Phillip paced the floor in front of Snow's office, wondering if going in and pestering the old man was the best way to get him to decide on what the arena would look like. It was truly the Head Gamemaker's job to decide on the arena, but Snow was the controlly-type and liked to take charge, or at least think he was in charge.

"Phillip, are you ever going to come in, or are you just going to keep pacing for another hour?" Snow called from behind the door.

A perplexed Phillip slowly opened the large door. The first thing that he saw was a giant poster-board with a detailed drawing of a piece of land. There was a large object in the center; looking closer at it, Phillip saw that it was indeed a cornucopia.

"Sir, is this- is this an arena?"

"An arena?" Snow asked. "I don't know. Why don't you ask Stanley? He's the one who drew it, after all."

Phillip stared at the goldfish.

"Um, sure, but what is the plan for the arena?"

"Again, I'm not sure!" Snow exclaimed. "Why don't you step outside for a bit while Stanley and I talk about it."

Phillip found himself once again wondering why it was that he worked for a lunatic.

"Sure, sir.."

"Ah, Stanley. The weirdo Phillip wants to know about your drawing." Snow said to Stanley.

Several bubbles emerged from Stanley's mouth.

"So it is an arena! I thought it was modern art, interesting," Snow mused. "What do you have planned?"

More bubbles.

"I don't know what he means about planning either." Snow huffed. "So, what does it do then?"

Another stream of bubbles escaped Stanley's small mouth.

"So that's what he means by planning! Oh…" Snow replied. "What's that? Four seasons? Which seasons? Paprika? Salt? Talk to me buddy!"

Bubbles escaped from Stanley at a more rapid pace.

"Oh, seasons! Not seasonings! Like Spring, Summer, Winter, and Fall? Oh, that's awesome."

More bubbles.

"Right. Different mutts for different seasons! I like your thinking. I'll call in Phillip."

Phillip burst in the room at the sound of his name.

"I like it!" He cried. "It's brilliant! I'll start immediately!"

"No!" Snow yelled. "Not so fast! Stanley has to write my speech for Panem!"

Phillip face-palmed himself.

"Sir, Stanley-er- can do it by himself. You need to come with me."

"What are we doing?" Snow asked.

"We have work to do."

"What kind of work?"

"Sir, I'm trying to make a dramatic page break."

"Oh." Snow muttered.

"Ok, we've got work to do."

"I'm still confused. What kind of work?"

"Sir! Dramatic page break!"
"Oh, right. We've got work to do."

~o0o~