Julius Dominus, Current President of Panem
March 7th, 19 ADD (After Dark Days) - Just under four months before the 19th Games
In all of his fifty eight years, Julius had never seen something as beautiful as the Capitol skyline at dusk. That wasn't due to a lack of effort on a great many individual's part, by any means. His wife, for example, was partial to visiting a vacation home in Four every spring equinox, utterly convinced that the sunlight glittering off of a tranquil ocean would convert him. And his mother had always been partial to nature, admiring the great redwoods of Seven and the endless colorful fields of Eleven in equal measure. She'd treasured his opinion greatly in her twilight years, failing to notice even if he'd embellished a little (okay, maybe a bit more than a little) in favor of believing that even her beloved, handsome, ambitious son could stop and appreciate something as simple as a rose from time to time.
But while nature had its merits, it had one major flaw. Nature, like every other organic thing born into the world, was fleeting. Temporary. Its impermanence went hand in hand with its imperfection, the knowledge that some day, one way or another, even the most beautiful rose would wither and die. Such were the laws of nature. Such was the way of the world. No amount of Capitolite science and technology had cracked the code into achieving immortality, not in the most literal sense, and if he was to be honest with himself, he very, very highly doubted that that particular puzzle would ever find itself solved.
But there were other ways to achieve perfection, or at least a startlingly accurate imitation of it. Nature was beautiful, yes, but it was wild, uncontrollable, and most of all, unpredictable. But a city skyline? A monument to humanity's apex of creation, a shining city on top of a hill that had lasted for hundreds of years virtually unchanged and would last for hundreds of years more? That was true perfection. That was a legacy truly fulfilled, the work of ancient architects belonging to a civilization that had long since found itself ground into dust, reflected onto people like him - people who had long since forgotten their names but nevertheless found themselves awed by their accomplishments.
It was no wonder, then, why Julius had always preferred the beauty of the artificial over anything that the earth could spring forth. He did, after all, fashion himself an architect in his own right, if architects shaped nations and histories the way they did park structures and apartment buildings. The mere fact that the Capitol was still standing, still giving his window an exquisite view as the sun dipped behind the tallest skyscrapers, was testament to that.
(Though, he supposed, most architects didn't have the nerve to oust their supervisor if the schematics were practically screaming DANGER, DANGER! so clearly that even a nineteen year old private could see it. That remained wholly unique to himself.)
Perhaps it came down to personal investment, after all. His wife, though Capitol born, had inherited their vacation home from her Four-native grandparents and had spent many a year of her youth on the seaside. His mother had invested in a miniature greenhouse of her own right in the middle of the Capitol itself and had always fashioned herself as possessing a green thumb. It made sense, really, why their own views on beauty differed so much from his. They of course, had their own connections, their own personal biases to the sea, to the flowers. They, of course, hadn't saved and rebuilt the Capitol's grand skyscrapers from the ground up almost entirely on their own in the midst and aftermath of the worst civil war Panem had ever known. His investment was his city, his nation, his people; therefore, wasn't it a given that it would be the very monument of each and every one of those things that he found the most beautiful?
So he stood, gazing out of the window, watching as the sky cooled from shades of brilliant oranges and golds into the purples and blues of evening, until, right on cue, a sharp knocking echoed throughout the room.
"Enter," he spoke, turning away at last from the sights of the city and refocusing on the humble furnishings of his study.
As was custom, there was a ten second pause between his exclamation and the opening of the door, giving him ample time to settle into his seat at his desk before Filbert heeded the command. (And really, was it any wonder that, of all of Julius's butlers, he'd by and far lasted the longest?)
"Sire, the Head Gamemaker has arrived," Filbert reported in the same droning baritone that Julius had long since learned was the extent of any emotion he'd get out of him while on the job. "Shall I bade her to wait a little longer, or-"
"No, no, send her in, send her in," Julius interrupted with a wave. No doubt that with Filbert's insistence of accommodating him to the letter that even the normally punctual Head Gamemaker would have already gotten an earful about 'how important it was not to disturb him during his daily routine' while simultaneously being incredibly vague as to what, exactly, said routine consisted of. And okay, he'd be lying if he said that there wasn't some mutual amusement amongst him and his butler alike that was gained from delaying and otherwise irritating some uninvited Capitol official whose ego had outgrown their waistcoats to the point that they thought themselves as his equal, but this wasn't that sort of situation. The Head Gamemaker was, after all, one of the few individuals still alive that had earned an inkling of respect out of him in the post-war era, and the least he could do was show it.
"Very good, sir," Filbert droned, giving Julius a bow before returning through the doorway. He was replaced almost instantaneously by a striking woman dressed smartly from head to toe in a monochromatic purple pantsuit who, to her credit, seemed altogether unbothered despite the circumstances of her visit. Not that Julius would have blamed her otherwise, to be fair - the last time she'd stood here, it was to inform her of her promotion after the sudden retirement of her predecessor. But then again, unlike said predecessor, this Head Gamemaker had never been easy to unsettle. Hence, the respect.
"Pompeia, my dear, welcome, welcome." It was customary to pour on the charm for all of his guests while found in the safety of his own office, for one reason or another - either it was genuine, or used as a tool to lure his quarry into a false sense of security, if not a little of both. "So glad you could make it here, and on such short notice, too. Please, take a seat."
It was only then that Pompeia gave one of her rare smiles in return - rare in that it was earned, not professional. "It was no problem, really, Mr. President," she replied, ever the picture of respect and decorum. Not that that was surprising - Pompeia Bergamot was, by all accounts, a ruthless, emotionless woman whose respect of professionalism and competence was only outmatched by her unofficial marriage to her work. Even the careful, measured way in which she pulled out the guest chair and sat opposite to Julius himself was nothing but smooth and calculated in each and every movement - no doubt a test on her own part, almost daring him to comment on her overt formality.
Well then, he thought, allowing the faintest hint of a grin to cross his face. Why not take the bait?
"Come now, come now, you know I prefer to be called Julius. Mr. President, or, dare I say it," he shuddered involuntarily, "President Dominus just sounds so…old-fashioned, if you ask me. It's like we're once again fresh off of signing the Treaty of Treason and the only way for any of the masses to take me seriously as a leader is if I take on the title of my predecessor."
"Be that as it may, Mr. President," Pompeia replied, and had Julius not caught the twinkling in her eye he might have thought she'd ignored him entirely, "the fact remains that decorum must be upheld, and respect must be shown to one's superiors. Especially," she leaned forward ever so slightly, "when one's head may or may not be on the line, no?"
Had she spoken so brazenly to his predecessor, she would have lost her head right then and there, of that Julius had no doubt. There was a reason that the people had largely accepted his own subsequent rule without complaint, after all - a war hero was much more appealing than a tyrant any day of the week. As it was, it was that exact nerve, tempered by experience yet forged in fire nonetheless, that had earned her Julius's respect. Fear was all well and good, but someone who knew their place while simultaneously not being ruled by it, well, that was how true innovation was created.
"Very true, very true," he acquiesced. "If no one can respect me, then what's to stop this whole nation from dissolving into anarchy yet again, hmm?" Here he allowed his ghost of a grin to grow, taking form and corporeality. "And what an excellent segway, if I do say so myself." Intertwining his fingers together, he too leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. Time to get to the point.
"You know how respect is formed, correct?" A genuine question for many who called the shining metropolis of the Capitol home, but one more rhetorical in nature for the present company, if Pompeia's almost incredulous nod was anything to go by. Good. "It is earned, of course. You know my story - that of a brave general in the army who could stand no longer as the corruption of the President above me was losing the very war I and so many other patriotic citizens of our nation were fighting so hard to protect. And I know yours, of the woman who clawed her way up from practically nothing into one of the most powerful and desired seats in the Capitol. We have similar values, you and I, and that is why we've worked so well together over the last five years." And what a glorious five years they had been - four strong, charismatic victors who had earned their respective places as Panem's elite, and a forgettable girl who nonetheless served her own purpose of reminding the district's powerful that even their best efforts paled in comparison to pure chance, let alone the might of the Capitol itself. "Now, my dear." And here he narrowed his gaze fully into Pompeia's own eyes, curious to see when - not if - she put two and two together. "Do you know what, exactly, is so special about the upcoming Hunger Games we'll see this year?"
A vague question, one offering so little in the way of facts that only the unworthy yes-men amongst his subordinates would pretend to know. Pompeia, predictably, did not, thinking about it for scarce more than a minute before admitting as such.
"This year, we'll be on the Nineteenth. Nineteen years since the Treaty of Treason was signed to the exact day. Or at least, it will be when it comes time to select twenty four more district children and bring them here to pay off a little bit more of the debts that their parents and grandparents racked up." It was almost amusing how easily he could see the gears churning behind the Head Gamemaker's otherwise passive poker face, and he found himself tempted to let her come to the conclusion on her own. But only a little. She had, after all, earned his respect many times over. "It also means that, for the first time ever in Panem's history, it will be statistically impossible-"
"For anyone born before the Treaty's sign to be eligible for the Games," Pompeia finished, reaching the point seconds before Julius revealed it. It was only after the words were out of her mouth did she realize her interruption, and it was only testament to her own professionalism that her blush of self-inflicted shame didn't bloom entirely across her face. "My apologies, sir."
"None needed, my dear, for you are exactly correct." The toothless smile he offered was one of satisfaction as much as it was genuine mirth - he did, after all, appreciate it very, very much when his most powerful servants were capable of competence. "Nineteen is symbolic amongst the districts. It's the year when their loved ones are free from the doom that they inflicted upon themselves, when they can cease worrying that the big, bad Capitol will do unto their children what they did unto ours. It's a symbol of hope, the last, desperate imitation of the spirit that Panem's mothers and fathers cling onto. If only my child can make it to nineteen, then at last, I'll be able to relax. At last, I won't have to fear the consequences of my own actions, not on such a grand stage. And as we all know, hope…"
"Is as dangerous as it is empowering," Pompeia finished. "So we turn their symbol against them. Make nineteen a number they fear instead of aspire to, take away their sense of security." She pondered for a moment. "Is this your way of telling me that you're planning on expanding the period of eligibility for the Games, Mr. President?"
"Oh, no no no," Julius laughed, though not unkindly. "No, the Nineteenth will continue the same way as the eighteen Games before them have. Twenty four kids, one boy and one girl from each district, will go in. One will come out. That is all written into law, and that will not be changing - though I appreciate your innovation." If only Pompeia knew just how far he thought in advance when it came to the Games, if she had any sort of inkling as to what he'd planned for six years' time. Right now, though, that was a bridge to be crossed another time. "We will, however, do as you predicted. Nineteen, like the Fourth, like the Sixth, like the Ninth, will change the game in altogether subtler ways." He leaned back in his seat, voice volume dropping just a tad. "Because yes, for the first time in history, our tribute lineup will be made completely of children born to a post-war world. For the first time, our grand design will consist only of children who have never known what, exactly, it is like to be born or to grow up in a world ravaged by war. All across the nation, we as one people have healed. And the generation that provoked the conflict is aging, looking more and more to their youth to continue the fight that they lost way back when, never content with what is, and only thinking of an idealistic what could be." His grin, having never wavered, stretched just a tiny bit more upon taking in Pompeia's shocked expression. "Oh yes, my dear. Despite all reports to the contrary, the rebellion remains alive and well, growing and festering and waiting for any sign of weakness that they can exploit. No doubt that there are already plans in place for my death, hoping to take advantage of the confusion and uncertainty of a brand new leader to inflict chaos amongst our beloved nation." He unclasped his hands, placing them on the arms of his chair. "And that is why we must stamp out the spark before it can ever truly hope to burn. And for that, I need you, Pompeia."
Silence reigned first and foremost as the gears behind the Head Gamemaker's eyes began turning once again. "My loyalty to you is absolute, Mr. President, though you know that by now." It wasn't a question so much as it was a statement, one that Julius acknowledged with a nod. "But, forgive me, but I've never been one for warfare or politics. What, exactly, could I be to you in stamping out a rebellion?"
"Because if politicians or soldiers were what it took to grip this wannabe insurrection out by the roots, my dear, I would have done so already." Finally, the grin melted off of his face, and if the Head Gamemaker was truly as smart as he'd pegged her for, she'd understand why instantly. "The rebels survived for as long as they did during the Dark Days due to guerrilla tactics and hiding their central command in plain sight. It is rational to expect that this iteration of resistance has inherited much from their former benefactor, yet it would be hubris to expect that they've learned nothing from their defeat. They, like us, have had nineteen years to grow and innovate. And our first priority, beyond wiping them off of the face of the nation, is figuring out how to do so."
Understanding was dawning on Pompeia's face, albeit slowly. "So the Games are to draw them out, then. Probably either plucking more kids from confirmed or ex-rebel families, maybe, or is it the spectacle itself that you're hoping to utilize."
"The latter." Julius would admit that the first idea tempted him - there had, after all, been plenty of tributes with ties to rebel families in the first several Games, and every now and then he liked to pluck one from seeming obscurity just to keep them on their toes - but kill enough children from the same family, or the same alignment, and all that would do would be to consolidate like-minded enemies around a common foe; his own beloved Capitol. "Sure, we can stick a kid or grandkid of a rebel or two in there if we want, but that'd be a bandaid on a hemorrhaging artery."
"So the Games themselves will be the bait, then?" Pompeia questioned, and the grin returned to Julius's face.
"Precisely." Once again, he leaned forward. "The Games, after all, are the only piece of required viewing across all twelve districts, amongst every single citizen of the Capitol and the rest of the nation alike. What better way to feign weakness than to do it in plain sight?"
"Feign weakness?" Pompeia repeated, tilting her head in confusion.
"Feign weakness." Julius nodded. "Now, as many know all too well, I am not a young man any more. Far from being old and decrepit, sure, but I'm soon to find myself on the wrong side of sixty, and, well, we all know that despite the best technology that Three can provide, there's only so much that we as humans can do in the face of a sudden, onset illness."
"If I may interject, Mr. President, but age notwithstanding, I'd wager that you're closer to the pinnacle of health than some men who've lived less than half your years."
Julius chuckled. "The glory of living in the city whose primary export is decadence, I do suppose. But even though I might be healthy and hale now…" He paused, if only for dramatic effect. "Who's to say I'll remain that way, say, by Reaping Day?"
It was almost comical how quickly he could see the metaphorical lightbulb flicker on above Pompeia's head after that. "So you fall ill, suddenly, serious enough to, say, either look greatly weakened on national television, or to avoid any appearances whatsoever. Then the rebels will scramble, seeing that their chance might have finally come."
"And in the midst of the chaos, we have our in," Julius concluded. "Because no secret organization, rebellion or otherwise, is capable of remaining hidden forever. Especially not in the wake of unexpected but not unwelcome developments."
"And like with many of my own tributes over the years, you play their own hubris against them."
"Pre-cise-ly," he said, heavily emphasizing each syllable. "We project an illusion of instability, draw the inquisitive head of the snake in, and then we clamp the doors down right on its skinny little neck, just like that. The rebellion will be blunted, I'll ensure stability when my own succession comes to pass, and with any luck, we'll be all ready to settle in by the time the Bloodbath begins."
"And for the Games themselves, I take it, you'll want some sort of message sent?" Pompeia asked, though by now she too was grinning - genuinely, excitedly. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to keep in mind?"
Finally, Julius allowed his smile to sprout teeth. "Why, my dear, I was so hoping you would ask."
Hello, and welcome to my first ever submission to the grand world of SYOTs! A few of you might recognize me from lurking about over the years, while a few more might recognize me from some recent submissions I've made, but to most of you, hello, nice to meet you! I am user lancelotgriffin, or Lance for short, here to contribute my own take on the Hunger Games universe to this grand design! Right now, we see plenty of worldbuilding take shape, as the current President of Panem and his loyal Head Gamemaker get together and discuss the state of the world, amongst other things, while setting the stage for the titular conflict in the 19th Annual Hunger Games themselves, with plenty more both in and out of the Games alike to come.
As this is my first SYOT, I am fully prepared to write this out whether I get four submissions or forty, as I have many ideas and plenty of enthusiasm to see this to the end regardless as to how many PoVs end up featuring! Any relevant information can be found in three different places: for the signup itself, please refer to the form pasted on my profile. For any OOC notes and minor worldbuilding tidbits, please refer to the google doc linked on my profile. And for those of you that, like me, are suckers for lore and character profiles or are simply interested in the eighteen victors that exist in this new canon I am creating, please refer to the website link featured on my profile. I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's feedback and, hopefully, seeing some of y'all's submissions!
