He always has them meet in the basement of the Mansion, as if it's a secret.
Handing out their schedules, each person looks as displeased as the last.
Concerns and complaints are prohibited, unless someone has a death wish.
Don't they all, though?
"Afternoon everyone, so glad you could make it," Caius Snow announces, flatly looking out around the conference table of scowling Victors. "I hope these schedules are to your liking. I did the best I could with the requests I was given. Some of you were definitely in higher demand than others so your schedules are more full. Those with next to nothing on the schedule will be mentoring this year."
A lone scoff filters through the crowd interrupting him.
"I don't know, Snow. Twenty hour days don't seem full enough to me," Johanna says, crumpling her agenda into a ball and throwing it into the center of the table. "Couldn't fit me into another television spot advertising some god awful hair product could you?"
His royal blue eyes narrow at her, "A great deal of the Capitol's economic standing runs on the celebrity endorsement of products, Ms Mason. Without that give and take of money spent being money earned, you wouldn't have that house of yours. Would you really like to go back to living in that wretched log cabin?"
"All that wood would make it pretty easy to keep a fire going," she spits. "I'm sure Savin was pretty toasty in there when your father burned him alive."
With a swing of her mighty axe, Johanna brought Caius Snow tumbling down like a hundred year old oak tree. The mask of cool detachment breaks with the comprehension of her words.
He makes a feeble attempt to recover but the effect of her words still lingers in the air, dividing the Capiolite and those of the twelve districts.
"You should have followed the rules then," Caius says quietly, gathering his papers. "Like the rest of us."
"Daddy's still got you on a tight leash?" Chaff drawls from around the mouth of the liquor bottle he snagged from Haymitch.
"That's the price of my favour," Caius says with nonchalance as his eyes flicker over to Cashmere, where she sits with perfect posture beside her brother. Her blue eyes watch him apathetically.
"Is it worth it?" Enobaria chimes, genuine interest lacking in her tone as she looks down at her nails.
"Yes," Finnick answers with the hint of a sad smile tugging at corner of his mouth. He places a folded paper swan onto the table. He slides it over to Haymitch who scowls at the rumpled schedule before throwing it back to him.
Johanna's paper ball begins to be tossed around along with Finnick's swan, bringing a light hearted laughter to the group.
"Alright, that's enough," Caius booms, sternly but without malice. "Can I get five more minutes of your time and then we can leave?"
"I guess," Johanna shrugs. "What is there left to say, rich boy?"
"For those with the full schedules, I did my best to weed out the more … eccentric customers. The less time spent being put back together the smoother this will go," Caius says, a smile on his lips as he thoroughly enjoys Johanna's bewilderment.
"Happy 72nd Hunger Games," he chimes.
All at once, it is as if the division between the twelve districts and the Capiolite dissolves as gratitude fills the faces of the Victors'. They never outright say thank you, nor does he expect them too. There is nothing to thank him for. All of them did their part in following Coriolanus' regime.
Stick to the rules and no one gets hurt, unnecessarily.