Writers' Games - Free Falling {CLOSED}

Red Velvet's Interview

I never really liked the color red.

Ironic, I know as my name literally is Red. But seriously, what kind of idiot would name their daughter Red, if their last name is Velvet? My parents, apparently. They thought it was clever, naming someone after a food, the red velvet cupcake, which I had tasted twice, for my seventh and sixteenth birthday as a special treat. Sometimes, the shallowness of the people from District One appalls me.

Which is why when my stylist, Francesca dela Merced, or Fran, told me that my dress wouldn't be red, I hugged her like there was no tomorrow. I told her about how I feel for that color, and I guess she listened to me.

Now, I'm standing in a small, but elaborately decorated dressing room, wearing nothing but a thin, white robe. My hair is perfectly curled. Gorgeous little diamonds -real ones, might I add- are weaved in and out of the curls, catching the light whenever I move.

My prep team went all out with my eye make-up. They kept the rest of my face bare, just a bit of blush and some lipgloss, and focused on my eyes. They lined my eyes with dark, dramatic eyeliner. Glued fake black lashes on my eyes, saying that it would make it look even more dramtic than my natural blonde lashes, and added tiny blue gems at the end of each lash, making my blue eyes stand out. They swept my lids in silver eye shadow, which blends and turns into a deep blue color. I don't know how they did it, but it looks fantastic.

Fran sets a box in front of me, squealing madly, "Open it!" she says, jumping up and down on her ridiculously high heels. I don't hesitate. I gingerly open the box, and it reveals a beautiful blue fabric covered in shimmering blue beads. It's calming, and it's the same shade as my eyes.

I take it out, to see the whole thing. It's of modest length, stopping just a few inches above my knee but not short enough to reach mid-thigh, and strapless with a sweetheart neckline. "Oh, Fran I love it!" I start squealing with her. The dress is amazing, much nicer than than any of my dresses back in One, and I know that it must cost a fortune.

"Try it on!" she urges, and she steps out to give me privacy. I quickly shed out of the robe and step into the dress. It's snug on the top and the skirt flies out whenever I twirl. I put on the matching shoes, which is five inches high, and is pleasantly surprised when I see that it's not hard to walk on. I adjust my hair, fluffing it up a bit and then I come out of the dressing room.

Fran screeches when she sees me, "Oh, Red you're gorgeous! I wouldn't be surprised if I see Capitol boys lining up in front of your door tonight!" the thought of Capitol boys drooling over me isn't exactly the most pleasant idea, especially if they're middle aged dudes. But if they do start lining up, I won't be surprised because I look THAT good. Fran speaks of the truth.

She ushers me to walk, "You'll be the first one up. I know you're ready, Red. Go." she kisses my cheeks and gives me a slight push. Peacekeepers are instantly at my side, escorting me to the backstage. Butterflies start fluttering inside my stomach. I'm anxious, yes, but not a nervous wreck. I see other tributes fidgetting on their seats, looking nervous as hell, the scared looks on their faces ruining the beautiful outfits their stylists made for them. My name is called, and I take a deep breath, before heading out.

The Capitol people screams, applauding wildly when they see me. I put on my best smile, and wave at them, blowing kisses every now and then. My interviewer, Sequin Sparkles, welcomes me with a hug.

She, like her name suggests, sparkles. Her pale purple face seems to have been dipped in glitter. Her eyes are like an owl's, huge and blue; and they look like they are insanely glossing and sparkly. Her lips are thin, like really thin, and covered in sparkles. She doesn't even wear lipstick. Her cotton-candy pink hair hangs down her back in tight ringlets, and she wears a matching pink dress with glittery sequins covering the whole thing.