#drunkendeanreeves

Snow sat back into his red velvet armchair--well placed in his rather luxurious living parlor--after making a phone call. He took a sip of some energy renewing tea. By the looks of what was going on on his TV screen, he might need to switch to some calming tea. There were signs of...he dare not speak the word, or even think of. There were unusual alliances between the victors. An extremely popular, known career leaving the career pack? The so-called genius of District 3 showing affectionate feelings for more than technology? Everything was...odd. But he had faith in his Game-makers, not like last year. That was his mistake. He wasn’t involved enough last year. This year, he was. Soon two small capsules should fall out of the sky and into the hands of two certain victors. Inside the capsules, a strand of dark hair from a small child. Some might say that such a move was risky, insane even. But Snow has confidence. The Capitol would see it as some eccentric fan wanting to be touched by their favorite victor, or perhaps it’s a sentimental family member or friend sending a bit of them as a reminder, to be with them as they passed, or to give them motivation to win. No one would think the president would be so stupid as to pull such a stunt on national, live television. Now just to await the procuring reactions.

Lounging on a sofa on the train. Demi’s eyes gazed at the lands flying past them outside the train. She hadn’t said a word since their names were announced, she didn’t know what to say. Hearing footsteps in the same room, her head turned to fall on Dean, finally taking a gulp, she spoke. “I don’t want to die, Dean.”