Olivia Montferrat, Capitol [Finished]

like a queen

Think of me more than anyone else

Name: Olivia Montferrat

{Capitol Resident}

Age: 67

Occupation: Secretary of Commerce, Labor, Weights & Measures


Do you know what I’ve seen, child?

Those with memories of the dark days will tell you—we had no choice to do what was done. Simply following orders, or rather, living in a time when the whole world was to come crashing down on them. Being born from the ashes was the only grace my family imparted to me. A mother and father with the right circumstances, in the right place at the right time. Stalwarts of his reign, when the world became a different place altogether. You have to imagine, there was little choice to them when the world burned to ashes. Either we all starved, with it the most glorious infestation to ever grace the terra nova disappeared or—they carried the banner of humanity forward, beating back the waves that should have snuffed us out.

But life is never so simple. You think of all the illusions that must have been thrown up, shadows dancing along walls, for us to obscure the pain and sacrifice within the districts. My mother and father believed in the shadows because they were the ones still crawling in the cave. Look, because there was always some lesson to be learned about how terrible the rebellion had been, how subhuman they are. The games proved that, did they not? That for our amusement, we could torture a batch of small children, and they would have no choice but to acquiesce to us. Except the shadows have to be cast by something. They exist by light of our own design. The truth is that we are no better than the devils that tear one another apart in the districts. If anything, we have to be sharper, more quick witted to survive in the place where appearance is everything.

A viceroy of less-than-nothing, my father was invited to all the charades of power that the capitol could bestow. My mother was a true artist: she thought nothing of time or focus, but could evoke every tambour of the heart through her work. You pulsed at the blues overlaid with orange; beauty was finding the chorus of what was evocative, not necessarily pleasant. Boldness was defining her vision, not kowtowing to the tastes of her peers. Perhaps her greatest lesson to me—though arguably not the only thing that I learned. For my parents love was the only thing about them not to be an illusion. I suppose they had to have something to hold onto, something that grounded them to a portion of the reality. This city will hollow you out if you’re not careful. And as much as they may want to tell you, you still have to think on your own if you want to get ahead in this world.

I should respect my father for teaching me that as unsavory as it could be—those who succeed in this world are the ones that are not afraid to play the game. You have to remember, as hollow as you may become, you can never forget that there is still something, something deep inside of you that is waiting to pounce. Something that will lead you to an even greater glory, if you are able to have patience. That’s the lesson that so few of them around here know. They think that the opportunity for a golden crown is just around the corner, if only they could play the game just a bit longer. Suppose they come across as gamblers, petty thieves that have no idea of the concept that it is a long game, so buckle up if you want to win. My father was not a man who thought a game of chess was won in the first ten moves; while this may have been advantageous, there was never a reason for this to be true. For your opponent, whether taken in ten moves or twenty, is still vanquished in the win.

When I was twelve, he and I watched the parade for the fifteenth games together. We were given the preferential box, toward the front of the throngs of people. Not the best box, mind you, this was reserved for members of state, and my father was still an undersecretary-to-whomever, but good enough that I could see the perspiration building on the back of the necks of the lower district tributes. While the crowd was roaring, he turned to me and said, Olivia, do you know what makes a winner? And I shook my head in that moment because, even if I did believe I knew, I would never answer my father on the first question, and he pointed to the boy from district four, It’s not the strongest, or the fastest. I nodded along, thinking that there had been tributes that did not advance past the bloodbath that were easily hulking monsters.

It’s about— discipline. That when you have a thousand little cracks, you don’t break into a thousand pieces. You overcome.

Hard work is the great equalizer to being born with a silver spoon; it is the difference between the empty suits and those that are simply the best. I don’t presuppose that I have not been born without all the advantages a woman could have. Wealth, parents of stature, and all the doors wide open. But there is a difference between walking through those open doors, and expecting them never to close, than being the one to close them on someone else. You see—the real way that the world works around here, and how no one will tell you, is that to stay at the top, you must be willing to slam those doors in the faces of those standing behind you. My mother and father know that well enough.

His loyalty to the president was an enigma to me. Growing up, we were rabid supporters of Snow, the man that would lead us to a new future. I did not admire him for his vision—because what vision did not include the capitol front and center to the rest of the world—but that he was willing to work to destroy all those that stood in his way. There were the stories that trickled in and out about the men and women who said that he was too ambitious. They were the ones that thought there should have been an easing in the districts, that we were not the ones that could hold onto power for so long without some sort of backlash. Somehow those same critics began to fade before too long, and the little swirl of politics continued. I could admire a man that knew in a world so fragile, there could be no room for second opinions.

I began in the annals of government as any silver spooned bureaucrat—starting far above my station, commanding men and women that toiled their whole lives without bubbling to the top. My father secured me a post in the Department of Commerce & Labor Relations. We were to manage the flow of goods and services between the districts to the capitol—perhaps the second most important agency beyond the peacekeepers. My fellow acquaintances, for there was rarely a man or woman that ever deserved to be called much more, stated that it wouldn’t be long before my incompetence showed through my lack of experience. After all, even with all of my training, what could I know that would stop the wolves from trying to eat me?

And that, fools, is the true test of power here. Work is about determination, not about the flash that seems pervasive to our culture. You know the types—the ones that spill more across a page than necessary when two would do. The people that cannot commit to a decision for fear of alienating another. They are weak, and they will fail. Because the only thing worth preserving around here, and the only thing that will save you, and commitment to becoming the best that there is. When you have reached the top, you will look down and see all the rest that are scrambling to get one last grasp at the corner of your pedestal. Are you going to the be one that bends down, and gives a hand, or are you going to take your foot, and make sure that all the excrement is knocked back to where it belongs?

My father was arrested for treason. My mother, taken to an asylum for the clinically insane. The whispers had raged for some time that they were a part of District Thirteen communications. An ongoing plot to seize power and make the world interconnected. Free borders, movement of labor, a vision of equality that had not existed since prior to the dark days. It would have been an absence of order, with men and women fighting for a strong force to unite them all. He told me all of it, of course. The words that there was nothing so important as a change, a change that you could believe—there was far more than collecting timber, stone, grain, and all that from the districts—because that would not last forever. There would be powers in numbers; we could not reign supreme if we were not willing to commit the gravest of sins.

He forgot his place.

My father had gone as far as a gentleman of his stature could go. Sitting on councils and attending the games was not enough for him; he wanted the immediacy of power and he wanted it now. These notions of equality and grandeur were not new, and nor were they particularly revolutionary. Instead, they were the sighs of a man who had reach the last rung he was able to climb before he would likely be too old and in too ill of health to continue. He had been passed over for a secretary position that would’ve seated him that much closer to the President—it was when the rumblings became more than just echoes. They switched to whispers in alleys, to grumbles within the council chambers, to hissing and fits in all the places where he thought no one could here. And worst of all, he believed that one who had worked her entire life, one who had forgone the usual frivolousness of the capitol, would so quickly turn to watch her work shattered by a bunch of incompetent old men.

Excising my family was not a matter of safety for me, though that arguably could have had me meet my own ends. There were none fast enough to act on this—the powers that be were not the only ones that were willing to remove those that stand in their way. No, my father crossed over to a treasonous fool and I would not stand for it. His last meeting had been with me, in the justice chambers. We were going to discuss business of regulations of trade between districts, and opportunities for growth by expanding into the wastelands surrounding Eight and Nine. Or so his agenda had been placed by his aid. Two peacekeepers were sitting with me—one to my left, and the other to my right. I think for a second he thought that we all were finished, but I told him, It’s come to an end. You won’t be trouble, now will you?

He could have had his chance, but he lost his discipline. He wanted the immediacy of power, as though the thing he desired was in reach. But there were so many standing in his way, he never even thought that it would all be snuffed out so easily. I find that most people here believe that they are special, that they are a snowflake, that the world revolves around them. You must be willing to see that you are not perfect if you ever to wish to grasp power. And to seize power, you must know what is to be removed so that you may take its place.

As Secretary of Commerce, Labor, Weights & Measures I am directly responsible for the livelihood of millions. The food on your plate, the clothes on your back, everything—everything—revolves around the behind the scenes. The balance of power rests between the fingertips of those that give and those that take—and those that find a way to stretch what we have to see another day. It’s a pity my father couldn’t have seen that there are far greater ways to upend a man in power. You simply have to look for a way to tear apart what is important, especially what he believes he controls. You see, the world is only in balance because we—the people of panem—think that it is in balance. There are some that take, and the rest that give.

No single soul is all that important, as much as they may wish. The only truism is that we survive as a species because we work together. Now—my loyalty lies only with my job, and that job is to make sure the men and women of Panem have exactly what they need, when they need it. I do not tolerate those that are unable to deliver, and especially not those that cannot see the important of the work that we do. I’ve long since learned that this devotion to my work has let me see the truth in people—those that are willing to give up what they want for a later reward. You must be willing to suffer, and to face your critics, to survive here. I did not get to this position with thin skin, and I do not surround myself with those that don’t understand that we must give up a part of ourselves to get what we truly desire.

What do I really believe?

Self-preservation is weakness. Those that are truly strong don’t fight to preserve who they are; they fight for a vision. One that lives beyond a reign—they create, because leadership is about progress. Does that sound treasonous? I would be foolish to think anyone could ever run this place as the President Snow does—not a single person could have lasted this long, and brought so much… peace. That’s what the rest of them forget, isn’t it? You can’t go handing out food to all the hands held out for you without taking from someone else. Now—could things be done differently?

I’m too old to effect the change at this level. You know how long the projections are until we reach the capacity we need to improve conditions in the lower districts? It would take someone with an iron will to sort through all the logistical concerns, if they really wanted to effect change. For now, I’ll content myself with the day to day, what actually matters. None of this frippery the… others tend to find themselves in. What? You think you’re going to find me with hair towering over me? I’ve got too much on my mind to be concerned with the latest of trends. Besides, simplicity and elegance never go out of style, dear. Some women around here don’t have anything rolling around in their heads. I can guarantee I’m not one of them.

And if you make that mistake, you’ll have a lot to be sorry for.