A Game Called Revenge ✭ Cato Hadley

Seven - The Last Supper

Enobaria huffs when they reach the table, realising that they're the last to arrive and so the four remaining seats are at opposite ends of the table. Grumbling under her breath at her available options, she follows Brutus to the left hand side of the table, understanding that the easiest way to keep her tributes from starting unnecessary arguments is to have them sit with the older mentors and the morphlings who will keep to themselves. However when Brutus pulls out the chair beside Luna at the far end, the redhead stops him.

"I'm sorry Brutus," she says, "I saved this seat for Clio."

Several heads around the table snap towards Luna, each mirroring confusion. Enobaria blinks twice as if she imagined those words but upon seeing Luna's small smile she realises the girl really does want Clio to sit next to her.

"Luna, are you sure?" The man asks with a laugh. The girls aren't exactly known for getting along but as his eyes scan the table he realises that the seats at the other end are diagonally opposite Katniss and that is a recipe for disaster - and he would actually quite like to eat tonight.

"Rude" Clio scoffs as she pushes past her mentor and throws herself down ungracefully, the legs of the chair scraping noisily against the marble flooring.

Brutus holds his hands up in mock defeat, walking around to the seat on the other side opposite Mags when Cato squeezes past him and slides into the chair, looking over his shoulder and pointing to the seats at the bottom end of the table, "The old people are down that end."

"Don't push it." Brutus jokes as he moves to sit beside Augustus, the seat between Topaz and Haymitch already occupied by Enobaria.

Avoxes silently circulate the room, tightly gripping platinum trays holding delicate canapés and glasses of sparkling champagne and carefully crafted cocktails. One Avox hands Clio a tall, thin glass filled with a strong, purple liquid and as she takes it from their gloved hand she looks down the length of the table. Silver platters lie between the table arrangements, showcasing a medley of delicacies from fresh seafood to cured meats and fruits acting as appetisers for the victors prior to the first course being delivered. Everyone is laughing in clusters with those around them, the conversations are friendly and good-natured - a stark contrast to how it will be in less than a week.

Suddenly the chatter stops and Clio notices everyone has turned to face Finnick who has risen from his seat, standing tall with his shoulders squared and eyes sparkling with a mixture of determination and sincerity. With a graceful sweep of his hand, he raises his glass, the crystal stem catching the glimmer of the candle light beneath, and clears his throat. "My fellow esteemed victors."

Finnick shakes his head with a chuckle as laughter ripples through the room at the serious tone in his voice, words carried with authority and his usual charm. "Before we eat, I would like to propose a toast."

Everyone nods as Finnick continues, "As we sit together for our final dinner before this year's games, I can't help but feel a mix of gratitude and sadness. I want to take a moment to appreciate each and every one of you. We've become a wild, dysfunctional family through sharing our experiences, our laughter and our tears. We've seen one another at our best and at our worst and yet, here we all are."

There are hums of agreement from all ends of the table. He's right. As much as Clio hates to admit it, he's right, everyone at this table has seen her win her games and the majority have seen both the highs and lows of her year as a victor.

"I'm definitely not one for long speeches but I would like for us to try and put our differences aside for tonight to enjoy what is, for many of us, our last meal together. I know you all have your own battles to prepare for; your own choices to make but let's raise our glasses high and toast to us."