thecapitol | Closed to D3 Tributes/Staff

Entry tags:

Closed to D3 Tributes/Staff

Who| Valeria, Any D3 Tributes who want to ~~complain about~~ discuss their cosplay outfits.
What| See above
When| Just before they're let out into the Arena.
Where| Dressing rooms the Tributes prepare in before heading out. I'm assuming they are put into individual same as the movie, Valeria will be checking in on all of her Tributes going from room to room.
Warnings| Usual Valeria oblivious horribleness, possible references to recent plot events re: execution/torture/bombing.

Normally Valeria looked forward to this time. The pressure on her was minimal, every Tribute generally wearing the same thing with few if any alterations by the Stylists allowed, and it meant she'd soon get some time to relax before her Tributes started dying and waking up back in the Capitol again.

Now, however, she'd had the stress of trying to figure out costumes for each one (oh how she missed only having two), when she barely paid attention to fiction even back when she had the time, but after everything that had happened so recently...suffice to say it was a shaken and trying to hide it Valeria who entered each dressing room in turn, making sure her Tributes were dressed or at least in the process of getting ready to go.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Eliot gave his costume a skeptical look. "Please tell me you're not serious."

"Serious as the grave, darling," said Valeria, and grimaced at her own choice of words. "But don't blame me, we were just told costumes, I let the prep team pick them out this time. I don't really read or watch movies or--whatever this is from." She looked the costume over speculatively. "Although I might have to give this one a chance."

"Please, Valeria?" He was nearly begging. "Can't ya use it for anything else? There's no way I can run in those heels. A party, an interview, anything but the Arena." He could tell there was no talking her out of it completely. He'd try for what he might get.

"Are you asking to trade?" Valeria asked, arching her eyebrows. "I don't think that's allowed, and anyway, there's no time for it now. No one else's would fit, really, dear, we don't exactly have a lot of options at this point."

She picked up one of the shoes and waved it to emphasize her point. "Besides, I think the shoes are the best feature. You could turn them into a weapon or something, can't you? And until then your calves will be looking fabulous."

He sighed reluctantly. "Yeah, I probably could, assuming they don't get me killed before I get the chance."

If looks could kill, they'd be burning. "How my calves look won't matter if I can't fight."

"You know, this is my fault, I should have realized you might need lessons," Valeria sighed, shaking her head. "It's just hard to think there are people who've grown up without learning the proper way to walk in every type of shoe. No time for that now, I'm afraid. Heel, toe, that's the main thing. Heel, then toe."

She laughed and set aside the shoe for later, after she'd coaxed Eliot in to the rest of it. "If your calves look good enough, you won't need to fight, darling."

"Men don't wear heels." He already knew heel, toe. That was how he normally walked. But even Sophie knew heels weren't good for running or fighting.

He sighed. "Right, because all the other tributes will take one look and beg me to kill them." His mood was even worse now that she'd made him wear the rest of the fashion fiasco. Seriously, what sadist came up with this time of get up?

When Valeria looked in, Ian was practising ripping his shirt off, to reveal the Superman costume beneath. "I don't think this is going to work." Which was to say, he wasn't very good at it.

"Nonsense, dear," said Valeria, leaning against the wall next to the door for a short rest while she watched him practice the display. "You're doing fine, it looks very dramatic, it'll make quite the impression on the viewers. And when you've removed the rest of the boring outerwear--well, skintight always goes over well onscreen." She hesitated, then added, "And we just had a snow one not too long ago, it shouldn't be too cold for it."

"I hope it's not too hot either." He was quite warm now and in the sun would probably be more so. He tried not to look too panicked at the thought and fidgeted as he avoided adjusting the pants to look a little less skin-tight.

"Oh, well," she waved a hand airily, "That's easy to fix, you just remove clothing until you're feeling quite cool." She grinned. "That'll have the Sponsors sending you all sorts of things to help you from getting...overwarm."

"I'm sure it will." As much as he needed sponsors he was less than thrilled about the idea of stripping off to get them. "If only this costume made me fly." Or had pockets, as he found when he tried to find somewhere to put his hands and ended up leaving them dangling at his side.

Marius, who was dubiously eyeing the cape of his Romeo costume (and his costume, in general), jumped slightly when Valeria entered.

"I am to fight in this?" He was quite certain that the cape, at least, would be a hindrance.

"Certainly," Valeria replied. "What else would you be doing in it?" she asked, then winked, although her heart wasn't quite in it. "Well, aside from whatever you want to do to get those Sponsor gifts coming in. You should be grateful, this will be much more flattering than some of the other clothes they've had them wear in the Arenas. And you'll be grateful for the extra fabric come night, I'll bet."

Oh. She, admittedly, made quite good sense about the extra fabric. He considered himself in the mirror again. It was still strange to him, the way he was dressed, as if he was simply attending a party instead of being released into an arena to fight and kill. The thought caused him to frown and turn away sharply.

He had to take a deep, shaky breath to ensure that the anger he felt towards the Games did not reflect in his voice when he spoke to her. "Thank you, then, mademoiselle, for your kind assistance."

"Oh, my, gratitude certainly appreciated," said Valeria, blinking and pleased. "You know I so rarely feel appreciated these days for my work. It's all just rush, rush, rush. You're newer, of course, but if you haven't noticed yet you'll soon get it."

His head tilted to one side, almost imperceptibly. It was almost a response he expected from himself, thanking people for their efforts, but he never realized it was a rare occurrence for her.

And as he was fairly new, he honestly did not even know what else she did that caused her to become so busy. Aside from put him and the others in the strangest clothing. That did not require hours upon hours of pondering. Did it?

He really did not know much about styling.

"Rush?"

"So much rush," Valeria confirmed, not entirely realizing his confusion but always willing to take an opening to complain. "You know, we used to only have two Tributes at a time, now we're lucky if it's only half a dozen! And maybe before I could have managed, when it was one Arena a year, less than a month's work, really, and then you get a year off except for making sure your Mentors don't embarrass you. Unless you've got to go on the Victory tour of course."

She heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Not that I'll ever get to know what that's like, not unless they reinstate it, although how they could squeeze it in, I couldn't say. And we'd need a Victor too, of course."

Marius blinked at the melodrama but nonetheless managed to listen to the entire spiel. In fact, he was mildly interested in what the Games had been like before he arrived, if his attentive stance and the way he kept his eyes on her while she spoke were any indication of it.

Which was why he was able to catch the bit about the tour.

"A Victory tour? How does that go?" His eyes were wide with curiosity.

"Oh, it was one of the most anticipated events of the year, second only to the Games themselves." Her eyes gleamed, less with excitement at the tour itself, since she'd never been interested in leaving the Capitol, than for the thrill of traveling the country specifically to show off. And 'raise morale' and all of that too, of course.

"The Victor and their team, Escorts, Stylists, Mentors and all, travel throughout Panem on train, District by District, to be shown to the people--in fantastically stylish outfits, of course, or at least that's the aim--and generally let the Districts experience a small part of the Games in person, I guess. Or something to that effect."

So the train led to the Districts. He did not know whether that information would be particularly useful for fighting against the Capitol, but he noted it, nonetheless. The other information about the Victory Tour he had filtered away, caring little for strangely-tailored clothing and showing off. And if he thought he had a chance of victory in the Games then he would have raised more questions about the Victory Tour, but as he ran on the assumption that he will always die, and that he had little reason to fight anyway, he didn't.

"Have you been to the Districts, mademoiselle?" At the very least, he wanted to know who these people were, those to whom he was to fight and die for, again and again. Did they live in luxury, like his grandfather and the men and women at the salons in Paris? Did they grovel for food and struggle, every day, to continue living a pitiful existence, like the miserable ones on the streets back home?

"Madame?" Eponine, already dressed in her pantomime tunic, looked dubiously at the velvet hat and high leather boots.

"Please - is there not something else to wear?"

She had no idea who, or what Aladdin was and she honestly wasn't bothered. Just - the dress wasn't even to her knees.

"Now?" Valeria asked, raising her eyebrows. "Darling, you barely have the time to finish dressing, you expect me to run out and find you something new to wear. You're on shaky ground already, Eponine, now's not the time to be pushing your luck."

She reached out to adjust the tunic, how it fell over Eponine's shoulders. It wasn't really necessary, but it gave her something to do with her hands. "Anyway, I thought you'd like it. So little skin showing, especially when you've got the boots on, just your style." Of course, Eponine's idea of covered and Valeria's were somewhat different.

"Fine." She sighed. Having let Valeria fuss over her, she sat down and started to pull on the thigh high boots. In Eponine's opinion, she looked ridiculous.

"It is not ladylike to show such skin. This dress is lovely too - but Madame, for it to be longer, touching the floor. That is a proper gown."

She paused in her struggle with the boots.

"Madame - do you think they will hurt me? Because I am in trouble with them? They are going to make my death painful this time, are they not?"

"It's a tunic, not a dress," said Valeria, resisting the urge to fiddle with Eponine's clothes as she dressed, tell her not to do this or that to wrinkle the outfit. Where she was going wrinkles were going to be the least of her worries. "Sometimes there are tights, but I think the boots are enough, myself. What makes a lady is up to the lady in question, you know."

She frowned and looked straight at Eponine for the first time, rather than at her clothes. "You don't really believe they'd be so cruel, do you? Vindictive like that? If they wanted to punish you, they wouldn't have waited until the Arena, I'm sure."

She couldn't say anything about whether the death would be painful or not. Eponine would know better than her what makes a death painful, after all.

"Does it matter, Madame? Whatever it is, it will be covered in blood soon enough."

And then, a question occurred to her, and she slowed her tugging on the big boot.

"What do you do with the clothes when we are done, Madame? Do you keep them? Give them to the poor?" She resumed tugging - but it made her think. In Paris, she would have loved to have had that dress from the last arena - even if it was ripped and covered with blood.

"So you do not think they would give me ano- a punishment?" She had nearly slipped up then, and admitted her execution already. With her boots pulled on, she stood slowly, testing how high the shoes were, how comfortable the leather against her skin was.

"They are already cruel though - and vindictive too. I know why you make us fight now - and why you made the Districts fight before you made us so. I know, and I think that is vindictive. So - " She shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe they will."

"Accuracy in fashion is always important. If nothing else you should know what it is you're wearing."

Valeria blinked. "The clothes? Well, the Arena outfits, we don't get those back, obviously, I don't know what they do with those. Maybe someone with an entrepreneurial spirit sells them as mementos, quite the black market for genuine Arena souvenirs." She tapped a finger thoughtfully on her chin, glad for an easy question to answer.

"Everything else--the fancy things, that is, event outfits, not your daywear--we mostly just store. Sometimes they're auctioned off for charity, I think, but usually I end up cannibalizing the old things for spare parts when I want to test something. Why do you ask?"

She watched as Eponine stood, running a critical eye over the fit. The most annoying part of the Arena outfits was not being allowed to test how they fit on the Tributes before the day. "No, of course not," she said absently, only catching the slight slip after speaking. "And this isn't a punishment, you know," she added, assuming that's what Eponine meant, the Games. "Not for you, specifically, anyway. It's not about being vindictive, it's about..." Valeria frowned, then finally shrugged, helpless. She'd never discussed so much politics in her life, before these people came. "Discipline."

"I know nothing of fashion, Madame. Do you know, at home, I wore a cloak I had had as a child as a skirt, and my mama's old chemise as a shirt, and Papa's old belt and a bit of lace to hold it up. I know nothing of fashion, really."

She listened carefully to Valeria's explanations. Well, for the Capitol, it made sense.

"I liked the dress you gave me for Timaeus' party - the white one, you remember? That was lovely."
Evenif it was tailored to her body exactly, it did not show much skin.

She listened, too, to Valeria's explanations avout the Games, but she wrinkled her nose and shrugged.
"Discipline? By making children fight? I think that is a stupid idea. It is bad enough that you make us - adults - fight. But you put my brother in the arena too - he cannot win, though he is clever, when there are men to kill him. It is why I would die in Paris. And, Madame, I would say you have the Games for the reason we are allowed to be poor - your king does not see. But you have televisions - of course he must see - so it seems to me that you just like to see."

Cuthbert took in the skirt and blouse with serious skepticism. This certainly wasn't what he had been expecting when it came to fight ready clothing.

"Are you certain this is what I'll be wearing?"

"Of course I am, darling," Valeria said airily, glancing over everything quickly, trying to match up the Tribute faces to the costumes her team had listed, just to make sure. "I make a it a policy to never be uncertain. It fits properly, doesn't it?"

He gave the fake breasts a couple of curious squeezes. Bert couldn't decide whether he should be happy to have them or not. This would require a lot of serious thinking or possibly serious drinking.

"I suppose so. I simply did no expect something quite so... feminine. Does it really suit me?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Closed to D3 Tributes/Staff

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject