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i've had a lot more inspiration/energy to write since making the decision to be iconless on an oc blog and i think i want to carry that over here too.

and on that note: give this a like for a (s)medium starter.

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anyways, forever thinking about how distinctly othered cherise is from her own district and personhood. how she is not permitted to be anything but a pale extension of the capitol and the very double-edged sword of protection that allots her.

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i'm not sure i believe you. i'm not sure it even matters. ... @facefox

it didn't. and it did. in a world ruled as much by brutality as it was narrative, there was only as much power in words as to what that person could manage. her advice was as good as gold in the right ear, and little more than wasted sound in another — which the fox-faced girl might prove to be was yet to be determined.

cherise liked nicola, in all the few ways she permitted of a tribute. it was all a game, after all. the girl, simply a piece to be maneuvered. no use allotting any deeper an attachment. or so she silently, nightly, assured herself.

"of course people will want to know you," cherise speaks to the girl's reflection, busying her hands in the her coppery hair — this, at least, she needn't fight their stylist to showcase. and what they could not derive from interviews, from observation, from the accounts of others, they, the illustrious will of the capitol, would invent it. stories to enchant, to inspire terror, to anger ; willing or not, there would be a role for her if she lived played long enough.

in a gesture that fell somewhere between maternal affection and some playacted impression of it, she tucks an errant strand behind her ear. smiles. "they'll want to like you."

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pinterest feeds me so well

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i can actually pinpoint the entire *vibe* of cherise's relationship with the capitol/games/victors ( specifically, her demeanor during the qq but it also applies to those early hours of the morning when everyone who'd care is long gone and she's haunting the corners of the room ) to a very specific scene in the '99 remake of house on haun.ted hill, but it means absolutely nothing to anyone.

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if intermixing between the districts and the capitol was legal, i have no doubt that cherise would have been sold off as someone's novelty bride.

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details, danielle frankel fall 2021 rtw

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i think any public dynamic with cherise would be at least partially transactional. she has had a few secret flings and has her established family in d5, but, on the whole, struggles with the level of vulnerability unconditional attachment requires.

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The Orange Eats Creeps, Grace Krilanovich

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the first of cherise's gowns capitalized on the spectacle of electricity. they were tight and limiting and all but eclipsed her, regularly drowning her moments in darkness to let the gowns really shine.

it was only after she purposely damaged the power supply of her interview gown, giving the impression of some bedraggled princess, rather than the beacon they'd styled her as, and enchanting caesar with the dreamy way she spoke about the skylines of the city that her stylists made a hard swivel into capitol trends. veering away from extravagant shows of special effects, cherise was instead given a more romantic silhouette, trading meshwear for chiffon and tulle. copper for pearls. occasionally the gowns had more geometric pleats to harken back to the structure of power lines and currents, but her identity become more and more divorced from her district.

to the tune of

during her victory tour, the cinderella-esque image cultivated for cherise would be spoken of as if it'd always been part of her games ( right from her reaping ) , but it wasn't really until her interview that it'd truly had its hooks in the public. thereafter she was sold off to families as a novelty to impress upon.

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the best way i could possibly explain what cherise is like during 70% of the games.

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cherise weber, dionysus' favorite daughter.

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CHERISE + webweave 001 / ???

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@vict5r,   35:   full machine.

" i should probably stop...   instead of forcing a breakthrough. "

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she wants to find some inkling of surprise in her answer. some newfound grain of ingenuity, cunning, hidden away in the depths of this girl ( this child ) haplessly plucked from obscurity. the fool in love. most victors were, in this way, ( uniformly so ) disappointing. the hollows of people crafted in the image of celluloid gods and scoured warriors, wide-eyed dolls and other fascinations. whatever suited the season. a game in itself, and well worth winning, if it could the interim could be stomached.

" i see. " at the core of her brilliant grin is a single ember of sincerity. it's stoked beyond any semblance of human reaction the summery delight with which cherise filled her delegated space. as if every banal confession or rebuttal, every syllable, even the most arbitrary, was the most profound addition. more instinct than act now. beneath its glow, she neatly tucks away any inclination to correct. to further explain. ( candor had no place in the capitol, much less her own tongue ) and this is not her charge.

instead : with a renewed thread of playful conspiracy, head cocking in an imitation of her mother ( or, more aptly, some adjacent figure ) " well, what better opportunity to learn than now, @mckngjy ? " it's the kind of chirped nothing meant to inspire comfort. something to look forward to. but her message is right at their feet, if she knew to look. / ˚ · .

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Analicia Sotelo, from Virgin: Poems; “South Texas Persephone”

[Text ID: “Look now: my heart / is a fist of barbed wire.”]

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is she happy? she doesn’t understand. she has never considered it. it is possible to be so entirely happy you never ask the question. she is a full glass submerged in water. neither nor both full and empty. the inquiry, though kind, has no meaning for her.