ᵏᶦˡˡ ᵛ. ᵐᵃᶦᵐ.

He displays his winning smile that once melted into a grimace, back when a tribute was made a survivor and it widens in its glory as he reminisces in the memory of past days - Glorious days that belonged to Dyon Locke, victor, heir of diamonds, now mentor. He sealed the deal when he was only a kid, a good age in his parents’ opinion and quite a start to the rest of his life: He killed them all, so he could win it all and even though he suppresses the urge to fall over the edge, there’s cheerful malice in the way he walks and acts. Years ago, he was in his tributes place, a young boy carrying himself so well that the audience couldn’t help but adore him - He was glamour, he was strength and as of now, Dyon was willing to CHEERS to that. It was a rather unusual occasion for him, drinking blocked out the clear mind and he’d more than need it to continue his hunt for the best sponsors. It’s when he spots no one but Varius Exer himself, the life of the hazy game played by the metropolis, that Dyon reconsiders.  ❛ The beauty of the Capitol, always a delight! No woman can compare, Varius. ❜ He chuckles at that, it’s superficial and put on but surely the story of how he got rid of his fiancee was one to be told over many drinks.

He nods, his gaze falling onto the blonde’s face to underline given advice. Knowledge was excellent, leading up to the life of a trickster, even, but brains could only get you so far in the wrong kind of setting.  ❛ But the ARENA doesn’t care. And the others don’t care as long as they got two legs and a will to flee. Now, you can’t let them, you know that. I tolerate no exceptions. ❜ Words are spoken as a fact, not a question as he doesn’t take her for a fool just yet and if she were to disobey instructions, the younger must be one to get on his bad side.   ❛ I’ll let you know soon enough. You’re their ideal, their friend and daughter. We’re making them BELIEVE. Ever given an interview? ❜

With a nod of head and a couple of firm handshakes, a tall figure was EXCUSED to walk down the halls of one of the most prominent buildings, with ceilings so high one could see them fondle the clouds. Surrounded by it all, he remembered the feeling of being godlike, people handing you every item of desire and stares thrown your way that indicated deep respect. They respected him, because he had killed. Massacred, even. And he had won, with a smile for the audience and the honor of District One brought to a higher level. He’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Not all mentors were like that, with later districts lacking every sense of authority and leading skills. Presumably, those wouldn’t make it as far. His steps came to a stop, attention now shifted onto a woman he had seen before, one of the individuals he considered himself excited to meet. And for the time being, they’d have to somewhat work together.  ❛ Zenaida Judas. ❜ Dyon audibly noticed, movements directed to meet the woman. Dark hair, fiery attitude as far as he remembered - and one hell of a kill.  ❛ Your tributes. What do we got this year? I like the boy, looked like he got hunger for attention.  ❜

Her face is a familiar one and even though they had never physically met before, it had hit him when the girl stepped forward to volunteer during the annual reaping. Pictures, surely he had seen her in pictures and with families both devoting their careers to the creation of what’s expensive and sparkles, the odds of sooner or later catching someone he might know weren’t bad at all. Blessed with doll-like features and golden locks, she was SURE to get the Capitol’s attention, perhaps admiration ; Much like careers before her time, some he had passed, some he had trained. Like the girl he had come with when he was fifteen. If anything was on his mind now, it was simply that she’d do good, because she had to. Trainings were an easy out for their district: He’d make sure to question her about strengths and weaknesses and if the latter appeared to be prominent, Dyon wouldn’t rest until the blonde fit his plan of game. Some weaknesses were tolerable, MOST only a product of cowardice and idleness. Clearing his throat, Dyon produced a raspy sound before raising his voice. ❛ Enjoy your last five minutes of calm.  ❜ He nodded alongside words, a dry joke.  ❛ As soon as we’ve reached the Capitol, we’re working on your interview section. I have a vision, so do the stylists. You’ll have the sponsors wrapped around your fingers. ❜ He speaks as if anything else was completely out of question and a good balance of authority and analysis. It was his second time as a mentor and for a minute, the older allowed himself to re-kindle with old memories, especially the ones of his last kill. He had been the one to stand tall after that, bloody fingers now part of a victor. And god, he had loved everything about the thrill.   ❛ What’s your specialty?  ❜