✗ CONFIDENTIAL TRIBUTE FACILITY SIGN UP SHEET records the attendance of CHENILLE DAMASK, a STYLIST/VICTOR from DISTRICT ONE. The applicable authorities may note, that the 26 year old FEMALE (SHE/HER/HERS) is ENERGETIC, AMBITIOUS, and CREATIVE, but has also been known to be NAIVE, SELF-OBSESSED, and ATTENTION-SEEKING. Similarities in appearance can be seen with PARK SOOYOUNG. According to previous reports, they’re often associated with HAVING YOUR STAIRCASE-DESCENDING CINDERELLA MOMENT and GIVING YOURSELF SHARPIE TATS IN MIDDLE SCHOOL FOR ATTENTION.
BIO
In District One, there were three basic jobs in merchandise production. From least revered to most, there were those that worked in the mines, those that worked in the refinery, and those that worked in the warehouses, the ones that did the often tedious, but far more creative work of putting together the jewelry-pieces before they were shipped out to the Capitol for purchase. Those from the families of warehouse workers often wanted for little, at worst suffering from early onset arthritis from long hours spent bent over the long wooden tables in the open warehouse, tinkering with tiny baubles.
Chenille Damask was born the youngest child of Aventurine Damask (nee Gold) and Jacquard Damask, one of the forefront warehouse workers in District One. He was on the short list of workers assigned to helping create extravagant, one of a kind pieces commissioned by Capitol officials and Stylists in the Games. Jacquard had also publicly stood behind the Capitol during the rebellion, knowing what it could mean to bite the hand that is willing to feed him and his family. Within his own District, he is equally well-respected and covetously reviled. And Chenille longed to cast a shadow twice as long as her father's.
Only, there was one problem. Dear brother Suede. Suede Damask was set to become as prolific as his father. His ability to turn out mass produced product quickly and consistently was nearly unmatched. He excelled in school, his natural jeweling abilities very apparent.
Meanwhile, Chenille's hands were covered in the tell-tale pock marks and scars of a subpar warehouse worker. Her hands had always fidgeted out of her control, squirming and squiggling like her feet often did under her desk, nearly tortured by the long hours spent sitting and not. moving. an. inch. She'd already heard the rumblings from her instructors: She might be more suited for work in the refinery, or even the mines. What a shame, what a pity.
It was then that Chenille knew she would need to make her own way. And, she quickly found her new passion on one of many July's spent watching the Games.
She'd always known her father had worked on pieces for the Games before. Of course, he never received any credit. He was one of many workers churning out an order, and the name brand store that dealt with distribution would slap their name on it. But, she'd rarely stopped to consider who was draping the pieces on the Tributes, elevating them beyond their often shamefully dour appearances (did none of the other districts know how to dress?) into something worthy of admiration. Her father explained Stylists to her, and made sure Chenille understood it was a job for wealthy Capitolite heirs and heiresses with too much time on their hands and money burning in their pockets. District members rarely crossed over into Capitol life. Often, victory in the Games was the only way.
Chenille tuned out her father's assurances she should keep practicing her jeweling, staring wide-eyed at the tribute interviews on the screen, her new pathway to success revealed.
Chenille explained away her sudden interest in joining the after-school academy as something to do to blow off some of her trademark anxious energy. Perhaps it might steady her hands in jewel-making. It never did do that, but Chenille felt much more at home getting to move her entire body in tandem while practicing sparring and basic weaponry, rather than hunched over an emerald bracelet. She was nowhere near top of her class, though she did receive high marks in evasive maneuvering. She was quite quick and difficult to outrun. In only a few years, Chenille was in the best shape of her life. As the 16th Games rolled around, Chenille felt she was ready. She spent the night before the Reaping walking around her home silently in the night, taking it in. She knew she would never return.
The next morning, 17 year old Chenille Damask raised her dainty hand in the Square and volunteered with a smile. She vaguely remembered her mother fainting from shock and her father trying and failing not to openly weep. At the time, she wasn't quite sure what for. But, Suede had only stared at her in what must have been disbelief.
He always had understood her better than anyone else.
She was a dazzling tribute, lovely and witty and all full of eager smiles. Her talent, of course, was styling. She eagerly shared her career ambitions with the crowd, who oohed and awed dutifully at the gown she had helped design, draped over her frame. She felt she was a shoo-in for winning the hearts of the sponsors. She wouldn't even need to hurt anyone. Her ploy was foolproof: Evade and perform. Let the gifts come rolling in and just outrun the rest. It was so simple, why hadn't anyone thought of it before?
The reason why only occurred to her once she found herself waiting for launch at the arena. An endless canopy of trees stretched before her, and when she looked down, she realized in horror she couldn't see the "forest" floor. All there was was this Endless Canopy.
The sound a young boy made as he quickly plummeted to his death still stars in many of her nightmares to this day. But, what is there to be done.
It was as though Chenille had spent the past few years sleepwalking and only now had she been awakened with a great shuddering gasp. In a blind panic, Chenille leapt from tree branch to tree branch as far as she could get from the Cornucopia, which was carved into the massive tree at the center of the arena. All she felt was adrenaline and instinct and all thoughts of being lovely or witty or smiling left her mind, all replaced only by run and hide, run and hide.
And, hide she did. She found a small hollow in a tree she knew she could just fit in and wedged herself inside. And there she stayed for nearly an entire day, willing herself to be very small and very quiet.
She exited only to look for food, finding a few fruits in the trees she knew were safe to eat. One day, turned to two. Two turned to three. She barely registered the cannon noises at the end of each day. But, she did feel and hear the occasional gusts of wind, surely meant to sweep certain tributes off their feet and to their deaths.
On the fourth day, Chenille heard the sound of an oncoming train. That was the only way she could describe it, as she felt the tree that had become her home sway dangerously, nearly bending fully sideways. It felt like an hour, but in reality was no longer than a minute long. Afterwards, a few moments of silence. And, not just the usual silence. Pure, eerie silence. Then, a voice from the heavens.
Chenille Damask was the Victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games.
What should have been a celebration, an opportunity for networking, her opportunity to rise above her circumstances, turned into a media circus for separate reasons. Apparently, a gamemaking intern had asked for a turn operating the wind machines, and when meaning to set the strength to nine, had accidentally tapped the nine key twice. The other remaining tributes had unceremoniously been flung from the branches instantly, leading to the least interesting tribute winning ("she just huddled in some tree the whole time...?") and one of the most anticlimactic Games in a long time.
Chenille was nobody's darling. Most were more interested in talking about the fired intern and their disgrace than her. She was handed the keys to her mansion, and when she inquired into becoming a Stylist, she was met with a shrug and a "whatever you want." She'd proven herself capable enough, and no one ever wanted to style Twelve. She could have the position if she wanted.
Chenille cried alone in her mansion for almost an entire year. What a terrible mistake all of this had been. What had she been thinking? All of this, everything she'd done to be shrugged at and immediately brushed under the table. Her Games still ranks amongst the worst ever broadcasted to this day. And her first year clearly reflected her depression.
What was there to do with a miner? What inspiration could she glean from that? She styled them haphazardly and in an uninspired way. She didn't speak a single word to her tributes, and avoided the other Stylists like the plague out of shame. But, that Games, she saw the way the Capitol could respond to a true underdog.
Maybe that had been part of her problem. She saw now how the Capitol often saw District One. They were the antagonists, the schoolyard bullies, too buff to be picking on the poor little lower Districts. It had been inevitable that they would turn their backs on her at the first opportunity. What was interesting about an academy student winning the Games?
But, if someone could put the pressure on a piece of coal and discover a diamond in the rough? That person could make themselves immortal.
Chenille has yet to find her lasting diamond these past six years, but she hasn't lost hope. She's had a few close hits, and has seen a few of her past tribute designs mass produced for the public. She's established a name for herself for the care and work she puts into the oft-forgotten District Twelve (as well as how pushy she can be with them, trying to coach them into the Next Big Victor that she can attach her name to.) During the off-season, Chenille works as a designer for a major Capitol clothing brand, and has had a few successes with her designs. Otherwise, she's pretty much fully integrated into the Capitol lifestyle, often seen partying or networking at major Capitol events, hoping to find someone to sponsor her own brand someday. Her opinion on the Games has only changed slightly through her experiences: She still sees it as a tool and opportunity for District members to advance themselves beyond their means (something she tries to impart on her tributes, with VERY mixed results.) She just now sees it as a dangerous one.
She doesn't talk to her family much anymore. She still isn't sure if she's a success story or a failure in the eyes of history, and she'd only want to see them as a True Victor.
All in all, Chenille has regained most of her pre-Games confidence and swagger, but has gained a chip on her shoulder to go with it. She's clawed her way up this far. She isn't about to stop now.