The Ninth Hunger Games;
Prologue, Part I

Priscilla Devereaux, 39 years old;
Head Gamemaker

Priscilla continued to tap the heel of her shoe against the marble floor, causing an echo to travel throughout the cold, spacious room. She wasn't sure whether it was anxiety or excitement that caused such a reaction, but she wasn't sure whether she should care. It didn't matter, because either way, here she was – readying herself to meet with the President for the first of hopefully many times as the Head Gamemaker. The self-reminder caused her to sit up stiffly in her seat, straightening her spine and fixing the blazer of her simple yet elegant white pantsuit that blended in well with her opulent surroundings. Keep up appearances, Priscilla, she thought to herself. President Baudelaire wouldn't want a slouch running his Games. The painfully tight belt around her waist, one that left her feeling breathless, helped remove any feelings of comfort. Comfort was desired, but comfort was the last thing she could afford right now.

Her eyes scanned the whited-painted walls, intricate designs of swirls and flowers and swirly flowers carved patterned into the stone. It distracted her from the beating of her heart against her ribcage. She followed the patterns closely, trying to focus and focus and focus on anything that wasn't the meeting that would take place any moment now. Any moment now, she exhaled, trying to compose herself. Inhale. Any moment now, and you'll be fine. Exhale.

Priscilla's thought process was interrupted by the abrupt opening of the doors directly behind her, signaling the entrance of the man himself, to which she rose to her feet gracefully and bowed her head with a pleasant smile as the President of Panem approached her in his ever-so-regal manner. He had a calculating yet smug look on his face, one that had the power to intimidate Priscilla. The guards then closed the doors, leaving them alone. She maintained her smile and eye contact as the President took her hand, a strong grip coming from both sides of the handshake.

"Mr. President," she stated firmly, asserting herself, before switching to a much more friendly voice. "Thank you ever so much for having me." Pretentious, she thought to herself. But look where you are. What isn't pretentious about this?

"Thank you very much for joining me, Mrs. Devereaux," returned the President, who was approximately four inches shorter than the woman in his presence. His upwards-tilted head did not move as he looked down and then scanned Priscilla's hand, no doubt searching for a non-present wedding ring. He released his grip and began moving towards his side of the desk. "Ah, yes. 'Ms. Devereaux.' You haven't yet married?"

Priscilla allowed herself a forced yet convincing chuckle, taking her seat across from the most powerful man in the country. She knew he didn't care about her personal life. He was testing her already. "Of course not, Mr. President. I have more important tasks at hand!"

Good. Show him how serious you really are about this job.

"That is comforting to hear," President Baudelaire replied, shuffling in his own chair to make himself comfortable. He sat back, intertwined his fingers together and rested his hands on his rather-large stomach, his eyes continuing to burn into Priscilla's soul. He was clad in a gorgeously luxurious suit, one that matched very well with the aesthetic of his home – patterned yet simple, and always stylish. "I need someone who is going to take this job very seriously. We don't want a repeat of last year, do we?"

Priscilla fought the lump rising in her throat, refusing to falter in such an important moment. "Of course not," she mused, keeping her tone light yet not light enough to sound frivolous. She wanted to sound amiable, unintimidated. But my God, she was intimidated. "I'll be sure that such a thing won't happen again. You have my word."

She wouldn't hope for such a thing to happen again. Not when it was her head on the chopping block this time around. Her predecessor, Inviticus Durand, had faltered only once, unintentionally killing the Capitol's darling – the glamorous, the gallant Kariena Velour of District One. It was an accident that occurred during the finale, a muttation incident that resulted in Hendry Fallone of District Eleven – quite a… charmless boy, for lack of a kinder term – to be crowned in an anticlimactic fashion. There was uproar all over Panem. An abundance of money had been lost through bets at the hands of the Head Gamemaker, and the Capitol gamblers were not happy in the slightest. Even half of District Eleven was rooting for Kariena to win, and although she was supposed to – the Gamemakers practically decided themselves who the Victors were from the outset, as Priscilla had learned from her years as Arena Designer – Inviticus had lost control of his creations at the final moment. It was the first year that muttations had been introduced to a Games, after all. No one had even noticed that the tigers had escaped from their enclosure. The moment they realised, it was too late.

Kariena had been one of the first signs of a trained tribute to enter the Hunger Games. Although technically illegal throughout the Districts to train for the Hunger Games, Districts One and Two were given more leniency in the upholding of this law – they were the favourites, of course. It was a growing industry in the two premier districts; only the third ever Volunteer in eight years had come from District Two last year. He had become quite the target from the beginning, putting up a respectable attempt but unable to fend off constant threat in the Arena. Kariena also had been trained, but she hadn't been reckless enough to let everybody know this. She was tactically sound, undeniably gorgeous and magnetically charismatic – the perfect candidate for victory. But she died nonetheless. Priscilla would not make such a thoughtless mistake like Inviticus had.

She couldn't afford to. Inviticus had never been seen again.

"Good. That will be all," the President stated bluntly. Priscilla was confused… had he just summoned her to remind her not to follow in the footsteps of the late Head Gamemaker Durand? Had he no more questions to interrogate her with? What was the purpose of this meeting?

Priscilla remained composed in her response, never losing control of her emotions. But it didn't make sense to her. She hadn't even proposed any of her ideas to him – ideas she had spent sleepless nights trying to perfect for this moment. "Haven't you any enquiries on my cre-"

"That will be all, Ms. Devereaux," interrupted the President, repeating the confirmation that he was finished with this brief discussion. Putting Priscilla in her place. "I have confidence that you are keenly aware of what has to be fulfilled with these Games. That is why I hand selected you, of course."

"Of course, Mr. President. I will not disappoint. Thank you for your time."

Priscilla rose and bowed her head towards President Baudelaire once again, this time in farewell, before strutting towards the exit of the room – finally, a respite from all this tension in her soul. She refrained from speeding up the saunter, trying not to act as though she was terrified of the man whose eyes she could feel burning into the back of her head. But she was terrified of him. Everyone in Panem was.

However, Priscilla was the one person in Panem with riskiest task of all – living up to President Baudelaire's expectations.

She pretended she was confident in her abilities to surpass these standards. That's all she ever did her entire life – pretend. She pretended that she understood what she needed to achieve in these Games as Head Gamemaker. There was only eight previous Games before her first as Head Gamemaker, and more than half had been a disaster, leaving the President and the citizens of the Capitol unsatisfied and thirsty for more bloodshed. Hence why she was already the fifth Head Gamemaker to have that same meeting with President Baudelaire… but she was determined to not meet the same fate. She was improvisational. She was practically a genius, or at least she pretended to be.

She could do this. She would do this. She would give Panem the Hunger Games that they desired… or she would die trying.

This year was going to be the most exciting Games of all, for better or for worse. Priscilla would make sure of it.

May the odds be ever in her favour.

LMFAO what am I doing with my life?

I honestly didn't think THIS was what was going to come from my own quarantine. I've always been a submitter (sub bottom?) more than anything and although I did try to write a SYOT before, it kinda went up in flames. That being said, I was a super lazy 13-year-old, and don't get me wrong, I'm still quite the disaster, but I think that this project will be a nice thing for me to focus on for the moment. Plus I have a good group of people behind me who could probably bully me into writing anyways.

I've never been super passionate about writing mainly because I was quite unsure of how well I actually could write, but it is something I enjoy, and one thing I enjoy even more is the Hunger Games. Even if the writing isn't as polished and perfected like some others, I said let's give it a go anyways! Now is a better time than ever. And we all have to start (again) somewhere! It'd be great to hear some feedback since I am still fresh to this whole process. A reborn SYOT virgin is being deflowered!

…is that a good title for my next OnlyFans post?

Anyways, here is the prologue. Quite a generic, uninspired concept to begin with, but I didn't want to push too far outside of my comfort zone just yet. We have plenty of time for that! I also just wanted to set the scene for where we are in the Hunger Games universe right now. Hopefully his helped.

So, this is the 9th Hunger Games. As the prologue suggested, there are quite a few things that are different from the Games that we're used to since we're not as deep into the canon universe. The Careers being one, and I'll probably figure the rest of it out as we progress. I'm a live-in-the-moment type of gal x

Guidelines and form are on my profile, but I think most of you know how this process works anyways. If not, feel free to PM me! I'm super nice, I promise.

That is all for now!

omg i literally hate typing with capital letters fml... so off-brand for me

- Padraig x