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"YOU HAVE BEEN a game maker for eight years, what made you stick around for so long?" Caesar's voice spilled out of the speakers into the room, filled with golden animation. His skin seemed dewy as if it were glass. His suit was a cotton candy blend, with a bright pink bow to match.
"The position of game maker is something only few can do, in university many of my students want to pursue the position. But the art of articulating the games in the arena is only resonant in very few. The creativity, precision, and decisiveness of it all are things that I cherish about my position," his voice was barren, and the sound held a smooth heavy liquid-like texture. Unlike the enigmatic television presenter, Caius Thames was silver, black, and red, his sharp features were radiant like platinum rather than glass. The video behind them showed a picture of him in the game-making room everything in the room including the machine operators was covered in white apart from him.
"I'll say," the large screen played a video, flashes of blood and blades in synch with applause and glittering crowns. "Some of the best games in Panem's history were yours to claim, what would you consider your signature touch?"
The game maker blew out a breath, the corners of his eyes crinkled slightly, and his lips slightly twisted as if to restrain a grin. "My father had always told me, the best were the ones who were able to face themselves and amongst that fear itself." He looked back at the screen for a couple of quiet moments when he turned to face Caesar again a glint glistened in his eyes. "I only forge those who are able to do that."
The audience applauded, some were nodding. "It'll be 70 years of tradition in the upcoming year. Do you have anything special planned for this year's arena?" Caesar remarked.
The game maker looked down at his pinkie finger at the emerald ring that sat there, he twirled it once slowly before looking back at Caesar shrugging slightly. "You'll have to tune in to find out ."
Even on the screen the essence of craze amidst perfection permeated from the velvets the posh man was adorned in. The ruby red suit he had on was fitting, with only accents of black, white, and gold here and there. A design fitting for all the crimson that he bathed in, his eyes were controlled and restrained but flashes of blood lust and craze glistened like stoking the fire. His posture was clean and authoritarian something that clearly was fostered by years of banquettes, silver spoon dinner parties, and chess tournaments.
"Isn't he just a marvel," Livia said from the loveseat, her legs crossed one over the other, and her hand nursing a glass of wine. Her purple wig and shoes were matching in the shade, but her leather padded dress was glossy and looked like scales glued to her body.
"He's something alright," Apollo muttered, plucking at the golden chain around his neck. Before getting up from his seat he meets Orianna's eye as he passes, his eyebrows furrowed with a mock scowl. She matched his expression, causing him to snort a little, his lips quirked up a bit before turning and heading off toward the kitchen bar. The preparations for tonight's festivities were strewn across the room, from makeup pallets to jewelry, a dress strewn from velvety cloth, amongst them an invitation to the esteemed dinner party held at Thames' estate. The inaugural ball after all was a celebration of all the victors in the past decade. It was a tradition hosted by the head game maker. Caius Thames had dictated most of the games in the past decade too, with victors reigning mostly from career districts.
