Hey guys, it's Alex here with your second one-shot from the accompanying fic In The End, You Always Kneel. Written by our lovely writer Canucklehead Cowgirl writing for James 'Logan' Howlett, this is sure to make you giggle as much as it made me. Hope you all enjoy!

A quick thank you for all those that favourited and followed this collection! It's all appreciated.

The title, for those wondering, is a play on words from one of the episodes of my favourite TV show The Newsroom but I had to shorten it to make it fit. I think Shakespeare also used it in one of his plays.

First, Let's Kill All The Stylists

James "Logan" Howlett of District Seven

Written by Canucklehead Cowgirl

"What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality."

- Plutarch

When they finally arrived at the capitol, Logan and Etta were ushered down a long hallway lined with strangely dressed people before being separated and shoved into empty rooms. Moira wished them luck as they closed the doors leaving both tributes a bit confused. Logan didn't like the feel of the place as several people rushed in around him, telling him to strip.

"You're kiddin' right?" Logan growled out in disbelief. He didn't care if anyone saw him naked, but he didn't make a habit out of doing it on purpose.

"No, we need to clean you up so your stylist has a fresh slate. I'm sure you don't have anything to hide. The boys from seven are usually pretty well built," a little pink haired girl told him. "You're really lucky too – this is the first year your stylist has done the Games. She's very excited to get started." The girl took a step forward and made a grab for Logan's buttons.

He knocked her hands away, growling out that he'd do it himself and telling her to back off. He turned his back as he sullenly began removing clothes, the strange little assistants snatching up everything but Fox's medicine bag, which he refused to let go of.

The green haired girl led the way while the pink haired girl openly looked him up and down. He was already fed up. If all of the people here were gonna eyeball him that goddamned hard he'd be more than happy to stab someone in the face the first chance he got.

He fought them every step of the way, insisting they keep their hands to themselves while they blatantly ignored him. He just didn't want to be touched. Finally satisfied that he was sufficiently prepped, they handed him a robe and led him to a wide-open, well lit room where a tiny loudly dressed Asian girl was making notes on a sketchbook. A radio was playing loud music in the background – some awful noise with lots of bass and some woman screeching. She was bopping to the beat, humming along.

She was shorter than him, which was shocking. Few people could manage to make him look tall seeing as he was a towering 5' 3". She looked young, and her taste in colors was an assault on his retinas in the bright white room. Of course, he had to admit, the residents of Seven didn't generally wear anything that bright anyhow. It likely would have been an assault even if she was walking down a street – colors like that simply didn't occur in nature. At least, nowhere Logan had ever been. He wasn't interested at all in fashion, but if the way this woman dressed was any indication, he was in trouble.

She wore a bright yellow trench coat over her tiny frame; oversized hot pink sunglasses were perched on top of her shortly cropped and spiked black hair. Her earrings were massive and the same jarring shade as her sunglasses. She was chomping away on gum, blowing bubbles as she danced in place, seemingly in her own little world. She didn't even look up at him when he came to a stop, her assistants leaving the way they came in when Trenchcoat told him to drop the robe.

He just looked back at her not even considering doing as he was told. He was still staring at her, one eyebrow cocked up and his arms crossed when she finally glanced up at him and stopped dancing.

"Aren't you a little young?" he asked dryly. She looked younger than he was. She also was incredibly irritated as she glared back at him.

"Age has nothing to do with it. I am a professional," she snapped. "This is my job. So – drop the robe so I can see what I have to work with." He leveled his glare at her and reluctantly shrugged out of the robe, narrowing his eyes at her as she froze.

She had been told that most tributes showed some level of self consciousness about being nude. She was told she'd likely have to coax her tribute to allow her to see all of her newest muse. The more experienced stylists said that many of them would try to show some level of modesty and to be prepared to force them out of their comfort zone.

None of this was the case with her tribute. Once he did drop the robe, he didn't look the least bit embarrassed as he puffed his chest out and scowled at her.

"Oh – O – K. Good. Um. … turn around please," she asked, blushing brightly as he hesitantly obliged her. "Alright." she cleared her throat and shook her head, blinking rapidly a few times before continuing. "Well, I don't have to try to make you look more muscular." she mumbled, sketching furiously. Logan looked down his nose at her as she got to work in her notes. He opted to cover himself up again while she was preoccupied. Whatever she was expecting, clearly it wasn't him. His level of discomfort was climbing again. It wasn't his practice to strip for strange women. Particularly if it was going to be so severely one sided.

"Are we done here?" Logan drawled out, clearly over this whole experience and ready to find his jeans and flannel shirt. She looked up from her drawing, appearing to be relieved that he was now covered up again as she gave him a friendly, yet mischievous smile.

"No. Not even close," she said waving at her assistants to come back, the pair of them diving right in to measure every inch of him, twice as he got his feathers ruffled, unused to anyone acting as these people did around him. Every time he'd open his mouth to protest, they'd already moved on to the next measurement, the two of them taking turns one measuring, the other jotting down whatever was called out.

"We have to make a splash. You need to be noticed – a stand out," his stylist said, walking around him as the brightly colored duo continued working. He wasn't sure who to keep his eyes on. "That's what gets you fans and sponsors." Just like that, they were done. Green hair was re-rolling her measuring tape and Pinkie made a few final notations before handing it off to Trenchcoat.

"I am Jubilation Lee – you can call me Jubilee or Jubes - whatever floats your boat," she said with a grin, removing her coat to reveal a tight black leather body suit that hugged her slight curves before she took a seat, gesturing for him to do the same.

"This is my first year on the Games, but I assure you, my fashions are all the rage here." He nearly rolled his eyes as he sunk into his chair.

"Tell me about yourself, please," Jubilee asked with a smile, returning to chewing her gum as she waited for a juicy story. He stared back flatly. What was there to tell? When it was apparent he had nothing to say for himself, she set her sketchbook aside and stood suddenly walking around him again.

"OK fine, don't talk. You've got the broody, angry thing down. We can make that come off as sexy if you don't snarl at the camera too much," she said, running her fingers through his hair. He wasn't liking it. Not one damn bit. He simply wasn't used to this much attention on him.

"You'll need a little trim – I don't want to lose too much though. I think we can work magic with what he have here," she mumbled to herself, holding his hair out, looking him over. She narrowed her eyes as she decided on her best course of action.

He was becoming wildly uncomfortable with her ministrations. Her assistants brought over her scissors and she began quickly trimming his long black hair into a slightly shorter affair. He had no idea what she was up to until she came around to face him and started styling it, looking very concentrated in her work as she crafted it into soft high points on either side of his head, embellishing what his unfortunate cowlicks did on their own.

She squinted at him, tipping her head to one side as she retreated half a step, her hands halfway raised between them as she looked him over.

"That should work," she said finally as she stood back, looking him up and down before stepping forward again and gently turning his head to take in his features a bit better. "We'll need to trim back some of this hair – seriously, I don't think I've seen anyone so hairy."

Before he could complain she dove into her work again, trimming and shaping his facial hair until she was satisfied with her results, leaving him with well-trimmed sideburns and a serious five o'clock shadow.

"We won't give you the big wax job that most of the other tribute boys will get. You'd likely die from blood loss"

Was that a joke?

"I think this …. wild look suits you better anyhow. It'll set you apart for sure," She sat down again, scooting closer and pulling her sketchbook to her. "Everyone will want their hair like this by the time the games really begin. Just you wait." He had a hard time believing that.

"So, what did you do back in your district?" Jubilee asked, elaborating that she didn't care about his job. She wanted to know what he did when he wasn't working. "I want to know all about the real James Howlett."

"It's Logan." he replied. She looked confused, consulting her notebook.

"But it says James -"

"I know what it says, but no one's called me that in years," he said cutting her off.

"Oh. Is there a story to it?" she asked, scribbling in her notes with an excited gleam in her eyes as he shook his head. An alias. How exciting.

"Nothing worth repeatin'," he replied. It took some serious coaxing, but she finally started to get a mental image of the wild woods he lived and thrived in, sketching madly while she wheedled details from him.

"Alright. I've got it now. What do you think?" she asked with a grin, turning her sketch to him. It was no surprise to see her color choices. "If the audience reaction is positive, we may get lucky and be able to echo this look into your arena uniform a little," she grinned.

Yellow and blue. A bright, wide swath of yellow would run from the center of each shoulder straight down both the front and back of his body down his legs to some taller looking work boots. Blue made up the other parts of the design with exception to the yellow stripes at his ribs and shoulders.

He cocked his head to the side a little as he looked at the sketch. She was grinning excitedly. If this girl hit the home run she was hoping for he'd have to wear something similar to this not once, but twice.

"Tiger stripes?" he asked as she enthusiastically nodded her head, practically bouncing off the balls of her feet as she waited for the enthusiastic response she was used to from the people she styled in the capitol.

"Well, it'll be easy to spot the body," he deadpanned. Her mouth dropped. For some reason, she looked as if that simply wasn't an option for him.

"Hey. That is not the right attitude, mister. You'll look fierce. Ferocious. And that's a good thing because your mentor? Not exactly a pussycat. You want people to make the connection that you are the tribute trained by the most vicious victor ever. It has an aura on it. Trust me. You'll be the darker, more handsome version of him, and those stripes, that hair and your lovely blue eyes will only help your case," she declared. "Besides, it would make a tremendous splash should the tribute I dressed win."

Ah. There it was. His living would simply boost her business.

"And I'd get to design your wardrobe permanently." It was his turn to look shocked. He hadn't really considered what might happen if he actually won it. He had no plans to lose, but he just hadn't thought that far out.

"Wait, what?" he asked, probably the first time he sounded even halfway his age since arriving. She grinned wider and threw an arm around his shoulder.

"We are going to be best friends, Logan – you just wait and see!" Jubilee exclaimed with a laugh.