A/N: This was written for the What Goes Around Comes Around Contest on Caesar's Palace.
"I always channel my emotions into my work; that way, I don't hurt anyone but myself." Cinna allowed his words to linger in the air. The deeper meaning was lost on the great majority of the young art students before him. Most dutifully scribbled his words into their notepads, not pausing to think about what their guest lecturer might be hinting at. When it came time for exams, these students would excel, but they would never become truly successful artists. Those who thought about, listened to, truly felt his words could someday become great.
What came from the heart, after all, created the best art. His skill at capturing his emotions in cloth had allowed him to rise through the ranks of Capitol society, quickly gaining the most coveted position a stylist could attain.
He ended his speech simply. "Thank you for having me." The students gave their guest speaker a polite round of applause, and Cinna left the auditorium of his alma mater in high spirits. He felt his speech had been well received, and he hoped that he'd had some impact on the future stylists.
A man in a crisp, black suit stood a few steps outside the building. "Cinna, pleased to meet you," he said, extending his hand.
Cinna shook the man's hand and smiled. "And you as well. Are you here on business?" Cinna's trained eye noticed that the purple in the man's hair was half a shade lighter than that of his tie. No self-respecting art student or professor would allow an error like that. This man must be a visitor.
"Yes, unfortunately. Care to take a ride?" A sleek, black car pulled up as he spoke. Though the man's voice was kind, Cinna could sense the power behind his words. Anything from this man was to be taken as an order.
He stepped into the car, his mind whirring into action. Where was he being taken? Who was this man? Was he in danger?
"I imagine you have a few questions," said the man.
Cinna nodded, wary of this stranger. Nobody in the Capitol gained their power through kindness.
"First, let me tell you a little about myself. I am one of the president's assistants. You may call me Hadrian. At the moment, we are driving towards the president's mansion, where you will meet with President Snow. I assume that covers most of your questions?"
"Why does the president wish to speak with me?" he asked, looking directly into Hadrian's eyes.
The president's assistant smiled, an expression so cold that it seemed to freeze the air around him. "I'm sure you'll discover that very soon."
The car stilled in front of the Presidential Mansion. Cinna tried to hide the way his hands shook as he opened the car door and stepped out.
"Please, follow me," said Hadrian.
Cinna meekly followed the man through long, winding corridors. Avoxes scurried away when they saw Hadrian. Soon, they stopped outside an enormous mahogany door covered in intricate carvings.
Hadrian opened the door a crack. A blast of cool air and the overwhelming scent of roses assaulted Cinna's senses. "He's waiting for you. I'll see you again after you're finished."
Cinna stepped inside. Behind a massive white desk sat President Snow, who was staring at him intently.
"Do make yourself comfortable," said the president, gesturing towards the chair across from him.
Cinna lowered himself into the chair. To stop his voice from shaking, he swallowed before he spoke. "You asked to speak with me?"
"Yes, yes I did. I thought the two of us could discuss some of the arrangements for the upcoming Quarter Quell." Snow leaned slightly towards him, and Cinna fought the urge to cower in fear. "You cannot know it, but there have been … difficulties in the districts since the last Games." He paused, and Cinna shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "But I believe you can help to calm the flames that your Girl on Fire has started."
"What would you like me to do?" Cinna asked.
Snow smiled, revealing both his perfectly white teeth and the blood that pooled in the spaces between them. "Your designs fueled the fire. This time, you must do what you can to put them out. Have you already started work on Katniss Everdeen's interview dress?"
He nodded. "Yes, though I'm not much past the preliminary stages. I –"
"There is no need for you to continue. The citizens of the Capitol have already selected her gown." Snow slipped a photograph out of the piles of papers on his desk. "Isn't it lovely?"
Cinna immediately recognized his own design. He nodded.
"You will dress Miss Everdeen in this dress for her interview. Do you understand why?"
"It shows she is now a part of the Capitol," Cinna replied. "Instead of inciting the people into further rebellion, her allegiance to our way of life squashes their hopes. With no hope, there is no rebellion."
President Snow studied him for a long moment. "You are as clever as they say," he said, "though that is not what I was asking. Do you understand what lies in store for you should you dress Miss Everdeen in anything else?"
"I can imagine."
"Good. Have a pleasant afternoon." With that, Cinna knew he had been dismissed.
Cinna examined the dress one last time, smoothing a small wrinkle and snipping a single loose thread. Finally, it was perfect. It should be. Every spare second in the last few weeks had been spent working on this gown.
Once, an instructor of his had told him that every true piece of art held something of its creator. Though he had dismissed it at the time as an old man's romantic notion, Cinna now felt that he could truly understand those words. Like him, this gown shielded its defiance with a thin mask of submission. His mask would burn away as the dress did, fully exposing his true self to the world for the first time.
"Ready to work?" he asked himself as much as the woman in front of him.
Katniss nodded, still unsure. He could see the question in her eyes even before she spoke. "How do you do it?"
He looked down at the dress again, searching for some way to explain his actions to this woman. He desperately wanted to tell her everything, but if Snow realized the secrets the dress held before Katniss went onstage, all would be lost. As he hunted for an explanation, only the day at the art school came to mind. He smiled softly, hoping she would understand in a way the students had not. "I always channel my emotions into my work; that way, I don't hurt anyone but myself."
A/N: Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it. Special thanks to Roxibily, Guest, turtledoves, and ArtemisCarolineSnow for reviewing! As always, feedback is much appreciated J. Thanks again for reading!
~finnicko-loves-anniec