Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
A/n: It's depressing to have six weeks holiday but have to start working after 4 days of it... hope you enjoy!
37) President Snow (Coriolanus) – Elver
The poison was in the cup. It would kill anyone who drank it within two days unless the antidote was taken.
The antidote was in the elver pie. It would save anyone who drank the poison as long as they took it within twelve hours. Maximum.
He'd been told that this would be safe. Drink the poison and, as soon as possible, eat some of the elver pie. The longer he left it, the lower his chances of survival, of course. But he would be eating it within minutes. He would be fine and his opponent would be dead.
Knowing something is never enough to actually do it though. You have to need it. Snow watched as his opponent drank the 'rare' wine from the cup and tried to imagine what would happen if he didn't do the next thing. He'd be found out. Executed. Disgraced.
"Mind if I taste?" he asked politely. His opponent raised an eyebrow but handed over the cup. Snow forced himself to drink deeply, handed the cup back and watched his opponent finish it off. After some forced, polite talk, Snow excused himself. He still held the elver pie. The slice with the antidote, as he had arranged. Slowly, he began to eat it. This was working out perfectly, although the elver wasn't exactly fresh. A mere downside. In two days, his opponent would be dead and he, as the natural choice, would be promoted. No one would even think it was him because he had also drunk the poison. Those who knew were loyal to him and him alone.
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"It went wrong," he hissed to his poisoner. "My gut feels like it's on fire. You killed me. I'll see you swing for this, before I die."
"Let me take a look at you," the man replied calmly and examined Snow as he writhed in agony. Blood was beginning to ooze out of his mouth. The man sat back. "You're not going to die, Coriolanus."
"I feel like I'm dying."
"You were close, I grant you. Tell me, what did you conceal the poison in?"
"A slice of elver pie."
"Hmm, I see. Well, there are two possibilities: one, the antidote just wasn't working and you've had a lucky escape, or two – and I think this is the most likely – there is something in elver which counteracts the antidote. Probably not entirely but it's lucky you didn't drink more of the wine."
Snow coughed. Blood splattered onto the bed covers. "When will ... I recover?"
The man thought for a moment. "From the stomach pains and such effects – within the next three days with this medicine. But the sores in your mouth are a different story."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll be honest here, Coriolanus. Although the sores will get better, you'll never fully recover. If I were you, I'd find a way to mask the smell of blood and indulge in some red handkerchiefs."
Snow lay back, his face expressionless.
"You may go. Thank you."
"Of course." The man walked to the door. He stopped. "Oh, and Coriolanus?" Snow looked up. "I'm sorry to tell you that Appius Trams has passed away. Poison is a suspected cause of death but, officially, it seems it was some type of disease he didn't know he had. They're planning to promote you, when you recovers from your illness." He walked out of the room.
Snow smiled before coughing up more blood. It was worth it after all.