Welcome, welcome, everyone. :)
~ Meghan
The Opportunity.
...
- The Capitol -
Head Gamemaker Minerva Bellum was finally alone.
"Now, we hear you've seen sneak peeks of this year's arena plan! Care to let us in on the secret?" Caesar Flickerman leaned in on-screen. His signature suit - midnight blue and glittering with miniature lightbulbs - shone even brighter under the stage lights. He'd started a gimmick during the 35th Games when he began his career as the Master of Ceremonies: each year he chose a new color for his lips, eyebrows, and hair. He'd begun with the rainbow first. This year was the start of a new color-scheme, and Caesar had gone for white, shimmering like snow frosted over his smile.
"He looks frozen, doesn't he?" Minerva asked aloud. No one answered. No one was there to.
The Control Room was empty, devoid of the usual hustle-and-bustle of the Gamemaker team. Now the fluorescent lights were all switched off, the table no longer humming with holograms of the arena, and shadows hid in the room's pale corners. Just the glow of the television screen and the laughter of the audience kept Minerva company.
Lucky Flickerman laughed as the audience cheered. "Well, I don't think I can give up that information!"
"Come on!" Caesar egged, winking a pale-painted eye. Even his eyelashes were white. "For your son?"
"Fine, fine, just for you!" Lucky laughed again. Even though he'd retired 7 years ago, he still looked nearly the same as he had back in the early days of the Games. His facial enhancements had been subtle - of course, Lucky could afford the finest surgeons in the Capitol after being Master of Ceremonies for deacdes. Minerva had seen the recordings of the 11th Hunger Games, and the interviews from the night before its commencement. She had studied all the Games like her life depended on it.
Minerva's mouth - which, unlike Caesar's, had no lipstick - curved into a half-smile. Perhaps it does.
Her gaze flicked to the largest white chair where her predecessor had sat. Just a year before, he had barked orders to her and the rest of the Gamemakers. After 5 years as Head Gamemaker, he'd grown too comfortable, taking too many days off and drinking too much posca. One evening he'd had even more than usual, and, just like that, the carnivorous boar mutts got released into the arena too early.
"Ruined potential," President Snow had sighed to Minerva the next week in his office. "But you won't make the same mistake. Will you, Miss Bellum?"
"No, sir," she'd responded simply. "I'll do better."
President Snow had given her a white rose in return.
He'd brushed a gloved hand through his wavy blonde hair that, after all these years, was beginning to get gray strands. "Not just better. Impress me."
"I will." And so she set to work.
On the television screen, Lucky leaned over and whispered something to Caesar.
"Oh my!" Caesar said, widening his eyes in exaggeration. "We are in for a treat!"
The Capitol audience went berserk, laughing and demanding to know this year's secrets.
Caesar held up his palms. "I'm afraid my hands are tied! I think we'll all have to see in eight days when the tributes make their way into the arena!"
Minerva reached for the silver remote up and turned off the television before the crowd could start squawking and begging for clues again. The room was nearly completely black now, lit by the luminous safety markers along the floor to the exit. She stood and brushed off her starched lab coat. On her chest, the golden 'HG' pin sparkled.
"Eight days," she murmured.
The tributes would be be chosen tomorrow. It would begin all the way on the east coast of Panem. District 12 started the parade of selected children, and then 8, 6, 11, and so on. Minerva would be here in this room with the other Gamemakers, watching the Reapings and gathering data on all the tributes. By the next morning, the statistics for each district child would be shone in Ravenstill Square: photographs, age, height, weight, and - mostly important - their odds of winning.
Of the 24 tributes announced tomorrow, a victor would be among them.
And tomorrow night, Minerva would have to go up in front of Panem to do an interview with Caesar Flickerman.
The tributes weren't the only ones playing a dangerous game.
"To success," Minerva said to herself. She turned to the seat where the former Head Gamemaker had sat.
What a waste, she had said after he disappeared. All the Gamemakers knew better than to ask where he had gone. They knew. He had so much talent, another Gamemaker had sighed in answer. They had misunderstood Minerva's words. What a waste of a perfectly good opportunity, Minerva wanted to finish. But she had just smiled back.
The new Head Gamemaker turned from the Control Room and began to leave.
"Let the Games begin," she said to the silence.