Chapter Text
Glass and gold. Victory was always glass and gold.
Fragile. Valuable. Malleable. One misstep, one careless breath, and everything could shatter, ruin, and fail. But with enough care, it could create something oh so valued and ensure power.
Gold outlines elaborate chandeliers, weaving its way through the curtains and intertwining itself with the spirals and swirls of people’s glasses filled with various liquors, posca, wine. Coriolanus Snow takes a sip, guests around him eager for his attention, congratulating him with a chorus of praise for his rise to power. His thumb mindlessly trails over the patterns across the glass – laced with streaks of gold – and he allows a smug smile to tug at his lips.
All this is for him. Every last bit of it. The praise, the atmosphere, the people. They are all for him. Every last effort to mold his future had been a success and now, finally and truly, Snow will land on top. He has won.
Coriolanus takes in the life of the event – his shoulders begin to relax, the tension melting away.
“Senator Snow!”
The moment shatters and Coriolanus’ straightens up by reflex – frantically grasping for the previous superiority. Ease vanishing like breath on glass.
“Senator Vexmont,” he responds, giving a courteous nod and turning to face the older man.
Vexmont greets Coriolanus with a firm shake of the hand accompanied with an unreadable expression. The contact of his hand seeping into Coriolanus’ own, causing him to battle against a wince. “I applaud you, Snow. You’ve come a long way, despite all the… mishaps.” A beat. “Like that Plinth boy,” Vexmont adds casually – but his gaze is far from which. “You’ve still managed to come out on top.”
Coriolanus nods. It’s a given that great victory comes with great struggles. One of many being the shackles of Sejanus Plinth’s presence. The beyond careless boy who – deep down – only cared for himself. He threw away life in the Capitol – the Capitol! – just to chase after Coriolanus like a stray dog begging to be owned, just to bite back once put on a leash.
Coriolanus will forever remember the morning Sejanus walked past, tail between his legs and his eyes round and pleading, as he was dragged to a cell by the peacekeepers he foolishly believed would feed into his naivety. What a great moment it was! The day he was dragged – quite literally – out of Coriolanus’ life.
“Indeed,” is all he responds. Nobody needs to know how those inconveniences came to be nor how they ceased to cause trouble. “It’s a shame what happened to him,” he murmurs, his grip on his glass tightening – threatening to shatter.
Vexmont nods. “It is, really.” His expression falters slightly for just a moment. “Say, what happened to him?”
Coriolanus’ gaze drops to his posca, swirling the liquid around his glass in an almost too forced motion. “He partook in the talk of a rebel plan, sir. Someone caught wind and, well…” His gaze leaves his glass and returns to Vexmont, a barrier between his words rising and causing his voice to trail off. He shrugs. “I suppose he was hung; the usual procedure for treason out there. I had left the same day for officer training in Two.”
“District Two,” Vexmont echoes, seeming to stray away from the previous topic. “That was Plinth’s district, wasn’t it?” he points out.
Coriolanus clenches his jaw – attempting to shift his focus from the idea of shattering his glass, maintaining his composed demeanour. A chill trails down his spine, unease seeping into him.
“That’s right,” Coriolanus nods.
Vexmont seems to consider Coriolanus’ response before he nods back. “Very well,” he says as he raises his glass. “To Senator Snow.”
Coriolanus’ lips stretch into a smile, most definitely bordering on a grimace, and clinking his glass against Vexmont’s. “To me,” he agrees, his charisma letting the last drabs of the conversation come naturally.
Senator Vexmont excuses himself, leaving to mingle with some other group of Senators or aristocrats, allowing Coriolanus one brief moment to breathe. He notices his shallowing posca and locates an Avox, politely swapping out his glass with a full one. He continues his rounds, chatting with various crowds around the room and accepting their praise, slowly draining glasses of posca until his mind begins to spin and he decides to stop. Irritation seeps in – slowly but inevitably – as the posca and the crowds and the socialising and the noise all begin to wear him out. He finishes talking to a small group before finding a small area at the edge of the room. Not out of the way enough to take notice but enough to catch a break. Now out of peoples focus, Coriolanus sets his glass down on the extensive buffet table, allowing his shoulders to finally drop as he mindlessly begins to toy with the cuffs of his shirt, acting as if he were adjusting them rather than occupying his mind.
But, of course, he’s approached yet again. A rather old looking aristocrat with thinning hair. He doesn’t speak. He just stands beside Coriolanus, appearing to be watching the crowd. Coriolanus stays silent too, finishing with his cuffs before taking a sip of posca. He glances sideways at the man before setting his glass back down and clearing his throat.
“May I help you?” he asks, fully turning to the man now.
The man hesitates, glancing around the room as if Coriolanus’ voice was coming from everywhere but beside him. “Right, yes,” he finally says.
Coriolanus raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”
The man leans close, his warm breath hitting the side of Coriolanus’ face – no trace of alcohol so clearly sober. “Be careful, young Snow. The Capitol is purging its own.”
Coriolanus’ shoulders tense up and his eyebrows furrow, his expression slipping into a scowl. “What do you mean?” The sound of a glass clinking not being processed as he stares at the man.
“Haven’t you noticed?” the man hisses. “Silence where voices once were. The disappearances.” His voice softens, barely audible over the hum of Senator Vexmont’s dull voice. “Watch your back before you vanish too.”
“Are you threatening me?” Coriolanus quietly laughs.
The man grips Coriolanus’ arm, turning them away from the distant and unknowing crowd. “It’s not a threat but a warning.” He glares for a moment before letting go.
Coriolanus dusts down his sleeve, brushing off the man’s contact. “Why are you telling me this? How do I know you’re…” His voice trails off.
The man shakes his head. “Be warned, Snow.” He takes a step away before turning heel, leaving Coriolanus in deafening silence despite the cheers of agreement and laughter filling the room.
Coriolanus manages to catch the tail end of the speech that had begun as he was being warned. “–I see a bright future for Panem with our new Senator Snow. I’m confident he will change our country for the better.” Many pairs of eyes find Coriolanus and he gives a humble smile. People begin raising their glasses as the speech starts wrapping up. “To Senator Snow; to a new Panem.”
The room erupts into drunken cheers and applauds as Coriolanus catches the eye of the speaker – Vexmont – who returns it with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his glaring eyes. A fraction too knowing, a fraction too threatening.
The crowds begin to break apart after the speech signals the end of the night, groups entering taxis together or being greeted by their personal drivers. Coriolanus steps into the cool night’s air. He shivers from the stabbing cold, silently cursing at himself for not bringing a coat. Fortunately though, he immediately spots his own driver and gives a polite nod of thanks as he steps into the car.
Be careful, young Snow. The Capitol is purging its own.
What could he have meant? If people are dying – which they most certainly have not – shouldn’t it be up to law enforcement to tackle? Shouldn’t they be the ones alerted and told to deal with it?
No, one man’s drunken words shouldn’t be considered the truth. People pulled practical jokes like this all of the time. A way to force people to put their guard up unnecessarily – a waste of security. A way to take away trust and aid for when real issues arose: rebellions, riots, treason.
Yet, if it’s nonsense, why can’t he seem to shake it?
Coriolanus pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut – the whole situation sending throbs of pain through his skull with every beat of his pulse. This was just what the man wanted him to do. All he wanted was to cause fear and paranoia which, unfortunately, seems to have worked.
The journey finally comes to an end, the car coming to a stop, pulling up in front of Coriolanus’ apartment building. The driver opens the door for Coriolanus who gives a quiet thanks before retreating up to his apartment. He takes out his keycard, scanning it against the door which clicks open. Immediately, he goes to his bedroom, repeating the action of tapping his keycard – a swift tap of irritation.
Better to be safe than sorry in a worst case scenario according to the architects of the Capitol.
Be careful, young Snow.
Coriolanus unfastens his tie with precision, loosening the tension around his throat and taking in a breath. He then goes to unbutton his shirt, each button leaving him just a fraction more exposed than the one before. The comforting act of changing all of a sudden only feeling like removing layers of protection, letting down his guard. In the kitchen, he mindlessly presses several buttons on the coffee machine, staring at the countertop in a daze as he waits for the buzzing to end. He picks up the mug, the warmth only several degrees from scorching his skin.
The Capitol is purging its own.
There would be no point telling any law enforcers if it was the Capitol doing so. What could he have meant? The government? The people as a whole? Why would Coriolanus need to be told out of all people? There were people higher up in power at the event, why couldn’t the man have gone to them?
Stop. Coriolanus takes a sip of his coffee, spluttering as the liquid burns his lips and tongue. Deserved. He groans as he pours himself a cool glass of water to counteract the burning sensation but just as he swallows the first mouthful, a ringing noise fills the apartment, emanating from the living room. After setting his glass back down, he paces over and picks up the receiver, leaning against the wall and shutting his eyes.
“Coriolanus Snow,” Dr Gaul murmurs in greeting.
“Dr Gaul,” he responds, his jaw clenching.
Dr Gaul only ever called when she wanted something, that was something Coriolanus learned over the years of working under her. Now that he had graduated and had no need to see her every day of his life, conversations with her became brief and rare.
“How have things been with you, Snow? I heard you became a Senator.” She was being awfully polite – too polite.
“What do you want, Dr Gaul?” Coriolanus attempts to maintain his usual tone but feels it begin to slip.
Be careful, young Snow. The Capitol is purging its own.
“Eager, are you?” she rasps. “You almost sound… afraid.” She lets out a cackle. “I need you to come visit my laboratory tomorrow. Dawn.” Her tone leaves no room for refusal.
Coriolanus catches himself chewing at the soft flesh of the inside of his cheek, stopping himself before clearing his throat. “Of course.” A beat. “What do you need me for?” There’s many things he could be summoned for. She could need a favour. She could have created a new mutt. She could know about what the man told him.
“I’d rather keep it a surprise,” she laughs. That manic, hideous cackle. “I best be seeing you.”
Dr Gaul goes quiet for a moment, Coriolanus gripping onto the receiver like a lifeline. The static in the air feels thicker than it should, like the heaviness of air before a storm.
“Let’s see if you’re still on top, Snow.”
The line goes dead, leaving Coriolanus in silence once more. He sets the receiver back down and paces back over to the kitchen, downing his now lukewarm coffee in several gulps that leave him wincing afterwards from the bitterness. What on Earth could she mean? Why does she need him tomorrow?
Be careful, young Snow.
Coriolanus’ breaths grow shallow. It’s so stupid. That man was drunk and Dr Gaul borders on insanity. He shouldn’t take either of their words seriously.
Let’s see if you’re still on top, Snow.
Returning to his bedroom, Coriolanus decides the best thing he can do is sleep it off. He’ll wake up in the morning and go see Dr Gaul just to find out he got worked up over nothing. He slips into his bed, switching off his lights with the click of a switch and turns over, letting out an exhale. It’s fine. It’s just politics. Just drunken ramblings. Just Gaul’s usual games.
The Capitol is purging its own.
Still, as he drifts off, uncertainty grips at him like a vice, threatening to choke him. Like a tie. Like a noose.
Let’s see if you’re still on top.