Minerva was pressed for time, which admittedly wasn't unusual during the Games. The annual event was a rather large undertaking, from the arena design to logistics of bringing twenty four children in from the districts to event planning for the parade and interviews. Everything had to be televised, meaning a massive bump in filmographers and technicians. Peacekeepers had to be given hazard pay after the events of the 74th through 76th games had resulted in numerous deaths.
And that was just the issues regarding the Hunger Games. Matters of state didn't stop the moment of the reaping. She had international meetings, a bill the council wanted her to look at, ongoing unrest in the districts, and a stupid gala that she really didn't want to attend. The president of Panem was a bit of a thankless job. The responsibility of the whole country laid on her shoulders. One thing went wrong and it was automatically her fault. But the power was far more limited than many people realized. The council had the ability to override many of her orders, and she felt like half of her time was spent trying to swing them to her point of view.
Still, it was worth it. Minerva cared deeply for Panem, and didn't quite trust anyone else with its welfare. So she did what she had to, on what little time she had.
"I need someone to get this package to the Wren suite." she said, not particularly caring who fulfilled the order. She was in the President's Box, waiting for the parade to begin. Several other officials were with her, milling about and trying rather desperately to win her favor.
"I'll do it." Dax offered, which surprised Minerva slightly. But she gave the medium sized box to the Victor's physician anyway.
"Don't open it."
"Of course, Madame President." He said, then scampered away rather quickly. She wondered if the reason he had volunteered was so that he could get away from her for a found this strangely flattering.
A horn sounded, signalling that the tributes were about to arrive. Her errand safely dealt with, she turned to the long stretch of road where the chariots would soon appear. Parades were one of her least favorite things about being President. They were garish, over long, and she always had to deliver a speech by the end of it. Speeches were the word equivalent of everything she hated: pretty and empty. She didn't even get to write them herself anymore, depending on a rather bright recent graduate from the University to do it for her. It freed up some of her valuable time, but it meant that she couldn't sneak in intricacies and inside jokes to them in order to keep herself occupied.
She was thankfully torn from her train of thought by a flash as the lights of the promenade reflected off something in the distance. Minerva squinted a bit to adjust her eyes, then smiled. The tributes had finally arrived.
District one was absolutely dazzling, in a pair of formal wear entirely covered in gemstones. Titania's sapphires brought out the cool undertones of her dark skin, the sharp angles of the tailored tuxedo highlighting her sharp features. She waved at the crowd slowly, with a half smile that oozed confidence. Diamond was equally impressive in a shining white diamond ball gown, cut in a way to accentuate the strong arms of the otherwise diminutive boy. There was a strength to the design, as well as an elegance. He seemed less confident than his district partner, but smiled and waved to the crowd. They were both absolutely stunning. Minerva wasn't surprised. Apollo and Diana were the finest designers in the Capitol. They had made the tributes shine as bright as their clothing.
District Two came up next, and the President felt slightly bad for them. Their costumes were not exactly bad, but she was not sure at first what they were supposed to be. Both tributes had on Geometric garments in grays and browns. Zella's hair was swept up in a high ponytail, the red cascading down almost like an erupting volcano. That thought was what made Minerva realize what it was. They were dressed like mountains: most likely to resemble the Nut. She did appreciate the outfits once she understood them, but based on the confused expression on Dash's face as he tried to smile at the citizens no one had actually managed to inform the tributes.
District Three had on a rather unconventional look. The stylist had clearly drawn inspiration from the fact that the two tributes were careers as they were dressed in armor that was clearly inspired from ancient Roman gladiators. However, both suits of armor were made out of bits of electronics. Minerva could see wires and microchips. On occasion a light would blink, or a fan would start to spin. Both Ashlar and Elixane composed themselves well. They were not fidgety and nervous, looking every bit as much a pair of careers as the previous districts had. Minerva was not sure what to think about the new Career development, but seeing the way they presented themselves made her think it might work out after all.
The crowd began to roar, and President Thornewood craned her neck to see what had gotten them in such a state. The chariots so far had been excellent, but aside from District One the response had not been quite that loud. Then the chariot from Three cleared and she could finally see District Four. The girl was dressed as a siren, decked out in greens and blues with a patterned scale skirt to give the illusion of a fish tail. The boy was dressed as a sailor in a crisp white uniform. They were lovely costumes, and she could tell the craftsmanship was high, but given what had come before it seemed a little unremarkable. The tributes from four clearly didn't let that stop them. Cordelia had somehow climbed on top of the back of the chariot, balancing precariously as she crooked a beckoning finger towards her district partner. Below her, Seaward pantomimed an overdramatic heartsick sailor, reaching his arms out towards her and stumbling around the chariot.
It was at this point that Minerva figured they were due for a dud. She had never seen a tribute parade with every costume being quality. Partially this was by design. The career districts had renowned stylists, competent designers with years of expertise behind them. The outer districts on the other hand had rookies or designers caught up in a scandal trying to get back in the good graces of the Capitol. But it did mean that the parade usually started well but declined in quality.
So she was pleasantly surprised to see that District Five's costumes were solid. Not impressive exactly, but solid. Tesla was dressed in a simple beige dress with a blue ribbon around her waist, and her partner was in a matching pantsuit. Except coming out from behind them were large rectangular panes. Their stylist had made them into windmills. It was not a concept she saw that often, and Minerva was thankful for the creativity.
Six was more what she had been expecting. They were trains. At least Minerva thought they were trains. The tributes wore blocky structures across their middles. She idly thought that they looked like children playing with cardboard boxes. The boy was wearing a conductor's hat and looked like he was trying to hide underneath it. The girl however, wore no hat. Instead her head was in full view, shaved closely and inky black where hair still remained. The patterns looked familiar to Minerva, so she looked closer. Suddenly she realized that she was staring at Orion, and if she focused towards the back of the girl's head she could see parts of Cassiopeia. She had a whole star chart etched into her scalp. She waved at the crowd, clearly trying to make the best of her bad costume.
District seven were a pair of trees. Minerva sighed to herself. She realized lumber didn't give a stylist a lot to go on, but trees were beginning to get old. The girl's design was interesting at least. She was a willow, and had fronds attached to her shoulders. The boy unfortunately was a redwood. It made him look rather distinguished but she had seen it a million times. Minerva wondered if perhaps theming these rides off of the industry of the district was a little played out at this point. She made a note to herself to change it next year.
District Eight was often the exception to the decline in quality rule. As the textiles district, stylists often had many ideas to choose from and tributes that were at least familiar with fashion. This year proved dazzlingly true. The girl was dressed in a dark green dress that was segmented to make her look rounder, and eight black scarves trailed behind her, wrapped around wire to give them some shape. A spider, Minerva realized suddenly. Which explained the white scarves she was holding in her hands. The scarves were connected to her district partner Lucien. One of them wrapped around his eyes, the other around his waist. Aside from that the model was completely naked. Minerva could hear appreciative whoops from the crowd.
District Nine were dressed as stalks of wheat, with long tall hats that swayed slightly as their chariot moved. It was a lackluster chariot, as to be expected of nine, but it was notable in that this was the first district that didn't seem to be trying to appeal to the crowd at all. The girl was flat out glaring at the audience, causing some of them to completely stop cheering for a moment. The boy stood there stoically, his eyes fixed straightforward. He was young, Minerva noticed. Younger than she had originally realized. During his reapings there had been a bit of maturity to him. But as she looked at him he just seemed scared.
That led to Minerva's least favorite district. Ten always seemed to be cows. Sometimes she would get a break and get a cowboy. But it was almost always cows. Last year's victor Blaire Offerseed had been a cow. Kaenas Moreau had also been a cow, though since he had been rather attractive several decades ago some stylist had gotten the ill conceived notion to make him a 'sexy cow'. And this year, the tributes were once again cows. Weren't there any pigs in District Ten? The tributes at least seemed to be trying, as opposed to the Nines. The girl tribute was beaming and blowing kisses to the crowd while the boy had gotten a lasso somehow and was showing off some rope tricks. They seemed charming tributes and Minerva felt a bit of pity for the fact that they came from the worst district.
District Eleven's chariot was surprisingly strong. Clearly their stylist was a rookie and had decided this was a good opportunity to get his name known. The girl was in a long purple dress with round attachments reminiscent of grapes. Minerva remembered her name was Violet and couldn't help but appreciate them sticking to a color scheme. Twenty four tributes was quite a lot and she appreciated anything that helped her remember names. Her partner was wearing brown pants and an orange shirt with similar attachments. Oranges, she imagined. Fruits were not something she saw a lot in the parades and couldn't help but appreciate it, even if the design itself was clearly that of someone inexperienced.
That left only District Twelve to go, and Minerva was glad it was finally about to be over. Parades were always so exhausting, and she still had to do her speech. The girl came out in a jet black geometric dress, slick and sharp. The boy next to him wore a miner's outfit, which was normal. Except it actually looked good, well fitting and in a color that complimented the boy's eyes. He also had a headlamp that glowed brightly.
"Who did this?" Minerva said sharply.
"A new designer pair named Polyphemus Kensington and Scylla Pine. I hand picked them myself." Nautilus said from beside her. Minerva was not sure when se had shown up, but was glad se was here.
"Why?" she demanded. It was an unspoken rule that the outfits for district Twelve had to be ugly. It was punishment for the second rebellion. Perhaps when they had gone through the One Hundredth games the Capitol would forgive that district, but somehow Minerva doubted it. It was not just spite, it was caution. Everyone knew what had happened last time the tributes from District Twelve had made a good impression at the parade.
That was when it hit her. Nautilus was not just following directions, but taking initiative. She had said that she wanted to fuel a rebellion, and se had taken steps to make sure it happened.
"What would I do without you?" Minerva said.
"Just wait." Nautilus answered, "It's not done yet."
Almost as if the tributes had heard ser, the girl from Twelve reached up and tugged one of the square protrusions on her outfit. The boy then pulled down the light on his headlamp. Suddenly the costumes started to morph. The girl's outfit changed from deep black to a brilliant radioactive green. And the boy's lamp turned off and came apart to become goggles as his outfit shimmered then shifted from a miner to a plant worker. The stylists had chosen to honor not only the industry of District Twelve, but the remnants of District Thirteen that lay within it. The crowd erupted in roars.
It was a rather strong year, all things considered. Minerva still hated parades, but she had at least enjoyed herself a little. Now all she had to do was give her address and she could go home to deal with the next crisis.
"Citizens of Panem," She started, then looked down at her notes. It was terrible. Eloquent perhaps, but bland. Perhaps she should hire another speech writer. Or go back to writing her own like she had before she became President.
She said a few more sentences of her speech, but realized that she couldn't hear the familiar echo of the microphone. She had been cut off somehow. A tech in her box scrambled to the microphone controls as she tapped the mic experimentally. Nothing. She looked over to Nautilus, who shrugged. Not one of ser schemes then. That was not reassuring. The crowd was beginning to murmur lowly with uncertainty and impatience.
Then suddenly she heard a voice. It was one she recognized, Arthur Brownstone. She was one of her advisors and the liaison to District Five.
"We have prevented the strike for now, but District Five is stubborn. If we don't find some way to keep them in line, it will only happen again." His voice carried through the entire crowd, and while there was some panicked whispering soon the promenade fell silent.
Minerva felt a pit form in her stomach. She recognized this conversation. How it had been recorded, she had no idea. But it would do her no favors to have it played in front of Panem.
"I wouldn't worry." She heard her own voice come through the speakers, "The reapings are coming up. I have the feeling that the mayor is going to have other things on his mind."
"Are you implying that you have fixed the reapings for District Five?"
"Arthur. Why are you talking as if we haven't done it before?"
The recording fizzled out and was replaced by the sharp screech of feedback. The microphone was back online, and all of Panem was staring at President Minerva Thornewood. She looked at her speech, then balled it up with her fist.
"Happy Hunger Games." She said, then turned around and left.
AN: That chapter was /hard/. Why did I decide to show every outfit? And then put Plot in there of all random time? I don't know, but here we are. If anyone remembered that I actually mentioned the District Five strikes in chapter three, they get a cookie. Anyway, I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. So much going on! We go to training next chapter, which is bound to be fun. Thank you everyone for reading.