The 100th Annual Hunger Games Quarter Quell: District Revenge

Valeria Valentine ~ Tribute Social (Part 1)

The Vanilla Crème Brûlée was to die for. But it didn't compare to the Lemon Meringue Tart squares. I made sure to indulge in all of the food that was displayed in front of me. I shook a dollop of the Apricot Almond Ice cream over the tart and dug in. My mouth exploded from the lemon sweetness that covered the insides of my cheeks. In the Capitol, we don't really get deserts unless it's a Holiday or your birthday so I'm feeling a little extra special right now.

"Tell me Valeria, which is better?" My stylist Ms. Quinn asked leaning her elbows on the mahogany table. Her pretty blue iris' stared deeply into mines as my flustered face busily chewed on the delicacies.

"The Meringue Tart is better with the Apricot Almond ice cream," I say with a mouthful of tart.

"And without the Ice cream?" Ms. Quinn asked. Eyes laced on my spoon.

"Then the Vanilla Crème Brûlée is the Victor for this year's Desert Games,"

"I will now crown the Victor!" She says holding up the Brûlée and drizzled caramel on top of the treat,

"May the odds-" I say digging my spoon into it's creamy custard.

"Be ever in your favor," she finished swirling her spoon on the golden top layer.

We sat in utter silence finishing off the deserts.

"So," Ms. Quinn got up from the table to discard her bowl in the automatic dishwasher. It zapped the small porcelain cup into it's machine, rumbled it around on the inside, and shot it right back up glistening wet and clean. "nervous much?"

I shrugged my shoulder and circled my spoon around the melted soggy tart in front of me.

"We don't have to talk about it," she said walking back to the table.

"It's not that I don't want to talk about it, I just can't. You know?"

Ms. Quinn stroked my hair between her fingernails. "I'm sorry Valeria, no, I do not know."

"Of course you don't," I say sighing. She let's go of my hair, rests her chest on my back, and cuddled her arms around my shoulders.

"Valeria, even though I am your stylist, I'm here to make sure you win the Games. I don't want to discourage you with small talk or anything that might make you feel uncomfortable, but you need to communicate with someone."

I wiggle her off of my back and stood up to dispose of my bowl.

"Please Valeria," she said chasing after me. "Speak."

I dump the dirty dish into the washer and patiently wait for it to clean itself.

"I'm just trying to reach out to you, never accept death,"

I yank the delicate dish from the dishwasher stand and throw it forcefully with all of my strength to the ground. It breaks into a dozen pieces, scattering over the tile floor. I stare at the little bits and pieces beneath my feet. Ms. Quinn picks up the biggest chunk that slid by her foot and gracefully placed it on the counter top.

"I see," she whispered in a hushed tone. Her small dainty hands were folded in front of her and she pursed her satin pink lips restricting her from speaking anything else.

"Ms. Quinn, with all do respect, how can I not accept death when it's clearly my faith?" I say kicking the shattered ceramic china to the side.

"Trust me darling," she said taking a few steps closer. "death is everyone's faith this week."

"Not one," I let my eyes wander shamelessly to the ground, eyeing the mess I caused.

Ms. Quinn flicked my chin up with her finger. "Valeria, if I were behind the Gamemaker's control systems, I'd blow the rest of the competition sky high from their plates and leave you as a Victor."