one would be surprised how many terrible things happened in the arena, actually. The number of good people driven to do terrible things had been...huge in Oscar's day, and it had, she would admit, made things a LOT easier. The image of a boy outfitted with a mask for the parade and interviews, and then the terrible things that boy, Antoine, she didn't recall where he was from, had done, crossed her mind just then, and Oscar frowned. Killing him at the point of their final duel had been completely satisfying, and, she had to say, the only one of the deaths that she'd handed out that felt at all RIGHT. Oscar hated herself for the others sometimes, as much as she covered that fact up.

"I'll wish you luck in surviving as you can then." She answered, a grim smile at the corner of her mouth. "I think you may find things a little different, as time goes on."

They had a way of making you kill, of turning you into either the big bad savage, or the noble hero who went through the games with principles in mind, who was crushed by every death she caused. It depended on what, and who, was wanted in each particular year.

"And no, you are all quite talented." The best way to ease off the comments about no one meeting the standards to death was fairly lame, and Oscar knew that too. "If i can give you some advice? The arena is never what you try to make it, no matter your intentions. The gamemakers and everyone else know exactly the right ways to uncover your guts, your skill, and everything else that guarantees they'll get a good performance."

And those who bucked the system by attempting to reform it ended badly. She had heard the stories, seen a few examples firsthand. It was enough, Andre, back home, was enough, to keep her from anything too foolish now.

"if it helps, they do supply your tower with a lot of alcohol."