a/n [This turned out way longer than I meant it to be, sorry. And I'm certain this is riddled with mistakes; just yell at me for them. For Lils in May. Uses the prompt 'Broken Stems' from Caesar's Palace. Also, there will be a sequel to this posted in September.]
He was playing a game with the war strategists in the battle room when his mother sent an avox up to call him down for dinner. The door opened with a soft creak, the only sound that would announce the silent girl, and she looked at him and tugged one her brown curls, which was the code for dinnertime that they had created. He jumped down from his stool in an instant, a mess of bright hair and loose clothing, and sprinted out of the door before anyone else noticed the avox's arrival.
He landed in the large dining room with a loud thump of his feet, disorienting the avox bringing drinks, and ran to his mother before his plate could be set.
"I want to eat dinner on the balcony again, Mama! Please, please, please, please, please?"
His mother sighed at him and slowly smoothed back his unruly hair.
"Could you eat with us tonight, Cory?"
It wasn't so much of a question as an order, but he nodded his head anyway and bounded to his seat on the other side of the table, across from his mother. His grandmother sat at his side, her posture straight but tired, just like it always was.
"Hi, Granma," he said. He always needed to initiate the conversation with her.
"Hello, Coriolanus."
He frowned at the use of his full name, but didn't say anything about it; she always called him that. His fingers drummed restlessly on his knees as he waited for her to say more, but she never did.
The two women waited in silence for their husbands, and Cory squirmed in his seat. He glanced from the empty table in front of him, to the kitchen doors, to the avoxes standing at the edges of the room, and then back again. The president and his son were late as usual, and Cory slumped farther and farther into his seat as each minute passed.
This was the typical dinner in the Snow Mansion.
::::
He was reading a fat math book while lying on his bed when his tutor was summoned to leave. The typical screech of the hinges let Cory know the avox had arrived, but Mr. Brayes kept talking, oblivious to the visitor. So Cory spent another five minutes learning about fractions while the avox by the door bit his lip, unsure of what to do.
"Brayes?" Cory interrupted his teacher. "He wants to speak to you, probably."
The tutor followed his gaze to the wide-eyed avox and waited for his message. The boy opened his mouth a bit, attempting to speak, but snapped his jaw shut once he'd realized his mistake. He lifted a note in his hand to Mr. Brayes, and waiting until it was firmly in his grasp, he scurried out of the room and shut the door.
"He's new," Cory explained.
Then, "What does it say?"
Mr. Brayes face paled as he read the paper. Hurriedly, he grabbed his book and papers, took the book Cory was using, and started walking out the door. Before he was gone, he answered the child. "I've got to go."
"Go where?"
But the tutor was already gone, and Cory felt stupid with his unanswered question still hanging in the air.
::::
He was wearing a suit with an actual striped tie, which was tied, for his tenth birthday. His father forced him to wear it, because apparently real men always look professional. No one seemed to tell his father that he wasn't a man; he didn't want to be a man if it meant wearing restricting, stiff clothing.
His party lasted six hours, and he spent all of it fidgeting with the loose ends of that wretched tie and not listening to the multitude of adults who wanted to tell him stories of the woes of supporting a business with the effects of war still over everyone's heads. Even though it wasn't really much of a war, he'd heard. Just little skirmishes. He wasn't entirely sure what a skirmish was, but he wished for one to occur in the center of the ballroom.
There was one person his age in the room, and she looked just as bored—and dressed up—as he did.
"The nanny quit last second, so Daddy had to bring me along," she told him when he asked why she was here.
She asked why he was here, and simply responded, as if it were obvious, which it was, "It's my party."
"No, it's not." Her nose scrunched up.
"Of course it is. It's my birthday!"
"But it's not your party."
Cory frowned at the girl, thinking she was completely wrong, but knowing somewhere that she was right.
"Come on," she urged. "Leave. See if anybody even notices."
"No."
She sighed in frustration, and when she left, she stomped her feet in an angry protest. Her immense skirt squeaked as she walked away, and Cory was fascinated by it.
::::
He was slouching in chair that looked monstrous compared to his size when his grandfather scolded him for looking like a child. He straightened up immediately, hoping his grandfather would be pleased, but the man just huffed and went back to work on the pile of papers on his desk.
Cory squinted at his grandfather, and wondered how he became president. He was almost too scared to ask, but he did, and his question hung in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time.
"My father was president," he answers eventually.
Cory hesitates before asking another question. "And before him?
"His father was president."
He gulps. "And before him?"
Markus set down his pen and looked up at his grandson. Cory held his breath while under the man's gaze, and after a minute had to suck in another quick breath because he was still being stared at. He rarely ever saw his grandfather, let alone spoke to him, let alone looked right at him.
"He saved this country's predecessor."
"How?" Cory whispered.
"You have a lot of questions today, Coriolanus."
Cory watched with wide eyes as the president dropped his gaze and silently went back to work.
"Markus?" the boy asked hesitantly, but he didn't get a reply.
::::
He was leaning over the edge of his balcony, looking down at the ground directly below him, when he saw that girl again. It had been roughly two years since he had last seen her, but he hadn't thought about her once—okay, maybe he thought about her from time to time—until now. He tapped his fingers against the polished railing and watched as a guard let her and her father into the mansion. After several minutes of hesitation, his curiosity got the better of him, and he slowly walked downstairs.
His father and the girl's sat in a meeting room, the door cracked and the shades drawn, whispering as if they didn't want to be overheard. Cory paused briefly outside the door before continuing on his path down the hall. The girl was sitting on the armrest of the drab couch in the foyer, leaning against the coat rack when he found her.
"I never got your name," he said, stopping in front of her.
"You never asked, Cory." She said his name with a smirk, showing off that she knew his name. It irritated him slightly, though he wasn't sure why. Everyone knew his name.
"I'm asking now."
"Kassette."
She smiled slightly when she spoke, and Cory smiled at her smile. He was around that age when girls suddenly went from gross to a must have, and this Kassette was definitely catching his attention.
"Well, Kassette, would you like to walk through the gardens?"
She stifled a laugh. "With you? In your indoor maze of flowers in boxes? Sorry, I've too many fake things in my life already."
He blinked at her, deciphering what she'd said. "I'm not fake."
"Prove it." She crossed her arms, making it a challenge. Cory smiled because he already knew he'd win.
::::
He was sitting an ornate chair in the first row of a multitude of others, staring at the closed casket not ten feet away from him, and listening to old men in new suits say nice things about a men that was never very nice. Cory tapped his foot to a rhythm only he could hear and wiped absently at his eyes, even though there weren't any tears. His mother was crying silently beside him, so he pressed his side against hers in support and tried to listen to what his father—now the President—was saying about his grandfather.
It was the typical sort of things: he was a great man, he was a hard worker, he was a wonderful father, etc. Cory, bored, tapped his foot a little bit faster. His eyes slowly left his father and wandered to the casket. It was wooden, engraved with squares and triangles to make an image that looked somewhat like rubble, and was sitting on a larger, darker wooden block with a plate that said, "President Markus Draery Snow," and had his year of birth and death below it. His eyes traced over the small, etched words over and over again until someone asked if he had any words to say about his grandfather.
His answer was no; the word was short, but it stuck in his throat a bit. He coughed and ducked his head under the piercing gaze of the crowd. Cory was never very comfortable around such a large group of people. He supposed he would have to change that, though, if he was to be a president one day.
He sneaked a glance back at the crowd. One day, he would lead them. He would lead a whole country. He wanted to know whom he'd be dealing with.
::::
He was standing in the corner of the grand ballroom, trying to pretend he was enjoying himself. It was the after party of the funeral, and while everything was decorated with black, it was one of the most festive parties he'd attended. The men were getting drunk and the ladies were gossiping as usual. A nice handful of people filled the dance floor, and a few milled around the buffet table.
Kassette was walking straight across the floor towards him. She was wearing her usual smile and a simple floor length dress, and Cory brightened up when he saw her.
"I almost thought you wouldn't come." He smiled.
She leaned against the wall and pressed into his side. "Sorry, I was just having so much fun. The time got away from me."
Cory turned to look at her and narrowed his eyes, silently telling her that he'd noticed her attitude. She picked at her skirt, and not looking at him, said, "My father is trying to convince me to date Templesmith's son."
"Templesmith as in Templesmith's Cosmetics? That's not a bad choice at all."
"I guess."
"Then why do you look disappointed?"
Kassette looked up at him in exasperation, which made Cory blink in confusion. He knew that he was disappointed—just imagining Kassette with anyone besides him physically hurt him—but he couldn't fathom why she would feel that way.
"Are you toying with me, or are you just naturally this dense?" she asked.
Before he could ask her what she meant, she was sighing and grabbing his arms to use for leverage to lift herself higher, and then she was kissing him. Cory was motionless for a moment at the feel of her lips on hers; he'd kissed girls before, sure, but he had only ever dreamed of kissing Kassette. But all too soon she was leaning away from him and lowering herself back onto the ground, the natural blush of her cheeks shining through her make-up.
Much later, after she was gone, Cory could still taste the roses from her lip-gloss.
::::
He was lying down on the tiled edge of the pool watching Kassette do underwater somersaults. The Games that year had featured a vast ocean with many tiny islands scattered everywhere, forcing the tributes to swim from one place to another if they wanted to survive, and before the victor had even been crowned, Kassette was signing up for swimming lessons at the Margot Hotel.
Cory loved watching her splash around in the water. She seemed energetic and free, which contrasted with the stubborn, poised girl he had known when he first met her. He liked the change. It made him feel less like the president's son and more like a typical teenager, or at least as close as he could get. (There was a bodyguard standing at attention under the awning with a gun in his belt, but Cory tried his best to ignore him.)
A blond head broke the surface of the water in front of him and smoothly lifted up to kiss him.
"You should come in," Kassette said.
"Swimming isn't really my thing."
"Then what is your thing?"
Cory faltered for a moment. He was so busy reading long files assigned by his father, doing the hours of work assigned by his tutor, and attending events he never wanted to go to that he never had any time to do something he actually wanted to do. So he smiled at Kassette, hoping she hadn't noticed him falter, and said, "Being with you of course."
::::
He was standing on the interior balcony overlooking the Gamemakers and trying not to appear as interested as he was. His father was standing next to him, talking occasionally to the Head Gamemaker, but mostly informing Cory on the basics of what goes on in the room. Cory listened respectively, nodding at all the right moments, and refrained from asking all the questions running around in his head.
His father rested his hand on Cory's shoulder, and Cory immediately straightened. "Stay here a while, Cory."
"Yes, Father," Cory mumbled, watching the president exit the room.
He leaned his forearms against the slick metal rails and watched the Gamemakers at work. One woman off to the side absently typed in numbers on a keypad while putting up her hair. Cory glanced from the large television screens encircling the room back to the woman, trying to understand what effect the entered number code had on the arena. When he couldn't figure out any pattern, he went up to her. The way he walked was nonchalant and discreet, so if anyone asked he could say he was just strolling around bored.
He paused at the woman's desk and spoke in a low voice. "What are you doing?"
She looked up, her eyes wide and uncaring. "That's not your business, sir."
"What is my business around here, then?"
The woman scanned the room before pointing to a man with circular glasses in the back of the room. "He can answer your questions."
Cory nodded, and he headed over to the other side of the room. His inquiries had caught the attention of a couple of people, but he tried to wave it off. He was the president's son; he could do whatever he wanted without their judgment.
"Who are you?" Cory asked once he reached the man.
"Pavil Kayre," he answered, not looking up from his work.
Cory tried to look around him at what he was doing. "What's your job?"
"I position the cameras." Pavil stepped aside slightly, letting Cory have access to a small, blue-scale map of the arena covered in blinking red lights and static yellow dots. All around the map were small screens showing various angles of all of the tributes.
"Is that what the audience is seeing?" Cory asked, gesturing to the video screens.
"No. Leger chooses the footage."
"Leger?"
"The Head Gamemaker. Say, shouldn't you know all of this, kid?"
Cory grit his teeth and turned away. "Yes, I should," he muttered as he walked out the door.
::::
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, throwing on his shirt, when a small hand grabbed his wrist. He looked over to see Kassette rubbing at her eyes with her unoccupied hand, a yawn escaping her pristine lips. "Where are you going?" she asked, her words slurring a little from tiredness.
"A quick meeting." His father had been inviting him to more and more lately on the excuse that he would be becoming a man soon and would need to start learning his duties.
"How quick?"
"Before you can count the stars, Kass." He kissed her lips quickly and darted out of the room before she could figure out that he wouldn't be that quick at all.
He walked into the meeting room seconds before the event started. His father looked at him disapprovingly from the head of the table, but Cory pretended not to notice as he sat at the other end. The men sitting between them ignored his entrance as they usually did. He took a deep breath and tried to act more presentable. He was attentive during the whole meeting—it was something about how the districts need better guarded borders. The final decision was to send electrical currents through the wire fences 24/7, which wasn't the best idea, Cory thought, but he keeps his opinions to himself.
Cory tried to leave the meeting afterwards as quickly—and politely—as he could, but his father stopped him on his way out.
"Slept with the banker's daughter again, didn't you?" The president was straight to the point.
"She has a name," Cory snapped.
The president's eyes narrowed, but Cory didn't shrink away from him this time. "You could do much better."
"Yes, sir," Cory said.
::::
He was laughing at the hopeless look on the young girl's face while he held Kassette's hand. For her birthday, he had decided to take his girl to a special showing of the latest Hunger Games, the 17th, at the location of the arena. When Cory first saw the ad two weeks ago of the event, he almost couldn't believe it; a tour of the arena and then watching the highlight reel with a bonus one hour clip on Kassette's birthday was just too much too hope for.
And now, halfway through the original three-hour film, he was watching his favorite part with the woman he loved. He squeezed her hand tighter and gasped slightly when the on-screen girl's arm was torn from it's socket, even though he had seen this part millions of times before. But the best part was when the older tribute, blood on her face her hands, smiled at the young child, now dead, before her.
Cory turned his head so his lips were on Kassette's ear and whispered, "Chilling, isn't it?"
She shivered a little and smiled at him, but her smile instantly fell away. "Not in a good way."
"What do you mean?"
"She just killed someone, Cory. And she's happy."
"Of course. She's closer to winning, now," Cory said, unsure of why he had to explain this to her. She was usually the smart one.
"She wouldn't have been happy about it three weeks prior."
He frowned and smoothed her hair back slowly. "Why are you so upset?"
"Sorry, it's nothing. Let's just keep watching."
::::
He was on sitting on his couch while a nervous avox quickly bandaged his hand. He wasn't quite sure what had happened; one moment he and Kassette were sitting on the ground making easy conversation, when she started getting angry and stormed out of the room. Once she was gone, Cory's knuckles hurt. He brought his hand to his chest and watched a drop of blood drip down his wrist. The most logical explanation was he punched the wall, but he couldn't remember it happening. He couldn't even remember what he and Kassette were yelling about. He had thought everything was fine.
The avox secured the end of the bandage, and Cory actually pushed her a little out the door before shutting it closed. He grabbed his phone of the small table in the back corner and sat on his bed, already frantically dialing her number, not patient enough to give her time to work things out in her mind.
"Hello?"
"Kassette."
"Cory—"
"Why would you do that, Kassette?"
"Excuse me?"
"Just leave me like that? Do you know what that did to me?"
"You're angry at me. I'm—"
"Sorry? Good. Now come back over here."
Her voice was weak on the other line when she replied. "No."
"No?" Cory realized in the back of his mind that he was being unfair, but he was too angry to acknowledge it. "Why?"
"You're turning into them, Cory."
"Them?"
"The tributes. Except, not really—"
"You're comparing me to the tributes now?"
He wasn't thinking rationally, and he knew that, but he had so little things in his life that mattered to him, and he wasn't going to let the only thing he loved get away.
"You're turning into what you make the tributes," she finished. Cory was too confused to reply. "You drag them into an isolated arena and force themselves to kill people they might've been friends with. You drain the light from their eyes. You make them cruel."
"The Games aren't cruel."
She paused. "Yes. They are."
"Do you realize what you've just said?" She didn't respond. "That's treason, Kass."
The line went dead.
::::
He was eating dinner in the dining room, which wasn't something he did that often anymore. It was fun when he was a kid, pretending that his family was happy, or that the long table was a ship he needed to captain. But now, at the ripe age of nineteen, he saw everything as it truly was without any sugarcoating. He was sitting in a room at a table meant for more than his family's measly three, and much more than the two that sat there now.
His father sat at the head of the table, slouching and moving his food around with his fork like a distracted kid. He didn't look like the president. It almost embarrassed Cory.
"How've you been, Cory?" his father asked. "You seem a bit different lately."
"Fine," he said a bit stiffly.
"How's that girl of yours doing?"
Cory straightened up in his seat. "Fine."
His father nodded and took a bite of his food, losing his sudden interest in Cory's life.
"Could I ask you something?"
He hated the hopeful look in his father's eyes. "Of course."
"Do you think the Games are cruel?"
He watched his father's expression closely. The older man seemed to be trying to figure out what exactly Cory meant, but in the end he just sighed, exhausted. "Honestly? It's not the best decision this country's ever made, but there's not much we can do now."
Cory tried not to seem disappointed in the president's answer as he excused himself from the room. Was he the only one that thought these Games were good for the country? Panem would never survive without the Hunger Games, yet his father was second-guessing them? Cory slumped down on his bed and thought well into the night until a plan slowly started forming.
::::
He was patiently waiting in one of the more private sitting rooms for his father. He had told his father earlier that he was ready to learn his responsibilities and start acting like he was president material—like he could learn anything about ruling from his father. The thought made him smile a bit.
"Don't worry, Panem. You'll be in better hands soon," he spoke to the room.
His father came in exactly on time, but compared to the amount of time Cory had spent waiting, he seemed hours late.
"Cory," his father greeted.
"President."
His father opened his mouth, probably to get the ball rolling, as he sat down, but Cory interrupted him. "Would you like a drink?" He gestured to the plate holding the tea pitcher and empty cups.
He tried to make his face look as innocent as possible as he watched his father lean forward to pour the tea into two cups. The president was speaking the whole time, saying something about the late Markus Snow, but Cory wasn't listening. He was trying to absently wipe the sweat away from his forehead when the man offered him a cup.
Cory took it with slightly shaking hands, and kept careful eyes on his father as he raised it to his lips. His tongue trembled in his mouth.
The president took a drink from his won cup and frowned a bit at the flavor but didn't say anything about it. Cory tipped the cup a little closer and parted his lips to prepare for the sour drink. He had spent the past week preparing himself for the drink, but he'd never actually drank it this directly before.
Then, his father started coughing, and Cory brought the cup down from his mouth so fast it splashed past the edge and onto the floor. Cory could almost hear the sound of the liquid splattering against the tiles.
A drop of blood dribbled out of the man's mouth, and Cory stopped faking his innocence. He smiled slightly as his father continued to choke on what probably seemed like nothing and slowly fell to the floor.
After the former president had stopped writhing on the floor, Cory stood up and yanked open the door. In the most scared voice he could muster, he yelled, "Quick! Guards! Something's happened to the president!"
Three men raced past him into the room, taking in the scene as best they could, and while their backs were turned, Cory smiled. That was easier than he thought.
::::
He was standing on Kassette's front porch, a virgin white rose in his hand. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, hoping that she wouldn't mess this up. This was her one last chance to redeem herself, and Cory hoped wholeheartedly that she would.
The door cracked opened slowly, and just like he had planned it in his head, she was the one standing in the doorframe. But where he had pictured her the epitome of perfection, she just looked tired. She frowned when he saw him. This wasn't going well at all.
"Kass," he said, his voice stern when he had wanted it to be friendly.
She sighed. "What do you want?"
"For you to come back."
"Come back? To you?" She scoffed. "I don't want to be anywhere near you."
"Really? Because just a month ago you were—"
"Stop!" she cried.
Cory's hand tightened around the rose in his hand, not caring to the thorns that pierced his skin. His eyes met those of his guards' before turning back to her. "Was that an order?"
"Please leave, Cory."
He could hear her unspoken words underneath her plea. Never come back. He made a fist around the stem, breaking it. His hands were stinging. He looked at his guards again and said coolly to them, "I don't like her tone."
::::
He was sitting in his study, doing paperwork that his advisor had left for him when an avox came in with a note in his hands. Cory laughed at the sight of the mute child attempting to communicate, even in the form of a messenger.
"This is ridiculous!" he shouted.
A guard poked his head inside the room. "Is everything all right?"
Cory pointed to the boy who looked very calm given the circumstance. He was definitely one of the more controlled avoxes. "No, everything is not all right. It's pathetic. From now on, I want people to speak my messages for me."
"Yes, sir," the guard said and took the note from avoxes hands, dismissing him. He looked up at the president when he finished reading and gulped. "It's about our newest avox, Miss—"
"I don't wish to hear about Kassette at this moment." He fiddled idly with his pen. "Or ever again."
"But sir, she's pregnant."