Cloudy With a Chance of Tributes:
"And if the birds
Are just hollow words
Flyin' along, singin' a song
What would they do?
If they just knew
What they could do
Oh, if they just knew"
Interview With a Loony
Midnight was approaching and the President of Panem was alone in his office, eyes scanning over a memo sent from a Gamemaker (which, mind you, was incredibly lengthy for the words practically left his brain the moment he read them), and one hand twirling a silver spoon that rested in a cup of tea.
President di Angelo was waiting for a call from the Head Gamemaker, and quite frankly, between awaiting for the woman to call him, and the stress of the upcoming Hunger Games, the President's brain had little space for anything else. The more he squinted his brown eyes in concentration, the more he concentrated on the memo's words, the more he thought of that Gamemaker with frizzy and curly red hair.
The Head Gamemaker was hired that very day, scooped out of the interview room and placed in her own office. The President's new coworker had been on the news just hours ago, reading the definition of the Hunger Games (as if anyone needed to be reminded) written by citizens long, long ago, and then promising that these Games would be, under her supervision, spectacular.
Although some Capitol magazines disagreed, the President of Panem was not a fool. It had not escaped his mind that every Head Gamemaker claimed their Games would be promising. It had not escaped his mind that Fleur Porter, Gamemaker, became more and more flustered each time President di Angelo brought up that fact.
The President turned to the next page of his memo, and after seeing there were at least a dozen more pages afterwards, gave up with a soft groan. He stretched his arms above his head and glared around his pure white office— the only color in his office was the glass bowl filled with fake fruit, which rested upon, of course, a white table.
A sudden cough filled the room.
President di Angelo tentatively turned on his heel, narrowing his eyebrows and clenching his jaw in an attempt to appear braver. "Yes?" He called out, now leaning forward on the toes of his feet, one hand pressed against the doorframe.
Fleur Porter appeared, stepping sideways to enter the President's line of vision. Her frizzy and curly red hair was a mess as always, tied back in a pathetic pony tail. She gave him a bright smile, "Hello, President di Angelo. Good to see you, as always."
The President, deciding he couldn't honestly say the same about her, said nothing, only gesturing for her to have a seat in one of the white chairs.
"How can I help you, dear?" he said, shaking Fleur's hand very briefly then wiping his palm off on his pants. The President took a seat in his chair behind the white desk, while Fleur settled into a chair of her own. Feeling particularly warm and cozy, the President even pushed forward the candy-filled bowl on his desk.
Fleur gratefully shoved her hand into the bowl, popping a few sweets into her mouth. She seemed to be taking her time eating, swirling her tongue around the candy, and swallowing in tiny bites. Finally, once her sweet-tooth was fulfilled, she spoke, "Oh, it's been quite a day, President di Angelo."
He raised in an eyebrow in mock curiosity, pouring a handful of candies of his own into his mouth. "How so?" he asked, his hands automatically tidying up his desk while his concentration was on the Head Gamemaker. The stapler was shoved to the top corner, next to the bucket of pencils, the memo from the Gamemaker was tossed in the waste bin, and his hologram-receiver was straightened in the center. Spick and span—just as he liked things.
Fleur rubbed her green eyes tiredly with the back of her hand, slumping back in the chair, "Reporters have been swarming my office all day. Hovercameras are going to make me go blind, I tell you. Those pesky little things are crowding my windows," she sighed, "Not to mention, I haven't even gotten to tell anyone about my Arena idea."
At this, the President perked up. Like every citizen of Panem, President di Angelo was always quite excited during Game season. Few people realized the President had little-to-no say in the Arena. He simply shared what the Gamemakers created it, stamping his signature onto their memos and plans. It was a surprise for him, too, when the tributes entered the Arena.
"My ears are open, Fleur." The President entwined his fingers together and propped his elbows on his desk.
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
The redhead woman grins, "Well, Mr. President," she glances over towards the corner of the room, which influences the president to do the same. There, leaned against the crisp walls, is a broom. The Gamemaker's gaze lingers for a moment before she tears her eyes away, and locks them with President di Angelo's, "All I can say is; I hope the tributes aren't scared of heights."
The President was having none of that. He had had his fair share of so-called-mysterious Gamemakers. The President had learned the hard way that more often than not, the mysterious ones were the lazy ones. "What do you mean?" he hissed, "Is it a mountain? Tundras?"
Fleur shrugged, an amused expression on her face, "I don't know, Mr. President," she mused, "I suppose it's all up in the air."
President di Angelo scoffed, rapping his fingers onto the desk, "I don't appreciate your secrets, Fleur," he narrowed his eyes, "Not one bit." The President was never one for surprises. Why, even as a boy, he hated them. Marvelo di Angelo was quite the perfectionist, meaning he liked to be on time. When his parents threw him a surprise party at the tender age of six, he almost tore the entire Sector down. Had he showed up late to his own party?
The Hunger Games were no different.
Fleur leaned back in her chair even further, "I suppose I can give you one hint," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, "For a price, of course."
At that, the President nearly fell out of his chair. A price? He had heard Victors doing such things—he even hired one for his buddy—but the President of Panem? "That is absolutely degrading, Miss Porter. If you think for a moment I would give up what dignity I have just to pay your—"
The Gamemaker held up a hand, laughing and giggling, "I don't mean that. This is my first day! 'Sides, I don't believe in 'coworkers with benefits'." She shook her head, sending red curls flying.
Marvelo managed a completely President-di Angelo-like-smile, the corners of his mouth quivering into what one could only assume to be a pathetic excuse for a grin. "Ah, right. I suppose you'll be expecting money then?" He held up his hands, "A raise?"
Fleur once more shook her head, red curls a blur against the white walls. President di Angelo noticed how much this Head Gamemaker stuck out. Not in a good way—not in a bad way. Her red locks were easily spotable against even the neon-dyed hair of the Capitol citizens. She was—dare he say it?—unique.
"I don't want your money, President. I just wanted to take those candies home with me. They're quite tasty."
The President blinked a few times, unsure of what had just escaped her lips. "Candies. . ." He repeated slowly, and Fleur nodded happily. Ever so slowly, with stiff and robotic movements, Marvelo opened the drawer of his desk, taking out one of the bags of candy. He placed it onto the desk, and Fleur happily scooped it up, laying it across her lap.
"I believe you must fulfill your part of the trade now, Miss Porter."
Fleur whacked her hand against her head, making a 'duhhhh' face. She gestured for him to come closer, making a hook with the index finger on her right hand. President di Angelo awkwardly leaned forward until his gut was pressed against the desk, digging into his skin. The Gamemaker pushed a piece of thick red hair behind her ear before getting up herself, placing her lips just centimeters above the President's ears,
"Heights. Lots of heights. Think back to when you were a child, out on the playgrounds. Perhaps you went on a swing? It gave the illusion of yourself being. . . oh. . . what was it?" There was a slight pause, "I remember now!" She pulled away from him, smiling widely, "The tributes are going to be flying, of course."
A/N: Dun dun dun! Foreshadowing! Aha, as you can tell, this is a SYOT! Don't worry, the tributes won't be given enhancements to make them fly. Much more thought out.
All the information is on my profile, so please, please, please read that. I'll only be accepting tributes through Private Messages, and only good-quality tributes will be accepted.
If you don't like 3rd person—don't worry. I'm only planning on writing Capitol chapters like these in 3rd, all the others will be in 1st person as most SYOTS usually are (:
Song used: Do You Know What I'm Seeing~Panic! At the Disco.
-Riley