"And how many little leprechauns do you have running around?" Molotov pictures tiny Irish stereotypes, freckled redheads and brunettes running around in shamrock fields. Eating raw potatoes and getting smacked by nuns. She may not have spent much time in Ireland, that's a possibility.

"Cyrus Reagan, but I have made him my personal business. His younger brother is my District's Escort, and I want them both as malleable as I can get them. Stephen found his backbone recently, but Cyrus... well, Cyrus needs me more than I need him," she smiles, a dark, pleased sparkle in her eye. Her plans for the Reagan brothers are obviously well-laid -- the arena is actually an unwelcome interruption in them.

She arches her brow and cocks her head. "I thought this was tit for tat."