Chariots
x
murder's a godfather to birth
and the born sing illiterate songs
they intend as a new kind of language
only as their hands bloom red
with their own brand of murders
will their words simmer down to the same
'against the ladling of doom', Rg Gregory
x
From the President's box, two pairs of eyes waited for the action to begin: Annia, the Head Gamemaker, standing at rapt attention in a royal purple gown constructed of heavy velvet and accented with flowery black embroidery at the sleeves, and President Lancaster in a nondescript grey skirt suit, seated beside her.
"How do you feel about this year?" Annia asked, not looking away from the amphitheater, the center of which remained empty as the crowds whipped themselves into a frenzy.
"Well enough," Lancaster responded. "Have you seen the spectacle in Six? Half of the district-born elite has themselves lathered up about disability exemptions. His father is someone of some importance."
Annia shrugged.
"Maybe it's time for a change."
"Maybe so. Hopefully not too much of one," the President sighed, massaging her temples with her palms. "So much has happened in the last two weeks alone. The Games seem the most functional part of the government right now."
Annia tightened her lips. She was referring, of course, to Richard Lorca, a prominent Capitol businessman who had recently taken to politics on a platform of 'anything but Lancaster'.
While he hadn't gained much momentum in any but a few circles, his financial assets and established public celebrity made him a difficult man to entirely ignore. And his rise had been so quick, so entirely unanticipated, that even the most conservative analysts couldn't disregard the potential for a challenge in the upcoming election.
"He's not a viable opponent," Annia insisted, finally looking away from the throngs in the stadium seating. "He's barely more than a distraction. No one knows him from anything but his last two divorce scandals and a handful of lawsuits."
Lancaster snorted.
That was putting it a little optimistically.
"The death threats have picked up yet again, with what he's spewing," she added, more acid in her mild tone than usual. "That's a distraction too. But it's a distraction that keeps me locked in a room for half my life, surrounded by men in white armor. I don't like it."
"Once the Games are on, the news cycles will forget him."
"I hope so, Annia. You must not let me down."
"I won't, I promise. You know this is all I'm working on. I'll point out some interesting potential in this year's field as we go. It will reassure you."
"Of course. Now watch. It's starting."
President Lancaster and the Head Gamemaker resumed their focus on the stadium as the first chariot rolled into view.
The tributes from District 1 were beautiful, as they always were, decked out in white and silver and pearls, dripping blood from invisible wounds though they stood proud as soldiers. The boy couldn't be less than six and a half feet tall, and he dwarfed his partner - though the energy with which she held herself kept him from absorbing all of the focus with his sheer size and cold composure.
As he stood stock still, barely sparing the crowd a glance, the girl wasted no time in catching flowers thrown her direction, responding with a jaunty wink, brushing her partner's shoulder, rose in hand, with a teasing gesture.
"Both have the potential for controversy," Annia noted, as though that wasn't fairly obvious from the larger-than-life characters the two tributes were portraying effortlessly. "Especially riding the wave of last year's District One victory, which held every eye in Panem."
Lancaster murmured quiet approval. The victory of Corsage Perrier, the first notable 'villainous' victory since the reinstatement of the Games, had helped her to subtly move through a few key pieces of legislation renewing Reconstruction-era tax increases despite ardent Capitolist Party opposition.
They hated taxes, but they loved the Games, and the excitement of a truly horrible victor packaged nicely as a handsome young District 1 blond had eased the pain in their pocketbooks slightly when they returned to Parliament and found motions had been made in their absence.
So there must be something further that could be done with that.
The ornate, gleaming white chariot from District 1 was followed out by District 2 in a simple black vehicle.
Dressed in high-necked black costumes marbled with gold and copper veins, the pair from District 2 cut an equally imposing figure. They stood closer together than the tributes from District 1, practically leaning on each other - the expression of the young man pleasant but steely, his partner wide-eyed and practically vibrating with the energy of the moment.
"Claudia is particularly excited about this duo," Annia noted, glancing up a little nervously to see the President's reaction.
She was fond of Claudia, of her quintessentially-District-2 businessmindedness, and had placed a great deal of faith in the District 2 mentor at the beginning of the Games' reinstatement and had not yet been disappointed in the results.
"Any particular reason?" she asked, knowing Annia would likely be eager to justify her reassurances.
"Beyond their physical proficiency, of which I've been reassured at length, they both have the potential to be quite fragile. Particularly the girl."
"Hm. I'll have to speak to Claudia about that," the President mused. "Find out what she's up to. She hates to lose, I can't imagine her sending us tributes with deficits on purpose. I don't suppose she told you any more?"
Of course she hadn't. Claudia was seldom upfront with anyone about anything unless there was something in it for her. And seemed to hold something of a grudge against Annia, as her friend's impromptu appointment a few years prior had effectively broken Chiron Rometo's promise to crown Claudia's tribute victor.
Another black chariot drew out the tributes from District 3 - stock-still, straight-backed, hand in hand, looking like royalty in their luminescent costumes. Seemingly ignoring the crowds.
That was interesting. Lancaster liked the look of the young woman. Mayor Rhodes of District 3 made a habit of leaning on the District 3 registrar to remove those he was concerned about as political opponents, a practice that had worked fairly reliably for him since a District 3 victor made it through in the succession turmoil during Annia's appointment.
He hadn't liked that very much. Lancaster couldn't call herself the man's biggest fan, so whatever these two had done to provoke his ire, she thought she might find room to grow fond of them for it.
Then came District 4, in fascinating outfits of blue and green and silver that seemed to change color with their movement, or would have, had they been moving more. The girl stood like a monolith, eyes narrowed and shoulders squared, not participating in the energy of the crowd. her partner, meanwhile, reveled in the attention, waving and shouting back, grinning ear to ear with the excitement of it all.
"Interesting," Lancaster commented, waiting for Annia to agree or disagree.
The Head Gamemaker shrugged.
"District Four has been hit or miss lately. I'll be leaning on Neveah to bring something actually interesting out of the two of them."
"You attribute District Four's difficulties to..?"
"Poor mentorship," Annia sniffed.
"Some districts lack mentors," the President observed.
"An incompetent mentor is worse than none."
"There's not much we can do about either case without upsetting someone," Lancaster sighed.
"Neveah can survive some hurt feelings."
Then came District 5.
A bit of a letdown. Their costumes, which gave the appearance of blackened armor lined in yellow, did little to hide the fragility of the girl and the youth of the boy. He, at least, was making a game effort to stand up straight and smile - she looked like she would be lucky to still be in the chariot by the end of the ride.
"Here comes Six, the poor little thing," Lancaster sighed.
In a similarly armored getup and a mirrored silver chariot, the pair from District 6 appeared. At least there were no helpless tears on the little boy's face, nothing to elicit undue sympathy beyond the hand of his taller district partner draped carefully around his shoulder. She maintained a strict composure herself, not engaging with the crowd, pausing at one point to whisper something to the boy - at which he straightened his back.
"Disability exemptions shouldn't be too much trouble," Annia noted, tracking the chariot's path with her gaze. "They're already on record for accommodations in most cases. This is too depressing."
District 6, the President had to agree, did not provoke the kind of jubilant response from the crowd that even District 5 had managed to elicit.
After them, District 7 seemed almost anticlimactic, despite their lovely costumes of strips of birch bark edged in silver. The girl seemed hesitant about engaging with the crowd, but determined to make a go of it, while her sullen partner scowled and managed to actively bat away a rose that got too near his face.
"All types," Lancaster commented.
"All types," Annia agreed. "The girl has staying power."
"We'll see."
Then District 8 rolled in - singularly unimpressive, wreathed in animated masses of black thread that washed out the pale blonde girl and buried her slim partner, who looked deeply displeased with his costuming but was still gamely trying to connect with the crowd.
"No mentors really is quite a disadvantage," Lancaster noted, watching them. "More evident in District Eight, I think, than elsewhere."
"District Eight is suffering for reasons that have little to do with the Games," Annia observed, then shut her mouth quickly as though surprised by her bravery.
"Tell me, Annia, what do you think is the matter in District Eight?"
"Well, I just think... the productivity algorithms, the way we allocate resources, it hasn't been revised since the District Three cooperative mechanization enterprise. They're under-resourced and underemployed."
"I should never have guessed that on my own," the President replied drily, then paused and checked her tone. "No, I'm sorry, Annia, this Lorca business has me on my last nerve. I don't mean to take it out on you. Rest assured, I do things for a reason."
As they watched, the young woman from District 8 flinched at an especially loud cheer.
They were followed by District 9, who somehow managed to be underwhelming in their golden chariot and their beautiful golden costumes, the textiles of which seemed to be woven from sheaves of wheat. The girl was built impressively enough, but lacked any sort of presence, didn't seem sure what to do with her hands. Her partner, another of the small boys, looked defiant but also unbelievably young.
"I'm really not upset," the President added. "I... value your opinion."
Annia hummed acknowledgement, but remained focused on the action as the District 10 chariots came into view.
District 10 was always something of a toss-up, could be hit or miss in the quality of the designers' work, but this year's tributes were more interesting for their behavior than their gingham costumes - specifically, the girl had clearly edged as far away from her partner as the chariot would allow.
He grinned and waved, seemingly ignoring her - she cowered.
"That one," President Lancaster said, breaking her silence again. "What's the story on that one?"
"I read his application to become a Peacekeeper myself - the scorer in Ten forwarded it to me personally. He's a real piece of work. Exactly what they're trying to keep out of the force."
"Perfect. I love an outer district villain. Excellent work."
"That's how we have him cast. We'll see how it goes."
"Watch him ham! The boy's a natural."
"We'll do what we can to keep him in the running, of course."
"You'd best. Villains get ratings," Lancaster sighed.
"I don't dislike the wildcard girl from Two as a villain," Annia countered, as if testing the waters of expressing her own opinion.
Fair enough.
"District Two villains are so played out," the President sighed. "But I trust your judgement."
"She's unpredictable, so we'll focus on him, as you're suggesting. Just good to have a backup."
"You're right. I trust you for a reason, you know. I do..."
They quieted as, finally, District 11 was drawn in on a golden chariot, decked out in vibrant green robes - the girl tall, chin raised in defiance, eyes sparking with something that could almost be dangerous. Beside her, the boy was less impressive, though taller in stature than most of the pool, but his slightly askew wireframe glasses were reminiscent of a dozen other tributes who proved that brains were not to be underestimated.
"Cereus always does such a good job as a mentor," the Head Gamemaker noted. "A week ago, you'd have laughed at me if I called those two 'contenders'."
"I still might, what with the rest of the pool."
"District Eleven has grit, and these two are sharp."
Sharp indeed. With two fingers raised, the girl was mouthing something that... she couldn't read lips that well, but it could have been 'we're twice as good as District 1', presumably to someone in the crowd.
President Lancaster stood, straightening her thick grey skirt. "How do I look?"
"Presidential."
She laughed wryly. "For now. I'm ready. Let's head down."
x
"If I'm not the first to say it, let me be the most sincere - welcome to the Capitol. You honor us so highly with your presence and your sacrifice. Every year seems to raise the question anew - why the Hunger Games? Why this element of tradition and familiarity in a society as dynamic as modern-day Panem?"
It would be more traditional if the welcome was delivered from the balcony of the President's mansion, but that structure was razed following the Mockingly Rebellion.
Placation, not the rote duplication of the past, as always, was the name of the game. If not the Games.
"I'll tell you why - as I do every year. The Capitol must own its past, just as we all own our actions. The Games, in the past, in the wrong hands, were an instrument of terror. To many of you, I'm sure, leaving your homes to be here with me tonight, there are echoes of that terror on your mind. For that, I can only apologize - and thank you for the strength of character each of you is displaying as you stand before me."
As the President spoke, while her voice remained the only noise amplified across the quiet throngs in the stands, the camera cut across the faces of the tributes, displaying their reactions in real time.
She was not an especially charismatic orator, but her words were carefully chosen.
"You are not being punished. Once, you were told that was why we held the Games - as a punishment. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is by returning to the roots of our society that we can return to the original sentiment of the Games - the opportunity to elevate both your districts and yourselves in competition. Whether you were chosen at random or volunteered to be here this evening, please know that we celebrate each and every one of you. You are the best of what your district has to offer. You have already made your families proud. You have made me so indescribably proud. You are the finest of us all."
Her voice was heavy with sincerity.
"I didn't just lose my husband in the Second Rebellion, I lost both of my sons, and I lost a country that I thought I loved. That I was wrong to love as it was - but right to love for what it could become. And today, you stand before me in validation of everything that I love about Panem, the country I serve. The strength of its children, the Districts, and the children of its children - yourselves."
"Panem will never be held down for long - whether by corruption or by avarice or by acts of nature. We will rise and we will fight and we will win. Keep your district and those you love in your hearts, and know that you are their pride. You are our pride. I can't wait to see what you will do in these next few days. Thank you, good night, and the best of luck to every one of you."