Second part of the training sessions are here, and once again, much longer than I expected... I never intended this SYOT to be nearly 100,000 words, yet here we are, this is easily my proudest achievement, wow. Anyway, yes, this is the training sessions for Districts 7-12, followed by a little Capitol check in, and the reveal of the current President...
Name: Flynt Eaton
Age: 17
District: Seven
Gender: Male
Skills Shown:
Flynt allowed himself one final glance back at Lilac and Florence before entering the room, and instantly regretted it. The last thing he needed was the reminder that this was something he was going into alone. So far he had had Florence with him the whole time, on the train, the chariots, the training, and now this was just him. Nervousness wasn't something that he usually suffered from, he was confident and sure of his talents, but the people here would seal his fate. He wasn't some small innocent looking person that could gain sympathy and sponsors just by fluttering his eyelashes. Flynt looked like the typical career, and whilst he knew he wasn't, the Gamemakers staring down at him didn't. All he had on his side were his skills, and ones he needed to show were enough for him to win, that they could back him and he would deliver.
He hadn't planned out what he was going to do. The man had worked out that too often plans failed, and then it was difficult to think on his feet spontaneously. The Games so far had proved that theory to him: Flynt's plans simply didn't work. He hadn't come in here with the expectation of finding friends or a lover, he had intended simply to fly under the radar. So he went in with no expectations, of what it would be like, or what would happen, just hoping deeply for the best.
From the time he had spent at the training centre, and from his work back home, Flynt had realised that his best option for the Games was to focus on one weapon, and then hope that he got his hands on it in the arena. And so he had opted for an axe. It was powerful and could kill with one blow, and it took a lot of physical strength to hold and swing, something he hoped and assumed many of the other tributes wouldn't be able to handle. So that's where he headed first, the beady eyes of those observing him following his every move.
He picked up the wooden handle, running his finger over the sharp blade, daunted that he had the power to kill. Flynt had the capacity to do it too, he didn't doubt that. If it was to protect his team or even himself, he knew he could swing back the weapon and take a life. That wasn't to say Flynt wouldn't feel guilty about it, he knew it would plague him for the rest of his life, but sometimes, you had to take the hard road. For now though, the risk of killing people was something he could forget about, in front of him now was only plastic, and that he could destroy without giving it a second thought.
He let his strength go wild, and it felt to him like the axe was part of his body, just an extension of his arm, as he swung it around, leaving a mess of broken, mangled dummies, that even the strongest of doctors would have no hope of putting back together. When it was over, Flynt wasn't sure what to do. Was he supposed to bow? Wait for dismissal? Or could he just leave? After a few seconds of just hovering, he looked up. "Have a nice day…" He mumbled awkwardly, before heading for the door on the far side of the room.
Name: Florence Maugham
Age: 17
District: Seven
Gender: Female
Skills Shown:
This was what Florence imagined an execution march to feel like. Not that she was going to be dead in the next five minutes, but she knew that that would come soon enough, she was just sure she would wish she was. It was nerve racking at the best of times, training in front of a bunch of tributes she had never met before, with weapons she had never experienced, and cameras watching from every angle. But this was a whole different type of fright. She longed for Lya by her side to squeeze her hand and get her through it. All she had to focus on was that in under five minutes this would be over, and she could go off and enjoy her second to last dinner in the Capitol. Shit. The end really was near.
"Hi." She stood in the centre of the room, forcing herself to push the nervousness aside. Over half the other tributes had done this already, and even the most scared amongst them hadn't run crying from the room, there was no way she was going to be the first. "Florence Maugham, District Seven. But you knew that, I didn't need to tell you." It received a few laughs and whilst Florence wasn't sure that was totally what she was going for, it calmed her a little. "Right, Florence." She spoke under her breath this time, edging her way towards the weapons table and picking up a paintbrush. "This is your shot, don't mess it up."
In her normal life, Florence had focused on art to get her through things. It served her well and helped her express whatever she was feeling. There was no reason to take another approach now. And so gently, with as much haste as she could muster, whilst still trying to make it look flawless, Florence painted out wood etchings on her skin, that easily matched that of a tree. Then, as she moved to her other arm, using her less dominant hand to paint, she began to run, sprinting about the room, painting thorns and leaves and flowers on her hand, all whilst reciting all the edible berries she could remember. It was an impressive show, and one Florence just prayed the Gamemakers would appreciate. She didn't have any credible skill with weapons, and she had known from the start that she wasn't going to develop a talent in the few days training they had and so she had perfected the things she could already do, and showed them off here. At the end of the day, Florence had concluded, it was better to show them something a bit more boring but that she could do impressively than try and demonstrate something she was no good at.
As Florence's session drew to a close, she couldn't help but feel satisfied in the display she had put on. She would never get the best score, they were reserved for the likes of Flynt and Jordan who already had experience in being the physical best. But it might be enough to give her the mental boost she needed to realise that she had as much chance in the Games as almost all of her fellow tributes.
Name: Arbor Skove
Age: 22
District: Eight
Gender: Male
Skills Shown: Arbor shows much skill with the heavier weaponry, and has a great strength. In particular, his talent shone with the axe, and he was able to swing it and take out a dummy with one try. He also has great speed and the ability to climb both trees and ropes and an impressive speed. He poses a great threat to tributes, something that could be improved with increased practise at aim.
Name: Cassia Zimmerman
Age: 23
District: Eight
Gender: Female
Skills Shown: This girl is extremely intelligent, especially in the medical field. She showed the ability to heal and help using both the technical equipment provided, and the rather limited supplies that will be available in the arena. Cassia is also very knowledgeable about plants, and demonstrates the ability to survive long in the games. The limited display of weapon training that was shown was adequate, with decent aim and strength.
Name: Doug Miller
Age: 17
District: Nine
Gender: Male
Skills Shown:
Locke had shown Doug that there was more to life than being useless, than being someone else's puppet and having no say in what happened to you. It wasn't to say that Doug felt like he had been controlled by his family or forced to follow in their footsteps and take a job in mechanics he didn't want, he was thankful for everything that they had done for him. But, he had just become so used to being the loser, the one that was destined for a life of manual labour, and was useless for anything else. It was sad that a man he had known for less than three days had changed him so much, proven that if he set his mind to it, he was capable of remarkable things. Doug wanted to throw up, that sounded so cheesy. But more than that, he was thankful for Salome, she had seen something in him, more than he saw and allowed him to develop it. Whatever he did in here, was for them. In the Games, he would do anything he could to protect them, they had trained him and so he had to put that to use in their favour. Regardless, Doug still knew that the score he received now was not going to be anything earth-shatteringly good. But it would be a darn sight better than anything he could have done without the other tributes help.
To begin with, Doug focused on throwing knives, using the technique Locke had taught him. He envisioned the knife making contact with the target, and sure enough, it worked. A few were off centre, but Doug had mustered enough power to get them to stay in the boar without falling out. That was certainly an improvement. When Doug had gathered that the Gamemakers had got his point, he moved on to the blunt weapons. He had yet to trust himself with anything pointy, like a spear. He was clumsy and had absolutely no training, the last thing he needed was to end up impaling himself when he was meant to be impressing.
Doug hastily grabbed a metal studded wooden baton, aware that his minutes were numbered and desperate to show off more of his talent. He figured they had heard enough about edible berries and trap building to serve them a lifetime, so he was going to put on a show. He swung the baton over his head, smashing it into dummies. On his initial attempt, it took him a few tries to knock the thing to the floor, but as Doug concentrated more and put more of his strength into it, he could take the dummy down in a matter of seconds.
"Time." A blunt voice rang out as Doug smashed his fifth dummy to pieces. "Thank you, Nine."
Name: Lana Spice
Age: 21
District: Nine
Gender: Female
Skills Shown:
The first thing Lana noticed when she entered the room was the man. That wasn't to say she recognised him, she just noticed him. And it was clear that he noticed her too. She witnessed him shoot up from his chair in the centre of the gallery, muttering a line of curse words under his breath that she couldn't quite work out. Then a woman walked over, placed her hand on his shoulder and he appeared to settle down, sliding back into his seat. Lana played close attention to his name badge, using all the strength her eyes had to make out what it said. The name she couldn't quite read, but that didn't matter, the bold title underneath was enough to make her lips curve into a smug grin. Head Gamemaker. It was slowly coming back to Lana just where she knew him from. He had been the man on her balcony on the first night, he had been the one to bring Todd to his nephew. The Head Gamemaker had been the one to bend and break the rules to his own Games. This suddenly got a lot more interesting.
The man's eyes didn't leave her the whole time, as she completed her session, and she could physically see him holding his breath. This was a lot weirder than anything Lana had expected to happen. But she felt powerful, she probably had more power in this second than the man did. He might control her fate eventually, but in this instant, all Lana had to do was speak up, and she could ruin it. Every inch of her wanted to, it was what he deserved for working for a body that committed and encouraged such a thing as the Hunger Games. But then, it was strange, wasn't it? He had helped a boy get a final goodbye with the man he loved. Could their Head Gamemaker be that much of a monster if he was willing to do something like that? It didn't make sense, none of it made any sense. But just say that he had a scrap of decency, that he was doing something to help these tributes survive, it would be stupid for her to jeopardise it all by throwing a fit. No, she'd hold on to it for now, string him along and use him for as long as she could, to get her, Aila, Nautilus, D'ante and Dory a better shot in the Games, and then sell him out. He may have a conscience now, but he was still a monster to accept something like this in the first place. Lana allowed herself to meet his eye before she set off on her display of talent, sending him a wink, and holding her finger over her lips. That was enough for now, her main focus had to be on getting a good score.
Setting aside the distraction of the man, Lana headed towards the knives. At first, she opted just to throw them, but given the long slashes already in the target, that had already been done. So, after grabbing a bow and carving small indents in the wooden handles of a collection of knives, Lana placed them in the bow and began to shoot them. Her aim was sloppy, and a few missed completely, but she was resourceful. All the while, she listed off edible plants.
Before leaving, Lana allowed herself one look at the Head Gamemaker. His eyes were still fixated on her, but she could tell that now he was smiling. She hadn't said anything and so he had been spared. The smile wasn't smug and cold, like Lana had been expecting. It was warm and relieved, thankful almost, and the nod he gave him her direction made Lana realise that she had made the right decision in saying nothing.
Name: Ronin Cormac
Age: 18
District: Ten
Gender: Male
Skills Shown:
Ronin wasn't sure it was heartbreak, but the feeling of not having Vivian by his side was something he had never felt before. Maybe it was just guilt, strong guilt that plagued every inch of his body. He had promised he would protect her and look after her, both to the girl and to himself, and he had just let her be swept away by an old man that everyone already appeared wary of. Ronin knew deep down that he should have done more, he could have fought harder for her to stay with him, but he had given up, because at the end of the day, he didn't feel worthy. He didn't feel worthy of having someone as sweet and innocent as Vivian by his side, he didn't trust himself to save the girl, to do her justice. So he had concluded that it was for the best that she went with Luster. But that didn't feel the whole that was left in his heart. God, Rnin knew that just thinking this made him so dramatic. It was just that his whole life he had spent alone, keeping to himself, and the minute he had a sense of duty, it was taken from him.
He glanced at Vivian, now by herself after Luster had left, and he reached out his hand to place over her's. "Do you know how proud I am of you? How proud your mother is going to be of you?" Ronin whispered leaning in closer to her. Vivian nodded her head, and he could already see tears welling in her eyes. "You're amazing, kid, don't ever forget that." He finished, as his name was called and he was forced to enter the training room alone.
For a few seconds, once standing in the centre of the room, Ronin let himself panic. There was no way he would be able to pull this off. He knew the talent some of the other tributes had, that he could never match, and that just served to defeat the boy even more. Slowly, he counted down from ten, vowing that when he reached the final number he would start. Luckily for him, he had mustered enough courage to walk towards the weapons table and grasp a sword.
Ronin signalled for one of the trainers to enter his space, and take a sword of his own. Initially, Ronin was going to stick to dummies, but if he wanted to impress anyone, he would have to step it up. The clink of metal against metal stunned Ronin as he smacked his sword against that of the trainer's. He had never fought with another human before, and it was a lot harder than he had imagined, both physically and mentally, as Ronin was constantly worried that he would slip up and hurt the man, even if he never intended too.
He had seen sword fights like this in movies before, and so, of course, that was exactly what he tried to replicate, slashing and blocking moves with as much strength and power as he could find within him. It was going well, and things were looking his way, for the first two minutes at least, before the Peacekeeper drew back, and Ronin allowed himself to relax for a few seconds, and gain back his breath. The trainer struck then, butting the sword from Ronin's hand, and pushing the tribute backwards, slamming his body into the mat.
"Checkmate, Ten." The trainer mumbled, before Ronin allowed himself to close his eyes in defeat.
Name: Vivian Wilden
Age: 5
District: Ten
Gender: Female
Skills Shown: As expected Vivian shows little ability to survive in the Games past the initial countdown. She is a fast runner, and can hide well, with very limited training in painting and camouflage. Her training session, however, was cut short as she burst in to tears and left the room before being dismissed.
Name: D'ante Fertu
Age: 69
District: Eleven
Gender: Male
Skills Shown: In stark contrast the the previous tribute, D'ante recited a plethora of knowledge around plants and survival techniques, which eventually became tedious. When he attempted to work with weapons, he was clumsy and uncalculated, but there was so skill hidden there, especially with a sword. He appears physically strong, something that may work to his advantage.
Name: Aila Sayers
Age: 18
District: Eleven
Gender: Female
Skills Shown:
Aila's slender figure stood out in the huge room. She was a small girl already, at just under 5 foot, but in a room so large, she looked just a fraction of that. Usually Aila loved her height, she could fly under the radar and become noticeable, then strike and become the centre when she had something important to say. Now though, she was in a room by herself and she had to become the centre immediately, there was no hiding behind the louder or more confident tribute, just her and an assortment of weapons, many of which she had no skills with. In the orphanage, she had always been taught, and something she passed onto the other children, that knowledge was power, that in order to win you had to be smart, not just strong. That fact didn't just apply to the Games, but to real life as well. And so that's what Aila opted for now, focusing on using what she knew to detract from the fact she had very little weaponry skills. She had no doubt that countless tributes had done this before, all she knew was that she had to do it better.
Grabbing a paintbrush, and dipping it in green paint, she began to write out the names of all the edible plants on the floor, in a seemingly random design. Eventually, when Aila looked up and realised the Gamemakers were no longer paying attention, she stood up and stepped back, admiring her art. She cleared her throat, expecting to gain the attention of those observing her once more, but to no avail. Getting increasingly impatient, she took a knife in her hand, and threw it with all her force at the target. It missed, but that served Aila better, as the sound of it clanging to the floor forced the Gamemakers to look down. The gasps were audible from ven Aila's position on the floor, and a mix of nerves and pride built within her.
"Is that…?" One man walked to the centre of the room, and Aila caught a glimpse of his name tag. Kern. She hated the man already, solely based on his pretentious name.
"Yeah, that's him alright." Clem this time, and he walked to the glass pane, placing his hand on the glass. "President Snow." He hummed, and Aila could tell that she had impressed him. "Although, he hasn't looked that good in years." Clem continued quieter, but just loud enough for his microphone to pick up on.
"Maybe this will help his image?" Aila walked towards the table, taking hold of an entire can of red paint and dumping it over the portrait she had just constructed. She had remembered how alive she had felt on the balcony that first night, standing next to Jordan and screaming, she was part of something, something that had been dulling over the last few days, but something she was not ready to give up on just yet. "Better?"
Name: Jordan Onyx
Age: 23
District: Twelve
Gender: Male
Skills Shown:
Much to Jordan's disappointment, the Capitol sure knew how to get a message through, the dark blue bruises that covered his abdomen were tribute enough to that. On the way out of the training centre last night, he had been cornered by three Peacekeepers, and instructed not to, and he'll quote, 'try any funny business' at the Private Sessions. of course, Jordan had replied with a sarcastic remark, to which he had received a punch to the chest, and a kick in the side. At least now he knew where the line was between making the Capitol making the tributes feel welcome and protecting their own skin. Jordan knew that the stunts he had pulled so far crossed that line. So close to the Games he knew he had to play it safe, he couldn't risk getting hurt and becoming weaker. So he was going to play it safe, and just pray that someone else picked up his revolutionary baton.
By the looks of the training room when he entered, they had. Red paint covered the floor, in a puddle Jordan only supposed was meant to resemble blood. He wondered who it could have been. At first he thought Salome, she had a fire within her, but on closer inspection, it was still wet. It had to have been someone recent. Lana perhaps? Or maybe that quiet boy from Ten, he looked like he had secrets. All Jordan knew, was that for now at least, it couldn't be him that disobeyed the rules. There was too much at stake, he had been longing for the Games to just start already, and now he was in touching distance, he was not letting his chances be snatched away by a trigger happy Peacekeeper.
Instead of his original plan to wreak havoc on the training room and destroy everything the Capitol had built, Jordan opted for the less impressive, but equally as disrupted. All his life Jordan had had an affinity for throwing things, whether it was a tantrum to get his way or stones at helpless animals, the man knew that it was a talent of his that he couldn't be put to waste. But throwing knives at a target or even a dummy was so tiresome and boring, and Jordan could see the marks from where tributes prior to him had already done it. So instead, he propped a think crash mat against the wall, and impaled it with a spear, making sure the sharp end had embedded itself in the wall behind, before taking the target off its stand and piercing the centre of it on the wooden end of the spear, so it hung suspended in the air. From here, he could spin the target round and around a mile a minute, but only after he had painted medium sized black circles around the centre of the target, dotted about without a pattern.
Taking the pack of knives off the table, and backing far away from the spinning target, Jordan began to launch the knives through the air with ease, noticing the gasp from Gamemakers whenever they hit the target, which was, of course, every single time. Eventually, Jordan dropped the remainder of the knives and headed back to his makeshift spinning target, placing his hand against the cardboard and bringing it to a stop. When he stepped away, it was clear to see that the knives embedded in it were all directly the the centre of the black spots that he had created. He strongly doubted any tributes had done that before, something reinforced by the way the Gamemakers were staring back at them.
In true Jordan fashion, he raised his middle finger at them and exited the training room, having momentarily forgotten the throbbing in his side.
Name: Lilac Russi
Age: 16
District: Twelve
Gender: Female
Skills Shown:
Lilac hated what Flynt was doing to her. She had never been the type of person to rely on others, she was usually the one depended on, but all she could think about as she sat in the empty hallway, on her birthday of all days, was how much easier this would all be if he was by her side. She had heard the stories of tributes finding each other and falling in love during the Games, they were told to the children of Twelve as bedtime stories to prove the Games weren't all bad. But even at a young age, Lilac had never believed them, it was impossible to fall in love in a place where she was being conditioned to kill those she spent most of her time with. She also knew that what she felt for Flynt wasn't love, not yet at least. Love at first sight was bullshit, it was all just a story, and another one Lilac never subscribed to. But that didn't mean she didn't feel something for him, something she knew would come back to bite her sooner or later. Nevertheless, she knew the thoughts in her head would be so much easier to deal with if Flynt was next to her, cheering her on and making her feel worth something.
As the Peacekeepers guided her through to the training room, she felt something like relief, it was that one step closer to all being over, and she was no longer by herself, not that the company of twenty or so Gamemakers was something she had longed for previously, but it would do for now. Lilac knew that she had drawn the short straw being the last one to go, the room was a mess, the discarded attempts of every other tribute were still laid across the floor, and Lilac could tell that her first task was simply making it to the centre of the room, and sorting through whatever was left for her to use.
Daggers, okay, she could work with that. But first, she had to test out the strength of the walls. She plunged the weapon into the plaster of the wall, fully expecting it to just bounce off, but to her surprise, she was able to get it to stick. Lilac pulled down on it, and it stayed, sturdy enough. With force, as well, she was able to pull it out. And so she set off, she forced the two daggers into the wall just above her head, and pulled herself up. Steadying herself with her feet flat against the wall, and by throwing all her weight onto her left arm, she was able to pull out the right dagger, and send it back into the wall a little higher up. With every attempt, Lilac could feel herself getting more exhausted, but she didn't give up. Not because of any hidden inside voice that encouraged her, but because she knew she would more than likely die if she stopped and fell at any point. When she finally reached as high up as she dared, she reached across to the ladder attached to the climbing frame and lowered herself back down. She massaged her aching shoulders and biceps for a brief few moments, before taking the remainder of the daggers and throwing them into the spaces between rungs on the ladder she had just descended on.
When they had run out, she turned back to the gallery and shot them a warming, yet incredibly fake, smile. "I hope you enjoyed." She concluded. "Happy Hunger Games."
Gamemakers
"Chamberlain, are you in here?" Mox knocked tentatively on her superior's door. She was nervous, and pulled her cardigan tighter around her body to try and dispel the chill that coursed through her. She wasn't just terrified because of who Chamberlain was, but because of what exactly she had to tell him. Mox had been so sure she could keep the Clem problem a secret, that his emotions wouldn't affect the games too much. But after the display she had seen with the District Nine girl at the Private Sessions, she wasn't sure she could let it go on any longer. It was mostly for her own sake, as well. If things got out about Clem without her releasing them, and then it was discovered that she knew all along, she didn't even want to consider the fate that awaited her.
She had alerted Lyric of Clem's weird behaviour once before, and she knew that by doing it a second time, it was almost like the final nail in his coffin. But it had to be done, didn't it? Mox didn't know how she could justify letting Clem continue to jeopardise the games they had all worked so hard to make legendary. "It's important." She called, when she received no response. It felt strange standing outside Chamberlain's hotel room. The man was so private, this was the closest Mox thought she would ever get to learning a bit about the man. "It's about Clem." She concluded.
The woman didn't have to wait long then, before the door was opened and she was herded into perhaps the messiest room she had ever seen. It smelt like feet and rotting pizza, not exactly the image of the esteemed man she had been expecting, but she could let it slide given the stress they were all under. "He was acting weird today with the Nine girl, and the day the tributes arrived, he was missing. I don't want to think of the kind of trouble we would be in if they had done… anything." Chamberlain started the discussion immediately, clasping his hands together in front of him, and leaning back against the bedpost.
Mox hated the feeling that was inside of her. It was jealousy, something she seldom experienced. She had an endless supply of money, a huge house and was one step away from having the job she always wanted. She had learnt to lie without people, to not care what they did, but the thought of Clem with another woman, made her blood boil. She considered lying for him, saying that he had been with her the whole day. But it hit Mox that she knew exactly where he had been. He had told her in confidence the other night, and she had sworn not to tell anyone. But she felt so humiliated in front of Chamberlain, hearing that he thought the man she loved was cheating on her. Their relationship was no secret, and Mox imagined the kind of pity she would receive if anyone thought she was being taken advantage of. What was worse was the opportunity that Mox felt. She could take Clem out, she could become the Head Gamemaker, she loved the man, but was it enough to forgo completing her dream? To keep the Games at risk? No, it wasn't.
"He took a man to see his nephew, who was a tribute. Doug, the District Nine boy. He ran into the girl in the hotel room, and she didn't know who he was until now." Mox regretted it almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She had just cemented Clem's demise. "But that's not what I was going to talk to you about. I'm worried that he made the arena easier so the tributes will survive longer." In her attempt to backtrack on her previous statement she had only made it worse. Chamberlain's face was falling, and Mox knew instantly that she had just ruined Clem's life.
"You warned me before and I did nothing because I liked the guy, I trusted that he was doing the best for the Games despite his emotions." Lyric Chamberlain let out a long breath, loosening the tie that still hung round his neck from the day's work. "But this is too far, Mox. Even you know that, you wouldn't be here if you thought otherwise. It's time to pull him."
"Mr Chamberlain, please, don't do this, not yet." Mox was pleading, she hadn't expected it to go this far this quickly. "Just let me talk to him, I can fix this, I can fix him. The Games are so close, imagine the problems we would cause if the Head Gamemaker suddenly disappeared."
Lyric tipped back on his heels, thinking through the options. Mox was cold and determined, so much so that she was willing to sell out her lover. But she still had empathy, Chamberlain could see that in her desperate attempts now. Despite everything, he trusted her. He trusted that she had enough drive and passion for these games to make the run smoothly. He trusted that she had enough power over Clem to set him on the right path. "Fine." He nodded eventually. "You sort this out. But if by the end of the week Clem has slipped up again, I'm going straight to Snow and your boyfriend is out."
Mox could practically cry with relief. It was weird, she had just lost the chance to gain her dream job, to become the Head Gamemaker, but she had perhaps just saved Clem's life. Maybe she did love him enough to protect him. Maybe she didn't need the job, maybe he was enough. "Snow?" Mox spat, recounting the ultimatum Chamberlain had just provided. "President Coriolanus Snow? What the hell is he going to do? The man hasn't had an opinion on anything in the last thirty years."
What the Capitol didn't let on to the Districts was that they were well and truly in trouble. Their fearless leader President Snow had fallen into heart failure almost thirty years ago, and upon his last wish, he was being kept alive for as long as humanly possible. Even if that meant spending the rest of his days in a coma. The doctors had predicted he only had another year. But the year had come and gone, and so had the next, and many more after that. Still Snow laid there, unmoving apart from the not so steady rise and fall of his chest. And, as long as Coriolanus Snow was alive, he was the President.
"Before you oust a Head Gamemaker, you have to at least notify the President." Chamberlain smiled weakly. They all knew Snow was never waking up. He was ancient, the only thing keeping him alive was the machines. What worried Chamberlain was how long this would go on for. How long would the Capitol exist with a brain dead President before they crumbled? He prayed he wasn't around to see that day, he hoped that Snow's lungs would give up just like his heart had, and normality could continue. "Long live President Snow." He muttered, giving Mox's shoulder a squeeze.
So there we go, President Snow is still around, although less so than he was in previous years.. I always knew I wanted to have Snow as the comatose President, to explain why Clem and Mox and Chamberlain were so powerful, but I never found a good place to write it in, so there you go. I hope you enjoyed this little twist, and I can promise you there are a good few more to come!
So, quick question, who are your favourite characters? Tributes and Escorts and Capitol people included!
Thank you for all the love and baring with me with these long infrequent chapters, it means the world! We now only have the scores, interviews and tributes party before the Games officially begin, that is exciting.
Until next time,
Alice xxx