Enjoy this mini chapter and let me know what you think!
...Day five passes...
...Day six passes...
...Day seven passes...
The Gamemakers are now desperate. Not a single tribute has engaged one another in the past three days. Head Gamemaker Rattegin barks out responses to anyone who speaks to him and is currently steaming over his fifth coffee of the night, angry red rings circling his tired eyes.
On the morning of day six a flurry of snow wiped out much of the food in the arena. Rattegin had hoped that this would force more tributes to search for competitors, that the blood lust would reach a new high. The very opposite happened. Tributes zipped up their jackets, retreated into snowy dens and ate sponsor supplied food.
On day seven, Rattegin ordered gift item prices to be increased two fold. This changed things in the slightest. The crowd favorites went from receiving steaming pots of exotic stew to a single cup of broth, but still, ten tributes remained hidden from one another.
He had no choice. Rattegin thumbed on the microphone at his station, ignoring the stress headache forming in his frontal lobe.
"Attention," he snapped. The whispered chatter ceased immediately. "As you know, this lack of action is not what we are here to oversee. So…" he trailed off. He could see Smithen's piggy face lean forward from the corner of his eye. Even Marla, normally unreadable, raised an eyebrow in his direction.
"…ready a feast." The room exploded with excitement immediately. A feast with so many tributes left hadn't happened in a long time.
Smithens was the first to speak to him. "Where do you want it, sir?" he squeaked, thick fingers pointing out the various locations around the arena set up for such an event.
"Who's farthest?" I ask him, unaffected by the feeling of electricity bouncing through the air. He scrunches his face up while looking at the tributes.
"7 and 10 are both a significant distance from the Cornucopia. They could both make it back in about a day or so. Probably less since the snow isn't falling as heavily."
The Headgamemaker nods. Smithens understands, the Cornucopia it is.
Smithens rushes off to make the appropriate arrangements. Rattegin thumbs through the profiles of the remaining tributes. Surely their numbers would by shaved down to the double digits after today. He can't help but hope their ends are bloody.
"Attention tributes!" Claudius Templesmith calls, voice magnified millions of times louder than its usual pitch. Birds retreat in the darkness of the eighth morning and every tribute's attention is captured. "My congratulations to each and every one of you who remain. You have brought great honor to your districts with your resilience and skill. However, with food running scarce and the Capitol citizens demanding your comfort, a bountiful feast will be provided at the expense of the Gamemakers." The voice pauses, letting this news sink into the tributes' ears and growling bellies. "Find yourself at the Cornucopia tonight at midnight and you'll be showered with delicacies you've never seen. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."
Feast time! I can't stress this point enough: let me know what you want to happen! I want to write something all of you guys will like, but I can't do that unless you tell me who your favorite tributes are! :) The next chapter will be up soon