Success didn't just happen for you. No, success only appeared on the horizon if you worked hard enough for it. That was the core of Nerium Oleander's person. If you work hard you shot up through life. Oh, how so many fail to listen to the sound advice. Well, not everyone had it in them.
But, Nerium stuck to his inner motto and deemed that it had worked for him. He had gained much from his hard work. After all, he was standing here in the golden decorated office of the president of panem and not some idiot who had no clue of what he was doing... Or she.
He was old, yes. But he was reliable after years of being a gamemaker. And when the last one had retired nearly a decade ago almost all agreed that the job should be given to Nerium Oleander. Which proved to be a safe bet for everyone except the fallen tributes. His games were always exciting and few were disappointed in the results of long months of planning, making, and executing the games.
In fact, the gamemaker could relate his motto to his creations. Those who won the games were often working hard for it. The careers trained for years and won that way, they earned it with their work. And the times others won they had put in effort as well. That's why he loved the Hunger Games. It was satisfying to see people work so hard to save themselves. He felt connected to them in a way.
His personal favorite Hunger Games would the 78th hunger games. The maze was a labyrinth, nothing too original, but each turn held a surprise and tributes had to locate the cornucopia before getting major supplies. Then above them was the real arena, a snowy range of tall peaks and low valleys. The Victor had been from district seven. A girl by the name of Acacia Branch. She had blocked the entrance out of the labyrinth and trapped the stragglers before tracking down others. She had faced off against the girl from eleven but the younger girl didn't stand a chance.
His gaze drifted away from the wooden desk, it took up a lot of space in the office. He assumed that the desk was unnecessarily big or the room was just too small. His gaze landed on a photograph of a young girl. It was placed nearby on the pale golden wall and it was one of the few framed items on the walls. It was his granddaughter. Well... Not his... The President's. The walls held a few framed certificates and under them were a few filing cabinets. Over all, the room was pale and bare with the only color coming from a few flowers in a small vase. The small card, with a gold ribbon, read out a simple message from his granddaughter. Nerium would've smiled but his attention was caught as the president dropped the files on the dark oak desk.
That file meant everything. It held the plans of the upcoming game and all the information needed to carry it out. It was up to President Snow if it was worth the trouble, though. Nerium didn't worry. He was a professional at this by now and he had no doubt that the president was pleased once more. He always was.
Nerium didn't speak, he only watched the other with a neutral smile. The two looked similar with their dark blue suits and greying hair. Though, the president was older and far more respected than the gamemaker across from him. The two didn't move, just silently watched each other.
The president took a long moment before speaking and when he did it was only the best news to Nerium. " It seems you have it all planned out. I expect reports on weekly progress. After all, the games are only a month away. We don't want to disappoint the public, Oleander? "
Of course Nerium agreed, it would be suicidal not to. Besides, he was a man already two steps ahead of the plan in that file. He had already started creating the mutts that would be used in the arena and creating the arena itself. He still had a long ways to go but nothing a few all nighters and a stage of coffee couldn't fix. It also helped that his team was very good at what they did and they were very good at listening. He was a good leader and highly respected for his work. Of course, he did have the occasional squeak of protest. They were quickly silenced.
After a few other formal exchanges the dark haired head gamemaker stepped out of the office. His heeled boots, the height of capital fashion at the moment, clicked against the grey marble floor. He held the file in his hand and headed towards the gamemaker center located next door.
He would spend the next few weeks there to finish planning the games and arena. After all, this game would be his brainchild. His final hurrah before he retired. It had to be ruthless, fresh, and interesting. It was a good thing those qualities made up him. He couldn't imagine what would go wrong if even one small thing wasn't up to standard. The capital and those in it were ruthless. That's how you had to be to rise.
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Hey, welcome to my syot. I am kinda scared to write one but I'm going to do my best to. Please submit a tribute. The rules, form, and tributes are in my bio.
Also, what is the head gamemaker named after? If you guess right I'll give you twenty points for sponsering points.