Artemesia Rutherford, Head Gamemaker, evening of reaping day, Capitol
The expensive champagne left a sparkling taste on her tongue after minutes. Artemesia softened the midnight blue chiffon fabric of her evening gown. Loose strands of her black hair had loosened on the high-cut hairstyle and now gently flicked over her shoulders. If her mother saw her now, she would faint on the spot. Her daughter never wore a dress. Trouser suits, skirts and blouses, but never a dress. Tonight, Artemesia made an exception for the live Interview. The message that Atticus Snow sent her had been unequivocal.
You can't hide behind the glass facade of the gaming center. My father wants you to moderate the reaping summary together with Caesar. Evening clothes apply to the gala. Atticus Snow
She had been shaking her head all evening about what to wear. The dress from her graduation ceremony at the university would be fitting for the occasion, but it was too tight. Eventually, she asked her colleague Remus Carréra if he would buy a new dress with her. He had jumped out of his leather chair as if stung by tracker jackers and assured her that he knew exactly what she could be wearing for the show. Now, three days later, she stood on the fluffy carpet of the State Opera in high silver strappy sandals and watched the loud noise under her from an elevated stage. Influential senators with their wives ran past her, nodding to her. Celebrities of the Capitol, such as the winners of the games or the actors of one of the predictable soaps, invaded the opera's large auditorium. They would all listen to her later, trying to lure her to a revelation of the arena so that she could imagine it in her most colorful dreams. But Artemesia's lips were sealed. Today, no one would know about the arena and its appearance, neither about the mutations nor about the particular surprise she had discussed with the Snows. What would be a surprise if it was reveled beforehand? The audience will love it, Artemesia was sure. Normally the bloodbath was the only exciting fight besides the final fight, that had to change.
"I didn't expect you to really come here," someone behind her said. Artemesia recognized Atticus Snow's voice immediately; After a childhood together, she knew everything about him that could be known. He hated strawberry ice cream because he was allergic. Atticus liked the smell of sunscreen, but he avoided going outside on a hot summer day.
"Did I have a choice? Your father ordered me here. Just because you wrote the letter doesn't mean you ordered me," Artemesia said, turning to her nemesis. They did not like each other; one had always tried to stand out the other, whether it was about school offices or the popularity of the important people of the Capitol. Over time, it had become her little game. It was almost like chess: she made a move and waited until he made his. Strategic, but still funny, so it wasn't like a real war. Both had no soldiers who died for them, the game had to do without such a thing. Atticus narrowed his eyes to slit. His blue eyes sparkled like ice in winter.
"You love telling that you've become the Head Gamemaker, don't you?" he asked with a firm voice. Artemesia smiled, she had predicted his next move and prevented it.
"Are you offended, Snow?" she asked mockingly. She was in her element. For years she had been able to play with him, now was not the time to stop. The president's heir smiled falsely. Acknowledging, he nodded to her. "Come on, Artemesia, you know how to play. But you made a crucial mistake. Do you want to know which one?"
Confused, she looked at him. Artemesia Rutherford made no mistakes. Her reaction uncertainty made Atticus swim in self-confidence. She supported a hand at her hip and looked at him demandingly. "Tell me. I want to know what you're talking about," she said. The champagne in her hand was still bubbling. Atticus looked her in the green eyes, trying to find out if she was admitting a moment of weakness.
"My father told you that you would get another assistant from the government for the games. Have you met him before?"
An uneasy feeling arose in her. Triumph appeared in his eyes. She had indeed overlooked something. Her new assistant was none other than Atticus Snow. "How did you convince your father?" she asked, trying to hide the uncertainty in her voice. Atticus let the liquid of his glass swoop back and forth before he was left to answer.
"People are waiting behind the stage to do a check. You shouldn't be late, or someone will get angry," Atticus said, waving to her and walking down the stairs. Before Artemesia could force him to answer, the young Snow had already disappeared into the large auditorium. She would have liked to have thrown the glass against the wall now in anger, but she couldn't do it here. Being tricked was horrible, especially when you felt safe in what you did. "Well, I'm going to make sure I get my revenge," she muttered softly.
An Avox appeared behind her and pointed to the back of the aisle. Artemesia nodded. He wanted her to get ready to present the reaping summary with Caesar. The young woman straightened up and ran down the aisle. One day she would win this game, be a brilliant winner. She would watch Atticus Snow go down, sipping expensive red wine and being fed grapes. One day she would get what she was legally entitled to.
Atticus Snow, Heir and only son of President Snow, evening after the reapings, Capitol
Although his mother didn't like him playing his games with Artemesia Rutherford, she let him do it. She knew there was something between the two, but she couldn't classify it. Both pretended it was hate, but Livia Snow knew it was a lie. Atticus loosened his tie. The heat in the State Opera was unbearable for him. His mother looked at him with a mischievous smile. He wanted to turn his eyes, but what kind of son would he be?
"You spoke to me Artemesia. How is she doing? The pressure has to be huge," his mother said. "She's doing quite well. Maybe a little irritated, the poor girl, but she will get it. In an emergency, I will be there to keep everything going," Atticus said, looking for his father's bodyguard. He found the commander, dressed all in white, on the second floor. His mother had taken advantage of the moment to hack into him. The two Snows took the stairs and headed to the balcony for the president and his family. On the aisle they met numerous familiar faces. His mother couldn't resist having a short conversation with half of her. Many were curious to see what kind of show they would be presented with this year.
"You know, my son will be involved this year. It's going to be terrific, I'm sure, Clodia. But Artemesia also does a really impressive job at her young age! I hope she will run the Games again next year," his mother said to Clodia Rutherford, the wife of the justice minister and Artemesia's mother. Artemesia exactly looked like her mother. The same straight nose, the green eyes shining like limes and the black hair darker than ebony. Although Atticus didn't like her in the slightest, but he had to admit that she was very attractive. Seeing her earlier in the evening gown had briefly left him speechless. Clodia bent over to his mother.
"The girl is very immersed in her work. A whiner! You know, Livia, she's 25, but she doesn't have a friend or a ring stuck on her finger! I have to talk to her after the games. Marcus insists that she get engaged soon. Only the right man is missing! Livia, be a good friend and come over for a tea tomorrow. We don't want to bore Atticus with our talk," Clodia said, waving conspiratorial. Atticus couldn't help but smile. He had known Clodia since childhood. She was his mother's best friend and came to tea once a week to tell the biggest gossip. The woman radiated such a joy that made Atticus wonder why she had married such a strict man. "Unfortunately, we have to say goodbye now so that we don't miss the summary, but it was really nice to see you again, Clodia," Atticus said, letting the woman kiss her on the cheeks. His mother told her to come for breakfast on Monday to watch the opening of the Games together.
When the two finally sat down on one of the two chaise longues, Atticus breathed a serene breath. The most difficult part of the evening was over. Now he could sit back and see if she had processed the info that he shocked her with. The organizers asked those present to sit down and prepare for the "biggest show" of all time. He rolled his eyes. That's what the organizers have been saying for years, and basically offered the same show every year. First the final fight of the previous year was shown, then Caesar Flickerman came on stage to discuss the reaping summary with the Head Gamemaker. Then there was a short question-and-answer session in which Caesar tried to elicit a little spoiler. Spectators were called to place their bets in one of the betting venues in the morning. The light in the room was dimmed, people became calm. On the huge screen, the final minutes of the 53rd Hunger Games flickered. Blight Clevar, who swung his axe after the girl from District 1 and gave her a long wound to her left arm. She danced around him, wounded, but not yet defeated. Suddenly, she collapsed like a puppet who had cut through the threads. A gun rang out and the boy from District 3 appeared holding a stun gun in his hands, blue sparks spraying in the wet darkness. Frightened outcry from the audience, then Blight hurled his axe at the boy. Atticus had long forgotten his name, but that was not important. The boy, 3, dodged the axe and jumped forward to send Blight to his death with an electric shock. Unknowingly, the boy from 7 had pulled a knife. There were applause from the audience and applause. When the boy from 3 started to jump, it was too late for him. Blight stabbed and the last cannon of the year went up. The victory was announced by Blight Clevar, the fifth winner of District 7.
Shortly it became completely dark, then the headlights went on and a grinning Caesar Flickermann turned to the audience on his interview chair. Applause thundered through the hall. His parents clapped politely, his father's face as if carved out of stone.
"Welcome!" shouted Caesar into his microphone to counter the crowd's volume. This year, his hair was bronzed. It has been a long tradition of the Flickerman family to recolor their hair every year for the Hunger Games.
"Welcome to the reaping summary for the 54th Hunger Games! Welcome with me our dear Head Gamemaker Artemesia Rutherford! Come to me, Artemesia!" he proclaimed, holding his hand to Artemesia, who was just coming up the stairs to Caesar's left. Gratefully, she accepted them. "I am very happy to be here tonight! We're all excited about who this year's tributes are!" she said into the microphone that Caesar held her. The crowd applauded wildly and screamed the names of their favorites.
"The whole thing here is ridiculous," his father muttered, drinking a sip of his posca, a mixture of water and wine with clove. The president had dressed in noble blood-red robes, leaning the walking stick against the chair. His father did not want to use it, but at the insistence of his mother he must have given in. His mother smiled appealingly. "I think it's nice to have a day of the year when districts and the Capitol are united." Atticus nodded slightly but stayed in the dark and watched as Artemesia and Caesar made themselves comfortable.
"Artemesia, this is now your third year in a row as Head Gamemaker. How does it feel? Do you have pressure to succeed? Tell us about your everyday life!" demanded Caesar. With a sugar-sweet smile, Artemesia reached for the microphone on the table. "It feels great, Caesar. For three years now I have been able to prepare our wonderful nation for unforgettable Hunger games. My position as Head Gamemaker fills me with pride. Thank you for allowing me to sit here today!" the young woman replied, sanding over the dress and then putting one leg over the other. She was supported by the audience. Atticus frowned angrily. People should wonder who invented a new level of cruelty every year. Artemesia was nothing more than a puppet leader who let her puppets play in the arena until they were too boring for her and her threads cut. Maybe she was good at playing, but no game lasted forever. At some point, you would choose another for the post of the Head Gamemaker. What would Artemesia without her position? A normal citizen of the Capitol, born with the golden spoon in her mouth.
"Do you know what you need for unforgettable Hunger games?" Caesar asked the audience and promptly received an answer. "Tributes!" the enthusiastic Capitol residents shouted. "Right, we need our tributes! So, curtain up for the tributes from District 1!" proclaimed Caesar. The coat of arms of the first district was displayed on the screen, followed by an aerial footage of the district. The drone flew over wide flower meadows into a valley. The city consisted of ninety percent glass; factories located on the edge. They flew through the district's main attraction, a long alley where jewelers lined up and colorful flags hung on the windows next to the national flag. The recording was stopped at City Hall, where Fabulous, the district's male escort and secret lover of Sapphira Mooner, announced the tributes. He called out a girl's name but was immediately interrupted by a blond 18-year-old who was already on her way to the stage. Her name was Lucretia Aurum, she said, patiently waiting for her district partner. Another volunteer came forward and was promptly called to the stage. His name was no stranger here in the Capitol. Wayne Thompson, also 18, younger brother of Roger Thompson, the winner of the 49th Hunger Games. Both of the district's tributes were muscular, strong and had green eyes. Those who bet on them definitely had a good chance of winning. The audience seemed to agree with Atticus, whom they applauded particularly loudly.
Wayne Thompson, 18, District 1 male, volunteered
Lucretia Aurum, 18, District 1 female, volunteered
The most important data was revealed, then it went on with District 2. The two crossed hammers were shown before the drone descended from the mountainous surrounding area, where the Capitol was located, just north, back into a valley. She flew through picturesque alleys that Atticus knew from postcards, past the training academy, which resembled the one in Districts 1 and 4 in detail, to the town hall. Clodine Hammerstone, a very experienced escort, proclaimed the name of a girl, but she was immediately taken out of office by an elder. With a huge curly mane, the volunteer confidently marched up to the stage and told Clodine her name. Diana Lane, 18, said she waved happily at the camera. Her district partner could be seen from afar. A muscular prostalk with brown hair, with the face of a soldier and the ambition to win. His name was Nolan Rhodes, he was also eighteen. The audience applauded again very loudly; Districts 1, 2 & 4 were always among the favorites. Atticus already knew who he was going to bet on, but he didn't want to lean too far out of the window. His father did not know how to make decisions without taking them very carefully. "They both look very strong," his mother muttered, writing these things on a small notepad so she could deal with it intensely tonight and bet on the right one.
Nolan Rhodes, 18, District 2 male, volunteered
Diana Lane, 18, District 2 female, volunteered
Matching the dreary look of the tech district, the tributes were drawn in pouring rain. Emerald Heavensbee, who was the sister of a senior officer, reaped a tall boy who, admittedly, looked very stylish in his tweed suit. His eye sockets had fallen deep and the rainy atmosphere made the boy look even sadder than usual. Hal Prescott was his name. The female tribute was two years older, blond and quite angry. Dimona Summa was her name, she said, sending deadly lightning bolts to the chest of Hyperion Jackman, one of the district's few victors. When Emerald asked her if she knew Hyperion, the girl said he was her father. A roar went through the hall. The daughter of a winner? That promised suspense. "She's going to have a hard time," Atticus said. The children of victors were immediately hunted down because they were often trained. His mother nodded sadly. "If they go, please let them go fast," she muttered, brushing a red strand of hair behind her ear.
Hal Prescott, 16, District 3 male, reaped
Dimona Summa, 18, District 3 female, reaped
At District 4, it was loud again in the hall. Many of those present spent their summer vacations in one of the District's luxury hotels. Here the camera showed the picturesque harbor and the endless sandy beaches until it flew past the academy to the full town hall square. Romulus Carréra, the twin brother of Remus, the head of the mutation department, reaped a girl but was interrupted by a blond 18-year-old. A trained volunteer from the fishing district. Her name was Shasta Vengari and she was 18. When her district partner was announced, she became pale around her nose. "They know each other," Atticus' mother said, scribbled eagerly on her block. A younger boy with sand-blond hair and dark blue eyes came on stage and was visibly desperately waiting for the volunteer who would not come. His name is Fen Orta and he is 16 years old, he muttered into the microphone. Instead of shaking hands, the two tributes from District 4 hugged each other.
Fen Orta, 16, District 4 male, reaped
Shasta Vengari, 18, District 4 female, volunteered
The picture changed to one of the middle-class districts. The huge hydro dam and a huge solar system were shown on the screen. Those who did not yet know that they were in District 5 knew at the latest when he saw the small number of youths who were in reaping age. District 5 had the smallest population of Panem. The escort pulled the name of a boy who had just knocked another to the ground. He looked suprised into the camera when he was brought to the stage by two peacekeepers. His name was Solomon Canterra, 13 years old and the brother of the boy lying on the ground. "He's definitely not 13, look on his muscles," Atticus said, looking at the golden watch on his wrist. Only half past ten, so the event would continue a bit. The girl was surprisingly a volunteer. With waving black hair and deep green eyes, 16-year old Alisha Crowney, Atticus was a little reminiscent of the younger version of Artemesia Rutherford. The spokesman quickly said her grandmother was the winner of the 17th Hunger Games before the names of the two tributes were revealed.
Solomon Canterra, 13, District 5 male, reaped
Alisha Crowney, 16, District 5 female, volunteered
"I would look out for her, she seems to be a strong opponent," his mother said, shaking off the writing's aching wrists. Atticus nodded approvingly. So far, he had only seen strong tributes, all of which could win with the help of sponsors. The two tributes from District 6 only reinforced this impression. After the drone flew over the big city and showed the main factories for the production of means of transport, it went to an empty airfield, which was used because the town hall square was too small for the district with the largest population. The girl, a redhead with a slight muscular approach and stubborn expression, was drawn. Her name was Brea Greensdale and she was 16 years old. A peacekeeper came to her and handcuffed the girl. The spokesman was quick to explain that Brea Greensdale had to answer for murder in court that morning and that the handcuffs were just pure security measures. The male tribute volunteered. Wearing a worn leather jacket and an old shirt, he came on stage. When Eros Lovebird asked for his name, the boy casually replied that his name was Rolan Joralemon.
Rolan Joralemon, 17, District 6 male, volunteered
Brea Greensdale, 16, District 6 female, reaped
"This year it's going to be hard to place his bets right," his mother said, drinking a sip of red wine. "Do you have someone you trust to win?" Atticus asked his mother, slipping around restlessly in the chair. His mother shook her head overwhelmed. "This year, everyone can win if they try. But I already have my favorites," she explained. The coat of arms of District 7 was displayed. The drone flew over vast forest areas and large lakes. Secretly, Atticus found that this district was the most beautiful of all. Authentic, but not conceited. The escort lost both tributes; the muscular girl was called Ivy Barker. "A dangerous opponent for the careers, she probably trained a little bit," his mother whispered. The male tribute was a year older and almost as strong as the boy from District 2. With a grim expression, he serenely shook hands with the girl, then ran into the town hall.
Paul Barrows, 18, District 7 male, reaped
Ivy Barker, 17, District 7 female, reaped
"District 7 has a good chance of a double win," Atticus said, leaning back to take over the brick houses of District 8. Now they had landed in one of Panem's poorer districts, which produced few winners and was ruled out in the carnage at the beginning. Monica Garcia, a bloody young actress with good connections to the fashion industry, announced that the name of the male tribute was Aramed Cretonne. A small, slender boy from the 13-year-old's line-up made his way to the stage. His district partner was also 13 and had a large family. When she was drawn, there were quiet outcries from the crowd. An older girl fainted. Her name is Anya Hanzar, she said, caught on the microphone. Although the two children had to realize that they were going to die, they pulled themselves together. Almost one of the districts was sorry to be represented by two chanceless 13-year-olds. His mother lost her perpetual smile and looked sadly at the screen. "Hopefully, their deaths won't be too cruel," she said, making two quick strokes on her notepad.
Aramed Cretonne, 13, District 8 male, reaped
Anya Hanzar, 13, District 8 female, reaped
Their names were displayed, and then the endless wheat fields of District 9 appeared. The grain district was also represented by more recent tributes. The girl came on stage while the escort was trying to find a name. Mariella Glimmerstone snubbed her to go back so that she could proclaim the name in peace. The girl calmly replied that her name was on the note. In fact, the female tribute to District 9 was the brunette 15-year-old Amber Henthrow, who was already on stage. When Mariella wanted to reap the male tributes, Amber snatched the microphone from her and began to insult the Capitol. Outraged calls came from the audience demanding that she should die brutally. Amber was interrupted by Scyon Dolan, the Head peacekeeper, who gave her a targeted slap in the stomach. With his disgusting slimy smile, he went back to his post, only to watch his own son being drawn. Ceren Dolan looked more confused than a bloody chicken. He came to Mariella and asked if he was really at a eulogy for the Capitol. Suddenly, Atticus realized that this boy didn't have a single clue about what the Hunger Games might be.
"He doesn't know what the Hunger Games are," he said, earning a worried look from his mother. Normally everyone in Panem should see the Games and regret the mistake made half a century ago, but the son of the Supreme Peacekeeper of District 9 had no idea what the Hunger Games were. Probably Scyon Dolan never expected his son to go to the arena, but not even telling him about it was negligent. President Snow sighed tiredly. "The phone call tomorrow morning will be very pleasant," he said, drinking his posca. "After all, you won't forget District 9 this year," Atticus muttered, watching the most important data appear.
Ceren Dolan, 14, District 9 male, reaped
Amber Henthrow, 15, District 9 female, reaped
The excitement in the room was quickly dampened again, so that one could understand the quiet words of Celestia. The male tribute was Jeddison Ranger, who was 18 years old and looked like a worthy opponent. His dark hair shimmered in the hot sun of the cattle breeding district. His district partner fainted before arriving at Celestia. The 16-year-old Horizon Havenfirth was chalk-bleached when she was pulled to the stage by two peacekeepers. On the stairs, her circulation then slackened and she flipped over. Luckily, she was caught. A peacekeeper carried her to the cool town hall. Celestia tried to make the most of the situation and smiled tormented. A promotion to a better district was long overdue. She left the microphone to Jeddison Ranger so he could say a few goodbyes to his district. "The boy looks strong, maybe he joins the careers," his mother said. "Remind me that I'm getting Celestia a promotion. The poor had been struggling with the tens for too long," Atticus said. The red wine that stood next to his armchair had already warmed up. With a hand movement, he had it removed from an Avox.
Jeddison Ranger, 18, District 10 male, reaped
Horizon Havenfirth, 16, District 10 female, reaped
After a realistic chance two years ago, District 11 had another chance to win. After flying over individual orchards and fields, the girl was pulled from Roméo. The female tribute was called Ama Carter, 17 years old and looked very elegant for the well-known living conditions of the agricultural district. She stroked her green dress and smiled kindly into the camera. One could see Roméo Crossini, that he was relieved to be able to present at least a good tribute. The male tribute was also considerable. 14-year-old Qantuta Hutchinson, with his hazel-brown skin and wild curly head, came up on stage. The two tributes gave each other a friendly hand shake. His mother said what Atticus thought. "Both seem surprisingly healthy, maybe a bit thin, but healthy," she said, closing her notepad. District 12 had produced only two winners in 53 years of Hunger Games, so no one ever thought about the coal district.
Qantuta Hutchinson, 14, District 11 male, reaped
Ama Carter, 17, District 11 female, reaped
The coat of arms of the last district was displayed. The drone flew over adjacent forests that framed the small district, over high mountains of mined coal to City Hall Square. Everything was cleaned, but you could still see the traces of the coal dust. You couldn't get it away. With a smile played, Antonius Goldstein reaped the male tributes. Goldstein had been sent to the worst-performing district in his final year for the Hunger Games to support the only living winner, Haymitch Abernathy. In the Capitol, it was rumored that Abernathy had an alcohol addiction at the age of twenty, and after what Atticus had seen, he could only agree with the sad rumor. At some point Haymitch would drink himself to death, Atticus thought bitterly. Before that, however, he should bring home another winner.
The male tribute from District 12 was a slender, tall boy named Conan Bruce. He stuttered into the microphone that he was 17. His mother looked at him with pity. The boy had no chance against his competitors. When Anthony drew the female tribute, there was a big outcry in the audience. The drone quickly found the creatures; a 16-year-old who kept her large baby belly protective. "You can't do that!" matured someone from the crowd among the family and secretly Atticus had to agree with him. Sending a pregnant woman to the Hunger Games was too cruel, even for the Capitol. To everyone's surprise, a friend of the reaped girl volunteered. The peacekeepers needed a short time to understand that District 12 had just had a volunteer alert for more than four decades. They took the blonde curvy girl into her middle as they escorted her to the stage. Goldstein enthusiastically proclaimed her name. Misty Boulevard, 18 years old and the future winner of the Hunger Games, screamed into the microphone. His last year in the games and then something like that.
Conan Bruce, 17, District 12 male, reaped
Misty Boulevard, 18, District 12 female, volunteered
Atticus indulged him, but with an arrogant smile he thought of how Artemesia had to run down her back cold. A volunteer of 12 showed how little she had managed to spread fear in the districts. Now Atticus could come to the Gaming center as a hero to iron out the disaster. Should the little princess only watch as he made her triumph his. This was his chance to show that Artemesia did not deserve the post.
The light in the hall went on again. The audience began to applaud with delight. Their tributes for this year's Games were promising and the tension increased, as in addition to the otherwise dangerous careers, there were also some strong outfielders in the race. Placing his bet would be difficult. Caesar Flickerman turned to Artemesia in his white leather armchair. The joy of expectation was written in his face. "What do you think of our tributes this year? Let's share your thoughts!" he demanded with a grin. Artemesia played with her microphone, which was either an attempt to create tension or simply underpin her insecurity.
"I think we can look forward to absolutely unique games this year! We have a very diverse cast, even volunteers from outer districts like 5, 6 and 12," she said. Her black hair became more and more detached from her hairstyle. Atticus agreed. This year, she was able to give almost every tribute a credible story that would be told in the victor's interview. Caesar was satisfied with the answer but drilled again for the audience. "So, you don't have any favorites yet? No indication of on who to tip?" asked Caesar. Artemesia smiled knowingly, but she said exactly what was asked of her. "I have to remind you that as Head Gamemaker I have to have a neutral attitude to the tributes. But I advise all spectators to wait with their bets until the results in individual training are announced. Even I can't get a picture of the tributes until I've watched them for several days," she said, smiling, with no sign of uncertainty. "Of course, there are some favorites after the first sighting of the tributes and some will master the arena better than others, but we'll see for ourselves in a week."
"Thank you for this assessment, Artemesia! But before we go to sleep, I have a question for you," Caesar said, earning a knowing glance from Artemesia. "You know I can't tell you anything about the arena! Otherwise the whole surprise would be gone!" she said, smiling. Caesar playfully slapped himself on the knee in an angry way.
"A mystery maker, our Gamemaker! If you want to know what's going on with our tributes out there, turn on a detailed analysis with Claudius Templeshire and me tomorrow at 10am! See you tomorrow, dear people! Good night, Panem!" he shouted into the microphone. The cameras were turned off, the show was over. Now most went to bed, but special guests were invited to a back room to celebrate. Atticus stood up relieved, his left leg had completely fallen asleep.
"I'm going to the toilet," he politely apologized, before heading out to talk to Artemesia. He had to know what she wanted to do against the little rebel girl from 9 and the volunteer from 12. Just now, when Atticus really wanted to see her, she was swallowed up by the ground. Atticus wandered through the high corridors of the State Opera until he passed a remote room. "Someone could see us!" someone giggled, and Atticus' heart almost jumped out of his chest. He would still recognize the voice on his deathbed. Carefully, he opened the door a few centimeters more to have a better view of Artemesia and her companion. The couple kissed passionately.
Atticus frowned in confusion. Didn't Clodia Rutherford say Artemesia was single? Unless her mother knew nothing about ...her companion. Atticus smiled in. Now he knew how to finally destroy Artemesia.
On one last game, my sweet nemesis. One last lap, then the winner will have claimed victory. You or I, one will win, the other one will perish. Artemesia, where does your silver tongue stay, which always warns you of mistakes? I'm waiting for your teachings, which you can't keep yourself, for a hint which train to make next and how do I find you here? With the tongue of an unworthy in your sweet mouth. So, we're playing, you iniquitous!
The longest chapter so far! We have got an overview of our tributes, now come your assessments. Who is your favorite and who do you not like at all? Next we will see the first train ride, get ready for a lot of emotions!
The Capitol plot has also taken a big step forward. What do you think of Artemesia and Atticus? How will their little game affect arena time? And most importantly, what will Atticus do with this new information about Artemesia? Does somebody take latin lessons? If yes, you maybe recognize that the last paragraph was inspired by the poet Catull!
Love, Athena