A.N. Reapings begin next chapter!
"Oh hello, Seneca," said the president, as he stepped amiably over the threshold as casually as if he had just decided to stop by. "I hope I'm not intruding?"
"No, no not at all, no" said Seneca with a nervous laugh. Dym opened her mouth indignantly, about to say something but her employer shot her a look. A look that meant "Shut it now or be an Avox."
"As I am sure you are aware, I am here regarding the upcoming Hunger Games. I hope you have made progress because-"here the President paused for emphasis. "Because in one hand I hold your paycheck and in the other a very large pair of scissors. Should I find your efforts disappointing, my one hand might just slip-"
He needed to say no more.
"Let me begin" said Seneca with a broad sweeping gesture, "With the plans for the arena- or should I say arenas, as we have decided to have more than one."
"More than one?" The President looked quizzically at him. "And how much am I expected to pay for this?"
Seneca gulped and thought quickly on his feet. From across the room, Modesto mouthed I told you so and Seneca gave him a withering look.
"Of course, Mr President, sir, I have kept that in mind. We are planning on building smaller arenas, to save money and get the tributes to integrate more frequently, which, hopefully, will lead to plenty of death."
"Show me the plans." Seneca summoned a screen and ran through a slideshow of each one, with detailed anatomy of muttations, weather forecasts and bonus arena features.
"No. No. I don't like that. Or that. That mutt is shoddy work, just shoddy. And that mutt looks my stepdaughter's toy bear and is just as scary. We did those two Hunger Games ago. That might be satisfactory... but it needs a lot of work before you even think about putting it in an arena." He continued after the presentation had finished.
"What did you say was your idea for the first arena?"
"I was thinking..." the words were getting harder to say for Seneca Crane. "I was thinking- for the first arena- a woodland."
"Woodland." The President's face was deadpan. "Original."
Something in his tone told Seneca that he clearly thought it wasn't.
"However although you have utterly failed to interest me with your arena plans, I have to admit that the idea of more than one arena might, just might, keep the Games afloat for this year. You have no idea the delicacy of the situation. I shall be anticipating the bloodbath of your Games with high expectations, and I sincerely wish that you do not disappoint me again."
He turned to leave, and then turned back, as if with an afterthought.
"And also, your proposed lists of Tribute escorts will never do. They're all far too sentimental to ever do the job properly this year. There's only one I know who is up to this task. I need a misanthrope. I need a hardliner. I need a bully. In short, I need Medusa Tiofa."
Medusa, despite what the name implied, was not a Gorgon but many found the name highly suitable. She couldn't turn anyone to stone with a look, but nobody doubted that she had tried. This was probably why the cell in which she had spent the last five years in at Cassius Crane Reformatory Prison on the outlying edges of the Capitol- was empty apart from her.
So when President Snow entered Cell 276 Cell Block H, he did not see an emaciated fearful shadow of a person, he saw a grumpy woman with big feet and black hair, with her arms crossed and her feet crossed on the table, looking bored, as if her bus was late.
"Oh it's you," she said monotonously after President Snow had coughed twice. She did not turn her head in his direction, or stand up to address him. She carried with what she was doing: which was nothing.
"So good to see that the people of Panem show the respect owed to their leader."
"Leader? More like you yank them round by their necks and drag them in the direction-"
But she was interrupted by a long drawn-out scream emanating from Cell 275: the torture chamber, where most of the reforming took place. The screamer kept on screaming, and instinctively Snow winced. But Medusa showed no emotion other than irritation, dragging her feet off of the table and stomping over to the wall, which she thumped three times and shouted, with more emotion than she had shown so far:
"Shut up already! I have a headache!"
The response was hoarse and unimpressed.
"Oh yeah? Well I'm so sorry. I just so happen to be being effing electrocuted right now!"
"And that's my problem because?" snapped Medusa.
Yes, Medusa Tiofa was always a very compassionate person.
"I never fail to be impressed with your relationship with the world," said the President, face deadpan as ever.
"Yeah, well" Medusa slumped back against the wall and resumed being bored. "I haven't had much to do since you threw me in here."
"You called me Fascist bastard," said President Snow, with remarkable patience.
"Oh, punished for a little slip of the tongue, are we? Aren't we getting a little touchy in our old age?"
"Hardly. You screamed it at me 57 times."
"And loved every one." Medusa suddenly became fascinated with a speck of dirt on her thumbnail. "What you here for? Obviously not my delightful company?"
"Not that, no." Snow hid a smile. How this girl ever became an escort was beyond him, though he liked her genuineness. She was exactly the kind of person to tell you that yes your bum did look big in that, and then give a few colourful adjectives as to just how big.
"What is it, then? One of your mistresses given up the ghost?"
"Get your head out of the gutter, please. No, there is an upcoming Hunger Games, featuring all Mary Sue tributes and we need someone of your calibre to be an escort for all 24 tributes."
Medusa scowled. "Too much like hard work. Am I allowed to scalp them?"
"Absolutely not."
"Not interested then."
"This is not a question of interest, Tiofa. We need a heart of stone who will be able to judge the situation dispassionately, and not simply adore the tributes and be carried on a wave of emotion that will only lead to embarrassment and failure. "
"Heart of stone? Sounds like this job was made for me. So what do I get? A few houses? Fat sacks of cash moneeeeeey?"
The President wrote something on a small scrap of paper which he slid down the table towards her. She opened it and let out a long whistle.
"Consider it done." She said hoarsely.
The President proffered an affable smile. "I'm so glad. But there is one condition-"
"Oh yeah?"
"Please try to have a bath between now and the Games."
And then he left the cell, knowing full well that Medusa was sulking at the comment.
