Welcome to: 'The 93rd Annual Hunger Games: Of Blood and Ivory'
Katerina stared out towards the lavish gardens of her childhood home, Chateau de Neige: The sheer opulence becoming diluted by the vultures circling ahead with their false condolences ripping at the last shreds of her limited patience. The modest gown she had opted to wear, black chiffon and the finest satins artfully draped along her generous curves, did nothing to protect her from the brisk winds howling across the spacious courtyard.
She was rapidly tiring of the pitying looks, and the solicitous whispers that had haunted her every waking moment in recent weeks. But as she swirled the crystal chalice, inhaling the earthy tones of the merlot she favoured, she almost smiled: She was more than content to continue playing the tedious role she had been given- the grieving granddaughter, who has hidden away in an ivory tower while slowly being smothered by her grief. But soon she would be recast, it was only a matter of time until she could finally assimilate into the role she had studied for, one her deceased grandfather had painstakingly groomed her for, for as long as she can remember.
"Well sister, you don't seem to be enjoying yourself. Who died?"
Klaud Snow, her brother acting as though this was nothing more than the usual frivolous soirees he frequented: he had gained the well-earned moniker of 'life of any party', yet that did little to prevent her seeing him as nothing more than a thorn in her side more often than not. Katerina spared her brother a glance, his golden hair carefully coiffed while his cerulean eyes are glimmering with mirth. She almost smiled, one of her rare genuine smiles, until she spied the scantily clad socialite clinging to his muscular arm like a leech. Her eyes rolled automatically before she turned back towards the gardens in barely concealed disdain.
"Dearest brother, it seems you have forgotten that we're supposed to be grieving. It is our Grandfather's funeral after all"
The blonde man appeared almost apologetic as he heard his sister's cordial rebuttal. Pulling the curvaceous redhead closer, he whispered sweet nothings into her ear before sending her away: The copper haired beauty appeared dejected for all of a second before she converged on a group of gullible socialites like the parasite he knew her to be. He could almost hear the smirk make its way onto his sister's face.
"Well of course you're grieving Kit Kat, everyone knew you were Gramps' favourite: The angelic face, the wicked mind…"
"And the priceless ability to know when to keep my mouth shut. A quality you're sorely lacking, one of many qualities you are sorely lacking if Grandfather was not mistaken."
The refutation was given in the most genial of voices, and Klaud almost chuckled as she casually slighted his character in the same tone in which one would discuss the weather. 'Panem's Princess' was the title bestowed on his sister, with her blue doe like eyes and delicate features she looked the part: Like Princesses of old. She even went as far as to act like the Princess others proclaimed her to be, sitting on the board of various charities and even briefly acting as an Ambassador to the Districts.
Klaud may not share his sister's keen intellect, but he was far from stupid: The angelic façade she had cultivated at their grandfather's instruction was no more than a mask to conceal the deviousness and political acuity she had gleamed at grandfather's knee. Katerina Rosaline Snow was a masterpiece crafted to be the 'secret weapon' of Coriolanus Snow, a failsafe to ensure the continued supremacy of the Snow Dynasty. But Klaud was growing tired of her apparent inaction as threats, both political and social, were beginning to emerge from the shadows.
"You know, all I'm hearing on the circuit is how the likes of the Dewford's and Wisteria's are preparing to make a play for the presidency; to usurp our family and watch the Snow Dynasty disappear into ashes. Grandfather is surely rolling in his grave; knowing that the family's hold on Panem grows tenuous and his favoured Grandchild is doing absolutely—"
Katerina held her hand up in a gesture so reminiscent of their grandfather than Klaud was struck silent. He gritted his teeth as his frustration grew exponentially: In the very gardens of the Snow's ancestral home, vipers lay in wait basically salivating at the chance of casting his family out. To seize the power the Snow's had cultivated and commanded since his grandfather's ascension to the presidency.
"And what is it you would have me do, dear brother? These threats you speak of, as of now are nothing more than whispers. If we make a move before we know all of the player's we are to contend with, we become vulnerable. But remember that all life withers in the snow."
It was a simple question she had asked, but Klaud bit his tongue as he struggled to form a sentence. He already knew that any solutions he put forward would be shot down, and he had no desire to feel like the village idiot when his sister would inevitably explain in vivid detail how each suggestion was poorly thought out and nothing more than immature musings of revenge. Katerina held out her dainty arm for her brother to take, he did so and they took a turn around their grandfather's personal gardens.
As they treaded the familiar path Katerina smiled to herself, the pungent perfume of the roses was almost relaxing: If not for the numerous scions of Panem's 'aristocracy' invading their familial home with their heads bowed in faux respect for their departed patriarch. Katerina appeared to be the perfect representation of familial grief, her brows furrowed with cornflower eyes glittering with unshed tears. Klaud was not as composed as his sister, his shoulders tense as he heard yet more insincere platitudes of his grandfather's 'contributions to society' and how he would be sorely missed.
He longed for nothing more than to spew the vitriol that was burning his tongue, and his frail self-control was almost at its end when he felt his sister's hand tighten around his forearm- a silent warning to ensure that said self-control did not become lost.
"Now is not the time to be rash Klaud, I share your distaste for these people. And I know that you prefer a more ostentatious approach to solving problems, which I am sure would include a lot of male posturing and unnecessary bloodshed. Please brother, I know what I am doing."
The words were a plead, but Klaud was simply enthralled with his sister at that time. The words while a slight against his ability to solve problems spoke of a promise that Katerina would not let the Snow name be sullied by opportunists. Katerina smiled indulgently at her brother as they continued along the path towards their grandfather's illustrious greenhouses.
"But until these threats emerge from the shadows, we must practice discretion. Difficult for you Klaud, I know. But this is a delicate dance, but once the dance ends- rest assured that the Snow family will maintain control of Panem."
Klaud smirks as he reaches past his sister, pulling a magenta rose from the plant and handing it to his sister: Her favourite colour since she was a young girl, and these flowers were engineered by their grandfather solely to please Katerina. The offering was a silent promise of his own: While he may want to wreak havoc on any would be usurper, he would be patient at his sister's behest. He would enjoy the show of their enemies being systematically destroyed by his sister's machinations.
"Well, you were always a wonderful dancer but just—promise me, you'll put on a show."
Katerina couldn't help but slip from her role of grieving granddaughter momentarily, chuckling at her brother and rolling her eyes good naturedly. To the outside eye, Klaud Mikael Snow was a true showman, but while he may have favoured a vaudevillian approach- Katerina favoured subtle nuance, intricacy and was meticulous in her endeavours.
"But of course, you know me better than that. In fact, how would you feel about a first-row seat to the opening act?"
Her expression was almost predatory as she stared past her brother who turned to see what she was looking at. Klaud almost sneered when his eyes landed on the greasy buffoon that is Ignatius Ronin. It was almost inconceivable to Klaud how this snivelling bottom feeder could somehow hold a position as esteemed as Head Gamemaker. Katerina began to walk towards the mauve coloured moron and Klaud followed- as they approached his distaste faded into a practiced mask of polite indifference as he leaned towards his sister to whisper in her ear.
"Showtime Sis."
Ignatius Ronin may not have been bred from the upper crust of Panem's society. His garish body modifications were a beacon of his poor breeding, but Katerina arranged her soft features into a disarming smile as she approached the portly man. It was rather pitiful really, he stood out like a pigeon amongst the swans: His tailored suit may have been designer, but his slumped posture and general air of discomfort marked him as nothing more than an upstart who got lucky.
Klaud had complained more than once about how 'new money' was nothing more than a stain on the once pristine upper echelon of Panem's society, and the Head Gamemaker was a frequent target for his spiteful sermons. Katerina didn't share her brother's opinion, yes she preferred the company of those that had a particular pedigree but like her grandfather before her: She recognised an asset when she saw one, and there was no greater asset than an outsider who had access to the greatest weapon in Panem.
The Head Gamemaker was a powerful piece on the board, no doubt, but Ignatius was a pawn who sought validation and if Katerina moved the pieces accordingly, she would soon be wielding the great sword that is the Hunger Games. As Katerina stepped closer to Ignatius, she heard her brother grumbling, she cleared her throat and the grumbling stopped immediately. She would not let her brother's egotistical elitism sabotage the first step in her plan to ensure the continued power of the Snow family.
"Mr. Ronin, despite the circumstances it is a pleasure to see you. My grandfather always spoke so highly of your accomplishments. He may or may not have alluded to the fact that you have one of the- oh, what was it he said now? Ah, 'greatest imaginations' to have ever blessed Panem."
The compliment rang with sincerity. If it was one thing Klaud envied his sister, it was her ability to make any word that fell from her lips sound nothing but genuine. She held out her hand and the Head Gamemaker began to shake it profusely, basically salivating at the opportunity to speak to one of the most affluent women in the country. Klaud could barely contain his disgust as the purple ponce began to dab at his large forehead with a silk handkerchief.
"Oh y-yes Miss um Snow… Ummm, your grandfather. Great man, umm…Great man. M-my condolences of course."
Klaud could hardly supress the need to roll his eyes, he actually scoffed until he felt the sharp pain of his sister's elbow colliding with his sternum. Winded, he began to cough while trying to catch his breath. Katerina looked the image of innocence as she turned to her brother with wide eyes, before they narrowed.
"Klaud, I think I saw your 'friend'- Reginald Renault- heading towards the wine cellar. Please be a dear, and ensure your little delinquent stays away from my personal collection. Mr. Ronin and I have some things to discuss—"
"Please, call me Ignatius Miss. Snow"
"Oh, only if you do the pleasure of calling me Katerina…Ignatius."
Klaud was pissed that his sister dismissed him so casually, but he still had to admire the way she could manipulate people effortlessly. It must be her savant, he grunted out a semblance of goodbye before walking away. He heard the simpering laugh of his sister joining the grotesque guffaw of Ronin's 'laughter'. He smirked as he saw Cashmere and Gloss watching the young woman completely charm the Gamemaker, the blonde siblings from District One were there accompanying their 'dates' for the evening; and their intrigue was palpable, probably trying to find something out about this year's Arena since District One's famed 'dry spell' was starting to affect their sponsorship equity.
Klaud hated to admit it, but his grandfather's death- while unfortunate- would guarantee an entertaining year. Snakes in shadows, duplicity, secret agendas. It looked as though the Capitol itself was gearing itself up for its own version of the Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in their favour.
From: Klaud Snow
To: Katerina Snow
Dearest Sister,
I find myself disappointed. You promised a show, and all I got was the pleasure of ensuring Renault didn't drink himself into a stupor. Although his attempt to seduce the beautiful Ms. Van Outen could be considered entertaining: Especially with how her brother was glaring at him. I find myself saddened that a fight did not break out, they do say that its not a true funeral until a punch has been thrown don't they?
What happened with the bottom feeder? I must say I am half a mind to elect you for sainthood- the fact you could listen to the drivel that comes out of his mouth and pretend to be interested. You truly are a marvel. What did you talk about? I've been keeping my ear to the ground and I haven't heard any more whispers but I know they're waiting in the wings ready to strike. Please tell me something, I've got nothing to do until the Pre-Reaping parties this evening.
Yours,
Brother Dearest.
Cashmere Van Outen always despised the commonly accepted archetype that anyone hailing from District One was all style and no substance. She was proud of her beauty no doubt, but one didn't win the Hunger Games with beauty- it required cunning, strategy and an undeniable need for survival. She survived the Arena, and she has survived years as a 'Victor'. Her body may belong to the Capitol for all intents and purposes, but she had made peace with that years ago: Thankfully, as she aged the number of miscreants wanting her company had dwindled.
"Something's happening Gloss, I don't know what. But you must have felt it, something is wrong."
Her brother inclined his head, sharing her thoughts but completely flummoxed as to what is wrong. Since the President had died, everyone had been collectively holding their breath to see where the cards would fall. Gloss rarely escorted the Capitol women anymore, younger and more virile cattle had joined the flock of Victors- but he still had acquaintances and there were rumblings of political unrest. He was at a loss as to what to say. Gloss preferred action over honeyed words, he simply shrugged and turned his attention back to the television.
"It's something to do with Katerina Snow, I know it is. Gerald told me that there had been a few people in his ear about supporting Castor Courtenay's expected run for president. She's a Snow, and as frail as she seems: She was raised by that bastard for years, she won't just lie there and let ultimate power slip through her fingers."
Cashmere knew there was something amiss with the younger woman, the tearful eulogy was as sincere as Gloss' enjoyment of remaining in enclosed spaces with the likes of Enobaria or Johanna Mason. She couldn't put a finger on why she was so bothered, maybe it was idle curiosity or boredom but Cashmere Van Outen was determined to find out was happening behind the scenes. Well, until the Hunger Games officially commenced.
"Gloss have you spoken to Celestina lately?"
Her tone was imploring, and only someone as familiar with her mannerisms as her brother could sense the ulterior motive. Gloss sighed dejectedly, already knowing that he'd somehow be dragged into whatever trouble his sister was rushing headlong towards. Cashmere thought herself rather sly with her underhand schemes, but she wasn't as devious as she believed herself to be: Gloss himself had found himself familiar with cleaning up the messes his impulsive sister created when she fixated on something. He groaned as his sister came to sit beside him, smiling serenely as he pulled his Capi-comm from his pocket.
"Why do I have the feeling that I'm going to come to regret this Cash?"
The question was rhetorical for all intents and purposes. Every time he was pulled into one of his sister's hare-brained schemes, he came to regret it, but it was easier to keep an eye on the blonde than to leave her to her own devices. He didn't want to imagine the trouble she could get herself into should she be left unattended.
"However could you regret spending time with me? We'll have fun… Maybe we can drag Finnick along if he can drag himself away from crazy Cresta eh?"
TO: F ODAIR
FROM: G V-O
Heads up mate, Cashmere's got it in her head that she needs to snoop over something. I'm gonna try and keep her out of trouble so gotta ask: What's happening? Saw Snow- the girl- chatting it up with Rotten Ronin. Any of your 'canaries' sang like a bird Mr Secrets?
Finnick Odair stared at the message, if Gloss and Cashmere were digging, he dared not imagine what might come to fruition. Cashmere was a dog with a bone when she wanted something, and Finnick had learned the hard way not to get between her and whatever she wanted- the scar on his left shin was a permanent reminder.
Coriolanus Snow: The Bastard had been dead for no longer than a month and Finnick could already imagine the snake laughing at whatever shitstorm was about to hit Panem. Maybe it was a fine-tuned sense from his time in the Arena but Finnick knew that wheels were in motion, and he needed to make sure he survived this ride on a runaway train. He deleted the message from Gloss before he keyed in a number he never imagined he'd need to contact. The dial tone ended and he heard a voice he hadn't heard in almost twenty years, confusion evident.
"Finnick?"
"Good evening Katniss."
Previously I began a story, this is the reworked prologue and I am really looking forward to hearing your thoughts. This is a SYOT, AU since Victors are still walking around. I have more time to commit to writing as my coursework has receded a lot and I have a tonne of ideas. This will be a partial SYOT where I pick between 8-12 Tributes to bring to the Arena while playing around with a sub plot I hope you'll enjoy.
Tribute Form is on my Profile- I hope you will choose to submit.
