The shops on the lower levels of the atrium hummed with life. Rosalind had decided to meet her contact in a dive bar along the far end of the eastern hall. The one with a neon light and old pre-war posters up on the walls. A jukebox had been put together with historic music – a favorite of hers – and she leaned back in her booth to watch the people pass the open doorway.
She didn’t think of herself as a revolutionary. Then again it was hard to imagine how anything could truly change across Panem when the capitol survived nearly a hundred years of the same deleterious rule. There were whispers of plots time and again, but nothing that materialized. A man in eleven tried to unite the others but no such luck. Snow died and it didn’t even change a single district.
When she took in a sip of her whiskey she clicked her teeth eyed the handsome man coming through the doorway. She gave a wave and pointed to the front of the booth. “Chesire?” She said his name softly. It would be best not to arouse any suspicion but then, no one here cared much about what they would be saying anyway.