Snippet #1973155

"Aquila! Vitus! Fabia!" Rita calls, and the people who I assume are my prep team comes rushing in. I try to hide a smile at the oddities that are my fashion designers.

"Vitus," Rita instructs the one man of the group. "I want you to make sure Coyer here is bathed properly. How often do you bathe in 10, boy?" Rita asked with a tone of disgust.

"Once a day," I say defensively. At least, I add silently, when I have running water. So maybe five times a week.

"Make sure he scrubs everything," Rita orders. Vitus nods. "Aquila and Fabia," Rita moves on. "After the detox, you're waxing him and styling his hair as I instruct."

"Yes, ma'am." Aquila says.

"Let's move, people, we only have one night to make this work!" Rita claps her hands together and turns to drawing a design for my outfit. My fate is now up to my stylists. I look them over.

Vitus is a short, obese man with pale skin and balding black hair. He's wearing a black jumpsuit with a sequined neon green jacket. The young Aquila is tall and painfully thin, with her long bleached blonde hair forming a cone on top of her head. She wore a white blouse and rainbow-colored pants and her lips were bright pink from too much lipstick. Fabia looks the oldest of them all, at least 50, but she has had obvious and heavy work done. Her skin is pulled back and her lips are puffy. Her bronze hair is fluffed perfectly around her head. She wore a pink shirt and pants with a tiger-striped jacket and ridiculously tall high heels.

"Remember," I say as they drag me out of the room, "I can bathe myself. Please let me bathe myself."