The battle is all over except the "shouting" when one knows what is wanted and has made up his mind to get it, whatever the price may be.
Napoleon Hill

Verity helps me into some pants and a long sleeve shirt. It's not what I'd think would be fitting of him wanting to meet me, but I don't question it. In less than five minutes, I'm out the door and being taken to him.

I'm taken to a car with dark windows. It slips through the streets and no one realizes that their most recent victor is inside. I'm lead into his mansion, and up the lush velvety stairs to where he must be waiting for me.

I stand there for a few minutes, before a door opens. A tall, copper headed young man walks out with sunglasses on. For a moment, he stops to look at me, sliding the glasses down his nose. Sea green eyes meet mine, and I realize that he's not just anyone. He's another victor—it's Finnick Odair.

Before I can process it though, he's gone and I'm sitting in front of President Snow in a low seat. His chair is higher than mine, and he's looking down at me. I don't say anything, trying to remember what Verity said to me.

He presses his plump limps together, and I can't help but think he looks even more garish and snake-like in person than on the television. I can almost see him coiled up, venom dripping from his mouth, ready to strike at me. With his next words, I find out just how right I am.

"Ms. Mason. Let me begin by saying that I don't intend to lie to you." Strange, I think. But he purse's his lips together. "I know you don't believe me, but you'll see that I'm quite frank. There are certain, duties expected of a Victor." He shuffles some papers around on his desk. "Do you understand what I mean?"

His cold eyes are assessing me, but I shake my head.

"I thought not." I want to retort angrily that I'm not stupid, but I bite it back. "You see…Victors are quite special people, and often there are patrons who would pay to…spend time with these Victors." He pauses delicately, "Special time. I'm sure you understand what I mean now, Ms. Mason?"

I feel the hot color in my cheeks, and find myself standing up before I can stop myself. "You want me to be a prostitute?" I spit out.

"I want you to show how grateful you are to these people for being allowed to live. For me allowing your family to be left alone, Ms. Mason." He's staring at me in that cold, cruel way again.

I sink back to my chair, and I realize I've been threatened. If I value my family, I have to do what he wants. Whatever he wants, because he's allowing them to live as long as I'm useful.

"Let's be clear," and my voice is even as I speak. "I do what you want, and you leave my family alone? The peacekeepers, everyone leaves my family alone?"

"I think we understand each other Ms. Mason. So do you…agree to these amiable terms?"

What choice do I have? If I say no, he'll make an example of me probably. I understand that now. Winning isn't winning. It's a life-time sentence of servitude to the Capitol as a sex slave—or at least until there's nothing that can stop you from refusing. But I don't have that luxary, there are people I love.

My eyes meet his, and I think how easy it would be to grab a pen from his desk and thrust it through his heart. But then what would happen to my family? "I understand perfectly."

"I'm so glad, Ms. Mason that we could find agreeable terms. Be ready by 10 PM tonight." He motions me away with his hand, "Please show yourself out. And congratulations on your win."

His lips are in that plump line as I walk out. I feel sick. So this is what a Victor has to do to live after the arena?