𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐋𝐋 𝐉𝐔𝐌𝐏 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑.
What District 2 victor, Saffron Creek, and prodigy, Finnick Odair, share is the very antithesis of what has been stolen from them. They test the edges of the rules that construct t...
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two-faced . . . . .
In the Capitol, tucked safely away from the tragedies and uncertainties of the arena, President Snow stands in the air-conditioned control room and watches the lives of the remaining tributes unspool on large flatscreens before him. There, time is manipulated. While midnight approaches for the tributes, it is merely evening in the Capitol.
Saffron struggles ten-times the size of life in front of him. He watches her suffocate with focused indifference. Only his lips, thin with age and almost skin-pale, press together in vague disappointment.
For all the big talk, he thinks, she did not amount to much.
His new Head Gamemaker comes to stand next to him. Plutarch Heavensbee is a large and particularly friendly man (strange, considering his profession) and Snow hopes that he will not make the same mistakes as Seneca Crane.
Heavensbee studies the same scene Snow does with a strange, contented smile pulling up the corners of his mouth. He does not slouch.
"An interesting creature, don't you think Mr President?" he asks. "The qualities of a vine with the temperament of an anaconda."
His eyes still watch Saffron Creek battle for her life even as Snow directs his chilling gaze on him. His smile widens while he waits for Snow to respond. When he doesn't, Heavensbee continues.
"They lay dormant most of the time. Identical to vines and masters of camouflage, only waking for the duration of their hour. Then, of course, they're lethal. I proposed the idea myself and these lovely people made my dream a reality."
He gestures to the Gamemakers behind him. They are unremarkable characters dressed in white and glued to their consoles at which they monitor the tributes, watching the erratic tempo of their heart rates, studying the condition of their mutts, and controlling the video displayed to their audience.
The president doesn't bother looking. He has known this operation for longer than the Gamemakers have been alive. He has raised the Games as his child destined to succeed him. For decades now, he has let the Games proceed unhindered. As long as they go to plan. As long as everyone behaves.
And then the Head Gamemaker begins to speak again. He is starting to ramble. Snow wants to both roll his eyes and leave the room, but he has a self-assigned obligation to see the fate of this investment of his. He took another bet. First on Katniss Everdeen and now on Saffron Creek. But Saffron Creek is not supposed to be an underdog.
"I have always had a knack for picking the unexpected ones. Quiet catastrophes, I like to say," Heavensbee is saying, mostly to himself.
This makes Snow pause. This makes him wonder if he correctly understands the implications of Plutarch Heavensbee's words. English is a straightforward language. Until it isn't.
The round man is a cat when he smiles. Sly. He delights in his private secret.
On the other hand, Finnick Odair's heart has not quieted since the day began. It is not because Peeta Mellark died for a moment when he collided with the electrical forcefield and stalled his he stalled his heart. Nor is it the adrenaline from the blades that nearly impaled him, nor the fact that Mags is very certainly going to die in this arena.
While these facts are surely contributing to the stones in his stomach, it is the woman who has stolen everything he is that keeps his nerves taught.
"Where is Saffron?" he had asked as he trudged behind Peeta and Katniss through the jungle when the day was still early. Mags was on his back.
Katniss looked over her shoulder at him, almost pityingly.
He was not used to being pitied.
"I don't know where she went after the Bloodbath."
