what happened to mine?? mathey/open

[vivianlane]

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --



OH WHERE OH WHERE HAS MY STYLIST GONE?

Vivian sighed, trying to find the building where her old stylist worked. She needed to find him to talk about what she was wearing, and to see if she could find out who her tributes stylists were going to be. After all, this was her district they were talking about. And she wanted to make sure their stylists were good, otherwise there was gonna be heck to pay. Dont mess with the victors, that's how it was for her. Either you backed off or you got ruined.

She remembered all of her gowns, the first one, red, along with the interview dress, the other dresses? Just colors of orange, purple, any color really. Vivian hadn't paid a lot of attention. So this basically wasn't her strong point. Being in the Capitol, also, was nerve racking for her. She hated being here, and felt like a caged tiger. Some people stared at her, probably because she wasn't died, or they recognized her. Oh well. It didn't bother her, more the whispering. At some point she wanted to just turn around and scream at them, 'Hi how are ya! Did you know I really want to kill you right now?!'

Yep, Viv wasn't quite the force to be reckoned with. More like the kind you stayed away from. Pulling at her shirt a little, she ran a hand through her hair, which was getting quite long. Well, it was also pretty straight too, and she looked like she had gotten out of bed, but that was only cause of the train. Her shirt was a black tank top, along with a pair of dark jeans, surprisingly not torn. Well, and she was wearing combat boots, which was easily becoming her favorite type of shoe.

Standing outside of one of the studios, she looked in, trying to figure out if that was his, or someone else's. Vivian stood there, trying to figure it out. Why did the studios all have to look the
same to her.




notes;; if you want to see what her hair looks like, just look at her siggy lol, you can imagine the rest of the outfit

[mathey]

CAN'T SAY EXACTLY WHAT IT WAS -- SHE'S NOT THE USUAL TYPE

Mathey had a routine.

Crawl out of bed at 6:25 and stumble blindly to the bathroom, preferably without crashing into the door or tripping over whatever unfinished project he'd left on the floor last night. Fill the sink with ice-cold tap water and stick his head in it until his brain woke up. Wash face. Brush teeth. Carefully spend a minimum of an hour cementing his hair in place and another 20 minutes waiting for the gel to set. Ignore the Avox cleaning up his unfinished project.

Clothes. Jewelery. Stumble around to find wherever his phone had landed the night before (atop his's pile of laundry today, somehow). Shoes.

Mathey grabbed whatever portable breakfast happened to be waiting by the door and ate it while strolling down the street to his studio, located in a building that other stylists also ran their businesses from.

The part where routine broke was, of course, upon arrival.

It was hard to tell how old the girl was from a distance, but she was standing on the sidewalk her hands cupped around her face, looking inside a dark window and then scanning the area around her with a kind of lazy determination. Everything she wore was dark and it was all a bit too faded to have any kind of striking effect, straight-leg jeans and and a semi-dressy t-shirt combined with a reddish belt and--was her hair naturally like that? Was that real?

When Mathey started walking again he tried not to attract the girl's attention, and he did his best to ignore her, walking straight and staring straight ahead and totally not noticing how tough the girl's eyes were really, really powerful, alluring tough-- not the look of anyone he knew. Because it was obvious she was not from the Capitol-- not in Kansas anymore, babydoll. And there was an occupied look in her eyes, too and Mathey started walking faster, intent on passing the girl and hurrying inside and informing the person manning the desk that there was a strange girl standing outside and staring at things for no reason.

Of course he had to take one more look. Mathey had never really known his limits. Just when he was about to pass the young woman and make a clean escape the words, "I know you from somewhere, right?" slipped out before he could stop them, and he froze in place yet again.

Word Count: 403
Muse: ON FI-YAH.

[vivianlane]

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --



OH WHERE OH WHERE HAS MY STYLIST GONE?

Vivian jumped a little when she heard the voice, put quickly looked over, running a hand through her hair, "If you've watched the thirty-seventh hunger games than yes, most likely. Do you think you could help me out? I'm looking for someone named Finn Ares? He was my stylist last year and I need to discuss some things with him." Normally, she didn't ask for help. But... this was the Capitol. Out of her territory. Keeping her face impassive, she gave nothing away to the stranger.

Deciding to be the little 'Innocent' girl she had been from her interview, she held her hand out for the stranger to shake, "I'm Vivian. You?" Of course, when he had startled her, she was about to hurt him, but again, she held back. Being in the Capitol was like putting a cat in a box and shaking it. You were bound to get clawed. Or in Vivian's case, punched in the face and drop kicked. Of course, she could be the innocent little girl from District twelve if she wanted to.

But of course, most people probably didn't think her innocent after she killed their family, friends heck even lovers. Vivian didn't care, if they had tried to kill her first, she'd kill them. That's how it had been. But to the Capitol, she was still that innocent little girl, who was simply trying to help her family of eight other kids and one mom. Yep, she could still pull that off, at least, until she reached Finn. Then she'd be her normal self, and would see if he could get her any dirt.

And if you wanted dirt on anything, you went to your stylist.

Stylists seemed to know anything, and after Viv had won, Finn had quit the games styling, and hung out with her whenever he came to the district. He'd probably be shocked to see her, but not surprised. That's why she was going to see him. Not those other kids. Eyeing the man in front of her, she noted that if he tried to hurt her she'd break his arm easily. If you were a victor you tended to notice small things like that. 'Oh crud...' she thought, 'This is probably his studio or something.'

Well that was perfect, just great. Joy.

muse;; AWESOME!
notes;; Finn Ares her stylist x]

[mathey]

CAN'T SAY EXACTLY WHAT IT WAS -- SHE'S NOT THE USUAL TYPE

"If you've watched the thirty-seventh hunger games than yes, most likely."

And with that Mathey's entire demeanor changed. He smiled, and it made him look both young and handsome at the same time. "I knew I recognized you! Vivian Lane! I don't know why I didn't see it before, your hair is exactly the same in the arena as it is out-- messy."

"Of course I know Finn. Funny Finn!"

He didn't.

But she didn't know Mathey either, and he was riding on that. So he took a breath, squared his shoulders and jerked a thumb backwards at the windows she'd just been peering into. "I can walk you right over to his studio. Mind if I drop off my stuff first?"

Word Count: 122 XP
Muse: Fine.
Notes: Sorry it's so short, it's just that my post depends on her reply, so there's not much to put in this one.

[vivianlane]

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --



OH WHERE OH WHERE HAS MY STYLIST GONE?

Vivian put on a fake smile when the man smiled at her, 'joy,' she thought, 'what the heck have I gotten myself into now?' Laughing a little, she replied, "Yea, neither I or my stylist could quite get it to not be messy." that was true, but honestly... she could really, honestly, punch a wall inward. All the Capitol was bothering her, and right now she honestly, truly could have run all the way back to District Twelve right then and there to get away from the Capitol.

Nodding her head, "Yea, Finn was a huge joker, thank god someone here knows him because it would have taken me forever to find him." Vivian wasn't sure she could trust him, this guy, but... she needed to find Finn, so putting on the nice act would have to go on a bit longer. Joy. Just what she wanted to do, be nice to the Capitol, personally she could have set the place on fire and she, and probably other mentors, would be having a party and be dancing on the ashes of the Capitol.

She nodded, "I don't mind, but can I come in? Cause there's people staring and I honest to god don't wanna make a scene." Lies, she just wanted to go inside so she wouldn't punch the next person who looked at her funny.

muse: ok
notes: sorry for not giving more of a response

[mathey]

Mathey stopped infront of the studio's entrance. He smiled an amused smile, and it really wasn't fake at all, because she was falling for this. How had she survived the games at all? Mathey didn't remember her being this trusting. How lucky was he?

"He didn't tell you," He said it almost like a question but not really, and he sighed immediately afterward without expecting an answer. Of course she wouldn't know what he was talking about, he was making up as he went.

He didn't smile quite so obviously this time, but his features lightened enough that the sense of youth returned, and he stuck out a hand. "Mathey. Finn and I used to watch the games together. He knew you personally, so I guess you could say he was a...biased fan? I heard so much about you from him."

He reached for the pocket of his jacket and pulled his card, scanning it, then looked over at Viviana thoughtfully and put it away. "Okay, look, I--" He paused, going for the look of a sheepish confession. "I'm honorned to meet you, Vivian. God knows Finn was never going to introduce us. So, we'll call this initiative. You coming? Tell me about yourself, Vivian."

Mathey indicated that Vivian should go in first. Once inside seemed to forget that he'd asked Vivian to talk about herself, because he launched into a long explanation involving his job and what had happened on Saturday. Mathey was listening to most of what came out of his mouth--or appeared to be, anyhow. Mostly he was watching Vivian, the way she moved and how when he described something in detail, Vivian would lean back and seems to observe him as well. Mostly, he was trying to imagine Vivian and himself. Vivian, who was so closed-mouthed about everything, with himself-- who'd love to tell you his life story if you sat still long enough. Even their individual styles were so different he couldn't quite picture them sitting side by side, let alone...

But Mathey had made things work before.

Muse: Started bad, got better.
Word Count: 390

[/size]