Nicol Janvier, Head Gamemaker:

"You see, a tribute can off half the arena but if they don't kill someone on their birthday, I get to choose their ending."

"Nicol, you sick fuck. This entire twist was made just to satisfy you, wasn't it?"

I sure wasn't expecting that.

My grin is wiped clean from my face when Bard turns and stares daggers through my skull, slamming a schooner down near my exposed hand.

"I love it!"

Laughter erupts between the two of us as Bard's face creases as his mouth breaks into a wide smile and I watch the towelette over his shoulder sway as he swings his hand to greet my hair, ruffling it eagerly. "You finally made it, kid!"

Damn right I did.

"You're the biggest name in the Capitol! I'm surprised you even remembered me, slaving away in this here bar."

"How could I forget you, Bard?"

Bard Munruben Jericho, my biggest inspiration. He's always been tall and imposing, it's a wonder in itself how he doesn't hit his head walking in the door. Been working in a bar for fifteen years and he's only just turned thirty. One of the few I can confidently confide in, even in this public setting; he never gets a break. He's been going grey half his life.

"Well, maybe it got to your head, just like the last bloke in your job, eh?" he says with a laugh. It makes me uneasy, thinking of what the President did in only her first year in office.

Jos Merrick, head gamemaker for only two years until he made a fatal mistake; his tributes opposed him, slitting their own throats to leave old Jos without a victor. He was forced to resurrect the tribute who survived the longest, which cost the Capitol money and tarnished its reputation, making a laughing stock out of their games. Jos resigned after the games, but that didn't stop his public decapitation.

It's time to leave.

"Go pour some beer, Bard."

"Y-You're leaving so soon?"

"I've got matters to attend to."

Bard nods with a knowing smile and I stride out the door, past couples lounging on the green leather seats made to resemble an old-style pub mixed with diner chic. The Taberna Muns Ruben is the hub of town, an easy meal for Capitol folk situated right in the centre of the entertainment capitol of... the Capitol. Only a few streets away lie the lane that leads to the presidential buildings, on which the chariots will ride in the coming weeks.

The chariots will carry twenty-four children, dressed exquisitely by the most talented designers and stylists in Panem. These children will spend a week dining on the most exquisite and elegant food in the country as they train for three days to prepare for the pageant. Swords, spears and knives but also survival skills and intelligence are needed to survive in the arena, which they are dropped in right after the interviews.

Of course, the Capitol population are essential to the tributes surviving this game. They can sponsor a tribute, maybe more, and secure their survival by providing them with essentials; food, water, a map to shelter, but also weapons and key intelligence on the other tributes; their locations, skills and current situations. But, the Capitol folk aren't stupid; they won't pay to keep you alive if they don't like you. The interviews are a key procedure in the games where the audience can get to know and get to like a tribute; on the contrary they could get to loathe a tribute as well.

Another way for the tributes to increase their chances of winning is through their training score, a summary of the tribute regarding skill, intelligence and probability of winning the games. They range from one to twelve, twelve being exceptional. The scores originate from the private sessions where tributes get fifteen minutes to showcase their ability to the Gamemakers, the governing body of the games.

Which, this year, includes myself.

It's surreal.

People gasp and gloat in awe as I walk these streets directly in front of them. A Gamemaker walking among them, and not just a Gamemaker, a Head Gamemaker. Yes, after my announcement a few days ago, people have likened to me for many reasons. My fashion sense; casual yet professional. My style; pink and white, similar to our President who wears pink and white dresses. My plans for the games and my overall personality; I portray myself as a warm and bubbly being, harmoniously working for the people of the Capitol. While I am one for the people, few know of my true plans.

The Quell card is announced publicly tonight. Of course, myself, my team and the President were made to know of the twist months ago so we can prepare properly for the games, but finally the people- and the Districts -will know of the hope I bring to them, the hope I bring to their pageant, the hope I bring to Panem.

But the hope is only for my people.

I will reignite their flame against the Districts and pour as much damn fuel over it as I need to make them despise the outer lands. I will make them long for tribute deaths while maintaining the entertainment of the games as much as possible. This is, of course, a national event.

I will write my name into the history books as a Gamemaker for the ages. "Nicol Janvier" will forever reside alongside the most beloved names in Panem.

I already spy myself around the city, bleached white skin, chiseled jaw facing upward, looking unto the horizon, hopeful of the future as my recently-dyed bright pink hair stands naturally, swooping to the side. My neck muscles are bulging, shoulders flat, bright blue eyes searching for my name, plastered by my picture.

'Nicol Janvier: The People's Gamemaker'

The people's Gamemaker.

I love it.

I've developed a confident swagger by the time I arrive at the Headquarters, strolling in smiling. I don't normally smile, I'm extremely insecure of the gap between my front two teeth, but I feel it's good for me to feel some self-love every once in a while.

Our front desk, Jahla, looks up momentarily from the latest issue of Capitol Couture and almost looks shocked. She's such a slacker I would sack her if she wasn't such a sight for our business relations. Sweet smile, rounded face, long, blonde hair fading to pink; it's our own little trend to have pink hair. In fact, it's growing so popular I'm expecting the Flickerman of the year to adopt out colours for the interviews.

"Morning, Nicol!"

I slump against the clear marble desk bearing a Hunger Games banner and flop my hair over my face, attempting to act cool and aloof. "What's shaking, bacon?"

"Bacon?"

"It's a saying, Jahla."

"Oh! I get it! They rhyme!"

I sigh aloud to emphasise my dissent. "Yes, now have you sent out those infomercials yet? The games is a national event, you know."

"Huh?"

"The information commercials about the games, have you sent them?"

"Oh, no."

"Well hop to i- hey, who is that?" Laden across the first page of Capitol Couture is a lady strikingly familiar in my mind. Her head a mess of long, brown to pink locks, curling its way down her face, lips decked in bright red gloss, colourful tattoos streaming down her right arm and dressed in a bright red dress, low cut. The Capitol's favourite magazine has a tradition of not labeling its topics... could it be?

"That's President Ember, silly!"

She's dyed her hair pink.

We've made it.

We've been endorsed by the President.

We can take over the world!

"Jahla... Jahla she looks like us!"

With a sharp giggle and a smile Jahla nods, her cheeks overbearing her eyes as they make room for her smile.

Another spring is added to my step as I bound toward the elevator. We've made it. I've made it.

I'm going to make this the best Hunger Games of all.

Part two of Lovestruck: The Adventures of Nicol, everybody!

We have two final slots available for this SYOT, District 11 Male and District 12 Male! I'd like to say a big thank you to everyone who's already submitted and an even bigger thank you to those who've supported this story by reviewing, following and favouriting! It means the world to me to have such a solid start!

I can promise you the first POV will be coming within the next few days. Thank you for reading!