The only thing worse than watching your tribute lose in the Hunger Games was watching them win.

Cinna remembered being told that when he was first apprenticing with a seamstress who hoped to groom him into the Capitol's most sought after designer. When he first pondered those words he wondered how that could be remotely true. Cinna was never the kind of man, or boy, that could stand by and not let the world outside of him in. And there was never a tribute that he didn't feel personally attached to, no matter how hard he had been warned against it.

And Cinna hadn't known a victor to win. He had been just a child, still an apprentice, when Haymitch Abernathy of District 12 won the Hunger Games. And not a tribute since he had taken over the district's prep team had been a victor since. He grew weary of the annual battle to remain disconnected. The challenge to care so deeply for his work and his people, but yet to spend weeks growing close to one only to watch them die as part of a world whose hate controlled him.

Cinna was charming and coy enough to find himself in the graces of the Capitol and its darlings. He spent the year living in a manse of a workshop that was kept well appointed so long as he was able to decorate the wardrobes of many of the highest society. And when his tribute looked good, he looked good. And so would his fortune for the rest of that year.

He hated himself for taking a personal stock in the gamble of another innocent person's life...but that is what his world had become. A gamble.

So when the tribute from District Three won the 72nd Hunger Games, Cinna quietly mourned the loss of a friend and ally from home...but prepared himself to go about his work in the Capitol. Dressing and undressing the wealthy, not worried each night about falling asleep without the watchful eye of Capitol safety.

In fact, as he left the observation room where he and Effie Trinkett had silently watched their tribute sliced in half, Cinna wanted nothing more than to retreat to his apartment and forget everything he had seen. Or try to anyway.

But this year was different.

"Cinna! Darling, Cinna!" Effie called to him as he descended the stairs from the deck they had been watching and partying on. He stopped and turned to face her.

"My love, I have news...it seems President Snow has asked for a meeting with you. All good, I'm sure, all good!" Her voice was bubbly and her hands clapped as she spoke. Her drunkenness only adding to her excitement. Cinna fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead only nodded appreciatively before changing his course to head for the President's quarters.

He approached the mansion like everyone did: cautiously. The guards took him inside and before long he was standing before a seated President Snow, whose wide and wild smile always made Cinna's knees lock and his jaw flex.

"Ahh, the pride and joy of District Twelve. Please, sit."

Cinna did so at his command, knowing enough to know it wasn't a request. He clasped his hands over a crossed knee and tried to remain calm.

"President Snow, I'm honored to see you, although a little confused as to why."

Snow chuckled slyly at Cinna's inquisition. But then he nodded a shaky, white head before raising his eyebrows and conceding.

"I have a job for you."

Cinna's heart sank deep into his chest. Snow's jobs were never pleasant and they were never offers. They were orders. Cinna pretended not to know...everyone did.

"There is a very famous young victor from District Four. A beautiful young man, in fact, that has become quite a hit with the people of this city..."

"Finnick Odair."

Cinna answered the riddle before he was asked and Snow's face lit up. Cinna knew Finnick. Everyone did. Well, knew of him. He was the Capitol playboy. Famous for bedding three, sometimes four women in an evening. He had charmed his way into the hearts of most everyone in Panem. Most of which he had actually convinced that he was madly in love with them and would do anything for them. Cinna knew of Finnick Odair. His conquests were as legendary as he was.

"Yes, Finnick Odair. You see he will be spending more time in the Capitol in the next year and I need him to have a prep team that includes the best of the best. Now of course I realize your allegiance lies with District Twelve, but I wondered if in your down time you may be able to fashion some fine pieces of work for Finnick. What as he entertains and such."

Snow's wink let Cinna know just the kind of entertainment he was talking about and Cinna raised a gold lined eyebrow.

"I would be honored to help in whatever way I can, of course."

Cinna answered. With a lie, of course, but he knew Snow wouldn't accept a refusal. Although the fact remained that Cinna would not for a moment enjoy being pushed around by a preener like Finnick Odair. For every inch of him that was well tanned and well carved...he was an entitled prick that no one could stand. His stunning looks would only get him so far with Cinna, and playing nice with him would be a constant battle.

"Good!" Snow replied, overjoyed, before handing Cinna a gold stamped envelope. Cinna turned it over in his hand before opening it.

"It gives you the details of his arrangements. What you may need, how he might prefer to be dressed..."

Cinna listened to Snow's words as he read over the card. Instructions, indeed. The card said less about Finnick and more about his 'client' who remained nameless:

-client requests the color blue

-client requests no undergarments be worn

-client requests no body hair

-client requests no evidence of prior bruising

-client requests that no prior efforts be taken to dull pain or endurance

Cinna could feel his brow grow deeper and deeper as he read and the instructions got darker and darker.

"I'm sorry," Cinna bravely voiced, "his client? Who is Finnick's client?"

Snow laughed and turned.

"You'll be on a need to know basis, my friend. The question is...who isn't his client? Finnick is my most popular possession. You'll prepare him to be sold to people that will pay anything for his time, and his body."

Cinna took a giant swallow and nodded.

"Like I said, President Snow. I am honored that you think enough of my work to give me such a responsibility." Cinna hoped the thick layer of sarcasm wasn't discernible. He was about to tuck the card back into the envelope when he noticed there was a thick red stripe at the bottom of it that highlighted the words 'AFTERCARE.'

"Sir?"

Cinna asked and Snow turned to face him, eyes raised in anticipation.

"What does aftercare entail?"

Snow pursed his lips and tossed a thought or two in his head before sitting back down behind his desk.

"You see, some of Finnick Odair's clients can be, well, aggressive. Certain ones we know in advance will require some maintenance afterwards. While we hope that his face won't get injured, you'll be there to insure his marketable good looks stay in tact. Am I clear?"

"Clear, sir, of course." Cinna choked down the hatred he felt for the man and cooly replied. He bowed graciously and turned to exit.

"Cinna," Snow stopped him in his tracks by calling his name. He turned to listen, "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that all of this is confidential. You will tell no one."

"Of course, President."

Cinna bowed once more and made an exit as swiftly as possible.

He hurried for the elevator and glanced at his watch. There would be no time to go home and mourn. It was coming on four in the afternoon and Finnick Odair would be in his prep team chambers by five.

Cinna wasn't sure which one of them was in for a longer night.