"Bascomb Richmond," he says, only affecting the sound of chiding. He has no great love for any of his names; as far as he's concerned, they're the only things his parents gave him that he didn't have to fight for. They're old names, too, names that survived whatever war leveled historical knowledge, the earth from which Panem grew. They lack the Latin affectation of many of the newer names here.

"You caught me. I was going to try and direct your eyes towards one of my charges. But now that we're both being honest about it..." He looks at the screen and winces. Once of his is, in fact, a bloodstain. Cassian, too, one of the better-scored ones.

He points to a screen showing a blonde with large eyes running through the tall grass. "That one, Beth Greene, is probably my personal favorite. I'm going to try and get her a cooking show, you know, to pass the time between Arenas. She isn't scored high but I guarantee she has more personality than half the scarecrows the other Districts got. And that one-"

He gestures to another screen, where Loki is sneaking through reeds. "That one's just quaint. He insists that I address him as a god whenever he walks into the Suite. I don't, of course, but it's like watching a dog walk on its hind legs. Almost charming."