deals of the dark [mace/minerva]

The monotonous coo of her intercom sent Minerva's train of thought screeching to a halt.

"We have Mr. Emberstatt," a woman's voice called and Minerva took in a deep breath through the nose.

"Send him in."

She made busy by straightening a pile of papers on her desk, painted black fingernails rapping against her wooden desk and a slight creaking sound as she pushed her chair out to stand and shake Mace's hand.

She'd always found him exquisite in his simplicity- the wonder of his eyes, the softness of him. The tenderness. She bet he tasted like peppermint and chewing tobacco. Now his hand was in hers, and it was completely by her own terms: she'd known power her entire life, but this? The most influential man of Ten sitting in her office simply because she demanded it so?

"Thank you for making the time to come and see me," she said, pleasantly. As if he had a choice. As if this was the thing he'd most been looking forward to for quite some time.

He was a simple man: father, brother, son. Sentimental. Not the sharpest. Playing this from an analytical standpoint wouldn't work under normal circumstances. Not that she needed his permission, but it would've made things run so much more smoothly if she was able to make him think his consent was his own idea. Besides, she figured she'd through in some warm bits just to soften the blow when the time came.

"I trust you're settling in at the new Training Center well enough?" Minerva had never, not once, been one for small talk. She'd never cared enough about what anyone else had to say. But, if it was necessary to loosen him up, then fine: she was Chatty-fucking-Cathy herself.

"Listen, I get it: Gamemaker summons you to her office, it usually isn't for anything good. Right?"

He's close to Halt and Persimmon, she thought, gritting her teeth. This wasn't going to be as easy as she would have liked.

"I suppose I'll just be honest with you. I don't want District Ten to win. Coffee?"

She stood, waved over an avox to fill a cup for Mace, folded her hands behind her back and turned to face the window.

"However, I'd prefer a victor from Ten to one from Eleven or Twelve," Of course he would have objections to this, and to what came next. But she wasn't doing this because she knew he would like it. She was doing it because it was going to happen, whether he wanted it to or not, and she was giving him a chance to do it willingly. Frankly, though she did find him handsome, he was not worth getting blown up for. Minerva had toyed too carelessly with death one too many times in her life; this would not be final step that sent her barreling over the edge of a cliff.

"I'm proposing a deal. Well, insisting, really. But first," she turned to face him, palms pressed against the surface of her desk, eyes level with his own.

"How familiar are you with your... lineage?"