Aria slowly crawled over to the bars. She had seen him before she was sure of it. With all the drugs and beatings though it took her longer for her memory to catch up with her. “Hey, you’re Cinna, right?” She asked after a few minutes. “I think we met once. Before the quell I bumped into you while I was waiting for my interview with Ceasar.” She remembered, she had been forced into a strapless dark green dress. In her opinion it was too tight and the slit that ran up until her thigh served no purpose; in the opinion of others she looked great.
"I can right that shoulder for you, if you’d allow my brief touch,” Cinna requested, knowing how many victors were sensitive about having their bodies touched by others, within reason, of course. He’d be the same if he were subjected to everything they went through. The stylist nodded. “I think I vaguely remember you. The dress you were wearing was largely unimpressive, but it was very pretty on you. I think I recall having asked your stylist to put a little more effort in. The point of our job is to make our tributes stand out...I guess he was going for mere sexual appeal.” Cinna frowned, reflectively.
