4 CHAPTER UPDATE! - 3RD
Chapter One-Hundred-and-Fifty-One; Absentee
"I have a job for you."
On the other end of the phone Sharpe jumped to attention at Wirin's voice.
"Oh, you know I like jobs – can I use my guns this time?"
Wirin rolled his eyes before with a pained grimace he pressed the ice to his tender nose.
"Yea knock yourself out," Wirin muttered sarcastically.
"What happened to you?"
"What do you mean what happened to you?"
"You sound sick or something, like you have the cold?"
"That's because my nose is damn broke. Any more questions or can we get on with things? I have another call to make after you."
"How did you break your nose?"
Wirin growled in exasperation, wishing he could reach through the phone and throttle Sharpe on the other end. This was why Sharpe would always be a mindless follower; the man was an idiot. And Wirin was in no mood to speak with anymore idiots after the trying conversation he had just endured with the event organisers for the party, explaining how Seneca would be late.
"My dear friend Seneca was a little clumsy with his fists," Wirin drawled sardonically.
Sharpe snorted amused as Wirin glowered at Stephanie's scan results still splayed across the table-top. With one sweep of his arm Wirin knocked them to the floor, de-cluttering the table. He knew it was petulant, and begrudgingly he also knew he would have to clear it up before Seneca returned. But for a moment it gave him a small molecule of satisfaction.
"What did you do to annoy him this time then?" Sharpe questioned shrewdly.
"I told him his district tramp was dying," Wirin snapped.
Sharpe chuckled darkly. "I thought you meant to keep that secret from him?"
Wirin sighed irascibly. "I only meant to keep it from him for a while longer so Seneca would be kept busy searching for a cure, and allow me to get to work on rigging this arena."
Sharpe snorted, "you shouldn't have told him at all and just let her die."
Wirin rolled his eyes, wincing as he removed the crimson stained cloth from his nose, "I already explained to you simpleton. She can't just die of natural causes – that isn't enough. Seneca must kill her himself."
"Enough what?"
"It won't hurt Seneca enough."
Sharpe chuckled darkly in appreciation. The assassin also secretly suspected that Wirin was trying to prove once and for all, who was better; Wirin or Seneca. Of course Wirin would never admit it aloud, because that implied that for a second Wirin could consider that Seneca might possibly be better than him, and that his father Lark had made the right choice in selecting Seneca for Head Gamemaker and not Wirin.
"What made you tell him in the first place that his girl was dying?" Sharpe asked.
Wirin scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I trust you've heard the rumours?" he quipped dryly.
"About Seneca being a changed man due to some mystery woman he's been hiding away?" The amusement was audible in Sharpe's voice.
"Precisely," Wirin replied sourly. "The rumours are harmless enough; a little damaging to Seneca's personal image perhaps. As long as the 'mystery woman' remains a mystery though, the gossipers can say what they want."
"Had you reason to believe the mysterious identity was about to be solved?" Sharpe asked.
"Nothing concretely incriminating, but…" Wirin hissed as he pressed the iced cloth to his tender nose again. "Just as Seneca was leaving for the event tonight he mentioned something…disturbing."
"Oh?" Sharpe prompted.
"Apparently Stephanie warned Seneca about appearing so indiscreet."
"She warned him!" Sharpe exclaimed.
"Precisely," Wirin agreed. "If even the district tramp was able to recognise such blatant indiscretion I knew things were in serious jeopardy. And I knew Seneca being the arrogant imbecile he is, thinking himself untouchable and invincible would ignore good sense and construe a meeting with Stephanie at this party. And once a rumour would start about a district girl and the Head Gamemaker everything would be over. Snow's orders are to keep everything concealed so the Games can take care of Stephanie Trindlesworth. I had to think of something that would stop Seneca from going to this party!"
"And what? – you thought telling him the woman he loves is dying would somehow keep him away from the party where she was?" Sharpe queried condescendingly.
Wirin scowled darkly as he heard the tone of Sharpe's voice. "I underestimated how much of an idiot Seneca was," Wirin snapped.
Sharpe smirked knowingly. "No. You underestimated how much Seneca cares for his little district tramp."
Wirin rolled his eyes as he went to fetch some more ice, not bothering to argue back to Sharpe.
"Well it seems your plan backfired then. Telling Seneca she's dying only made him more determined to see her, not less."
Wirin snorted, wincing when pain flared at the reaction. "Yes he was, until I let slip there's a cure."
"And why would you do that? If things work out to plan Stephanie Trindlesworth won't live long enough to benefit from the cure?"
"I know you idiot. But Seneca doesn't know that. This way he has a new fixation to concentrate on and I can get back to work rigging the arena."
"How is that coming along anyway?"
"Slowly. Too slowly for either mine or President Snow's liking."
"Can't you just…I don't know, hack into Seneca's blueprint designs and alter them?"
Wirin rolled his eyes. "Sharpe stick to what you're good at and concentrate on your guns," Wirin muttered sarcastically. "I can't just hack Seneca's blueprints as you so eloquently put it, because Seneca would know. The only way to alter the arena's designs would be to access the blueprints on screen using Seneca's own passkey. There are only five passkey cards in the entire Capitol and they belong to the Gamemakers with the master key being Seneca's as Head Gamemaker. Now unless you have a way I could possibly get my hand on it, don't offer me anymore of your advice," Wirin finished bitterly.
Sharpe scowled. "Well it seems to me your plan has a pretty big flaw if you can't get your hands on Seneca's passkey," he muttered.
Wirin glowered fiercely, gritting his teeth. "You worry about your work and I'll worry about mine," he snapped. "The plan will work because I will gain access to the arena. If Seneca doesn't give me the passkey himself so his loyal brother can help, then I'll steal the damn thing if I have to! Seneca I assure you will know nothing. He will be entirely oblivious until the last moment when his own arena murders his district tramp and there's not a thing he can do about it," Wirin finished cruelly, the dark conviction in his words chilling.
There was silence for a moment before Sharpe spoke. "Are you sure, stopping Seneca from going to that party, was the only reason you told him Stephanie Trindlesworth was dying?"
Wirin's lips curled in a malevolent smirk. Sharpe may be an idiot at times, but what Wirin appreciated was how their thoughts ran along the same concurrent thread. "Well," Wirin mused aloud contemplatively, "there was the added reason…I just couldn't resist being able to see the expression on Seneca's face when he heard that his little precious toy was going to be taken away from him."
Sharpe smirked knowingly, as both men chuckled.
"Fine then, what's this job?" Sharpe said finally, refocusing the conversation back to the initial reason Wirin had called him.
"I visited a medic to have him examine Seneca's district tramp's results. I've already sent you the medic's name and details, take care of him to ensure his silence."
"Medics, guards, Avoxes…I do appreciate the variety that comes with my job," Sharpe mused, smirking.
Wirin rolled his eyes again, scoffing, "you're a twisted individual Sharpe," he said almost appreciatively.
Shape chuckled a little incredulously, "of the two of us we both know who is the more so," he said meaningfully.
Wirin smirked, "oh and Sharpe?"
"Yes?"
"That other issue we discussed?"
Sharpe chuckled sinisterly, "don't worry Wirin – I'll be adding district mentor to my kill list soon enough."
…
Stephanie recognised the reporter faintly as he formally announced the arrival of the Gamemakers to the party-goers.
Stephanie had felt her heart skip a beat with worry as she hurriedly averted her gaze, keeping it locked on the fountain. She couldn't decide if it would be better to utterly ignore Seneca or not. All the other tributes were looking towards the doors. It was morbid curiousity Stephanie knew. Hadn't she said it herself once to Haymitch what seemed a life-time ago? Looking at the Gamemakers would be putting a face to her would-be murderers.
However having nightmares about this scenario back home in District 3 had been very different. As her brain conjured faces of the Gamemakers to incorporate into her night time terrors; they had been ugly, unnatural faces. Not like Seneca. Stephanie swallowed. She had never expected a Head Gamemaker with eyes that could chill her bones with such freezing ice only for his gaze to turn molten the next moment.
Stephanie heard a faint murmur of shock and she steeled her jaw, forcing herself to look up to see the Gamemakers had entered.
And then her breath caught as she blinked rapidly, unable to believe her eyes.
Seneca wasn't there.
"Where is he?" Electra murmured meaningfully at Stephanie's side.
"Why are you asking me for?!" Stephanie hissed back.
Electra arched a cool brow. "You were the last to speak to him. Did he mention he wouldn't be at the party?"
Stephanie's cheeks burned hotly for a moment, as she cast a surreptitious look at Haymitch who was still stood at her shoulder.
Haymitch's grey eyes were focused as he sipped from his glass and watched the eager reporter engage with the Gamemakers.
"We don't talk about things..." Stephanie trailed off defeated. She had wanted to refute Electra's point, to say that she and Seneca only ever spoke when it was perfunctory and needed. But that was no longer the truth.
Unnecessary; all those unnecessary and seemingly meaningless interactions she had had with Seneca Crane.
Electra's eyes were knowing and Stephanie's own gaze dropped to the ground just as the reporter asked the question that had been buzzing around the room since the Gamemakers' arrival.
"And of course everyone is wondering – where's Seneca Crane?! The Head Gamemaker, the brilliant mind behind these century Games?!"
The four other Gamemakers that constituted Seneca's under–team exchanged silent looks.
Stephanie didn't realise she had been holding her breath until the Gamemaker spoke, answering the reporter.
"Sick he is. Given his best work for these Century Games and run himself exhausted for all his efforts! But don't worry, Crane isn't someone to stay down! He'll be up and about before long, you mark my words!"
"Lie," Stephanie mumbled without conscious thought.
"You're sure?" Electra quizzed.
"He just sounded tired on the phone not sick. I don't think he slept at…" Stephanie trailed off, paling as Electra's faintly amused eyes rested on her.
"And you and he don't talk, eh?" Electra muttered sardonically.
The reporter had just finished extending his best wishes, via the camera trained on him, to Seneca to get well soon! And Stephanie felt her stomach twist in nervous knots. Where was Seneca?
"I'm worried," Stephanie muttered.
Electra hummed contemplatively. "Do you want to go and nurse him back to health?"
Stephanie scoffed almost inaudibly as she rolled her eyes, "don't be so annoying," she muttered. "But tell me you don't find this all a little too suspicious, too convenient?"
Electra released a long breath, "fine then, you're right. It is a little suspicious. I would never expect Seneca to miss an event like this unless he had good reason."
Stephanie worried her bottom lip against her teeth as Electra spoke again, her voice notably cheerful and deliberately louder. Haymitch looked around this time as Electra spoke.
"Maybe Snow is dying and Seneca has been called to his bedside?" Electra suggested jovially.
Haymitch chuckled and Stephanie snorted, a grim smile touching her lips," that would be good news," she muttered.
"In the meantime you'll have to do your Gamemaker interview with him," Electra murmured as she discreetly nodded towards the foremost Gamemaker who was engaged in conversing with the eager reporters. The man had evidently taken the role of lead Gamemaker in Seneca's absence as the other three Gamemakers loitered behind him, holding themselves confidently.
The pseudo-lead Gamemaker was a round, bumbling man with balding slicked back hair and a red face. He looked more like a buffoon than a Gamemaker, Stephanie thought. Seneca was swift and agile, sure movements and deadly control and smugness. But this man looked clumsy and far too openly cheerful to spend his days designing ways to torture innocent tributes.
Stephanie pushed the thoughts away though, knowing only too well that appearances could be deceiving. And it seemed she was right as Haymitch immediately protested.
"She can do the interview with one of the other pieces of scum," he muttered darkly, eyes flashing at Electra.
Electra rolled her eyes but the look she shot Haymitch was understanding, "you know fine rightly Haymitch, she'll end up doing her interview with him – she's his type."
"Wh-wait" What?!" Stephanie snapped. She despised it when people spoke about her right in front of her nose as though she didn't exist!
"That Gamemaker you see him?" Electra nodded towards the blundering Gamemaker.
"Yes, what about him?"
"You're going to be doing your interview with him and– "
"No you're not Stephanie. Avoid him," Haymitch said resolutely, his shoulder tense as it brushed against hers.
Stephanie frowned, "what do you mean 'I'm his type'?" Stephanie asked warily.
Electra smirked grimly, but the gesture was hollow, "believe me Stephanie; it's better not knowing."
Stephanie swallowed nervously as Haymitch clenched his jaw tightly and Electra stared back at him just as resolutely. The two former Victors seemed to be engaged in some silent battle of wills and Stephanie caught Frenkin's eyes as he looked up at her in a mixture of curiousity and nervousness. Stephanie shrugged slightly, feeling the ridiculous sensation as though she were intruding on something private.
However before Electra and Haymitch could devolve into the full-blown argument that seemed to be threatening, they were interrupted.
Stephanie watched in perplexity as the Capitol official sidled up to Electra silently.
Electra's spine straightened, as she arched a cool brow expectantly.
"Miss Hocol if you could come with me please," the official's tone was clipped and commanding; the polite request evidently irrefutable.
But to her credit Electra merely fixed the official with a deadpan look, not at all intimidated. "Where to and why?" she demanded, her imperious brow climbing further.
"Miss Hocol – " the official began again but never got to finish.
"I wouldn't refuse her," Haymitch said suddenly to the official who pursed his lips indignantly.
Electra caught Haymitch's eye, sending him a subtle grateful quirk of her lips, the previous bubbling argument between them forgotten.
"There is a phone call waiting in the lobby for you Miss Hocol. Very urgent," the official relayed in an irritated tone.
Electra's expression smoothed to one of gentle surprise. "Oh, well…" she glanced back at them, shrugging, "won't be long," she assured them, grinning carelessly.
Stephanie had to admire the woman's cavalier attitude as Electra followed the official then with confident long strides, not once looking back.
"What was that about?" Stephanie mused aloud, looking expectantly towards Haymitch. Haymitch's grey eyes were coloured with faint worry as he gazed after the figure of Electra disappearing amongst the crowded party attendees. "I don't know," he admitted quietly.