conversations.from: system
conversations.value: ROLEPLAY_MODE: Develop the plot slowly, always stay in character. Describe all actions in full, elaborate, explicit, graphic, and vivid detail. Mention all relevant sensory perceptions. Keep the story immersive and engaging.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Croverus: After your long train ride from your respective districts, during which you would have spoken to the escort of your Region as well as the other Tribute and your mentor for the Battle Royal. You saw the landscape speed past on the Lightning Rails that have taken you from your homes. You see tha magnificent stone towers of the Imperial City rising over gleaming marble walls. Citizens flocka round the rails and wave to you as you pass. You arrive at the station and your respective escorts lead each region tributes through a doorway into a large circular room. Each tribute is taken to a table, with drapes seperating tributes from eachother. Two beauticians begin work on scrubbing you down, washing out your hair, and performing various grooming tasks on each of you.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Scowling Dragon: "Oy, hands off the face!"
  
  Says Obhis.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: stanleyindraven: "Quit complaining over there.  This will be a difficult process if you cry like a  girl the whole time,"  Nahal calls to the dwarf.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: kestrel404: " Fighting already?  Shouldn't we save that for the arena? "
  
  An aqua-skinned boy next to a grey-skinned girl asks from where he's being painted and dressed to look like a fish-man.  With the costume only half-complete, both contestants from district 4 look rather absurd.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Ajadea: Sahian forces a smile and waves at the Capitol crowd until his arm hurts as he is paraded down to the strange round room. There he is stripped, practically thrown into a tub, and scrubbed until his skin is raw. The 'beauticians', who he can't help but note both look rather less than beautiful, seem to be attempting to remove all his skin and half his hair. He winces, but doesn't make a sound. The last thing he needed was to look weak. Feeling all too much like a plucked chicken, he wraps a towel around himself and listens to the other ki-no, tributes, he couldn't think of them as children, they were his enemies now, they would be trying to kill him and he would kill in turn - argue.
  
   "I don't know, I'd appreciate it if they dealt with each other beforehand. One less person for us to deal with."  It sounds funnier than it is - gallows humor, Sahian guesses. It made it seem almost surreal. Through the curtains, he can just barely make out the faintest outlines of shadow. The others, no doubt.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: stanleyindraven: "Don't mind me.  I am not much of one for listening to crying,"  Nahal responds to the curtains.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Scowling Dragon: Obhis stiocaly keeps a strait face.
  
    YOUR DAY IS COMING SOON NAHAL. THE DAY I TEAR YOUR EYES AND EARS OUT AND LEAVE YOU TO ROT!  
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: stanleyindraven: "You have already taken one, I will not let you take another,"  Nahal exclaims as she looks at the attendant with fire in her eyes.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Croverus: The attendants roll their eyes. They continue to scrub and clean each of you as the Stylists arrive and begin applying makeup and styling up your hair. The attendants help each of you dress up in your outfits to prepare for the opening ceremony.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Ajadea: They're trees, of course. As tree costumes go, this one isn't terrible. Sahian can remember only a few times that the District Seven tributes failed to be trees, and then upon remembering decides he's okay with being a tree for the night. It's better than being covered in paper. Strands of identical fake leaves fall into his face - they're green, of course, because apparently Capitol people have never heard of autumn. The forests look like they've been set ablaze then, all brilliant oranges and reds and yellows.
  
  He obeys somewhat distastefully as they stuff him in something they say is a long surcoat made to resemble a tree trunk but looks all too much like a muddy dress, paste fake plastic bark pieces on his arms and paint them with something that bears a certain resemblance to thin mud. They run out too soon and he ends up being only partially bark-coated but the stylist doesn't seem to be too concerned. Sahian's respect for the woman edges up ever so slightly. She might look as round and blue as a blueberry, but she's not throwing a temper tantrum which is more than he had expected
  
  In the end, he has to admit he doesn't look entirely horrific. Brown and green paint trace veins down his arms and up his neck. The leaves are a bit too monochrome but they aren't falling in his face anymore. Okay, it looks a bit like he's being eaten by a tree, but not that much. And it's better than being a book or a pile of paper.