Champagne Problems-(finnick odair)

grandfather dearest

Sleep might be Desdemona's least favorite part of the day. Most of the time she avoids it as a whole, running on coffee and stolen spirits. But waking up is always even worse than sleep itself. It's entering the world of chaos that she got to escape for a few hours.

Waking up today was almost impossible.

The day head would be long and stressful. Meeting the victors, designing outfits (which used to be something she enjoyed), smiling as the attention falls on be, crying as the doors close and the makeup wipes off. Nothing is okay about today, no, but she has to remember that things could be worse. She could be a tribute. She could be the one entering the area, murdering innocent people to amuse sadists that aren't aware of their own glutenous, fucked up pleasures.

Stumbling out of bed, her head pounding as usual, she heads to her closet to find todays outfit. Something about being the designer for The Finnick Odair stylist makes her feel professional. A professional torturer, changing someone who had no interest in being changed into an unrecognizable figure of sheer fabric and cosmetic glitter. Bitterly, Desdemona puts on a pair of black leather leggings and a fuchsia silk button down blouse, which she leave open so you can see her lacy white bralette. A quick winged liner and black lip-gloss leaves her looking stunningly vicious. Downstairs, she fills up a flask with cold brew. Taking a sip, she smiles a bit. Coffee, the strong taste, the caffeine pulsating through her body, the smell lingering on her breath. It was her signature. Black lipstick stains and strong scents of coffee and champagne can be traced back to Desdemona like a fingerprint.

Walking to the Games center, Desdemona dreads every step. Closer an closer was the building and as was the unfortunate task she's been given. Turn him into what the people want him to be. She doesn't even know him yet, but he seems to be the kind of person that otherwise wouldn't need changing. Maybe she can turn his natural...beauty, into something slightly eccentric. The problem is that Desdemona doesn't hate Finnick. She doesn't want to change him, ruin him. Nothing about the games would be pleasant for Finnick, so maybe at least she could try to at least be his...friend.

While pondering all of her self-inflicted troubles, she absently wonders around the complex, not remembering where the fashion and cosmetic wing is. Stopping someone in the halls, she asks them where the wing is. Its a girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She has blonde hair and fair skin. She looks like she's from the district. When she opens her mouth, no sound comes out. Instead, she mouths directions and points a few different ways. Oh, Desdemona grimaces, she's an Avox.

"Thank you." She mutters and gives her a soft smile. "I'm sorry they did this to you." Whispering these words sends chills down her spine as soon as she realizes they're not alone. A tall figure stands at the end of the hall, white suit matching his icy hair, beard, and eyes.

"Desdemona." The President growls, giving her a sharp look.

"Mr. President," Desdemona smiles fakely and swiftly joins her grandfather. "How are you grandfather?"

"I would be better if you were not such a hellion. Why must you be so disobedient?" He snaps, grasping her chin firmly.

"I was just asking her for directions." She half-lies. Technically she did ask for directions...right before she apologized for the abusive mistreatment that she's sure President Snow has inflicted.

"You know where you're going Desdemona."

"No, no I don't. I was rather drunk every time we've toured here." Which is true. Though now a days Desdemona was only sober on very very rare occasions.

The President glares at her and puts a finger on her lip. "You do not speak of your insufferable addictions in a public setting."

A shudder rolls through her body as she smells the familiar scent of blood in his hot breath. "Of course Grandfather. I apologize."

He relaxes slightly and moves to the side so she can pass him by. "I should have you remember that everyone is watching you. You are and always will be Desdemona Snow. That Finnick boy is going to be the pride and joy of the Capitol. Do not mess this up my darling." Even though he says my darling, Desdemona hears devils spawn of a granddaughter because that's really what he means.

"Desdemona Snow never disappoints the Capitol." She grins, turning around and going down the hallway the Avox girl pointed to.

The design department was filled to the brim with fabrics, mannequins, sequins, glitter, spools of golden threat and gems such as emeralds and rubies. There are a few other designers there, all at least twenty or older, all dressed in eccentric outfits and zany hair colors. Desdemona's hair is a blood red currently, but a month ago it was chocolate brown (her natural color), and the month before a pastel lavender color. Seeing a small office with District 4 on the door, she heads that way, trying to avoid the others and stay unnoticed. That plan fails pretty quickly.

"Desdemona Snow!" A shrill voice calls from across the room. She turns around to see a woman with sunshine yellow hair and blue eyebrows. It takes a moment for her to recognise Effie Trinket. Waving curtly, she continues to walk to her office. Closing her door and locking it, she sees an older man with a putrid green taupe sitting in a chair. "Desdemona fucking Snow." He sighs, standing up and giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Kaius Pentroli." She smiles while internally cursing his name. "How have you been my friend?"

"Oh so well now that your loveliness is illuminating the room!" Stepping back and letting his eyes take in her body, she begins to fidget with her rings, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. "I cannot wait to dress you again. Do you remember the iconic bubble dress I made for you for the 63rd game chariot parade?"

"How could I forget?" She tries to hide the disgust in her tone. "It's work time, but I need to see my client first."

"Oh yes that scrumptious boy." His mannerisms make her cringe and she nods.

"Yes, where is he?"

"Should be in his room. Is your assistant going with you?"

"No, I'd like to get to know him a bit by myself before everything happens."

Kaius's jaw drops at her words. "Get to know him?"

"Yes?"

"Oh dearest, we never become friends with our tributes. That's why you replaced Vintonia...she couldn't handle it anymore. When they die, we move on. We can't have memories with them to dwell on." He says sadly. Her heart sinks. He's right. Crazy and creepy as he is, he knows what he's talking about. One of the most prestigious Games Designers in the business, he would know. She can't be Finnicks friend, even if she did want too.

"Still. I need to take his measurements then and I won't be needing my assistant for that." She decides, unlocking the door and stepping out into the larger design room. Taking the elevator to the District four housing floor, she twists the cold rings on her fingers, anxious to meet The Finnick Odair. The elevator stops and she asks Mags, one of the district four mentors, where Finnick's room is. Mags is a sweet old lady and gives her a candy when she sends her off to Finnick's room. Knocking on the door quietly, she doesn't get an answer.

"Mr. Odair?" She calls through the door, knocking once more. "Its Desdemona Snow..."

A beat of silence. "Come in I guess." A husky voice says from the other side.

"Can't. Doors locked dumbass." She says without processing what she says before she says it. Damnit Desdemona you have to at least attempt to be nice, she reprimands herself "Fuck, I mean Mr. Odair your door isn't permitting me to come in." She runs her hands through her hair nervously and she hears a chuckle come from inside the room.

"Sorry about that." He laughs, opening the door that Desdemona stupidly was leaning on. She stumbles, almost falling, but someone catches her. Finnick's arms are around her waist as he stand there grinning. "You're a piece of work, aren't you?"