Opportunities for Eternity // closed; south

Zell had never really been one to frequent the City Circle since it was such a long walk from her apartment, but on market days like this one she'd splurge for a cab and do a bit of shopping, even though most of her income was eaten up by her self-founded fund for a better apartment that was close to if not directly on Style Street. Of course, the rent for such a dwelling was bound to be high, not easily payable by a stylist's apprentice that kept food on the table by working for hourly wages at a fabric shop and getting the occasional bonus from commission work designing outfits for Capitolites who didn't want to pay for a professional. Still, artists needed their tools, and Zell found that the wares to be had from the carts in the City Circle were usually far cheaper and sometimes of higher quality than what could be found at various art stores.

She'd already spent a good amount of time buying various drawing utensils, and her messenger bag was now heavy with watercolor pencils and charcoal. Currently, Zell stood over a wide variety of sketch pads, full lips pursed in speculation as immaculately-manicured fingers brushed carefully over the bindings. It was a slightly windy day, and the Spring breeze sent the skirt of her sundress rippling around her legs in addition to tossing the massive expanse of her hair every which way. She'd never really bothered to measure the golden tresses, but at her diminutive five-foot-nothing height the well cared-for waves brushed the back of her ankles, leading her to assume that when straightened, her hair was actually longer than she was tall. Zell personally found it to be a nuisance but refrained from cutting it both for fear of the absolute conniption her mother would have and from a slight phobia of haircuts that came from never having one. Blowing a strand away from her face irritably, the petite blonde launched herself into a short struggle to tame the wind-tossed locks into some semblance of order, failing miserably before giving up altogether and going back to her examination of the sketch pads.

"Found anything you like?" the charismatic baritenor tones were unexpected, causing Zell to give a little jump before turning to search for the voice's source. She found it in the form of a dark-haired young man with magnetic eyes and sharp features, offset by a quietly brilliant smile. He was well-dressed, too, she noted (because really, she noticed that clothes, she always noticed the clothes), seeming to be one of those smooth, successful young-adult types that she'd always tried to be. Despite a lifetime of her mother's warnings about ne'er-do-wells and vagabonds that would steal your heart if not your wallet, Zell replied to his question with a scintillating grin of her own, her wide, surgically-crafted magenta eyes glinting in the sunlight.

"Not too much yet," she smiled, gesturing to the table she had been looking at. "Just looking for a new sketch pad. How about you?"

"Oh, I need one for work," Zell replied brightly, flinging open her messenger bag and pulling out a thick leather portfolio from its depths. It was one of her newer volumes, packed full of assignments that Lana had given her to push the envelope of her boundless creativity. Zell wasn't an overly-vain person (at least not by Capitol standards), but she took a great deal of pride in her work, a fact exemplified in her eagerness to display her best designs to her new acquaintance.

"I want to be a stylist. I'm doing an apprenticeship with Lana Stilgenbauer, one of the stylists for District Four." Delicate digits closed around the cover of the portfolio and pulled it open, flicking through countless immaculate sketches before coming to rest upon Zell's most prized work of art, a detailed drawing of an illustrious ball gown with a full skirt and bejeweled bodice, all oceanic shades of blue and green that blended together to look like waves rolling into the shore. "See that bodice? That's the bodice from Winona's opening ceremonies dress this year. Lana changed the skirt to make it fitted instead of full, but it's still really neat to know that a piece of my work has been on television, you know?"

Her eyes flicked up to her taller counterpart (but then again most people over the age of ten were taller than her) as she wondered if she had crossed the thin line between pride and boasting and why she was even showing off in the first place. Maybe it was those eyes that seemed to shout I'm going somewhere in this world and you'll never stop me or the smile that said you're intriguing enough for me to give you my time, but Zell found herself continuing to flip absently through the pages as her mouth continued to work of its own accord. "I guess it's just in my blood or something. My mother's a stylist, too. Karinna Thornton. She always does the females from Two. But I didn't want to do my apprenticeship with her, so I got my own apartment and started working for Lana."

She stammered to a halt, wondering how she had come so close to the precipice of family matters that weren't fit for public discussion, to simply blurting my parents have stifled me my entire life and I'm finally free and I'm never going back. So instead of continuing with that particular line of conversation she turned back to her selection of new sketch pads, beginning to look at them with careful scrutiny once again. "But anyway, like I said, I need a new sketch pad for work. I'm Zell, by the way. Zell Thornton."

Something about this new companion with the sunshine smile made Zell a little more forthcoming than she usually was, but he just gave off this vibe that said trust me, tell me everything, and she found herself strangely inclined to do just that. Zell had always been blindly trusting, bordering on too innocent for the world. Always.

"I remember that dress, it had wonderful lines."

Zell almost literally glowed with pride, her petite, elfin features lighting up at the rare event of her work being praised. It wasn't that Lana shot down her ideas on a regular basis (usually she was only snippy when she was having a bad day or hadn't had her standard amount of coffee that particular morning), but given her apprentice status, the diminutive blonde was far from used to working with the type of clientele who would offer affirmation of her talent over criticism. So at this unexpected compliment, she couldn't help but absolutely beam, carnation-colored lips splitting into a radiant smile.

"Thank you! I was actually going for a linear sort of approach, that's why I added the boning in the front and then accented it with all the jewels, played it up with the fading of the colors..." she trailed off, fashion jargon fading into the bustling air of the City Circle around her. Her companion took advantage of the silence to introduce himself, stepping a bit closer in order to shake her hand. Zell really wasn't all that surprised to find that her hand was miniscule in comparison to Maverick-Miles-also-newly-independent's, dainty fingers and tiny palm fitting with ease into the larger bone structure. Her grin widened at his introduction, a small laugh tumbling into the air between them. "No, there really isn't. I'd take my little apartment over my parents' place any day."

"Do you have big plans for the next Games? I'd love to see any of your other sketches that you would be willing to share," he asked, magnetic smile giving off a distinct aura of you fascinate me, you have my full attention. Zell, ever the poster child for socially awkward and ineloquent, found herself sputtering for an answer, finally flipping back to the beginning of the tick portfolio and gesturing to a nearby bench, taking a seat and beginning to flick through countless designs.

"I would like to be done with my apprenticeship in a few months... Oh, I forgot about this gown, someone wore it to a presidential gala, you know... I'd really like to get a stylist job... Oh, and this suit, I did a little experimenting with the lines, the jacket turned out very nicely... And between my mother and Lana I've got the connections to get one, but since I'm so young and unknown I'd probably end up with Twelve for a few years. Which is why I've been working on these."

She flipped to the back of the notebook and into the pages containing her new design, coming to rest on an illustration of a potential interview gown she'd done a few days ago. Compared to most of her designs it was simple, but the elegance of the piece was all in the simplicity. At least that was Zell's approach to it. Coal-black satin, no jewels, no sparkles, just solid fabric worked into a classic mermaid silhouette, tight and fitted to the knee with a flaring skirt designed to have a small train. Accessories were everything on this particular design, black elbow-length gloves and high heels that were classy rather than the trashy stilettos that female tributes had been wearing for years. But the jewelry... that particular facet of the design was Zell's pride and joy.

"Here's where it ties into the district," she noted, pointing at the immaculately-drawn structure of a necklace and earrings. Small chunks of coal, raw and unrefined, sat encased in a delicate web of brightly shining silver wire, the contrast of the rough edges of the mineral with the polished uniformity of the actual jewelry making an interesting clash. Zell had never been good at gauging people's reactions or even controlling her own, so she couldn't hide the slight flush that ghosted over her cheekbones as purplepink eyes darted up to search for Maverick's approval (or lack thereof? She couldn't tell). "I was going for a simple elegance kind of thing... I'm not sure if it worked."

"I'm not brave," Zell muttered, her fingers knitting together in her lap. Out of every word that could have been used to describe the petite blonde, she hardly thought that brave was an appropriate one. How could someone be brave after living their whole life holed up in a fancy mansion with hardly any friends and nothing to do but doodle her days away? How could she possibly be brave when she was a little rabbit-hearted thing, scared to death deep-down of the boundless depths of the world? No, she wasn't brave. "I just know how to act like I am."

She was more than thrilled by Maverick's compliment, however, flushing a shade of pink that rivaled the surgically-altered shade of her eyes and grinning quietly, basking in the rare glow of someone's appreciation until she felt completely satiated with it, like a cat sunning itself on a summer afternoon. In a world where she was used to her mother's incessant warnings about how dangerous everything was coupled with Lana's constant harping about how she was doing everything wrong, The taller boy's compliments were a breath of fresh air, fueling her limitless optimism until she practically bounced in her seat, intoxicated with his attention and the fact that he actually wanted to talk to her about fashion, one of the few things in the world that she actually had a bit of experience with.

"I'm not so sure I'd do well with One," she said, tucking a stray piece of hair back into place. "There's no room for originality. Everything you do gets covered in jewels, so it's just like designing clothes for people here. I like what my mother does for the girls from Two. Edgy. Dangerous. Lots of stark lines. It's not my preferred style, but it's different, you know?"

Zell had come to terms with the fact that she would always work (eat, breathe, sleep, live) in her mother's shadow. No one worked in the fashion world who hadn't heard of Karinna Thornton, and it had quickly become a well-known bit of information that her daughter wasn't nearly the businesswoman that she was, despite a fledgeling talent that showed quite a bit of promise. Zell was a disappointment. She'd finally figured it out after all those years carefully cloistered away in her proverbial ivory tower. She hadn't been sheltered for her own safety, but rather for the safety of her mother's reputation. She simply wasn't ruthless enough to make a name for herself, to be any sort of somebody in the Capitol lifestyle. She didn't understand the concept of social debauchery, rose-colored glasses seemed to be permanently welded to her face, and for goodness' sake, she cried during the Games. No self-respecting stylist showed that kind of weakness. After all, tributes were just breathing mannequins. Not actual people.

"I think I'd prefer Three, if I had a choice," she continued, hoping that her face hadn't been as much of an open book as it usually was. "So many things you could do with internal electronics. I've always wanted to design a dress that could be used as a type of screen, or maybe one that was completely covered in internal lighting that no one could see until you turned it on."

Still flushed, she fixed her gaze intently on her feet, at a loss for any further words. "But this is probably all really boring for you. Um, what do you like to do?"