A Game Called Revenge ✭ Cato Hadley

Seven - The Last Supper

ᴀᴛ ᴀ ꜰᴏʀᴍᴀʟ ᴅɪɴɴᴇʀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ ɴᴇᴀʀᴇꜱᴛ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʙᴇ ꜱᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀᴛʜʀᴏᴏᴍ.

"Do we have to go?" Clio huffs, as she removes the golden sun crown from her hair.

"Yes, we all need to be there," Enobaria replies, leaning against the door frame of Clio's bedroom, "Okay yes, it was suggested by the idiot from Twelve but it's a farewell dinner Clio, don't you want to say goodbye to your friends."

"Look as much as I want to go and remind them all how much of a bitch I am, all I really want to do is wash a plate of cinnamon rolls down with a bottle of wine and-"

"There will be plenty of wine at the party." Enobaria cuts her off, snapping her fingers in front of Clio's face and gesturing towards the black jumpsuit she had fished from the girl's wardrobe, "Now hurry up, we're already late and there might not be any cinnamon rolls left."

Once in the lift to take them to the penthouse where tonight's dinner will take place, Enobaria turns to the couple, now changed from their extravagant parade outfits and in more comfortable clothing, "Tonight's ground rules."

Her raised eyebrow and piercing glare halt the interruptions that threaten to spill past the pair's lips. "You." Enobaria directs her pointer finger at Clio, "Please try not to be a complete bitch. Remember that half these people are going to be trying to kill you in five days time, don't give them more reasons to want to."

Clio doesn't protest the woman's words, shrugging her shoulders in defeat as she mutters a 'fine' under her breath. This is good enough for Enobaria, who turns her attention to Cato, "And you. Don't threaten anyone."

"But-" Cato objects but is silenced by Enobaria clicking her fingers in front of his face. "I don't care if they talk about Clio. Do not threaten anyone, do you understand me?"

He nods with a roll of his eyes, the four of them facing the doors of the lift in silence listening to the low hum of the lift as it flies up to the thirteenth floor. The silver doors slide open with a hiss, unveiling the large, luxurious dining room already coming alive with the symphony of laughter and clinking of glasses of the victors and mentors from other Districts. The flickering lights from the vast buildings surrounding the penthouse floor pour in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the sleek, polished marble walls and reflecting against the gilded mouldings that frame exquisite paintings. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, refracting the moonlight in a lavish display of wealth. An Avox stands stiff at the lift's entrance as if acting as a bodyguard for any unwelcome guests, extending a hand towards the centre of the dining room once he verifies the identity of the arrivals.

The room hushes at the sound of the District Two quartet's footsteps, the heels the two women wear clicking along the intricate marble tiles. Those sitting with their back to the elevator turn to face the noise, eyes settling on the last arrivals who hold their heads high, striding forward purposefully and exuding their usual confidence. As they step further into the room, they are greeted by the beautifully decorated dining area. Crafted from the finest mahogany, the centrepiece of the room was a large, gleaming table spanning the length of the space; resplendent with fine bone china, polished silverware and delicate crystal stemware atop a shimmering white silk runner. Fresh bouquets lie in detailed glass vases, reflecting the light of the glowing candles dispersed between every third seat. The gazes of the others, already sitting in the plush, velvety chairs, follow their moves as they near the table, scanning for available seats.