Chapter Text
The President sent her white roses and a card congratulating her on the successful tour. He also suggested that perhaps a different apartment would better reflect her status as Panem’s rising star. Her old place was apparently “drab.” It was on the cheaper side, but it was safe and perfect for a career woman in her late 20s. Or was she 30 now? She’d stopped counting. The face cream was doing its job, and that’s all that mattered. She moved into a new building with a doorman and rooftop bar, and she was happy with that. Plus, Crispus now lived in her neighborhood, and there was a great park and subway access nearby. He helped her check her new place for bugs (there weren’t any) and unpack a little.
“You didn’t hear this from me,” Crispus whispered. “But Brento had eight drinks at his reception and projectile vomited all over half of the old families.” He was borderline giddy. “My boys on duty that night cleaned it all up, but he’s my new favorite.”
She, Crispus, and Plutarch worked late at least once a week and then went back to one of their places for dinner and drinks. Winter turned into Spring, and the games were around the corner.
Fulvia drowned in reports. Charlemagne constantly demanded analytic summaries on viewership numbers or audience satisfaction rates, and then he wouldn’t even read them. It got to the point where she and Urban were just submitting the same report repeatedly with a new intro page. Charlemagne never commented on it.
“At least Snow defended your budget.” She offered to Crispus. He huffed and collapsed into a chair after a particularly bad day.
“I shouldn’t have needed to call Snow, but I really shouldn’t have needed to call Snow when Charlemagne already made me write four reports on victor monetization and income streams. Do you know what that did to my soul?” She shrugged. They were all feeling the stress.
Charlemagne went through what Plutarch described as the “Treaty of Treason” era. The game-making staff had a daily all-hands meeting where they were forced to read the Treaty of Treason one line at a time. Charlemagne would then lead a discussion on why their jobs were important. Fulvia actually didn’t mind this era as much as Plutarch and Crispus did. She just brought her datapad and used the time to write reports when Charlemagne wasn’t looking at her.
After the treason era, it was the “Film Club” era, where Charlemagne made them watch old Hunger Games. Charlemagne had this habit of cold-calling gamemakers to identify areas where the tribute, victors, and gamemakers had made mistakes as if they were all students again. Fulvia would have expected more pushback from Crispus when Charlemagne publicly trash-talked some of the victors, but he joined in on the bashing.
“Wiress’s games were lame and she’s an odd duck, I agree.” Department Head Crispus Ravinstill offered. The other gamemakers all nodded.
“Thank you, you may be seated.” Charlemagne decided. He moved on to someone else and queued up footage of Percy drunkenly falling down a set of stairs last year. Fulvia bit the inside of her lip. Was today just going to be a PowerPoint of Victor Gaffes? She had analytics reports to write. The next victim was also from victor’s affairs.
“He’s an alcoholic. What about it?” The girl replied.
Fulvia’s staff held their own in the cold calls, except Minerva (a seasoned staffer who should have been doing better and cried after every meeting) and one of Fulvia’s first-year staffers, Pollyanna. Fulvia just made them sit between herself and Lysterna and took notes on what they missed for later review. She took a lot of notes. Crispus seemed to have a similar strategy for his staff. His first years sat between himself and his senior staff like they were lost baby ducklings. Sash colors aside, it was obvious who was on victor’s affairs once May hit. Crispus and his staff went through the gamemaker’s handbook line by line until the vast majority of them were chanting rules in hallways like it was some bizarre bonding ritual. Fulvia didn’t go that far, but she did have her seniors lead a weekly rule review, so if Charlemagne did something, they could get him.
Plutarch’s staff struggled the most in these meetings, mainly because Plutarch was struggling. The transition to department head was never easy, and his path from assistant to department head reeked of political favoritism. The Arena Elements staff weren’t taking it well. Plutarch had no idea how to praise the first years when they did something right or how to calm them down when they spun out in the hallway after getting an answer wrong in the large group meetings. In fairness, they were a difficult group to lead due to their weird mixture of social engineers and real engineers. Half of the staff missed Laurentio as their department head, and half were delighted to have a well-connected socialite as their boss. Fulvia just had her team start whispering answers to their struggling associates; if only to get through the meeting a little quicker.
On top of that, they were still having the problem-solving meetings daily, so Fulvia had no actual time to do her job. They all logged record overtime hours, and Fulvia missed her niece’s birthday party. She missed spin classes and haircut appointments, and she needed to see someone about her nails. Tigris finally took pity on her and remedied the situation. They just had no time, and it wasn’t even game season yet.
The debriefs between Fulvia, Crispus, and Plutarch escalated. President Snow occasionally joined them. Fulvia hadn’t realized how funny he was. He had been a gamemaker too! Which, she had known, of course, but to hear him tell stories about how much he hated one of his head gamemakers at the time felt like a commentary on their lives. He let them complain about Charlemagne and assuaged some of their fears. Spring turned to summer, and Reaping Day was a week away.
“I think you’ll like the paper tomorrow morning.” President Snow announced to them one night as he stood up to leave.
“Sir, are you finally axing Charlemagne?” Asked Crispus.
“It's a bit close to the start of the games, but we can make it work.” Agreed Plutarch. Fulvia nodded. President Snow smiled.
“No. You all have more to learn from him.” He laughed and then walked out. Maybe Charlemagne had blackmail on Snow, and Snow was hoping they would figure out what it was? It was their best theory.
Fulvia didn’t have time to grab an edition of the paper on her way to work. She had forgotten about it until Crispus ran into her office, screaming with Plutarch right behind him. Most of Crispus’s staff had followed him. The staff chattered in excited bits, and Fulvia caught every third word.
“A hot list? What are we in middle school?”
“He’s gonna be pissed.” Someone else whispered. Crispus climbed onto the table.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the esteemed game-making corps! Panem’s most reliable news has spoken.” Plutarch stepped next to her and shook his head. He covered his grin with a hand. “Presenting, ‘Top 20 Hottest Gamemakers of all Time.’” Crispus unfolded the paper.
“What?” Fulvia asked. She blinked. Their job was about helping Panem remember the horror of the dark days; looking good was irrelevant! Granted, she did put a lot of effort into her appearance. Crispus kept reading.
“Gamemakers are among our nation’s most valuable workers.”
“Yeah, we are!” Someone yelled. He continued.
“‘These bright, hardworking, young men and women serve our country every day to ensure Panem maintains peace and security! And,” He waggled his eyebrows at the group. “They look good doing it. Maybe it’s their jackets,” He did a little shimmy. “‘Maybe it’s their uniforms, or maybe it’s their camera skills.” He lowered the paper. “It says wink wink, which I think is implying that we’re all good in bed, which is just not true.”
“Read it!” Lysterna shouted.
“Faustus, take over. I’m on this, and I can’t be thought of as vapid.” Crispus handed the paper over to his staffer, who had climbed up next to him. Fulvia paused. Her staff of 30 was here, Crispus’s staff was here, and most of Plutarch’s staff was here. Charlemagne’s team and Laurentio’s limited staff were nowhere to be seen. Crispus jumped off the table and landed next to Fulvia and Plutarch. Fulvia didn’t know Faustus, but Crispus trusted him, and he had been on the closed set a few months ago. And the staff meetings had revealed he had an incredible head for statistics. He could recite death orders and facts of every game on command. Fulvia was a little jealous that Crispus had him; he would have been such an asset in media. Faustus cleared his throat.
“To celebrate the 59th Hunger Games, let’s count down the 20 hottest gamemakers of all time. In twentieth place, Gaia Templesmith!” Faustus read the short bio on Gaia that the paper had printed. The 19th Hottest Gamemaker of All Time was Charlemagne Royage. Faustus didn’t read Charlemagne’s bio; he just flipped to the next page. The next few were all Gamemakers in the 30s and 40s whom Fulvia easily recognized. They all worked for the government or were retired but active in philanthropy. “And,” Faustus read, “‘The 13th Hottest game maker of all time is Plutarch Heavensbee! This gentle giant is a titan of thought. After graduating cum laude from Panem University, Plutarch earned national acclaim when his tribute won the 50th Hunger Games. Plutarch now leads all arena elements for the gamemakers. You might have seen him this winter as he assisted with cameras for this year’s victory tour.” Faustus finished. Everyone cheered. Plutarch’s face went beet red. He bent over. Crispus cackled and rubbed his back.
“Next!” Faustus shouted. “‘In Seventh place, the incomparable Fulvia Cardew.’” Fulvia felt blood rush to her face. What. Her staff cheered, and Faustus paused to let them get it out of their system. Crispus put his arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. ‘“Another summa cum laude graduate of Panem University, this dynamic lady is known for her ability to wrangle her staff.’” Faustus paused and looked over at her senior associates. Urban, Lysterna, and Cicero all nodded. Lysterna gave her a thumbs up. Her others whooped. “‘And victors. You’ve definitely watched something she’s produced, and you definitely sent it in your family’s group chat. Want to see this game maker make the game? Watch the 59th Hunger Games.” He turned the paper and displayed a photo of her to the group. Fulvia had to admit, it was a good picture. It was her looking over her shoulder as they prepared for the mentor parade last year. Her wig looked amazing, and her uniform was pressed. She was smiling at something off camera. The staff cheered.
“We’re going to skip the next few because we have places to be, but it’s all names and faces, you know.” Faustus flipped through the following few pages to show off the faces of more government officials. Fulvia had no idea so many of their leaders had started as gamemakers. She should be less offended that President Snow wanted her on his staff then. He flipped to number two and then looked at his boss. “Sir, can I just say before I read this, you’re the hottest gamemaker in my heart, and I have the utmost respect for how you lead our department.”
“Get on with it, Faustus.” Crispus leaned against the console and grinned. Fulvia smacked his shoulder.
“At number two, Crispus Ravinstill!” The VA gamemakers all cheered. Fulvia joined them. “‘A graduate of Panem University, Crispus competed on the school’s gymnastics team and can regularly be found volunteering with a youth gymnastics club during his free time.’” Fulvia hadn’t known that. ‘“This reformed wild child knows the wilds of the districts and as the leader of Victor’s Affairs, we’ll all be watching the 59th Hunger Games to find out who will join his flock.’” Faustus spun the paper so they could all see Crispus’s picture. There were some wolf whistles from multiple staffers. Fulvia cackled, and Crispus went bright red. They’d use his ID picture; at least it was a good one. Fulvia’s ID picture was cringeworthy. Crispus cackled, and Fulvia slapped his shoulders. “And, at number one, President Snow!” Faustus finished.
“Oh, so you are the hottest. He rigged it.” Plutarch muttered. He sounded so bothered. Was he offended that he was only the 13th hottest game maker of all time? Fulvia was laughing so hard she could barely get air in.
“‘After graduating summa cum laude from Panem University, President Snow enjoyed a long career as a gamemaker, where he participated in the solemn remembrance of the Dark Days. He’ll be watching the 59th Hunger Games, and you should too!” Faustus flipped the paper so they could all see a much younger and a much blonder President Snow. The staff was in hysterics. Faustus and Urban began separating the pages of the paper and distributing the pictures and blurbs to their owners. Lysterna and Cicero taped it to her office door.
“Ok!” Crispus shouted. “If I sign your timesheets, go back to our offices. We need to finish stocking the tribute center.” He began to herd his staff out the door. “See you guys soon.” He waved.
“And Snow knew it was coming…” Plutarch whispered to her. He began heading for the door with a bemused expression on his face. Fulvia rolled her eyes.
Fulvia blinked. Crispus blinked. Plutarch blinked. To his credit, Laurentio blinked. Fulvia was exhausted; they had less than 24 hours before the tributes were selected. She’d had a check-in meeting with the escort for Seven, explaining that there could not be a repeat of last year’s performance, and spent the day drowning in paperwork. Charlemagne had changed the staffing rotas (again), and now everyone was confused. Fulvia couldn’t keep up.
Charlemagne had decided that the best time to pitch new uniforms was now, at the last heads meeting before the all staff dinner. It was a terrible idea. Gamemakers were possessive of their jackets. Most of them had made alterations so the uniform fit them well, and even the most rule-abiding gamemaker had added secret pockets for snacks or cigars. Fulvia had a tiny packet of gum tucked into her hidden breast pocket. She could only take it out when she was alone because she just wasn’t about to share with her staff or her boys.
The new jacket was less of a jacket and more of a tunic. He clicked through the slides, demoing each department’s new sash color. Now, gamemakers would be able to earn pins from the Head Gamemaker for meritorious service to display on their sash in addition to their rank. She had a feeling Laurentio would earn a pin. She doubted the rest of them would.
The worst offense was the socks. They were knee high with little colored ribbons that poked over the edge of their boots. The ugliness was abated by the fact that their uniform pants covered the entire boot, so at least no one would see them.
“Alright. We did a last-minute arena change last year. Why not change the uniform this year?” Crispus had turned into Charlemagne’s hype man the past few days. She understood why he was doing it, but she still resented it. “I love it.”
“Good.” He seemed unexpectedly relieved. “We’ll distribute the new uniforms tonight at the staff dinner. We’ll debut the new set for opening day.” Fulvia ran the calculation in her head. Were three days enough time to get everything tailored? It would need to be. She wasn’t good enough at sewing to make it work otherwise. “I thought about adding a hat, but I decided against it.”
“A wise choice, sir.” Plutarch agreed.
Fulvia could feel the entire staff watching her and looking for some kind of reaction to the new uniforms during dinner. They wouldn’t get one. She ate a filet mignon with the other department heads and made small talk about families, the weather, and general excitement for this year's games. That was deemed impossible when Charlemagne showed the new uniform PowerPoint to the entire staff. She pressed her knee hard into Plutarch, and Crispus put his foot on top of hers. She made eye contact with Laurentio, and he nodded. It felt nice to all be in agreement again.
“And no wigs for anyone,” Charlemagne added. A murmur of shock spiraled through the group. They needed to wear wigs. Did he expect them all to do their hair every day? They were all about to look poor on TV! “You are gamemakers. You are not stylists, escorts, or prep teams. You are charged with punishing the districts to prevent another rebellion. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir.” They all shouted.
She touched the fabric of the new tunic as Charlemagne called on the department heads, and they presented updates. It was a cotton-poly blend. The new sash was satin. Hopefully, the fabrics would all look good together. And at least she wouldn’t need to wear white during the games anymore. It made eating in uniform such a hazard.
“The socks are wool,” Crispus said through clenched teeth while Plutarch presented his team’s updates. Something about the arena being 'electric' this year. “Wool knee socks in July.” Laurentio tipped his wine back. Fulvia finished her glass.
She sent the slides of the new uniform examples to her entire staff. Someone was going to screw this up and incur the wrath of Charlemagne, and it wouldn’t be her or any of hers. She’d check them all herself before sending them out for their opening day assignments.
Reapings were seamless, which Fulvia was grateful for. Low intervention again, and no wrinkles that she needed to prep for. Her staff ran the camera calls while Fulvia sipped a coffee in the spin suite, supervising. They cut live to District One.
Victoria and Felix were mentoring again, with Zara and Max serving as secondaries. Fulvia hoped they could have a good year. That trap had just been terrible for everyone last year. The boy from One was brunette this year, which Fulvia thought was a nice change of pace. Victoria tried to catch Felix’s eye about something, but he looked away. Fulvia called for the cameras to focus on the tributes and not the mentors.
Lyme and Brutus were bringing a slimmer boy and a broad-shouldered girl. Cael was coming as an alternate mentor and for media appearances. Fulvia nodded.
Wiress and Beetee had an underfed girl and an older boy who might’ve been a contender were he not so skinny.
Mags and Percy had two volunteers. They both towered over the escort Aurelia and were both muscular. Maeve smiled and clapped with the other victors. Fulvia sent silent wishes of strength to the woman.
Porter and the male mentor (whom Fulvia could never keep track of because he drank so aggressively) had an older girl. She was pretty, but looked on the more lithe side. The boy was a tiny 13-year-old, and Fulvia’s heart broke for Porter that she would have another hard year.
Six went all out. The crowd was mostly sober as the escort introduced Brento as a past victor. Fulvia wondered if their cheers were shaking the cameras. And it would not be a repeat year for District Six. The boy was 15 but looked so small he could blow over in the wind, and the girl was 16 and looked equally small. Fulvia sipped her coffee. They would all look fine once remake was done with them.
Seven’s escort had dyed his beard and hair green and wore platform ballet heels; the look was atrocious. But once they had the tributes, no one was looking at the escort. The sevens had two contenders. Blight and Oakly knew it, and so did every gamemaker in the room. The girl was tall with thinning hair, but great features. The boy stared at the skyline with something unreadable on his face. The escort was excited and told the tributes to shake hands. The boy was frozen, but the girl hugged him. Fulvia blinked. Did they know each other?
“We just had a romantic pair from the same district. This is so lame.” Lysterna commented.
“Maybe they’re friends? Cousins?” Fulvia suggested. She glanced at the information coming up on her datapad. Different last names, but similar ages. Maybe they were friends from school? It would have been great to ask about at the opening press conferences, but Charlemagne had killed that, too. “Seven’s not even that small.”
The eights were skinny and older. Fulvia breathed a sigh of relief when Cecelia didn’t seem to know either tribute, and neither did her siblings.
9M was older and stocky. “Contender,” Urban muttered. He had good features. The stylists could do something with him. 9F was pretty and willowy, and her shoulders trembled on stage.
Casey didn’t react as either tribute was announced. The girl was tall and classically beautiful. Fulvia couldn’t tell her age, but she came from either the 16 or the 17-year-old pen. The boy was well built, but on the younger side. Fulvia wished he were coming as an older tribute. He would have been a contender.
Seeder and Chaff were model victors all through the reaping. Both of their tributes were thin and all elbows. Both blinked in shock. They had to use the applause track because the sound of a woman screaming flooded the sound system. Urban handled it. Seeder gently ushered them into the Justice Building for goodbyes.
Haymitch went pale as a skinny older boy and a tiny young girl were called up. Someone had to shake the shock from the girl to get her moving, and two other girls gave her a push forward. Fulvia made a face and motioned for the cameras to focus on Effie.
“Ok!” Effie clapped. “Shake hands, you two!” The girl burst into tears, and the boy wasn’t far behind. Haymitch fell off the stage.
They cut back to the Capitol. Caesar Flickerman was on stage. His color this year was burnt orange, featuring glitter. It was so tacky. Fulvia automatically recoiled.
“Happy Hunger Games!” He shouted. “May the odds be ever in your favor!”