Chapter Twenty-Five; Dining with the Enemy
(Stephanie's POV)
Stephanie knew she must have looked like a deer caught in the headlights as she stared at the man sat facing her.
Seneca however appeared to be completely ignorant to her growing temper, instead idly looking over the pristine menu in his hand.
"What are you doing here?" Stephanie managed through gritted teeth.
Seneca discarded the menu and glanced up to lock eyes with her, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.
"Having dinner with you of course," he replied smoothly.
Stephanie strangled the napkin in her hands. "Why all the unnecessary theatrics?" she demanded. Finally her fear at finding herself alone with Dess had gave way to the anger she felt, at how clearly amusing Seneca found terrifying her. But then afterall, he was a Gamemaker.
"Whatever do you mean?" he inquired innocently.
"Why did you arrange this little private dinner?"
"I am Head Gamemaker. I am not meant to be 'fraternising' so to speak, with the tributes. So therefore it had to be private," he answered.
Stephanie crossed her legs and in the process dealt Seneca a swift boot to his shins. He has decided he is going to kill me anyways. What difference does it make? Stephanie thought angrily.
Seneca was caught unawares and scooted his chair back noisily, staring at her for a moment in disbelief. However he then schooled his expression into a scowl and finally one of amusement, as he pulled his chair once more into the table.
Stephanie glared at him, her arms folded crossly across her chest.
"You do realise I am Head Gamemaker and I control how you die in the arena?" he asked arrogantly.
"You mention it enough every time I have met you that it is quite impossible to escape the fact!" Her voice rose a few octaves as her cheeks became a little flushed.
He gave a short laugh at her outburst before calling in the direction of the double doors near the back of the room.
Immediately a waiter approached their table and pouring them each a glass of wine left the bottle and then returned to the kitchen.
Stephanie stared at the dark liquid in the glass thinking how it looked so very much like blood.
…
(Seneca's POV)
Meanwhile Seneca watched Stephanie carefully over the rim of his glass.
"Now then," he began. Her eyes snapped up to glare at him, burning fiercely and narrowed dangerously.
Seneca found that he enjoyed teasing her a lot more than he should. He was constantly surrounded by people who were ready to bow and scrape at his every whim. It was almost entertaining to see her reactions.
He couldn't help having admiration for her. Many would have been on their knees begging him to spare them, but here she was dealing him kicks and insults.
"What will you have to eat?" Seneca asked her, gesturing for her to pick up the menu to her right.
"I have suddenly lost my appetite," she answered sharply, knocking the menu to the ground.
He smirked and called once more for the waiter.
The waiter stared at them a little curiously before a sharp glance from Seneca had him trembling.
"I will have the Chef's Special," Seneca said, handing the menu to the waiter.
"And the lady?" the waiter asked hesitantly.
Seneca scoffed at the term, lady.
"Nothing," Stephanie spoke firmly.
The waiter loitered for a moment longer unsure until Seneca glared at him and the waiter scurried off.
"You really should have ordered something. The food here is exquisite…though perhaps the food is a little rich for someone like you," he said, folding his arms casually.
She arched an eyebrow at him and he could practically feel the anger radiating off her.
"So Stephanie are you enjoying your stay in the Capitol?" Seneca asked sarcastically.
He felt her answer more than heard it, and he tried to discreetly rub his shin where she had dealt another kick.
"Apologies, a clumsy district girl like me," Stephanie said with zero sincerity before taking a large gulp of wine.
He caught her grimace as she sat the glass back down quickly.
"Taste not agree with you, dear?" he inquired.
"Oh no. The taste captures perfectly what I think of the Capitol – perfectly…revolting." She smiled sweetly.
"I thought a little alcohol would loosen you up a bit. Dess told me that you were practically swimming in it at the party."
…
(Stephanie's POV)
This time Seneca caught her ankle as she made to deal him a swift kick. She tugged fiercely but he held her fast, tracing patterns over the bare, silky skin.
She gave a cry of indignation snapping herself free and upsetting the table and losing her shoe as she did so.
Her glass of wine tippled over and as the bloody, red stain spread rapidly towards her Stephanie suddenly felt nauseous. She looked to the balcony doors desperately only to find them shut.
She stood abruptly and feeling rather silly with only one shoe on, slipped the other off and stalked over to the balcony doors.
She flung them open hastily, thankful that they weren't locked and went outside welcoming the cool breeze that rushed over her.
"You can't escape that way," Seneca called to her in a bored tone.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "I don't think taking a nose dive to the pavement is the best escape plan," she snapped back.
She heard him laugh behind her as he began to approach her.
Stephanie clenched the railing tightly until her knuckles had turned white as Seneca came and stood beside her.
"You know it would be in your best interests to be civil at least to me," Seneca said looking at her.
She scoffed at him. "The day I lower myself to such standards, is the day I become no better than you."
…
(Seneca's POV)
Seneca who had been wearing an expression of amusement, suddenly felt the expression fall.
"I am from the Capitol and you are from the Districts," Seneca stated vehemently.
"And I am still better than you. Everyone in each District will always be better than you and your kind," she replied fiercely, sparing the railing her wrath and turning to face Seneca fully.
Seneca's hand twitched as if he were going to strike her and then stilled.
Stephanie hadn't moved an inch as if she were expecting him to hit her, and then prove her point that she was better than him.
Seneca turned around as someone politely cleared his throat behind them.
The waiter had cleaned up the spillage and was waiting with Seneca's food. Ignoring Stephanie, Seneca stalked back into the room and sitting down briskly began to eat.
The waiter needed no nod of dismissal this time and hurried off back to the kitchens.
"Sit down," Seneca ordered harshly.
Stephanie whirled around to face him, hands on her hips defiantly.
"Your ill-placed pride and high morals might not allow you to take orders, but perhaps if I were to threaten the lives of those a little closer to home?" Seneca warned.
Stephanie's cool façade faltered and a strangled cry escaped her throat.
Seneca smirked victoriously.
Stephanie complied silently and took her seat once more, though the whole time her gaze bore into Seneca.
Seneca pretended not to notice, continuing to pick at the food in front of him. He found however that he had suddenly lost his own appetite.
Seneca had been refused very little in his life and he hated that here this 'mere tribute' was able to vex him so much.
Pushing the plate away from him harshly, Seneca locked eyes with her; icy blue meeting molten gold in a battle of wills.
"I can make it that your sister will not live to see her child safely into this world," Seneca said cruelly.
Stephanie practically lunged across the table at him but stilled herself just in time as tears began to rim her eyes.
Seneca felt slightly better that he had some control over her now. But he was still annoyed that he had to resort to such low tactics. It seemed to only prove her point that she was better.
But just as quickly as that her jaw tightened and her eyes hardened, burning dimly and dangerously. "I can make it so that you will not be able to torment Haymitch by deliberately killing off his tributes. I will make it so that you will never be able to be Head Gamemaker again." Her voice was low.
Seneca looked at her incredulous and despite himself he couldn't help the complete admiration that seemed to be ever-growing for her.
Seneca gave a bitter laugh. "Really?" he teased.
Stephanie gave a small and dangerous smile. "Yes, you remember Haymitch's games don't you? What happened when he thwarted the rules…?"
Sudden recognition dawned on Seneca's face. "I control the Games."
"You do not control me," Stephanie replied.
Stephanie's reference to Haymitch's Games brought unwelcome memories flooding back for Seneca. Of a boy that could only watch in horror as a man he held as dear as a father to him was dragged away and put to death, knowing that he could do nothing to stop it. He blamed Haymitch because he could never blame who was really responsible – his real father, President Snow.
"You seem fond of Haymitch Abernathy," Seneca spat while his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Something flickered across Stephanie's face, some restrained emotion that for a moment was allowed to be seen, in the softening of her eyes and the slight dusting of pink that claimed her cheeks.
The look caused Seneca to do a double-take as he realised that his statement held more truth than he knew.
"You are fond of Haymitch Abernathy," Seneca enforced.
Stephanie made no reply but he could see the stark panic in her eyes as she tried to think of an acceptable and safe answer.
"Well, well…" Seneca began wickedly, ice blue eyes blazing.
Stephanie looked at Seneca, and for the first time he saw an almost pleading expression claim her features.
"Yes? Something you would like to say to me?" Seneca taunted, smirking widely.
Her bottom lip trembled for a moment and then Seneca gasped sharply in shock, as his head snapped to the side when she slapped him.
Seneca stood abruptly and dragged her up to stand in front of him, holding on harshly to her upper arms, his fingers curled so tightly around that it was painful, his cheek still smarting.
Stephanie showed no signs of being in pain instead staring up at him, though her eyes betrayed some of the fears she felt.
"How long have you been blaming Haymitch for what your own father did? Haymitch didn't kill Lark. Haymitch was just trying to survive your cruel games. Your father killed Lark!" Stephanie's words were harsh and true, her eyes burning fiercely.
Seneca held her tightly for a moment longer before releasing her and shoving her away from him. Stephanie righted herself and rubbed her arms.
She watched Seneca cautiously through lowered lashes as Seneca seemed to be staring off into space.
He moved and Stephanie turned her back to him quickly, fearing he meant to really hit her this time. But he didn't approach her at all and in fact Stephanie heard his footsteps growing distant.
Stephanie glanced around just as Seneca disappeared into the lift.