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Penelope Cardona, District Four: Evaluation

Place in the 61st Hunger Games: 9th Place

Ice clinks inside the stubby glass, islanded by fermented waters. Two to be exact. I like the number two. It was safe. Useful. One was too risky. Three was too much. But two, two was perfect. Lose one, have another. Backup. That's why Taticus is here with me. A second opinion was always valuable when choosing a new lover.

We weren't browsing the late-night shopping network, oh no. The selections on there were much too shoddy for my taste, cheap boys and girls used and abused by anyone with spare change to get rid of. Worse, they were all so common. Everyday mannequins styled in those gawdy getups proclaimed as the "future of fashion". Atrocious, if you asked me. There was a time where the Capitol was a simpler place, one where being dressed to the nine was expected of true ladies and gentlemen. Where parents granted their newborns names of great warriors of a bygone era. Now, they were being subjected to such things as Vermilion Sapienti. Vermilion. As in the official color of the luxury district.

That is why we are scooted in front of my lounge room's hologram player scooping out the new recruits. The twenty-four lovely children to be picked, polished, and presented in their dirty districts and casted away to my playground to be used at my disposal. Particularly the selections of the female varieties was of the most interest.

"It's starting, shh," Taticus speaks, silencing me though I've said nothing aloud. Thinning green hair swooped into a ponytail, the aging man hungrily gnaws and slurps on boiled peanuts as the Reaping Recap begins. As Head Gamemaker, I have live access to all twelve District Reapings but it just kills me to sit through each tired speech, useless mayor presentation, and that outdated piece of historical cinema they've broadcasted for eons.

Hm, District One. What do you have for me this year? Surprisingly the girl is not another carbon copy blonde, but that is where the differences stop. Carrying the same arrogant air of the volunteers who have come before her, nothing is special about Ms. Radiance St. Noir. Pretty yet typical. The same goes for her male counterpart strutting to the stage. Too much like last year's pair, Beautiful and Levi. Yes, both were memorable Career tributes known for their beauty and brutality but no one likes reruns. I've already had to hear it from Coriolanus for how short it lasted, no matter the incredible ratings it brought in.

"My is that a strapping young lad. So blond, virile. Muscles bursting out of that nice suit," Taticus literally drools over Mr. Valor Rousseau, camera zoomed in on his flawless smile.

We share a hearty laugh, pouring another glass of gin. That's why I like Taticus. Other than his lust for the same sex, we are two of a kind: decadent hedonists refusing to be tied down by that 'wife and children' bullshit. Our colleagues might have fallen prey to it but not us. To meet someone whose sexual appetite rivals my own is just mindblowing. Is the man such an insatiable pervert! There's not a body he would say no to. Man or woman, young or old, beautiful or hideous. Taticus isn't much of a looker himself but never has that stopped him, sporting a new plaything at every ritzy function or swanky party. His voracious libido knows no limits. Neither does mine.

"Down boy. He'll be all yours in a few days." My chuckling is cut short when District Two is shown. While they make for a spectacular show and are fan favorites of the Capitol, the trolls and ogres of the masonry and weaponry district fail miserably in the looks department. Rarely have I seen anything of aesthetic worth come out of the militant place. Trampling her way to the stage, I'm tempted to call up their mayor and demand a redo. Not Hortensia's girl. Anyone but her. Working with the Victor is already going to be pure misery, but having her daughter in the Games as well? Come on.

Meanwhile, Taticus can't stop laughing. Victor Veronesi is known among the Gamemaker circle to be an, to put it quite nicely, absolute bitch to work with. Demanding, rude, we sometimes subject her tributes to the worst deaths just to spite her. I can use one hand to name the people who genuinely like the fiery woman. The rest of us only tolerate her because of her long winning lineage and unusual power she wields in the Capitol. She isn't even attractive and how unfortunate for her daughter to be the splitting image of the tyrant.

"This shall be interesting."

The male tribute and District Three pass without incident and soon the sandy shores of District Four splashes its way onto the screen.

Now it's my turn to shush my fellow Gamemaker. "Quiet you. This is what I've been waiting for."

The fishing district has always held a soft spot in my heart. It's my go-to getaway whenever I need time away from all the glitz and glamour of the big city. The air is fresh. The food is lovely. The sights, oh are the sights to die for. Their women are just delectable! Such natural beauts, not like the creatures I'm forced to choose from here in the Capitol. If only I was allowed to live there. It's such a shame the tributes of Four lose more often than their more popular allies. This year though, this year I want it to be different. I've had my eyes set on acquiring a nice Four woman for quite some time. As tempting as it would be, I can't just pluck one from the waters and ship her to the Capitol unless they are a Victor and none of the current Victors of Four will do. Either too old, too damaged, too ugly, or a combination of the three. I need something new, something exciting. Something I can sink my teeth, and tongue, into.

I get just what I ask for when the escort proceeds with the drawing. A chubby twelve-year-old is replaced by what I must declare to be the most beautiful specimen I've ever laid eyes on. In a pretty orange dress putting all sunsets to shame, my future bride glides to her stage in her worn leather princess slippers, commanding the show like it was produced just for her.

"What is your name, promising tribute?"

"Penelope Cardona." Coffee on a bitter cold morning is her voice. Smooth, sultry. Yet revitalizing. It wakes you up. When I see her flash a smile so vicious, so bloodthirsty, it seals the deal.

I want this sun-kissed, raven-haired, curvy, youthful, petite Ms. Penelope Cardona. I demand her. Dare I say it: this may be love at first sight.

"Does Vermilion have a crush on a certain tribute?" Taticus teases, peanut shells falling out of his wrinkled mouth.

I'm so memorized by my future wife that I completely tune out the rest of the viewing. "Indeed I do."

Grinning, I say, "That Penelope girl? She's mine. I'll make sure of that."

Running a sword through one training dummy and slitting the throat of the next, the boy tribute from Four skids to a dramatic finish of his private session. Placing the weapon down on the display, he turns towards us, patiently awaiting the standing ovation he believes he deserves.

Bored out of my mind, I have to fight off a yawn. "Tribute Menendez, you are free to leave. Thank you."

His face falters, clearly not expecting the lackluster response to the show he thought he put his heart and soul into. Creek doesn't have the sense to hide his disappointment, bowing quickly and giving us a curt thank you before stomping off.

"I like him." Mitzi is the first to speak. I respect my fellow Gamemaker's opinion but she's a new recruit, fourth year on the board. The young woman wants every tribute, both terrific and terrible, to have a high score. Too nice, I say.

"Give him the usual Career score," I wave off her enthusiasm and everyone denotes a score of eight. If the boy really did deserve such a score I would never know. While he was running around making a mess of the place, all I could think of was his beautiful district partner. Of how graceful she would move. Of how delicious she would look in her training uniform. It was rather unprofessional of me to ignore a promising one like Creek especially just seven tributes in, but his score matters little in the grand scheme of things. He could have rightly earned a twelve for all I care. If I am to receive my Penelope, her district partner will be killed one way or another.

I hold my breath when she enters. Ms. Cardona waltz in front of us with the confidence of ten Victors, toned legs standing out in her skin-showing uniform. I was so torn as to what the tributes would wear this year for training. What would show off the ladies' bodies more: tights or shorts? M final decision was spandex shorts, the best of both worlds. A brilliant idea, seeing Penelope fitting into hers just perfectly.

"Penelope Cardona. District Four," she bows slowly then comes back up, a few strands of that short, silky smooth hair of hers getting in the way. Her chocolate eyes meet each of our own, mines a little longer. A silent provocation, daring us to give her a low score.

"Madame Cardona, start when you are ready." The excitement is too much to bear. Madame Cardona just sounds sexy. Or what about Mistress Cardona? Mistress Sapienti? My hands subtly smooth out the insides of my robe. I hope no one has seen how aroused I've become.

Throwing knives are her weapons of choice. A silence falls over the group while we watch the assassin at work. Watching her move is like witnessing a ballerina in her prime. Gracefully, Madame Cardona dances about the place, footwork at a level I haven't seen in years. The target dummies stand not a chance, the Four girl striking them with near flawless precision. She is deadly both long and short distance. A kick in the neck. A slash at the throat. Two backflips and bullseye right in the heart. I'm simply enthralled by this eighteen-year old wonder. The same goes for my colleagues, scribbling down notes on their electronic pads. I take notes of my own, both physical and mental. Her breasts, succulent in that skintight shirt, jiggle with every move. Well-toned buttocks taunt me as she twists and turns about the stage.

Simultaneously, Taticus and I's devious gaze meet across the table.

She's a keeper, he mouths.

I nod eagerly, not trusting myself with doing anything more.

Suddenly, Penelope lunges into the small swimming pool behind her, producing a gasp out of some of the Gamemakers. I stare in awe at my love. She takes to the water so naturally, effortlessly. Of course she does. The girl's from District Four.

Take that Radiance and Domitia! This girl will give both broads a run for their money. They all better sleep with one eye open and their weapons close because Penelope has a bloody future ahead of her.

When she leaps out of the waters soaking wet, uniform clinging to her braless body, it takes every ounce of my dignity not to launch myself at the girl.

"Bravo Madame Cardona. Very nice. Yes, yes," I clap for the Career, unable to hide my obvious favoritism. My colleagues look at each other confusedly, eventually joining in on the applause. Never do we show this much emotion towards tributes, even the amazing ones.

"Thank you," Penelope's voice floats my way and kisses me goodbye. My eyes detach from her gracious backside only when it leaves me, walking out the door.

Mitzi scrunches up her pudgy nose. "She was okay. A bit too reckless for me."

"Shut up woman," I bark, causing the younger Gamemaker to shrink back in her chair. She doesn't say another word. "A ten for Madame Cardona."

"Does this mean we have an automatic win on our hands?"

We're in the deliberation room, reviewing our notes on the twenty-four tributes and finalizing scores. Right now the Seven girl, Cecily, is up for discussion. I vaguely recall the teen climbing up the rockclimbing mound and doing decent at the netmaking station. Taticus and I are huddled in the corner, having a private conversation on a much more important subject. No one wants to bother the Head Gamemaker and his second-in-command, so we are left to do as we please.

I pause, taking the time to formulate the right answer. "No."

Surprised, the balding man immediately gets giddy over the revelation. He believes this now guarantees Valor to him. He is my dearest friend but at times Taticus can be too simple-minded.

"Why not?"

"Because this is the Hunger Games. All bets and sponsors aside, this is a fight to the death, not a fight to see who is the prettiest or can make the audience laugh the most." Making a face, he instantly loses interest in the subject and walks away to join the others. Taticus does not like my response. That's unfortunate.

Too often has a quality year been diluted into a beauty pageant or a popularity contest. I do listen to the public's opinion and heed their interests, yet Coriolanus and I have the final say on what goes, and tradition comes first. The Hunger Games needs to go back to its roots: a free-for-all separating the strong from the weak. The definitive measure of ultimate physical and intellectual prowess. What is being tarnished by the uneducated masses and flimsy Gamemakers is the element of surprise. Surprise is essential to the Games. Surprise is the Hunger Games. Killing off a tribute that was smooth sailing to victory moments before. Letting the weak live through a trap that was certain to finish them off. Taking out a Career or two just days into the Games. It keeps everyone on their toes, and everyone in place.

Now, everyone wants things to be rigged but rigging is dangerous. Rigging produces patterns. Patterns produce stability. Stability produces comfort. Our forefathers did not enact the Hunger Games to pacify the nation. It was created to elicit fear. Submission. Every citizen of Panem must be commanded to obey the Capitol, Career districts included. Career districts especially. This country will not spiral out of control and thrown into anarchy, not while I'm Head Gamemaker.

If Penelope wants to live, the girl has to prove her worth to me. No favoritism granted for any tribute. Beautiful or not, she will have to fight and fight well. No matter how pretty the face, it can easily be replaced.

And outmatched.

I couldn't be happier with how things were shaping out in the Arena. Coriolanus insisted that I draw out this year as long as possible. It was a challenge, balancing the icy man's demands while entertaining the audience and producing a Hunger Games I was proud to call my own, but I have fulfilled all three interests.

But there is more to be done, more to be revealed. Twelve days in and a miraculous number of tributes still roams the Arena I've titled 'The Urban Jungle'. Eight of them. The Career Alliance, what's left of it, mans the Two building and is tearing at the seams. I'd give it an hour or two before it completely dissolves. The rest are hiding out in various buildings.

Quirky Eli in Six.

Skittish Morgana, amazed that she is still alive, in Five.

Determined Valentino in Seven.

Pacifist turned murderer Isaiah in Nine. A grin appears on my face when I think back on the traps I've tormented the boy with, punishment for defying the Capitol in his interview with unauthorized talk of religious cults. He will be dealt with soon.

And then there was the husky tribute from Ten, Giovanni Del Rojo, barely hanging on in Four. Tribute Del Rojo was quite a survivor; cheating death twice, once by pure luck and the second by my hands. Yes, Creek rightfully deserved to win against Giovanni, everyone knows that, but I needed to keep the audience guessing, so down the Career went.

This time, there will be no more chances given to him or anyone. I had tampered with the Games far enough, coddling the tributes, bombing Eleven and Twelve for dramatic effect. The tributes were playing the defensive for too long and that got boring quick. It was time to leave it all in the hands of chance now. Let the odds truly be their favor, for they'll need all the luck in the world to survive what is about to come.

"Unleash the grinder."

One press of a button and it's showtime.

Evolution ignites in front of our eyes. Things come to a stop. Both tribute and Gamemaker pause to take in the abnormal silence that has consumed the Arena that has, until now, produced noises since the start. Bombs are ceased. Typing is stopped. The Careers take a break on their bickering. It's time to present the next contender in the 61st Hunger Games.

Isaiah is the first to see it. The boy runs like his life depended on it (actually it does), soaring through the Arena and leaping over the gates before we have time to fully lower them.

"Well he's eager," says Mitzi, chuckling at the teenager's vain effort to keep himself alive. With his puny baton, who does he think he'll defeat? Don't even know why he bothers.

It takes for Valentino to make a run for it for the others to realize that they need to either move or die. I shake my head at the pitiful sight of the Careers, way up high in the Two building, letting the others beat them inside the Capitol building. They are the main reason why I have released the grinder in the first place. This year's Careers have been something to remember. For all the wrong reasons. First it was the pathetic kill count at the first bloodblath. Just three? What were they doing, playing patty cake and tea time with the other tributes? I had hosted another bloodbath, a second one, the next day for the group redeem themselves. Just one kill. One! And the last two left to duke it out were two randoms from Seven and Twelve. Thankfully Orazio's surprise death spurred up some activity in the dull alliance, but that was not enough for me.

Worse, Penelope has turned into a great disappointment. Granted she did perform quite nicely when I gave her the twelve-year-old from Six to eliminate but when she approached Domitia threatening to end the alliance first day in, I had to reevaluate my entire thought process on the girl. How foolish of her to provoke her strongest opponents so soon! No matter if she was bluffing, who in their right mind does that? That one act set of a wildstorm, neither girls ever forgiving the other and me never forgiving Penelope. The more she opened her mouth, the more I found myself falling out of love with her. To go from a flawless beauty to an annoying twat so quickly…I just don't understand.

I watch the Careers falter and embarrass themselves by letting the poisoned, weakened Giovanni escape their grasp and limp into the Capitol tower ahead of them. Originally I had planned for the grinder to take him out. The Ten boy's jokes and cockiness were fun but his time was up. Now I don't know who to kill. I can't just get rid of the grinder. That wouldn't be a good show. Imagine how upset my audience will be. So who should die the most gruesome death of this year's Games?

Will it be Domitia? Her mother recently made her appearance in the master room minutes earlier, questioning my intentions even though we have told her time and time again only Gamemakers are allowed at this point. It would serve Hortensia right, bossing me around like I'm her servant. Victor or not, she was from the districts and she needed a reality check. If it meant sacrificing her daughter, so be it.

Maybe Radiance. She is falling dangerously close to the metal spikes. One false move and it's game over. The brunette had been boring me, playing keepaway and laying lowing too much of the time. I had forced her to kill the Three tribute to spice things up and more importantly to show her usefulness. It was time to leave Domitia's shadow or face the consequences.

Or is it Valor's time to die? An eager Career who killed at the drop of a hat, it would be a shock to seem him mutilated by the grinder yet a shock gossiped about for months to come. Taticus would never forgive him. His cravings grew so strong for the boy that he would send out a legion of muttations on the others if it meant a night with the blond. Oh well. He'll get over his loss. With the attention span of a toddler, it would only be hours until he found another young thing to salivate over.

Any of the three would be justifiable and make for a memorable show. Whatever happens at this point, I'm satisfied either way.

The decision is made for me and it's one I did not expect. Sipping the entire glass of white wine and hastily pouring another, I witness Domitia execute her now former ally and feed her to the spiky mouth of the Urban Jungle to save the One girl. It's a horrible sight, viewing such a masterpiece be literally torn to shreds. I can't handle the torture, mentally blocking out the screams and pleas of Tribute Cardona. Neither can any of the other Gamemakers, squirming in the chairs and distracting themselves with anything but the bloodshed laid out in front of our eyes. Even the creators of such monstrosities can get a little squeamish when it performs its duties a little too well.

As the remaining tributes line up for the second part of the Feast, my angry lashes out on the very person that caused this mess. If Tribute Cardona had just been a better Career then I wouldn't have had to result to such barbarism! She is to blame, the silly girl. Less arguing and more killing and she would have been alive! Damn the imbecile! Getting me all worked up for nothing. She was so pretty too, the epitome of physical perfection. Now what am I to do?

Taticus goes to comfort me and I take his skeleton hand from off my shoulder. What does he care? His selection is still alive and well. I don't need his feigned concern.

Chin in my hands, I'm offhandedly scanning the kids below when my gaze pauses on the District One girl. Bloodied and traumatized she may be, never has Ms. Radiance St. Noir looked so…beautiful. I didn't notice her svelte figure, or how perfectly placed her bun sits atop her head, or the mischievous glimmer in those caramel eyes. Standing atop her plate, I see how the One girl lives up to her name.

Hm…..Madame St. Noir was never ugly. Just not my first choice. She is also from District One, a fine place to spend one's vacation if I do say so myself. Life with the girl wouldn't be too bad. I could settle for her. The brunette looks like she knows her way around the bedroom too, the naughty imp. Always a plus. On second thought, I was a fool to pass up Madame St. Noir! Silly me, ignoring the most gorgeous tribute to grace the Games in years. This girl will be the next Madame Sapienti. I just know it in my heart. Nothing will stand in her way; I'll make sure of it.

I always knew backups came in handy. Two is certainly the promised number.

Oh, indeed it is.