The atmosphere in the conference room was tense. Twelve capitol escorts, fitting in perfectly with the president's rich decor, sat nervously at the long rectangular table, fidgeting and talking in hushed voices. Why had the president called them here on such short notice? With the morning of the reapings only a few hours away, they should have all been on trains, headed to the various districts to prepare for the most exciting event of the year. But just as they had been leaving for the stations, they had each received a call from the president himself, requesting their presence at a last-minute meeting. But then why wasn't he here? Neither of his guests would dare to criticize Snow, much less complain about his punctuality, but the reapings could not run late. And what on earth would he need to tell them now?
If things were tense before, there are no words to describe the change in atmosphere as the heavy oak door swung open and the stench of blood and roses filled the room. Everyone jumped as the door slammed with a resounding BANG! And the president himself took his seat. Every single one of his guests held their breath, staring at the snakelike man that had just entered the room. A green-skinned woman nervously played with her hair. A blue-haired man adjusted his tie. The district 1 escort, a young-looking girl, tapped her unnaturally long tails on the table, but froze at a threatening look from the president. She turned slightly green, whether it was from the look, the smell, or if it was simply her natural skin colour.
Snow reached for his glass, and took a long sip of the dark red liquid. Clearly in no rush to start, he took his time. When he finally set it down, the colour on his lips seemed even more noticeable. Finally, the President spoke.
"I suppose you are all wondering why I called you here?" Twelve people nodded simultaneously. "I have decided on a little twist for these games. The districts need not know before the reaping." Three's escort opened his mouth, but quickly closed it. Not, however, without Snow noticing. "Is there something you would like to say?"
He tried to keep his voice even. It was much easier to talk to talk to an entire district than it was to address the president of Panem directly. "Well... I was just wondering... why you would do this... It's not a quell... or anything special really."
The president gave the man a calculating look, and dismissed the question. "I feel like it. Now, as for the twist: No volunteers will be permitted this year. You will each announce this rule before the start of the ceremonies."
There was a moment of silence. Each escort nodded in understanding, and at the president's dismissal, hurried out of the conference room. Soon, president Coriolanus Snow was alone.
He opened the folder that he had previously left at his place. Inside he found all the plans for this year's games: the arena, the staff, the twist. He chuckled softly at the silly escorts, who had believed that his plans for the games had simply been to forbid volunteering. What would be the point of that? To eliminate the careers? More like to guarantee that certain citizens ended up in the arena.
He pulled out the page where he had scrawled hundreds of names, sorting them by districts. Demigods. All the Greeks, none of the romans. He had received a call earlier announcing that his request to rig the reapings to contain only those names had been fulfilled.
Oh, how he hated Half-Bloods. They did their best to prove to him that he did not control them. They participated in his games, of course, but that was just about the only rule they obeyed. They traveled freely between the districts and their beloved camps, some only coming back for the reaping. They were rich, and donated nothing to the capitol. Worst of all, the Greeks had all sworn on the river styx to never volunteer or take out any tesserae, thus resisting the temptation to all become careers and at the same time limiting the amount of valuable demigods that were killed.
This was why the romans would be saved from the arena this year. They were just as bad, except that they respected his games much more. They swore no oath, they volunteered to bring pride to their districts, and they made for some very interesting games. No, there was no need for Snow to exact such a punishment on them.
A smile played across the president's full lips. He had always wished death upon the demigods, and what better way than to thrust them into the games? And this was the perfect year, the only year they would really get the message: You may have won this war against my mother, but Gaea remains all-powerful.
Snow closed the folder and left it on the table, knowing the no one would ever dare touch the president's private documents. He stood up and proceeded out the door and down the hall to his bedroom. Might as well get some sleep before the chaos of the games began.