Prologue II: The Greatest Species

Birds of a Feather

tracelynn

Vulcan Mockingjay, President of Panem

President Vulcan Mockingjay sits quietly in the carved mahogany chair as several colorful birds of paradise attend to him. His assistants have bright, complicated plumage that has only been accentuated by their surgeries and elaborate outfits. He seems dull and small against his helpers, but he doesn't mind. Such frivolous tastes are part of the reason these birds of paradise are taking care of him, and not the other way around. The thought of his species' supremacy makes Vulcan's beak open in a satisfied smirk. Foolish featherbrains, letting go of their power so easily.

He leans back into his chair, watching his assistants in the mirror carefully. The birds of paradise smooth his feathers, shine his claws and beak, and help him into the stately black and white tuxedo he'll be wearing for the welcome-home. Once everything is finished, the President waves away his assistants, and they flee to the corners of the room in nervous blurs of color. Everyone knows to follow Vulcan's commands to a tee by now. The cold-blooded mockingjay grins as he slides off of the chair and examines his reflection in the mirror, turning slowly to glimpse every angle.

"Well done," he praises the team tersely, although the smirk never leaves his beak as he stares at the powerful bird in front of him.

The birds of paradise behind him twitter and tweet in excitement over such a compliment. One dyed all lime green even swoons to the ground, forcing one of the other assistants to catch him. Vulcan ignores their preening shenanigans as they all quickly file out of the room without another word. Soon, their listless chatter is gone with them, and Vulcan is alone in the dressing room with only his reflection for company.

"It's a very good day," Vulcan murmurs to himself as he checks his neck feathers in the mirror, smoothing down a resistant one with a newly shined claw. "A very good day, and you look powerful as ever. Truly presidential, in every sense of the word. Now go get 'em, you fierce little 'jay."

After completing his pep-talk in the mirror, Vulcan turns and struts out of the dressing room, exuding confidence. Sure, he has been President for almost a half decade now, having led the country through the worst of the Cloudy Days, but it has never felt as good as it does now. Before, domestic crises and battle plans overwhelmed him. Now, the country is settling, his power has been utterly restored, and the dominance of the mockingjays is nearly uncontested. There has never been a better time to be Vulcan Mockingjay, and boy, does he know it.

Vulcan waits in the small hallway outside of his dressing room that connects the chamber to the stage waiting outside. Two imposing geesekeepers, dull-eyed yet towering over him, guard each end of the corridor. Each has a pistol tucked underneath their strong right wings. Neither speaks to him, and Vulcan is grateful; he doesn't feel like ordering anyone to be fired today, especially not when he's about to welcome home the last ranks of soldiers from the battlefield. It's a special occasion, the true end of the conflict with the Districts, and only three months after the signing of the Treaty too. Everything is going according to plan; he will not allow anything to sully his mood.

As he waits, the President's mind strays to the last time he gave a speech at the Vesuvius Military Academy, named after the first mockingjay President. His recollections overtake him in the silent hallway as he leans against one of the walls and closes his golden eyes.

Vulcan has only been President for a measly six months, and he is still finding his footing in the position. He's everything required for success as a President of Panem: regal, focused, hard-working, cold-hearted, patriotic, and more. He's still in the adjustment period, that's all, and there's never been an adjustment period quite like this one. No other mockingjay President has ever had to deal with a war of this scale since the very first.

Vulcan thinks back to his century-ago predecessor, for which this military academy is named, and smiles. A legend, among his species, the bird that Vulcan always admired most, the bird he aspired to imitate throughout his own political career. If Vesuvius Mockingjay could elevate the mockingjays to power, if he could guide the country through the first rebellion in one piece...well, Vulcan can surely guide it through these horrid Cloudy Days, as everyone has begun calling them. But first, he has a graduation to attend to.

The hot lights of the stage are blinding on his gleaming white and gray feathers as he strides onto the stage. Below him, rows of silent mockingjays wait in their junior commander uniforms, wings folded and heads bowed in respect. The sight pleases Vulcan, and he puffs out his chest even more as he reaches the podium and seizes the microphone in his claws.

"At ease," Vulcan instructs, and immediately the swollen graduating class of Vesuvius Military Academy loosens their stances, sitting down in the chairs behind them. At the back of the room, hundreds of supportive family members are clustered to watch the festivities eagerly. There is no honor like your offspring being chosen to lead a team of soldiers into battle against the insurgent Districts.

"It is a true pleasure to get to speak to you this evening," Vulcan says with sincerity as he paces from behind the podium to get a better look at the birds below him. "A country must always rely on its up-and-coming citizens to protect it, and you are those up-and-comers who will bring Panem and the Capitol to its highest heights. I hope you are all ready for the greatness the world has in store for you."

In the audience below, there is no wild cheering, but Vulcan can see the hopeful gleaming in the eyes of each soon-to-be commander as they watch their President stand on the stage above them. The sight swells Vulcan's breast with joy, despite the fact that these young birds will be heading into violent battle soon. This, right here, is why he loves the Capitol, why he is a true patriot, why he knows the mockingjays are the only species capable of running such a large country. The zealous respect of these young birds tonight is more than all the little dirty rebels could muster in all their lives. More than the stupid birds of paradise ever showed when they ran all of Panem.

"Once upon a time, our species was subjugated unfairly, used as slaves to the ruling class of this country," Vulcan sighs as he paces across the stage. "But no longer. For generations, we worked our way from domestic servants to everyday workers until we were capable of taking over the entire government. After the great Vesuvius Mockingjay became the first President of our kind and divided the land into the Districts we know today, we truly became the greatest species in Panemian history. And I am sure of the fact that you will all help continue the great legacy that generations of mockingjays have established for us. We are in a time of darkness, surely, but it will be over soon due to help from birds like you. Thank you for your service, mockingjays, and I wish you luck on the battlefield."

With that, Vulcan bows and begins to step off the stage to allow the faculty to run the rest of the graduation. He has serious war meetings to attend, after all. But behind him, suddenly every mockingjay in the room raises on their legs and begins beating their wings in the air, shrieking "VULCAN! VULCAN! VULCAN!"

The President turns and faces his people, the smirk on his beak wide as ever as he gives the adoring public one last wave before ducking off of the stage. Even back in the dressing room, though, he can hear their admiring cheers.

"Vulcan, Vulcan, Vulcan," he murmurs to himself with glee as his assistants help him out of his tux. "The best President Panem will ever have."

Vulcan is shaken from his reverie when one of the geesekeepers hesitantly clears his throat. "You're up, Mr. President."

He simply nods in assent, as much thanks as such a dignified bird like him can spare for a mere geesekeeper. Without another thought, he ducks through the door and struts across the stage towards the podium. The lights are as bright as ever, hot on his shiny white feathers, and the microphone he grasps in his claws is the same one as before. However, the crowd before him is much different, and it unnerves him. The audience is smaller, much so, only a couple dozen birds, and there are no adoring families waiting in the wings. Just a bunch of ragged looking mockingjays, commanders and assistants, waiting tiredly for their official welcome home.

"It is an honor to welcome the last of our species back from battle," Vulcan begins, trying to make eye contact with as many of the downtrodden soldiers as he can. "You have all performed a stunning service in support of our nation and our species, and I thank you heartily. Without mockingjays like you, willing to put your lives on the line, it is doubtful the war could have been won so fast. You are the heroes Panem has needed all these years."

Vulcan pauses for a moment, expecting some type of cheering, but the soldiers and commanders look back at him with blank stares. Their golden eyes look dull, like they've seen too much. Several of them have gauze wrapped around wings, breasts, heads. One bird is even missing both of his legs. The sight infuriates the President as he struggles to continue his speech, seeing how destroyed these soldiers have been by war. They were in the toughest part of Eleven, fighting constant guerrilla warfare, and he doesn't know what to say to thank them. To make what the Districts did to them right.

"It is hard to put into words my admiration for you," Vulcan struggles out eventually, his voice raw with sincerity. "I promise you, I promise you to the depths of my heart that these acts of violence will not go unpunished. The Districts are beat, yes, but they will know true defeat soon. Those of you who have read the Treaty must know what is coming for them, and it will not be easy. I promise we will exact vengeance on your behalfs, in repayment for the services you and those you have lost have done for this country."

Those words seem to perk the audience up, and those who can begin beating their wings together. There is no cheering, but there does not need to be. The loud flapping of wings and the hard stares of the veterans in the audience is enough. Vulcan understands that they know what he means, that they grasp that he will do anything for them. Anything, to reclaim the mockingjays' honor, to keep their legacy afloat, to strike back at the Districts for the insubordination that has caused him and the other mockingjays so much pain.

I cannot wait for them to see the Aviary Games Vulcan muses as he clicks off of the stage. They will be glorious. Absolutely glorious.

Hello y'all! I hope you enjoyed this second prologue, it was a blast to get inside Vulcan's head and explore our headcanon about the mockingjays and how they came to power. Sorry for the delay on this update, but hopefully it was worth it and shows y'all how serious we are about this ;)

Also, we have decided to push back the submission deadline by two weeks! Thus, submissions are due on May 20th now, so y'all have more time if you haven't finished your birdies yet. I can't wait to see what you create! And also thank you to those who have submitted already!

We've got one more prologue ahead of us, and then we'll be getting into the Reapings, exciting stuff. Hope you're all ready for a deep dive into the world of these avians. Things are only going to get more serious from here.

Until Next Time,

Linds and Trace