complex | hades series, 95th
Jan 1, 2024 20:34:50 GMT -5
Post by dars on Jan 1, 2024 20:34:50 GMT -5
Death came back to town fresh from a premier vacation in an undisclosed islet somewhere off the coast of Four. He took his seat behind a heavy mahogany desk, steepling his fingers as he pored over the files that'd piled in his absence, and he could practically still smell the salt in the air. He scoffed.
He'd never been one for warm weather.
It stifled his creative energy, he felt. He couldn't really focus all that much on his important tasks when he also had to worry about his palms clamming up every five minutes. The 90th was only a fraction of his original vision, and he'd given himself half a decade of planning ahead this time to make sure his next time making a Games went precisely according to plan. So long as he could convince the others that Dr. Carter was a washed up has-been who couldn't lead her way out of a wet paper bag anymore than she could run the Games, they could get to work on finding someone else to help him, and everything would be right back on track.
Of course, the sights in Four were lovely, he wouldn't deny. There was nothing like a seaside sunset with the most beautiful woman in Panem standing next to him. But other than that, there really wasn't much to do. It was a vacation, so Astrid had insisted he leave as much of his work behind as possible. This gave him too much time to think. He kept silently cursing and wishing he'd brought a pen and paper with him to jot down ideas. What was he supposed to be spending his free time doing? Fishing? Please.
The isolation was one of the things he'd liked most. No matter where one ran in the Capitol, there was always someone paying their entire paycheck to rent a space somewhere a stone's throw away. Some young upstart thinking he was going to make it big, some sad widower settling down in a corner to rot. But being that far out, an ocean of water separating he and Astrid from everything and everyone was nice on a level of consideration.
He signed off on some development things that were waiting for his approval, took some time to draft a response for his availability in the next High Council meeting, and quietly sipped at a glass of whiskey poured fresh from the bottle kept behind his desk. Slowly, he worked his way through the files and notes before he finally made his way to the very bottom.
He recognized the seal of District Two at the top- the old seal now, he supposed- and instantly groaned. He pressed a button on his desk, turning the intercom to his assistant in the next room. "Melly, I am the liaison of District One only. Not any of the other Districts!" For now, at least. He thought back to a couple of years ago, when his previous assistant allowed Avriel Baptiste to walk right on in to this very office with no planned meeting, expecting Hades to settle some silly travel permit issue during the middle of the pandemic. That'd only been the beginning of him dealing with other people's problems as a Councilor.
That's what happens when you elect entertainment professionals to run a country, he supposed. Clearly hadn't been going great for District Two, that much was obvious.
"Certainly not District Two."
Without even bothering to open the file, he slid it off the edge of his desk and into the trash there at the far end.
He had more important matters to attend.
He'd never been one for warm weather.
It stifled his creative energy, he felt. He couldn't really focus all that much on his important tasks when he also had to worry about his palms clamming up every five minutes. The 90th was only a fraction of his original vision, and he'd given himself half a decade of planning ahead this time to make sure his next time making a Games went precisely according to plan. So long as he could convince the others that Dr. Carter was a washed up has-been who couldn't lead her way out of a wet paper bag anymore than she could run the Games, they could get to work on finding someone else to help him, and everything would be right back on track.
Of course, the sights in Four were lovely, he wouldn't deny. There was nothing like a seaside sunset with the most beautiful woman in Panem standing next to him. But other than that, there really wasn't much to do. It was a vacation, so Astrid had insisted he leave as much of his work behind as possible. This gave him too much time to think. He kept silently cursing and wishing he'd brought a pen and paper with him to jot down ideas. What was he supposed to be spending his free time doing? Fishing? Please.
The isolation was one of the things he'd liked most. No matter where one ran in the Capitol, there was always someone paying their entire paycheck to rent a space somewhere a stone's throw away. Some young upstart thinking he was going to make it big, some sad widower settling down in a corner to rot. But being that far out, an ocean of water separating he and Astrid from everything and everyone was nice on a level of consideration.
He signed off on some development things that were waiting for his approval, took some time to draft a response for his availability in the next High Council meeting, and quietly sipped at a glass of whiskey poured fresh from the bottle kept behind his desk. Slowly, he worked his way through the files and notes before he finally made his way to the very bottom.
He recognized the seal of District Two at the top- the old seal now, he supposed- and instantly groaned. He pressed a button on his desk, turning the intercom to his assistant in the next room. "Melly, I am the liaison of District One only. Not any of the other Districts!" For now, at least. He thought back to a couple of years ago, when his previous assistant allowed Avriel Baptiste to walk right on in to this very office with no planned meeting, expecting Hades to settle some silly travel permit issue during the middle of the pandemic. That'd only been the beginning of him dealing with other people's problems as a Councilor.
That's what happens when you elect entertainment professionals to run a country, he supposed. Clearly hadn't been going great for District Two, that much was obvious.
"Certainly not District Two."
Without even bothering to open the file, he slid it off the edge of his desk and into the trash there at the far end.
He had more important matters to attend.
