"Fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds." President Snow stopped tapping his fingers. "You're late, Consul." President Snow calmly stated.
Scarus' gaze lingered on Sera and Finnick, sitting so close together. His lips twisted into a frown. "The traffic was horrendous."
"The traffic?" Plutarch echoed back. "I thought the roads would be much emptier at this time."
"They usually are," Seneca chimed in with a small smile but Sera found it funny that he was pretending. "I've managed to get home from a gala in under ten minutes."
"Marvelous, Seneca." President Snow clicked his tongue and lazily motioned Scarus to take a seat. "Take a seat Icarus, it's not like we all have all night for this."
"You kept President Snow waiting, Consul." Finnick began as Sera's hand around his tightened in warning. He ignored that and mischievously glanced between President Snow and Scarus. "I'm sure traffic wasn't the only reason for your lateness." He said.
Scarus' lips twitched as he let out a quiet laugh. "Aren't you something, Odair?" He said between his laughs. "Such keen and...pretty eyes. I know someone who loves your pretty eyes."
"Is there anyone in Panem that doesn't?"
"Seraphine." Scarus looked straight at her with narrow eyes.
Sera looked up and looked around the table before stopping at Scarus. "Yes?" She frowned.
"What do you think of Finnick?"
"Excuse me?" She tilted her head to the side innocently, widening her eyes a little as she stared at the men around the table. She was confused why he was suddenly bringing her into the conversation.
"You're confusing the poor girl." Plutarch laughed and Sera bit down the urge to throw her glass at Scarus.
"I hardly think Seraphine is one to be taken by the frivolous charms of Finnick," Seneca quipped. "No offense."
"None taken," Finnick said with a bright smile as he caressed Sera's hand under the table. "But I don't see how the topic shifted from Consul Redcliff being late to Seraphine's taste in men."
Sera choked on her drink and nudged Finnick with her leg to mind his words. His grin only stretched wider. "Can we talk about something else?"
"Please do." President Snow said, shaking his head. "I am more interested in Consul Redcliff's tardiness than Seraphine's lack of interest in Finnick." He gave a pointed look to Sera. She hung her head low, knowing that would be a conversation saved for later.
"Like I said; traffic was horrendous." Scarus doubled down on his lie. "I think it's hardly fair that someone as hardworking as me is being questioned like this—it almost feels like an interrogation."
"You do have some experience in that field, don't you?" Finnick said. "Given your experience as an Elite Guard..." He trailed off noticing the dark look on Scarus' face. "Oh was I not supposed to mention that? Is that your shameful past?"
The air crackled with tension as Finnick and Scarus locked eyes, their expressions laced with a thinly veiled challenge.
"Almost as shameful as the countless lovers you have." Scarus hit back, his gaze unmoving from Sera. "Of course, it's not exactly shameful but it's something neither you nor I like to talk about at dinner with the President."
The smile on Finnick's face didn't fade. "Right, time and place." He said with a chuckle. "Forgive me, I'm not as high-born as you and Gamemaker Crane or Gamemaker Heavensbee."
Scarus smirked, his eyes narrowing with a touch of disdain. "You're forgiven."
"Oh I wasn't asking for forgiveness," Finnick retorted.
"It's a figure of expression." Plutarch chimed in, stabbing Scarus when he was down. "I understand it's a little difficult for you to understand given that you haven't been around enough peers your age—"
"What exactly are you insinuating Gamemaker?" Scarus growled.
"Congratulations on another year as Head Gamemaker, Seneca." Sera congratulated with a bright smile, ignoring the heated gazes of Finnick and Scarus.
Seneca's cheeks heated up as pink lightly painted his cheeks. "T-thank you Seraphine. It was hard work but once again I've been fortunate that the President chose me as Head Gamemaker." He said, leaning forward in his seat in an attempt to get close to her from across the small table.
"Three years as Head Gamemaker is no easy feat." Plutarch remarked. Seneca wouldn't last long, at least not with what Plutarch was planning.
"Plutarch made it look very easy." President Snow said, eying Seneca like he was some insect. "Of course, the ratings were high during your time. You had the chance to have some memorable victors for your games."
"Fortune smiled upon me." Plutarch glanced at Sera and Finnick. "I was quite lucky to get Cashmere, Gloss, Finnick, Seraphine, Augustus, and many other remarkable victors during my games."
The corners of Scarus' mouth went up while Seneca's face fell. His pride was gone as President Snow brought him back down from the pedestal Seneca put himself on.
Scarus knew Plutarch was bragging but there was a fondness as well in his smile that was foreign. He was lost in the memories of the past—probably thinking about his late godfather that Sera and Plutarch took care of.
"Fortune only doesn't favor the victors but also the Gamemakers and the mentors." President Snow commented. "It's quite the skill of luck that mentors are given good tributes and in turn, good mentors polish those tributes for the Gamemakers."
A fog of memories blinded him momentarily as he stared off into the distance for a second. He shut his eyes and opened them again, pulling himself back into the room.
"And the Gamemakers turn those tributes into the gems that are victors." Plutarch finished for President Snow.
"Indeed." President Snow agreed and turned to Seneca. "I do expect great things from you this year, Head Gamemaker Crane."
"I won't let you down." Seneca said, his voice oozing with false bravado.
"I certainly hope you don't."
A muffled chuckle escaped Scarus, his amusement barely contained. Seneca paused, his face darkening. "Is something amusing, Consul Redcliff?" Seneca asked.
Scarus leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with sarcasm, he said. "Oh, nothing. Your optimism is refreshing."
"My optimism?"
He sat up and turned his cold gaze on Seneca, his scarred face facing him like a weapon. "Your optimism." He echoed. "You forget that the ratings have been on a downward spiral for years—what makes you think you'll boost them up to match the peaks of Plutarch's run."
She noted Finnick's amused grin and she almost groaned. She just wanted to go back to the training center, already tired of it all.
His grin faded once he caught sight of her hairpin. He stared at the pin intently, his lips twitching.
"I think you're hardly being fair to Seneca." She settled her gaze on Seneca whose face once again turned pink like the roses she had in her garden. "The ratings have been in decline since before he took charge. If I recall, the ratings actually dipped during my games and Plutarch was in charge then."
"It was still higher than any recent games," Plutarch interjected.
"I'm not saying it wasn't but it was a very long game." One of the longest in the history of the games. It was a miracle that Sera didn't die of the cold.
"Don't act like you didn't enjoy it."
Sera raised her brow and drew her lips into a thin smile. She would gladly sow the seeds of his and the rebellion's downfall if he did something like that again.
"I did think Sera would have enjoyed it even more if she wasn't so sick." Scarus interjected, drawing her attention and ire away from Plutarch. "Looking back, you were more like a spider than a flower."
Every word spoken by him reminded Sera that maybe she should've taken care of him years ago.
"A spider?" Sera echoed with a forced but shy laugh and he nodded. "Are you insulting me, Consul?"
It was like the two were back on the train, the first time they met, a chessboard separating the two.
"You can call me Icarus like you usually do, Sera." He corrected her and Finnick held back the urge to laugh at him. "I wasn't insulting you at all." He didn't look away from her. "I think spiders are intelligent creatures, they're good at...hiding."
"Except I didn't hide—well, I did." She did hide. She couldn't lie about that. "But I think you're giving me too much credit. I got lucky."
"Didn't we all?" Finnick chimed in, trying to ease the tension. "I mean, that's the beauty of the games—it's part skill and part luck."
"Is it?" Scarus questioned. "Is it really luck or..." His gaze flickered to the Gamemakers, lingering on Plutarch who only smiled in return. "Or maybe it's something more."
"A divine act, maybe?" Plutarch joked.
"Maybe some god or goddess of luck is making sure their chosen tribute wins." Finnick added in. "Someone like a Gamemaker." Plutarch chuckled and even Seneca joined in. President Snow just nodded his head dismissively.
Sera let out a rehearsed laugh and turned her attention back to her meal, Seneca did the same, neither wanted to be there anymore.
But Scarus wasn't laughing.
The games being rigged was an open secret in the Capitol—something both Sera and Finnick painfully found out in their first years as victors. She had her guesses on who really won and who got lucky that they caught the eye of the Gamemaker or some powerful sponsor or maybe even the President.
She was sure that the only reason she was sitting on Snow's left was because of him and Plutarch. She knew it even though neither said it out loud—they didn't have to.
Her survival was because of the man at the head of the table or the one opposite her—the real spider.
It wasn't a secret that the games were rigged but why was Scarus—
"How is your health?" He suddenly asked, derailing her train of thought before she could figure him out. He could sense her train of thoughts and he didn't want her to reach its destination.
"My health?" She echoed again, annoyed. "I've been better."
"I think you were at the peak of your health two years ago." Her blood ran cold, her mouth went dry and her grip on the knife in her hand tightened. "It's a shame that you relapsed before—"
She wanted to shut her eyes and block the memories of that time but she couldn't. His sickly phantom touch on her back, the way he played with her hair and her ears before she ran out to the bathroom to throw up.
Memories burned into her head that she couldn't erase no matter how much she poisoned herself with hallucinogens.
The night of the 71st celebration dinner where she was alone for the first time—no Zephyr, Huxley or even Finnick to keep her company. The first time she had to navigate the murky waters of the Capitol on her own.
She felt sick remembering the memories of that night and how President Snow flippantly agreed to let Scarus have her.
She could still hear the haunting symphony playing in the background as Johanna's voice arguing in the background with some rich Capitolite married with the awful sound of the violins that she'd grown to hate. Scarus' rough voice that tried hard to be mellow and slow as he had her alone and...
"Consul Redcliff, I think you're making everyone around the table uncomfortable." Plutarch was horrified.
He dabbed a napkin and covered his mouth in shame and shock as he stared at the pale-faced Sera who looked like she'd faint at any moment. It wasn't like her to look that weak or act weak.
"Shall we stick to the Games?" President Snow calmly asked, a silent order that almost everyone was glad to follow but the damage was done.
To Sera, it felt purposeful that he intervened so late like he was punishing her for some failure she didn't know of.
Did he know?
Had she been careless?
Much to her relief, Seneca loudly cleared his throat before going off on a long discussion about the upcoming games, trying to diffuse the tension in the room.
Every now and then, he'd look to Sera with pinkened cheeks and watery gaze that wasn't going to be missed by the President or a disgusted blank-faced Plutarch.
The only person who didn't look up was Sera. Her knuckles turned white from gripping the knife and fork in her hand. She stared in a daze at the untouched piece of steak on her plate that she'd typically ask to be replaced with something less red and meaty.
She lost control.
Her heart felt heavier than usual and the weight on her chest was unbearable. His phantom hands over her back, crawling like a spider but he was far away from her, sitting at the tail of the table.
Finnick stared at Sera with furrowed brows, his fingers twitching to reach out and comfort her but he held himself back and instead with a grin asked. "Aren't you a mentor this year?" An attempt to shift the mood around the table and bring her back to life.
She couldn't help but smile in thanks for his attempt. "I am and so is Zephyr who I mentored the year after I won—it's a little strange but it wouldn't be the first time we mentored together."
"Well, I for one am looking forward to you as a mentor." Seneca said, cutting into his steak with a coy grin that made both Scarus and Finnick narrow their eyes at him.
"I was the mentor for the 72nd Games as well, Head Gamemaker and if I remember correctly, that was your first ever game as Head Gamemaker."
"Please call me Seneca," The Head Gamemaker corrected as President Snow paused momentarily to look up at Seneca with a strange gaze. "I don't really remember my first game as Head Gamemaker much apart from how nervous I was, I'm sure you can relate."
Sera let out a nervous laugh and reached for her drink. "Anyways, I'm looking forward to the 74th Games. Maybe the ratings will be higher than my own games. The tributes, this year, all look so promising. Even Five has a promising pair." She easily shifted the topic away, mixing lies with the truth like she always did, trying to regain some control.
The upcoming Games easily clouded her mind but the thoughts of Scarus and that night still lingered. She buried it or tried to by thinking about Faline and Celsi.
Yes, Faline and Celsi. She might not need them to win but they needed to get far enough for their families.
Yes, Faline and Celsi. Scar—
Celsi may not have been promising but Faline was. Faline was promising. Faline was promising. Falin—Scarus caught her eye again. She sliced the steak unconsciously. Red liquid oozed out of the cut, surprising President Snow who was almost waiting for her to ask for a replacement for the meat.
"Yes, Five is promising but there are more promising tributes out there and the show hasn't even begun."
Unfortunately, Faline was against even more promising tributes and if it was any other year, she would be the easy winner but Sera had a guess that Twelve, Two, or Eleven would be just as challenging.
"Like who? One, Two and Four?" Scarus tried.
"Four isn't as promising as the other tributes this year." Finnick interjected, almost like he was shielding Sera. He had to, he felt the strange shift between Sera and Scarus. It wasn't like her to lose her composure that easily. He was concerned and he gladly put aside his anger towards her to watch over her.
She forced herself to laugh. "I hardly think Five will be the biggest challenge for a district like Four," No matter how strong or smart tributes from Five or any other non-career districts were, career tributes always had the other hand. "But stranger things have happened. Maybe we'll all be surprised by the end result."
"Who do you think is going to win?" Seneca asked. His cheeks weren't tinted in pink for once as he focused on her, seeing her as an equal not an ornament. She didn't know which she preferred. "I have a few in my mind, I've discussed it with Augustus, Caesar and Cladius, they selected the usual suspects but I want to know who do you think might drive up the ratings."
"So far, I think Two would be an interesting pair." She answered honestly. "Cato and Clove?"
"They are a pretty pair." Scarus mused.
"Beauty alone won't win them a game, Consul." President Snow said.
"Of course," Scarus agreed, eying Sera and Finnick. "Not everyone can be Finnick Odair."
Finnick looked up and smiled. "I'm hardly the first victor to be called pretty besides," He sliced his steak into small almost measured cubes and looked up. "My face was hardly the reason why I won. I did seem to have quite the bloody game."
The red on Finnick's plate and hers made her sick. She had already lost control of the conversation again but she felt even more lost as the red on her plate slowly dried like blood.
Bile rose in the back of her throat and she reached for her drink, downing it in one go.
President Snow's lips twitched ever so lightly that almost everyone in the room missed the sudden jittery action—almost everyone except Sera and Plutarch.
"Is everything okay, Seraphine?" Plutarch asked, his voice laced with concern and he did look concerned.
"I'm fine." She managed to breath out. She wanted to leave. "We were...um talking about the upcoming games."
"Yes, we were." Seneca said loudly, dropping his cutlery onto his empty plate and waited for an avox to clear it all. "I also think Two have the upper hand. I am looking forward to One as well, mainly Glimmer? Was that her name? She reminds me of young Cashmere."
"But she's not Cashmere." Plutarch pointed out, almost displeased. "Cashmere was a fighter, this Glimmer seems too full of herself."
"You can't judge a person by their looks, who knows maybe she'll be better than Cashmere." Scarus offered. Though he wasn't being serious. He was only saying it to get under Plutarch's skin.
It wasn't like Scarus to provoke Plutarch but the way he was speaking almost reminded her of someone. She paused and looked up, meeting Plutarch's gaze.
Something wasn't right.
She glanced at President Snow and he didn't seem to react much.
"I think Eleven has a chance to win." Finnick guessed but he was distracted. He almost turned to look at a distracted Sera who seemed fixed on the Consul at the tail of the table like she was dissecting him.
"I disagree." Scarus stared at Sera as he spoke. He had her attention at last. "I think Two's Cato will win. I'm placing my bet on him."
Silence enveloped the stilled table and everyone glanced at each other, almost everyone. Sera didn't move at all. President Snow raised his brow in interest and leaned forward while making a gesture with his eyes for Scarus to continue.
Cato?
The boy from Two?
She didn't see him as any different than the other career tributes from the past.
The corner of her lips went up. "It's not like Consul Redcliff—"
"Icarus."
"Consul Redcliff." She doubled down with a sickly sweet smile mirroring his. Her stomach churned and bile threatened to rise once again but her glass was empty, she wouldn't be able to wash away the sickness overcoming her. "It's not like you to place bets on the games."
"No. It's not." He agreed. "I admit, I decided to distance myself from the games after the tragic fall of my godfather."
President Snow's face darkened and he couldn't help but chuckle in disbelief. "Consul Redcliff, I hope you're not talking about who I think you're talking about."
Scarus only hummed in response but his eyes were on Sera who held her empty glass up as an avox filled it up for her. His gaze darkened. She was the one who made him mention the disgraced Minister.
"I would never."
But he did and it was clear despite being the one that ended Minister Thistlewood's life; he missed his godfather and he might've investigated his death.
"I was just...reminiscing." Scarus carried on. "I was Seraphine's personal guard and before that, I was an avid fan of the games. My personal favorite was Huxley Foret—I admired him a lot. The way he was quiet but smart, the way he ripped apart and gutted his enemies—very admirable."
He turned his head towards Sera and smiled, sending shivers down her back. "How is he? I've heard that he's a father now. You're an aunt."
"Congratulations." Plutarch and Seneca quietly said and Sera nodded her head in thanks.
"You're an aunt." Scarus repeated.
"With a niece and a nephew." President Snow added quietly. "Send my regards to Mr Foret and your sister."
There it was, a reminder that she had so much to lose if she should fall.
"I will." Sera forced out, catching a stunned Finnick's eye who looked like he had so much to say but neither of them could say a word to each other. "I'll let Huxley know."
"It's strange isn't it?" Scarus interjected, dragging her attention back to him. "You and I are in the places of the ones we admired."
Her face paled.
He was right.
"Your twenty second birthday is coming, isn't it?" He asked her and she looked down with a painted smile.
"It's in three days." She breathed out. "It's the same day as the interviews. I'll have my hands full."
"Take that day off to celebrate it." President Snow quietly ordered, not bothering to intervene in whatever Scarus was attempting to do. "And schedule an appointment with Dr Jadewell." She nodded a silent thanks.
"Twenty two is a big number." Scarus carried on. "If I remember correctly, your aunt was twenty two when she took you in."
The knife next to her right hand gleamed up at her.
She saw red and before she could help herself, she picked it up and threw it straight at Scarus, landing on his shoulder.
Blood oozed out of his wound as he let out scream.
She took his surprise and those around the table to get up on the table and crawl towards him before she dug her fingers into those yellow-gold eyes and—
"Your aunt took you in, quite young." Seneca's voice cut through the fog and Scarus' unharmed form grinned at her. "I suppose that's why you're so close to her. She herself was only twenty-two."
"Twenty-four." She corrected them. "My aunt was twenty-four, she married and had my cousin at twenty. Nero had an accident when I was five."
Her aunt was twenty-four when she lost her own sister, brother-in-law and husband. Her aunt Dahlia was like her—no, two years older than her.
"Twenty-four." Scarus spelled out. "Two more years and you'll be the age your aunt was when she took you in."
She stared at him and glanced at President Snow. She had so much to say but she held herself back. "As interesting as my family and I are, I think the games are more interesting." There was a bitterness in her mouth that she couldn't wash away, no matter how much she drank the cloyingly sweet drink they filled her cup with.
She hated talking about the games every year. She hated sitting around, entertaining these stupid Capitolites who didn't care or respect her or themselves.
"Agreed." Plutarch gladly helped change the topic. Her family was a touchy topic but he was curious why Scarus brought forward Sera's family and potentially Nero. "Any takers on the dark horse that might shake things up for this Game?"
"My money's on Eleven." Finnick said slowly, eying Sera and Scarus. He was tempted to say something but he chose not to. "The boy seems strong. The girl might be a surprise—not sure if I'd put my money on her."
The girl from Eleven was only twelve. Sera and Finnick shared a look, doing their best to hide their fear and disgust. That poor girl and the boy from Three would never stand a chance in the arena, unless they caught someone's eye, someone powerful enough to keep them alive.
"Agreed." Seneca nodded, eager to finally discuss the tributes. "I'd usually say Three or Four but neither seem that great this year. Seven is also not that remarkable but Twelve, I'm not sure about them."
"They had their first volunteer in a long time." President Snow remarked. "It was interesting."
"I see she caught your eye as well." Plutarch mused. "The burning pair from Twelve."
"They had quite the fiery entrance." Finnick remarked. He sounded impressed and he was.
No one in the history of the games had ever captured the attention of the nation so spontaneously without a warning.
At least with career districts, everyone knew to expect something remarkable but with Twelve and other lesser districts, there was nothing to expect.
"Fancy costumes aren't going to help them in the arena." Scarus remarked and she hated to admit he was right. "Besides, the girl from Twelve looked too gaunt and weak."
And she agreed with him.
The gaunt teary reddened face of Katniss with bones jutting out through her dress that hung off her. Even the boy appeared weak. Putting bets on Twelve was a gamble but Plutarch and Sera had put their all in on them.
"She volunteered for her younger and only sister, that's admirable in its own part." Plutarch brought up.
Scarus scoffed. He didn't think Twelve was that impressive. "Many tributes have volunteered in the past for their family." He said, trying to downplay Twelve as he looked to Seneca.
"But Twelve isn't known for their volunteers." Finnick and Sera said at the same time, surprising each other as they looked at each other in surprise.
"Volunteers are rare in Twelve and I'm telling you now, Consul," Finnick carried on. "That girl from Twelve will make history and—"
President Snow cleared his throat, cutting Finnick off, and took a sip of wine before speaking. "Seneca, for your sake, I hope the Games this year prove to be as captivating as you claim. We can't afford any more disappointments." His words were laced with a thinly veiled warning.
Plutarch chimed in, his voice filled with subtle encouragement. "The 74th Games show a lot of promise. The stage is set for an unmissable event that will definitely reignite the flame of interest in the games. I think Seneca might go down in history as a very important Gamemaker."
If Seneca was anyone else, maybe Sera would've pitied him. A poor chess piece on a board he didn't know he was on, being passed around between the two sides. She stopped herself, biting the inside of her cheeks and shifting her focus to President Snow instead.
She pitied Scarus once and that didn't end well.
The young Gamemaker swirled the wine in his glass and nervously laughed. "A lot of pressure on me right now."
President Snow paused and looked up. "I hope you're not losing your confidence before the games even begin, Seneca."
"I'm not dropping out," Seneca stated firmly. "I was just..."
"Making a light joke?" Sera finished for him and he flashed her grateful smile that she returned.
"Of course," Plutarch dropped his cutlery, signaling that he was done with his meal. "I recall you were studying Politics and Governance at University. I did wonder why you chose to suddenly become a Gamemaker." He finished, catching Sera's eye.
"Unfortunately, I lack the charms and bravado to be a good Politician," Seneca chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice. "But politics isn't solely about charm, is it, Scarus?"
"Charms aren't all that make a good politician." Scarus agreed.
She almost laughed hearing him. It was like he was trying to convince himself but she and everyone knew that he didn't belong where he was. Maybe if the Elite Guards were still around, he'd do well, far better now or perhaps leading Peacekeepers. She could unfortunately picture him as a Head Peacekeeper or a General.
"You know, Finnick, with your charm and charisma, you'd make a remarkable politician." Plutarch ignored Scarus and shifted his focus on Finnick. "I'd say, you'd do even better than Scarus here." Plutarch added.
It only took him a second to catch his bearings before Finnick grinned mischievously and glanced at Scarus. A ghost of a smile danced on President Snow's lips as if he knew exactly what Finnick was going to say.
Sera held back a sigh and cracked her neck to the side as she forced a painted smile on her lips, hiding the concern that should've clouded her face. It was a terrible idea to poke Scarus. She was wary of him, almost scared.
No, she was scared of him.
She could lie to herself and say he didn't scare her but he did. His sticky warm phantom touch on her back made her seize up as she straightened her back.
Finnick didn't notice, too busy trying to get a rise out of Scarus, he carried on. "If charm was necessary, Consul Redcliff wouldn't have a political career at all."
The room erupted in laughter, even though Sera was trying hard to stifle her laughter. She at first tried to not laugh but she couldn't help it. Her laughter almost sounded foreign to her ears and she was so lost in reveling in Scarus' humiliation that she didn't even notice the gazes of Scarus, Seneca, and Finnick.
"I still believe you'd excel in the world of politics, Finnick." Plutarch chimed in once again.
"I'm not cutthroat enough to get ahead."
"No, you're not." President Snow's voice cut through the room, carrying an air of authority. "While your charm is undeniable, I personally think Seraphine would be the most formidable politician among all of you."
Sera stiffened and sat up with a straightened back, fighting back the sudden chill that had crawled up her spine. She nervously smiled and took another sip of her sweet peach-colored drink.
"I think the President is flattering me." Sera forced out.
"I'm not. I'm simply admitting that you're skilled." She narrowed her gaze, a painted smile still on her lips as she studied the man at the head of the table.
His comments were not a compliment or said with innocent naivety. She knew that well. No matter what she said would be seen as disrespect to him or anger either Seneca or Scarus.
"I think I see it." The weight lifted from her chest and she had never been happier for Plutarch's presence. "The people do seem to love her and out of everyone, she seems the most hands-on with the people and the most important thing about any politician is that they don't forget that they serve the people that chose them."
President Snow paused, raising his brow. "Is that what you think Plutarch?" His voice was low and dangerous.
"It's what they taught us in Philosophy at the University and what some people may believe."
"Maybe," The corners of his lips went up, a hint of a smile on his lips like he was laughing at some joke only he knew.
"Perhaps the President is biased." Scarus boldly suggested. "She is the one that works closely with you."
Envy clouded his vision as he carried on. For a second, she could've sworn the ghost of Minister Thistlewood had possessed Scarus but erased that thought.
Scarus was never a good person.
He was always hungry for more with an insatiable hunger for power and the need to have what he shouldn't have.
"I work with almost everyone around this table." President Snow reminded.
"Yes, but not as closely as Seraphine." Scarus stubbornly refused to move on. She didn't know if he was foolish or smart. "I did meet Senator Statitius today."
"Did you?" President Snow spared Sera a quick but subtle glance and she hung her head low, jumping into action like a wind-up doll.
"Oh!" She gasped out. "I just realized that Seneca might've been Consul Redcliff's peer. I bet you would've gotten along well."
It wasn't time to remove Scarus just yet. He had his purpose or at least that's what Sera thought President Snow was thinking.
"I suppose." Seneca said with a grin, humoring her naive thoughts.
Scarus clicked his tongue, annoyed at the change in topic. "He would've been most likely to join the Senate, not the Consular Tribune." He tried to join the changed conversation.
Innocently, she tilted her head to the side like she didn't understand what he was saying. "Forgive me for sounding a little stupid but what's the difference?"
His lips twitched but before he could get one word out, Finnick beat him to it. "Well, one is elected and the other is selected."
"I still don't get it." She said with an innocent laugh that Finnick couldn't help but reciprocate before he remembered that the two were still on ice and the smile slowly disappeared.
"Nevermind then, it's not that important."
"I'll take your word for it." She said with a small grin, their heads leaning closer.
A loud clatter of glass hitting metal interrupted the two; they quickly moved away from each other. "I'm a little surprised that Finnick even knew the difference." Scarus began, clasping his hands together. Jealousy welled up within him, fueling his frustration.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she took a sip of her drink, some non-alcoholic concoction she didn't know about.
"Are you calling me stupid?" Finnick asked.
"No, I'm just surprised. I would never have imagined you'd know the difference."
"People talk and I listen." Finnick let out a little laugh; his gaze moving from Scarus to Sera.
"I don't know how you have the time to listen when you're so...busy."
"And how would you know that?" Finnick's eyes narrowed in on Scarus.
"People talk and I listen."
"And what do the people say?" President Snow calmly asked.
"That Finnick Odair was seen wandering around Alea."
Plutarch's smile dropped for a second but it was all that it took for Sera to notice the sudden change in the atmosphere. Even Seneca grew alarmed.
"In Alea? The slums?" Seneca voiced out his thoughts that nobody wanted to hear. "Why would anyone wander around there? It's all so—"
"Doesn't Seraphine also spend time in Alea?" Plutarch said with a carefree tone that almost had Sera fooled if she didn't know him better. She was half-annoyed that he decided to throw her name in but she did understand. Still, she felt a little bitter; her feelings towards Finnick were complicated.
"For charitable reasons." Scarus reminded through clenched teeth. "I don't recall Finnick ever being so charitable."
"How do you know I'm not?" Finnick countered as the air around the table grew colder and colder with each word traded between the two. Sera regretted not going home after Senator Statitius left; she could've feigned illness. "I'll have you know I attended a charity gala, a few days ago."
"Congrats."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment but rather me about to ask," Scarus paused to discreetly check on President Snow who was quietly listening into the conversation. "How did you get an invite?"
"I was invited."
Sera tapped her glass quietly, wondering whether she should intervene or not. But before she'd even finished thinking, she spoke. "Emilia, my former escort–turned assistant invited almost all the victors. Finnick wasn't an exception. Johanna Mason was there along with many others." She smiled softly at Scarus who looked displeased with her but she didn't care. "I mean, I was surprised he and Johanna actually came."
"Sounds like you are complaining," Finnick said in a small sing-song voice. "I heard the Orphanage reached higher donation numbers that night than any other event."
"And I am very thankful for your presence, Finnick." He couldn't help but smile and she looked away, hoping that her face was not betraying what her heart was feeling. "For being at the gala." She added hastily.
"Thank you for inviting me." She stared blankly at his stupid grinning face. Both knew that she did not invite him. He invited himself.
Scarus cleared his throat, his insides burning. "Well, that doesn't explain what you were doing in Alea."
"I often wander through different neighborhoods when I feel a little sick, I did it last week around Clavis and I even visited the Crystal Gardens which were lovely by the way—you should make time for it sometime." Finnick's eyes twitched. Scarus was begging for a fight.
"In Alea?" Seneca couldn't help but balk at Finnick's words. "I'm not trying to be disrespectful but Alea? Sounds a little ridiculous, if you ask me."
"It does." President Snow agreed begrudgingly and looked at Finnick for an explanation.
Sera noted that he was shaking his feet under the table nervously. She didn't say anything but she did make a note to interrupt if needed.
"It is ridiculous," Finnick stated. " I've been to that neighborhood twice in my life—I wouldn't be surprised if someone mistook someone else for me." He took a sip of his drink and continued. "I'll admit I frequent some bars or museums sometimes. I know they're so different but I like the contrast." He turned to Scarus and for some reason, Sera had a feeling about what he was going to say next. "You should visit a museum sometimes, Consul—if you get time for it between your duties as the Head Consul and the local busybody."
"Head Consul?" President Snow echoed, tasting the words like it was something bitter and foreign. He let out a quiet and cold chuckle.
The room fell into a stunned silence. Sera's eyes flickered with surprise as she dug her nails into her palms in silent anger; the mask of indifference covering it up her anger.
Her eyes met Plutarch's who, like her, appeared indifferent but was alarmed and angered by Finnick's sudden outburst. Finnick wasn't supposed to let everyone know that he knew—none of his clients were members of the Consular Tribune or close to the Redcliffs; he shouldn't have known.
President Snow's heavy and accusing gaze fell on her.
In her head, she quickly rearranged the board, thinking of what to say and how to act while ignoring Finnick and Plutarch's gazes.
"If I remember correctly, the Head Consul is Fabius Harada and has been for the past decade or so." President Snow slowly began. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Consul."
The corners of Scarus' lips went up as he spared a glance at Finnick and Sera. Her heart dropped.
Was that a trap?
Did he set her and the rebels a trap and she walked right into it?
"Consul Harada was found to have leaked information to rebels," Scarus stated. "The other consuls and I found evidence, we had him removed and the consuls elected me the new Head."
"With no trial for Consul Harada?" Plutarch questioned. That sly smirk on his face his anger well "I'm sure there should be a trial."
"I remember reading about it—I'm sure there is," Seneca confirmed.
"There was a trial," Scarus said, pulling his chair closer to the table. "It was a private trial that wrapped up quickly due to overwhelming evidence of corruption against the former Head Consul."
"Without notifying me?" President Snow questioned.
"I was planning to—"
"After the trial ended and Consul Harada was punished?" President Snow leaned back in his chair and looked down at Scarus with disgust. "We'll discuss more about this topic at a later date."
Scarus bowed his head, that stupid grin still dancing on his face. "Of course Mr. President." He said like he had won even though the President had chided him. "I can't help but wonder how Finnick knew. Only Consuls know about this since it's a very sensitive topic," He stared at her with that stupid smirk. "And of course, I couldn't help but confide in Seraphine."
Seneca's face dropped. "I didn't realize you two were close." He mumbled loudly.
"She was my former charge, and I still do..." He eyed her form and smiled. "Care for her in my own way."
"How kind of you." Finnick airily commented.
"Well, I learned from Sera."
"Seraphine." Sera icily corrected.
The room fell into an uneasy silence, the undercurrent of tension bubbling beneath the surface. Sera could feel his overbearing gaze and she glanced at Finnick, silently praying that he would have a good excuse to cover up this mistake. He wasn't like her, she knew that—she took calculated moves while he did what he thought was the best.
"This is a little embarrassing," Finnick began. "I didn't want to mention this but I was having tea with Drusilla Maslof yesterday—you know her, Scarus, she's your cousin after all," He turned to Scarus. "She told me and I know she told me not to tell anyone, it slipped out before I could stop myself." He finished.
"Consul Droit must've told Drusilla," Seneca stated when Finnick was done. "I heard they were engaged—I myself am quite close to Consul Droit."
"He must've," Scarus said, displeased with the outcome.
"Congratulations." Plutarch cut through the tension again, clapping drunkenly even though he had only drunk two glasses of white wine. "You're now the youngest Head Consul ever."
"Congratulations indeed." President Snow repeated. "Seraphine," He turned to her. "Spare me some of your time after this."
Sera composed herself, her voice steady. "Of course Mr President."