❝ there's no way i'm wearin' that. or that. or ---- what the hell is that? ❞ the male's nose crinkles in disgust as he gestures in the direction of assorted and - what he considered to be - overly flamboyant rolls of cloth. grumbling commences and he fails to see why he has to put up with escorts, mentors and stylists. hadn't it been enough that he was plucked from his district and no longer has any other choice than to be thrown into an arena and forced to fight for survival? he cares little for gaining sponsors and playing to those of the capitol and simply wishes to be left alone in what he knows to be his final days. ❝ 'm not some doll. you're not playin' dress-up with me. ❞










