Behind The Glasses

Chapter 20 | A Marionette.

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"We stand like that, close, connected, staring at the same sky. I wonder what he's thinking right now; I wonder if we're looking at the same patch of blue or grey or green."
-Marcello Marino-Flores.
-Lydia Hephzibah, A Beginner's Guide to the American West.
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Chapter 20 | A Marionette.

Grifter.
Pronunciation
*(RP) IPA: /ˈɡɹɪftə/
Noun. (plural grifters)
1. A con artist; someone who pulls confidence games.

There's two guards stationed outside my hotel room and my room has a handful of people I have never seen before, discussing all the aspects of my appearance. I've never had this many people fuss over me, especially people I don't know.

I can't believe this is happening right now. When we arrived, I didn't have to check in, it had already been done for me. I was immediately surrounded -poorly, if I might add- by people whose sole purpose was currently my safety. Seriously, do these people think they are doing a good job of protecting me. Hunter could do this better than these guys. It's all elaborate for something that was organised just last night. Maybe that's the excuse for the poor security.

"Princess, we need you to pick a dress," a woman with a pencil lodged behind her ear informed me, holding out an open folder that contained photographs of at least 5 fancy gowns. It told me of the colour, the fabric, what each gown symbolises and all sorts of other things I found interesting but useless. Everything meant something somehow down to the length and beadwork. My goodness. I'm exhausted just looking at it.

"Please, call me Remi." My mom would be in Disneyland if she was here. She knows more about this than anyone I know. I wish she was here to do all this picking for me. We could've even saved money and just picked something suitable from her closet if I'd been told sooner. I'm out of my league here.

It's all too overwhelming to take in all at once. I'm out of my league here. "Which one do you recommend?" Better ask someone who looks like they know what they're doing. She doesn't look frustrated by my lengthy blank stare at the folder and she seems to know what she's doing.

She gestures me over to the mirror, where I take a seat as she thoughtfully scrolls through the folder, taking short glances at me with each page flip. See, now that's someone who knows what he's doing.

"For your first appearance in public, I would suggest the blueberry gown. It portrays a gentle strength. It will complement your eyes with some light make-up and your hair styled simply to not draw attention away from your face," she lists, holding up the photograph of the gown in question. It's beautiful.

"Then so be it. I just have one request." She's halfway through turning towards a large rack in the corner of the room when I add the second sentence. Her attention quickly flits back to me, letting me know I had her attention. "Could we possibly skip it? Or tone it down?"

She smiles gently, "Of course, ma'am. I do suggest we keep the lip colour." I nod, thanking her and sighing in relief. I'm guessing Remi wouldn't do so she's switched tactics.

Another woman takes her place and begins doing my hair. I actively attempt not to shudder when someone else takes hold of my hand and begins to rub off the nail colour I had. Free manicure. One good thing out of all of this so far. The pencil lady comes back from the rack and both the hair and nail ladies ask for her approval on their work. She's in charge by the looks of things.