Roses
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Once a year, he'll tour the districts to see how the people are doing.
He doesn't tell them who he is. He expects them to recognize him. He is a powerful Capitol executive after all. He is Coriolanus Snow.
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District Twelve. The worst of the worst.
He steps foot onto the dusty, dirty ground and frowns. His black shoes, so carefully polished, have already become dirty. Don't these people have any class, any sense of humanity? The sooner he is out of Twelve, the better. All he has to do is make sure the Peacekeeping force is doing its job and the district is meeting all of its coal expectations. Then he can leave this poor excuse of a district and head back to the civilized people.
He has a few Avoxes shade him from the hot sun and escort him to the Head Peacekeeper's office. A few of the Districters—plain, ugly people—stare at him as he passes by. Good. They're noticing him. He holds his head a little higher and makes it known that, yes, he is better than them. He, in his crisp black suit and tie, with his executive title, well on his way to becoming President, should be feared. He has power, and they ought to respect them.
Then one of the Districters, a small girl with daisies in her hair and roses in her hand, dares to approach him.
He ignores her until she pulls on his sleeve and asks, "Mister, why are you wearing a jacket on a hot day? It's stupid."
It's stupid. His nose flares. This is his best suit, created with the best fabrics, custom-made in District 8, and this girl, this stupid little girl, is calling him stupid? Barbarians, they are.
He smacks her, hard. "Go away," he snaps, his gaze cold enough to freeze time.
The little girl stares at him, stunned, rubbing the sore spot on her arm where he smacked her. She looks like she is going to cry. Good. Make her cry. He has power, and this is what shall happen to annoying brats who cross him.
But she doesn't. Instead, she runs to her barbarian mother, who rubs her daughter's arm soothingly and gives her some beautiful red roses, and the little girl seems to forget her pain.
Forgotten for a rose. It's humiliating.
The sooner he is out of this district, the better.
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He has to admit, even though everyone in Twelve is a barbarian, they always do pull through with their coal production.
Which is what is important, he supposes.
But still, when he thinks of the little girl with her roses, his fists clench. He, the one with power, then one that should be respected and feared, has been usurped by a stupid rose. Stupid roses. So pink and pretty and innocent and uncorrupted.
But this is typical of Twelve, he reminds himself. The district of barbarians. They do not recognize his power.
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He is back in the Capitol. Thank goodness.
He gives the current President, an elderly man that is soon to be out of office, the information he has found about Twelve. The President nods and accepts his information without a word and then goes to collect from the other executives' information about the other districts. Then the President gives all of them a curt nod, dismisses them, and retreats to his office.
There are twelve executives in all, one for each district. He's the least revered among them, he knows, which is why he was given Twelve. But he's been working hard for five years now—it's only a matter of time before he gets promoted. And with the President's recent announcement that he will be out of office by the end of the next year, he has the perfect opportunity to step up.
"Hey, Snow," says Ernold Chrome, who's the executive for One. "How was it like in Twelve?"
He shrugs. "None of your business, Chrome," he says coolly. As the most revered of the executives, Ernold Chrome is among his top competition.
Chrome sneers. "Oh, it is my business, Snow. Because when I become President, I'll be the one you're giving your reports to. Besides, I'm higher than you on the ladder. You answer to me, Snow, not the other way around."
"What makes you think you'll be President?" he asks, his eyes narrowing into slits.
Chrome laughs. "So you think you're going to be President?"
"Yeah," he answers, head held high.
Snickers erupt from all the executives. He even gets a glimpse of Seraphina Woodbrook, the district executive from seven who'd always been friendly to him, chuckling along.
"You hear that?" Chrome howls. "He thinks he's going to be President! Snow! The lowest of the executives! The lowest of us all! You'll be lucky to be promoted to Eleven, Snow."
His lip curls. Drawing himself to full height, he walks over to Chrome. Chrome may be the most revered of the executives, but he's nothing in height. He towers over the man.
"Listen, Chrome," he says. "One day, you're going to be working for me. Do you want to take that back?"
"I-I'm not scared of you, Snow," he stammers.
"You should be," he says.
Something in the atmosphere changes, and the room falls dead silent. He's proud of himself, because, for once, people understand that, yes, he is a threat.
Then an Avox comes with a bouquet of roses, a delivery for Ernold Chrome.
"Oh," he says. "From one of my fans." He sniffs the beautiful red and white and pink roses, and the atmosphere goes back to normal. "I'm not afraid of you Snow," he says, proud and confident this time. "You're all bark and no bite."
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You're all bark and no bite.
Forgotten for a rose. Again. And this time, it wasn't in the barbarian District Twelve—it was home, in the Capitol, a place where he thought people would be intelligent enough to know that he is something.
He is something, isn't he?
For one second, he's scared. Scared that Ernold Chrome will actually become President instead of him, and he will be stuck as a silly, unimportant executive all his life. He remembers the little girl in Twelve, who hadn't even recognized him as someone important. Who had smiled as soon as she had seen that rose.
It's stupid.
Roses! They are the bottom of this problem, the start, where it all begins. He curses them under his breath. Bringing people happiness. Making people forget about him. Making people disrespect him and not fear him and doubt his power.
He does have power, doesn't he?
He realizes something.
He doesn't.
Yet.
One day, he decides, he shall prove to everyone, the barbarians in Twelve and the smug executives here in the Capitol, that he is definitely one to be feared. He'll do anything to prove it. He will make an impact on this world. He will make a name for himself. He will be legendary.
Not to be forgotten for a rose.
But remembered by a rose…
(Now there's an idea.)
Written for Starvation's January 2013 prompt: legendary, and also for Zoe in the gift giving extravaganza. Enjoy! A semi companion fic to Poison, although I personally think the Snow portrayed in that one is a tad different from the one in here. Not my best, I would say. But reviews and feedback would be great.