Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Beasts of Panem

A/N: Basically all dialogue for a warm-up. Also, info-dump galore. Also: that video gave me so many ideas. So many.

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"Tell me, man, did you really think you were in the right here?"

"No."

"So why did you do it?"

"To spite you."

Two men sat face to face, across a table set with a crystal vase overflowing with henbanes - a gift from the intruder of the home. One drummed his nails against the surface, the other simply sat back, a sly grin stretched over his face.

However, the sly one made sure to avoid offering even the slightest of glances at the vase.

The one that'd brought the lethal flowers radiated some sort of smugness, and he licked his lips, parting them for a little while in the silence before speaking. "Now, I don't like doing this. You of all people should know that, Nigel. You knew Soamu, right?" 

Nigel grunted. "I knew him all too well. He's the whole damn reason everyone I've ever spoken to got wrapped up in this whole mess."

Flower-Boy smiled, he smiled one of those smiles that are meant to irk those they're flashed at. "Like your son? Like that grandson of yours?"

"Well, it's a good thing you've gone and ran out the family line, then," Nigel said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to ask you to leave." He rose, knees wobbling with the struggle of old age. He reached out to tap Flower-Boy's arm, beckoning him to the door.

However, that boy had something else in mind. Yes, he walked to the door, yes, he placed his hand on the knob, and yes, he let Nigel's cold gaze burn holes through his back. But he did it with smart remark in mind. If he left, he'd get the last word. He lightly ran his fingers over the knob, brows knit in interest. "Y'know, I still find it ironic that your grandson - a Career, years of training, and a name to back him up - died out before that boy with the limp did. And he was so dead-set on getting his vengeance. Don't you think so, too? You see, when hope mixes with anger, you get something too strong. Something that'll burn someone out before they would have if they'd given up earlier."

Nigel paused. His remaining teeth bit into his bottom lip, and he narrowed his eyes. "We don't speak of either of them."

"Is that why you refuse to help me? Because you don't want those star-crossed lovers to be brought up time and time again?" The boy chuckled. "I don't blame you. Sweet boys, if you got to know them. They're far more important to us than that child you stole." He quirked his lip. "Shame they're kinda, y'know, dead."

"Say what you have to say and get out." Nigel turned the boy around, pointing to the seat he'd been so quick to pull him out of.

"Well, don't mind if I do."

They settled across from each other, the henbane offering a separation that felt miles long.

     ~ ~ ~

"Several decades ago, your brother volunteered in your place. He went in. He fought. He made it all the way to the end. However, as you know, he wasn't supposed to live. A little mistake, a flaw in the system, if you will. And do you know why that flaw occurred, Nigel? That flaw occurred because someone failed to do a safe check of that sponsorship package you sent him just before all went white - you sent him a match he only discovered at the very end. You created a catalyst of him without even knowing it. He burned the Victor alive.

"And then, two years later, dear, young Nigel was drawn in order for compensation of the little mishap, and he - you - had to fight just as your brother did. Your actions in the arena heightened the flame, your words acted as gasoline, kerosene, whatever else kind of -sene that exists. It was here that people started the pay attention. Your family just seemed to be full of surprises. So we kept an eye on you. Did some research. Turns out you had an aunt in the Gamemaking business, worked for a few years before your brother came home and she was assassinated by a few members of a group similar to ours. They just have a skewed vision of how to accomplish their goals...