restless souls in the desert land // hazel
Jul 7, 2016 23:01:38 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Jul 7, 2016 23:01:38 GMT -5
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It had been a point of tension between them for the past three days, so noticeable that even Kyle avoided the subject. They’d argued about it for hours while designing the Arena, sitting around an octogonal meeting table trading biting remarks until only the two of them remained late that night. She could still remember the way Ambrosia’s eyes flashed, both excited and daring Hazel to challenge her.
Her reasons were logical enough. There weren’t enough dying in the Bloodbath, tributes hadn’t been challenged enough recent Games, scared kids made for good television. Slaking the bloodlust of the Capitolites was difficult business, and it was time they took extreme measures. Ambrosia would lean onto the table, palms flat, her voice steadily rising and then falling when she realized she was shouting only to steadily rise again. Hazel, who rarely opposed her fellow Gamemaker on such matters, had stubbornly held her ground.
“It’s time to take a risk,” Ambrosia had insisted, and she had all the persuasiveness and power and confidence on her side.
But Hazel had numbers, and she knew what the consequences of such a decision would mean.
It had been well past midnight when Hazel had finally thrown up her hands. They had been getting nowhere - if Ambrosia wanted to take her “risk” and see where it led, Hazel was in no mood at that point to stand in her way.
“Fine!” she'd snapped, spinning on her heel and storming out of the room past Gilead, who had stayed despite the fact that it was well past his normal working hours. “Starve them. Dehydrate them. Do whatever you want.”
Gilead had listened to her rant the entire way back to her home.
Standing in front of the wall of screens near the end of Day Three, though, she couldn’t find any remaining anger. She couldn’t even find bitterness. Instead the corners of her lips tilted up in satisfaction as they reviewed the inventories of the remaining tributes. Ambrosia’s frustration was almost palpable.
Eight of the fourteen remaining tributes did not have water.
Hazel didn’t bother hiding her smugness as she glanced over. “Wonderful. At this rate, 57% of our tributes will be suffering the effects of dehydration tomorrow. That will make for excellent television.”
Ambrosia held her gaze for a long time. Hazel could see her jaw working. Finally she turned and left the room without a word.
Hazel’s smile grew wider.
She waved over one of the lower members on the Gamemaker team, in charge of the sponsorship gifts. The others didn’t even glance their way. The small man made his way over with a frown etched into his forehead. Hazel was the mind behind the calculations, the precision of all the elements of the Arena that fit together like clockwork, but she rarely gave orders directly.
“There’s been a slight change of plan,” she told him, glancing at Kyle and then the door where Ambrosia had left.
The man raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Give them water.”
Her reasons were logical enough. There weren’t enough dying in the Bloodbath, tributes hadn’t been challenged enough recent Games, scared kids made for good television. Slaking the bloodlust of the Capitolites was difficult business, and it was time they took extreme measures. Ambrosia would lean onto the table, palms flat, her voice steadily rising and then falling when she realized she was shouting only to steadily rise again. Hazel, who rarely opposed her fellow Gamemaker on such matters, had stubbornly held her ground.
“It’s time to take a risk,” Ambrosia had insisted, and she had all the persuasiveness and power and confidence on her side.
But Hazel had numbers, and she knew what the consequences of such a decision would mean.
It had been well past midnight when Hazel had finally thrown up her hands. They had been getting nowhere - if Ambrosia wanted to take her “risk” and see where it led, Hazel was in no mood at that point to stand in her way.
“Fine!” she'd snapped, spinning on her heel and storming out of the room past Gilead, who had stayed despite the fact that it was well past his normal working hours. “Starve them. Dehydrate them. Do whatever you want.”
Gilead had listened to her rant the entire way back to her home.
Standing in front of the wall of screens near the end of Day Three, though, she couldn’t find any remaining anger. She couldn’t even find bitterness. Instead the corners of her lips tilted up in satisfaction as they reviewed the inventories of the remaining tributes. Ambrosia’s frustration was almost palpable.
Eight of the fourteen remaining tributes did not have water.
Hazel didn’t bother hiding her smugness as she glanced over. “Wonderful. At this rate, 57% of our tributes will be suffering the effects of dehydration tomorrow. That will make for excellent television.”
Ambrosia held her gaze for a long time. Hazel could see her jaw working. Finally she turned and left the room without a word.
Hazel’s smile grew wider.
She waved over one of the lower members on the Gamemaker team, in charge of the sponsorship gifts. The others didn’t even glance their way. The small man made his way over with a frown etched into his forehead. Hazel was the mind behind the calculations, the precision of all the elements of the Arena that fit together like clockwork, but she rarely gave orders directly.
“There’s been a slight change of plan,” she told him, glancing at Kyle and then the door where Ambrosia had left.
The man raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Give them water.”
