So Where Are the Strong and Who Are the Trusted? (Mayors)

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

V a s c o

"What's So Funny 'Bout
Peace, Love, and Understanding?"

You’d have thought I’d be used to traveling between districts by now.

I’d made my way to district four back some years ago to celebrate my twenty-fifth wedding anniversary – and to do business with Althea, though that was far less important that giving Emma time to enjoy the beach and forget about life for a while – and had gotten myself to district eight to see Pierre and the gray skies that seemed to hang over their factories.

Part of me had been scared to take the train, you know? How else was I supposed to look at the train breathing steam up into the air, when it reminded me of the last thing my daughter had seen in the district? I had held the little bag over my shoulder and looked at the man checking tickets and the people idling at the windows, and a part of me still wondered if it hadn’t been a chance for them to take me away forever. They could have just as easily led the train to wherever they wanted, just as they’d done some eighty-seven years ago, when Marisol had been crammed shoulder to shoulder with her mother and others from district eight. Never told where they were going, or what would happen, only that they weren’t ever going back to where they’d been from.

But I’d managed to put one foot in front of the other and set foot into the compartment. I’d held my breath when the train pulled forward, waiting for something to happen. A sign that never came, only the garbled announcement over the loudspeaker overhead that we’d be in the next district in a few hours, and to make sure we had our passports at the ready for inspection. For once, they’d told the truth, and everything turned out as it should’ve, me getting to my destination just as easily as the busses that ferried us to and from the fields in the center of the district.

It hadn’t entirely gone away, that fear, when I’d sat watching the mountains roll along outside my window, and the sequoia and redwoods came into view. That perhaps when the invitation from Valentino had come, it wasn’t from him at all, but someone in the capitol looking to see who would attend so that they could flush out those disloyal to the capitol. Already I had a peacekeeper breathing down my neck for what I’d done to district eleven and what would it mean if I decided to come face to face with the rest of the mayors for a ceremony?

I could’ve given into the fear and stayed home. Or brushed off the invitation to meet the other mayors as unimportant, with as much work as there was to be done in eleven. But there could be no progress without taking the chance; no person could expect the world to get any better if we didn’t offer our own hand to those that may have been suspicious of us. For as much ill will as eleven might’ve brought some of the districts, I could take it. I’d fight to change their minds, if it meant showing them exactly who we were inside.

When would we ever get a chance like this again?

I’d turned over the thought as soon as the train station had faded from view and we were on our way to the arranged lodging in Seven. I sat at the back of a horse drawn cart with others, careful to watch the crop of buildings that made up one of the larger mills and the huge sets of logs that lined the way. I liked the scent of the air, unlike the sunbaked earth back home, more as though there’d been a fresh rain and all was warm and new. I could’ve lived here, I think, grown up barefoot along the edge of a forest, scaled up those trees, set myself marking trees and cutting them down. It wasn’t that different from the care we took in Eleven.

Of course, I’d been the first one to find my way to the great hall that’d been set aside for the Meeting of the Mayors. Maybe it was nerves – it was definitely nerves – in not wanting to be late, and make a fool of myself, that’d I’d arrived a whole half hour early to the space that’d still had waiters setting out china and silverware for the very important people that were coming. Still hard to imagine that I could be one of them, after all this time.

I’d puttered around in the corner until the last of the waiters left, if only because they’d likely felt bad about how I’d been hovering and watching. Left alone in the vastness of a long hall with beams stretching overhead, walls paneled in various shades of wood, the floors a deep umber, too. Each seat had our name cards, and I wondered how it’d been designed as to where we were supposed to sit.

I stood with my hands alongside one of the tall backed wooden chairs, noting the menu – unfamiliar with what was to be offered but suddenly hungry all the same.

“I was just… finding my seat,” I did my best to offer the same smile I’d hope anyone would afford me, as lost as I was.

elegant

[Deleted]

he can count on one hand
the times he's looked directly in your face
for fear you might never come back,
you knower of him

Without Marina, Valentino would be nothing more than an owner of a mansion. 

Still successful, of course, but he would never have been able to host this alone; not without her. There's a bit of him, in seeing Pierre Hope and Vasco Izar, that knows his marriage isn't formed of happiness anymore. Perhaps that part of his life is finished, he isn't a man needing of love anymore, of kindness, only of competence. His eyebags have deepened, Valentino has shaved and no longer looks young. 

Marina looks at him, and he's only her husband. 

So nothing's changed, really. "The mayors will be arriving soon, darling," Marina Salazar says over a flute of champagne, decadent in her appearance. 

"Will you greet them, or should I?" 

"Why would you volunteer? I thought Talon lost her election." 

"I will greet them, love."

Almost just an excuse to end the conversation there, to straighten his tie and prepare himself to see the rest of his council. Some more eagerly than other's -- to be honest, he quite enjoyed the company of a few. Pierre Hope has always been a friend, and Vasco - as offputtingly kind as he is - has always been loyal, and warm. It's interesting to see a man focus a political platform around niceties, a bit admirable. 

If not naive, but alas, a man with more experience isn't one Valentino'll talk down to. Nor would he with Emberstatt or Nixton. 

Strauss, though, perhaps. He chuckles into his wine imagining if she would bother showing up to his event, she was nothing if not another loud mouth. District Two was a revolving door of new faces, he was more focused on the seats that would stay full. Creating connections was the utmost importance, really, and impressing them was the second objective. Politics is easy, really; winning is one thing, but staying on top is completely different. 

He pictures Eurydice Le Roux's face being the first one here, district one, boastful and prideful. Her seat is directly across from his, the two heads of the table; Valentino wants to watch her every reaction. Every little comment she makes -- perhaps he's bothered, just for a second. 

But then he enters the foyer, the door hinge echoing almost in the raising hall, and it's "Mayor Izar?" Valentino tries not to show the surprise on his face, pausing for a second before completely entering the main hall. Ever so humble, Vasco, he was readying himself for war at sight, so it's jarring to see the eleven's mayor first. 

"I wasn't expecting you so early, worried you wouldn't find it on time?" The way Vasco smiles, it lightens the mood. It's something Valentino had never understood, how easy it is for Mayor Izar to find something to enjoy. Never lost in the politics, just- well, lost. He tries to grin back, meet Vasco on his level of hospitability, but it never quite feels right. Wrong setting, wrong time -- some people are too likeable. "If you wish to dine early, I'll gladly let my people know! Please tell me you were greeted on the way in," otherwise, there will be a vacancy of employment. 

Waste of money, waste of time, Valentino extends his own hand to Vasco, trying to ease his stone cold face. 

"Glad to see you again, truly." 

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

 𝐄𝐔𝐑𝐘𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐗

They’re all watching you. How could they not, when she is the lioness who have lost a daughter?

The thought stings as it always has, as it always will, but Eurydice’s face is steely as she secures a golden flute of champagne for herself. She's a shimmering picture of decadence, dressed in a ruby red gown embroidered with gold, the figurehead of the Le Roux’s and One’s glory.

She, however, does not feel so glorious.

In truth, she doesn’t feel much of anything.

Ever since the news of Silk's death reached her doorstep, something in her had fallen eerily quiet and closed like a flower at nightfall.

No one has dared to ask about her. No one dared to give their condolences. Eurydice knows that her silences before this were frightening but the silence of a grieving woman? Of a grieving mother?

It can be deadly.

It can be deadly because she and the rest know it’s the calm before storm, the quiet before destruction. She knows there will be reckoning later when she is behind the gilded walls of her palace.

Broken glasses. Smashed walls. She is quiet until the time comes when she isn’t, until the time comes when she can’t be. She is calm until the grief overwhelms her.

And it’s already happening. She is acutely aware of how the hue of Silk's ruby red is hauntingly similar to the red of the dress she has on as she stands in a corner where she cannot be seen. Eurydice is dripping with the blood of her lovely daughter, of her kind son.

She is drowning in it, and in her grief.

She tosses her head back and empties the flute. The champagne tastes sweet when she wants it to be as bitter as she feels.

What time is it, goddamnit?

Before, Eurydice would have been in the meeting a good half an hour prior to silently judge those who arrives late but now, she’s drawing close to the scheduled time and is at the risk of being late, even.

Hell no. She would not be late.

Holding onto her empty champagne glass like a grudge, she begins ushering herself away in a swirl of red. She cannot wait to be done with this and scrub out the muck of Seven from her skin.

She also cannot wait to scrub out the muck of Valentino Salazar. Eurydice knows a serpent when she sees one and and Valentino, who stands by the foyer, tall and annoyingly attractive, is as green-scaled as they come.

He has the act of the amiable host full on, behaving as though he welcomes everyone here when she knows she's not welcome in Seven. The rivalry between District One and District Seven has been a slow-burning fire until of late, when it grew into a smoldering inferno.

But, forests always burnt down. Gold does not.

She greets with a curt “gentlemen,” when she strides up to them, her gait as elegant as the end of a blade. The face next to Valentino’s is also not brand new. Vasco, having lost relatives in the Games, is someone she knows will understand her grief.

But, it's her grief to bear, and hers to work through.

In fact, as her gaze darts back to Valentino, she is struck by the realization that they have all lost to the Games. It, however, does not soften the edge in her eyes when she looks at Valentino, although she does do the polite thing and hands him her empty champagne glass.

“Refill?” She smiles dryly.

“And is there a reason why the rest of you has yet to arrive?” She slowly circles the table towards where she is always placed, the head, and places her hands on the rim of her seat.

Her brow is raised in thinly veiled contempt for the two, the hall, the missing mayors, and everything else.

“I expected an early meeting. How disappointing.”

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

P I E R R E

Ever since the diagnosis, Pierre has tried to avoid any form of strenuous travel but maybe a train journey is not too back breaking. After all, the liver tonic and healthier lifestyle is really starting to do its trick. Over fifty years old and he has never felt so full of life. Cutting the alcohol has not been such a drama thankfully. Except of course now he is going to be in a room full of champagne bottles and sparkling glasses, while he is going to be stuck on the fruit juice and fake alcoholic less equivalents. How exciting.

It has all been a little quiet in District Eight lately. Ever since Lorraine Gaultier was shot dead by that bloody thirteen-year-old not even reached puberty yet kid. How lucky of Davenport, fresh in the mayor’s seat and now she has a new victor to relish in. Pierre has been trying to carry the morale for decade and is still waiting for that special spark to ignite again since Shelby’s victory. But nothing. Just another twenty-fourth place finish and a top eight to give some false hope.

Pierre spends the entire train journey picking at a vine of grapes, the closest thing to wine he is allowed to have. It is a nice sight seeing the dull victory landscapes turn into an endless montage of the unique forest scenery that comes with District Seven.

When the train rolls into the station, there is still time for a cigarette before boarding the rather fancy horse drawn carriages. Now where were they when he hosted the Ratmas market?

At his side is his wife, the one who has always been there. He did not bother to invite Preston, those kids of his are enough of a handful already. He does not need the embarrassment but the first scheduled appointment of the citizen of the year event needs to be done alone. Again, he will be in the blessed company of Valentino Salazar and Vasco Izar, as well as all the other new and old mayors. Finally, all of them in the same room. He bets the Capitol is quaking in their boots.

But they will have the house bugged for sure. It is not a coincidence that one of his factories was blown up just a day after meeting with Vasco Izar a few years ago. He just hopes the hosts are the ones to see a few trees tumble than poor Eight feeling the full force again.

Pierre stamps the cigarette out by the side of the train station before wishing his wife a see you later.

Its not a long journey to the mayor’s meeting venue. He wonders who is already there and who is running late. He is definitely one of those running late, the pocket watch he has packed has somehow escaped his possession so it will just be a surprise to him. Pierre is not greeted at the door, damn they have already started. But he only walks into a room occupied by three others.

Of course, Vasco is already here. Valentino the host and… Le Roux. The recognisable Eurydice Le Roux, the type that looks like she bites. We at least all have something in common here, every name is attached to the games. One more recent than the others. He will not give his condolences just yet.

”Time must be different in District Seven as I am not the one running late!” A bit of an unprofessional greeting on his part but formalities have clearly not begun yet. There are still eight more to come, punctuality must not be as big in the other Districts. Pierre begins to scout out for a light beverage but all he sees is the sparkling poison. ”Is there anything with less bubbles? I have been banned.” He says, already marking his place on the table, near wherever Val or Vasco are sitting.

[Tom]

If there's one truth about Jaime Laws, it's that he hates publicity events. Growing up in one of the smaller populations of Panem, he never felt quite as crowded in town, but in Seven, it's a whole different story. Seven is much larger than Twelve; people seemed to be busy at work with the trees surrounding them. A calm was there, but Jaime Laws did not trust the feeling, especially knowing Valentino Salazar was hosting the Citizen of the Year Gala. Jaime Laws didn't travel as much as the rest of the mayors. With everything that went down with President Snow's death and the mysterious visitor, he's kept to himself and the citizens of Twelve. Desperate to improve their home rather than be involved with other district's affairs.

Twelve was struggling with starvation, stressful living conditions, and an industry that was labor intensive. People didn't trust him the same way they did when Carter had come home. The image of outstanding and caring father had faltered in the passing years and it's how Marissa Monaghan almost beat him in the race. A grieving mother wanting to change Twelve after the loss of her daughter, but now they were a team. A team trying to make District Twelve one of the better districts in Panem, but there was a large list of things he needed to get done. The gala had come at the worst of times, especially with Carter's nightmares starting up again after Sin Mortuus died. Memories of Mitchell filling his son's head, but Jaime was there for him. A solid force behind him to life his son back up, but he had to let him fight his own battles.

The train to Seven had been a dull ride filled with paperwork and a leather-bound journal worn down to a smooth, cold touch. Notes of his to do list jotted down on white paper as he had looked for answers in those blank pages. Jaime Laws was a business man. He's always seen where to cut lines and start up new once again. Running a mining business and being the mayor of Twelve were two different mindsets. He's spent awhile drowning in his own plans while trying to manage being a father to his kids. All of them were getting older and he didn't know what to do about the fear of missing out he kept facing. The once excitable man was starting to get used to the dull silence of his own head. Marissa could have done more, but he didn't want to force her into the precarious situation he's found himself in.

The small break of walking through the woods of Seven with no one, but his own self, wishing Carter or his wife had come with him. The route he's taken gave him enough time to ponder his own predicament and prepare himself for the other mayors who surely would be there. Vasco Izar and Pierre Hope were the two he was hoping to find there. Familiar faces with loving families like his own. They've always been professional, but also kinder than most. Valentino Salazar would be easy to get along with. Political pleasantries were all the rage in Seven it seemed. In a way, he knew he should probably try to talk with Octavia Strauss about mining techniques used in Two, even if he didn't like the woman, he still needed to help Twelve out and if it meant playing nice, he could play the part. Business, after all, was what he did best.

Looking down at his watch, the time was clearly off. Jaime's been meaning to get his watch fixed ever since he was late to dinner last week, but there's not been enough time. Stuffing his journal into the inside pocket of his coat, he marches through the wooded area of the trees and up to the building, hoping to swallow down the nerves he always felt from having to represent Twelve. People were watching him as if he were under a microscope. Twelve was just waiting for the day he slipped up to prove he's always been an evil businessman underneath and the father act is nothing, but an act. If only, Aranica or any of the other victors could have come to stand there with him, he would have felt better and Carter would have came, but right now, he's alone in Seven with no one, but himself.

Someone greets him at the door as he smiles calmly, brushing one of his hairs that fell from it's perfect place back into order. Stepping through the hall, he finds himself at a door. Ornate and stylish, but costing more than most of the items in his own home. A rich man with a warm home, he never wanted to be like his pops and live in a cold home. A soft smile pulls on his lips as Vasco Izar and Pierre Hope are already there setting up their spots at the table. Valentino Salazar stands near Vasco, but they seemed to be sharing some sort of pleasant greeting. Looking over to his watch, he knew he was a few minutes late, but that was always the way he was. Running late by trying to ease the stress he carried in his shoulders and head down.

Eurydice Le Roux, Mayor of One was always someone he didn't like. Most of the lower districts weren't fond of any one of the career districts, but Jaime Laws wasn't Twelve. A smile on his lips as he keeps his eyes forward and posture straight. Finding his voice once more as he moves around the table, looking for a good spot to slink away to. "Been meaning to get my watch fixed this week." His eyes following Mayor Hope and Mayor Izar carefully before continuing as if his words answered anything. "One of my daughters decided she wanted to play pretend with it and it's been running behind ever since." Flippant in his words, he scouts out for a seat near Pierre or Vasco.

"Looks like we still have some time before the others get here."

Patting the pocket of his jacket, itching to pull the journal out. He looks to Mayor Le Roux, remembering that her eldest had been in the games. Unfortunate to see another family suffering, he knew what that felt like. Better to avoid the topic altogether, so he focuses back at the table. He wanted a drink, but he didn't want to be tipsy during this meeting. Twelve didn't need him to be slacking when it came to meeting with the other districts. A silence fills him before he continues with the pleasantries he was used to having.

"I'm glad to see all of you are doing well."

It was going to be a long day.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

V a s c o

"What's So Funny 'Bout
Peace, Love, and Understanding?"

"Good to see you too,” I take Valentino’s hand, and it’s a firmer shake than I expect.

When I’d been growing up, I put such a reverence in the people in charge. The mayor seemed some sort of infallible being (no matter how much my grandfather would cluck his tongue at the radio) ready to take on what the rest of the district couldn’t bear.

It only took a few years of growing up to realize that putting faith into expectations like that is a surefire way to get your heart broken. But then again, I was lucky enough to have three sets of cousins, uncles, and aunts for enough world weariness to be passed between generations.

I walk the district every day knowing that’s how people will look at me, though. Little kids that somehow think I’ve some secret armor to keep me safe. People who think with the wave of a pen, I might extend their property lines, or scale back the peacekeepers they’ve shoved atop our necks. And there’s nothing to do but believe. Or else fall apart.

Maybe they understand, too. It could be why someone like Eurydice would carry her grief with anger. When you’re raised on violence, it had to be expected that anger would help someone cope through pain. Just as someone like Valentino would resort to showing himself exactly as he’d wanted to be when the world had shined a light on his family since Jacinta had won.

No one could know the grief of loss like the people in this room. And none of us were all powerful. We were just as wounded, and scattered, as the capitol had wanted us to be.

I can see the peacekeeper back in Eleven waiting for me to get back to interrogate just what it was we’d talked about here. And to dig further as to why the kids in the eighty-sixth were so ready to take up arms against the capitol. How I could’ve thought it was a smart move to try to get all of these people to come together and recognize that we were only as weak as we believed the capitol to make us?

I was tired of being made to feel weak and voiceless. What use was being in any sort of position of power if I didn’t try to do something that would matter?

“It’s so nice to see all of you in one place. I have to admit I, I didn’t think we’d manage to all come together.” Not that there doesn’t seem to be a pall over the room already, at least between the way Eurydice shoots daggers at Val, or that Pierre does his best to swipe away, gentleman he is. And, sweet Jaime, late and just as salt of the earth as I’d imagined him.

“No drinks, Pierre? I think you’re in for a long one, my friend,” I tease, “Though I promise not to let myself get quite as drunk as when I was in district eight!”

I drum my fingers atop the table and lean forward.

“Not sure if anyone else is coming, Jaime,” And I wouldn’t have been surprised not to see the rest avoid it, “Probably didn’t think it wise to all come together at once to enjoy one another’s company. Bless their hearts.”

elegant