"Maybe it's been years
since I genuinely smiled.
Maybe it's been years
since I wanted to be apart of anything."
Dexter Lowhill, District Elevens sixth winner of the 69th Hunger Games at the ripe age of eighteen years old.
It was his last reaping for...
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"Even the strongest can not over come the power of the Capitol."
(small warning for the beginning of snow being a manipulative ass and dexter being super uncomfortable)
Dexter hated this part of the night.
He sat across from President Snow himself, sitting in the insanely uncomfortable red chair while Snow sat in the white one, looking extremely pleased with himself as he read a paper silently. A vase of white roses sat neatly to the left of the desk while an untouched pile of books sat on the right. Dexter wouldn't know they were untouched if there wasn't a thin layer of dust on the top book. Didn't even have enough time to dust in here?
The tension in the room was already too much to bear, and it didn't help that Snow hadn't said a word this entire time. Dexter is aware of what he's doing, he's trying to show that he's the one in control. That Dexter is nothing more than a pawn, maybe even less than that, in the king's eyes.
"So," Snow started, clearing his throat and giving Dexter a false smile. Snow didn't care about any of the victors, but he wasn't particularly fond of Dexter specifically. He didn't hate Dexter, but it was painfully obvious he wasn't a favorite by the man, just a Capitol favorite so Snow had to tolerate him a little bit. "There are two women that have offered quite a bit for your company tonight, I have your key for your hotel room..." the older man fumbled with something in his drawer, pulling out the small key.
Dexter's eyes widened a little, leaning forward in his seat. "I'm... I'm sorry, two girls?" he asked quietly, feeling his heart speed up a little. "I've never had to have more than one in one night, especially not at the same time," he pointed out quietly, fumbling with the rings on his fingers and the gold vines along his arms and shoulders.
Snow raised a brow, setting the paper he was holding down on the desk and folding his hands together. "Are you refusing?" he asked, his voice dangerously low as he spoke. Before Dexter could even attempt to get a word in, Snow continued, "I haven't seen your younger brother in a while, haven't I? Archer, right?" He asked, but Dexter knew he was being taunted. The only family member Snow has yet to torture physically. The only person Dexter has left that Snow hasn't killed.
Dexter shook his head, clearing his throat. "No, no. I mean, yeah, I'll do it, of course. I just..." he trailed off, gulping a little bit. "Didn't expect it, I guess," he mumbled awkwardly, feeling his skin crawl.
Snow smiled, sliding the key across the desk. "Their names are Orchid and Lacy. Orchid is thirty-five and Lacy is thirty-seven," he told Dexter who nodded, looking down at the small key in between his fingers.
Before Dexter left, Snow stopped him. "Oh, and Dexter?" He called out, causing the young boy to turn around.
"Have fun," he smiled, the smile so menacing, Dexter was sure he was mocking him.
