A Visitor (Benson, Erinyes and Canus) @dee @meerclar

Benson stared at the note in his hand, hoping his glare would either burn a hole through the letter or cause it to spontaneously combust. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it did, considering the weird contraptions his fellow Gamemakers thought up. There was a reason why they were Gamemakers: the creativity to design an event that their fellow citizens would discuss for years or at least for a year. And with it came the crazy inventions and creations that could erupt only from a mind so wildly imaginative, it was honored by giving them a position.

But the note did not flare up, did not destroy itself. It was just another piece of paper Benson would have to file under the list of things to do. He still had to draw up some muttations for the Gamemakers while also reviewing some of the underlings’ schematics—they always get it wrong, letting their imagination run wild—but first, he had to attend meetings. He always dreaded meetings, but none of the Gamemakers’ meetings could be worse than his meetings with the politicians of Panem. A meeting with them usually meant a battle of wits while trying not to bruise their precious little egos. If he had the choice, Benson would have avoided any of those type of meetings, but the Gamemakers had decided that he was one of the less inflammatory Gamemakers and thus sent him to do the job quite often.

Looking through the file his assistant had given him, he read through the personal profile of both Ms. Severina Estuarian and Mr. Patricius Estuarian. Both sounded like a real piece of work in his mind, but a job was a job and he had to do the unpleasant thing. It was also too delicate of a topic to send in the Gamemaker-in-training he had taken under his wings. Shaking his head before leaving the file on his desk, he stood up and grabbed his jacket from his chair. Buttoning the three buttons as to show “respect” to the Estuarians, he chose to forgo the tie that was laid out on his desk. I’m too old to be rebellious, and yet, this feels rather good. Giving the tie a small smile, he abandoned it on his desk and left for the Estuarian’s home.

It was a large house, most likely one with many rooms and all sorts of opulence. Benson shook his head, failing to understand what exactly possessed the politicians to think they needed all of this. And yet, he had grown up in a home similar to this with two parents who wanted him to be the best that he could ever be. And now I’m a household name. I guess they did their job. He walked up the many steps before finally reaching the door. Get this over with. There’s still a lot to do in the office. Before he could knock on the door, a servant opened the door for him with a questioning look as if the appointment with the Estuarians caught the servant by surprise.

Clearing his throat, he took the time to grab a glimpse of the interior he would soon be stepping into, wondering what information they could provide him. “Hello, I’m Benson Tiero. I believe I had sent a notice earlier this week about my visit?” The servant merely nodded before letting him step in and then directed him to a room. An elegant tea set was laid out on the table and he was directed to sit down in a plush chair that conveniently matched the interior. He was joined not too much later by both Estuarians. Compared to what they were wearing, Benson felt like he was wearing underground street clothes.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Estuarian. There’s a lot we need to discuss for the 72nd Games.” He sat back down after shaking their hands and promptly laid out the papers that required signatures before the plans could be carried out. “As always, we appreciate your assistance for these Games. To have such wonderful contributors for this event helps us plan better Games each year. Just sign here, please.” The meeting continued on as such: Benson giving them words coated with honey and the Estuarians drinking it up. If Benson had his own way, he would have been straight to the point, but he knew the delicacy of this matter and knew better than to be himself. When it came to politicians, he had learned how to be political.

Finally, with the last signature, he stood up and shook their hands before tucking the papers in a folder in his bag. “Again, I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done. And we greatly appreciate the financial contribution you gave as well.” The servant came back to lead him to the main door, but before he could reach it, a sound came from somewhere upstairs. It was not Benson’s responsibility or his place to become curious of such strange music and yet he had stopped to look up. “Mr. Tiero,” the servant had asked, but Benson raised a finger as a request for him to wait. “Can I be of assistance?” he asked the girl and boy who were looking at him from above.

Ah, she speaks, Benson thought to himself amusingly. The girl was truly her mother’s daughter—proud, carrying herself as a true Capitolite but not afraid to use her words as a weapon. If the girl played her cards right, there was no doubt that she could easily advance in the society through her words. Benson waved his hand mindlessly as she apologized for her brother and then sent him to get a recording. “It’s really no problem. I’m not on a deadline right now and I do enjoy conversing with the citizens of the Capitol,” he said politely, questioning what that girl would tell her parents. While the boy seemed like he was ready to break free of the bubble his parents had placed around him, the girl—well, she knew how to put on a good show.

The boy didn’t run off like Benson had thought he would. Instead, he planted his feet firm and asked more questions, questions that Benson knew that he would have to be careful about. This was no private conversation in an empty training hall; no, he was speaking in a residential home with servants who could speak. One wrong move and he could find himself quickly without a job and possibly a head. “Do not get me wrong, the Games are a form of entertainment, but you should not forget their true purpose: a reminder to the districts of their betrayal to the Capitol. We have to remind them that the Games is a product of their rebellion, that they were the ones who caused this. Do you not think that this is a serious event?”

“I do not think it is a problem, so to speak. It is an event and as with most events, depends on viewership. Why shouldn’t the Capitol see it as entertainment? If we must commit to this serious reminder, then we must make it so that people want to view it.” It was the most honest Benson could be without revealing too much. He didn’t want to talk about how the betting and gossip had disgusted him. In its purest form, the Games was an event where children died and Capitolites placing—no, it would do no good to reveal that. He did not discredit the Games themselves—if anything, he did find the positive in them—but some of the things the Capitolites had obsessed over, well, Benson did not share the same lens as them.