All I Know So Far • The Hunger Games

The Endgame

The plan the Victors came up with turned out to be a success. Carver listens to the shouts of displeasure that penetrate the window in the dining room. She, Finnick, Eloise, Augusts, Mags, and Nathalia (Finnick's stylist) are all gathered around the table, drinking large glasses of wine. Eloise and the stylists are celebrating the fact that the objective they wanted accomplished has been. The public has been rallied together to protest the games, it's exactly what they wanted. But Carver can't shake the feeling of bleakness that's suffocating her. The original satisfaction she got from the protests has faded as she gulps the wine in her hand. Carver hasn't felt this void of emotion since losing Ryder. Even being reaped for the Quell, that just made her bitter and cynical. What she's feeling now is an entirely new range of emotions that she has no idea what to do with.

"You guys were phenomenal!" August praises as he and Nathalia clink glasses.

Eloise smiles, "Truly, it was simply perfection. And that poem was absolutely genius Finnick, the audience could not get enough!"

Finnick exhales as he uninterestedly leans back in his chair. He spins one of the many rings on his fingers before shrugging, "It was alright. Nothing award worthy." He brushes off, swirling the alcohol in his cup.

Mags tilts her head, What's wrong? She signs.

Finnick simply stares at their mentor with a blank expression, not offering any sort of answer for his unusual behavior. Normally he would be relishing in their praise about his genius love play, but he's acting just as cold as Carver feels. "Nothing." He replies monotonously.

Carver scoffs at his attitude. Her frustration and temper are rising, not only because of his sudden change in tone, but because she can't seem to get a grip on her own thoughts. She hates that his little ploy to stop the games affected her so much. She tunes out the conversation happening around her, finishing off the drink in her hand. The brunette roughly stands from her spot and knocks the chair she's sitting in back with a loud screech. The noise catches everyone's attention, all of them stopping mid sentence as they watch her storm out of the suite. Carver slams the front door behind her and her dress flows elegantly behind her with every harsh stride she takes. She doesn't bother glancing back to see if anyone is following her, not in the headspace to have a follow up conversation.

She makes it to the elevator and impatiently presses the button. Her eyes are completely dry from any tears, but that doesn't mean a storm isn't brewing behind them. The steel doors open to reveal the fully glass elevator to her. The brunette stops when she sees her reflection staring back at her. Her gorgeous doe eyes appear dead and empty, having experienced too much pain for one lifetime. The brunette's shoulders are now hunched over as her body aches from the amount of effort she put into looking professional for the interview. Her head feels hot as she can sense a migraine coming on. She irritatedly rips the fake eyelashes off her face before removing the uncomfortable high heels on her feet. She simply kicks them to the ground next to her, figuring she could pick them up whenever she gets to the floor she picks. Carver leans her head back onto the cool walls of the elevator, scrunching up her nose as a harsh wave of pain surges through her head. She may or may not have banged her head too hard when leaning back.