think i'm all grown up now.

jules had jumped back at the surprise of the hologram. the inventions here were something he could hardly dream of when you’re from a place such as the seam. he bent forward with focused eyes, carefully analysing the foreign device. he felt the urge to reach out and touch it, as a small curious child would, but he remained in control of himself. call him bizarre, but somehow he found the thought of being preserved in the form of a statue and stored in the gallery of a woman of the capitol to be utterly terrifying. yet, he could accept such a fate. “a tough task, but you managed. you know, I didn’t think someone like you could appreciate someone as unsettling as me.” he said as he examined the hologram, he was growing used to her compliments rather quickly, only turning to look at her after her last comment. “you’ve studied my face?” what there was to study, he would never know. “well, get a good look while you still can.” 

sylvene paused, taking note of his rapt interest in her device. “oh, would you like one of these? you can borrow mine, really! we’re sending you off soon, anyway, so why not?” her hand moved forward, proffering the object. a rare flash of self-awareness sparkled in her eyes as she said, “well, hmm, i’m sure you find me a little unsettling too.” however, she followed it up with, “but that’s only because you aren’t used to the good things in life, and people with good taste!” she was simply not in the state to admit that the problem could lie with her or her home city. “yeah, that’s what i’m doing, jules.” she focused her lens on him. she touched his chin again, adjusting it for the camera. with a strange softness to her voice, she said, “you look really nice.” then she pressed and swiped, until she could say, “well, i've uploaded it to my personal storage. you can borrow my camera.”

her best work? all she had done was put him in unbearable and frankly, embarrassing clothes. anything beyond that he owed to his mother. he had opened his mouth to protest, but quickly became speechless when he felt the touch of her delicate hand on his jaw. his first reaction was to move away - after all he was here with the intentions to be killed. however, he paused the moment he smelt a trace of her perfume in the air - something fruity or floral, he didn’t know. but it was something he hadn’t smelt in a long time. the moment their eyes met, was perhaps the first time he had felt truly uncomfortable during his time here at the capitol. he felt as though she was looking through him. seeing him. he despised it. “and where will this statue be stored? no one would want to look at such a hideous thing.” he moved then, a soft whine falling upon his lips, his simple attempt at a protest. still, he remained in her hold. “if you must take a picture, make sure you get my good side.”

after fishing out her small, sleek camera, she said, “in my room, of course!” she pressed a button on the interface and a hologram sprang from the device, bringing them to her gallery. she swiped at the images. “see? i keep the statues i make in my room.” there were various deftly wrought sculptures in the images, awash in strokes of vibrant paint. not realizing that he was talking about her clothing choices, she said, “how many times do i have to tell you that you aren’t ugly? i had to scrub you up to bring out your beauty, but it’s there! you’re very pretty. and i love pretty things. so of course i’ll capture your good side.” her dreamy gaze settling on him, she went on breezily, “i’ve studied your face a lot since you arrived.” 

         he   keeps   a   mirror   tucked   into   his   handbag   ,   a   necessity   in   his   day   to   day   routine   ——   hair   &   makeup   touch   ups   by   the   hour   ,   just   to   ensure   he’s   keeping   up   his   signature   appearance   .   gentle   ,   bouncy   curls   that   fall   perfectly   over   his   hairline   ,   artistically   sculpted   brows   filled   in   with   a   pen   ,   glitter   complimenting   his   cheekbones   ,   hoop   earrings   matching   his   bright   and   expensive   outfit   .   everything   in   the   capitol   was   about   appearances   .   he   kept   that   up   extremely   well   ,   even   his   parents   were   convinced   .   his   gaze   is   locked   to   his   mirror   ,   nimble   fingers   adjusting   the   individual   curls   to   their   proper   places   .   “   hm   ,    some   stylists   should   be   replaced   ,   if   we’re   to   be   completely   honest   .    they’re   playing   it   far   too   safe   …   ”   basil   trails   off   ,   eyeing   one   of   the   passing   tributes’   outfits   up   then   down   ,   judging   the   dull   costume   .   “   should   i   go   blonde   next   ?   or   take   a   more   adventurous   route   ?   like   a   pink   or   silver   ?   ”   subject   derails   as   he   lowers   his   mirror   ,   lips   pursed   thoughtfully   ,   obsession   with   his   appearance   true   ,   sure   ,   but   his   most   convincing   act   too   .

he sighed heavily, he was quickly learning that honesty was no way to communicate with sylvene. “okay, how about … I would rather die than live this way? I’m not cut out for it.” maybe that will make her feel better. jules couldn’t take the constant irritation of this woman’s optimism. “at least you can take comfort in the fact that when I die, I’ll be looking the best I ever have.” he offered her a small, insincere smile. he had no intentions to upset his stylist, but perhaps she deserved it. her feelings were nothing compared to those of the tributes. and to give them the slightest chance of hope was cruel. “faith? we’re from district twelve, no one has ever had faith in us. we don’t win the games. maybe I’ll just get it over with and step off my plate a second too early.” he grinned then, a smile that reached his eyes. he was no antagonist, but even he could not pass up the temptation to cause a citizen of the capitol a little bit of disturbance.

sylvene grew weary of objecting to his words. yet at the same time, she found this alien sensation intriguing. life in the capitol was akin to walking upon a cloud, or drifting through a rosy-hued dream. the more he wore down her hubris, the stronger the strange pull she felt towards him became. this was new. “you’re some of my best work.” she grasped the side of his jaw, as if she herself had been seized by abrupt emotion. round eyes looked into his, a rare moment of focus for her normally darting attentions. “i have to take a picture of you now! i’ll preserve you in a statue, if you insist on dying! stand still.”

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑  𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐃  𝐔𝐏  inside  her  and  she  felt  the  wrath  course  through  her  veins  .  but  for  the  sake  of  propriety  ,  krista  sewed  her  lips  shut  ,  merely  chewing  on  the  insides  of  her  cheeks  in  an  attempt  to  distract  her  anger  with  the  pain  .  but  it  wasn’t  enough  .  the  stylist’s  expression  of  her  distaste  for  rebellious  tributes  and  others  of  the  sort  was  like  fuel  to  her  already  burning  rage  .  she  clenched  her  hands  into  a  fists  ,  letting  her  nails  dig  into  her  flesh  and  draw  out  blood  .  but  that  wasn’t  enough  either and  her  burning  RAGE  turned  into  a  forest  fire  .  ❛  fuck ! do  you  not  –  do  you  not  realise  what  they  do  to  us  ? those  tributes  are  stubborn  and  uncooperative  because  they  don’t  want  to  be  butchered ! they  don’t  want  to  be  part  of  your  games ! please  tell  me  why  you  don’t  understand  that ! and  the  districts  don’t  care  about  art  enough  because  they’re  too  busy  trying  to  survive  . ❜

           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.   ❜  

“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!”

jules was certain that was true, he on the other hand would not look so great. his eyes flickered across her face. for the first time he could see passed the pretentious makeup the stylist is so clearly attached to. a youthful charm - she could be pretty if she did without, he thought. just another thing about the capitol he would not understand in his lifetime. “dreams? the only dream I have is one of a quick death.” if he had dreamed at one point, he was too young to remember now. his future was in the ground. “but promise to make me look good while doing so?” he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. “tell me. do stylists watch their tributes die?” how deep the sickening antics of the capitol ran, he did not know. he wondered if they partied when the tributes died. would she be making a toast in his name?

“but why?” she demanded once more. even with all her fluff, her penchant for creativity and creation endowed her with something of an independent streak. she viewed life from the perspective of an artist who wielded the brush, ferociously in control of their destiny. she never understood why so many tributes insisted on nihilistic moping. the capitol, to her, was a golden land of opportunity. she heaved a sigh at his resolute despair. “yes, that’s the deal! dead or not, i make you prettier.” she wasn’t sure why, but she sniffled when he asked if stylists watch tributes die. growing up, she never cried at these things. if she gave it enough thought, she’d realize it was because her occupation brought her closer to the tributes who would die, and thus emotional distancing was harder. but she was never one for examining herself too deeply. “this is only my second year styling! i watched my tributes die last year, and i was... well, i was shocked! i have lots of faith in my tributes, you know!”

“lie to an expert? I wouldn’t dare.” he was in over his head, clearly. confident or lovely wouldn’t be attributes jules used to describe himself. not that it mattered, there was no hope for him, that he already knew. “I’m afraid your efforts are wasted on me, sylv.” he had no time for her optimism - it was in vain. he sighed, running his fingers though his hair, it was soft to touch, an unusual feel to him. there was a recurring problem of the capitol citizens not understanding. there was no point in allowing himself the thoughts of survival, the chances were too slim. it would be foolish. “why should I survive? to make you look good?” the stylist almost sounded as if she cared, despite her obvious distaste in his clothing of choice or the fact that he was from district twelve. he found that possibility strange, maybe even disturbing. “your belief is misplaced, trust me. but you can try again next year.”

sylvene sat in silence, allowing him to speak. then a somewhat mischievous smile further pronounced the high apples of her cheeks, a rare one that let her dewy youth shine through even with all the makeup practically tattooed to her face. a reminder that she was a mere year older than he was. indulging in a moment of vanity, she told him, “i think you’ll find that i look good regardless of the circumstances.” at the reminder of his probable death, the look on her face flickered, ever so slightly. “i could, but i’m encouraging you for your own sake. don’t you have dreams? can’t you see a future for yourself? why don’t you look in your mind’s eye and dream? you’re here, jules. you can paint your own future from now on!” the aspirational spin she put to the games would certainly perturb any reasonable person, but she liked to think that she had a point. the games were a risk, but the rewards were plentiful if he emerged victorious.

he scoffed, it was said the capitol had an obsession with the shiny stones on his ensemble; however, he didn’t get the fascination. what it had to do with district twelve, he did not know either. though he dared not get into that discussion with his stylist. “confidence?” he raised his brows in disbelief, before brushing his fingers along his jawline, stunned by the comment on his face. “that’s the last thing I need.” confidence would be of no help to him. “trust me, the finery of my old clothes were good enough for me.”  he was told the stylists were to be their friends. they were there to help. that remains to be seen. 

“don’t be silly! sponsors and viewers love confident, lovely tributes. now that i’ve scrubbed you and karma up, all you two need is some confidence.” she tilted her head at him. “sometimes, i wonder if you even want to survive or not. you know, i’m sure i don’t have to tell you, there are great things awaiting you if you win.” painted, wine red lips formed a pout as she closed her eyes and hummed. “and... you know, i hate to sound overly sentimental, but i do believe in you.” she opened them again and said, “but i don’t believe that for a second. i saw your old clothes. don’t lie to an expert! oh, you poor, poor boy, with your lifeless old wear.”

    first year at the reaping and luna had her name reaped. what on earth were the chances of that happening? she was naturally flexible, her parents would have said unnaturally as she had kept herself entertained while picking the grain by stretching. however, she knew that she wasn’t going to survive this. she wanted to cry about it but couldn’t spend her last days weeping constantly; this was a slice of luxury, even if it was going to be the first and last time she ever had the possibility to experience it. “i must admit, i’ve never looked better…”

                 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔  𝘿𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙀𝘿  𝙃𝙀𝙍  𝘽𝙍𝙐𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙄𝙏𝙔  ,  𝘼𝙉𝘿  𝙉𝙊𝙒  𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔  𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿  𝙏𝙀𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙎𝙎  . but  she  wished  she  could  hurt  ,  wound  or  even  just  kill district  twelve’s  stylist  as  she  spewed  entitlement  and  conceit    —  but  of  course  ,    any  harm  done  against  capitol  citizens  could  be  spun  into  treason  and  dahlia  wasn’t  exactly  in  the  mood  for  her  execution  to  be  used  as  an  example  for  how  even  victors  should  not  bite  the  hand  that  feeds  them  .    so  instead  ,  she smiled  and  nodded  along  .           ❝      oh  , absolutely  .  i  don’t  think  we  can  ever  thank  stylists  enough  for  everything  they  do  .  especially  you  ,  i  can  only  imagine  how  difficult  it  must  be  to  dress  those  bags  of  bones  from  district  twelve  they  call  tributes  .    you’re  doing  so  amazing  ,  sweetie  .    ❞

there was something off about the other woman’s demeanor; this was something even sylvene could discern. a few moments of pause, however, were not enough for her to put a name to the victor’s mocking sarcasm. “the district 12 tributes aren’t so bad now that i’ve dolled them up, surprisingly, but they did need a lot of cleaning up,” she responded brightly. “and thank you! how are you enjoying today? we’ve outdone ourselves this time, haven’t we? i didn’t even think we could!”

𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀  𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓  𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏   the  scoff  that  carelessly  stumbled  from  her  lips . she shook her head in disbelief , ❜ your innocence is infuriating . ❛ the blonde mutters , tearing her eyes away from the other as she contemplated on how to proceed with the conversation .  for a second , she wished that the other didn’t hear her . it was rare for her to experience such moments of innocence and it’s her last desire to corrupt the blissful nature of innocence , no matter how maddening .  ❛ is it fun being a stylist ?. i’m genuinely curious  . i mean – besides the fact that you don’t win , uh , prizes . ❜

         caspian  blinks  at  the  other,  slow  like  he’s  trying  to  make  sense  of  what  she’s  saying  ―  though  maybe  that  is  exactly  what  he’s  doing.  the  games  brings  out DIFFERENT  types  of  people  and  he  usually  thinks  he’s  met  them  all  until  just  one person  changes  that.  “uhh,  well.  people’s  lives  are  kind  of  at  stake  here.  incredible work  you’re  doing,  yeah,  but  ―  lives.  people  are  wrapped  up  in  the  lives  in  danger.  the  last  thing  on  any  TRIBUTES  mind  is  looking  good.  maybe  if  you  were  a mentor they  would’ve  appreciated  your  talents  a  bit  more.”

     an expression of surprise slowly came upon the conley’s features , eyebrows raised and mouth just slightly agape at the words of the other and a scoff accompanied by a stumpy chuckle tumbled from her lips . she plastered on a smile , ❛ yes . poor stylists who’s got the hardest job of them all . ❜ krista let out an exaggerated sigh , ❛ oh the troubles of designing , GOLLY it’s not like have to fight for your life or anything like that ! ❜ the girl’s words laced with venomous sarcasm as she cocked her head to the side in a condescending manner , thatcryptic smile still on her lips , everything about her provoking some kind of anger or annoyance from the other . 

jules would swear the immediate eyeroll that followed could not have been prevented. quite frankly, he thought that this woman was insane. oh, how difficult this must be for her. “you cannot possibly think this looks good.” he looked down at his outfit, he was told was to represent district twelve and the mining of coal, of course. the ridiculousness of it, he could deal with - the discomfort however, he could not. “although, I suppose district twelve leaves much to be desired.” 

“you poor boy. it doesn’t look good, because it looks spectacular! i know you’re not used to having such finery draped on your shoulders...” at this, she gestured at the bulky diamonds embellishing his suit. coal turns to diamonds, the saying went. “but you shouldn’t fret. your face is a wonderful canvas. have a bit more confidence and you may wear it well.” if not for how she viewed herself as utterly above both of her tributes, he very well could’ve been another one of her infatuations. but as things were, she was not an annoying person who had a crush on him, just an annoying stylist who fancied herself to be so much worldlier than he was.

[ JUNG JINSOUL, FEMALE, SHE/HER. ] well, if it isn’t sylvene ryu, our resident DISTRICT 12 STYLIST ! i’m so excited to see what they’ll be bringing to the table this year. they’re twenty-three years old, & they’ve been in this position for 2 years. i hope they’re ready for the publicity — the tabloids have already started talking about them ! anyways, i got to meet them once, & they’re a lot like the soft bristles of a brush grazing the day’s canvas, a meticulously color-coded bedroom, sheaves of poetry rendered in glittering ink, a perpetually wandering countenance.

wowee can u believe im finally posting her intro.