Tiberius Bright (Head Gamemaker)
"Good morning, Mr. President," I stammer nervously, my voice shaking as I wipe my palms off on my jacket before extending my hand and smiling awkwardly. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"The pleasure is all mine, Tiberius," he says, his voice brimming with confidence and just a hint of sarcasm as he takes my hand in his and shakes it firmly. "And please, call me Caspian. Everyone else does."
"I'll try to keep that in mind, sir," I stammer, my mouth moving before my brain can catch up as I try to remain calm and in control of the situation.
"Good," he says, his voice still tinged with the faintest hint of amusement as he motions for me to lead the way. "So, tell me about the arena. And please, try to be as brief yet thorough as you can.
"Sir?"
"I know that sounds like an impossible task, but I have my reasons for asking for it. See, I have a meeting with the Head Escort after I'm done here, and I'd hate to have to reschedule it. So, I need to keep this brief.
"On the other hand, I need you to be as thorough as possible because this is my only chance to tour the arena before the games start. And I need to be sure that it's up to the task of hosting a Quarter Quell before I give you the ok to use it.
"Does that make sense?"
"Not, really," I say, the words pouring out of my mouth before I can stop them as I stand here and struggle to make sense of the information he just dumped in my lap.
"Which part are you having trouble with?" he asks.
All of it. "The part where you give me permission to use the arena in the Quell, sir," I say instead. You know, because I'm unwilling to admit that nothing the President just told me makes sense.
"And why is that?"
"Because I already have permission to use the arena, sir," I say carefully. "Your predecessor gave it to me seven months ago.
"This is a courtesy tour, sir. You're here to inspect the mostly finished product."
"I see," he says, his eyes burning with anger, his words dripping with disappointment as he shakes his head in disgust. "Very well. In that case, why don't you show me what you have, Mr. Bright."
~THREE HOURS LATER~
"But we're confident we'll have those annoying little kinks worked out by the end of the week," I say, my confidence hanging by a thread as I stand beside the cornucopia and do my best not to look worried as I wait for him to tell me what he thinks of the arena my team and I have been working on for months.
I shouldn't be this nervous. I've been doing this job for a long time, twenty-five years, to be exact. And in that time, I've worked with three different Presidents — not counting President Ashwood — any one of whom could have had me executed with a gesture if they didn't like what I was showing them. But they never did. Because I never did.
I do safe, effective, high-quality work. That's why I still have the job after all these years. And President Ashwood knows that. Or, at least, I think he does.
"So, what do you think?"
"I think your reputation as a safe, cautious, steady hand is well-earned," he finally says.
Oh, thank god.
"Thank you, sir," I say, the tension seeping out of my body as I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in. "I can think of no higher praise."
"I didn't mean that as a compliment," he says, his tone causing all of the tension I'd just released to come rushing back in as he turns toward me with a disappointed look burning in his eyes. "This arena is everything I feared it would be. It's simple, safe, and utterly devoid of imagination."
"I'm sorry you feel that way, sir," I mumble, my voice flat and neutral as I struggle to keep my emotions in check while he stands there and insults the arena my team and I have spent months working on.
"I'm sure you are," he says, no longer bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Can I assume the mutts and traps you'll be deploying are just as boring and uninspired as the rest of the arena?"
"I don't believe so, sir," I say meekly. "In fact, I'd go so far as to say that the work we've done on that front is some of the most creative I've ever seen," I lie, trying to sound confident. "And I'd be happy to arrange a meeting between you and the gamemakers I've got assigned to those tasks so you can — inspect — their work for yourself."
"That would be great," he says, rolling his eyes in annoyance as he stands there and gives the dimly lit cavern we're standing in a thorough once over. "So, when do the statues go in?"
"Sir?"
"You said your team was working on statues for the twelve. When do they go in?"
"Oh, those statues," I mumble, silently kicking myself for needing to ask. "We've got ten of them installed in their individual caverns, and the other two should be in place by the end of the week."
"Good. What else do you have planned for the main chamber?"
"We're going to decorate the ceiling with their celestial representations, sir."
"And that will serve as ornamentation and the chamber's main light source. Correct?"
"It will, sir."
"Fantastic," he says, his voice soft and almost sincere as he slips his hands into his pockets and takes a deep breath before continuing. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you, Tiberius. I don't like you."
"Sir?"
"You settled for mediocrity when you should have been striving for excellence, and that's never a good thing," he turns toward me. "However, you do know what you're doing.
"This arena is exactly what you promised my predecessor it would be. And, as long as the mutts and traps are as creative as you say, it should get the job done."
"Thank you, sir," I say, a small but palpable sense of relief washing over me.
"Don't mention it, Tiberius," he says, offering me his hand. "Just promise me this will be the last time you disappoint me like this," he says, letting his unspoken threat hang in the air as he shakes my hand. "Ok?"
"Of course, sir."
"Good," he says, smiling as he pulls his hand back. "Now, I'm disgustingly late for a meeting. So I should probably be going."
"Ok," I stutter, my heart pounding in my ears as I try to think of what to say next. "I'd be happy to have someone come and escort you out."
"No need," he says, his voice dripping with confidence as he hops off the cornucopia pedestal and starts down one of the side tunnels that leads to the main chamber. "I can find my own way out. And thank you again for the tour."
Caspian Ashwood (President of Panem)
"Well, that was a colossal waste of my time," I growl, my voice low and annoyed as I storm into my office and drop my jacket on the chair behind my desk before making my way over to the bar on the far wall.
"Is everything ok, sir?" asks Tranquila, her voice clipped and professional with just a hint of concern as she slides into the chair on the other side of my desk and waits for me to come back with my drink.
"Why wouldn't it be?" I ask sarcastically. "I just spent a little over three hours stumbling around in the dark, listening to a man with all the personality of a dial tone tell me about the dank little hole in the ground he and his team call an arena," I roll my eyes dramatically. "My day was amazing."
"Really?" she coos enthusiastically. "Tell me all about it."
"I'd love to," I lie, my head throbbing as I drop a couple of ice cubes in my glass before filling it with scotch. "But not tonight," I start back toward my desk. "I'm exhausted, and all I want to do right now is have a nice, stiff drink and spend some time with you."
"I'd love that, Cass," she coos, a playful smile on her lips as she stands up and plucks my drink out of my hand as I pass by. "And I'm sure you deserve it. But the fun's not over yet," she takes a sip. "You have a meeting with Lumiya. Remember?"
"Of course I do," I lie, sort of.
"Good," she says, smiling as she takes another sip. "She's waiting for you in the sitting room."
"How long has she been waiting?"
"And it's ..?"
"Seven-thirty, babe."
"Shit. Did you offer her a drink?"
"No," she says coyly, her lips on the rim of my glass. "But one of the staff did.
"And trust me, they've been taking good care of her for you."
"So she's pissed and drunk," I groan, my brain begging me to reschedule the meeting even as I force myself to grab my jacket and put it back on. "That's fantastic. Remind me why I can't delegate this."
"Because you're the one who decided to fire all her escorts."
"I didn't fire all of them," I growl defensively. "Just the ten who deserved it.
"That's why Valion and Raphael still have jobs."
"And I'm sure she'll appreciate that distinction," she coos, her face flushing as she quickly downs the rest of my drink before setting the empty glass on the desk. "But only if you're the one who explains it to her."
"I know that," I groan. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it.
"You know, sometimes, being the President isn't nearly as much fun as I thought it would be."
"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," she coos, her body swaying from side to side as she stumbles around the desk and plops down in my lap. "Or whatever it is that Henry the fourth said."
"Did you quote just Shakespeare to me, Tranquila?"
"I think I did," she giggles, her face lighting up as she leans in and plants a playful kiss on my nose. "Did you like it?
"A little," I say, smiling from ear to ear. "Though not nearly as much as you seem to like the new bar."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asks, her voice dripping with playful indignation.
"That you're absolutely hammered. And you know it."
"I would never!" she laughs, her voice light and bubbly as she throws her arms around my neck and covers my cheek in kisses as she snuggles into my lap. "But even if I was, it wouldn't be my fault."
"Oh really?"
"Nope."
"And why's that?"
"Because you're the one who made the drink too strong," she coos.
"So it's my fault?"
She shakes her head yes. Her hair flailing around wildly, her eyes glazing over as she starts to fall asleep in my lap.
I love this side of Tranquila. She doesn't cut loose like this very often. But when she does, I can't help but enjoy every second of it. It's just so refreshing to see her like this.
I just wish she'd picked a better night for it.
"Excuse me, Mr. President?" says a voice from the other side of my office door.
"What is it?" I reply, doing my best to sound professional as the love of my life drifts off to sleep with her head on my shoulder and her arm around my waist.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. But Miss Lumiya is waiting for you."
"Of course, she is," I mumble under my breath. "Tell her I'll be there in a second," I say, my voice cold and dripping with annoyance as I gently untangle myself from Tranquila's arms before carrying her over to the couch.
"Of course, sir," he says, his voice dropping half an octave as he whispers a quick order to someone before turning his attention back to me. "Shall I have the steward bring in more refreshments?"
"That won't be necessary," I say, throwing open the door and shouldering past the terrified old man without hesitation. "This is going to be a short meeting.
"Have someone take Tranquila up to our room, please."
A/N: Hello everyone, and thank you for reading Chapter Two of the relaunched Echoes of the Future! So, this is a combination of two chapters from the old story, and my hope was to use it to give everyone a few hints about the arena, as well as provide a little more depth to Caspian and Tranquila, and I think I was able to do both reasonably well. But I'm interested in hearing what everyone else thinks. So, please let me know.
The only other thing I have left is a basic outline of where the story goes from here. I have two more world building chapters planned, which will be more mash ups of older chapters, and then I'll be delving into the tributes themselves. I haven't decided exactly how I want to do those just yet. I have an idea, but I'm not sure how to go about doing it, and I'm open to suggestions. So, if you have any tips or ideas, please let me know.
Other than that, I hope you all have a great weekend, and I'll be looking forward to seeing you all again at the next update.