He's tucked up in the corner of one of the Capitol train's sumptuous couches when they first meet, sipping at half a glass of some expensive alcohol and sighing into it when he isn't, thumbing through some book only because on the train, there's not even a piece of jewelry to tinker with. A picture of world-weary but stalwart melodrama. More style and makeup in gloss, bronze eyeshadow, liner and carefully fixed, gelled hair even than his new fellow mentor.
@palinxgenesis
She, of course, is quiet — stealthy, trying not to stand out. What could anyone expect of a new mentor? The only thing that stands out is her hair —- bright red, in her head she often likens the color to that of the blood of the children she killed. The blood of the children she will be responsible for. The Games are sick, twisted, and she’s discovered that they never end when that was all she wanted. But then there’s the ever-eccentric, brightly colored, Stark. Great. Blowing out a slow breath, Natasha arches an eyebrow over at him. “Do you need something to do or did that drink kick your puppy?”
