Hunger Games Stylists Novels & Stories

EMBER’S POV The stylist team moves like a precision strike squad. In less than five seconds, my plate is cleared, a measuring tape is around my waist, and I'm in the grip of Simone, who radiates such withering beta energy I think even Knox would hesitate to cross her. "Don't slouch," Simone snaps, fingers already in my hair. "Posture makes the woman." I stand at rigid attention while another woman circles me, jotting numbers. Two men focus on the rolling racks, pulling out garment bags with reverence.

There was no need to hire a stylist. Thera smiled and said, "It's very important to me. I hope my female companion is the most amazing one on the scene." Stacy wanted to say that if you want to have a good look, it was better to find a star or something. Although he was reluctant, he had already promised her. Moreover, he also introduced the chef who was good at making clouds gauze to her. She stood up from the bed and sat down in front of the dresser to let the stylist do it.

It was artfully dishevelled, as though a stylist had arranged the unbuttoned shirt and loosened tie just so. Funnily enough, it reminded Vivienne of a quote from Edward Pattison; about how during one of the scenes the stylist had fed a piece of wire inside the collar of his shirt so that they could fold and make the fabric look as rumpled as they wanted. The most intense form of pretentious dishevelment I’ve ever seen in my life.

I barely had a moment to breathe before I was pulled this way and that, pushed into a chair, and firmly held in place as if I were a life-sized doll. "Stay still," one of the stylists scolded gently as she worked on my hair, twisting and pinning it into a complex style. Another dabbed powder onto my face, her brush moving so quickly I felt like I might sneeze at any moment. Meanwhile, Ingrid hovered nearby, making sure I didn't skip breakfast. "Open your mouth, Mistress," she ordered politely, shoving a forkful of food toward me. I barely had time to chew before another stylist tilted my chin up, applying lipstick.

“Stylists? As in… more than one?” Her mother stood, smoothing down her blouse. “Of course. We have a hair stylist, a makeup artist, and a seamstress for final dress adjustments. You didn’t think I’d leave anything to chance, did you?” Maya groaned dramatically, though there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. “This is starting to feel like preparing for a red carpet.” “Exactly,” her mother said, completely unbothered by the sarcasm. The stylists soon entered the house, wheeling in cases and bags filled with tools, brushes, and products. They greeted Mrs. Denovan respectfully, clearly aware of who she was, and then turned their attention to Maya.

I would have been ten times happier if this was my look for my real wedding. "You look..." Eleanor, one of my other friends, sighed as she did a chef's kiss. I smiled at her, looking over at the stylist, Luigi, and nodding in appreciation. "She stole my reaction." He complained good-naturedly in his thick Italian accent. "ALRIGHT!" We all jumped as Hannah kicked the door open. Cynthia, Eleanor and I, along with the designers, looked at her and Tris, who was right behind her, like they were crazy.

Horrible I know, but this is my last year and if I want to get into a top university I gots to put the work in. I finished my essay just after two hours, I knew I had to start getting ready so I screamed into my pillows and whined. Dragging my feet to my closet I pick out a white dress, it was fancy yet just simple enough. Laying out my dress on the bed I hop into the shower and let the water wash away my anxiety. Except it didn't, I was still anxious. After my shower I dried my hair and started to do my makeup. I kept it light but added some shimmer here and there and then curled my hair. Satisfied with my look I wear the dress and look at myself in my floor length mirror. The dress hugged

They would not wish that to happen and would not want her to treat them harshly. “What now? The banquet is about to begin. Do you want me to appear naked before my guests?” The stylists continued to lower their heads, concealing their irritation toward Leah. They wouldn’t style her or accept this job if they weren't paid a handsome amount. They had already heard rumors about how she had an attitude, but they didn’t imagine that it was worse than what was presumed. Leah’s character could not eat even a dog! “Move now! God! You are a bunch of lazy bitches! We paid you to work!”

“Is that your brother? I think he’s your lover. “I see. You’re my husband’s mistress, and you’re using his money to keep a lover, right?” Alarm bells rang in my head. Yelena then said with a cruel smile, “Bring the can of gasoline. I’ve eaten every delicacy, but I’ve never tasted roasted human meat. “Why don’t I let your lover taste your flesh?” Hunter dragged himself along the floor and spoke in a rough voice. “Don’t you dare! If anything happens to Wendy, I’ll make you suffer a fate worse than death! Don’t count on Jacob to save you!”

“Stand up, Liora. Let’s see what five hundred thousand dollars actually buys these days.” I stood. My legs were heavy, but I kept my chin level. “Arms out,” the lead stylist ordered. I didn't move. “Do what she says,” Tira whispered, leaning in. “The Circle doesn't tolerate disobedience. Especially not from the daughter of a thief.” And who the fuck is this circle everyone keeps talking about! I felt a sharp prick in my chest. I slowly raised my arms. The tape measure snapped around my waist. The stylists moved with robotic efficiency, their fingers digging into my skin…