oceandust + finnick odair

.8

a/n: double update-- i lied.

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        He's waiting for me when I get back, when my mother has gone to a friend's and I had spent the morning's sunrise by the water.

        He's in my independent study, sitting patiently behind the large oak desk and inspecting the novel I'd left discarded there. It's one of Mags' favourite underground books, a story about a young girl that dares to dream for more in a mundane world, and he sets it down gently when I step into the room, eyes brightening with interest. My heart rate skyrockets upon seeing him there, his grubby fingerprints covering my belongings. An unnaturally scented white rose sits in a vase beside him.

        "Good morning, Miss Bloom." He says with a smile, and I have to remind myself to be respectful even after everything. "Have a seat, would you?"

        "President Snow," I say, slowly moving into the room towards the chair sitting across from him. "To what do I owe this honour?"

        He bares his teeth pleasantly, observing me with cold and calculating eyes. "The thing about books that I dislike most... it often conceals a final, overarching lesson, teaching the reader about the importance of ethics and morality by the end. Perhaps, inciting inspiration as well."

        I swallow thickly, my throat dry and tongue heavy. I sit down in the chair, feeling strangely like a guest in the space I'd carved out for myself to escape the very world this man had created. "I would consider that to be one of the more positive aspects of literature, sir."

        President Snow lets out a bark-like laugh, feigning amusement. "Positive, perhaps. Until it inspires the belief that there is more to life than I have said there is."

        "Why do you still allow them to exist if they pose such a threat?" I ask, aware that I may be overstepping my boundaries by questioning the President. Snow observes me, arrogant face and inquisitive eyes. He is sizing me up, deciding if I am a threat to his interpretation of society.

        "Because, Miss Bloom, it is better to control the form of entertainment they consume than to simply ban it. That would lead to black markets, the smuggling of radical ideas within the districts. Humanity desires entertainment to remain pacified— television, parties, gossip magazines, literature. They are useful devices, precisely when regulated." Snow watches me, interpreting my silence as disagreement. "You do not agree." He states.

       "Literature has clearly not been regulated effectively," I say, voice levelled. I look at the book on the table, the name of the author absent to protect her identity. "It still exists. The human condition, though flawed, is persistent. You cannot control every aspect of their lives."

        Snow hums, aged fingers landing on the book once more. He traces the abstract cover with his pointer finger almost absently. "Perhaps not, but with the right level of distraction, I will not need to. Those in the districts have so few hours in the day to complete their work obligations, or to tend to their struggling, meagre families... the Games is the only form of entertainment that they regularly consume. Reading books is a luxury rarely afforded in the districts." I don't speak, sure that any other words I express further on the topic would paint a target on my back. It turns out that I do not have to. Snow changes the conversation on his own accord. "You've been up to a great deal since you've won your Games." I wonder how much he knows about my life, and I figure that he has eyes everywhere. "You and Mr. Odair recently rebuilt a little orphanage, yes?"