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“Good luck to all, and to all good luck.” Absolutely not. “Good will and good hunting.” Too barbaric. “Don’t let the boot kick you on your way off the pedestal!” That just might lead to my Father disowning me. I can read the headlines now: ‘ Crassus Xanthos Snow Disowns Son after Failing to Supply a Slogan for the Hunger Games. ’ At least people would find that entertaining.
It’s a tough job to come up with something catchy yet not a direct jab into the eye of the District’s children who are being tossed into an arena with nothing but good luck and a prayer. But my Father assigned me to create a slogan, a mantra if you will, to say before the future Hunger Games, something that says to the tributes ‘We believe in all of you!..... Equally !’ I know better than anyone it’s hard not to show favoritism amongst the Districts and their Tributes. It’s hard to not favor something that looks so sweet.
Deciding to take a break from brainstorming, I head down to the foyer to receive her. Mother says it’s very rude to keep a lady waiting, she’s quite old-fashioned in some ways. I personally believe that if we can throw girls and boys alike into the arena, then a small walk from the front gate to the front door is manageable, still, I oblige. A Mother’s wrath is something all teenage boys do their best to avoid.
It would be safe to call me a Mothers boy, my Father rarely shows affection to my own Mother, let alone his only son and heir. His means of showing me love or any affection at all is and I quote: “Trusting you with the future of Panem just as my father did with me.” Sometimes I’d rather we play cards or give each other the occasional hug.
I glance at myself in the mirror in the hallway before heading down the stairs, it’s not that I’m trying to look good, I’m really not, but one can’t help it when they’re in her presence. One thing I’ve learned while growing up in the Capitol is that everyone is trying to impress everyone, it’s a vicious cycle really, the second some declares feathers are in, people look like haphazardly dressed birds. The second someone decides that it’s now scales, people look like ugly snakes.
It’s depressing really, I mean it could be worse, I imagine there’s much more pressure for the ladies than the men but still, one must look presentable at all times. I’m wearing a simple outfit, red pants, a red suit coat over my white button-up, and a fine pair of leather shoes. My golden curls are perfectly trussed up and my nails have a small amount of clear polish coating them. It’s not easy being this beautiful.
I bound down the stairs into the grand foyer where my Mother has placed a vase of ugly-looking feathers on the table that sits in the middle of the entrance. I guess feathers are still in these days. I look over to the left hallway leading to the formal sitting room at the Avox currently stationed there ready to answer my beck and call, “Is she here yet?” I ask. They answer with a simple shake of their head, good , I think, no need to keep a lady waiting.
I walk over to the window and look out to see a tiny pink figure making its way down the paved walkway toward the mansion. I dust off my shirt one last time for good measure before yanking open the massive front door to greet her. She’s making her way up the stairs, her heels clacking on every step before she’s face to face with me. She smells just like vanilla.