A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A large box is attached with a note from mentor Glitter Caulder.. Inside is a dagger. The note reads: “Win. It's time."
It was one of the last places where the sunlight couldn’t stab, in the lobby with ripped off couches and shattered glass that once made the room luxurious and bright. By this point, they were just killing time, waiting for the rats to come out of hiding as the ship was sinking. Then, they would stop killing time and get on killing tributes. There had to be more of them, else the Gamemakers would have made them fight each other by now in a way or another. No, there had to be more cleansing to do, but Regan wasn’t as willing as her allies to wander around and be the cat running after mice. She chose to sit around and wait for the mice to find her, even letting them believe she is the prey for a few moments until they realized how wrong they were.
As she was playing with her golden knife, too heavy for her taste, although just good from a whole different angle, since she has always preferred gold to silver or any other metal, the noise she grew acquainted with made her attention drift from the weapon to the parachute slowly getting to her in a ballerina dance through the air. Regan stood up and stretched her arms to reach for it, curious and excited, and significantly more refreshed than last time she got one of those presents. She simpered at her mentor, for the first time accepting the fact that she was made for victory, and for the first time letting her jealousy aside enough to come to terms with the fact that the blonde had potential. Because she suspected that to be the reason why Glitter never agreed to how she saw things as far as arena went, claiming to have more experience (as if that mattered). Yet, there she was, surrendering and finally admitting that Regan was a victor from the start.
What was inside the gift was, somehow, even better than her mentor’s validation that she was just now getting the first taste of. She was secretly relieved to have a better weapon, that felt much more familiar than the eccentric one. Happy, she decided to make use of the old dagger and throw it with her best strength towards the tall ceiling, so it glued there. It was no longer reachable, and neither could it fall, considering the throw itself, but it was a nice symbol, and Regan knew she didn’t need more weapons to cut everybody’s throats. After all, these were her Games. She couldn’t lose for anything in the world.