Don't wanna STAB a needle in ya, so...[d2]

OOC: This is the point where I apologize profusely for not starting this thread before. In my defense, I didn't know about this, which isn't a good defense, but it's something anyway. -is sorry-

Why do they have to build these things so high? It's so slow. I feel so sorry for the District 12 stylist...must take him or her a really long time....

Standing in the elevator, Jemline held onto the rail as the machine began to make its ascent. As always, she felt sick the moment it rose to the point where it was above the nearest windowsill. She really shouldn't have had the chicken for lunch even though the food would be wasted if she hadn't...and the chicken may feel insulted.

It was times like these that Jemline felt especially grateful that the art of mind-reading hadn't been perfected yet. People already thought she was insane enough with her continual care, even though she tried to seem typical with her style. Yes, they sobered up considerably when she declared herself a Games stylist...but it wasn't enough to make a difference in her life. Good thing they didn't hear about the feelings-hurt chicken.

The elevator opened. She was now at the threshold of her new clients' place. District Two, right? With all hope, she wished that she wouldn't be stuck with people similar to those that she had last year...those people were complete freaks. Seriously, who walks around with needles in their pocket? The two tributes had said that they used them for protection. Coincidentally, one of them got killed when a needle injected poison into them during the Games.

Anyway, the prep team should be done....