[MAKEOVER OR OUT] Part 1— Rose Tint My World

A/N: This fic has been left hanging for two months, so now that I'm finally posting it here on FFN, hopefully I'll get the drive to finish it. I still haven't plotted the whole story, so if you have any suggestions, please feel free to drop me a line. Enjoy the crack!

"Asami, you always know how to accessorize your outfits. I'm lovin' the steampunk single glove. Asymmetric is totally in. Just fabulous~~"

"Oh Mako, stop. This is nothing, just a vintage item from my dad's wares. I think you know how to accessorize better than anyone in the industry. That scarf is gorgeous."

"Also my dad's. Vintage."

"Looks like we started a new trend."

"Actually, I think The Bloodbender started it before us. Ya know his signature three ponytails? Also a vintage look from his father."

Korra fought back the urge to barf. All of this talk about fashion made every hair on her body rise like a thousand flames ready to melt any of those plastic hands that were imminently out to get her. Twiddling her thumbs nervously, she sat quietly in the reception room, unintentionally eavesdropping on the fashionistas now ranting about some model big shot's older brother who apparently carried the divine powers to change any face. She shuddered at the very thought, hating the concept of altering one's physical appearance, which brought her full circle to her current predicament. She turned to her mentor seated calmly beside her, seeking moral support.

"Tenzin, do I really have to do this? I'm an athlete, not a model."

"Korra, I know you don't like the idea, but this is a necessary step in your career. Being an all-star Olympic medalist in not just about winning competitions. Never forget the image you project onto the world, the hope you inspire in people."

"Yeah, okay. But why do I have to dress up and get my photo taken? This is so stupid."

"Unfortunately, people aren't only satisfied with talent. They also want their role models to be beautiful, and the press will judge you if their high standards are not met. I can't say I agree, but it's the sad reality."

"That's wrong," she grumbled, clenching her fist and taking a stand.

"I understand your frustration, but you must bear with it."

"No, Tenzin, you don't get it. There's a reason why I turn to sports and not this prissy garbage." Korra was raising her voice, surely attracting attention by now, but she ignored the gossipy glares. "I'm beautiful the way I am, that's what I want to tell the world, and there's no way I'm letting anyone touch my face to change it!"

Timing could not be any more perfect (or imperfect) for the ambiguously gendered individual that waltzed through the doors and casually approached the glowering girl, essentially walking right into open fire. "Miss Korra, we are ready for you. This way, if you please."

"Nope, not pleased at all," she responded cheekily, crossing her arms and looking down at the poor messenger. "I've changed my mind. I'm not going through with this."

Tenzin stood up in alarm, and as if he could predict her shifty movement of wanting to bolt for the door (while burning everything in her path), he took her wrist, gently but firmly. "You'll be in good hands, there's nothing to fear. They've arranged the best."

"I don't care!" she cried out, yanking out of his grasp and causing the messenger to squeak. "Reputed or not, I'm not letting anyone near my face!"

"Korra—"

"Look, I've never backed away from anything in my life, but meeting the public's so-called standards of beauty? That's ridiculous. This isn't backing down; this is fighting their twisted expectations. I will not go through with this useless photoshoot and they're just gonna have to deal with it." The entire room was holding back their breath, utterly shocked by her bold declaration. "And I'll be sure to teach these stupid fashion pricks a lesson…"

"Now, Korra, don't do anything—"

Before her mentor could finish his warning, Korra turned to the frightened assistant, tripping him/her, and, just like Tenzin had predicted, she kicked everything in her path as she made her break for the exit. He sprung after her, but a poised hand rested on his shoulder to reel him back into place.

"Mr. Sato!" he exclaimed, surprised by the presence of such a highly-esteemed man, the very president of Future Agency.

"Manager Tenzin, do not be alarmed. We have everything under control."

And on cue, four bodyguards emerged from the door, snuffing Korra's destructive fire with their blockade. She tried to fight— certainly managed to knock a few balls out of the way— but they overpowered her with their increasing numbers, as more guards came to reinforce their defense. She was quickly dragged away into the hallway, thrashing and screaming obscenities that should never leave a lady's mouth, and her manager sighed at all the extra work these rumours were bound to cause.

The remaining audience simply stood wide-eyed in disbelief, awkwardly listening to the fading cries and the occasional muffled blow of a fallen body, until it finally all disappeared. A flamboyant lilt broke the silence of the room. "Ugg boots and sweatpants? Oh honey, no. Come back and let Mommy Mako help you~~!"

She was shoved in a dark room, the heavy metal door locking ominously behind her. White fluorescent lights were immediately flicked on, causing momentary blindness that nulled her instinct to avoid the forceful grasp of hands dragging her across the cold tile floor. As her eyes slowly adjusted to the bright environment, she caught a glimpse of her assailants— nameless figures wearing drab murky green uniforms— but her fear officially peaked at the sight before her: the makeup chair. She thrashed violently, cursing and kicking, until a damp cloth was pressed against her mouth and nose. It numbed her muscles, rendering her into an obedient lifeless doll, and she seethed at the injustice of their underhanded methods.

The sedative substance however did not affect her awareness, so when they forced her into the high-back swiveling chair, the fear felt more real than ever before. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man with the most ridiculously trimmed mustache, and under normal circumstances, she would have laughed or mocked his atrocious attire, particularly the skin-tight gray turtleneck with gold shoulder pads, or better yet, the green-tinted sunglasses obnoxiously perched on the bridge of his snobbish nose. But she was terrified. His gloved hands twirled twin curling irons, and her heart sped up. She would not let that shit anywhere near her hair.

Korra was still determined to escape, despite the horrible odds against her. She fidgeted with all the energy that she could muster, and when the assistants slackened their grip, she thought that she had succeeded. Her victory however vanished as soon as it had come because in walked a man with an aura so strong that it stopped her heart. This was it. She somehow just knew. He was the legendary older brother of the top model that the fashionistas gossiped about. She remembered the name that they had repeated in reverence: Amon. He was the big bad final boss and she was utterly petrified, no longer resisting the hands that kept her in place.

Elegantly removing his double-breasted charcoal jacket on a nearby coat rack, Korra couldn't help but notice that his fashion sense was rather modest compared to everything that she had witnessed in this hellhole. He simply wore a black collared shirt and tailored pants, classy and clean, but not over the top. He moved with utmost charisma, and despite feeling intimidated, there was something seductive about the way he carried himself.

Those icy blue eyes quickly snapped her out of her trance, as she felt his gaze pierce directly into her soul. She couldn't hide anything from this man, so she weakly stared back and ignored the wafts of his distracting cologne that felt intoxicating now that he stood so close to her trembling body. His expression was unreadable like a mask, and when he reached out his hand towards her face, she could no longer take it. She looked away, unable to contain the thought of how he would strip away her identity with the infamous powers he possessed.

Grabbing her chin, he forced her back into eye contact. "I have received notice of your insolence, young Avatar."

She winced at the title, knowing full well that he was mocking her status as the 'incarnation of athletic divinity' that the media claimed her to be.

"Our session, while inevitable, is premature. Although it would be the simplest thing for me to get this over with, I can't. Your skin is in terrible condition. Cosmetics of every grade and quality would reject your unrefined surface. I assure you, it can be fixed— then, you will experience my divine aesthetic skills. And I will change you." He released his grip and barked at his team, "Get her to beauty base zero!"