Evacuate the Dancefloor

[itscalledfashion]

Who| Cassian and YOU.
What| The new D7 stylist is here putting his grubby hands all over everything,
Where| Various places in the Tower
When| The first week of the arena.
Warnings/Notes| Hamming it up?



Entrance

This was it. He didn't blame them for wanting to have him enter after the arena started--Let the old stylist go out with a bang and a last hurrah, getting to make the costumes for the current arena. But now that was over, and the old was out, and the new was most certainly here and in charge now. He took a deep breath, and pulled out his phone, pulling up an appropriate song for his entry into his new job. After all, first impressions were everything, and he intended to leave the best one that anyone had ever seen.

As soon as the song started (sounding suspiciously familiar), he threw open the doors, striking a long practiced pose, one hand leaning against the door, hip sticking out as he surveyed the lobby, then started in, hips swinging with the music, heels pounding rhythmically on the floor. It was perfect in a way that could have only been achieved with a great deal of practice--And it was. He had practiced for a week, and everyone in his household was utterly sick of him and his stupid music.

He stopped right in the middle of the lobby, hand artistically placed on his hip as he looked around, lips slightly parted, eyes lidded. This, it could be assumed, was also practiced. Right at the perfect part of the music, he would start again, sashaying off to the elevators.

It didn't matter who had seen him. It didn't matter if no one had. He knew that he had made the perfect entrance.

...Besides, they recorded everything here, right? Maybe he could bum the videos off the people in charge.

District 7 Suite

Anyone who had died early, worked in the district 7, or was just hanging out there for whatever reason would discover that Cassian was pretty much instantly making himself comfortable. And by comfortable, he was blasting even more music, and theatrically dancing around the suite, swinging around like he owned the place.

If that wasn't quite enough, in between singing the lyrics and swinging his head around, he appeared to be redecorating. Luckily, this was aided by avoxes, who seemed to be doing to bulk of any actual work, while Cassian pointed at different pieces of art and decor, moving some around, having some whisked off, and new pieces brought in. The change would be instantly obvious. For some reason, the new stylist seemed to take a liking to strange pictures of whales and dolphins flying through neon colored starry skies.

"Yes, perfect, no--NOOO." He managed in between spinning around to the music, gesturing enthusiastically to get the avoxes to get the picture just right, it has to go right under that light, or it throws off the balance. Once balance is realigned, he goes back to dancing and spinning around the suite. It's a little more chaotic, less practiced and just going with the beat than the movements in the lobby. This place is mostly empty, after all, right? Who cares about a little butt wiggling.

The Roof

Not even the roof was safe from his music, though this was a lot calmer. Here, he wasn't trying to show off. He was still perfectly poised, wearing that mask of perfection and confidence, because anyone could stumble up here, and he had a presentation to give. Being a Capitolite was like being stuck in a constant TV show, and you had to be ready to put on your acting face.

Of course, it was night, because who the fuck would play this during the day. But he still enjoyed the quiet--What passed for quiet for Cassian, at least. Despite the beating of the music, it was peaceful, at least. He spun around, humming thoughtfully as he twirled. The stars were beautiful tonight, and his hands reached up for them, as though he could touch them if he only stretched tall enough.

This was what he wanted, wasn't it? This feeling of being on top of the world. It felt almost literal here, on top of the tallest building in the city. And he belonged here. He had done it, he had worked his ass off, and it had finally paid off. And looked up at the stars, he had to remind himself, look at it. Even this building wasn't the tallest thing. Look at those stars. He hasn't peaked yet, he has so much further to go.

Not until he's eclipsed even the stars.

Comments

D7 suite

[conifer]

Emily had been at a lunchtime meeting with a potential sponsor, and had made her way back to the Suite with a stack of the morning's newspapers under her arm, ready to spend her afternoon going through them for mention of her Tributes. This was a task she preferred to do somewhere quieter, such as the roof or one of the parks she frequented, but the suite should be pretty quiet at the moment with the Arena having just begun, and besides she'd probably better have the Arena footage on in the background, as it had been a couple of hours since she'd seen anything but the highlights, and she knew she couldn't avoid it forever, as much as she wanted to. She's looking forward to having the suite to herself, calling ahead to have an avox ready with tea, and debating whether to slip into her pyjamas before starting working again, as she didn't expect to go out again today.

As soon as she exits the elevator she hears the music, muffled through the wall, and she frowns, thinking that she may have got off at the wrong floor, certain that Jason wouldn't allow such a racket with his migraines. She opens the door to find Cassian dancing around the suite and freezes in the doorway, staring at him unsure whether all of this is a hallucination.

[itscalledfashion]

It was not, for better or worse, a hallucination. The dancing idiot didn't even seem to notice Emily at first, spinning around as he oversaw the avoxes replacing the fruit in the bowls with what looked suspiciously like glowsticks. Finally, he bothered to look up, and stopped in mid-twirl, stumbling slightly as physics gently reminded him of its existence. He quickly straightened up, though, puffing up his chest and leaning against a counter, fluttering his (very long, and very fake) eyelashes at Emily.

"Well! I'd hoped to have this place put together before you guys came in! Get a real before and after in your head, you know...? It's just not the same when you watch it happ--No! I want the dolphins on that wall!--anyway, I guess it's my fault for not having this better prepped." While he spoke, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through it. "Aaaand you must be Emily Finch! 69th Hunger Games victor." He looked up from the screen, a smirk playing across his lips. "Has anyone ever said anything about that? Winning the 69th game? I mean. 69. You know?" He wiggled his eyebrows, then stowed his phone in the pocket of strangely iridescent leopard-print shorts.

Then he stopped away from the counter, and walked over to Emily. He didn't have to impress her too much, at least. She was just a mentor. But mentors were the hottest accessory right now, and Cassian would be remiss in being an asshole to the one that he'd be spending the most time with. He offered his hand (his nails were painted to match his shorts), and gave her an easy smile. "I'm your new stylist. Stig is enjoying a much deserved retirement," Hopefully in an actual retirement home, or just stuck in a pasture. "My name's Cassian--Oh! I made bracelets for us."

He shuffled away, grabbing a bag, and digging through it, then brought a bracelet over to Emily. It was a dazzling embroidered bracelet, with little blocks with letters worked into the strings, spelling out 'District 7!'

[conifer]

Emily rolls her eyes, having heard jokes about the number of her Games more times than she can count. Mostly from Capitolites wanting her to perform that act on them, in the years immediately following her Games that she wishes she could erase from her memory entirely. She finds that she can't stay irritated at him though, not when she had to make a good first impression herself, and not when he's presenting her with a friendship bracelet. She sticks out her arm so that he can tie it around her wrist, glancing around at the changes he's making to the Suite, which are far too bright for her own tastes, and which she's sure Jason will thoroughly detest. "...Are those dolphins?"

[itscalledfashion]

He quickly ties it around her wrist, in a knot that can be adjusted for her own comfort. He looks pleased as punch that she's willing to wear it, grinning widely. Once done, he stepped back and admired it, nodding to himself, before turning and looking around. "I guess dolphins are kind of District 4, but, like. I don't know, I like the whimsy. Do you think that it's a bit too...fishy?" He frowned, tapping his chin.

"I'll see if I can find anything with the color scheme that's more...foresty. But honestly, anything was better than the flannel. If I see anything it again, I might scream. Plaid is so out, honestly, and I've got all these ideas about how to make people look thematic, and not totally snoozeville." He glanced over at Emily, eyes wide and innocent. He wasn't trying to insult her, nor her district, really. "You've lived in that district, right? You can tell me about it!"

He reached into his shorts and pulled out a small notepad and pen, flipping it open. "I'm sure there's more to District 7 than flannel, right? Defaulting to it as our theme is so over! We're going to dig deep. You saw what Cinna did with 12, right? The miners before then were soooo boring, and he made such an impression! That's what I'm going to do. Except, you know, not copy him." He looked up at Emily. "What kind of decorations and stuff does District 7 have?"

[conifer]

She's not used to anyone talking so much, especially asking her so many questions, and she's not sure which she's supposed to answer and which are simply a part of the way he naturally speaks, and ends up stopping and starting interruptions a couple of times before realising that he hasn't finished talking yet.

"Anything but plaid," she says very insistently. It's something that had become sort of a running joke in her District, the amount of it in the Capitol's image of them - take a drink every time you see a flannel shirt in the opening ceremonies - although she had to admit there were far worse things to be dressed in. She shrugs as she tries to think about the culture of Seven, unsure what to tell him. "We have trees. That's about it, really. Although having been dressed in nothing but pine needles for my own Games, I'm not sure that's something you want to go for either."

[itscalledfashion]

"I'm glad we agree," He said quickly, writing that down. It'd been a silly joke when he was just a viewer, but now that he was in charge of fashion, he wasn't going to let a single stripe of plaid be seen. Nor flannel. No, lumberjacking around like a douchebag was out of the question. He nodded along to her as she spoke, though, writing things down. "Eugh. No, no pine needles, they make me itch. Trees I can work with, though."

He tapped the pen against the pad thoughtfully, for a moment or two. "Medieval stuff is super hot right now, with the new arena. All those Thedas people. We've got one of them, right? Dorian. With the mustache. With him...yeah, I can do some medieval tree stuff. Wood nymphs! There we go, that'll be our ticket. We'll focus on trees, nature stuff. Incorporate fairy tale stuff into them. Throw leaves on them. They have this really hot trick where they press out actual flowers and leaves, and put them on your body, seal it on. Like a tattoo, but not permanent."

He was writing down stuff like a rainbow possessed. "What do you think? You're the district expert here."

[conifer]

Overall, it didn't sound too bad an idea to Emily. She's a little hesitant about actual leaves, just because of her pine needle dress, and she hopes that none of the Tributes have any plant allergies, but it's a far better idea than plaid, and felt very refreshing. If done right, it could look quite tasteful. Glancing around at the dolphins adorning the walls, though, Emily's unsure that Cassian has the same idea of taste as her.

"Nymphs are like fairies, right?" She only knew the term as a vague description used on Capitol shows; mythology wasn't seen as an essential to be taught in the Districts. "They might have had their fill of fairies after this Arena. Although if they're not too similar I'm sure it will be just fine."

[itscalledfashion]

"Yes, they're forest fairies, and stuff like that. Fawns or satyrs. Things that are fairy tale-esque. Very foresty, you see? People will be way more interested in letting their minds run wild about the forest than thinking about how their wood chairs got chopped up." He says it matter of factly, as he begins jotting things down. Capitolites, the people they were trying to get to pay for stuff for their tributes, they didn't care about chopping woods down, or anything related to how objects appeared in the stores.

But Cassian was sure that if he could get them to use their imaginations, get carried away by them, they would be far more interested. A forest fairy was more interesting than a lumberjack.

"I'll start sketching things up. Of course, this probably won't be used for the crowning, depending on the winner. Oh, I hope someone with some nice taste wins. Well, I'm supposed to be voting for our district, right? I suppose Alain or Dorian are the best chances for that, though the girl...Ruffnut, or something? She seems like she could, but goodness, I'll have to do something about her hair...and eyebrows."

He glanced up at Emily again, a wry smile on his face. "Well, we'll figure something out. I'm looking forward to the coronation, no matter what! It'll be my first chance to show off my skills to the public."

[conifer]

Emily's only worry is that she's sure many Capitolites would come to believe that it really was satyrs and fairies who were providing the Capitol's lumber. They'd certainly believed they were all attractive lumberjacks at Stephen's party.

"Right, the Crowning will be your big debut. I know you'll do great. I guess the challenge now is studying all the Tributes left in the Arena to try to anticipate who'll win and what theme the Crowning will take. It could be practically anything."