into elysian fields // 87th victor interview

[Deleted]

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

She is only a part of the decorum. 

Something gorgeous, she stands draped in radiant whites, pure as rebirth; Sardonyx Crowe doesn't need rehearsal anymore. A monarch of the television, she has committed her time to being this mouthpiece long enough. Every so often she can remember when she controlled this network, lively in her own vision, but now she just goes through the movements, her focus is only on being captivating. 

On being captive. The fight died long ago, sometime after the victory of Nico Thorne, she relinquished her energy and gave the reigns to the name Fenwick. This is easier, simpler. And the best part? Sardonyx gets every ounce of credit, all from the system she created, she speaks and the choir repeats it. 

"Going live in five," a stage hand says, wiring the neuro piece into her headdress. Bluetooth drives each prompt into her brain, to the point where it doesn't take a single thought to be this powerful. She wonders how she ever did this before it all, back when she was something more humble. 

There isn't a nervous edge to it anymore, she knows everything she needs to about Flynn Garner. 

"This is exciting. Isn't it?" A victor from six -- "what is, beautiful?" 

Sardonyx stands, six foot two. The stage setting is displayed on her neurolink, notices tied to every piece of the set that's interactable. This year is nostalgically electronic, "we haven't had a victor this young since Kassandra. They are always a handful," Sardonyx wonders what Garner's reaction will be. To be thrown in front of the audience finally, he gets to see behind the screen. The curtain lifts and what's standing is them, of Sardonyx and the Capitolites. 

Stoic, she represents their questions. Their curiosities, what is it like to feel something, Flynn? 

What does danger feel like? 

"And you think that's exciting? I would be worried."

"What if he makes a scene?"

"Oh- but they always do," the stage hands talk amongst themselves, Sampson is too old to keep peace behind the curtain. It should have been Silk here. Lenox or Lorraine, Sardonyx would have catered for Nanette Carter, but that's just the bias talking. 

Flynn is emotional veal, weak. Scared. 

They talk of him like a nuisance, as if the emotions aren't what they are all here for. Sardonyx hears the curtain call in her neurolink, like an alert she can't ignore -- show time, darling. 

---

The stage is near tacky in its brilliant neon lights, hues of pinks, purples, blue lighting the foliage of her head dress. Sardonyx has never been a fan of the techno draws, but they wanted something as inviting as the 87th arena; which is to say, uninviting. "... The Roost! Now Airing," plays overhead, as if to alert the applause. Cacophony, the audience's noise echoes through the city center, loud enough to shock anyone without sensation dullers. 

Sardonyx would like to say she's accustomed to it, but she's just turned it off in her recent years. Neurolink decreases the volume of the crowd as it reaches her ears, turned down to the sound of her heels clanking against the glass surface of the floor. It's a grid design, as if they're in a virtual reality; Flynn isn't to be shown real plants. Real life, not yet. 

They want that reaction for the Victory Tour. 

Who is she not to oblige? Like how the audience feeds into her ego, she agrees to every decision the council makes. Puppet of the Gods, truthfully, in how she speaks for the Capitol. 

"Well, well," she averts her gaze from the audience, almost as a tease. It's an introduction, something sultry, something fashionably slutty, "we have got to stop meeting like this." Sardonyx welcomes the crowd with her palm on her chest, almost flaunting her collarbones in the purple tints. A man with a bust statue embedded in his hair tries to jump onto the stage, begging her name. 

"Sardonyx, Sardonyx, I love you!!"

"Oh," what the hell. Fenwick speaks into her neurolink for not, ignored in its nonexistence, "and who are you?" Sardonyx is puzzled, entertained, squinting with a raised eyebrow at the man attempting to jump the five foot stage. 

"I'm your husband! Yeaaaah!" 

"Oh?" 

She putters to her seat, batting her eyelashes as if she's flattered. It's a marble seating, solid to the touch with a glass covering that transitions from each neon shade available -- blues to purples, to pinks, all the way back again. "Everyone heard that? That's my husband tonight," she plays with the crowd before settling for the opening speech. It's all fun and games before, 

"Tonight, specifically... on The Roost!" This is where they cut to the intro screen normally, Sardonyx poses in her chair to the intro jingle. 

"Now NERVAlink Compatible," she says through a wink, voguing with her arms to the crowd. "That's right, you heard it here darling, The Roost is now fully supporting NERVAlink, as well as all 97 shows offered on Fenwick Entertainment Network. Experience... me! In the highest of qualities," right inside of your own mind, close your eyes and see it as clear as a memory. "I'm almost flattered, really." 

Like a tease, like Sardonyx Crowe is something achievable. She's nothing but a thought to the average man, out of reach but always in mind. 

"With NERVA, I can really stay on your mind. Now, I think of you all so much, I want to thank everyone for coming out to tonight's showing of The Roost, but there's a... specific person who's on my mind." Sardonyx looks above, almost inquisitively, looking for clues on who it could be. 

"He's five four, adorable short hair and- oh, one ear. Do I smell a new trend?" She hides her face behind her nails, acrylics covering her nose and grin, "he's only the most important Districter alive, really! You think you know who it is? LET ME HEAR SOME NAMES!" 

There's an assortment yelled from the crowd, "Glamour?! One ear, darling!" Sardonyx can't help but laugh, comparing Glamour Kinkade to a districter, just wait until Ex Oh gets a hold of that one. She continues for a second, letting the cameos drop from the crowd; the Nico without Legs! and "Quinn Lowe!"'s slowly being replaced by a chanting of the newest victor. 

"There we go! Everybody, bring it together softly for our newest VICTOR! The sharpshooter, the humble, the fucking winner..."

" FLYNN GARNER! "

 

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

A few days ago, five different machines beeped in a room. Two of them, not even a textbook I have read before could identify. Lines filled me with different serums and once perfectly bandaged wounds were…gone. Now today different shades of powders and liquids are being thrown onto my face. It has already gone, the lingering rotten smell in my nostrils, it has been shadowed by overwhelming fruity aromas. I have been sprayed so many times, the stylist cannot decide on what perfume to put on me. ”The audience won’t be able to smell me anyway?” No but Sardonyx will, they say. Sardonyx Crowe sounds a little more illusive compared to Caesar Flickerman who welcomed me to the Capitol.

I have not had time for anything. As soon as all the machines were pulled and I was out of my bed, I have been thrown into a schedule. There will not be enough time at home before I am thrown into the victory tour. The marathon of the games has become a sprint, my only break is the few hours at home where they leave me alone.

Every physical reminder of the games has been wiped away, but the chatter reminds me of everything. I am the sharpshooter now and somehow already a face of a hit new drink. The first offered beverage that was not in the hospital bed, a fresh cold crushed mint and lime that I said I loved. Well now that I have mentioned liking something, someone is already making a big profit from it somewhere. Everything has been replaced. A stained uniform now a new outfit every two hours. My only weapon in the Capitol is a schedule and now I guess Limey the blob is now the crushed mint and lime – loved by Flynn Garner cordial .

They questioned the bullet I held tight in my palm when the helicopter took me away. The leftovers of a last chance. It is what has got me here, it needs to be the deadly reminder. Maybe if I have one little physical reminder, the mental ones will not be as tormenting. I still have it now, in the trouser pocket of the glittering slightly colour changing blazer suit that they have squeezed me into for the interview. The shirt underneath, I cannot question their taste but flowers? A flower print shirt?

”You are ready to go.” I have seen my reflection a lot over the past few days, how it has been changed and reshaped. But damn this one has gone overboard on the hair gel. My hair will be like concrete before I go home. What is wrong with the mop?

I am escorted to the side of the stage; the interviewer is already in her place talking to the audience. ”What is Nerva?” I ask the stage person stood behind me with their hand on my shoulder. They explain it and still, I cannot believe it. So, there are people like Nan’s mother dying of cancer in the Districts and the Capitol is watching tv shows in their minds? Well, that sounds like great priorities. Maybe I can change that. Can I change that now? I have studied so hard to be the absolute best surgeon, maybe being a victor can help add some rocket fuel to that.

The audience throws names of who they think is stood where I am right now. Do they really want me? Or would they have really preferred a glistening career like Nan or Silk? Or were they really cheering on Lenox at the end over me?

Well, when they hear my name, the cheer is loud enough to send a crack in what is left of my ear drum where a physical ear used to sit. My fingertips land at the side of my head but I am quickly pushed forwards by the stagehand. The fucker. The end of my stumble is so clearly seen when I am revealed on the stage, I have never been trained to play something like this off. Instead, the hand on my phantom ear turns into a wave for the audience. I cannot see a single face; everything is just so bright. Different colours pulsate across the stage and amongst the flamboyant audience. They really are mad.

I am quick to train my eyes to Sardonyx, to the free chair next to her. It will be a little awkward if I walk into her. I place the trained smile onto my face as I sit down. All I have been told is to smile, to show my teeth. But what am I meant to say? Nobody exactly gave me a script. Fuck. ”Thanks forr…welcoming me Ms Crowe!” Well I guess that is a start. ”It is a very bright in here.” They probably already hate me.

[Deleted]

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

Years pass, they come and go -- Sardonyx is the only constant on this stage. She and the audience, an ever inquisitive eye, it's an amazement that anything surprises them at this point. Part of her wonders where it all started blurring together; as if that's not the appeal. As if the highest form of luxury is nihilism: you chase after gods, what is left on earth for you? What's good enough? 

Is Flynn Garner good enough? 

Sardonyx would like to think so, at least with time. You look around and the child victors are always the easiest headlines, but they mature so poorly. Aranica, Saffron, Kassandra, they never embrace the victor lifestyle. It's all about kids and marriage, a happy home, they emulate Capitolites without the security of tomorrow - without that promise. Flynn stumbles on stage, great. 

She stifles a chuckle, he recovers cartoonishly. There's something there, some type of path way; though, he works medicine. That can be cut out, he can be a cameo star on some Capitolite children's show maybe. 

A kid of theatrics, he has his own merit, of course. The goofy wave and quaffed hair, right down to the floral button shirt, where does he fit in? Normally, they tell Sardonyx the prompt for the interview, how she's supposed to mold them down the Council's chosen edit for each victor, but there's nothing here, something to do with comedy. It's- it's halfwitted, the council notes Flynn as if he doesn't have a brain. 

Obviously he's smart enough to be alive, that counts for some goddamn thing. 

Sardonyx crosses her legs as Flynn thanks her, she notes that he's respectful. Kind, is that something victors still do? Shy, Lysander, Beck, Ridley, Kass, Nico- are victors kind again? She had almost gotten accustomed to that day-to-day fight, that undersweep current of repression. "Well, of course!"

"What are we without good lighting?"

It takes a chuckle from the audience, she's always loved the way the crowd shows their teeth when they laugh. Flynn smiles wide, something a little forced but she can tell it's by discipline -- Skye's work, perhaps? If Ursa is any type of example of work, Skye has always trained manners into the District Six victors. What's the narrative here? Flynn has a family, happy family of intelligent parents- no, no, that's boring. 

"But no, thank you for still being here, Flynn! Your eyes will adjust, surely, before Teddy takes you home for us." That's his father figure now, the mentor-mentee relationship is everything to the news outlet. Brains and Brawns, just one .NSR clip of them hugging and the entire capitol shells out their wallet. That's something to work with, that's where the meat is. 

Capitolites laugh with their teeth barring, like they're hungry, starved, "but you look bright yourself! Impeccable, to win the Games without a single missing limb, at your age no less. It takes a clever boy to manage that- can I get a round of applause!"

"For both hands!"

As it should be, Nico Thorne could pull off the limb-less victor look, but no one else could compare, really. She grins in the applause, railing her side of the interview; hopefully it gives Flynn a second to breathe, gather thoughts before the big questions. That's the easiest way to approach the younger kids, almost like holding their hand. Just a little help, "tell me, did they pierce your new ear already? Are we going to see a studded Flynn Garner era?" 

And she's no one shy of the camera, part of her almost misses warming up to the light. Lysander and Shy were never ready for these interviews, the only attempts were so sedated that it was like talking to corpses. Perhaps they both had an excuse, dying might do that to a teenager. 

Luckily, Flynn is still on his first life. 

However long that lasts. 

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Every sense is on overload. I cannot see past the lights overhead and I cannot hear past the claps, the cheers, and the heckling. I probably look like an idiot with the squinting eyes as I glance to the audience as Sardonyx begins to roll out the interview. Where am I even meant to look? At the cameras with the tiny flickering red lights or to the woman with the oversized floral headdress? This really cannot be for real.

Everything is so over the top. I bet everything in here would cost the same as maybe the rounds of treatment for Nan’s mother and another two patients. I need to get to Four. I need to hurry. But appearances need to be made. The Capitol needs to trust me first before I take on the next responsibilities. Damn, I have not even seen mom and dad yet.

The most comfortable position I find is with both needs slightly apart and my hands resting on them both, but I cannot be so rigid, my hands will need to go on a tour throughout so when Sardonyx gets the audience the clap. I join in. I do not know if I meant to, but I just join in. Afterall, they are celebrating the existence of my hands…

Then the first question is on my ears. Well I guess it better than the dreaded, how do you feel about shooting dead three people to be here? No but the attention is on the phantom ear. They keep pushing me to get a new one made… but it is another one of my physical reminders. Another shield from the mental torment. It is what I deserve to walk away with. A scar while others are currently stored in the morgue waiting to go home.

”There might be a piercing lined up for my good ear when I am older.” I have not really thought about adding bling to my appearance but maybe the idea of a nice sparkling silver piece isn’t that bad really? There is got to be some perks to all of this. ”But I am not getting another ear made. It is going to be my fancy new scar, maybe it will start a trend?” I turn my head to the audience, giving them a full view of the scar left behind by Lorraine. Hopefully, I am playing along well to their narrative. This is the beginning after all.

[Deleted]

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

It's not odd for a baby victor to be overwhelmed their first interview -- Sardonyx understands, expects it even. There are Capitolites who find it hard to talk along the same stage as a Crowe, so it's only fair that the grandest survivors struggle as well. The coaching is all the same, and by that, she means it's all Teddy's responsibility now. Boy wanted a victor so badly, train him. 

Flynn dies in the aftermath it's no one's fault but Teddy Ursa's, and maybe Sardonyx is just bitter. She watches Flynn as he speaks of his missing ear, the insistent pride of battle wounds, and she still loathes the fact that Teddy Ursa walks instead of the beauty that was Lux. That Flynn survives and Silk Le Roux dares die -- what she would give to interview a victor like that again. 

Not since Ridley, not since Nico; before that, not since Justice. 

They're either too humble or too weak, Flynn plays along with the game but she isn't too pleased with the answer. Laughing along at the rebuttal of a missing ear trend, "haha, that is definitely an artistic choice! Pardon my language, but a velcro ear piece- oh, I can't finish this statement." Sardonyx jests, to almost pitch an idea relying on velcro is near sacrilege, such a disgusting material to work with. 

Audience laughs too, playful boo's ringing and someone throws a fake ear onto the stage. Presumably fake, Sardonyx covers her mouth to stifle her laugh -- maybe that's not something to bring attention to. Instead, she reframes her posture, letting the crowd's enjoyment die down before gaining control on the interview again. 

Dare she say it, but she's enjoying this interview. Flynn is no dashing hero, no charming prince, but he definitely facilitates something entertaining. Sardonyx gives no credit to survivors, she'll have to pass judgement onto Gamemakers Carter and Zane- no, no just Carter. "But I must say, you sure one with the trends, Flynn! There have been .NSR clips trending everywhere around the Capitol about your aim, even comparing you to Kassandra Nerys herself. Even Ex Oh sent a drunken tweet of it! Here," Sardonyx leans back into her chair, motioning with fluid arm movements to the viral posts. 

It scrolls for a few minutes, a life like voice in late-President Snow's voice reading them out in its own humorous tone. Capitolites play along, standing from their seats and yelling at the .NSR clips, the ones watching from their NERVAlinks clap excitedly in their seats. Sardonyx is preoccupied, sending a congratulatory message to Gm. Carter from her own neurotech, until the queue plays to react to the highlighted tweet. 

Flynn Garner, shooting his fellow finalist dead in the final hour. He collapses before yelling how alive he is, "that's a moment that will be in compilations for games to come, Garner! I must ask, what do you think lead to both you and Kassandra being such a strong shot?" She leans inquisitively, closing out of her NERVAlink visual replacement and focusing on Flynn Garner himself. 

Seeing every bit of him, how small he is compared to herself, to the chair made for him. "Surely experts have sized it up to how nimble you two are, that adorable small stature definitely helps, but the aim. That isn't something you can just train, that has to be something a victor is born with!" There's a cheer from the audience, the idea that Victors are born and not made has always persisted, like a birthright. 

Like a claim to success, just as Capiolites are born to be wealthy. 

She puts her palms together, leaning on the arm chair, almost to size up Flynn even closer. A victor hasn't cracked on her stage since Beck Hailsham, maybe it's what they need this year. In a few minutes, perhaps, "where does that aim come from, Flynn? We want to know!" 

Need to know, almost. Firearms are illegal in the districts, there should be no prior experience with these, but she thinks to Sin Mortuus, to Sutton Mae and even Eos Delacroix, the Johnwaynes. Don't make that mistake, Garner, families disappear from the map for a reason. 

The Garner family is happy, is whole, but the reaping is next year. 

District Six female may just be decided on this answer. 

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

A freaking fake ear is tossed onto the stage, not far from where Sardonyx and I are sat. I can’t believe they are real people out there. Cheering on the fact that some girl blasted my ear off my head just a few days ago. They will probably think I am proud of it. Though I did just say I am starting a new trend. I really hope someone did not just cut their ear off and throw it at us. I have seen worse in the Capitol to even doubt that. To doubt the type of breed these people really are.

Hopefully, I am doing it right. I know everyone will be looking at old man Teddy Ursa now, I have already been painted as his little prodigy. But I have my own dad, I have my own family. Teddy will be nothing more than someone who has shared the same trauma figure. Not a father figure. My dad has been doing a good job at that.

I keep the smile painted on my face, my hands swap from my knees to the arms of the chair, my legs even cross and uncross for a moment. I cannot be still. My body is not letting me be still.

Now come the clips that have been replayed in front of me since I opened my eyes in that hospital bed. They really like to remind me of every moment. Here they flag me as a hero, but I bet if anything were replayed in the District, I’d be their child murderer. Great and I have the whole tour to look forwards to still.

Sardonyx compares me to Kassandra Nerys, the last young victor. Or smol as so many have told me here. Is that even a word? This girl was in the space arena with cool laser shoots, nothing like the revolvers I carried through the radiation wasteland.

"where does that aim come from, Flynn? We want to know!"

How am I to know? Everyone else had good aim too, Lorraine, Castor and Lenox all left their mark on me. A few other lone bullets have planted their scars. There are no monsters hiding back in Six. No secrets. Other than of course Tommy. I bet they already know about Tommy now, how he has probably already been buried. That will probably be the next question. ”I keep asking that same question myself.”

Now how do I play this? I can’t be boring, there are thousands watching right now. Thousands that I need to play into my hand. I am only thirteen, they are all going to have their eyes on me for at least another sixty…seventy years?? ”All I do at home is read medical journals and dissect frogs so I guess I am just lucky or a natural born talent.” A hand slips into my trouser pocket, rummaging for the heavily authorised and thankfully approved bullet that I snuck out of the arena.

I present the little glistening gold piece of metal to them, the dozens of lights bouncing off it. ”I am so naturally talented that I even have leftovers.” Damn, I bet I sound like a dick. I hope nobody at home can watch this.

[Deleted]

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

Being honest, she knows he must be someone's sweet son.  

There's something compelling about humility, Flynn Garner humble at the age of thirteen - alive by a miracle. "A natural talent," Sardonyx repeats from his mouth to her's, relayed to the crowd in something akin to reaffirmation. It flashes on the screen: SHARPSHOOTER! From one of the most dangerous arena's provided to date, it's a surprise that a young boy is the one to live through it all. Sardonyx has never personally been captivated by the right place, right time victor storyline's. 

But living means more than bullets and gunpowder, tributes die from more than just one lost fight. Blood loss, poisoning, radiation, infections, starvation; "you must have been reading the right journals then!" Give yourself some credit, some confidence, don't embarrass yourself on the stage of Crowe -- an interview that haunts you for decades. She lets him speak, invites him to. Let that brain choose where this interview goes, the Capitol is hungry to see him bleed again. 

Give us something. 

And it's a glint of rusted bronze, sparkling in its dull dazzle in the Capitol stage lighting- she imagines how it'll glitter in the .NSR. The zoom in as she coo's in excitement, he calls it leftovers, she sees a Poria Rain souvenir. 87th Bullet collection, "get a hold of this!" Sardonyx claims it in fascination. That's something that always gets the crowd going, "can I see it? I promise I'll give it back for free," she asks, outreaching her palm, studded acrylics pointing at Flynn like daggers. Just for a close up, that's a promise. 

She doesn't believe that he'll trust her completely - Sardonyx has always loved the way new victors get defensive. Intimidated, almost, if they aren't jaded by the arena itself. Flynn has lived through his own week of broken promises, a used bullet can't be worse than Nanette Carter abandoning him twice. 

"You know, most victors bring home pets from the arena or dropped tokens - other tribute's tokens - but Sharpshooter brings home a bullet!" Sardonyx beckons to the crowd, "natural talent indeed, it seems like you're practically drawn to it." It's almost as if she's getting paid to sell this idea of Flynn, the gunsmith, survivor of the wasteland arena. Something so unkind and how it breaks innocence, changes children into Victors. 

It doesn't seem like he's used to them, though, as if he's anymore comfortable with a bullet between his fingers than a child soldier should be. There's a facade of disconcern - Sardonyx doesn't believe he's a rebel or anything, nothing to worry of so far. "I can practically smell Skye Rizi's fashion line from here! Those used bullets have to be repurposed some how," she herself would make an ammo-studded asymmetrical jacket and hoodie combo, pair that with some military boots and you have a 04' inspired collection on your hands. 

But that's just one legend's opinion, do what you will. "You know, Flynn, Skye has been a colleague of mine for years now, and I can say that you're in some good hands with her. Honestly! But I know that she loves her some kind victors, she must be really proud to work with you," it's always good to leave a good opinion on the other stylists. Skylah and Sardonyx have only talked in passing - she's new talent, in Sardonyx's opinion, just lacking refinement. Humble Flynn for Humble Skye; ugh. 

"How have you felt working with her? But be honest, my dear," she says with a wink, bullet still between her finger tips. Some gossip would be delicious this afternoon, "we only want the real opinion!"

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

The lights are getting brighter.

A great big burst of white flashes in my eyes when I reveal the tiny piece of metal between my fingers. For a moment I wait for my canon. My eyes squeeze shut for a handful of seconds. Maybe a bringing a piece of a weapon to an interview was not such a great idea. But it is just the cameras. Not revolvers. More cameras spinning on their tripods aimed at the teeny, clearly significant souvenir in my hand. To them I am their entertainment but to me ha-ha, they are so amusing. Well of course murderous morale less monsters too.

Maybe it is a lack of common sense. Less sense than a thirteen-year-old on real life. It is just funny. Over the top. Dressed so crazily and then at the same time cheering on the deaths of children. Are they even real people?

Is Sardonyx Crowe a person with a soul? There might just be a soul under than over the top head dress.

"can I see it? I promise I'll give it back for free,"

Now back to the questions. Sardonyx reaches out for my bullet. The only other person that has held it is the doctor who put it in a metal tray besides my bed when I was recovering. Are murderous morale less monsters thieves too? There is only one way to find out. I drop it into the extended palm, minding to avoid my wrists on the spears sticking out of her fingers. Yuk. ”I would have really liked to bring home my luminous blob, Limey but he disappeared.” It kind of just vanished but it is not the first thing on the list of things I wish I could have brought home too. Though I doubt the Capitol want to hear how I wish Nanette were here. Revan. Everyone else. It is not a part of the script.

”Can I have it back now, I can show the cameras better angles of it?” It has been out of my pocket for too long. I do not want it ending up on the Capitol black market and I do not want to wash out this interview already by begging for it back. I think I have done well so far… I extend out my palm, just like Sardonyx. Except my nails are freshly clipped with blunt edges. The stylist did not like the bitten nail look.

Every moment with Skye has been different compared to the other Capitolites. She is not quite murderous morale less monster, but her kindness does not hide the fact that she dressed me for my death. Now she is pulling out dozens of outfits for my parade of killing others. Great fun. ”Skye has been very kind to me.” My real deep opinion will probably shut down the cameras. Hopefully, they have not gotten so advanced to read my mind. The Capitol is going to owe me favour in a few years. I cannot throw that away a few days after stepping out of the arena.
”The outfits are really pretty, really bright but not comfortable at all.” I say, shaking my shoulders a bit to try and adjust the tight shirt I am in right now. ”I do really like looking good but maybe a nice comfort line of clothes would be nice too? Less items that stick into stuff, you know. ” Tight wedgies and all of that. Some of the shoes are already blistering my toes.