@rekoning: you deserve to have a life of your own
ever since emerging from his games as sole survivor, anakin has felt like a puppet on a string. he'd woken up in the capitol, his right arm replaced by metal and complex wiring and a lingering fear of being watched following him all the way back home to district 3. if they put any sort of device in the prosthetic, anakin hadn't been able to find it when he tried to peer inside, picking it apart and reassembling all the pieces.
a life of his own, cinna says. anakin's smile is wry, but dulled, like fading sunlight. it would be nice, to love openly and not be plagued by nightmares of padmé or his mother being taken away from him, to not be forced to smile at capitol cameras stealing a glimpse of district 3's golden haired victor. but he knows better than to hope for it, to wish for more.
anakin approaches the stylist, careful to navigate the capitol's shiniest and fortifying himself against each bit of unwanted attention — lingering looks, mostly, that end in pity towards his gloved cybernetic hand. he keeps up the act of the perfect plaything for the greedy obsession the games inspired with every step, but inside his chest his heart burns, furnace hot, untamable. '' i probably wouldn't even know what to do with that. would you? '' tone hushed, kept low to avoid raising suspicion, anakin plays it safe, seemingly dismissive of a life out of his reach.