Once out in the street, Narcissa motioned for the Avox to hold the parasol a tad lower so it completely shielded the sun from her eyes. She ran a gloved hand down the skirt of her dress with to smooth out any wrinkles before turning back to the store owner to bid him goodbye. Cradled in her chest was a small book of designs for textile prints she and her personal stylist hand selected for Narcissa’s summer wardrobe. It was better to get one of a kind fabrics from the production source than to wait until they were released to any old Capitol boutique–she has to set the trend, not follow it, after all. While it wasn’t necessary for Narcissa to travel all the way to District 8 to order her textiles, she had experienced enough mishaps with the color and the design of her clothes to know that she has to see and test the fabric against her complexion before she sent it off to be made into a work of art.
She looked down to watch her step–some of the Districts were known to be more filthy, she had learned–and started walking, her Avox following close behind. Next on her day’s schedule was to look for the particular silk embroidery thread her mother liked, a gift Narcissa always got for Druella since she had first discovered the brightly dyed thread complemented any of her mother’s projects. As she made her way down the street, Narcissa could feel the all-too familiar stares of District 8’s inhabitants bore on her, probably noting the peculiar Capitol dweller in her light silk dress and heeled shoes strolling along as if nothing about the place disturbed her.
It’s not as if Narcissa wasn’t bothered, she just was more or less used to hiding her disgust for the outer Districts. She keeps her chin high and her wand concealed on her person each time, the look on her face cold and even challenging to have someone dare come up to her and speak to her like an equal.