bobbi-blue

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi stepped back, taking time to admire her creation and the beauty who would be showing it off. It was a masterful collaboration, if she did say so herself. However, you'd never guess it from the stern look on Bobbi's face. She turned abruptly and began packing away her tools - her pins and her clasps, the spare jewels and thread. Cress' question caught her as she was putting things away.

"We are creatures of senses. Sensual. We have eyes - we want to be seen. Ears, we want to be heard. Skin, to be touched. Lips. All of it. It's not any one part of us that wants it - it is our entire being." She spoke with her back to Cress, the faux anonymity lending confidence to her speech. After a breath, she turned to face her creation again, smiling as Cress took her hands.

She was beautiful, this woman. She found herself caught by Cress' eyes - the clarity and openness with which Cress seemed to live her life. She squeezed her hands, feeling her own walls and life building inside. "We're Victors, Cress. We went into those Arenas and so much - so much - was taken from us. So people like us? Like you and me? We owe nothing to anyone. We've already paid in full."

Bobbi forced another tight-lipped smile onto her face before releasing Cress and turning back to her things. "You look stunning. I'm sure we'll see each other at the Ball tonight." With one final nod, Bobbi took her workbag and exited the First Floor lounge. After all - she had to prepare herself as well.

A release of air, the quiet exhale of relief that came with kindness. Cress did not think herself worthy of it -- people were not traditionally gentle with toys. But Bobbi had extended her something precious, an offering she would not forget: understanding, however small. Her breathing hitched with the idea of a laugh, but it didn't quite make its way up from her lungs. "We're only able to see the things in others that we see in ourselves. The sharper the observation, the more prevalent the self-loathing in the observer." Domitia had told her that when she'd come home, a half-human thing. Cressida, the vibrant girl from One -- now a lifeless creature, body half-healed, dead behind the eyes. She had so much hate. For herself, for others, for the Games. Time had healed most of those wounds.

"What do you think it is about us that craves to be seen?" Cress was admiring herself in the mirror, gaze reverential upon Bobbi's creation. It was perfect, a masterpiece complete. She lifted her chin, straightened her spine, wishing to become a deserving host. Perhaps her inquiry was rhetorical in nature, though perhaps it was not. The night felt quickly impending, time unraveling faster now than it once had. In the mirror's reflection, she could see part of Lex's costume, discarded on the bed. An omen for what had passed, for what was still to crumble, to come. "Well, we'll certainly have them looking tonight," Cress turned, taking Bobbi's hands appreciatively in her own. "And tomorrow, we'll have them talking too. Thank you, Bobbi. I feel beautiful. I owe that to you."

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi raised her eyebrows at Link's list, specifically the older Cannon. What a nuisance that man had always been. Obnoxious on his best days, downright pitiful at his worst. But Link was smart - he did have money, and that's what won Games. It's why she had planned on meeting with -

No, no use now wondering what her day would have looked like if Terri and Roe had survived. "Nano's in with a real shot, I think," she said gently. Whether she believed it or not was something else; there still was Cornelia from Two lurking around, looking to bring home another Career win. And Sawyer, who had come home once before.

She forced a smile to her lips. "No, now that I'm sitting, it's better. Easier to focus. Tell me more about your pitch. How's Nano's stats? His stories? You need to have it all prepared depending on the Sponsor."

"hmmm..." link looked around, confidence settling on her face as she slyly pointed to a small group of sponsors decked out in popsicle colored feathers. "I've been talking to the flock. and Montgomery, and others... someone's gonna cave. Nano's got my support, he got the flag, and he's got good allies." Link had plenty to draw on there.

Link turned as Bobbi sat, so they could clearly be in conversation and unbothered, but also because now they were at eye level. they ought to be face to face. "you sure? we can leave. I know this cozy balcony... last games had lilies on it." and it had been the dead of winter.

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi gave no acknowledgement of Gideon's comment, knowing he'd recognize that she concurred. It was almost like floating above the crowd, watching people spill alcohol over themselves. Champagne that cost more than a week's worth of meals back home in Eight, just cast on an unfeeling dancefloor as if there was nothing to it.

"It is. And it doesn't get less so every year." She turned to him, a forced smile on her lips. "Do you feel celebrated? This is our ball, after all. The Victors."

After his smoke break outside, Gideon headed back into the party and ended up getting himself a drink. He knew he would have to go back to chatting up Sponsors again, but he had to amp himself up for it before diving back into the lion's den.

Bobbi had made his way over to him in her extravagant gown, something he hadn't been surprised about in the slightest. He smiled at her and moved to stand with her. Didn't feel right to sit so far away, so he had moved to stand next to her. "Vaguely. Pretty sure I over indulged on the alcohol back then." He was pacing himself now, but if he had been in Bobbi's position, he probably would have been drinking more. "It's fucked up, throwing a party when there's Games still going on. Doesn't feel right."

[bobbi-blue]

Sateen - of course. Bobbi should have recognized it immediately. Glaucia was only one of the most respected and desired designers in all of Panem. Perhaps Bobbi's embarrassment turned to a slight piece of ice as she muttered, "Sateen. Naturally."

She snapped up and out of the funk, however. "I've never met her personally, but I feel like I get to know her with every piece she creates. Did you see her runway last season? She did an entire line in tree bark. Sensational."

Medea lifted her arms a little, looking down at her dress. "Oh, Glaucia Sateen, I think. Four's stylist dressed me, but she mentioned that name. Do you know her?" Medea asked, offering Bobbi a smile.

[bobbi-blue]

The number of bodies Bobbi had worked with was astronomical. As a Mentor, she had coached Tributes with any number of insecurities, and as a designer, bodies were her life. How to accentuate, how to hide, how to embolden, how to reveal. So to ignore anything on Cress' body, any part of it, would be unthinkable. Cress' body was sensational, full stop.

Her question, however, caught her off guard. Felt beautiful was such a loaded term. She had certainly been beautiful - in her designs, on runways, at shows and galas and parties. But to look at herself, to be in her own body, and feel that way? And yet, it seemed to Bobbi that this wasn't the question Cress was really trying to ask.

She continued her work, grunting from behind the pins in her mouth. "This morning." She delicately replaced a gemstone on Cress' hip. "Managed to take a shower. Hadn't in a few days. My hair gets real frizzy if I let it, and I did. Reminded me of a cloud." She left out the parts where hours later, two people who had entrusted their lives to her were found dead in the Arena.

"Any time someone calls me ugly, too. It's kind of fun. Because they can only call me ugly if they're looking at me - really closely. Says something about them. And I always give them something to look at."

In truth, Cress was still thinking about Bobbi's earlier comment -- about her body, about its merit and value. She imagined most people struggled with self-image, with the way they looked or felt in their own skin, though for Cress, that sensation was rather new. Arena wounds weren't uncommon, but there was usually something to be done for them. And Cress had tried. Well, she'd been pushed. Encouraged. To accept their surgeries, their procedures, their modifications. The buccal fat of her face removed, the arch of her lips accentuated, her body contoured and molded into something similar, but new. And they had tried their best to graft her skin, to undo the near-fatal burns that had ravaged her left side. In the end, she was beautiful, yes. No longer a girl from One, but a Capitol darling. But she was still scarred: neck and shoulder and chest and waist. And every time she undressed, it felt like a fresh wound.

Even with Bobbi, Cress had watched her face intently at the start of the fitting, fearful of her reaction. Scared she'd comment. Scared she'd take pity and pretend like Cress' body did not exist. There was no peace to be had, no option that did not leave her feeling bruised like a peach, eager to be peeled clean. And here was Bobbi, another woman who knew what it was like to be a victor. To be entrenched in the beauty standards of the Capitol. To no longer have a say in things, though maybe they never did.

"When was the last time you felt beautiful?"

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi gave a smile, with perhaps a bit more effort than she intended. She was happy for Link, to be certain. After all, that's what the evening was about - the Games. "As you should! Who do you have your eyes on? Who's the big spender tonight?"

She slid onto a stool, taking care to fold her dress to minimize damage to the structure. She took a sip of her drink, perhaps lingering a bit too long on it. "Everywhere in the Tower is loud," she said. "But I'll manage."

Link felt the hand on her shoulder, gentle and light. She looked up, neck craning back to see who was above her. Catching glimpse of Bobbi was welcome, and she smiled, resting her hand on top of hers, lightly accepting the hello.

“Blue.” She greeted, happy to see her. “I’m going to have enough money to send nano some shark fin soup tonight, If I have my way.” It was Mixing metaphors, but bobbi would get it. “How about you? Too loud?” It was awfully loud. Link understood that.

[bobbi-blue]

@medeaodair

All things considered, it was a night for fashion. Bobbi was represented in Cress' dress, and she noticed one or two Capitolites wearing her works (though, to be fair, she was appalled anyone would consider her non-custom work to be camp. She was elegance.)

She was instantly struck by an absolutely stunning piece from across the room, by a designer she didn't immediately recognize. It was as if the ocean waves had frozen, and a woman was stepping out of the depths of the sea. Bobbi scooted over to her, only recognizing Medea Odair at the last moment.

"Oh my goodness... this is beautiful. Who designed this?"

[bobbi-blue]

@linkcache

The evening was passing by in a smoky haze in front of Bobbi's eyes, and Terri and Roe snuck around every corner. She knew it would pass - it always did. But for them both, on the same day... and then to have the Ball that evening? Give it another two days, and Bobbi would be right as rain with no obligations for the rest of the season. Maybe she could finally get some real work done on the line before launch.

But for now? Haze.

The Ball was no different. Extravagance that could only be afforded by those who knew what the Capitol meant. But miraculously - Link Cache was there again. Had it really been less than twelve hours since Bobbi had nearly tripped into her? They both had been wearing different things at that time. Both had been in different mental spaces, and both had had different days planned.

Bobbi drifted towards the Mentor from Three and placed a soft hand on her shoulder. She had intended to give it a reassuring squeeze, but Bobbi couldn't find the strength to do so. "Hi, Link. Holding up in this shark tank?"

[bobbi-blue]

@gideonflynn

The gall and pomp of these Mentor Balls always drained Bobbi of her battery, usually upon instant entrance into the event. This year was no different, though there was something to be said for the main honoree, Wattson Dean. His first of many to come.

Bobbi scanned the crowd, finding just the man she needed sulking in a corner. She glided up to him, her large overdress making it impossible to get too close. "You remember yours?" she asked, her acidic tone belying her emotions of the event. "While you were here, I was in the Arena."

[bobbi-blue]

Cress' comment brought a nearly imperceptible pause to Bobbi's work. It wasn't that people didn't comment on her skill - they often did, both in the Capitol and back home in Eight - but to have Cress say it came as a bit of shock. For Cress to talk of passion was a novelty. Everything Bobbi had seen, had known of the Victor from One was transactional - she had presented herself in that way. So for a personal strand to begin unravelling from the otherwise pragmatic Meadowforge? This was something interesting indeed.

She uttered a small "thank you," in response, returning her focus to the garment. A gemstone was threatening to escape from an intricate pattern, and that would not stand. She gently pressed on Cress' elbow to lift it so that she could get into the dress at her side, allowing the physical closeness, silence, and soft "Hm?" to serve as permission. She was curious, to be sure, of what this personal line of questioning might hold.

"Yes, for once, I think Eight and One might have something in common," she smiled, but it was thin. There was backlash for a Career district going so long without success -- and an internal power balance among that cohort that was quickly going askew. "I do hope you are able to pursue your passion," Cress said, a heartfelt sentiment. "You have tremendous talent, and it would be a shame to not pursue that -- fully."

Cress turned, as Bobbi instructed, but the movement seemed to conjure a different response than anticipated. She slowed, smoothing her fingers over the corset's boning, waiting until the woman seemed to regain herself, to come back into the space. She waited a beat, voice timid and low, "May I ask you something personal?"

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi tilted her head to the side, taking a quick moment to mime her sewing her lips together. Then it was back into the garment. A few stitches more and... she backed away, critical eyes scanning for any imperfection. She twirled her finger, silently asking Cress to give a spin.

Her lips tightened at the suggestion, but she knew better than to get on the bad side of anyone with the kind of influence Cress had. Of course, sides weren't always something one could control, but it was always in her best interest to try. "Unfortunately I don't know that I have much say in the matter. And until we bring home a few more Victors..."

Her breath caught for a moment. All evening she had managed to put the image Roe and Terri out of her mind, but suddenly they were everywhere. Their faces were folded into every pleat, their eyes glinting out of every gemstone. The garment in front of her was steeped and dyed in their blood.

She finally shuddered a breath in, and the dress was back to its opulent normality. She forced a tenseness back into her lips. "No, I think," she said, perhaps with a touch more of a tremor than she had anticipated. "My next step is back home with my brand."

The suggestion brought Cress immense satisfaction, swelling her already grandiose sense of pride. She didn't need the money -- her victor's earnings and her generational wealth kept her in splendor (comfort was far too barebones a notion). But she did enjoy celebrity, amassing power, cultivating her image and fame. "I'm actually vying for Calix's post, so if he drops dead in the near future, hold your tongue," Cress teased, though...perhaps it was entirely in jest. "No, you're very kind. It's simply an honor to wear your design well. I hope to do it justice tonight." She smoothed her fingertips along the gemstone embellishments that draped across her breasts and down her waist.

"Would you switch, if given the chance?" Cress inquired, brow arched, as she kept herself still. "And, more to the point, are you faithful to Eight, or might there be a hope to steal you for my own team?"

She hummed, the familiar look of displeasure seeping onto her face. "Never," Cress admitted, which was an incredibly privileged choice to have. "Truthfully, I'm surprised my hand hasn't been forced in the matter. We've been in a bit of a drought since my victory, but I'm not suited to it. My talents are elsewhere -- to see potential, to challenge and train. Better at the larger picture than any one tributes' individual game."

[bobbi-blue]

@wstbrook

Camp. Extravagance, with a touch of humor. The ability to laugh at ridiculousness. Ostentatiousness with a strong tongue in your cheek. In short: most every Victor's nightmare.

Because ultimately, Bobbi knew there was only one thing that Capitolites would laugh at. The people who ran these Games, who provided the Sponsorships, who decided if she - even all these decades later - lived or died. They lived in opulence, so you had to make them laugh. And the only thing they laughed at were the Games.

Thus, Bobbi's ice queen look was born. The 76th Games were famous for being the first in the winter months. They were set in a frozen tundra, with all the stereotypes associated. And the Capitol had loved them. Had Bobbi been the favorite to win? Of course not. There had been any number of Careers vying for the spot. But she had come out on top and now she was here to laugh about it.

Bobbi did what she could to navigate the large skirt, but it was a bit hopeless. She wouldn't be able to have full mobility until the overdress came off, but it wasn't yet time for the reveal. She watched as tray after tray of alcohol passed her, unable to reach past the limits of her dress to get one herself.

"Could I bother you to grab one of those for me?" She asked, indicating a champagne flute on a tray that an Avox was carrying away. "Quick as you'd like."

[bobbi-blue]

With her mind on her task, Bobbi had slipped ever so briefly into a matter-of-fact mindset. "Yes, sensational. You ought to be a model - you'd make a killing on the runways of the Capitol." A needle and thread flashed out from seemingly nowhere, tightening a seam that threatened to fall askance.

She chuckled through gritted teeth at the question, but took a moment to sit back and admire the incredible garment she had created. Cress was right, of course.

"No," she muttered. "We're stuck with this abysmally stupid Capitolite. There aren't all that many Victors from Eight who can Mentor, and they like to keep the powers separated, I suppose."

With the steady stream of Victors from One, it had probably never occurred to Cress that Victors could be a limited resource. "What about you? Ever thought about Mentorship?"

"Right, yes, my apologies, I'm just--" Just what? Nervous? Cress Meadowforge, who had earned her victorhood in her teens? Who had a gamemaker in her pocket and half the Tower bugged? Who was ostensibly the most dazzling thing to come from One since Cashmere and Gloss?

And here she was, nervous to go on a date with some boy from Twelve.

"Sensational, you say?" Cress teased, straightening, lifting her chin to remind herself that she was more doll and less person. It was easier this way, to feel something sub-human, or perhaps greater than mere mortal. An entity. An idea. "Do you style for Eight and also mentor? You are...phenomenally talented." Which was, of course, why she'd sought Bobbi out in the first place. But tales in these parts could be greatly exaggerated, so it was always a pleasant thrill when they came beautifully to fruition.

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi shook her head, hair bouncing in the curls she had set that morning. Today was supposed to be a productive day. It was supposed to be a good day. A chuckle fell out of her lips as she brushed it away.

"I was supposed to be meeting with Sponsors today. About Roe. One was kind of interested in Terri as well. She said it might finally be Eight's year. It's why I'm -" she gestured to her outfit, though the hems of her pants were stained now with coffee.

"Its. You can't. It's not fine. But." Bobbi shook her head yet again, as if she could feel the fog Link was experiencing starting to encroach on her. Maybe she could shake it out before it set fully in. "I think. I'm gonna sit. Would you just, sit, with me? Just a bit."

link felt a bit like a wandering ghost herself. it was a common feeling after deaths, she was learning. a few hours, maybe a day of stumbling around feeling aimless and amorphous. she didn’t yet know how to combat it, she just knew it was how she got after a tribute died. once she got past the immediacy, the mess. a hug from electra. then it was just confusion. what do I even do?

this games, this tribute, Link found herself rolling into the coffee shop. she wasn’t particularly thirsty, but her hands steered her there anyway.

she wasn’t paying attention, or maybe Bobbi wasn’t, but regardless, the woman’s shoelace (or maybe just her ankle) got caught in Link’s footrest and Bobbi tripped over her. for a fraction of a second, they’d almost ended up with bobbi in her lap. all things considered, it wasn’t an unusual scenario, and link was more startled to be broken from her haze than anything else. Bobbi righted herself, with all the dignity she always held, and link tried to awkwardly apologize as they got themselves separate. “Oh! are you okay? I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was-”

 Link reached out to steady Bobbi, only noticing then that on her own wrist, neither of bobbi’s tributes had lights at their designations. “oh, blue.” it was soft, awkward. she didn’t know what to do. her voice got even softer, hoping it would only reach Bobbi’s ears. “can I... what do you...”

[bobbi-blue]

@trainer-cress

"You're going to have to stop squirming if it's going to sit right."

Bobbi felt oddly in her element here, a cascading dress engulfing Cress' slight frame. A pincushion on her wrist, a small pin between her lips... this was where Bobbi had always felt like she was home.

Of course she had jumped at the opportunity to design a dress for a fellow Victor for the ball. It was an atrocious time, of course - the celebration of the destruction of their lives - but Bobbi knew in her heart that this was where she could make her difference. These people, this kind of money... this is what she wanted to bring back to Eight. And if enough people saw? Saw her designs in action? It could be a big night for everyone involved.

"I'm serious, Cress - stop moving. Your body is... sensational, but I still have to make sure it fits like a glove."

[bobbi-blue]

The Ice Queen

which opens to reveal

[bobbi-blue]

Bobbi waved off the apology, secretly thankful for an opportunity to turn her back to the television. She nodded, adding, "It's great for storylines, too. Do the Tributes betray their team and 'show their true colors?' Do they stay loyal and pull at our heartstrings?" She took a breath for what felt like the first time in a moment. "If that's what Ren goes for, make sure you juice it with the Sponsor's trophy wives. They lap it up like milk."

A small twinge of pain flashed across her face at the mention of her Tribute. "Thank you. It's... He didn't have a shot, apparently. I'm sorry you lost Will so fast. It doesn't get easier, does it?"

The surprised sound made Harlow jump slightly in surprise. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you." But Harlow also understood. Sometimes watching The Games brought them to another place, and Harlow had an idea of what was on Bobbi Blue's mind. Seeing the Tribute from Eight hanging from the flag pole in such a gruesome fashion... her throat dried up just thinking about it.

She hummed in agreement and folded her arms in front of herself. "It's another chance to take out more of the competition. Guess that's the point of The Games, but... hopefully our Tributes are careful." They both only had one left in the Arena, after all. "Sorry about Roe."