27VESPER VENCEL (38)
CAPITOLITE
It never ceased to bemuse Vesper how a single famous death could drown out all the other lives lost, how the ripples from a skipping stone tossed in a creek could capture more eyes than the many crashing waves of a raging sea.
Now, Vesper wasn't a numbers person—the work of statistics belonged to her team of analysts—but ninety-four deaths from an explosion out in District 5, followed by another twenty-six in a local train derailment, seemed like the more drastic events she covered that week.
Vesper knew better, though. All those numbers were simply meaningless without a face, and Aracari Reuter's was a brightly-pigmented visage none could easily forget.
"Just two days after Reuter's death, now ruled a homicide, it has been confirmed that junior gamemaker Cornelius Quant will be assuming his position of Head Gamemaker for the upcoming 110th Annual Hunger Games," Vesper addressed the camera, the broadcast gracing big screens all across the city. Producers always praised the powerful alto of her voice over a chattering crowd, like the grand toll of a bell reverberating among the chimes. Hell, she could easily be the voice of the Capitol subway or crosswalks if the mood took her—it would only take a few calls.
See, Vesper Vencel was at a place where she could finally do what she liked. She'd done her time in government, drafting press releases for cabinet ministers freshly after graduating summa cum laude from the Alves Institute of Media and Communication, named in honor of the president whose mastery with propaganda kept Panem from the clutches of district terrorists over a century ago.
Eventually Vesper worked her way up to writing speeches for the aging President Coriolanus Snow himself. His final public address had been the most daunting task of her life, each word as meticulously-crafted as the embroidery in her dresses, the final draft passed from one set of trembling fingers to another as it flashed across the teleprompter. This event would define the presidential legacy of the revered supercentenarian, and one misstep could have cost Vesper and many others their lives.
It was a hit. No, it was more than a hit—it was a sensation for the ages. Critics hailed Snow's final address as a speech worthy of the great Jacinthus Alves himself. Intellectuals wove the speech's most gripping excerpts into their own deliverances at forums across the city. Celebrities pasted the speech's snappiest lines in their personal communicuff profiles, making it all the rage for Capitol youths to follow suit.
Vesper Vencel was the savior of Coriolanus Snow's turbulent legacy, the unspoken pioneer of a cultural overhaul as a new presidential era was born.
Her work did not go unrewarded. After the long-anticipated death of President Snow, Vesper's speechwriting talents piqued the interest of Agora Broadcasting System's news division: ABS News. Vesper's promised land.
It was in her promised land where she blossomed before the public's very eyes, a vibrant red amaryllis in halcyon light, glowing proudly over the city's muted white reaches.
She began hosting her own morning news program, adding what her contemporaries called a "necessary exuberance and youthful vitality" to the network. Ratings skyrocketed upon her arrival, seldom dipping as the years went by, and the vivacious Vesper Vencel was tenured after just a couple booming years.
Tenure at ABS News gave her the chance to explore more journalistic passions alongside her morning program, and she took to documentaries and interview specials. The latter, in particular, was what catapulted her to icon status in the business.
A Vesper Vencel special interview made you someone. When you sat opposite Vesper Vencel before the world, you were no longer some random civilian with fifteen minutes of fame—you were a legend. Your legacy would endure the sands of time, even as those around you eroded to oblivion.
Like the late Head Gamemaker Reuter, you too would eclipse the nameless, faceless bodies piling up behind you.
Vesper wasn't conducting any such special interviews today. It was another morning hosting ABS Morning News, though the absolute peacock of a man beside her must've not gotten the memo.
"Joining us this morning to talk about what this recent shakeup might mean for the Hunger Games we have Festus Denaro, winner of over eight million coins in the Games' popular betting scene." Vesper turned in her swivel chair to face her brightly-clad guest, who ran a hand through his hair and offered a crooked smile toward the camera.
Festus Denaro was not an unfamiliar name to Vesper. She'd heard it whispered between giggling associates in the newsroom, seen it flashed across invite lists to the same galas she attended. Every day she sifted through relentless mentions of 'Festus Denaro' on her virtufeed—no wonder the guy walked in here like he owned the place. Vesper thought she was on a first-name basis with just about everyone worth knowing in the city, but time and time again she kept narrowly missing this flashy figure.
Until today.
With all the casualness of an old friend, Festus shot her a grin, leaning back in his chair. "It's a pleasure to be here, Vesper. Thanks for having me."
Vesper played along, tilting her head. "Glad you're with us," she purred, clasping her hands together.
"Tell us, Mr. Denaro, you've made a name for yourself by correctly predicting every tribute placement in the Hunger Games for the last four years in a row, and you've described yourself repeatedly as an expert in all things Hunger Games. What do you think a tragedy like this so close to this year's Reaping means for you and those at home who plan on betting this year?"
Festus straightened in his chair as though the question had reanimated him, the vigor returning to his large frame as his blue eyes gleamed.
"Well, chances are not much is going to actually change in the way of the Games. With just a month and a half before the Reaping, there's very little chance the gamemakers have any preparation left to do on their end. They've probably set up the arena, the available supplies, and the special features in accordance with Reuter's vision; these things are unlikely to be altered with such little time left."
Vesper nodded, eyes slightly narrowing. "So you don't think Cornelius Quant will be throwing any curveballs of his own that could impact the trajectory of the Games?"
"He could." Festus shrugged. "It's unlikely, though. Just last year he was a junior gamemaker, the newest one at that. He's inexperienced. He doesn't yet have security."
Security. Vesper understood the way that lovely little blank check emboldened people. Hell, her own extensive string of passion projects would never have existed had she lacked security. She was tenured. She was beloved by the people.
Vesper Vencel could do what she liked.
"That's all very true, Mr. Denaro," Vesper mused, "But as a gamemaker, Quant is very new blood, having only joined Reuter's team two years ago. Experts were surprised when venerated senior gamemaker and longtime Head of Muttations, Placidia Langhorn, was not selected as Head Gamemaker over Quant. Without a grand reputation like Langhorn's, wouldn't Quant have more incentive to prove himself by making bolder, less conventional decisions?"
She'd finally rattled Festus. She could see it in the brief slip in his countenance, how his knee bounced beneath the table as his thumbs twiddled furiously. Vesper was a professional, of course, but she couldn't help but inwardly smile at the momentary crack in this gaudy man's bravado.
Festus shook his head. "Well, I've analyzed archives of every Games over the last seven decades, and the least conventional Games have all occurred under the leadership of seasoned Head Gamemakers. These include Games with wins outside of Districts 1, 2, and 4; Games where the winner has a kill count of less than two; and Games without classic naturalistic arenas."
He had come back cockier than ever, turning his frame toward the camera and leaning in with a smirk. "The boldest moves always come from those too big to fail."
"But the biggest always have the hardest to fall." Vesper's comment made him break his stare from the camera, cutting back toward her. "Think you can manage a fifth perfect prediction?"
Festus visibly chewed the inside of his lip, grinning. "I know so."
A long day's work required a nice little bit of reprieve. And for Vesper, the underground level of her work building contained exactly the reprieve she needed. It was easy, it was immediate, and it was quiet.
Breezing past elevator doors, Vesper trotted down the dimly-lit hall until she reached its end. Purple overhead lights glowed onto a small fountain by the entrance, descending flashes of water spelling out the word 'OPEN' before falling to the bottom. The violet glow against the restaurant's sleek black interior always provided a sense of calm to Vesper, making The Fallen Falcon one of her favorite places downtown.
The only thing more calming to Vesper than the Fallen Falcon's atmosphere was Helena, the bartender at this time of week. Helena was a good kid, an Alves Institute student like Vesper herself once was. At this point Vesper had been to the bar so many times the two were practically friends.
Helena had already gotten to work fetching the rum when Vesper took a seat at the bar. The Fallen Falcon was quiet this evening, which wasn't unusual. Apart from the distant figure of another patron at the bar's opposite side, it was just Vesper and Helena.
"You went with the cheetah print, I see?" remarked Vesper, noting the black tattoos dancing along the length of Helena's arm.
"I did!" called Helena over the screech of her blender. As din of the machine died down, she poured its contents into a glass, pushing a button at the bottom to illuminate the drink a more brilliant red. "You were right, the cheetah suits me far better than the tiger print!"
"Thanks, Helena." Vesper nodded as the other woman slid her a glowing strawberry daiquiri.
"I figured you'd want the usual."
Vesper gave an appreciative hum in response, the glass already raised to her lips. The drink was thick, perhaps a pinch thicker than usual, but Vesper decided she liked it. Too much time up in the newsroom sucked the moisture from her skin until the tops of her hands looked like the alligator-skin bag on her shoulder; any form of refreshment was absolutely welcome.
"Did you see me on the TV today?" Vesper set down the now half-empty drink, stretching her pale arms.
"I saw bits and pieces of it," replied Helena as she wiped the countertop, her bright eyes flashing up toward the miniature screen overhead.
Vesper exhaled. "You wouldn't believe the guy I had on today. It was a short interview—I don't know if you saw it—but my god if only you could've seen the smug fuck I dealt with this morning. Waltzed right through those doors and demanded one of our crewmen get him a coffee. He told him, and I quote, 'Make it decaf and I might just slip you a few coins.'"
"Ugh, that sounds gross." Helena scrunched up her nose. "Another daiquiri?"
"Not just yet," said Vesper, placing her elbows on the shimmering black countertop. "I just...can't believe the nerve of this guy. Festus Denaro or whatever his real name is—like hell his last name is actually Denaro..."
The corners of Helena's mouth quirked side to side in a look of discomfort, but that didn't stop Vesper.
"...I mean, we let him on because the masses think he's this Hunger Games psychic and none of the actual gamemakers were talking to the press yet, but I'm telling you something's not right about that man. I can feel it. I-"
Helena was pointing now. Vesper cut herself off, following Helena's finger to where it pointed at the man sitting opposite her, his face obscured by the hanging lights. Vesper felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her gut, dread coursing through her veins like poison. You're fucking kidding me.
Eventually she worked up the nerve to lean over and get a glimpse of the stranger's face, and her worst suspicions were confirmed.
"Fancy seeing you here, Miss Vencel."
Vesper pressed her hand to her face, heat emanating in bursts from her cheeks. God, she shouldn't have taken that drink so quickly, shouldn't have mouthed off quite so eagerly, and now here she was, at the mercy of the same preening peacock she had just openly trashed.
Thankfully for Vesper, this whole state of affairs seemed to amuse him more than anything. "For the record, I certainly don't think I'm a psychic," he laughed.
"I apologize," said Vesper, her tone steady as she smoothed back wisps of auburn hair. "That was inappropriate of me to say and I'm sorry you had to hear it, Mr. Denaro."
"Please, call me Festus." He downed the remainder of his drink before gesturing for Helena to fix him another.
"Hey Helena, this one's on me," said Vesper. "Call it my way of saying sorry."
"You're too kind." Festus nodded to Helena before looking back at Vesper, his blues meeting her greys with an impish glitter. "But you didn't need to do that; I've heard far worse from people who'd be far more embarrassed to be overheard."
"I suppose the casinos can get pretty heated," Vesper jested, forcing a lightness to her inflection as she mentally contemplated how to mitigate this awkward situation.
"You'd be surprised," said Festus with a shrug. "Here downtown people play for serious coins. The quiet can be painful. There's nothing calm about the quiet, though; it's the kind of quiet that you can feel in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. Some people bring their life's savings and put it all on the line just for that one chance to seek their fortune."
That's a remarkably stupid strategy. "How come?" she asked sweetly.
"I find gambling to be the great equalizer in this city. Anyone can come from any corner of the Capitol and win big with the right smarts and a little bit of luck." Or a little bit of fixing. "Take a look at me, for example: I came from nothing, and I managed to turn that nothing into millions just by placing the right bets and playing the right games."
From afar, Vesper gave him a once-over. "You? Came from nothing? I wouldn't have guessed."
"Oh, I'm quite proud of how far I've come." Festus practically puffed out his chest, running his fingers through the dark curls of his hair. "Now, this conversation sure is lovely, but I think it could be much better if we weren't calling at each other from across the bar."
"By all means, join me." She motioned to the empty row of seats beside her. Then Vesper locked eyes with Helena, quickly requesting another daiquiri.
Festus stalked his way around the smooth black counter and plopped down on the stool beside hers, waving at Helena. "This one's mine."
Vesper glanced at him with brows furrowed. "It is?"
"Give the money to the guy I told to get me a coffee. My own way of saying sorry."
Vesper released the faintest chuckle, trying to ignore his gaze boring into her with what must've been the most expensive eye job she'd ever seen. She doubted such a piercing set of icy irises were natural against his bronze complexion, and yet they looked so remarkably human. "I'll be sure to pass on your apology."
"Good, good." Festus sipped his drink. "So what's your deal, huh? Born into riches?"
The forwardness of his question took her by surprise. "I worked my way up, trust me."
"Your parents in the journalism scene?"
"My parents were cleaners," said Vesper. "They didn't have much of anything, actually. They went from apartment to apartment cleaning up after extravagant private parties, sometimes handing me little souvenirs they thought would tell the most interesting story. Nothing worth a coin, though; they were no thieves." Vesper shot him a sharp look, though it softened when she realized he wasn't preparing to give her another slick comment.
"One time they showed me a handful of pink hair they found on a sofa that night. Apparently it got ripped out in a drug-fueled fight between these two heiresses, and their families paid off all the guests just to keep from inciting a scandal. It was always stories like those I wanted to chase; there's really nothing better than uncovering a hidden, exciting world and bringing it to the light."
A spark lit in Festus' gaze, pulling Vesper from her thoughts. "I have an idea for you, Miss Vencel."
"Shoot, I'm all ears," she drawled.
"You seem to think this year's Games is gonna be a special one—why don't you put down some money yourself?"
Vesper narrowed her eyes, searching his features for a hint of humor or mockery. "You can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm dead serious. You wanted to delve into a new, exciting world; there's no crazier a world than the Hunger Games betting ring. You've got all your big-timers—celebrities, government officials, millionaires, billionaires—all in one place, all putting down great sums of money, all betting against one another. Could make for one hell of a documentary, especially if you prove me wrong. There's nothing the public loves more than a good downfall story."
Festus had her attention alright, but not for all the reasons he perhaps expected. The Hunger Games betting ring was no great equalizer; surely corruption ran as rampant as the deaths and diseases in Panem's districts. Perhaps Festus himself was at the very apex of this corruption—now that would be a story none could easily forget. Of course, precautions would have to be taken, lest her story be shot down with a million libel lawsuits for besmirching the government.
But Vesper Vencel had security. Vesper Vencel could do what she liked. And this exposé could be the most fascinating addition to her oeuvre in years.
"You're too right," murmured Vesper, raising her glass to his. "To the 110th Annual Hunger Games."
A/N: It's finally here! This is the first of three planned prologues to A Prisoner's Dilemma, an open SYOT for the 110th Annual Hunger Games!
This chapter gets a little bit into some of the worldbuilding for my verse, which will be expanded upon more in later chapters. Just as a preview of what's to come, next chapter you'll be hearing from Cornelius Quant and Placidia Langhorn.
I am excited as ever to be sharing this journey with all of you as a first-time SYOT author and not-so-first-time THG fanfic writer.
The form to submit a tribute to this SYOT can be found in my profile, as well as other relevant worldbuilding details regarding the districts. I hope to see you all soon!
Deuces, Maggie xx