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v. allegory
✦ ✧ ✦
a narrative in which a character, place, or event is used to deliver a broader message
arisa hirohito
forty-seven / / president of panem
—
For the first time in the seventeen years of her presidency, there's not a single cloud in the sky on December twenty-fifth. Arisa has never considered herself particularly superstitious, but she reckons this has to mean something.
Today's a holiday, after all — Snow Day — named by her predecessor both out of vanity and because of typical weather for this time of year. It's meant to be the one day of year that those in the Districts are relieved from labor, a small sliver of gratitude that's hardly warranted, but that isn't true this year. It just made the most sense to place this early Reaping Day on a day where nobody's busy.
And of course, today there's no snow falling down from the sky, no doleful reminder of what this country was before Arisa took the helm. It's quite auspicious, and a rare smile crosses her face as she gets out of bed.
"Where are you going, sleepyhead?" Besides her, Senna yawns and stretches her hands, one of them grabbing onto Arisa's wrist. "Don't you want to stay in bed for just five more minutes?"
"I do," she says, then brings her lips to her beloved's hand. "You know I do. But you also know what day it is, right?"
Senna snickers. "You better have gotten me a present."
"Of course I did—"
"None of that 'my presence is a present' shit that you tried to pull two years ago, right?"
"How many times do I have to apologize for that?" Arisa shakes her head. "Yes darling, I got you and Vangelis real presents this year."
She tries her best with Senna, she really does, but sometimes Arisa just doesn't know how to be in love. She knows that she is, feels it with every last muscle in her body, but it still confuses her terribly. In the thirty-three years she's known Senna, she's given her countless opportunities to walk away yet she always comes running back — running home, as she says.
Senna deserves better than her. She deserves somebody who can give her the world instead of just a few hours a day. Arisa knows that she's supposed to be a god, but she pities herself when she can't bring what she considers salvation to her most loyal apostle.
Panem is, at times, an easier lover for her to serve. It grows at the pace she sets, never rushing ahead or falling behind. She gets to shape it in her image, a face she once found disfigured and obscured but now knows how to admire. In loving her country, Arisa can confidently say that she loves herself.
(Senna's love should be enough for her. Why isn't it enough for her?)
(You don't deserve her, Arisa tells herself, night after night after night.)
She pulls back the silky white curtains, letting some light into the room, but when Senna flinches (an instinct), Arisa wants to put them right where they were. She can't — today is too important for sleeping, for loving.
"Five more minutes," Senna tempts her once more. "Please, baby."
"After the reapings, love. If you want, we can even watch together."
"That'd be nice."
Arisa's lips lift into a smile. "So it's settled then."
That is, provided Arisa can make it until the ceremony without puking. When push comes to shove, her entire life is riding on today, on these next six months. Even though she wields the reins to this country with fists forged from iron, there's so many variables she cannot possibly control..
If there's one thing about Arisa Hirohito, it's that she hates the unknown and uncontrollable.
Even if there's zero indication that the Fourth Quell will go as poorly as the Third, she's still fucking terrified. Arisa wasn't raised to be afraid, wasn't raised to tremble or stutter or even slightly hesitate, yet her body and mind are betraying her principles. When she looks into the mirror, her skin is paler than ever before. It's like she's looking at a ghost. It's like she's looking at—
(Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.)
Nothing.
("Help me, Arisa! Help me!" Miyuki screams so loudly, her jaw looks like it's about to unhinge itself. "Do something. Help me!"
"I'm doing what I can," she barks back to her sister. She's trying, fucking hell Arisa's trying but there's so much blood and there's a hole in Miyuki's stomach and she can see her guts contracting tightertightertighter.
She tries to wrap the bandages tighter, but they keep slipping between her bloodied fingers. Fuck Arisa needs to keep trying. Miyuki can't die here. Miyuki can't die like Kassiopia, Zaharin, and Corisande. Miyuki can't die like—
Senna isn't dead. Senna isn't dead.
Across the battlefield from the two sisters, Katniss Everdeen — fuck her — lies on the ground, nobody to confront her in her final moments. Good. That's what she deserves for being the figurehead of the movement that killed all Arisa's friends. The movement that killed—
It can't kill Miyuki. She won't let it kill her sister.
Fuck, Arisa should've broken more of Katniss' bones. She should've dug her teeth into the so-called Mockingjay's chest and ripped her skin off her ribs. Maybe that'd make her feel better, make her feel sick about—
"I can't," Miyuki screeches. "I can't feel… anything. I can't feel anything."
There's nothing Arisa can do anymore. Why isn't there anything else she can do?
Fuck Katniss. Fuck the rebels. Fuck everyone in the Districts for being so ungrateful, so selfish. The Capitol is generous. The Capitol is good. If only they were more fucking grateful. Then the world wouldn't be tearing itself apart right in front of Arisa and—
For the first time in all her twenty-three years, she cries.)
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Everything is going to be fine today. Everything is going to be fine and Arisa has no reason to worry, no not really. She takes a deep breath, clenches her jaw until her hands stop shaking. See? Everything's fine now.
A good president doesn't let her emotions take hold of her like this. There's a reason people like her. They say she's stable, unlike Coriolanus. She needs to be fucking normal for once in her life—
Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale.
She's fine. She's fine. She's fine.
But what if people aren't happy with the Quell? What if despite Karystos and Ulesi's efforts to deliver something spectacular, something that digs the Games out of their current rut, people are angry. What if they rebel and then all of the sudden there's a war again and —
She can't lose Vangelis. She can't lose Senna. Arisa can't let the world take anything else away from her.
Inhale exhale. Inhale exhale.
Nothing to worry about. All of the rebels are gone, locked away in Twelve where they can't touch her and her nation. Nothing can touch her. Everything is fine.
… So how come she can't stop shaking? Even though her toes are curled and her teeth are grinding together and she can't stop. Why can't Arisa stop? Why can't—
"Darling!" Senna shouts, and oh my fuck did Arisa embarrass herself in front of her again? She's supposed to be the strong one, the immovable object to Senna's unstoppable force. She's not supposed to make her beloved worry. "Darling, are you okay?"
"I'm fine…"
She isn't very convincing because she turns around and sees Senna crawling out of bed. Senna with worry in her eyes. Senna walking, Senna opening her arms, Senna getting closerclosercloser and—
Arisa feels her cheeks smush against Senna's chest, feels her hands wrapped around her back, feels the air from her mouth as she whispers. "It's going to be okay. Arisa, I love you. It's going to be okay."
"You don't know why I'm upset," Arisa mumbles. Her hand finds its way to Senna's locks and she wraps them around her finger, holds them gently but like they're still her anchor. "I mean… not that I'm upset or anything."
"You're so funny, you know that?" Senna hums then pulls Arisa even closer. "You forget how bad of an actress you are."
"Not acting."
"You're worried about the Quell. Because of what happened twenty-five years ago."
"Idon'twannatalkaboutit," Arisa rushes out. "Idon't."
"I never said we had to, love."
"Good, because… I don't want to."
Wow, she's embarrassing. Wow, she's a mess. Can't even talk about her feelings. What kind of president can't do that? Fucking hell.
She tries to tear herself away from Senna — she has important things to do, after all — but her wife doesn't budge. "We're just going to stay here for a little bit, okay?"
"Okay…" Arisa stutters.
Senna presses a kiss to her cheek. "You're okay, love. We're both okay."
"Yes… yes, we are."
—
Senna insists on cooking breakfast, as opposed to one of the avoxes. A shame, they're far better cooks than she is. Yet somehow her food is better anyway? Something about it being made with love — Senna always says her food is made with love.
Arisa has no choice but to believe her, even if she isn't sure that "love" is an ingredient in chocolate hazelnut doughnut bread pudding. She knows it's important to take good care of her body but she simply cannot help herself around desserts.
Vangelis didn't wait for her arrival before they started eating, but Arisa wouldn't have expected them to. Fuck are they a funny kid like that — adopted by the most important people in the country and still so causal about the whole thing. Senna was right when she chose them.
"What's up, bro?" They at least have the decency to stop chewing, pulling out a chair for Arisa. "Today's going to be fuckin' crazy, huh?"
"Why do you call me bro?" Arisa sits down beside them and reaches over to the serving dish to cut herself a portion of the bread pudding. "I'm not your 'bro,' I'm the president. And your mother."
Vangelis shrugs. "I dunno. I think it's funny."
"You know what? That's fair."
Arisa then focuses on chewing, taking in the warm chocolatey and rich hazelnut flavors. It's so sweet, it really might as well have been made with actual love.
"Don't you have something to say to me?" Vangelis interrupts.
She briefly stops chewing. "I know it's Snow Day. Your present is under the tree."
"Wait, shit. You actually got me a gift?"
"I don't know why you and Senna are both so surprised about that."
Has Arisa really not been trying hard enough? She can already tell this is going to eat her alive for the next few days — better than thinking about how the Quell could kill me and everyone I love.
Because it can, right? She's not overreacting about that at all. All-encompassing doom is certainly a possibility, even if it may not be a likely one.
(But there's still a chance. If she isn't careful, she might cry for her wife and child the same way she did her sister and her friends.)
(Is paranoia the price for caring about people? If that's the case, shouldn't Arisa have stopped caring a long time ago? Is the fact she still does proof that underneath her godly disposition, there's still a bit of human left inside of her?)
Once she's finished eating, she puts her silverware on her plate and waves at Vangelis. "I'm off to the living room to open presents." They stand up and follow behind her.
The presidential manor feels far less lonely when there's somebody standing beside her. That's another reason why Arisa's fond of Vangelis — they really can be good company if they want to be.
Senna decorated the lower floor of the manor with red and green streamers and balloons a few days ago to enhance the "holiday spirit," but Arisa hasn't stopped to appreciate it until now. It certainly makes what's usually a dreary manor into something homely.
Somehow, when she arrives at the tree, she wasn't expecting that Senna would be holding out a gift of her own. It's wrapped with purple paper that features pink hearts with pictures of Arisa inside of them. Kind of tacky, but since it's from Senna, it actually isn't.
"Wow! You got me a present!" Vangelis says, reaching out toward Senna. "You really didn't have to. That's so sweet!"
"It's not for you," Senna scoffs.
"What do you mean? This wrapping paper with pictures of Riri is most definitely a gift for me and not her."
"Has anyone told you how annoying you are?"
"Lots of times! I take it as a compliment."
"As you should. You know, back in the day, Arisa used to call me annoying all the time—"
"I did not!" Arisa interrupts, but she very-much-so knows that she did. "And if I did, it was probably warranted."
"You had such a stick up your ass, it was the only way I could find any enjoyment with you."
"You didn't say that. You said that I was tolerable."
"Please don't remind me of that."
"Am I still tolerable now?"
(She's about to leave the gym and go to sleep when she sees somebody reflected in the corner of the room.
"What do you want?"
Senna rolls her eyes. "Would it kill you to not be a bitch for just five minutes?"
"I wasn't trying to sound like a bitch." Seriously, Arisa can't help her resting bitch-tongue.
"What are you doing here so late at night?"
"Training, obviously."
"Really?" Senna raises a brow. "You know damn well that they've already decided what your assignment is and whatever this is, it's not going to change anybody's mind."
She's right, obviously. As confident as she may seem, Arisa does have the tendency to be wrong most of the time, not that she'd admit it.
Not that it'll matter once I'm a part of the Capitol Calvary — the most elite group of Peacekeepers.
"Maybe I'm just doing this for fun." She stares at her reflection in the mirror and flexes her biceps. "See, how fun!"
"You wouldn't know fun if it slapped you in the face."
"I know that you making all these assumptions about me isn't fun."
"Are they wrong?"
Arisa just sighs.
"I knew it," Senna chirps. "Girls like you are very easy to read."
"You know people like me?" Somehow, this offends Arisa. She knows that she's just another cog in the machine here, but she has the potential to be something better, and nobody can take that away from her — right?
"Vaguely self-obsessed with the same sense of humor as a rock. Always training because Snow-forbid you have any actual feelings." Ouch. "Yeah, I know your type like the back of my hand."
"Yet you're talking to me anyway, because..?"
"There's still something about you that's different from the rest and I don't know why, but it really annoys me. For starters, you're more tolerable than Kassi and Zaharin."
"I still don't get why you're here." But hey, maybe Senna would make a good thing to bench press. That'd be far more worthwhile than this conversation. "You think you can just show up in my space and make fun of me while also trying to psychoanalyze me?"
"This room is property of the Academy."
"That's all you have to say?"
Is it bad that Arisa almost enjoys teasing Senna like this? She's pretty when she's frustrated, not that it matters. It's fun to watch her squirm. She usually knows exactly what to say at any given moment, but for once she's rendered speechless.
"Maybe it's because I care about you."
"Why the hell would you do that?"
"Because you're so…" Senna huffs, and Arisa swears she sees smoke coming out of her nose like she's a bull. "You're so. Fucking. Tolerable."
"Well, who's to say I tolerate you?"
"I say you tolerate me plenty because you haven't told me to fuck off yet, nor have you ever in the past."
"That's because I'm not just tolerable," Arisa sneers. "I'm also polite and hardworking. And I also mind my own business. And I'm so—"
Senna leans forward and kisses her.
Why the fuck is she doing that? Why the fuck is Arisa kissing back? She's never kissed somebody before; she's losing the plot! What the fuck is happening?
Arisa tears herself away. "What was that?"
And then she goes in for a second kiss, and a third, and a forth. And then twelve more. And another after that.
Her hands are places where they probably shouldn't be, but Arisa doesn't even mind — she does mind, so fucking much — because Senna feels warm and welcome in her arms. She's forgotten why she decided to start shit with the other girl and remembers that she does actually like her, and she also likes this more than a lot of things.
(Training and glory are not some of those things, for the record.)
"Surprise!" Senna says when all is said and done. "Are you ready to be kind and normal now?"
Arisa rolls her eyes. "Maybe.")
"You're more than tolerable." Senna extends her arms to wrap Arisa in a hug but she nearly drops her present.
"I'd beg to differ," Vangelis says with a chuckle.
"I tolerate you both, okay?" Arisa forces out a rare laugh, then looks over at Senna's gift. "Do you mind if I open this now?"
"Hold your horses!" Senna points under the tree. "Don't you want to give Vangelis and I our gifts first?"
The rest of the morning is filled with the sounds of wrapping paper ripping and laughter, smiles adorning the three of them's faces as they pay no mind to what today is and what it's going to entail. But, the fog lifts from Arisa's mind eventually, just like how it always does.
"We need to get going," she stammers. "Only two hours until the first reapings start."
"Right, yes we do," Senna exclaims. "I'm excited to watch with you."
"I know you are." Arisa leans to the ground, grabs her wife by the hand, and pulls upward until the two of them are standing. "This is going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine."
"And if it isn't, we can cross that bridge together."
Right. Because even if her country won't remain eternal forever, Senna's love for her always will be. Why can't Arisa accept that as enough for her?
"I love you, Senna." She kisses her hand. "I love you more than anything I've ever known." Maybe if Arisa keeps repeating that out loud, she'll actually believe it. She knows it's the truth after all.
"And I love you more than that."
"Impossible because I love you—"
"I'm right here, you know!" Vangelis hisses. "I don't need to hear all this lovey-dovey shit. It's just going to make me feel even more miserable about how single I am."
"I'm sorry, buddy," Senna says, but Arisa knows that she isn't. "Who knows, maybe 100 ADD will be the year Zenith starts seeing you as a person."
Arisa has no right to giggle as hard as she does, but laughter fills her with butterflies from head to toe. With Senna's fingers intertwined with hers and Vangelis' unamused and embarrassed expression, things are starting to feel alright again.
That being said, it's time to roll the cameras on the One Hundredth Hunger Games. May the odds not be in the favor of anybody who tries to fuck this up. People can complain all they want, but Arisa Hirohito knows this for certain: always and forever, her Panem is for the better.
And with that, prologues are over. I'm going to keep this AN as short and simple as possible because I know what people are here for — it's been a long two months, hasn't it?
Thank you so much to everybody who submitted. In the end, I received 55 submissions which, if you do the math, is over twice as many as the amount of kids I'm able to accept. If I didn't take your kid, I promise it's nothing personal and you may, of course, submit them to another story — you don't even need to ask me. In fact, I encourage you resubmit, as they deserve to have their stories told, even if I cannot be the one to tell it. I understand that you may be upset, but I ask that you respect my decisions as this was a very stressful selection process and I truly do wish I had more room. I also ask that you do not harass me or the submitters who's characters were selected for the fic.
If you were chosen, congratulations. As difficult as these decisions were, I know that the cast I have selected is excellent and will be perfect for the story I want to tell. I'm so excited to write your children and then brutally murder them in a way that is blissfully ironic and/or plot-fulfilling.
I worked tirelessly on the blog which can be found at semperetnumquam dot wixsite dot com slash sv100, and if you have time, I would love a blog review with your first impressions of everybody. The capitolites have been kind enough to also give their first impressions, and they have ranked everyone as seen in the "status check," section. Also feel free to tell me what you thought about this prologue, or all of them if you haven't told me.
I'll see you over the next eight weeks (god-willing) with intros! I'm beyond thrilled to finally be getting this show on the road.
Linds. Laugh. Love.