The 'Flower of Panem' or 'The Angel of Mercy', Seraphine Reza is the jewel and pride of Panem. One of their most treasured victors in the history of the Hunger Games and a favorite of President Snow.
While she smiles, comforts and plays her part ev...
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It was suffocatingly grim in the quiet greenhouse; Sera ignored it, pulling out her chair and taking a seat. Plutarch looked up with cold eyes. Beetee with his awkward gait stopped pacing and sat down next to a silent Plutarch.
"Don't you all look happy tonight?" She remarked as she poured herself a cup of tea that she knew she wasn't even going to finish.
Plutarch loudly tapped his finger against the glass table as the lights around the greenhouse were turned off abruptly. "What did you do this time?" His cold words might've chilled anyone else to their bones with that terrifying heavy gaze of his but she was tired and not feeling the best so all she did was smile.
"What exactly did I do this time?" She echoed back, looking around at the tense faces of her allies. Neither seemed to react or move like they were life-like statues propped around the table.
"You know exactly what you did."
"I'm so confused. I admit I've done a lot of things that wouldn't be right but I have no idea what you're accusing me of so can someone please cut to the chase and spell out what exactly I did so we can get this meeting over and done with."
Sensing the growing tension in the room, Beetee stepped in between the two, trying to diffuse the conflict. "Seraphine," He called out carefully, throwing a look to Plutarch to calm down. "We—I understand that you tend to play both sides. It's not the worst thing in the world, I understand. I'd do it too if I was in your place but I think you might've gone too far."
Sera cocked her head to the side and glanced at the glowering Plutarch and then back at the calm Beetee. "I've had potentially one of the...wors–eventful nights in my life—not counting my experience in the arena so it'd be great if either of you make this easier for me and just spit it out."
"Fabius Harada." Plutarch drew out and tapped the table. "Why did you turn him into the Consular Tribune?"
Scarus did get it right, he was good and she hated that. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news but I wasn't the one who turned him in. If I had to be completely honest, President Snow didn't even suspect Consul Harada."
"Then how—"
"Scarus Redcliff." She said his name with a sigh as Zephyr made a sound while Beetee looked on in confusion. Beetee wasn't sociable. He didn't know half the people Sera and Plutarch ever talked about so it was a little surprising to her that he knew the soon-to-be-late or already-dead Consul.
"We have a problem," She began, pulling her chair closer to the two. Beetee sighed loudly and nodded. "I was careless." She could already hear what he wanted to say.
"I can tell," Plutarch commented and motioned her to carry on but not before he threw in another comment. "You were getting a little too overconfident lately so I'm not surprised you made a mistake."
Somehow he didn't seem angry, just tired. He meant well, she knew that but still, she couldn't help feeling a little bitter at his comments. She knew she was careless but did he have to rub it in?
