A/N: Okay. I know. I'm seriously evil. Don't hate me. It's not the end.
President Snow's P.O.V:
I flick on the District 6 Reaping, sighing. Maybe it will succeed in distracting me from all the things I have to do, the neverending pile of documents on my mahogany desk that need to be reviewed, the nonstop working the President of Panem faces. And my numerous personal problems that insist on being thought about.
At least Bow Tie and Felicia Feathersfowl have been dealt with. They've been causing trouble for a while, but I don't expect anymore of that. But now my problems are with Venus. She knows much too much for my taste. I need to get rid of her now, once an opportunity shows itself, as much as I don't want to kill her. Yes, cold, hard, inhuman President Snow has these things called feelings, and he feels like he doesn't want to plan Venus Verymerry's untimely death. Remarkable, isn't it?
I turn my attention back to the Reaping, watching distractedly as a small girl with hair the color of a toasted marshmellow named Gracelyn Woods is chosen for the Games. The name Gracelyn is boring. Woods, though... Woods I could definitely do something about. I call down to the head Gamemaker, Jumbalya Hawk.
Now, Jumbalya is one of my problems herself, though not one that needs to be dealt with at once. She has been a very loyal Gamemaker and so far all is going well this Quell. Although, she does show sympathy for the tributes, which is a quality of hers I dislike. So I am therefore torn between keeping her as Gamemaker once the 150th Games are over or hiring a new person to take control of the arena. And besides, every few years I need a new, fresh mind to think of novel ideas for the Games. But Jumbalya herself is really at no fault; I have no real, logical explanation to dispose of her. In fact, quite the opposite; I have an overwhelming amount of reasons to keep her employed. There have been an extreme lack of of issues with Jumbalya as head Gamemaker. Usually I can find some reason or another to dispose of a Gamemaker, but with her, for some reason, I can't.
"Jumbalya?" I ask boredly, though I know she is there.
"Yes, President. Can I help you in any way?" Her voice is crisp and clear through the high quality speaker.
"The woods. Make the trees fall down. I don't care which day, maybe the second," I pause, waiting for her response saying she entered it into the arena plan.
"All done, President."
"Thank you," I say, a rare thing to hear from my mouth. I'm feeling rather polite today. Or maybe just tired, and not watching my language. I've been too caught up in my problems to get a good night's sleep for a while. Not that I need energy to stay awake, though.
A tall boy with hair the color of honey-Leif Tearzon his name is- announces that he is seventeen to the crowd; I missed whether he volunteered or was just Reaped. I could do something with that name, I'm sure. Tearzon...tears...water droplets... Aha.
"And, Jumbalya?"
"Yes, President?"
"Make all the water in the arena poisonous. I'd like to see our tributes thirsty." And I would like to see them thirsty.
Because when they're thirsty, they're bloodthirsty.