Post by countlivin on Apr 23, 2019 4:10:41 GMT
Chapter 1: The Events of Tomorrow
Theoram Warrik
Every street in this wonderful city shone like polished marble. Every tree bore the golden leaves of a better life. All their faces were jolly and smiling, but it was a bold-faced lie. He knew those faces were actually masks hiding their fear. The leaves were cheap plastic knock-offs of the authentic. Under those paints that coated the Capitol was the agony of the citizens who were too afraid to say something.
The tea tasted faintly of olives and the color of early autumn. It was a difficult savor to describe, but Theo had grown accustomed to it in his forty years of life. In the Capitol, drink flowed like water. You could almost pluck a meal off any tree on the street. Theo despised it.
Theoram Warrik was a simple man, or that's how he appeared. He didn't fall into the chasm of debt that those unnatural body modifications provided. He never wore extravagant makeup like the majority of his peers. He was born with a hard limp in his left leg and a weak eye that he hid behind a thick glass. To the average Capitol citizen, Theo wasn't even of note, and he liked it that way. He didn't much enjoy the petty small talk of Capitol folk, not about sports, nor the latest fashion or technology. Theo only cared about the Games.
The day it all started was in January. Theo had taken his seat that brisk morning, outside a small coffee shop he had grown very close to. It was the only one in the world that served his favorite brand of tea; they called it "Winkleberry Brew." It was the name of the restaurant and a genetically modified fruit that they served as sweetener in their teas and coffees. Theo adamantly opposed things that defied nature, but he couldn't say it didn't take the edge off a bad day.
It was a lovely shop. Several lamps hung blue on the wall, glowing a radiant blue. The tables spaced out neatly on the patio were made of aluminum wire and were painted black and white, the colors of the nation of Panem in which they lived. There was a likely rumor that before the war, there were hundreds of nations with completely separate governments, all coexisting with one another. Now, with most of the planet ravaged by nuclear waste and disease, there was only one: Panem, and its twelve Districts.
He watched as the men and women around him gallivanted through the streets of their beloved city, bees busy at their mindless work. It pained Theo to know that he was one of them.
"Theo," the familiar voice rang from behind him. With a glance up from his tea, he saw it was the man he had spent the better part of his life with. Though they had been raised on vastly different paths, Roman Walsh was Theo's best friend. They had met at Winkleberry every week for as long as he could remember. "Theo, you got the job."
Theo spun around in his seat to see the man beaming back at him and Theo almost dropped his tea. Roman stood at just under four feet; Theo didn't need to stand to meet him at eye level. "You're joking…"
Roman took his seat on the iron wire chair across from his friend. "How many years have you known me? Enough to know that I never joke."
Roman had confirmed Theo's every hope. He had passed the exam and was finally, after all these years, a seat on the panel of Gamemakers. He would sit among haughty judges and celebrities and help forge the arena. He had worked his entire life to become a Gamemaker for the Hunger Games, and fallen short every time. Theo could feel his fingers shaking, but perhaps that was the cold.
Most pursued the position for selfish power, or for the pay, or sometimes even for the thrill of it. Theo needed it because he had seen the suffering of those outside the great marble walls surrounding the Capitol. He was going to end it, and he was more than determined to. Ever since the Dark Days drew to a close in his adolescence and President Snow instated the Hunger Games, Theo knew he would be the one to put them to an end.
Roman Walsh was a man of peculiar taste. It was part of what had drawn them together. Most Capitol folk enjoyed their vibrant face paints and exotic clothing. Roman preferred drab ones. Most listened to violent music until their ears bled, but Roman's was always old romantic styles and jazz. There were those who couldn't even recognize those things anymore.
His brown hair was awfully shaggy this morning, yet still well kempt, and hung well below his ears. His goatee was neatly trimmed and formed a perfect ring from under his nose to beneath his chin. But his most striking feature was his height. In a world with genetic modifications for sale over the counter, it was strange to find a man of his stature anymore. With enough plastic surgery, one could virtually decide their physical appearance, yet Roman remained a dwarf. He enjoyed it, he said, most likely for the same reason Theo enjoyed his monocle. It separated them from the others. They were unique.
"How does it feel to be a Gamemaker?" Roman asked, running a hand through his slicked-back hair.
"That's funny," Theo chuckled lightly. "You've been the Head of Gamemaking Department for three years, and you're asking me how it feels?"
"Yes, well, I thought I would spare you. You've been mumbling about this under your breath since we were classmates. We're on equal ground once again. It's just like the old days." He smiled. "Right, Theo? Just like before the Games!"
"Before the Games was worse. We were never on equal ground." Theo shook his head and took another warming sip. "Your father was Secretary of Defense. You got where you are because of him."
"Bah!" Roman laughed, a wide grin from ear to ear. "I achieved my position because of my wonderful imagination! Tell me you've seen one of my arenas that failed to please an audience. I'd tell you to check again. And besides, if I rose to power based on higher men, how the hell did you do it?" Theo glowered his way, but after a moment's hostile silence, the corner of his mouth upturned and became a smile. Both men laughed all their breath into the hazy winter air.
"It's good on equal ground, old friend," Theo said. Their friendship was odd in the Capitol. Both were highly intelligent (by their own standards), and they shared countless arguments that might lead an outsider to believe they were enemies. In reality, there was no one in Panem that Theo trusted more.
Roman waved a hand toward the tea sitting beneath Theo's chin. When he offered the cup, Roman took a long sip and asked, "Do you remember last year's Games?"
"Yes. A desert ecosystem. What about it?"
"Well, as the time draws near to decide on this year's arena, I've discovered I've run out of ideas."
"You don't run out of ideas," Theo said, disbelieving. "You're Roman Walsh, Head Gamemaker of Panem. You used to line your notebooks with ideas for arenas during university, and I know you couldn't burn through all of them in a hundred lifetimes. It would be like if President Snow himself ever stood for reelection."
All of this conversation about the Games rang sour in Theo's ears. They were discussing where and how to throw twenty-four children in a pit to die. He only had to continue reminding himself of his goal. If he fell from this new position, there would be no other way. Ironic, he thought, that I have to act in a terrible way in order to do something right.
"Careful how you speak of Coriolanus." Roman shook his head and stared down into the steaming drink below him. "He doesn't take kindly to foul words."
"You're on a first-name basis with the President?" Theo raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he sighed, "he's on a first name basis with me. Just between you and me, for someone with as large a vocabulary as he has, I'd be surprised if 'respect' could be found in it."
Out of the corner of his eye, Theo spotted a pair of younger citizens walking past: two women with eyelashes as long as wings, flailing in the breeze. One heard a bite of the conversation and angrily trotted away. This was what Theo detested about the Capitol. Everyone had a cold heart, never having sentiment for anyone but themselves.
Theo breathed, watching the mist evaporate into the wind. "I suggest we discuss such things in a more secluded area."
"Ah! Secluded area! Speaking of which, I was pondering what this year's biome will be, and I can't help but think that the vast openness of the desert doesn't provide much opportunity for stealth. The tributes could see each other from a mile away."
"Yes… Most of the tributes died within the first night."
"And, with my wonderful imagination, I had the idea that I would let you decide for this year, Gamemaker Warrik."
Me? "Are you sure?" The words hit him like a ton of bricks in the chest, and he was already having heart problems. He was only hoping to sit on the panel. He would have never dreamed to have such a large role in the shaping of the arena. This is my chance…
"I'm clear as day," Roman replied. "You're just starting, and I believe you're aware of the concept of beginner's luck? Just don't pick a desert."
71% of readers chose to [B. Suggest a jungle setting.]
"A jungle might make a good setting," Theo suggested, scratching the bristles on his chin. "If you want stealth, nothing provides a better blanket of cover than a tropical rainforest. You couldn't even see the sky."
Roman nodded. "A jungle, you say? Well, it's a bit overused, but I love the way you're thinking. Something just as suspenseful to the audience as it is eerie to the tribute…"
Roman was an encouraging man, easy to talk to. Theo wished he could be that way, but it seemed he was cursed to solemnity. Roman was only two years older than him, and Theo found amusement in the fact that he looked up to such a short man.
"So, a jungle it will be?"
"A jungle it would be. If it were last year… Or if it were next year." He took another short sip of the Winkleberry Brew, before it lost its steam to the January chill. "What makes this year different, Theo?"
He hadn't a clue. "I don't know. What is it?"
"This year is the Twenty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games, and to celebrate the roundness of that number, President Snow has told me personally that this year's Games are going to be something extraordinary—the best who's like no one has ever seen."
"And how will we accomplish that?"
Roman chuckled. "By adding the secret ingredient to the arena—our own little tang… Congrats, Theo. You are now effectively one of six people in all of Panem who know about this." He leaned in closer and whispered, "Five, if you don't want to get us both arrested."
"They would arrest us for my knowing the Games are going to be special this year?" Theo raised an eyebrow. "You're the Head of Gamemaking Department. They can't do that to you."
He sighed and watched the sunrise, the magenta and the gentle blue. "You would be surprised how many things are kept secret in the Capitol. I think that's how Snow gets his kicks—by keeping things from people. It's a very hard thing to work my mind around, being a completely honest man."
They laughed. There were many things that Roman was, but honest was not one of them. It was part of how he rose so high on the corporate ladder. "So… It won't be a jungle? Why did you even ask me?"
Roman contemplated on that for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver coin, a Panem dollar, completely similar to any other. In his breast pocket he found a sewing needle. He held both items above the table, the coin just above the needle in perfect alignment. "Tell me, Theo, which way will the coin fall when it hits the pin?"
"Hm?"
"When I drop this dollar, will it fall to my left or to my right?" He paused for a moment, showing clear delight in Theo's confusion. "Or perhaps it will fall towards you… or even towards me. Which way?"
"Um… to the left."
Roman let the coin fall, and laughed as he saw Theo's utter bewilderment. The coin had landed perfectly in the center, letting it sit on the head of the pin as if it were the flat surface of a table. It remained there until Roman let go and let both objects fall into his hand. "That was unexpected, was it not?"
"How…?"
"When you are forging the arena—when you call yourself Gamemaker—you have to think of things in a different light. You have to look at something, know that the tributes would think about it one way, and then pull the rug from under them."
"I don’t—"
"The coin was a magnet and a gyroscope. I bought it in a joke shop, but it proves my point," he continued, "which is this… Be unexpected, Theo. The audience loves it."
"It's interesting advice," Theo told him, honestly. "Although, if I'm not wrong, the world likes things the normal way, without change. It's why they look down on people like us."
"Ah, but do they look down on us?" Roman retorted. "Last time I checked, we were Gamemakers, and they weren't."
That's true… "By God, Roman, I've never understood your optimism."
He smiled and changed the subject. "What has been your favorite arena to date? Which one struck you the hardest?"
Theo racked his memory for a second, but the answer was clear to him. "The one a couple years back with the aired-out marine trench. That one was great since one wrong move could lead to fall to death."
"Precisely!" He clapped his hands with his forefingers pointed upward.
"That wasn't your arena, though. That was the work of Gamemaker Castes."
"And it won him awards, didn't it? It won him awards before he won himself an early grave." Leodon Castes had been Head Gamemaker before Roman, a very popular one by audience opinion. That was all until President Snow himself instructed him to kill off a particularly reckless tribute from District Eight who was rising too high. When Castes objected, saying it unethical, singling out a single tribute, Snow had him executed. Privately, to be sure, but the rumors were as much truth as a man could need.
"The trench was the best to date, though," continued Roman. "It had little ocean huts jutting out the side of the cliff sides and jellyfish mutts that floated through the chasm. But the best part… The best part was that no one knew what the hell they were doing. Who's ever been in an underwater trench before?"
"I see what you're saying."
"Oh, this arena will be a jungle of sorts… But that would be a light way of putting it." He looked down into the cooling tea and took the last sip from it, appreciating one more bit of wooden flavor. "This year will be so much more than that. This year will be grand."
"So what will it be?" Theo asked his friend.
Roman peered back up and refused him an answer. He had confidence, that much was clear. It was a notion Theo often strived for, yet many times fell just short of. It was one that Roman nailed every time. He stood from his chair and dusted off the underside of his pants, making them as tidy as possible. "Unexpected, my friend… Unexpected. Just like the fact that I must leave now. Sorry we haven't had much time this week, but I've been called to a council meeting."
Theo finally accepted it was not his place to know the arena yet, even though he had provided the basic template. "So, I'll meet you here at this same time next week then?"
He shook his head and slowly edged away from the patio of Winkleberry Brew. "I would very much like that to be the case, but no. You won't see me for a long time. I am going on a trip to scope out territory for this new arena. So, goodbye, and… May the odds be ever in your favor."
Theo smiled and waved as Roman turned to leave. After he rounded the corner and passed out of sight, Theo decided it was time to make his leave. There wasn't much use in taking the part of the lonely old man at the tea shop. He stood and reached for his mahogany cane, yet didn't find it in time and lost his balance. His hand landed on the table and the teacup that had rested on it toppled to the ground and shattered into fragments. An employee named Marigold from the coffee shop was swiftly present to collect the pieces of broken ceramic.
"Did you have a stumble, sir?" she asked, condescendingly. "Would you like me to help you?"
"No, I've got it," Theo replied, placing his wooden cane beneath the weight of his body. He refused Marigold's offered hand and began slowly down the street in the direction of his rooftop apartment. It was a relieving feeling, to sit down. He almost forgot it was his struggle to move anywhere, and an even more difficult one to evade people's glares of disdain. Perhaps they didn't look down on Roman for being a dwarf, but that was the extent of his abnormality. Theo's leg and eye always seemed to make him a target.
He wondered if it would ever be any different. Maybe there would come a day when he could walk upright and pass amongst the Capitol residents freely without scrutiny, but it was not today; and it wasn't tomorrow. Though, Theo knew tomorrow would be different in a way. Only it would be different for other reasons…
THE HUNGER GAMES
THE PAWNS
Theoram Warrik
Every street in this wonderful city shone like polished marble. Every tree bore the golden leaves of a better life. All their faces were jolly and smiling, but it was a bold-faced lie. He knew those faces were actually masks hiding their fear. The leaves were cheap plastic knock-offs of the authentic. Under those paints that coated the Capitol was the agony of the citizens who were too afraid to say something.
The tea tasted faintly of olives and the color of early autumn. It was a difficult savor to describe, but Theo had grown accustomed to it in his forty years of life. In the Capitol, drink flowed like water. You could almost pluck a meal off any tree on the street. Theo despised it.
Theoram Warrik was a simple man, or that's how he appeared. He didn't fall into the chasm of debt that those unnatural body modifications provided. He never wore extravagant makeup like the majority of his peers. He was born with a hard limp in his left leg and a weak eye that he hid behind a thick glass. To the average Capitol citizen, Theo wasn't even of note, and he liked it that way. He didn't much enjoy the petty small talk of Capitol folk, not about sports, nor the latest fashion or technology. Theo only cared about the Games.
The day it all started was in January. Theo had taken his seat that brisk morning, outside a small coffee shop he had grown very close to. It was the only one in the world that served his favorite brand of tea; they called it "Winkleberry Brew." It was the name of the restaurant and a genetically modified fruit that they served as sweetener in their teas and coffees. Theo adamantly opposed things that defied nature, but he couldn't say it didn't take the edge off a bad day.
It was a lovely shop. Several lamps hung blue on the wall, glowing a radiant blue. The tables spaced out neatly on the patio were made of aluminum wire and were painted black and white, the colors of the nation of Panem in which they lived. There was a likely rumor that before the war, there were hundreds of nations with completely separate governments, all coexisting with one another. Now, with most of the planet ravaged by nuclear waste and disease, there was only one: Panem, and its twelve Districts.
He watched as the men and women around him gallivanted through the streets of their beloved city, bees busy at their mindless work. It pained Theo to know that he was one of them.
"Theo," the familiar voice rang from behind him. With a glance up from his tea, he saw it was the man he had spent the better part of his life with. Though they had been raised on vastly different paths, Roman Walsh was Theo's best friend. They had met at Winkleberry every week for as long as he could remember. "Theo, you got the job."
Theo spun around in his seat to see the man beaming back at him and Theo almost dropped his tea. Roman stood at just under four feet; Theo didn't need to stand to meet him at eye level. "You're joking…"
Roman took his seat on the iron wire chair across from his friend. "How many years have you known me? Enough to know that I never joke."
Roman had confirmed Theo's every hope. He had passed the exam and was finally, after all these years, a seat on the panel of Gamemakers. He would sit among haughty judges and celebrities and help forge the arena. He had worked his entire life to become a Gamemaker for the Hunger Games, and fallen short every time. Theo could feel his fingers shaking, but perhaps that was the cold.
Most pursued the position for selfish power, or for the pay, or sometimes even for the thrill of it. Theo needed it because he had seen the suffering of those outside the great marble walls surrounding the Capitol. He was going to end it, and he was more than determined to. Ever since the Dark Days drew to a close in his adolescence and President Snow instated the Hunger Games, Theo knew he would be the one to put them to an end.
Roman Walsh was a man of peculiar taste. It was part of what had drawn them together. Most Capitol folk enjoyed their vibrant face paints and exotic clothing. Roman preferred drab ones. Most listened to violent music until their ears bled, but Roman's was always old romantic styles and jazz. There were those who couldn't even recognize those things anymore.
His brown hair was awfully shaggy this morning, yet still well kempt, and hung well below his ears. His goatee was neatly trimmed and formed a perfect ring from under his nose to beneath his chin. But his most striking feature was his height. In a world with genetic modifications for sale over the counter, it was strange to find a man of his stature anymore. With enough plastic surgery, one could virtually decide their physical appearance, yet Roman remained a dwarf. He enjoyed it, he said, most likely for the same reason Theo enjoyed his monocle. It separated them from the others. They were unique.
"How does it feel to be a Gamemaker?" Roman asked, running a hand through his slicked-back hair.
"That's funny," Theo chuckled lightly. "You've been the Head of Gamemaking Department for three years, and you're asking me how it feels?"
"Yes, well, I thought I would spare you. You've been mumbling about this under your breath since we were classmates. We're on equal ground once again. It's just like the old days." He smiled. "Right, Theo? Just like before the Games!"
"Before the Games was worse. We were never on equal ground." Theo shook his head and took another warming sip. "Your father was Secretary of Defense. You got where you are because of him."
"Bah!" Roman laughed, a wide grin from ear to ear. "I achieved my position because of my wonderful imagination! Tell me you've seen one of my arenas that failed to please an audience. I'd tell you to check again. And besides, if I rose to power based on higher men, how the hell did you do it?" Theo glowered his way, but after a moment's hostile silence, the corner of his mouth upturned and became a smile. Both men laughed all their breath into the hazy winter air.
"It's good on equal ground, old friend," Theo said. Their friendship was odd in the Capitol. Both were highly intelligent (by their own standards), and they shared countless arguments that might lead an outsider to believe they were enemies. In reality, there was no one in Panem that Theo trusted more.
Roman waved a hand toward the tea sitting beneath Theo's chin. When he offered the cup, Roman took a long sip and asked, "Do you remember last year's Games?"
"Yes. A desert ecosystem. What about it?"
"Well, as the time draws near to decide on this year's arena, I've discovered I've run out of ideas."
"You don't run out of ideas," Theo said, disbelieving. "You're Roman Walsh, Head Gamemaker of Panem. You used to line your notebooks with ideas for arenas during university, and I know you couldn't burn through all of them in a hundred lifetimes. It would be like if President Snow himself ever stood for reelection."
All of this conversation about the Games rang sour in Theo's ears. They were discussing where and how to throw twenty-four children in a pit to die. He only had to continue reminding himself of his goal. If he fell from this new position, there would be no other way. Ironic, he thought, that I have to act in a terrible way in order to do something right.
"Careful how you speak of Coriolanus." Roman shook his head and stared down into the steaming drink below him. "He doesn't take kindly to foul words."
"You're on a first-name basis with the President?" Theo raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he sighed, "he's on a first name basis with me. Just between you and me, for someone with as large a vocabulary as he has, I'd be surprised if 'respect' could be found in it."
Out of the corner of his eye, Theo spotted a pair of younger citizens walking past: two women with eyelashes as long as wings, flailing in the breeze. One heard a bite of the conversation and angrily trotted away. This was what Theo detested about the Capitol. Everyone had a cold heart, never having sentiment for anyone but themselves.
Theo breathed, watching the mist evaporate into the wind. "I suggest we discuss such things in a more secluded area."
"Ah! Secluded area! Speaking of which, I was pondering what this year's biome will be, and I can't help but think that the vast openness of the desert doesn't provide much opportunity for stealth. The tributes could see each other from a mile away."
"Yes… Most of the tributes died within the first night."
"And, with my wonderful imagination, I had the idea that I would let you decide for this year, Gamemaker Warrik."
Me? "Are you sure?" The words hit him like a ton of bricks in the chest, and he was already having heart problems. He was only hoping to sit on the panel. He would have never dreamed to have such a large role in the shaping of the arena. This is my chance…
"I'm clear as day," Roman replied. "You're just starting, and I believe you're aware of the concept of beginner's luck? Just don't pick a desert."
71% of readers chose to [B. Suggest a jungle setting.]
"A jungle might make a good setting," Theo suggested, scratching the bristles on his chin. "If you want stealth, nothing provides a better blanket of cover than a tropical rainforest. You couldn't even see the sky."
Roman nodded. "A jungle, you say? Well, it's a bit overused, but I love the way you're thinking. Something just as suspenseful to the audience as it is eerie to the tribute…"
Roman was an encouraging man, easy to talk to. Theo wished he could be that way, but it seemed he was cursed to solemnity. Roman was only two years older than him, and Theo found amusement in the fact that he looked up to such a short man.
"So, a jungle it will be?"
"A jungle it would be. If it were last year… Or if it were next year." He took another short sip of the Winkleberry Brew, before it lost its steam to the January chill. "What makes this year different, Theo?"
He hadn't a clue. "I don't know. What is it?"
"This year is the Twenty-Fifth Annual Hunger Games, and to celebrate the roundness of that number, President Snow has told me personally that this year's Games are going to be something extraordinary—the best who's like no one has ever seen."
"And how will we accomplish that?"
Roman chuckled. "By adding the secret ingredient to the arena—our own little tang… Congrats, Theo. You are now effectively one of six people in all of Panem who know about this." He leaned in closer and whispered, "Five, if you don't want to get us both arrested."
"They would arrest us for my knowing the Games are going to be special this year?" Theo raised an eyebrow. "You're the Head of Gamemaking Department. They can't do that to you."
He sighed and watched the sunrise, the magenta and the gentle blue. "You would be surprised how many things are kept secret in the Capitol. I think that's how Snow gets his kicks—by keeping things from people. It's a very hard thing to work my mind around, being a completely honest man."
They laughed. There were many things that Roman was, but honest was not one of them. It was part of how he rose so high on the corporate ladder. "So… It won't be a jungle? Why did you even ask me?"
Roman contemplated on that for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver coin, a Panem dollar, completely similar to any other. In his breast pocket he found a sewing needle. He held both items above the table, the coin just above the needle in perfect alignment. "Tell me, Theo, which way will the coin fall when it hits the pin?"
"Hm?"
"When I drop this dollar, will it fall to my left or to my right?" He paused for a moment, showing clear delight in Theo's confusion. "Or perhaps it will fall towards you… or even towards me. Which way?"
"Um… to the left."
Roman let the coin fall, and laughed as he saw Theo's utter bewilderment. The coin had landed perfectly in the center, letting it sit on the head of the pin as if it were the flat surface of a table. It remained there until Roman let go and let both objects fall into his hand. "That was unexpected, was it not?"
"How…?"
"When you are forging the arena—when you call yourself Gamemaker—you have to think of things in a different light. You have to look at something, know that the tributes would think about it one way, and then pull the rug from under them."
"I don’t—"
"The coin was a magnet and a gyroscope. I bought it in a joke shop, but it proves my point," he continued, "which is this… Be unexpected, Theo. The audience loves it."
"It's interesting advice," Theo told him, honestly. "Although, if I'm not wrong, the world likes things the normal way, without change. It's why they look down on people like us."
"Ah, but do they look down on us?" Roman retorted. "Last time I checked, we were Gamemakers, and they weren't."
That's true… "By God, Roman, I've never understood your optimism."
He smiled and changed the subject. "What has been your favorite arena to date? Which one struck you the hardest?"
Theo racked his memory for a second, but the answer was clear to him. "The one a couple years back with the aired-out marine trench. That one was great since one wrong move could lead to fall to death."
"Precisely!" He clapped his hands with his forefingers pointed upward.
"That wasn't your arena, though. That was the work of Gamemaker Castes."
"And it won him awards, didn't it? It won him awards before he won himself an early grave." Leodon Castes had been Head Gamemaker before Roman, a very popular one by audience opinion. That was all until President Snow himself instructed him to kill off a particularly reckless tribute from District Eight who was rising too high. When Castes objected, saying it unethical, singling out a single tribute, Snow had him executed. Privately, to be sure, but the rumors were as much truth as a man could need.
"The trench was the best to date, though," continued Roman. "It had little ocean huts jutting out the side of the cliff sides and jellyfish mutts that floated through the chasm. But the best part… The best part was that no one knew what the hell they were doing. Who's ever been in an underwater trench before?"
"I see what you're saying."
"Oh, this arena will be a jungle of sorts… But that would be a light way of putting it." He looked down into the cooling tea and took the last sip from it, appreciating one more bit of wooden flavor. "This year will be so much more than that. This year will be grand."
"So what will it be?" Theo asked his friend.
Roman peered back up and refused him an answer. He had confidence, that much was clear. It was a notion Theo often strived for, yet many times fell just short of. It was one that Roman nailed every time. He stood from his chair and dusted off the underside of his pants, making them as tidy as possible. "Unexpected, my friend… Unexpected. Just like the fact that I must leave now. Sorry we haven't had much time this week, but I've been called to a council meeting."
Theo finally accepted it was not his place to know the arena yet, even though he had provided the basic template. "So, I'll meet you here at this same time next week then?"
He shook his head and slowly edged away from the patio of Winkleberry Brew. "I would very much like that to be the case, but no. You won't see me for a long time. I am going on a trip to scope out territory for this new arena. So, goodbye, and… May the odds be ever in your favor."
Theo smiled and waved as Roman turned to leave. After he rounded the corner and passed out of sight, Theo decided it was time to make his leave. There wasn't much use in taking the part of the lonely old man at the tea shop. He stood and reached for his mahogany cane, yet didn't find it in time and lost his balance. His hand landed on the table and the teacup that had rested on it toppled to the ground and shattered into fragments. An employee named Marigold from the coffee shop was swiftly present to collect the pieces of broken ceramic.
"Did you have a stumble, sir?" she asked, condescendingly. "Would you like me to help you?"
"No, I've got it," Theo replied, placing his wooden cane beneath the weight of his body. He refused Marigold's offered hand and began slowly down the street in the direction of his rooftop apartment. It was a relieving feeling, to sit down. He almost forgot it was his struggle to move anywhere, and an even more difficult one to evade people's glares of disdain. Perhaps they didn't look down on Roman for being a dwarf, but that was the extent of his abnormality. Theo's leg and eye always seemed to make him a target.
He wondered if it would ever be any different. Maybe there would come a day when he could walk upright and pass amongst the Capitol residents freely without scrutiny, but it was not today; and it wasn't tomorrow. Though, Theo knew tomorrow would be different in a way. Only it would be different for other reasons…
THE HUNGER GAMES
THE PAWNS