[.}Mad Stylist--Er, Scientists{.][>District Six<]

"Erg." Aeralia flipped a page in her sketchbook and scrawled a quick last-minute sketch, hoping something would come to her. Nothing did- at least, nothing any better than what she had alreayd come up with. She groaned and sighed, flipping the pages closed with a snap and tucking her pencil back into the spiral binding. She had wanted these costumes to be fantastic, better than all the others- but what could she do with scientists? She had gone for the obvious solution, the boring one, and as much as she wanted to come up with something else- at least, something else that wasn't absolutely ridiculous, as dressing the tributes up as giant test tubes or something was out of the question- she couldn't. She, who had had such high hopes and ambitions, who had done a better job with District Twelve than had been seen for years- no coal dust for her tributes, thank you very little- was left following tradition.

At least, she reflected, the float/chariot/whatever-they-were-calling-them-this-year would be interesting.

"Where are they?" Aeralia frowned, glancing at her watch. "Hopefully the blasted prep team isn't defiguring them or something..." Which, actually, she wouldn't put past them. The team meant well, she knew, but they knew absolutely nothing about style- which, thankfully, was why she was the stylist and they weren't. But if the tributes didn't get here soon, nobody was going to get to be their stylist.

She sighed and crossed her arms, tapping one foot on the floor impatiently.