✷ fashion house,
the capitol

     Haymitch stood with his arms spread. He was starting to feel the burn, but didn't dare move, least he face the wrath of Victoria and renowned fashion designer Rowan Chiffon.

     They worked mostly in silence, painted fingers surprisingly light to the touch. The measuring tape came around his arms, his chest, his thighs. Each one earned a mumble or grunt from Rowan, who marked everything on a pad.

     Victoria had assured Haymitch he was in good hands with Rowan. They were a friend of Victoria's (if she really had any), and designed for the Capitol's premiere families. Unlike Victoria, Rowan took no liberties when it came to their style: a bold, blue lip and a shaved head. It might have been off putting if not for their cheerful smile.

     "He's so well behaved," they said, jotting something down on the pad. "You understand my previous reservations—I never work with Tributes. They don't respect my vision."

     Victoria just grunted, smoking a cigarette near the large, curved window. The studio was bright and cheerful, walls lined with fabrics and patterns, half-finished costumes and accessories abandoned—spilling out of boxes. A large screen dominated the far wall. One of the sketches displayed there looked familiar: a gown made of blooming flowers.

     He had to get special permission to come to Rowan's studio, especially since it was off the beaten path, but he noticed that people stared less when he was with Victoria.

     Maybe she really was the key to success in life after the Games. It was hard to picture himself in the Capitol, living and working like Victoria did, knowing his mother and sister were miles away. Maybe Devis would give him a job, maybe he—

     "Haymitch." Victoria popped a 'what gives?' eyebrow at him. "You can put your arms down now."

     "Oh, sorry," he felt color creep into his cheeks. His arms dropped to his waist as Rowan stepped back to take him.

     "He's adorable, Victoria. Good proportions." Rowan gathered up a bundle of fabric samples, holding them up to Haymitch's chin. "...Hmm...a bit pale, isn't he? You ought to get him sprayed before he goes in front of the cameras."

     "He's from the mining district, Ro," Victoria reminded them gently, lips curling around the cigarette to form a lopsided smirk. "Not a lot of time out in the sun."

     Rowan nodded, as if lamenting. "All that coal dust must be terrible for your pores."

    I don't give a damn, Haymitch thought bitterly.

     Victoria began to circle him, not unlike a smoke-addicted beast stalking its prey. She took some of the samples from Rowan, doing her own color matching. "I don't want a miner costume. I'm over that. New sponsors have to be wowed."

"Well...'wow' is my specialty. My clients are always happy—and they recognize my work. He'll stand out, don't...worry...about that..." Rowan emphasized each word by taping something to Haymitch's chest: textured swatches, metal and fabric.

Miner's costume. It was almost laughable, how everything he was could be neatly sown and formed into a caricature of itself. He was something to be polished and put on display, like a lamb before slaughter.

     "What about Maysilee?" Haymitch prompted. "What's she gonna wear?"

     As the Games drew closer, he couldn't help but worry about Maysilee. All the attention he was getting, his sponsorship from Devis—she'd been left out in the cold. Victoria wasn't exactly hiding the fact she had favorites. Would her comments bore their way into Maysilee's head? Was she doomed from the beginning?

     Victoria's purple eye twitched just a little. He was standing on a platform to get measured, but Victoria was just as imposing when she had to look up at him.

     "This shit again, kid?" She demanded. "Since you think you know me so well, why don't you guess why she's not here?"

     Haymitch wasn't stupid enough to walk right into that trap. His mouth formed a thin, tight line.

     "Oh?" Victoria continued, leaning in as if she couldn't hear him. "Nothing? Yeah, because she's with the second best PR coordinator in the Capitol, learning how to give an interview so she doesn't blow it later."

     The Tribute interviews...how could he have forgotten? He remembered the interviews from previous years. In his mind's eye, he could see Maysilee, so delicate, dwarfed by the chair she was sitting in and stumbling over her words.

     Victoria had no tolerance for weakness or any outward displays of it.

     "She's not really good in front of people. You saw what happened with Calista." Haymitch still felt a hot flash of anger when he remembered what she'd done to Maysilee. As if it mattered what District you were from.

     They were all playing the same Game.

     "Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Victoria said stiffly. 'Talk' as in slap me upside the head, he thought. "I held off because I was doing damage control. You're welcome, by the way. I never seem to hear the words 'thank you' come out of that wise ass mouth."

     "Thank you," Haymitch grit his teeth.

     Rowan had been listening, working silently while trimming more fabric. They held a small piece to Haymitch's cheek. Gray. "Hmm?"

     "Yeah," Victoria nodded, stepping back. "I'll send you some ideas." She couldn't help but zero in on Haymitch's expression. "You better wipe that look off your face, kid. I mean it. You're lucky Devis was drunk. I pulled every string I had so you didn't have to face repercussions. Because, that Career you beat up? No one's seen her since."

     That sent a chill down Haymitch's spine.

     He could still feel the punches, like the ghost of a weight on his hand. Now that he had sat with it for a while, coming to terms with the person he was becoming and who he'd have to be in the arena, it came with a touch of sadness.

     Never once could he afford to be gentle.

     A prick from one of Rowan's pins forced him to file away those uncontrollable thoughts. "Sorry," the designer mumbled. They took off the swatches and put them aside. "When are you bringing the other one, Vic?"

     "Tomorrow. Same time."

     Haymitch was relieved, ready to head back to the Tribute Housing and watching bad Capitol TV shows with Maysilee.

     Then, Reed Overthorn strode in through the door, knocking a few times on the wall. Haymitch noticed he was very purposeful with his movements, sure of himself. A confidence that couldn't be bought or taught, even in someplace like the Capitol. "Is this a bad time, Rowan?"

Reed surveyed the room, his gaze inevitably falling on Victoria. His lips twitched into a sly smile.

It was like a silent game they played. Haymitch watched as Reed's eyes felt the need to roam Victoria's body. He was caught in the middle of a secret war between the two of them.

Haymitch's money was on Victoria.

"No, I'm finished. Are you here to pick up? I think I wore my fingers down to the bone, but they're beautiful," Rowan took a few dresses off a rack and laid them in his arms.

"Got a party to go to?" Victoria prompted with a vicious grin. "You'll turn heads."

Something about the way she said that sparked a vague memory of Victoria disappearing during that night at the Presidential Palace. Haymitch didn't think he'd ever understand her. Where'd she gone? Why did Victoria feel the need to live while wrapping herself in so many secrets?

She was always doing 'damage control'. He wondered how long it would take before it finally caught up with her.

"They're for Daisy." Reed explained, struggling with the pile.

     Daisy? There were shimmery ones, but most were flowery and big and soft. Haymitch saw her wearing all of them, though she could be in anything and look radiant.

Haymitch couldn't shake how she'd looked at him during his Training, after he'd bruised his knuckles bloody. Maybe Calista was right. Being from 12 wasn't something you could overcome. He was a freak, dirty...dangerous.

Before his interview, he had to see her. Daisy didn't have to like him, but she did have to know him for who he was.

Whoever that was.

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