realize she’s making this all about me. That’s great, me is my favorite subject, but this could be sinister. Especially if she plans on sharing information about me with other people. So I flip the script.

“So like, I know why I’m here. To be rich and famous. You’re here to make me look better.” And I gotta admit, its working.

“But why did you join this team, hm? Are there any victors you have your eye on?” I ask it innocently, looking at her with doe eyes that hide a viper’s tongue. Poetic right? It’s something Satin said once.

I think she’s just jealous.