The unpleasantly familiar stench of chemical perfumes and – is it blood? – hits Haymitch like a brick wall. His throat burns yet he pursues through the dangerously pristine room with unfaltering footsteps. Nothing has changed since his last visit; the mahogany floors are shining, hundreds of untouched books line the walls, and the same enormous, roaring fire is centered in front of two plush armchairs. The table that he had smashed on the last occasion has been replaced, as well has the single, white rose sitting in a delicate crystal vase.

Knowing what to expect, this time he barely even flinches as President Snow's snake like eyes suddenly pierce him. As usual, the man sits safely in his arm chair, the ends of his puffy, blood red lips curled upwards in a venomous grin, bearing fang like teeth. For a moment the two merely bore into each other's eyes, Haymitch determined to withhold an unfaltering gaze, the hate clearly pulsing through him.

'Come closer.' The President hisses like a snake ready for the kill, barely moving his lips as he speaks.

Haymitch merely stands straighter, his feet glued to the floor, his cheeks burning red with spite.

'I see how this is going to be,' says Snow softly, cocking his head to one side.

Bring it on, thinks Haymitch. I'm not scared of you.

Snow rises from his seat and slowly takes a few echoing footsteps towards him.

'Well Haymitch, all I have to say is you're not making things any better for yourself. Quite the opposite, in fact. But be that as it may, you were brought here today to carry out a mandatory task.'

Haymitch stiffens and watches Snow with wary eyes, tightly clenching his fists to his sides as the man advances on him.

'I've made a proposition with numerous – ahem – women. You see, they have paid their fortunes in return for your company.'

Snow is now dangerously close to Haymitch. He tries not to show emotion, even though he doesn't quite understand this 'proposition'. Women? His company? But wouldn't that mean –?

'No. I won't do it.' His voice is hoarse yet determined.

'Ah. I thought you'd react this way,' sighs Snow with fake weariness. He takes a small step closer, causing the two to be less than an inch apart, noses almost touching. The sickly sweet scent of roses is now completely unbearable. Hate radiates off of Haymitch and fills the air with a tense atmosphere. 'That being said, you really should be getting back home. Your mentor is probably getting anxious.'

The sentence is simple yet deadly. Haymitch knows right away. It is a threat. He remains silent, not allowing his alarm to show.

'That's a boy,' muses Snow quietly, taking the silence as a good sign.

For a moment, the two merely stare at each other, the only sound emitting from the ominously crackling fire. The reflected flames waver dangerously in the President's black eyes, enhancing the snake like quality.

'I knew you'd turn out this way.' Snow says without a movement from his lips. He chuckles softly. 'Like father like son, eh Haymitch?'

He is escorted through the halls of the mansion once more. As he walks, the Peacekeeper keeping a few paces ahead, he reminisces about the conversation that just took place. Where am I going now? To die? To be tortured? At this point he welcomes death, though he must follow through with Snow's orders to keep Rockwell and Tanya safe. Needless to say, he doesn't like it. Doesn't like the threat the President can always hold over his head.

He follows the Peacekeeper like a dog, knowing not where he will end up nor thinking about the possible destination. Finally, a mahogany door appears in front of him. He supposes that he is expected to enter. His fingertips reach the brass knob and he lightly pushes the door open, revealing a majestic bedroom draped in satin and silk.

'I've been expecting you, Haymitch.'

It is the lusting voice of his escort, Dolly Lomberson.