thecapitol | I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity, who uses a machete to cut through red tape.

Who: Azula, Open to All
What: Just another day at the spa, because you deserve it.
Where: The New Image Day Spa.
When: After the Mini Arena.

In truth Azula suspected she spent far too much time at the Spa. But once a week was reasonable for someone who lived such a stressful life wasn't it?

Her favorite spa was always ready for her, always acted with absolute professionalism. She felt like royalty as she breezed through the doors and the greeters bowed politely taking her coat and guiding her immediately deeper into the building.

In a fit of charity, and a desire to connect deeper with her tributes she's invited a few to join her but she's not sure if or when they'll show up. For now she allows the staff to lead her from one room to the next, full body massage, seaweed wrap, and a trip to the open air mineral water hot springs to completely relax the body and pull out all the toxins and stress that built up in any busy persons life.

After the soak in the hot spring would begin the building up process again. Manicures and painting, hair styling and make up all to make sure that when you left the building you were stunning and beautiful. Depending on how you were dressed you might be ready for a night on the town (Presuming you had your curfew pass)

Today though Azula's plans were entirely focused on the spa and then returning to the tribute center. No more work outs, no more parties. She had to re-evaluate her plans. Things weren't progressing very much at all and it was starting to bother her. Her tributes had seemed to peek in both skill and ambition. Financial donors were getting bored and worst of all? She had joined the resistance months ago and hadn't come upon anything of use she could turn into an offering for them to prove her loyalty.

She was dedicated to the cause of changing the Capitol, she just didn't have a clue how to do it.

This would be an excellent place to think, she was sure of it.

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That was an easy question and she answered without hesitation.

"To win."

It was decisive and solid, not even an order or encouragement just a stated fact. She recaptured her drink and rose it to her lips so they were hidden when her added for only Venus to hear, "And I don't just mean in the arena."

Her tributes may not be winners at the moment but they could be. She knew it.

And just like that the drink was empty and set back on the edge of the pool.

"You're long past due for a win." She finished.

"I don't want to win." Venus' very voice tiptoes like a ballerina, quiet but not unsteady. She knows that Azula may very well consider that a betrayal. That she wants to see the people of her District fatted on her Tributes' victories and that Venus is denying that so.

But she's been honest so far today.

"I never want to win." Not in the Arena. She doesn't know what it would mean in Panem in general.

The idea of "Not wanting to win" isn't new to Azula. She knows that Shepard never intends to actually win, and it's likely neither does Sam. The Initiate might still have hope of it. But ultimately Azula has been banking on the hope that if she can get her tributes to the final round they will have no choice but to win or die horribly. No heroic sacrifices left.

"Well that is easy enough. But it's much more difficult to keep you alive if it appears you're not even trying. And even if you aren't furthering my goals..." She hesitated and her eyes slid across the room to see who else would over hear. Only a couple attendants folding towels.

"I've grown rather fond of you and don't intend on letting you die if I have any say in the matter. So I'm afraid you're stuck."

"Does it look like I'm not even trying, though? I have the highest kill count out of every Tribute in any of the Arenas, and it's not just because I've done eight of them."

There's a spark there, a part of Venus that's proud of the one thing she can lay claim to. That she knows she should feel ashamed about, but dammit, she's competent.

It's rare that being corrected makes Azula smile. This is one of those moments.

"To the untrained eye of course not. You have a sizable fandom for a reason and it's not just your social life." She agreed and let her fingers dip into the water to make ripples glide across the surface.

"Do you think you can continue to perform that way with no end goal in sight?" Because the idea that anything would change anytime soon was still laughable despite how many changes Azula had personally witnessed in the last two years.

"I think the less of a goal I have, the better my performance will get." And it's true. When her only aim was to die, she killed more. Now that she's tried to go about it in a morally salient way her list of murders has shortened significantly.

"You don't know me, Azula. You know the surface. You don't know why I got into the field I did, and believe me, it's because the end goal was really..." She reaches for and finds a word that she picked up back when she was dating Enjolras, "nihilistic."

Normally Azula hates being told she doesn’t know something almost as much as being corrected. It’s her stubborn pride and short temper.

But this place has been carefully chosen for it’s ability to keep her calm. Even sinking to her shoulders in hot water doesn’t stir up her hydrophobia thanks to how many times she’s been here. She lets her eyes drift closed and tilts her head back resting it on the edge of the spring.

“Then enlighten me please. I hesitate to pry into the lives of my tributes if only because you’ve expressed desires to keep such things out of the public eye, but if it’s going to influence how I see you then perhaps it would be more beneficial to fill me in more?” She offered hopefully.

Azula was hardly the type for gossip. Gathering knowledge was always more important to her then sharing it.

I want a girl with uninterrupted prosperity, who uses a machete to cut through red tape.

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