Marius Ravinstill, age 70
President of Panem
After the Reapings
I switch off my television screen as soon as the live broadcast of the Reapings ends. It's time to do something about the situation in District 8.
I would have liked to do this as soon as the District 8 tributes were Reaped, but I wanted to make sure that nothing else went wrong during this year's Reapings. Now, part of me thinks I should have only half-watched the Reapings of Districts Nine through Twelve, but it's too late now. I use my phone to compose a quick email to Aristus Phipps, the National Director of Communications, requesting for him to set up an urgent Panem Presidential Address. Then I walk to my office, where my work computer system is set up.
I spot my second son, Alexios, on my hurried walk to my office. He gives me a thumbs-up without a smile as we pass each other in the hallway, and I nod to him in return, glad to not be interrupted. I enter my main office, log in to the computer, and write a longer and more formal but still urgent email, this time to multiple parties. I include Mr. Phipps in the recipient list and also include Olympus Sickle, the Head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games; Lucretius Flickerman, the Master of Ceremonies of the Hunger Games; Hestia Marble, the National Director of Security; Decima Janus, the General of the Capitol Guard; Pannus Weaver, the Mayor of District 8; and Liam Morrigan, the Head Peacekeeper of District 8.
I write the email, breathing deeply as my hands shake and I have to correct a few incorrect key presses. Deep breaths. Right now, the entire nation of Panem is looking to me as their leader in this unprecedented situation. On the inside I actually feel like crying, but everyone sees me as an experienced and respectable leader. I've handled unprecedented situations countless times, and I know that I will be handling more in the future.
Will your age catch up with you? I find myself thinking. I quickly dispel the thought. My advanced age is most certainly a topic for another time. I finish writing the email, which consists of the plan regarding the District 8 tributes of this year's Games. I almost click on the "Send" button when I pause and add my wife and three children to the list of recipients. Then I remember to include the Director of the Capitol Central Hospital - that would be the closest hospital to the Training Center where the tributes stay before the Games - but I don't actually know their name and contact email. This isn't good… I don't have much time. I decide to forgo giving the email a second read as I search for the contact information of the Director of the Capitol Central Hospital. I hope the recipients of the email will understand its urgency and excuse any errors.
I press "Send" and lean back in my chair, taking a deep breath as I rub my eyes. I hope I made the right decisions regarding our plan. There is nothing left to do now but wait for responses to my messages, but sitting and doing nothing brings my anxiety back, so I decide to text Luxuria Bronze, the Head of the Presidential Transport Team. I ask her to bring a few Team members to pick me up at the Northwest Door and drive me to Congress Hill, the building where every Panem Presidential Address takes place. I put my phone away, stand up, and grab my things. As I walk towards the Northwest Door, my phone buzzes. I pause and check it, relieved to see that Mr. Phipps has set up Congress Hill for a Panem Presidential Address.
As I continue walking to the Northwest Door, I receive many more notifications, and I make sure to stop and check each one. I don't have time to examine the notifications in detail, but I am pleased to see that the recipients of my urgent messages are generally responsive.
When I reach Northwest Door, I see the Presidential Limousine approaching with Mrs. Bronze in the driver's seat and two Presidential Transport Team members in the passenger seats. It isn't a long wait for the limousine to come to a stop, but it feels far longer than it should. I take a seat in the back wordlessly. Thankfully, none of my three escorts speak. They are all fully aware of how serious this situation is.
The drive to Congress Hill takes less than ten minutes, and during the short drive I take a look at my notifications more closely. I still have not received a response from Jacobus, my eldest son. This is slightly concerning, but thankfully he isn't directly involved in my response to the situation.
I suddenly realize that I have not prepared my speech at all. My heart rate shoots through the roof in a moment of brief panic before I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm myself down and ground myself. I find it rather irritating how, decades later, I am still an anxious man behind my presidential facade. Thankfully, it has largely not gotten in the way of my duties.
I read the email I sent out in order to prepare the content of the speech. I decide that it will be concise, informative without inserting too much opinion. I will need to assure and placate the masses, but too much assurance is not only unnecessary but dangerous. On the other hand, I cannot be too dispassionate because that will lead to a dangerously discontented nation as well. I make a mental note to include a thanks for the bravery and sacrifice of not only the tributes of District 8, but the tributes of this year's Games and every citizen of Panem. And, of course, I will end the speech with my usual closing words.
I've arrived at Congress Hill. The two Presidential Transport Team members, as well as two guards outside Congress Hill, flank me as I walk into the domed marble building. Heads bow at me as I make my way to the Assembly Room, where Panem Presidential Addresses take place. Members of the National Assembly are seated in place, and cameras flash quietly as I hold my head high and walk to the podium in the center of the room. I notice that not every Assembly member is present, but that does not matter to me. I glance at Mr. Phipps, the National Director of Communications, and signal to him that I am ready to begin. The room is silent as it waits in anticipation of my words.
"Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, citizens of Panem. Thank you for your attention. We are gathered here today because of an unprecedented event in the Reapings of the Nineteenth Annual Hunger Games. From District 8, a girl Tribute, Mishel, and a boy Tribute, Redmond, were Reaped. Redmond was wheelchair-bound and Mishel appeared to be pregnant. Nobody volunteered to take their place in the Games.
"It is clear that we as a nation must have a plan going forward dealing with the conditions of the District 8 Tributes. Thanks in part to the valiant efforts of the Mayor and Head Peacekeeper of District 8, there were no riots or violent events after the Reaping. I solemnly ask that the nation of Panem maintains this peace going forward. Now I will formally announce what will happen regarding the Tributes' participation in the Hunger Games.
"Mishel, the girl, will be delivered immediately to the Capitol Central Hospital upon her arrival in the Capitol. There, she will be given a medical examination. If she is indeed pregnant, she will receive a C-section to deliver her child before the Games begin. She will otherwise participate in every Games event, including Private Sessions and Interviews. The child will remain in custody of the Capitol Central Hospital unless the tribute returns from the Arena.
"Redmond, the boy, will be allowed to keep his wheelchair and utilize it until he is launched into the Arena, as there is no time to modify the Launch to accommodate the size of his wheelchair. Two members of the Gamemaking Team, along with his Stylist, will accompany him into the Launch Room. If he is unable to stand on his launch plate, he will be positioned to sit on it instead, or otherwise positioned in a way that allows him to be still and survey the Arena before the Countdown ends.
"I hope the beautiful nation of Panem will find no fault with this course of action and, above all, maintains peace and unity among its citizens as always. I would like to thank the citizens of Panem for their enduring hard work and sacrifice to make our country great. Panem always, Panem now, Panem forever."
That's the end. I take a deep breath and bow as the room politely applauds. I suddenly realize that I forgot to thank the District 8 Tributes specifically, but that doesn't matter now. The only thing that matters now is that the Games continue smoothly without the nation erupting into war.
A/N: Chapter question: What do you think of Ravinstill, the President of Panem, and his plan regarding the District 8 Tributes?
Bonus question: What are your thoughts on the story blog?
The full tribute list has been released and can be seen at the bottom of the first chapter of this story as well as the story blog, a-pregnant-question-hg . blogspot . com (remove the spaces).
Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you all soon!