XVII. Divine Punishment
We never learn, we been here before
Why are we always stuck and running from
The bullets?
Livia Cardew. 33.
Capitol Socialite.
If you asked her, she'd say she's never been better.
Truly, Livia hasn't — in all her thirty-three years, nothing has ever made this much sense. On her left hand is a ring from Coriolanus Snow — a cushion-cut diamond with a white gold band — and sitting to her right is Clemensia Dovecote and Lysistrata Vickers, her high school bullies who have now become acquaintances? Friends? Livia's not entirely sure what her relationship with the two girls can best be defined as, but nevertheless it's better than the two of them calling her names behind her back and to her face.
(She wouldn't be surprised if they still speak ill of her when she isn't around. They probably think Livia's ridiculous for willfully flinging herself into Coriolanus' arms. Maybe she is, but they'll never truly understand why she made the choices she did, both because they exclusively are attracted to women and because Coriolanus is their boss — they could never view him as a creature of passion the way Livia does.)
(Not that their engagement has had any passion thus far.)
Even if Coriolanus still makes her sleep in her own room — she was hoping he'd change his mind after a week or two — Livia's right where she belongs. She swears it. Every single star in the sky was destined to lead her here. She talks to her father every three days. During their most recent conversation, Denarius Cardew told her that he was simply over the moon about this arrangement of hers.
"I told you not to doubt me," Livia had said, a playful smirk on her face.
Her father responded, "That's the last time I'll ever make that mistake."
He's never been the sort to express such blatant admiration toward her and oh how it thrilled Livia the first time he said he was proud of her in what seemed like forever. Between her newfound sense of peace with Denarius, the way Lysistrata and Clemensia now treat her as human, and the mirthful laugh Coriolanus gives her whenever they're out in public, Livia's certain that deciding to pursue the Head Gamemaker was the best choice she ever made.
(Coriolanus is rather callous. He seldom speaks to her when they're not in the presence of somebody else. Just because Livia advertised herself as a political stepping stool for him doesn't mean she wanted him to never warm up to her.
When he locks himself in his room after arriving home, not even bothering to greet her, Livia reminds herself that there's still at least half a century of their relationship for her to look forward to. He has to come around eventually.)
"Don't you two have to go to sleep soon?" Livia asks Clemensia — who seems more fixated on the little dance her wife's been repeating in her chair. She's been around the two of them for years, so you'd think she'd be used to just how smitten they are with one another by now, but it still catches her off guard.
(Especially as of late — oh, how Livia wants what they have.)
"We'll sleep eventually," Clemensia coos, not even bothering to meet Livia's gaze. "We still have a meeting with your fiancé once he's done making private preparations."
"Yes, yes!" Lysistrata licks her lips and chuckles. "The night is still young future-Misses Snow."
Even if they're not being actively rude to her, it's still quite difficult for Livia to make conversation with the two of them. It's like they're in their own world, speaking their own language that nobody else could ever dream of understanding.
"Who do you think I am?" With a loud roar, Lysistrata springs from her seat and stands in front of her wife, smile as wide as the moon. "Moo! Moo moo moo!"
Clemensia's gaze narrows. "Oh, I think I know who you are..."
"Tell me then!"
"Elio, duh!"
She slumps in her seat and folds her arms. Scowling, she says, "Nobody understands me. I'm a danger to society and there's blood on my hands. In my eyes hold the secrets to a million storms."
"Oh, Kio," Lysistrata chips. "You're such a silly goosey-goose. Your hands are covered in skin, not blood!"
"It's a metaphor, Elio. You'll understand when you're older."
The two Gamemakers burst into uproarious laughter. Livia gives them a polite giggle then claps her hands. "Bravo! Bravo! Excellent performance."
"We're not performing," Clemensia says, rolling her eyes. "We're doing live-action roleplay."
Livia nods. There's no way in hell she'll ever understand them.
"Wait, Livia!" Lysistrata quips. "You should roleplay with us. You're already acting so judgmental — you might as well play Moxie!"
Clemensia gives her a look — that's the best way to describe it, simply a look — and shakes her head. "What did we talk about?"
"How Moxie is suspicious, of course!" Lysistrata jumps up and down with glee. "That's okay, Kio! It can be just you and me in the arena."
"I am not suspicious…" Livia deadpans. Lysistrata and Clemensia stare at her, Livia unsure if they're intrigued because she actually did the right thing or desperately trying to hold in their laughter. "You are both my um… pets. I mean — allies… There's no need to run."
"I actually meant when we talked about not including anybody else in our roleplaying because chances are they'll judge us," Clemensia explains. "And this is me talking, not Kio."
"Oh."
Well, Clemensia's right — Livia sure is judging them. How is it that out of all their graduating class, Lysistrata and Clemensia were chosen to become Gamemakers and not Livia?
(Because you're a ditz, she reminds herself. Your head's never been screwed on the right way — hence why you've always cared more about Coriolanus than school. Maybe you'd have better grades if you didn't spend all of your time making puppy eyes at him.)
It doesn't matter. Soon, Livia's going to be the First Lady of Panem. She won't need to deal with people the way they will — she'll be free to have it all and the entire nation will love her.
Clemensia laughs and scoops Lysistrata in her arms. How is it that even after this slight scuffle, they're still so happy, still so in love? Livia shudders to think about what would happen if her and Coriolanus ever argued.
A door swings open and Lysistrata and Clemensia instantly let go of one another. Standing in the doorway is none other than Coriolanus, as dapper as ever, though with a serious expression on his face. Or maybe serious isn't fully accurate — he looks rather angry.
Livia sits up straight, cups her hand, and waves at him. "Hello, my darling!"
Ignoring her completely, he points to Lysistrata and Clemensia and beckons them. "We have a situation regarding the Tributes."
"Yes sir!" Lysistrata clicks her heels together and salutes him with her left hand.
"This isn't the time for tomfoolery," Coriolanus sneers. "We're in the midst of a crisis!"
As much as Livia wants to say something, she knows that now isn't the right time. If she did say something, it's not like Coriolanus would listen.
"What sort of crisis?" Clemensia asks.
"Follow me and I'll tell you."
And just like that, the three of them file out of the parlor and into an office, none of them bothering to say goodbye to Livia. She sighs — really, it's her fault for expecting them to go out of their way for her. Even if they're not talking rudely to her face, she knows that Lysistrata and Clemensia still hate her. Coriolanus probably does too if he's still failed to warm up to her.
Even so, she doesn't regret anything. Even with tears in her eyes as she sits all alone, Livia wouldn't change a thing. She got what she asked for and now she has no choice but to love it.
(The more she says she loves her circumstances, the easier it is for her to forget that nobody in this country will ever love her. The more she claims to be content, the easier it will be to pretend things are fine when everything gets worse.)
(Because oh, will things get worse when Livia Cardew turns into a Snow.)
Coriolanus Snow. 33.
Head Gamemaker.
"You three are really damn lucky," he says, his arms crossed as he looks down at the boys from Seven, Nine, and Twelve. They're all tied together with metal chains to the floor and walls of the Peacekeeping office, and have ranging levels of discomfort displayed on their faces.
"Is that so?" The Twelve boy, Lucifer Deathrage, says with an unwarranted laugh. "It must be because today's my birthday! Or, depending on how long it's been… yesterday was my birthday."
Though Coriolanus knows that Twelve is attempting to joke, he gives the young boy no satisfaction, not a single muscle on his face moving in amusement. "Actually, Mister Deathrage, it has nothing to do with your birthday."
"Boo!" he hisses.
Coriolanus pivots so he's facing his two assistants then rolls his eyes. He whispers, "You know, I'm not sure this was my best idea."
"It so was your best idea," Lysistrata exclaims. "Besides, you can't have a Hunger Games with only twenty Tributes. Especially not a Quarter Quell!"
"Right." Coriolanus nods.
Fortunately, this isn't the first time a Tribute (or multiple) has decided to get devious during pre-Games. Over the years, Coriolanus has seen his fair share of arson attempts, training fights taken too far, and general tomfoolery. But, it's been a long while since somebody's died before the Games, even longer since it was a mentor. He really should have seen this coming with a cast of delinquents. Even if there's been suicides before, Clarion's death still seems suspicious in the context of the Quell.
"You know, we can hear 'ya!" Lucifer calls. When the helicopters first retrieved the young boy from the rooftop, he was out of it. His allies seemed to think he was a goner, but after less than an hour, Lucifer sprung back to life like nothing had happened. Perhaps the other outcome would have been more preferable.
Coriolanus faces the boys once more. "I'm actually doing you three a favor, so I'd stay quiet if I were you."
"Hear that, Lucy?" Olathe Whitethorn from Seven sneers. "Zip it!"
The Twelve boy sighs then presses his lip into a line as Coriolanus begins to pace across the room, his arms crossed. He begins to speak, "Make no mistake, none of us are pleased with your actions several hours ago. You could have burned the entire building to the ground, which would not only kill your fellow Tributes and put the future of this year's Games in jeopardy, but also risk the lives of your mentors and escorts."
(Not only that, but their foolishness would make Coriolanus look bad. Why the hell would anybody vote for a man who let three District-folk sabotage the Games? That is, if he was lucky enough to get the chance to run for President in the first place.)
"I don't think they really care about that," Clemensia quips. "They burnt somebody to death — why would they have any regard for human life?"
Coriolanus doesn't expect that they do. Both Olathe and Nine's Aleister Darski have several corpses at their feet in their home Districts. Considering who Lucifer's mothers are, Coriolanus wouldn't be shocked to hear that he was raised with similar ruthlessness. He does, however, expect that after doing something as drastic as what they did, the boys don't want to personally die.
He decides it's best to ignore Clemensia. No need to let her get under his skin when he's got more important business to attend to.
"It'd be well within my power to kill all three of you on a live-broadcast," Coriolanus says, none of the boys fazed by his words. "But, that'd hardly be interesting, don't you think?"
The purpose of these Games is to give the Districts the vindication of seeing their least favorite people be torn into shreds. Any public execution would be less satisfying. Not only that, but Lucifer, Aleister, and Olathe are some of this year's most promising threats. If they're killed now, they won't be able to put on a show in the Games. Coriolanus promised the most exciting Games yet. With these three dead, there's less of a chance he makes good on it.
"So, lucky for you, if anybody asks, the attack wasn't from you," Coriolanus drawls. "Being as she was up on the rooftop with you — likely because you were going to kill her too — we've pinned the strike on Helen Rimmonn."
The Nine girl would hardly be a loss to the Games. She got a two in training, and that was Coriolanus being generous. The way he's arranged things, he doubts she'd last more than a few days in the arena anyway. She called herself a pacifist in her interview. It won't be too hard for Coriolanus to convince the nation that declaration was but a bloody lie.
Aleister smiles. "Thank you, Mister Head Gamemaker."
Don't get him wrong, he's far from a friend of Androcles Anderson, but Coriolanus talked to him yesterday, and his former classmate said that Aleister and Helen were constantly at odds. Of course the boy's excited to see her downfall.
"That's not very fair," Olathe mutters.
"Haven't you realized by now?" Coriolanus hisses at him. "Life isn't fair!"
At least not for them three it is.
"He doesn't have to be so generous," Lysistrata reminds the boys. "This is the nicest I've ever seen Coryo!"
"Don't call me that," he sneers.
She chuckles. "This is the nicest I've ever seen Mister Snow."
Coriolanus puts his head in his hands and sighs. It's sort of odd to think about how once he's President, odds are those two are going to fill his shoes as Head Gamemaker. How they'll get anything done is a problem he can deal with later.
"Girls," he says, Clemesnsia and Lyiststrata quickly shifting their gaze toward him. "Would you do me a favor and take these three to the Training Center with the rest of the Tributes? Then, make sure Helen's avoxxing is going well. We can't have her saying anything between now and tomorrow morning."
They nod then step closer to the boys. Lysistrata cheers, "We're going to go on a little adventure! Aren't you excited for a little adventure?" She reaches over the boys' shoulders and detaches the chains from the wall, then ties them together and makes a leash for herself.
It'd be nice if the girls weren't taking them to the Training Center but rather elsewhere, however, he hasn't fully prepared those arrangements yet — he still needs to talk to Ravenstill. The man's always claimed he's above drastic punishment — it was a doozy getting him to act excited about the Quell in the first place, even if Coriolanus likes to pretend he was thrilled — but hopefully he sees the need for such desperate measures. It's about time the Districts are taught a lesson. Clearly the Games themselves aren't enough.
Olathe gets up first, then Aleister and Lucy, the three of them sluggishly following Lysistrata and Clemensia out of the room. Coriolanus offers them a curt wave then walks behind Clemensia, though he turns in the opposite direction. Hopefully Ravenstill's not asleep by the time Coriolanus gets to his office. He's been passing out at the desk even more than usual these days. Lord does that guy need to go. There's no room for a pushover of a President.
After venturing down the hallway for several minutes, Coriolanus arrives at the old bastard's door and knocks twice. He yawns, somehow not surprised Ravenstill's failed to answer immediately. For all Coriolanus knows, the President's forgotten about tonight's shenanigans and their meeting entirely. There's not much he remembers anyway.
(By next year, he won't remember anything at all.)
Coriolanus knocks once more, this time triggering a declaration of "Come inside!"
He twists open the door then does as told. When he steps into the room, Coriolanus sees Aaron Ravenstill dressed in velvet pajamas, his beard unruly and eyes hanging heavy. The man's desk is askew, snotty tissues piled in a corner and none of the papers neatly stacked.
"You want me to come in when your office is like this?" Coriolanus jests. "Don't you want me to wait outside so you can have a few minutes to at least straighten your desk out?"
"Very funny," the President deadpans. "Please, just take a chair."
Coriolanus ambles toward the man's desk, choosing to sit in the chair directly across from him. The dirty tissues are even more disgusting from up close, as is the desk as a whole.
"You're really that devastated about Androcles?" Coriolanus says, gesturing at the tissues.
"That and other things," Ravenstill remarks. "It's almost four in the morning, Coriolanus. Whatever you want to say, make it quick. You know, the Games are starting in eight hours."
"Are they now?" He raises his eyebrows and chuckles. "You mean to tell me, there's time for Helen's execution, Androcles' funeral, and getting the Tributes all prepped for the Games?"
"Didn't you say those three boys are the ones who need to be punished?" the President asks. "And since when are we doing a funeral?
Coriolanus sighs. "I thought somebody told you about Helen and how we're—"
He bites his tongue. Despite being the President of a nation that sends twenty-three children every year, Ravenstill acts like he's moral. Thus, he'd never let the boys go into the arena if he knew it was them who started the fire. Hell, the man already thinks the Games are too grandiose. He'd probably be grateful that three bloodthirsty killers are gone.
"—we're certain it was her who started the fire, actually."
"Oh," the President intones. "What a shame…"
"That's what I said," Coriolanus remarks. "I just assumed that we'd be doing a funeral since that's what we did last time a mentor died. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to further build up the excitement for the Games."
Coriolanus meant what he said when he decided the Twenty-Fifth Games would be the best of all time. After all, they better be if they're going to be the last installment that Aaron Ravenstill bears witness to.
Aaron Ravenstill. 78.
President of Panem.
Coriolanus hasn't fooled him for a second.
Does he really think Aaron's dumb enough to believe that a girl who scored a two in training killed somebody as opposed to two of the highest scorers and their little friend? Please, just because Aaron's not as sharp as he used to be, doesn't mean he can't recognize a lie when he sees one.
The Head Gamemaker's lucky Aaron isn't going to call him on his lies, not now at least. He's long accepted that when Coriolanus Snow wants something, he's dead-set on it until he gets it. Aaron may not agree, but he would still rather do anything else than argue with the younger man about the lives of three people that are likely going to end within a few weeks anyway.
And building up excitement for the Games. Again, does Coriolanus really think Aaron is going to listen to whatever nonsense he spits out? If Coriolanus wanted to, he'd send those Tributes into the arena despite the funeral and the execution. If he wants to stall, he's got to have some reason for it.
"Aren't you worried that stalling the Games' commencement would put more pressure on you and your team?"Aaron questions him. For the past decade, all Coriolanus has cared about was making the Games more and more theatrical. Delaying them would raise Coriolanus' supporters' expectations to some extent.
Aaron doesn't want to put the Games off longer than he's already had to. Everything he's heard about this year's arena goes against the purpose of the Games in the first place. They were founded to punish the Districts, after all, not to entertain the Capitol. People in the Districts don't care how their children die at the end of the day. In fact, Aaron reckons they prefer the quick and painless deaths from the first decade of the Games as opposed to the drawn-out gore Coriolanus fuels.
He fears too that the dramatics that Coriolanus and the rest of his generation are so high on are only going to anger the Districts once more. That'd of course just lead to another rebellion eventually. Perhaps it's on Aaron for expecting better of them. They weren't living through the decades prior to the Dark Days, where the streets were littered with corpses in even the wealthiest of towns. They didn't fight in the war, watching in terror as soldier after soldier, brother after brother dropped to the ground. Really, the twenty-three yearly casualties of the Games are far kinder than what life was like before. Drawing said casualties out just risks a return to the times Aaron and many others would rather forget.
"I'm not worried at all," Coriolanus answers. "We know what we're doing, trust me."
Aaron doesn't doubt that; he simply doesn't like it either.
"What would you do with the Tributes tomorrow then?" he asks. "Are they just expected to spend the day in the Training Center or something? Or, do you want them to watch the execution and the funeral?"
Neither would be ideal to Aaron, truth be told. He's always thought that the Capitol's training days are frivolous when three days are hardly enough time to learn how to kill. That, and there's no point in convincing people they might have a sliver of a chance when they're more than likely already dead. Taking them to the funeral and execution is also a waste. What's that going to do besides give them preliminary trauma before they face the horrors of the Games?
"I was actually thinking of a scenario in which they can mingle with potential sponsors," Coriolanus says. "Everyone I've spoken to said they're excited to watch such a savage Games, but very few of them have expressed interest in sponsoring anybody. They're beyond okay watching these horrendous individuals go to war with one another, but they seem to be morally above spending their money on them. I need them to see the Tributes as people, or rather, not different from previous years' Tributes."
Ah, makes sense… A lot of the Games' funding comes from the previous year's sponsors, which they of course do not know. If there's hardly any sponsors, Coriolanus won't be allowed to be so ridiculous next year. To Aaron, that's far from a bad thing.
"If money's the issue, there's other things you could try," the President suggests. He already knows that there's no changing Coriolanus' mind, but it doesn't hurt to try. "Perhaps you could partner with some casinos and see if they'd be willing to form some sort of a betting system."
"That's a great idea!" Coriolanus exclaims. "With betting money and sponsor money, next year's Games are shaping up to be incredible and this year hasn't even begun."
It takes every muscle in Aaron's decaying body to stop him from rolling his eyes. He should've anticipated Coriolanus would say something like that. Nothing's ever enough for him, it seems. That's what happens when you're not born in a generation where the fact you're still alive is more than anything you could ever ask for.
Not wanting to feed into Coriolanus' further greed regarding the grand scheme of things, Aaron pushes on with his questions. "Where would you have this mingling then? Having it in the Training Center is just asking for somebody else to die."
"I was hoping you'd ask me that." Coriolanus licks his lips and crosses his arms. "Do you remember the zoo?"
Of course Aaron remembers the zoo. Lord, Coriolanus fully thinks he's so much of an imbecile he's forgotten about the place where the Tributes used to stay the night they arrived at the Capitol before they were shipped off to the arena the next day. It's definitely crude, taking these children and stuffing them into cells that are meant for animals, but it's not as crude as the Games. At first, Aaron didn't mind exposing the Tributes to the luxuries of the Capitol before they were sent to the slaughter, but in retrospect, it's cruel to give them the world only to take it away. Sending this lot of Tributes to the zoo after they're used to sleeping on luxury mattresses as if they're easing them into the Games seems unnecessary.
"You mean the one we used the first ten years?" Aaron asks. There's something rather fun in making Coriolanus think that he's really, truly lost his mind. "Yes, that definitely rings a bell."
"Well…" Coriolanus drawls. "I was thinking we could stuff the Tributes in there before and after the funeral and give them a chance to meet with sponsors."
"Right, because that worked so well with the Tenth Games," Aaron sneers.
(He remembers the aggravating phone calls about how the Tributes were killing their own mentors and spitting in the sponsors faces. Worse, he remembers the tour of the arena where rebels killed even more. Aaron wished that would be the end of the Games' romanticization, and yet…)
Coriolanus' face softens. "Please don't talk to me about the Tenth!"
Aaron chuckles. "Well then don't talk to me about changing things when you've already blown up the Games further than they were meant to ever be."
"Why?" He furrows his brows, the sad expression on his face now shifting to anger. "What are you going to do about it? You can't get rid of me — the people love me!"
"Only because you haven't fully lost your mind yet," Aaron says with a scoff. "How do you think your father would feel about this? Do you think he'd be happy to learn that his own son has taken the hypothetical he invented as an assignment and turned it into a glorified act of tyranny?"
Coriolanus shakes, his quick breaths loud and face slowly turning red. "It doesn't matter what my father thinks, he's dead!"
And soon I will be too, Aaron muses.
He's long accepted that the next few years are going to be his last, thus why he's somewhat dedicated them to reforming Coriolanus into a semi-competent person. There's little doubt in his mind that the Head Gamemaker's going to be the one who replaces him when he's gone.
(The only thing Aaron's unsure of is whether it'll be his own body or Coriolanus' hand that takes him out.)
Aaron Ravenstill built the country of Panem from the ground up after the Dark Days. Unlike Coriolanus and all of his narcissism, Aaron actually cares about the country and its people. If the bastard's going to be the one who claims his throne, Aaron doesn't want him to throw all his hard work away.
(However, if he does, Aaron wants him to learn his lesson. He wants Coriolanus Snow to someday learn that his macabre ways are not the answer.)
"I'm sorry," he lies. "I shouldn't have mentioned your father."
"It's fine."
Aaron looks at his expression in Coriolanus' eyes, everything about him more derelict and sickly than twenty-five years ago. He's no longer the strong, powerful ruler he once was. If this really is his end, Aaron would like it to result in Coriolanus' eventual misfortune.
"You're right, actually," the President says. "The Games can be delayed another day to honor our dearest Androcles and make everyone aware that Helen's actions won't be tolerated. And because I'd hate for the Games' legacy to go down the drain, I'll tell the Peacekeepers to open up the zoo."
Coriolanus smiles, and Aaron knows he's successfully pushing the man down the road of his ruin.
Sign of the Times - Harry Styles
HAHA YOU JUST GOT COCONUT MALL'D BY THE FUCKIN' HARRY STYLES CHAPTER ! PREGAMES AINT OVER YET MOTHERFUCKERS!
If you want to blame me, don't. Blame Laney for having 3 pre-Games POVs per kid in her fic and it making the arcs so sexy, I was like huh I should do that too. However, don't blame Laney for the fact I was so extra about it. I just thought the gay baby jail arc was important and I wanted everyone to have a zoo pov without spoiling that we're going to the zoo because then y'all would ask why and idk it'd be a whole thing.
Anyway, there's three more pre-Games chapters spanning from the Tributes' arrival at the zoo to launch. 5 povs per chapter if that's not obvious because 15 divided by 3 is 5. Then we go to the arena fr.
Thanks Erik for knowing about this super secret for months and then beta'ing this chapter. You're beyond a beta, you're my alpha.
Fuck this shit, I'm out
Linds