A folder flutters to the floor. Hasty hands swiftly sweep to retrieve the fallout, but her fingers snap to silence the scuffle.
"Ignore it. Continue."
Eyes stricken with the sight of sorrow search their mentor's before breaking away with worry; it brings a small smirk to Naomi's lips. The girl, gripped by insufferable insecurities, slips and stutters her way through every inch of her new dress' design before blandly ending with a whimper. Not a single soul in the room stirs as they exist on the edge of Naomi's silence. She doesn't speak, she doesn't make a single sound from her voice as she stands. All that echos through the space are the steps of Naomi's high heels. She stops to stand beside the fitted mannequin. The red dress' sway of scarlet accords itself in sympathy to Naomi's blood red acrylics.
"A Catch Stitch, fucking sloppy and out of season."
Naomi's nail tears through the makeshift tether as the red tendrils trickle to the floor. A small shrill squeak spurs from the young girl's mouth as she battles back a bigger gasp. Naomi can't help but laugh at such a sad sight. She rips away the remaining materials until the mannequin remains bare and exposed again for proper artistry.
"Silver Bell is one of the leading clothing lines in the Capitol. The manufacturers of the tributes' outfits. Anything less than exceptional doesn't interest me."