Ricochet's eyes were glistening as she slowly tilted her head, weighing Snow to see if the man was capable of joking. Although it would have been a cruel prank, telling her she'd be allowed back into the Arena just to laugh and inform her she was too old, but then he handed her the order form for the Quell describing the new rules and requirements and Ricochet got the closest to squealing like a school girl she had ever been. Snow had decreed that the Tributes for that year's Quell would be solely pooled from the Districts' Victors which meant, even though she worked for Snow, she would be in the running. And with the way Snow spoke, she would most certainly be chosen in the drawing to incite excitement and worry in the crowd of viewers.
"Wait, if I go into the Arena, who will protect you?" she asked lifting her head to where the elderly President stood. He chuckled, a deep raspy sort of rumbling in his chest, as he gently lifted her chin. Ricochet felt a slight tremble in the gnarled finger of the President as he held her head up so their eyes locked. He leaned in a bit too close for comfort, the smell of blood swarming her nose and only vaguely subdued by the over potent rose he wore on his lapel.
"I will have all my troubles in that Arena with you, my sweet Ricochet," he cooed almost affectionately. Ricochet kept her expression blank but felt her eyes tighten a bit in an inquisitive squint. "Your job is to neutralize each and every threat I may have here, there," he clarified and it clicked.
Katniss Everdeen.
She was the only female Victor in District Twelve. If Snow did in fact decree that all Tributes were to be chosen from former Victors then Katniss would have no other choice but to be forced as Tribute once more, and in Snow's mind if there was no Katniss Everdeen there would be no more civil unrest. Of course, she had until the end of the Victor's Tour to change Snow's mind as he would not announce anything until the Quell neared in a couple more months.
Ricochet flashed her usual half smile, her eyes twinkling as she gave a slight nod. She couldn't quite move in a decisive nod seeing has how Snow still had a hold on her chin and was still too close for her comfort.
"I will make sure that anyone that would have caused any upset in the present or future will not walk out of that Arena, Mr. President," she promised with the tone of perfect steadiness and confidence. Snow smiled and tilted her chin down to press his all too puffy lips against her forehead, as a father would a daughter but there was a subtle affection that was too strong for Ricochet's liking. He lingered too long and when he was done kissing her forehead, he looked into her eyes too long with a sparkle she was not used to seeing in his cold and uncaring gaze.
"That's a good girl," he said releasing her from his hold and walking to his desk. "Now leave me and send Plutarch in, I need to discuss this new Arena with him."
Ricochet bent at her waist, arms straight at her sides and level with the floor as was custom for entering and leaving Snow's presence. Once she straightened, she adjusted her garrison cap and turned on heel to walk out of the office. Snow looked over his shoulder to watch her leave, but before she could close the door behind her he remembered something.
"Isn't it your birthday, Ricochet?" he asked turning slightly to face her as she paused and looked at him.
"Sir?"
"You turn twenty-two today don't you?" he clarified absently stroking a pen between his fingers. Ricochet glanced at his hand, oddly petting the pen as he studied her, and she gave a curt nod.
"I believe it is, Mr. President."
"We will have to celebrate," he told her thoughtfully. He lifted his head and turned back to his desk, now pondering how to go about celebrating the birthday of his most prized soldier. And who would be able to attend an event on such short notice. Ricochet waited a moment to see if there was anything else, but then just pulled the door closed behind her and found herself looking at one of the Peacekeepers guarding the door of Snow's office.
"What?" she snapped a bit harshly. The man quickly straightened and looked straight ahead rather than say something that would encourage Ricochet to practice her higher ranking privileges. She rolled her eyes, more and more unhappy with the cowardice of Snow's soldiers, as she said, "Plutarch Heavensbee will be on his way here shortly, be sure he makes it without trouble yes?"
"Yes, ma'am," the Peacekeeper said with an obedient nod. He was older than Ricochet by quite some years and had some weight on her. If it came to blows, for whatever reason, the only reason Ricochet would win is her innate ability to read her opponents and hit vital areas before they lay a blow on her. She was quick and she was smart, a combination that made her a survivor rather than a dead unknown face on a screen.
Ricochet nodded to the man and started down the stairs towards her own room. She had a room in Snow's mansion because she needed to be minutes away from him at any given moment and so he bedroom was as close to the center of the entire building as it could be for the sole purpose of he being able to reach Snow wherever in the house he may be. The architects had been geniuses with their building skills however. Her room was suspended over the foyer in a dome roofed apartment that had an elevator to every level of the mansion. The floor of the dome posed as a mosaic of the finest art for guests and allowed Ricochet the strongest privacy.
It was as if there was an apartment inside a mansion and anyone that did not know Ricochet would have been none the wiser as to what the large sparkling dome hid under its rounded protection. Ricochet was pulling the metal pins from her tightly wound hair and letting the thick dark tresses fall loosely around her shoulders. The elevator doors slid open revealing her sitting area and she walked over to the lone couch, sliding her jacket off and lazily tossing it to the couch before pulling the tank over her head and tossing it aside. The cold metal of her name tags hit the sensitive skin just below her bra line and she felt goosebumps bubble along her torso while walking into her bathroom.
The stunning white tiles were muted by the dark green and black glass tiles in alternating patterns along the floor. Her walls were a warm olive green and all the appliances a dully polished silver. The lights didn't buzz as they did in the Districts and once she set the shower to her liking, she continued undressing.
She pulled her tags off her neck, dropping them onto the marble countertop around her sink, and yanked her heavy boots off. The made hollow sounds as she tossed them out of the steam filling room and then yanked the belts off her tiny waist. She swiped a hand over the mirror to study herself. She hadn't aged much at all in the six years that had passed since her turn in the Games, but the smooth skin she had been so envied for no longer ran as unmarred. A deep scar ran from her left shoulder blade down to curve around to just above her belly button, she had refused to let any surgeon fix the scar although Snow had offered her the option many times. She ran her fingers over the tail end of that prominent scar and then the one over her right breast. A Tribute had hoped to stab her heart and only managed a shallow stab in the wrong side before she buried a gutting knife in her skull.
Minor scars stood pale against her slightly tanned skin, but for the most part her body had remained untouched since. A few scars were from training or the few assassination attempts she neutralized. Snow's life had been almost ended a few more times than anyone knew about; most thought her job was just to appease Snow's vanity at thinking he was important enough to want to kill but in all actuality his life was very much at stake every day. There were quite a few more than just a couple people upset with Snow's presidency and it was only Ricochet who stood in the way of that correction.
She pushed off the sink and pulled her under clothes off before stepping into the vanilla scented steam of her shower. The hot water instantly dragged every minor ache and discomfort right out of her, dragging it off down her body to swirl down the drain along with her thoughts of the day. Her scalp gave mild protests as the water weighed her thick hair down, having her hair up and so tightly wound all day always left her with a minor headache and a sore scalp. She allowed the vanilla scent to counteract the blood and roses scent still lingering in her hair and on her skin as she furiously scrubbed a lather onto her skin. The lather contained tiny little beads that roughly scrubbed loose and dead skin as well as dirt and grime off her body leaving her fresh and smooth once she rinsed off.
Makeup, sweat and the day all washed away as Ricochet lathered and pampered herself with lotions and washes and all the pleasant scented everything she could find. If Snow did somehow manage a sort of gathering to celebrate her birthday, she was going to do her best to look as if she actually belonged in the Capitol. Guard or no Guard she was still a woman and she still found minor comfort in knowing she looks her best, and since she wears a uniform day in and day out she was anxious to test her girlish whims on dressing herself and making herself look stunning.
Even Snow's personal Guard had hopes of someday meeting the right man, and if she was lucky he'd find her more attractive with a knife in her hand rather than her standing in heels. She still had priorities and she didn't want a pretty man for a pretty woman. She wanted a man that could as easily kill her as love her. A real man.
A Victor's Man.