arthur cunningham . capitol

The intrigue of politics in Panem took over Arthur Cunningham's mind when he was a little boy. Back then, there wasn't much outside of the President of Panem, Snow at the time, and the mayors of the twelve districts. He watched the primetime news from his bedroom, each five-year cycle unfurling twelve sagas from a faraway land. President Snow, of course, was the exception of those officials. Who could even think of challenging a man who's done so much good for the country? No one, that's who. That's why no one replaced him until he died.

Many residents of the Capitol find the theory of politics too boring for their extravagant and lavish lifestyles. Why would they care about who won the inner city of the District Three election when there's a new show premiering? That's what separates Arthur from the others. His rimmed glasses, holding up his vision with a lofty prescription, read into things that others might miss. Patterns, strategies, coincidences, successes, and failures. Arthur's heart beats to understand the world around him. Which candidate is a loyalist? Which is a risk? When he turned fifteen, his parents put him in charge of the district stock they held to buy and sell as he pleased as Arthur insisted that he knew which candidates would be good and bad for their respective economies. Of course, they profited handsomely.

His mother has always been impressed by his interests. "If you keep this up, Arthur, you may just become president one day!" He takes the compliment every time but knows damn well someone as uninformed and his mother doesn't know the first thing about what it takes to be President of Panem. Arthur Cunningham, the next Coriolanus Snow? It doesn't mean as much coming from someone who's just trying to flatter him. Alas, a broken clock is right two times a day.

Arthur took being detested in school as a young boy to be a compliment. Not having dyed his hair at least once before high school can be enough social isolation for a lifetime, but he took 'not giving in to fashion norms' to a whole other level. Some may call his appearance… Bland. Boring. District Civilian. Unremarkable. Always groomed well but never a risk to be taken. Polo shirts tucked into slacks most days. He adopted "Formal Fridays" when he turned fourteen, wearing a brown three-piece suit on the last day before the weekend. Arthur silently imitated his favorite mayors. Look like them. Act like them. Play the game like them. It always amazed him how charismatic some mayors are in the districts considering so few people like him in the Capitol. Of course, the Capitol is an entirely different base. No one in his grade shares his interests. They liked to play sports. Arthur was always picked last in the gym. They liked to host and go to parties. Arthur was never invited and feels nauseated just thinking about attending one.

Lame would later be one of the words used by an intern. Arthur Cunningham is lame.

After graduating at eighteen, the first thing he did was apply for an internship with President Snow. If the world of politics was so uninteresting to the Capitol, then surely he'd be able to get a glimpse at it firsthand with the most important politician in the country, right? According to the form, it may take a few weeks for the President's office to respond with an interview time and date. And so Arthur waited, reading newspapers dating back decades to familiarize himself with every inch of political history.

A few weeks passed, and there was no reply. He waited for another, wondering if they were behind on the process. He'd heard that systems like these are often backed up due to disinterest a problem he'd be most willing to fix! With no response still, Arthur sent another application. Then another, this time with express postage.

Three months of applying and waiting later, Arthur put together one last application and stuffed it into the inner pocket of his suit coat before taking it to the President's field office himself. The instructions called for mail delivery, but oftentimes times politicians want to employ people who show some initiative. That sort of initiative is what breeds leadership in the Capitol, after all.

The building's bulletproof glass and erected statues of Snow and other public figures left his eyes wide with amazement as he entered. Arthur wandered in awe to the front desk where he handed the secretary his papers. The man looked him up and down, flipping through the pages rather carelessly. He pointed him to the waiting area. "When our Mr. Gilens has some free time, he'll come and speak with you."

Arthur waited patiently, shifting between reading the magazines and tapping his thumbs through interlocked fingers. He stayed longer than most would. It felt like a couple of hours before a tall man wearing vibrant blue poked his head out from the office door. "Arthur… uh… Cunningham, yes? Please, come in." Arthur smoothed over his suit and slacks before standing up to follow Mr. Gilens into his office space.

The room was spacious and comfortable, as he expected it to be. Comfortability is a necessary part of a politician's space to make what they have to say here more agreeable. Arthur pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, using the brief walk to the office chairs to take it all in. This would soon be where he works!

"I greatly appreciate you taking time out of your schedule to speak with me, Mr. Gilens. The work you do here is of great interest to me, which is why I applied for a position here." He could hardly control his excitement and amazement.

"Mr. Cunningham. Our office has received three– no– four of your applications. Unfortunately, you are not what we're looking for here. There are better candidates for our internships."

The laugh that filtered through his lips was that of an arrogant disbelief. "Sir, I can assure you I'm very equipped to work here. I know your office's values, roles, and procedures. If you, um, if you look at page six, you can see that I've– I've taken extensive notes on the office's handbook!"

"Maybe you would be better suited building your reputation a bit. Look, buddy, you seem like a really responsible young man. But you're eighteen. Your time will come eventually."

Heartbroken doesn't begin to describe the feeling that leaves sweat beneath his hair. Embarrassed and humiliated, he slouched in the chair. Arthur could melt. He was so sure that they'd at least consider him or ask questions, but for some reason, knowledge and comprehension mean nothing to them. Arthur's glasses slip partway down his nose and his eyes follow suit.

"May I recommend working in the entertainment spheres of the Capitol first? I know, well, that doesn't appear to be your speed judging by the looks of you, but if you're looking for an easy and meaningful experience, you could head there."

"I can do that. I just really think my skillsets will be much more helpful in a setting like this. If anything comes up, please don't hesi-"

"Yes, Mr. Cummings. I will. Now, if you'll excuse me, I could only squeeze you in before meetings. So if you could." Mr. Gilens's hand shoos him toward the exit. Arthur complies, pulling his glasses up again before standing up.

"Don't forget: Arthur Cunningham!"

"Right. Arthur… Cunningham," he noticed Mr. Gilens writing something on a piece of paper. Arthur hoped it's his name, but the dismissiveness of Gilens's nature made him think otherwise.

"Have a pleasant evening, sir." No response.

---

Arthur did as Mr. Gilens recommended. He applied to jobs in Saturn City shortly after. He couldn't bear the thought of working in the place he despised the most, but if it was the only way for him to climb the pyramid, it was a pill he could swallow. The first job he received was as a personal assistant to a gameshow host. More than anything, his job was to do, well, whatever the host wanted or needed of him. He'd get his coffee, pull clothes from his wardrobe for the day, and make sure all of his outfits were dry-cleaned and pressed by the next day. And as a "reward," he got to watch the show backstage. Nauseating how extravagantly people in the Capitol act when they're featured on television.

To say he was miserable may be an understatement. Arthur's way of doing things is rigid. Through meticulous planning, he kept the gameshow on its feet until he was twenty-three. The host was a real drunk, constantly requiring Arthur's attention before and after tapings.

At the end of taping for each season, the producers host a lavish party for the gameshow's team and select VIPs. Attending with his boss was the last thing he needed to do before the summer break. Arthur doesn't do parties. The first thing he did upon entering was turn on his pager for the boss, just in case his presence was requested. Then he found a quiet room, pulled out his earplugs and a novel, and got to reading.

Halfway through the third chapter, a gentleman came crashing through the door, laughing to himself. Three champagne glasses in hand, one empty and two full, he stumbled onto the sofa next to Arthur.

"Why're you up here all alone, handsome?" The man rests his arm atop Arthur's shoulder.

"I don't enjoy parties much. I'm here for work."

"Ohhhhhhhhhh. Right, the kisser asser newbie."

"Excuse me?! I do not kiss anyone's ass."

The man's arm curls around his neck, pulling him down to his side. He half-drunkenly whispers "Yeah ya do." He scratches the top of Arthur's combed hair with a fist.

"Do not."

"Do too!"

It was not until Arthur picked his head up from his book that he noticed the man's eyes trained on his lips. Feeling scared and desired at the same time, his book clapped shut and the man leans in. At age nineteen, it was the first time someone flirted with him. The rush of that feeling subsided by the next morning. He'd never expected his first time to be with a man. In fact, he never expected any of his times to be with a man. In Arthur's eyes, both unwed and homosexual relations have been a trend he's promised himself to stay away from. Traditional love, married, with a woman, is the goal. Everything else is a cursed temptation. But every year, at the end-of-year party, Arthur found himself sharing a bed with this man. Eddie. And every year, the morning after the end-of-year party, he prayed for forgiveness, truly sorry. They both went to work one summer later, and Arthur kept his distance as if nothing had happened.

After their fifth time, Eddie rubbed Arthur's chest of hair, asking if they could be real if he could tell everyone at work about their annual night.

Arthur gratefully accepted a position at a finance office over their summer hiatus, never seeing Eddie again.

---

In finance, at least there was some stability and freedom. He wasn't anyone's personal assistant and never had to balance two trays of coffee in either hand while trying to open the office door. Arthur worked as an advisor to stockholders in the Capitol who probably lacked the true competence to actually own and manage them. His experience with reading and understanding economic politics helped make those whom he consulted get twice as rich.

Finally, he found himself in his element. Playing two of his favorite games, mathematics, and forecasting, made work easy and enjoyable. Still, even with the satisfaction about his new job, the goal remained to make it to the inner workings of Capitol politics. He counted down the days working as a financial advisor (lead financial advisor a few years in,) hoping perhaps five or so years would build a strong enough case for his credentials.

What more could a man like Mr. Gilens want? If it's his credentials that were lacking, then surely a position in economics would cover that. In the time after his rejection from the Capitol government offices, Arthur kept an eye out in the news for any sort of opinion pieces that could give him insight into the desired political attributes. At twenty-five, he read a paper from none other than Mr. Gilens himself. One quote caught his eye. It takes a significant amount of career and life experience to understand the unique role of politicians and government workers here in the Capitol.

Of course! Life experience. A quarter centurion, Arthur had very few friends. Most were acquaintances from work, but even then, he kept his distance. They'd invite him out for drinks, and each time, he would refuse the offer. In his eyes, there's no telling what he might do when he's drunk. Allowing himself to lower his guard and potentially ruin his future career. And as for a romantic partner, well, it just wasn't on top of my mind until now.

Over the next two years, Arthur explored the dating life of the Capitol. Or his own version of it, anyway. He'd bounce between libraries, the park, and local coffee shops, looking for a woman about his age and within an inch of his five-foot-seven height. When that criterion was met and they had a semi-decent first conversation, he'd begin his "formula to fall in love". First date: the same place where they met. Second date: the movie theater, preferably for a historical film if he can help it. Third date: a fancy dining restaurant, where he would pay in full. If they made it through these three pieces, and only two did, he would ask her to go steady.

Arthur dated the first woman who made it through, Elodie, for about five months before she broke up with him. He was, as she put it, too blase in appearance, in personality, and in romance. "That's fine," he said before quickly shuffling out of the apartment. As much as he wanted a partner for what it meant for his career, he wanted it just as much for himself and his loneliness. When it came to compatibility with other people, over the years Arthur would grade himself increasingly low.

However, low does not mean impossible. When Candice Evers came into his life, things changed. They passed through all three dates and even went on a few more before settling down into their relationship. Arthur and Candy lived out a normal romance as boyfriend and girlfriend. Neither of them needed an intense nightlife to be happy. He even grew comfortable around her friends and their partners who she would bring around to the apartment often. They were together for about a year and a half before getting engaged and married. With a girl like Elodie, he would have had to compromise so much of himself. But Candy? She thought his suits made him look mature and his glasses made him look handsome.

Arthur confidently sent an application in to work in Mr. Gilens's office one year to the day after he was married. With a one-month-old baby girl and hopefully another on their way soon, the time was better than ever to try and return to politics. Financial advisement carried him a long way in terms of experience and wealth, but the prize has always been that government building he held a decade-old grudge against since he was rejected from it.

Arms folded neatly across his lap, Arthur waited for Mr. Gilens to read his new bolstered application and resume.

"Impressive. I'm shocked you never considered applying to work with us sooner, Mr. Cunningham."

"I-" Arthur resisted the urge to comment. Now is not the time for I-told-you-so's.

Within the month, his office in the financial district was packed up in boxes and he moved to a cubicle inside Mr. Gilens's building. Was it a decrease in size? Sure. Was it a decrease in pay? Yes. But the downgrade was worth the achievement of his passion. Living comfortably wouldn't be a problem for a man who took ten percent of the gains he made as a brilliant stock consultant.

His job was mainly to organize Mr. Gilens's schedule and respond to the mail he received from residents. Monotonous to some, but the conversations he's been allowed to listen in on and occasionally partake in were ones of his dreams. The trust that Mr. Gilens and his office put in Arthur only increased when he'd voluntarily work extra hours to clear backlogs or clean up after office parties. He was always the last one to leave those parties, as he ashamedly hid in a closet with some flirtatious gentleman until everyone left. Relations like those were a good distraction from the overwhelming parties. Whenever a man throws his glasses off, there's always a momentary lapse in judgment that catches him. Still, he goes to church the next day to pray it off.

By thirty-three, Arthur was a father of three girls with a boy on the way. Mr. Gilens called him into his office one early Wednesday morning. Admittedly, even with the pay raises and bonuses, supporting and caring for his family was becoming difficult. His boss had referred him to a higher position in the High Council. Specifically, the role would be working as Chief of Staff for Azazel Fenwick, former Gamemaker, Councilor, and Liaison for District Nine. The position of High Council was recent, long after Arthur created benchmark goals for himself. Perhaps upon closer examination, becoming the President may not be achievable anymore. But working so closely with the High Council?

"Absolutely! Yes. I would be honored, sir."

"I'll have you know, Azazel Fenwick is quite the project, Arthur. But, knowing you…"

"Right. Knowing me!" He could hardly control his excitement in the room.

One step closer to becoming the man on Capitol Hill.