Timber

Chapter Forty-Five: Hornet's Nest

A few hours prior.......

Senator Coriolanus Snow's gloved fingers caressed his jaw as his eyes fixed on the sunset-draped scene of the arena. His tall frame elegantly leaned against a crystalline glass balcony, overlooking a colossal screen. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils as the camera focused in on Hazel. The girl remained barefoot, motionless, and fixated on the sea, hugging her legs tightly. For hours, she had not stirred, transfixed by the lifeless body of the tribute from district ten.

A growing hum of innumerable conversations taking place all at the same time pulled Coriolanus' focus from Hazel. The ground floor, designed like an amphitheater, was packed with an audience comprised of the press and Capitol elite. The innards of the expansive building were buzzing with activity like a hive of colorful bees. And at the center, like the queen, Lucky Flickerman stood on an elevated platform, dressed in a dapper green suit chattered endlessly. The screen behind him flashed with the live feed of the arena, the faces of the nine remaining tributes displayed vertically along its edge. Despite Flickerman's attempts to captivate the crowd, the hum of side conversations intensified as the audience grew restless. Some stood to stretch, while others made their way to the concession stands for a snack.

Just as Lucky's voice faded from Coriolanus' attention it was replaced by an equally grating sound, a laugh that was unique if not completely irritating. Coriolanus's scrutiny shifted to the balcony directly below him, where the mentors lounged.

Festus was seated, his hands animated as he conversed with a feminine figure leaning over his terminal: Persephone Price. Her face was unnaturally serene and her laughter, airy and untroubled, floated up to the third and highest tier where Coriolanus observed them. The two mentors appeared deeply engaged in conversation, occasionally glancing at the screens before them.

Encased in glass, this second-level balcony offered a panoramic view of the television and the crowd below, while providing a partially insulated environment for the mentors. The lounge was equipped with plush recliners and private viewing pods, each furnished with monitors linked to different camera angles within the arena. The decor was comprised of rich textures and a color palette of brilliant gold and a deep, patriotic red. A well-stocked bar crafted from dark mahogany rested at one end of the lounge, bottles of expensive spirits glistened like gemstones within glass cabinets.

Scattered across the balcony, the remaining mentors occupied themselves in varied ways. Phyrne, mentor of District One, reclined before her terminal, cocktail in one hand and cigarette in the other. Next to her, Ermias, the mentor for District Twelve, indulged in heavy drinking, surrounded by a mountain of food items he had steadily depleted over the past few days. Meanwhile, Orla, mentor of District Eleven sat with her head supported by her hand, her breath shallow as she dozed before her terminal.

In the rear of the lounge, Mags paced back and forth, her wavy fishtail braid swaying with each step. She made frequent visits to the bar for drinks, occasionally pausing to glance at the live feed of the arena. She would watch for a few seconds before tilting her head back and downing her drink in one go.

Augustus Trask reclined in his viewing pod at the forefront of the mentor's lounge. Clad in a suit of midnight teal, his long dark hair, highlighted with streaks of royal blue, was neatly tied behind his neck with a matching velvet ribbon. With his arms crossed, he perused the array of screens with a deceptively nonchalant tilt of his head. It would almost seem that he was at ease in the lounge if it weren't for the rigid way he held his shoulders. They were raised and stiff, like a cat ready to pounce at any sign of danger. Surrounding him were the three victors from district two, their attention fixed upon him with reverence, as if they were students observing a respected professor.