major arcana and the underworld

[umber vivuus 12a 🥀 [dars]]

H A D E S

If they didn't know his name, they would soon enough.

Hades Lochlan.

It was a name worthy of fear, and the monsters he'd created were proof enough. The dream spore that sent people spiraling into madness, the kharon and its towering frame. The crocolisk, the kecleon, the plagas, the unsaid, the crixets and the xenion. Hades had redefined what it meant to be truly scared, and with the added bonus of shadowing a gamemaker under his belt, it came as no surprise when he received word of a summons to President Coriolanus Snow's office.

He kept himself composed as he waited for the old man on a balcony overlooking a vast garden of white roses, hands tucked into his pockets, lips pressed into a thin line. Recognition, at long last. It tasted like honeysuckle on his tongue, the smallest twinge of sweetness. Just enough to make him wish he had more.

"Mr. Lochlan," the voice was aged and wise, a fine wine. President Snow couldn't have been any younger than a hundred, though Hades hadn't ever cared enough to look into it. He had to respect someone who could stand running a country for so long in perfect balance. 82 successful games, off without a hitch, every rebellion little more than an insect sting to the giant that was his legacy.

Hades reached out to shake his senior's hand, a low hum of, "President Snow," combated as a greeting.

"Come, sit," Snow said, gesturing to a small dining area and taking his own seat. Hades obliged. "I presume you have some assumptions regarding your business here," he carried on, pouring himself a glass of wine and offering the bottle over to Hades.

"I've made some guesses," Hades admitted. He waved off the drink; he'd never been one to handle his alcohol and it was only just past noon.

"You've been a great asset to us these last several years," Snow said. Hades began to get the feeling this was not the congratulatory lunch he'd expected it to be. Something between the lines of his tone, a lingering air of mystery. A sense of something amiss. "You've proven to be an excellent muttation designer, and we heard great things from your time spent with Ms. Alfray, though there is certainly something left to be desired of the ending to her games."

Hades did not speak. He did not dare to. Perhaps he thought if he ignored the issue it would resolve itself. After all, Snow was smart enough to deduce that Hades was the best option in any case. He did whatever job was put in front of him and he did it with style. Surely he wouldn't blame Hades of all people for another victor from Twelve?

"I'll be blunt, Mr. Lochlan. You were a prime candidate for the position this year and, until quite recently, you would have received the offer."

There was a feeling similar to a knife running its way along his insides only worse, and he tried his best at first not to seem visibly upset by it. As evenly as he could manage, Hades whispered a quick: "And?"

"We've elected to give it to someone else."

If Snow was sorry to be the one relaying this information, he did not show it. There was nothing, not an ounce of guilt in his demeanor.

"Sir, I- who, if you don't mind my asking?"

For the first time, a true look of disinterest played itself over Snow's features. He swirled the glass of wine and look a long, slow sip from it.

"Ms. Levelwright has... agreed to come back on board. And we've also decided to bring on Minerva Hale."

"The book author? Sir, I-" he hadn't meant to say the words aloud; they'd come out before he had the chance to stop them, but now the President looked on in wait for the rest of what Hades had to say. He cleared his throat.

"I mean no disrespect, but she's likely spent more time sitting in a rehab than polishing up her gamemaking abilities."

The old man chuckled, genuine enough.

"Perhaps she made the most of her time in there, no?"

There was a moment's pause.

"You are on standby to work as her junior as it stands," he said. He found it funny; Hades wasn't laughing. There wasn't a single universe where this made sense. Every time he'd heard anything about her, it had been her name plastered on the front on a magazine, along with some article about trying to overcome whichever addiction she was facing at the time. To hire her would besmirch the name of the Games. It would dishonor the title of being Head Gamemaker. It would- Ah. He realized for the first time that her father had been a longtime employee in this very building, and it all made sense. Her father probably knew secrets about President Snow that could ruin him several times over. Letting his daughter help run one silly games was probably the least he could to to make up the difference.

"Her junior? I don't-"

In an instant, Snow's demeanor changed from carefree to terrifying. While Hades truly did consider himself fear-inspiring, he had nothing on this man, even as old as he was.

"And you remain a very qualified candidate as it stands, Mr. Lochlan. My advice is for you to thank me for this opportunity before it is taken from you."

The silence was staggering as Snow stood and shrugged his coat back on. After a long pause, Hades stood to meet his gaze.

"Of course, Mr. President. I'm honored."

He tried his best not to grit his teeth as he said it.

[umber vivuus 12a 🥀 [dars]]

M I N E R V A

She felt as if she hadn't slept in days. Hell, to be honest, she hadn't. No more than an hour or two a night. Thoughts, worries of the upcoming meeting plagued her. A meeting with the most powerful man in Panem- one she wasn't particularly fond of. It was either the beginning of something incredible or the end of everything she knew, or maybe both. She'd spent the first night riddled in terror, cursing herself for every pill she'd ever taken, for every relapse she'd had since she started working in his office. She hadn't ever been delusional enough to call herself a singer and there weren't many people in her life she truly cared to talk to on a daily basis, but she didn't think she'd be able to live life without a tongue. Not to mention that not once, in all her years of growing up in a wealthy household, had she managed to pay the avoxes any mind. She was a girl meant to be served, not one meant to be of service.

When she finally had her fill of it, she'd flipped on the lamp next to her bed and pulled out the deck of cards, gave them a good shuffle, and flipped one up.

She let out a pleasant hm, gliding her finger across the dilapidated surface. The cards said nothing of bodily harm or servitude. It had been enough to ease her mind, but not even close to enough to silence it. For the rest of that night and the one that followed, her mind ran rampant with possibilities. Her broken soul thought the best she could hope for was a warning about being on time, her hungry heart expected nothing less than an offer to become the successor of the president himself. If there was an option anywhere between, she'd thought of it by the time she landed in the waiting room.

"President Snow will see you now," a man's voice said; she didn't even bother looking in his direction to offer so much as a quick thank you.

There was a pair of tall, ornate wooden doors at the end of the hall. A duo of peacekeepers guarded it, silent and steadfast. Unmoving, in fact, until Minerva reached them. One of them nodded to her once and opened the door for her to go inside.

Just as soon as they were closed behind her, she saw him there. He sat behind a desk, hands folded together and supporting the full weight of his face, which was pressed into his palms. A sign of fatigue. Obviously, she thought. To think the old geezer was anything other than tired would've been foolish.

"Ms. Hale," he said. He wasn't bothering to feign pleasure, which she found rather peculiar. She stared, blank-faced to show him that she was not afraid. She wasn't afraid of him, in fact, even though she knew she should have been, from an objective point of view. Perhaps her upbringing was to blame, but she would never fear a man who thought he had power over her, so long as she lived.

If he caught a glimpse of any emotion at all in her face, it was humor. The air around her dared him to try and break her, but she was not foolish enough to say the words aloud. She took a seat without being invited; her nanny would've taken away dessert for doing something so uncouth, were she younger. Were she still able to be controlled.

She was not a stranger to this man. She'd grown up resenting him, for occupying so much of her father's time, for treating him so unfairly, for keeping the nature of his work so dark-seeded that he was afraid to answer her when she asked him how his day had been.

"Thank you for coming in," he started. She wasn't blinking, but neither was he.

"What is the occasion?" she replied. For some reason, she was craving pipe tobacco. Something to dampen the aggressive floral scents in the room, wafting from the white rose on Snow's lapel.

"I'm sure you are no stranger to your father's business with me," he started; Minerva had always been a bit too blunt to play the type of social warfare that was infamous among the Capitol elite. Those sham conversations where neither person felt comfortable enough to come out with the full truth. Minerva had many flaws, but she did tell the truth. She was uninterested in shooting in the dark to figure out what this conversation was actually about, so she crossed her legs together, as well as her arms, and leaned back in her chair to wait and see.

"He's been an asset to me for decades now."

"Perhaps this meeting should be between you and my father then, no?"

He set his jaw and stood, slowly. She refused to look away.

"Manners," he said. She fought the urge to scoff outwardly, or laugh.

"You do not want me as an enemy, Ms. Hale, I assure you. And make no mistake, I'd much rather give your position to someone more deserving, but-" he stopped himself, clearing his throat. A chuckle escaped him and she watched on, unimpressed.

"My position?"

"You're being formally hired as a head game maker," he said. As much as she was sure it was a joke, his tone lacked even an ounce of humor. Still too stubborn to let him think she was afraid of him, she only squinted, waited for him to explain that he wasn't serious, or that he was.

"That's a big favor," she said at long last. There was absolutely no reason she should have been sitting in this room with him. There was no plausible way she should have been given an offer of this magnitude outside of an already decided agreement. If Minerva had her guess, this was a bribe to keep her father quiet, which was impressive, if it was true. It meant her father was even more important than she'd realized, otherwise Snow would've disposed of him in a far less public manner.

"I'm certain I don't know what you mean," he said, all deadpan snark, "You were simply the best man for the job."

He turned away from her to push a button on the arm of his chair.

"That'll be all for now. We'll be in touch."

The doors opened and the peacekeepers from before walked in. Minerva stood to leave and Snow caught her by the arm, leaned in close enough that she could feel puffs of his breath on her neck. She fought the urge to cringe.

"Do heed my advice from before. I make a much better ally. Ask you father."

He let her go and waved to the peacekeepers.

"If you'll excuse me, I'm late for another meeting."

On her way out of the building, she nearly ran into a short, severe-looking man with decidedly handsome features, pardon a pair of large, bulging eyes. The tailored suit implied money. She bit her lip at him; he hadn't so much as noticed her there, too busy on his phone. "Fine," She said. She slid a single card from her deck and smiled at him as he passed.

"Maybe next year, poor dear," she whispered, tucking the card back into the deck.