Spectacle
He watched in silence as the courtyard below him shrank with each passing second. It was a habit of his when taking the glass elevator to his private office. He wondered what part he took pleasure in exactly—seeing things so small or being so high up.
At this hour, the courtyard was usually bustling with workers, shoppers, and children. It came as no surprise to him that at the moment it was empty. Everything he encountered in the day had been eerily devoid of life; the streets, the lobby, the elevator he was currently in. Today was special, after all. Today, the entire Capitol was glued to their tele-sets for the most anticipated time of the year.
A cheerful female voice floating from the intercom announced the floor as the elevator came to a smooth halt. He stepped out into the hallway and glanced at his watch but his pace remained unhurried. While the rest of the Capitol reveled in Reaping Day, he only felt bored indifference. It a necessary but predictable affair and predictability was not his style, not as Head Gamemaker for the third year in a row. There was an unavoidable swell of pride in his chest at this; consecutive terms were rare for the coveted post and accomplishing it at his age was another feat in itself.
But his was not a charmed life. For every glamorous night out, he spent three more alone and fueled by stimulants, scribbling down ideas then ripping them up; trying to find a way to outdo the previous Game. As hard as the climb to the top was, a fall from grace would be easy. It was something that haunted the back of his mind constantly.
For now, he was at peace, certain than the approaching 74th Games was his best effort yet. He spent a month traveling and researching before he selected the forest design. It was a suitable choice with several inherent qualities, but in truth, its savage beauty was what first caught his eye and drew him in. The densely packed trees, array of animals, and rich earth held on to him, long after he left. He wanted to recapture that unadulterated wilderness. It had been too long since the Games focused on the simple brutality of the massacre, the hunters and the hunted. Of course, this didn't keep him from stowing a few tricks up his sleeve; personal touches in case anything went awry.
"Marvelous job, Seneca." President Snow remarked earlier that morning. He clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder, an indulgent gesture not doled out often. "Now, go rest and enjoy the Reaping along with everyone else, won't you?"
He resigned to this but dismissed the thought of attending any of the extravagant Viewing Parties being thrown. A dull affair like the Reaping would be much easier to bear without carting around a social veneer for hours.
Once alone in his office, where he was certain no one would bother him, he relaxed considerably. He undid the topmost button of his collar, poured himself a drink, and sank into his wingback chair. With a press of a button, the tele-set flickered to life. He had made it in time for the first Reapings, if they could be called that. District One and Two regarded the punishment as a trendy show of bravery and their children vied for a chance to be in the Games. This year's Career Tributes were the made from the same mold as the ones before them; perfect physical specimens, immaculately groomed and brimming with confidence. They were killing machines that behaved like pageant contestants. He grimaced. He wouldn't trust being alone in a room with any one of those ruthless brats.
The enthusiasm was not mutual in the other Districts, where there were only shabby stages, bleak faces, and certain death. They lacked the skills, the bravado, and the reckless abandon of the wealthier Districts. A hard life was still worth living by their standards. Out of the chosen, a good number broke down in shock. Others met their fate with grim compliance and a stiff gait to the scaffold-turned-stage.
Pathetic, he thought with disgust. Half the Districts had been Reaped by this point and it looked dismal. He had seen it happen before. A disappointing crop of Tributes could detract heavily from the overall quality of the Games. But there was still hope. He noticed a few favorable ones in the pool- ones with strong or sprightly bodies, or even more promising; hardened eyes with a desire to win at any cost.
By his fourth glass of wine (his head was beginning to get foggy), the end was drawing near. It was District Twelve's Reaping and his thoughts were already drifting to methodically planning out the menu for dinner. He nearly missed the first drawing as a result. At first, he wasn't sure which one out of the sea of faces was selected until they began to part and turn to stare at an impossibly frail child with blond plaits. District Twelve always had an unfortunate streak in Tributes. This one wouldn't last more than five minutes in his arena.
The girl stood frozen, oblivious to the escort's repeated attempts to get her to come up to the stage. She finally gathered her wits and was slowly making her way to the podium when an unearthly shriek split the air.
"I volunteer! I volunteer as Tribute!"
He upset his drink all over his hand in surprise. Outsiders protesting, crying in disbelief, begging for mercy; it was all very common. But volunteering from a poor District was almost unheard of. And the sound of her voice… something about it unnerved him. Just as well, the outburst provoked a flurry of confusion. Peacekeepers rushed out to hold back a frantic young woman as she broke from the crowds. The District Twelve escort paused, clearly unsure of the protocol in such a situation. This was quickly amended: the substitute was allowed on stage while the other was forcibly taken away.
"What's your name?" the Capitol lady crooned to the newcomer. The camera took this opportunity to zoom in on her face.
"Katniss Everdeen." There was a slight trembling in her voice but she looked straight ahead. Slate grey eyes seemed to pierce right through him. He recalled that they were common in that region but unlike the past Tributes from District Twelve they were not lifeless and cold. They were like a cornered animal's, burning with the will to survive.
Well. That was enough of that. He didn't bother to stay around for the announcement of the male Tribute and clicked off the screen. The ghostly after-image of the girl glowed briefly before vanishing.
He rose to his feet, sighing as his joints creaked from disuse, and wandered over to the drink cart for something to sop up the mess he made. Instead, he found himself looking out the window as evening set on the Capitol, the last scene replaying in his head.
It was strange. All he had ever done his entire life was protect and serve his own interests but the selfless act struck a chord with him. He knew better than most what the girl was getting herself into the second she volunteered. He also knew that she still had a chance. The girl could become a fan favorite, if she played her cards right. For a bloodthirsty breed, sponsors were notorious for enjoying a good sob story.
He would have to keep an eye on this Katniss Everdeen. Judging by her sweeping entrance into the Games, she was going to be trouble. Unpredictable. An imperceptible smile reflected in the glass. He liked that.
AN: I really couldn't resist contributing to this crack pairing. Ever since I saw the movie, I was sold on it. Anyways, thank you reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is much appreciated. :)
Chiisana-inori
