𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 sorrow

open  starter  /  winslow  ,  the  training  centre  .

          winslow  sits  with  their  back  to  a  wall  ,  head  bent  forward  and  knees  drawn  up  halfway  to  support  their  sketchbook  as  they  draw  .  they’re  taking  a  break  from  work  ,  and  have  sought  out  a  spot  with  a  decent  view  of  the  tributes’  training  centre  —  officially  they  shouldn’t  be  watching  yet  ,  but  it’s  not  as  if  their  opinion  on  the  final  rankings  holds  much  weight  .  and  besides  ,  they’re  not  watching  ,  they’re  just  drawing  —  much  more  focused  on  making  their  sketch  look  good  than  on  analysing  or  evaluating  the  tributes  .  the  sound  of  footsteps  on  the  polished  concrete  floor  prompts  the  gamemaker  to  glance  up  ,  though  their  expression  remains  relatively  neutral  .  “  want  to  join  the  loners  club  ?  entry  fee  is  two  cents  .  minimal  talking  allowed  .  ”

            WITH   GREEN   EYES   SOAKING   UP   EVERY   INCH   OF   SPACE,   she   surveyed   the   training   space   before   her.   She   stood   similar   to   a   majestic   hawk   observing   its   next   prey,   filing   away   particulars   about   those   present   to   share   with   Grier   and   Theo.   Hips   swayed   as   she   sauntered   between   various   stations   riddled   with   trainers   explaining   their   trade,   though   something   instantly   seemed   out   of   place.   Her   eyes   narrowed   upon   seeing   a   stray   Gamemaker   loitering   near   the   edge   of   the   space.   While   she   held   no   qualms   against   them   personally,   their   species   threatened   her   very   existence.   Like   puppeteers   pulling   strings   to   amuse   an   audience,   the   Gamemakers   certainly   exercised   their   influence   to   affect   the   outcome   of   the   Hunger   Games.   The   notion   of   these   masterminds   being   third-party   observers   never   settled   properly   in   her   stomach.   Consequently,   the   young   woman   sauntered   toward   the   crouching   Gamemaker   before   they   could   inflict   irreversible   damage   against   her   tributes.   ❛   Being   quiet   has   never   been   my   specialty.   To   be   honest,   I’m   not   sure   if   I   know   how   to   do   it   properly.   It’s   a   shame,   isn’t   it?   ❜  

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓  𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒  that  currently  perpetuated  throughout  the  conley  girl  manifested  in  the  upward  tug  on  the  corner  of  her  lips  and  the  crinkling  of  her  eyes  in  the  corner  .  though  usually  equipped  with  a  manner  of  arrogant  superiority  ,  krista’s  the  last  person  in  panem  with  a  healthy  level  of  confidence  .  in  that  ,  it  was  fair  to  say  that  she  never  thought  someone  would  actually  consider  accompanying  her  in  her  plans  of  mischief  .  and  so  at  the  brunette’s  agreement  ,  the  conley  girl’s  feelings  of  exuberant  joviality  currently  exceeded  her  normal  level  of  complete  deprivation  .  ❛   tell  me  about  it ! everyone  here  is  either  brainwashed  or  insane  .  ❜  she  grinned  . ❛ how  do  you  want  to  do  it ? we  could  cut  it  to  pieces ? or  we  could  burn  it  !  there’s  a  massive  fireplace  on  the  seventh  floor  that  will  surely  be  enough  to  annihilate  these  stupid  costumes  ❜  krista  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  the  question  . ❛   i  don’t  know  ,  thought  it  might  be  fun  to  ruin  at  least  a  little  bit  of  the  capitol’s  walls  ━━  since  they’ve  ruined  our  lives   and  all ❜

            CAMARADERIE   WITH   STRANGERS   SEEMED   unexpected   in   Panem’s   most   perilous   location.   In   an   effort   to   preserve   her   life,   she   envisioned   aligning   with   another   tribute.   That   partnership   would   be   as   precarious   as   attempting   to   travel   through   a   minefield.   One   misstep   within   the   arena   could   cause   an   ally   to   perish,   leave   her   behind,   or   forego   all   integrity   and   murder   Monroe   within   moments.   Fortunately,   the   nature   of   her   conversation   with   the   other   tribute   felt   more   like   an   opportunity   to   exercise   one   final   act   of   freedom.   A   grin   spread   across   her   lips   at   the   excitement,   and   she   heartily   nodded   in   agreement.   ❛   I   reckon   they’re   both.   Who   else   can   stand   such   hideous   clothes   and   talking   in   that   obnoxious   tone?   ❜   Monroe   chuckled.   ❛   I’m   all   for   burning   it.   That’ll   probably   work   better   on   whatever   weird   stuff   they   added   to   all   this   fabric.   ❜   A   thought   crossed   her   mind   that   it   would   be   the   ideal   situation   to   utilize   her   blowtorch.   Unfortunately,   the   tool   remained   in   District   Six   with   everything   else   she   held   dear.   ❛   I   like   your   style.   The   first   person   who   sees   it   will   practically   have   a   meltdown.   Maybe   even   some   windows   while   you’re   at   it.   ❜

“but you look so lovely! that’s already steps towards survival for you!” in response to the argument that none of them wore what they made tributes wear, sylvene gestured to her extravagant ensemble, a puffy dress studded with little diamonds and adorned with brilliant, faux ostrich feathers. “this isn’t easy to wear every day, you know! we just tone it down during the games season so the sponsors’ eyes are on you.” she told the younger woman, “oh, don’t say that. you’re not about to be slaughtered. there are only 24 of you! you can still fight to win!”

            WITH   ARMS   NOW   CROSSED   OVER   HER   CHEST,   she   swore   she   heard   the   sweet   sound   of   ripping   fabric.   Rather   than   investigate,   Monroe   silently   thanked   whatever   tear   for   allowing   her   more   breathing   room.   ❛   I   think   lovely   is   pretty  subjective   here.   ❜   A   snort   erupted   from   her   nose,   but   the   stylist’s   next   words   caught   her   ear.   Her   brow   rose   in   unsuccessfully   hidden   surprise   at   that   notion.   ❛   I’ve   never   understand   why   people   in   this   bizarre   city   dress   like   this.   No   offense.   ❜   She   uttered,   throwing   in   the   final   words,   as   her   dark   eyes   raked   over   the   other’s   outrageous   outfit.   ❛   This   is   you   toning   it   down?   You’re   kidding,   right?   You’d   stand   out   like   a   car   with   bad   ignition   wires   if   you   stepped   foot   in   District   Six   looking   like   that.   ❜   Frankly,   what   her   own   stylist   and   escort   wore   were   not   much   better.   ❛   You   do   realize   that   twenty-four   tributes   gives   me   a   four-percent   chance   of   winning,   right?   Actually,   it’s   less   than   that   because   I’m   not   some   crazy   Career   who’s   used   to   swinging   weapons   around   like   a   maniac.   ❜  

Ambruze was propelled back to reality. What a strange one it was. A woman he once tried to show the deepest recesses of his heart was here today, with no indication that she would even know why he was acting so despondent. He repaid her thinly concealed impatience in kind. Sardonically, he told her, “Pardon me. I must have been distracted by your beautiful smile.” He wanted to ask her if she was doing okay, but that was no longer something they did. Whatever solicitude or care remained for each other was beneath a flurry of sarcastic smiles and negative friction.

            INDIFFERENCE   WAS   NEVER   A   FAÇADE   the   female   victor   wore   well.   Times   existed   where   Mia   could   be   fervent   and   empathetic.   While   her   most   intimate   emotions   were   kept   under   lock   and   key,   these   sentiments   escaped   at   rare   moments.   She   attempted   to   unlatch   that   portion   of   her   heart   with   the   man   before   her,   but   it   had   been   a   futile   attempt.   The   prying   eyes   of   Panem   and   her   own   reticent   demeanor   ensured   their   destruction.   Still,   the   young   woman   witnessed   enough   Reaping   footage   on   the   train   to   the   Capitol   to   register   his   impassive   behavior.   Perhaps   she   would   have   extended   heartening   words   once,   but   those   days   passed   many   moons   ago.   ❛   I   know   there’s   a   true   compliment   somewhere   in   there.   You   do   seem   a   little   lost   today,   but   you’ve   never   been  blind.   ❜   The   retort   rolled   off   the   tongue   like   butter.     Yet,   the   part   of   her   that   cared   yearned   to   provide   the   comfort   he   deserved.

“i can only imagine what his personal stylists go through. a handful of finicky individuals is one thing, but having to style clothes for the president directly? i don’t think my heart could take it. or my confidence for that matter,” vidia noted, a laugh escaped her lips. while she had only had one direct interaction with president snow (an event that she was required to attend as a child at the request of her father), she knew many others that had interacted with him more. the responses and opinions of the man were typically varied, depending on who she asked. vidia was certain that she wasn’t scared of him (he’s 82 years old, he can only do so much), but she was more intimidated by the power that he held to to much worse, so she preferred to keep her distance. “Ceasar’s opinion is the one i usually look forward to the most. of course, i’m sure everything amuses that man, which i admire, but it is nice to hear a praising word or two from him.”

            HER   GREEN   EYES   SHINED   WITH   amusement   and   intrigue.   ❛   I   suppose   they   have   some   insight   the   rest   of   us   are   blind   to.   Years   of   dressing   one   man   —   even   a   president   —   must   have   established   some   habits.   ❜   The   ever-elusive   President   Snow   seemed   rather   private   in   his   personal   life.   Quite   the   irony   from   the   notoriety   he   expected   from   his   cherished   victors.   Turning   the   tables   would   surely   cultivate   some   resistance   on   his   part.   ❛   That’s   silly.   I’m   sure   you   would   adapt   nicely.   There   must   be   perks   to   dressing   Panem’s   most   famous   figure.   Those   magazines   must   salivate   over   his   stylists’   designs.   ❜   Naturally,   the   publications   were   in   the   president’s   fur-lined   pocket   like   the   rest   of   the   country.   Mia   supposed   coercion   commanded   the   printed   media   effectively.   ❛   Sometimes   we   all   need   a   little   praise.   Why   not   enjoy   it?   If   I’ve   learned   anything   about   Caesar,   it’s   that   he   has   quite   the   talent   for   twisting   everything   into   a   positive   light.   I   suppose   that’s   one   of   the   many   aspects   that   have   kept   him   in   the   limelight   after   all   these   years.   ❜   Yes,   Caesar   Flickerman   knew   to   play   the   game   well.   It   would   be   unsurprisingly   if   he   was   the   author   of   some   of   the   Games   most   ambiguous   rules.

               WHERE    OTHERS    SEE    HORROR    &    AMORAL    ACTIVITIES    IN    the    games    ,    nero    looks    at    it    &    sees    a    spectacle    .    raised    to    be    a    victor    ,    trained    to    look    at    a    cursed    logo    to    see    potential    glory    ,    nero    looks    upon    the    games    &    sees    a    feast    .    fresh    MEAT    mixed    with    timeless    herbs    &    striking    gods    ;    divine    beings    mingle    with    hopeful    mortals    ,    passing    a    halo    their    fingers    ,    readying    a    pair    of    wings    to    be    thrust    into    the    next    winner’s    back    .    mia’s    words    wash    over    her    ,    jaw    dropping    in    the    slightest    to    convey    a    childlike    innocence    –    she    is    a    cherub    painted    on    dome    ceilings    ,    flushed    cheeks    with    baby    wings    from    her    back    .    servant    of    aphrodite    ,    eros    has    never    been    as    kind    as    he    looks    ,    blessed    her    with    round    cheeks    &    a    cursed    heart    .    she    gives    the    peacekeeper    a    kind    smile    ,    wishes    him    a    safe    journey    home    before    turning    to    the    femme    with    a    roll    of    her    eyes    .

               two    years    ago    ,    entering    the    parade    &    training    ,    going    through    interviews    &    everything    in    between    –    it    had    been    a    dream    come    true    .    an    entire    life    spent    dreaming    of    the    moment    she    gets    to    shout    her    name    to    the    capitol    &    met    with    adorning    cheers    ;    now    ,    it’s    all    a    waste    of    time    .    since    hanging    up    her    weapons    ,    she’s    had    no    EXCUSE    to    take    out    a    tribute    the    way    she    longs    to    –    bloodlust    doesn’t    just    fade    away    ,    IT    FESTERS    &    the    longer    she    has    to    wait    before    she    can    relish    in    spilt    blood    .    a    pout    forms    on    her    lips    ,    hair    moving    as    she    nods    in    an    unmeant    agreement    .    ❝                        yeah    ,    i    guess    .    but    we’re    district    two    ,    mia    ,    sponsors    are    always    in    our    pockets    .    ❞    as    long    as    they    continue    to    breed    victors    &    memorable    tributes    ,    dirty    money    will    line    their    silk    pockets    .    ❝                      i    think    it’d    be    FUN    if    for    once    sponsor    gifts    weren’t    allowed    .    imagine    watching    tributes    actually    struggle    with    what    they’re    given    ;    left    completely    alone    with    nobody    outside    to    help    them    –    hell    ,    i’d    volunteer    myself    .    ❞

            TRANSITIONING   FROM   STUDENT   TO   MENTOR   felt   like   an   occupational   hazard   for   most   victors.   Memories   of   atrocities   committed   in   the   arena   seemed   too   vivid   for   the   mind   to   dull   them.   Mere   months   existed   between   the   crowning   ceremony   and   the   expectation   to   reproduce   like   WILDFIRE.   The   Victory   Tour   contained   hidden   messages   about   continuing   the   course   to   gain   the   Capitol’s   favor.   This   presumption   increased   tenfold   for   the   tributes   from   Districts   One,   Two,   and   Four.   Fresh-faced   warriors   soon   became   a   couple   notches   short   of   deities   in   Panemian   history.   Consequently,   meager   moments   separated   the   coquettish   woman’s   identity   between   tribute,   newest   victor,   and   Hunger   Games   extraordinaire.   Her   head   threatened   to   IMPLODE   with   the   transformation,   but   she   bunkered   down   for   the   sake   of   her   champion   tributes.   Two   descendants   now   sat   perched   in   her   family   tree,   but   President   Snow   would   be   wanting   an   entirely   new   species   of   successors.   What   if   she   secretly   coveted   the   notion   of   setting   the   tree   ablaze   instead?

            A   chuckle   escaped   her   lips   at   the   expressions   Nero   extended.   At   times,   they   complimented   each   other   like   day   and   night.   Sunshine   only   produced   its   rays   during   one,   but   each   was   essential   to   the   planet’s   rotation.   Similarly,   their   varying   mindsets   felt   crucial   to   District   Two’s   prosperity.     ❛     You   do   have   a   point.   I   guess   I’m   afraid   to   leave   anything   up   to   chance.   ❜   Inappropriate   gestures,   forcefield   tricks,   or   hair-raising   remarks   divided   the   living   from   the   dead.     ❛     That   WOULD   be   quite   the   spectacle,   wouldn’t   it?   Everyone   in   this   city   would   be   on   the   edge   of   their   seats.   Perhaps   they’ve   got   that   written   down   in   a   future   Quell   card.   ❜   Her   lips   twitched   into   a   slight   smirk   at   the   idea.     ❛   If   that   happened   during   your   Games,   you   would   have   swept   the   floor   with   the   others.   Mine   definitely   would   have   been   different.   I   wouldn’t   have   allowed   myself   to   stay   in   that   frozen   icebox   for   so   long.   ❜   Perhaps   her   deception   might   have   also   failed   in   that   scenario.     After   all,   her   illusion   was   partly   for   the   sponsors   whom   showered   her   with   offerings   from   the   heavens.

𝐀  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘  𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇  falls  uncontrollably  from  her  lips  .  the  parade  had  been  horribly  ,  absolutely  demeaning  and  completely  nightmarish  .  to  be  expected  to  smile  and  wave  to  crowds  of  people  –  of  hundreds  ,  maybe  even  millions  –   who  will  soon  become  eager  and  enthusiastic  spectators  who  root  for  their  death  or  V I C T O R Y  .  since  the  conley  girl  had  been  scowling  the  whole  time  ,  she  was  almost  sure  they  would  be  rooting  for  the  former .  the  costumes  had  worsened  it  all  the  more  of  course  ,  her  anxiety  was  constricting  enough  but  the  costume  just  added  that  little  bit  tightness  that  left  her  heart  barely  beating  .  and  so  ,  at  the  words  of  the  other  she  smiled.  ❛   sounds  good  to  me ! you  want  to  vandalise  these  costumes  then  let’s  do  it ! i  mean  i  had  planned  on  doing  something  with  walls  ,  and  paint  maybe  ,  but  these  horrid  things  are  the  capitol’s  as  much  as  their  walls  .  so ,  what  do  you  say ?  ❜

            HAUNTING   IMAGES   MATERIALIZED   in   her   mind   following   the   parade.   The   ostentatious   style,   extended   eyelashes,   and   puffy   cheeks   of   Capitol   citizens   pressing   themselves   close   to   glimpse   the   tributes   had   been   alarming.   That   microscopic   feeling   washed   over   her,   as   she   felt   analyzed   and   mentally   undressed   by   the   people   whom   would   gamble   on   her   life.   A   well-placed   bet   would   be   on   her   demise,   but   Monroe   popped   the   morbid   thought   like   a   dissipating   balloon.   Instead,   she   attempted   to   concentrate   on   breathing   properly   and   planning   how   to   survive   all   this.   ❛   Finally,   someone   around   here   who   isn’t   deranged.   I   say   we   do   it.   They’re   so   wasteful   around   here   that   it   can’t   get   us   into   too   much   trouble.   ❜   She   remarked   with   an   exasperated   expression,   already   attempting   to   tear   at   the   clunky   fabric   on   her   shoulder.   ❛   Walls   and   paint?   What   were   you   thinking?   ❜  

sylvene’s wide, brown gaze roams the area. “my, how we stylist have worked like dogs to make you scruffy little things look magnificent!” by scruffy little things, she of course meant the tributes. “people get so wrapped up in the games, they never think about how difficult it is for us stylists. in some ways, it’s more difficult for us. some tributes seem to have never even heard of fashion. oh, you’re all so lucky you have us!”

            HER   DEMEANOR   COMMUNICATED   AN   EXAMPLE   of   a   vexed   young   woman:   Brows   knitted,   lips   pursed,   and   a   calloused   hand   threatening   to   tighten   into   a   fist.   Referring   to   the   tributes   as   scruffy   rubbed   her   the   wrong   way.   While   the   mechanic   from   District   Six   never   possessed   the   excessive   prosperity   of   those   in   the   Capitol   or   half   the   districts,   her   family   attempted   to   manage   with   what   little   they   had.   What   was   so   scruffy   about   conscientious   living   to   survive?   ❛   Scruffy?   Difficult   for   stylists?   You   don’t   have   to   wear   these   outfits   you   dress   us   up   in   like   dolls.   Breathing   doesn’t   look   like   something   I’ll   be   able   to   do,   so   I   might   as   well   DROP   DEAD   now.   ❜   A   click   of   the   tongue   and   scoff   left   her   mouth.   Monroe   would   never   refer   to   herself   as   a   woman   scorned,   but   she   understood   the   idiom   now.   ❛   I’m   not   feeling   particularly   lucky   about   being   dressed   like   someone   who's   about   to   be   slaughtered.   ❜  

SETTING: anywhere during interview day.

ambruze hadn’t gotten much sleep, that was evident. as the day progressed, he seemed consistently absent-minded. this was pretty unusual for him. though he was quite the drunkard, he normally made an effort to engage with the public. but today, he was somber and not entirely there. this was because of his sister’s reaping, anyone with half a brain would figure out. (yet all the capitol citizens did in response was give him a few useless tears.) when he thought he heard someone speaking to him, he said, “sorry, were you talking to me?”

            BILE   FORMED   IN   THE   BACK   OF   HER   THROAT   at   the   notion   of   yet   another   Games.   The   fanfare   would   be   magnificent,   yes,   but   the   victor   preferred   the   stillness   of   her   home   in   the   Victor’s   Village.   She   sauntered   along   the   Capitol's   path   with   pursed   lips   and   swaying   hips,   looking   for   a   safe   haven   on   an   island   surrounded   by   piranhas.   The   red   sea   of   sponsors   and   Capitol   citizens   parted,   as   she   swaggered   toward   the   private   area   designated   as   the   holding   space   for   tributes   prior   to   their   interviews.   With   batted   eyes   lingering   on   an   assembly   of   sponsors   with   generous   pockets,   the   young   woman   arrived   at   the   private   area   only   to   see   a   familiar   face   blocking   the   entrance.   Bile   threatened   to   erupt   from   her   lips   once   more   at   the   sight,   but   Mia   pushed   it   down   with   the   upmost   care.   ❛   Excuse   me.   ❜   Her   voice   carried   a   polite   edge   she   reserved   for   colleagues.   Her   sculptured   brow   arched,   as   Ambruze   remained   unresponsive   to   her   request.   ❛   Yes,   I   was,   Ambruze.   You’re   gawking   like   an   Avox   AND   blocking   the   entrance.   ❜

open starter !!

as the start of the parade inched closer by the minute, vidia could feel tensions rise. there was a certain energy that she kind of loved about the opening ceremonies (the only thing she liked about the actual games themselves), almost like a tiny bustling little town. stylists seemed to be running around in every direction, trying to make last minute adjustments to their tribute’s outfits, and vidia was not an outlier in this. she had eyes on her, she knew this. the hart family had always rested comfortably in the public eye, and now that she had been working as part of the games in one of the career districts, they were on her more than ever. every move she made had to be meticulously planned, and everything she designed had to impress everyone, especially president snow. he couldn’t know what she really thought of the games, she’s got family to protect. 

the final minutes before the tributes were sent off on their chariots seemed to come faster than she thought, and she took a deep breath, finally feeling content with the clothing she had created. “i’ll tell you what,” she began, letting out a soft chuckle. “this year might have been the toughest one yet for designs. snow had all these requirements set out, half of my designs would have pissed him off somehow.”

            PEPLUMS   OF   FABRIC,   RAISED   VOICES,   and   flurries   of   cosmetics   consumed   the   preparation   area   for   the   tribute   parade.   Her   own   preference   would   have   been   that   of   a   guiltless   bystander,   but   the   opulent   victor   felt   thrown   into   the   fray.   She   extended   advice   to   Two’s   tributes   here   or   fixed   her   sun-bleached   hair   there.   It   seemed   laughable   that   the   victors   would   be   expected   in   their   best   ensembles,   but   Mia   Pyrmont   had   not   protested.   Fickleness   consumed   the   sponsors’   woolgathering   minds,   and   she   would   hate   to   be   the   determining   force   that   kept   necessary   funds   from   reaching   her   tributes   in   the   arena.   Therefore,   with   full   lips   curled   into   a   blazing   smile,   she   only   smoothed   down   her   scarlet   attire   and   fixated   on   a   stray   piece   of   thread   near   her   hips.   The   precious   chariots   disappeared   into   the   City   Center,   and   Camilla   felt   an   overwhelming   urge   to   vanish   as   well.   Perhaps   then   she   could   return   to   District   Two   will   far   less   prying   eyes.

            Her   head   turned   lightly   with   the   comments   from   District   Four’s   stylist.   Another   powerhouse   district,   Mia   frequently   took   an   interest   in   their   affairs.   Should   the   tributes   from   One,   Two,   and   Four   form   an   alliance,   she   would   rather   be   privy   to   information   about   the   others.   ❛   Our   dear   president   has   singular   and   refined   tastes   like   many   of   us.   ❜   A   raised   brow   and   exquisite   smirk   accompanied   her   words.   ❛   The   Capitol   will   love   your   designs   as   they   always   do.   Just   think   of   all   the   marvelous   compliments   Caesar   will   extend   once   he   eyes   your   tributes.   ❜

which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why?

Camila   Pyrmont   thrives   most   in   the   fall.   First,   the   young   woman   adores   the   season   because   of   the   changing   physical   landscape   in   Panem.   Multicolored   vegetation   and   crisp   temperatures   are   often   joyous   substitutions   for   the   heat   of   summer.   The   season   also   suits   Mia   for   metaphorical   reasons.   Fall   is   associated   with   new   beginnings   and   activities   suited   for   colder   weather.   It   brings   a   welcomed   respite   from   the   Capitol,   as   the   latest   Hunger   Games   has   concluded   by   this   time.   This   allows   Mia   to   breathe   a   little   easier   without   the   eyes   of   President   Snow   leering   at   Panem’s   champion   victors   from   his   velvet-encased   pedestal   in   the   City   Circle.   The   fall   also   leaves   opportunity   to   unwind   from   the   whirlwind   before   the   Victory   Tour   comes   to   District   Two.

does my muse have any “unusual” habits, interests, and/or talents? do they hide it, or are they proud of it?

During   the   twilight   hours,   Camilla   completely   a   ceremonial   display   when   alone   in   her   bedroom.   The   female   victor   reaches   into   the   depths   of   her   top   drawer   for   an   item   concealed   by   her   undergarments.   She   produces   a   silver   brooch   shaped   like   a   flower   from   this   drawer   and   studies   it   in   an   effort   to   memorize   every   detail   of   the   crystal.   Subsequently,   Mia   turns   the   brooch   over   in   hand,   letting   her   mind   contemplate   the   very   moment   where   she   obtained   this   brooch.   She   frequently   reprimands   herself   for   taking   it   from   Calix   Goldwater’s   still-warm   body   moments   after   she   suffocated   him   in   the   arena.   His   token   should   have   been   left   on   his   person   to   return   with   his   body   to   District   One,   but   Mia   desired   a   reward   for   her   successful   deceit.   Consequently,   she   took   Calix’s   token   as   a   prize   to   remind   her   that   she   could   execute   exceedingly   dishonest   ploys   to   win.   While   the   brooch   once   served   as   a   reminder   of   conquest,   it   reminds   her   of   pain   these   days.   Camilla   now   stares   at   the   crystalline   brooch   each   evening   and   wonders   what   Calix   could   have   been   if   he   lived.   Mia   waits   until   she   is   alone   to   perform   this   routine   that   she   would   never   show   another   soul.

is my muse inclined to help others, or will they only do it when it benefits them? what makes them this way? Has it ever gotten them in trouble, or inconvenienced them?

Monroe   is   not   synonymous   for   the   Good   Samaritan,   but   she   understands   the   importance   of   lending   a   helping   hand.   Numerous   people   in   District   Six   are   struggling,   her   family   being   one   of   the   many   included.   She   leads   her   life   by   following   a   principle   similar   to   the   golden   role.   Assisting   others   when   she   has   the   upper   hand   could   lead   to   potential   advantages   down   the   road,   when   she   is   the   underdog.   Consequently,   Roe   aides   others   when   she   can,   but   she   goes   out   of   her   way   more   for   those   closest   to   her.   This   behavior   has   prompted   distress   in   the   female   tribute’s   recent   history.   The   young   woman   heartily   believed   she   would   be   assisting   her   mother’s   situation   by   confronting   one   of   the   Peacekeepers   that   exchanged   the   woman’s   companionship   for   monetary   compensation.   Monroe   held   some   brainless   perspective   that   perhaps   reprimand   would   cause   these   Peacekeepers   to   change   their   ways.   And   what   did   she   receive   in   return   for   her   seemingly   good   deeds?   Her   name   erupted   from   the   mouth   Reaping   bowl   before   she   could   do   more   to   help   her   mother.

𝒔𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 :  post – parade / in a broom closet ?  𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔 : open starter

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆  𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍  𝐅𝐎𝐑  the  past thirty  seconds  or  so  , the  blonde  came  to  a  sudden  realisation that    doing   this   would   not   be   fun   without   an   accomplice  and   also   ,  maybe ,  someone   to   put   the   blame   on   when   things   take   a   turn   for   the   worst  .  so  she     reached   out   an   arm   and   grabbed   whatever   article   of   clothing   she  could  reach  before  she  tugged  on  it  and  pulled  the  person  in  the  itty  bitty  broom  closet  that  she  had  been  hiding  in  . ❛  okay  so  ,  hear  me  out  .   ❜  she  left  a  second  for  suspense  ( krista  had  always  been  on  for  theatrics  . ) ❛  vandalism  . ❜

            COUTURE   SEEMED   LIKE   A   NOUN   carelessly   entered   into   conversations   in   the   Capitol.   The   scatterbrained   prep   team   in   the   Remake   Center   raved   over   Monroe’s   transformation   as   if   she   were   an   inanimate   mannequin   at   their   disposal.   She   felt   observed   like   a   new   species   under   a   microscope,   while   her   stylist   worked   their   senseless   magic   to   shimmy   her   into   her   parade   ensemble.   All   that   time   and   exertion   for   Monroe   to   end   up   wearing   an   outfit   bearing   resemblance   to   a   conductor’s   uniform.   “   Couture,   my   ass.   ”   Monroe   murmured   under   her   breath,   envisioning   what   she   would   do   for   a   decent   pair   of   coveralls.   Having   begun   her   pursuit   of   normal   clothing,   her   calloused   hands   automatically   pulled   away   when   guided   into   a   closet.   ❛   Listen,   I’m   not   interested,   unless   we’re   vandalizing   these   costumes.   This   ridiculous   outfit   is   going   to   rip   into   a   hundred   pieces   if   I   breathe   the   wrong   way.   ❜

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃     𝐅𝐎𝐑     ─     @snvres​  /  MIA

𝒍𝒐𝒄.     ─     pre  parade  preparations 

               THEY    BEAR    STATUES    FROM    HOME    ,    EXPENSIVE    marble    cut    by    experienced    hands    of    gods    &    victors    alike    .    the    statues    that    linger    around    the    capitol    with    stone    eyes    &    heedful    features    come    from    their    home    ,    they’re    responsible    for    extravagant    luxuries    to    be    grasped    by    quivering    fingers    .    &    much    like    those    statues    ,    the    VICTORS    from    district    two    are    in    a    class    above    the    rest    –    cold    ,    unattainable    –    victorious    .    nero    ,    she    knows    she’s    many    things    –    the    names    whispered    among    the    lesser    linger    on    her    tongue    (    lap    dog    ,    monster    ,    hellion    –    MURDERER    )    when    they    pass    her    with    their    eyes    averted    –    but    she    isn’t    stupid    .    a    nuisance    ,    a    five    feet    thorn    in    the    side    of    several    victors    ,    she’s    never    felt    unwanted    by    the    woman    by    her    side    .    one    of    her    very    own    mentors    during    her    games    ,    mia’s    earned    her    respect    &    companionship    .    district    two    produces    victors    ,    victors    stick    together    .

               ARMS    CROSSED    ACROSS    HER    CHEST    ,    NERO’S    gaze    is    focused    on    the    chosen    of    the    year    .    one    little    white    slip    &    fates    are    determined    ,    twenty    four    tributes    &    only    one    will    make    it    out    alive    .    normally    ,    sadness    &    grief    would    fill    a    chest    –    empathy    swirling    as    hues    run    over    fearful    features    &    rigid    bodies    .    instead    ,    nero    LAUGHS    ,    entertained    with    the    pick    this    year    .    she    can’t    wait    for    the    games    ,    she    thirsts    for    the    lifeless    eyes    &    the    struggle    to    survive    .    survival    ,    she’s    observed    ,    is    always    the    goal    ,    but    how    many    victors    regret    their    decision    to    live    ?    ❝                        this    is    so    boring    .    BORING    !    ❞    childishly    ,    she    yells    to    a    peacekeeper    she    playfully    punches    on    the    arm    before    turning    to    mia    ,    pout    on    girlish    lips    .    ❝                      what    if    for    one    year    ,    all    the    extravagants    are    skipped    &    we    go    right    into    the    games    ?    god    ,    that’d    be    so    great    .    ❞

            MANY   ASPECTS   ASSOCIATED   WITH   THE   HUNGER   GAMES   caused   her   stomach   to   churn.   It   was   unladylike   and   unpatriotic   —   even   facetious   —   that   she   no   longer   possessed   the   appetite   for   it.   Years   of   training   for   Panem’s   grandest   pageant   seemed   squandered   on   a   young   woman   whom   no   longer   wished   to   revel   in   its   glory;   however,   the   boundless   attention   imposed   on   her   held   some   advantages.   Camilla   Pyrmont   adored   the   victors   from   her   beloved   District   Two,   particularly   those   whom   came   after   her.   She   felt   credited   for   their   triumphs,   and   she   pledged   to   protect   them   through   all   the   unpleasantries   that   came   after   the   arena.   Nero   had   earned   her   affection   moments   after   Claudius   Templesmith   dubbed   her   the   victor   of   the   72nd   Games.

            Therefore,   she   turned   toward   her   protégée   with   upturned   lips   curling   into   a   delicate   smirk.   Perhaps   Mia   should   have   reprimanded   such   juvenile   impatience,   but   she   recalled   the   74th   Games   would   only   be   Nero’s   second   as   a   mentor.   ❛   I   apologize   for   her,   sweet   pea.   The   Games   bring   everyone   out   of   their   shell,   don’t   they?   ❜   She   relayed   to   the   Peacekeeper   with   a   lingering   look.   ❛   Nero,   love,   it   will   only   be   a   little   bit   longer.   Wouldn't   you   like   to   see   how   striking   Theo   and   Grier   look   in   their   parade   ensembles?   Just   think   about   how   much   more   thrilling   the   Games   would   be   with   sponsors   in   our   tribute's   pockets.   ❜    

how is my muse typically seen by others? does it ring true to who they really are? does their reputation matter to them?

Adjectives   that   come   to   mind   with   Monroe   include   brusque   and   impulsive.   The   female   tribute   from   District   Six   has   never   been   meek   or   mild-mannered,   and   she   conveys   this   to   almost   everyone   she   meets.   She   does   believe   this   demeanor   could   create   conflict   for   her   and   those   close   to   her;   however,   Roe   would   rather   live   in   her   truth   than   feel   like   her   voice   is   suppressed.   Consequently,   the   personality   she   conveys   to   the   world   is   practically   identical   to   her   true   self.   Reputation   feels   insignificant   to   her   because   she   has   never   been   eager   to   take   shortcuts   to   get   ahead   in   life.   This   behavior   sprouted   from   the   combination   of   sorrow   from   her   father’s   passing   and   vexation   with   the   Capitol   for   allowing   her   family   and   district   to   suffer.