❝ THE FALL ◐ the hunger games.

❝ CHAPTER THREE .

Tribute arrival day.

It was one much anticipated by everyone in the Capitol. All itching to get the first real look at the tributes, placing bets on who they thought would come out victorious. Even the Presidential Palace was noisier than usual.

Mason Everson-Asteril remained quiet.

Tucked away in his room early in the morning as to not disrupt his fathers meetings, despite the fact Emmett often insisted Mason tagged along for the experience. The Capitol loved Mason, there was no doubt about it, but he hadn't decided if he loved them... at least some of them.

Sat on the ledge of his bedroom window, watching as people came and went. Mason had never seen so many people enter the mansion, and it was barely 9 am. Tribute trains were said to start arriving around 11 am, if everything remained on schedule.

Mason's life in the Capitol was still just beginning, and so was his relationship with his father. After living in District 2 for fifteen years with no knowledge of who his father was, he'd grown accustomed to life in the Districts. Life outside of the Capitol. But in the blink of an eye, he was whisked away to live a completely different life than the one he was finally getting used to. Having a parent who actually wanted to be present in his life was a big change in and of itself, but everything that came along with it had just made it overwhelming.

A familiar rhythm of knocks was heard at Mason's bedroom door. He didn't need to think twice about who it was.

"Come in," Mason says, his head not turning away from the window. The door doesn't even creak, but Mason hears the sound of the doorknob turn.

Emmett steps into the bedroom, mumbling a dismissal to someone as he does. It doesn't stop the individual from continuing to run their mouth in whispers, which Mason can hear almost clearly. During his time in the Presidential Palace, he's learned a few things. The most useful one being that no one here actually whispers. They speak in a hushed tone and hope that no one around them picks up on the conversation, or that they at least know better than to. But for a quiet and observant 17-year-old Mason, none of those ring true.

"But Mister President—" The unknown voice gets louder at that, and almost whiny, which is unfortunately something else that Mason has noticed is very common within the Capitol residents.

Heels clicking against the smooth tile floor is heard and the door shuts seconds later, which leaves Mason to assume that his father put on his 'Shut up or you're fired' look, something Emmett had been mastering in recent weeks.

Mason can see the reflection of Emmett walking up in the window. His tie is undone, his shirt untucked, but everything else is in perfect order. The window seat creaks as Emmett sits himself down on it and a frown forms on his lips.

"Well that's no good.." Emmett mumbles, shifting his weight onto his right hand as he presses down on the wood. Mason glances at Emmett's puzzled face and then down to his hand.

"Is that going to accomplish anything or are you just trying to see if you can break it?" Emmett shrugs and leans back against the wall that the large window connects to.

"Testing its limits. I can get it replaced with something sturdier, if you want." Emmett offers but Mason shakes his head.

"Nah, not unless you plan on using it a ton," Mason fights the smile that wants to form on his face, "If that's the case though, then yeah, please."

"Are you implying I'm fat?" Emmett looks at him dumbfounded, but a laugh ties itself into his words. Mason presses his lips tightly together as he looks over at his father. He snorts before they both burst into laughter.