Straight to Hell ▹The Hunger Games

SEVEN

"Where did that ugly necklace come from?" Cassius asked as he reached out for it, pulling Winona in along with it. "It's an eyesore. Don't wear it for your interview."

Winona jerked back, clenching the gold locket in her fist and snarling.

"It's my token," She lied and Cassius scoffed.

"No way something that gaudy is from Twelve," He said. "That looks like it costs more than the entire district."

"It's a family heirloom."

Cassius rolled his eyes, but let it go, instead choosing to take a seat, smoothing out his dusty pink dress pants. They had been at it for hours, practicing hand gestures, and laughter. It was all so trivial, and Winona laughed bitterly at the thought of it; that her posture could be what saved her life in the games.

"Put on those heels," He ordered and Winona cringed but obliged, pulling them over her feet. The heels of the shoes were long- almost five inches, and came down to a sharp point. "Now walk."

She took a few steps before stumbling, her ankle rolling and toes stinging from the pinching. She quickly reached for her chair to steady herself and Cassius let out a long sigh.

"Put your heel down first," He said. "So you can steady yourself."

She followed his directions, starting with her heel, and ending with her toe, and walked from one side of the room to the other, leaning against the wall.

"Good," He said. "Do it again and do it faster."

For an hour she walked back and forth, mastering was Cassius believed was the proper gait, speed, and energy- whatever that meant.

"You're done with that," He said, crossing his arms. "Now take a seat. I need to see what you look like."

Winona followed his instructions with gritted teeth remembering what Haymitch said. She had to play by the rules if Colt was going to leave the Arena.

"Don't slouch," He ordered, standing to rest one hand on her chest and the other on her spine, pressing hard until she straightened out. A dull ache formed at her lower back as she stayed still, watching Cassius circle her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. He sighed for what seemed to be the dozenth time and sat down, crossing his legs.

"The Capital thinks you're beautiful," Cassius said, looking her up and down. "So I'm sure your stylist-"

"Osa."

Cassius blinked.

"Her name is Osa."

"Okay," He trailed off. "I'm sure Osa will jump on that. I'd imagine a short dress to show off your long legs. Touch your knees together and point your toes."

She did as he said and he let out a nod of approval.

"One hand on the arm of the chair and the other in your lap. You'll look open and inviting."

Obey. Nod.

"Keep your shoulders straight."

Obey. Nod.

"Don't spread your fingers but don't make a fist either."

Obey. Nod.

"Smile."

Obey.

"Hmm."

Cassius scratched at his pink beard, a strained look on his face.