Of course, that's not really what we were talking about, is it?
No, we were talking about the wait. My partner, Portia and I had studied together in the Capitol. She's actually from District 1 but has never held my District 8 beginnings against me. We spent 4 years studying and designing together, our work always complimenting and contrasting each other.
Strange perhaps that she focused her attention on menswear and I on woman's wear but it actually makes perfect sense. Through various relationships and intimate encounters, you become very accustomed to the form of your lover. You learn the curves and muscles quite intimately and it transfers over into your work. You design with your lover in mind, they become your muse and your work is always completed with the idea that you wish to dress them pleasingly and for your work to please them in return.
We had been debating and discussing what our next step was. Did we want to open a shop together or go out on our own or teach. We'd actually been offered the chance to take on some classes at the institute where we'd studied and we could become mentors to the next generation. But our discussions came to a screeching halt when Portia saw the advertisement asking for applicants to go into the running to be stylists for the Hunger Games teams.
"Ports… are you sure." I asked her. "you know that it's a lifelong job and commitment and working closely with a tribute is nothing at all like watching the Games at home."
"I know." She frowned at me.
"and the last thing we ever do for them is clothe what is left of their bodies for their funeral."
"stop being like that Cinna." She pouted. "I think it would be fun."
Oh all that is good and right in Panem, I cannot stand it when a female pouts or cries. It weakens me and bends me to their will.
"Fine." I said. "Let's put our names in. It's not likely that we'll get it anyway."
She laughed. "May the odds be ever in your favor…" she trilled.
Famous last words, I thought.