#seventysecondvictor

     Stunned, it took several moments before she felt the blood trickling down her hand in an almost alarming gush, over her neatly polished and well maintained fingers. Then she was running--

     Down the stairs out of the house, going to the one person who she thought might understand. Away from the family that thought she should be nothing but proud. 

     Her reflection just reminded her; all that she'd done, all that she'd lost.

     It wasn't a few minutes later and she was rapping on Cutter's door with her non-bloodied hand, stepping back and looking up at him with an expression that she only hoped he would interpret as she cradled her injury.

                            "Can you help me with this?.."

"diD SOMEBODY SAY GIRL’S NIGHT!?" {omfg ignore me}

"Hey, I have a question." It's a dumb question, but there was no reason for Freema not to ask. "Why in the world did your parents name you Cutter? I mean...did they name you that because they thought it would be ironic if you were to go into the games and win by cutting someone up...or?"

The amount of primping time was certainly something she was grateful for; it gave her a distraction from reality in the form of a glittering dress that was perfect for her sparkly new façade. As the train came to an abrupt stop in the station however, she felt the anxiety begin to rise within her abdomen once again. The freakishly energetic and clownlike escort nearly pushed her from the train doors as they opened. Flashes of light were everywhere and it was all she could do to keep the grin on her face until the camera dissipated. Her eyes scanned the crowds, looking for one face in particular. He’s here, she thought. He had promised and he hadn't broken one so far.