❦
𝐸𝐿𝐸𝑉𝐸𝑁
ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴɢʟᴇs ᴏғ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ
❦
In a world so meticulously created like the Capitol, appearance was everything. Cillian knew this well. Even Johanna did, to a certain extent. She'd used the power of appearance to manipulate her own games, albeit with a different method than that which was usually used with tributes, but it'd worked to her favour all the same. Each of the mentors would know how valuable a perfectly curated persona could be. The challenge was seeing who could use it the best.
Cillian could admit that it was not the physical appearance that the District Seven tributes would have difficulty with this year. Though Capitol fashions were rather unflattering, both Freyja and Otis were attractive in their own ways. Freyja, with her long, sweeping hair and warm, brown skin, the highlights of her cheeks dusted with a natural golden glow. Otis, with his deep, dark eyes and broad shoulders.
But both tributes held a certain sense of standoffishness about them- not that Cillian could blame them. Freyja was quiet, unless prompted, much preferring to observe rather than partake. He often found the girl watching Johanna, most of all, her head tilted as if trying to match her confidence. As for the boy, his arrogance was stifling when his nervousness was not evident. Hotheaded, was a good way to describe him. He walked around the District Seven apartment as if there was burning coal beneath his feet.
But to give credit where it was due, they'd swiftly learned to listen. The two mentors had valuable advice, even if it was sometimes cryptic, like a code to be deciphered. The tributes listened- their lives depended on it.
"The interviews have to go well. We'll need all the sponsors we can get." Johanna's voice drifted through the hallway from the living room. She made no effort to quieten her voice, though Cillian had not expected her to. He found himself slowing, not allowing Johanna and the others to become aware of his presence.
"Why are you only telling this to me?"
It was Freyja, he realised, by the lowered sound of her voice. They spoke of the tests that were to come before she even stepped into the arena- tests that Johanna and Cillian had once both somehow passed. But Otis was not with them, not witness to her warnings.
"Because you have a chance of winning," Johanna said desperately, voice deepened with haste rather than raised.
"You're not just saying that?"
"I don't make a habit of saying things I don't mean just to please people." There was a noise that sounded like a scoff.
"Not even to me?"
Something in those words sounded too intimate. Cillian swallowed and made his footsteps known as he finally rounded the corner to see the two- mentor and tribute- leaning against either side of the sofa, the ghost of something sitting between them. He paused for a moment, waiting until Johanna ripped her eyes from the girl and stared at him with something different swimming behind her expression.
"Where's Otis?"
"He has his fitting with Eirlys and the stylists first," Johanna said, and then, before he could question her further, she continued, "Come on, we have to talk about which angle we're taking this in."
It was no small feat, to rewrite a person's entire persona, but Cillian had taken the task in full stride. In a way, it had been his image that'd solidified his winning during his own games. It had to be convincing, above all else. It didn't matter if the mentors or the districts or even Snow himself could see straight through the act. If the people of the Capitol believed them to be who they wanted them to be, then they would shower them with sponsors- gifts that could mean life or death in the arena.
