A/N: The third night is here for your enjoyment! Today we have no tributes: just Mentor Anneliese Petrova from District 5, and, drum roll please...DUN DUN DUN ITS AN...EXCITED YOUNG ADULT CORIOLANUS SNOW! Aww man I hope you're as excited as I am haha XD I hope you enjoy this read and this little break from reading about tributes. We'll be back to your babies soon I promise :D
Trigger Warnings: Profanity and sexual references
I feel you in my bones
Do you think of me in your skull?
All of the dust and dirt in the ground at some point
Was somebody who thought they felt you in their bones
They thought that they were in love
Thought that they were in love
Do you feel electric in your hands and legs?
I sense the gravity shifting inside our heads
All the thoughts go up, never settle down
In these chaos caves
No relief to be found
Anneliese Petrova, 28
District Five Mentor and Victor of the Twelfth Annual Hunger Games
My quilts are all wrapped up neatly in the large beige trunk I keep them in when I travel. I only brought three with me; the Twenty Second, the Eighteenth, and of course, my own, the Twelfth. Next to that is a small bag with the half finished blanket inside, more just a few sloppy scraps of fabric that Bernie and I have been doing since the train ride to keep her calm and centered. Tucked beside the little bag is a glossy dark red case that holds my knitting needles. Beside that are two grainy black suitcases, packed with clothes and books and other knick-knacks. I always overpack for some reason; I like the security of having more of something than I need. And, as always, I also have a full water bottle down there, too. The desert never leaves you. All of this is scrunched under my springy Capitol bed, lined up in a neat, precise row. I crouch on the floor, fiddling with the zipper of one of the suitcases, dreading what I'm going to have to do in a moment. Really, I should've done it ages ago, but I haven't been able to bring myself to. I'm an introverted and shy person. I don't deal well with criticism or giving it. And I am worthless in a verbal assault or debate. I just curl up and die as the other person screeches their view in my face. Therefore, I'm usually complacent and a pushover, even though I wish I wasn't one. It's just not something I can easily control. My therapist thinks it traces back to the broken marriage my parents had, constantly yelling and fighting. I guess that might make sense. I hid under the bed whenever they fought, and right now I'm doing about the same thing.
I take a deep breath before standing and marching out as confidently as possible into the kitchen. Ambrosia is conked out in front of the TV, a soap opera playing soundlessly, as Jayce has muted it. He sits, cross legged, on the sofa as well, playing with a hologame. He toggles around the blocks and watches with satisfaction as he clears a path for the holographic man to stride down to the finish of the puzzle's round. And then there is the target of my efforts, Bernie. She's sitting at the kitchen table, painting her nails in a variety of colors from a case of small glass nail polish bottles that Speciallo has lent her for her time here in the Capitol. I watch her trying to keep her hands from shaking as she paints the top half of one of her nails in a glossy orange color. Once she's lacquered up that area, she pulls out a little bottle of lime green and turns to another fingernail where the polish has dried. She puts lime green polka dots on the darker green paint that covers the finger, and I'm mesmerized by her flashy fingers for a little too long. Before I can start the conversation like I planned, Bernie feels my eyes on her. She flips around in her chair, straddling it with her legs as she looks up at me with a beaming smile. She blows on her drying nails and says, "Hey, Liese."
And I'm lost now. Yeah, I let her start calling me by the nickname my father gave me after we actually became close soon after my Victory, after my mom ran off with a tavern owner to live on the other side of the District and refused to talk to me. Her shining eyes, endearing and too innocent, lock with mine, and for a long moment I can't even think to say anything, confused and already messing up, as usual.
"Cucumbers," I jabber randomly after a moment of stumbling over words.
"What?" Bernie inquires, leaning back against the table and letting her bare feet slide out across the cool tile towards me.
"Ithinkthatyouneedtogetagripandgototrainingandleavebehindthosealliesofyoursbecausethey'llbeyourdownfallifyouarenotcarefulallianceslikethatneverworkandthatisnottherightangleforagirlofyourcaliberyouknowIamspeaking-"
"Liese, come on, slow down," Bernie huffs, folding her arms across her small chest. "I have no clue what you're saying."
It takes a long time for me to say the words I want, and they're deliberate and probably a little too rough. "I don't like what you're doing. You need to train, and you don't need to spend time frolicking around with the pregnant girl and your other friends. The only way you're going to win this is if you stay solo and hide it out. You can't handle an alliance; you're all just going to make yourselves bigger targets. And do you want to have to care for a pregnant woman and two other weaklings?" I snap suddenly, placing emphasis on the words that I want her to remember, like train and frolicking. By the time the last word is out of my mouth, I have no idea how I could ever have spoken so harshly and venomously, but I have, and the effects are apparent. Bernie is staring at me, open mouthed and appalled.
"Are you insinuating that I'm weak? And are you trying to control my life?!" Bernie growls, and I know I've opened a can of worms that can't be sealed shut again. I sigh, pulling out the chair next to hear. I sit down and look at her sadly, keeping my tone even, kind, and genuine.
"Bernie, I'm looking out for you. You're twelve, and if you don't go to training, and play around instead of learning valuable skills, you're not going to have a chance. You need to learn how to survive off of the land and wield a weapon, even if it's just rudimentary knowledge."
"But I spent a day there. I learned a little about edible plants and I can use a dagger pretty well, Liese."
"One day isn't enough, Bernie! I'm not trying to be mean, but this is your life, girl. Buck up and accept that. This isn't just a game, no matter if it is called the Hunger Games or not. You need to get a grip on reality, and realize this isn't just a social event. It isn't about who can be the nicest and allies with the pregnant girl and skips around with her. This is survival, clear cut and cold and fricking real, and if you don't want to face that, then you don't have a chance."
"You don't think I don't realize that I'm in the prelude to a fucking death match?!" Bernie shouts back, frothing. She stands, putting her hands on her hips. Jayce has dozed off along with Ambrosia, and their soft snores drift from the living room. Thank Snow they're not awake for this. I don't need their meddling.
"I know you realize, but girls your age sometimes-" I begin.
"I'm not a stupid little 12 year old who thinks this is all a prank, Anneliese! I'm different! Don't you think that maybe I realize I don't have much of a chance, and that maybe I'm enjoying myself in my last days instead of wallowing in self pity and practicing skills in a stuffy room that I won't need to use anyway?!" Bernie screams, her little face burning with color from her anger and fervor. Tears pool in her eyes. "Leave me alone. You obviously don't believe in me enough to trust my decisions." She turns on her heel and storms off towards her room, trying to stifle her tears. I can hear the beginnings of sobs, however.
"Bernie, I am just trying my darnedest to get you back-" I begin to holler after her, but she opens her door and slams it behind her, locking it behind her with a series of sharp clicks. I run up to the door and begin to pound on it. I can hear muffled crying on the other side.
"Bernie, honey, please, I was just trying to help!" I whimper, knocking louder. "Come on, you know that I care about you. This is hard for me too."
The door clicks open, and I think I've gotten through to her. However, I know she's just come to offer a rebuttal when I see her tear soaked face screwed up in an ugly scowl. "This is hard for you, too? You bitch. You survived. All you have to do is pretend to like me while you wait for me to die." She slams the door again, and now I'm crying.
"Oh Bernie, that isn't true, don't say things like that!" I screech. She doesn't answer, and I slide to the floor, curling up in a fetal position as I start to weep. I suck at this job. I suck so terribly. I can't even give advice without boring or angering my tributes. Despite my best efforts, they don't like me. I get attached, and they don't even care about me. The story of my life. Me, giving out my love, while the other party isn't interested in the slightest.
I look up to see Jayce watching from the couch with one eye squinted and half open. Once we meet eyes, he closes his eyes once more and pretends to be asleep again, hoping I won't notice that he's seen me. I hiss and wipe the tears from my face, storming into my own room and falling onto my bed after closing the door, trying to stifle the tears. Great. Now my other tribute thinks I'm a crybaby. I just bury myself under the covers and hope that sleep will take me soon. I hate Mentoring so much.
I can speak your language
But I'm trying to understand
Just what you're trying to say
I'm not trying to change you, no
I like the way you sing this song
Dancing in the temples where you came from
Make a sacrifice until the rain comes
You know that I've been patient so long
Girl I need your blessing you're my day one
So Imma sing a prayer for that body right now
Coriolanus Snow, 22
Son of President Gaius Snow and Junior Adviser to the President
Being the son of the President has some select advantages. You grow up in one of the most luxurious buildings in the entire nation, the hallowed Presidential Palace. You're famous from the moment of your birth, and you have an almost guaranteed spot high up in the government or anywhere else in the future. You're rich as hell and get almost anything you want. And you get the best education in Panem. But above all, you get to meet all of the most exotic and enthralling women. Politicians, Victors, artists, Peacekeepers, models, actresses, you name it, I've had a dinner party with them. My first kiss was with the renowned childhood actress Ghorea Chamblie. I managed to partially seduce a drunk Waverley Tux enough to get her to make out with me, and I've had my fair share of alone time with famous women from all walks of stardom.
Tonight is no different. Every night during the PreGames week, a ball is hosted at the Presidential Palace. The guest list is selective, and only the brightest, richest, and most beautiful are allowed through the wrought iron gates that bar entrance into the property. I look at the swirls of people around me from the bar as the bartender expertly mixes my Manhattan the exact way I like it. I spot several prominent Games figure. Ludum, sans his newly ex-wife Amonia of course, sways on the dance floor with his best friends and coworkers, Odore and Vecily. Fabula talks animatedly with Brick Talladega, possibly Two's most vicious Victor of all time. A good deal of other Career Mentors are here, along with a beaming Oakes and a drowsy Woof. Half of the sponsors are here, already drumming up funds. Edna even had the crass to bring her holographic checking account, and it floats next to her head as she waltzes through the crowd.
My eyes settle on a girl, a very exquisite specimen. She's dressed in a stark white dress with silvery accents carving across it. They accentuate her heavenly features. Her skin is smooth and as pale as freshly fallen snow, one of my favorite things in the world. I stare at her long enough that she must feel my eyes on the back of her head, because she turns and meets my eyes. I keep myself from gasping as she bats her silvery eyelashes at me.
"Mr. Snow?" the bartender peeps up. I turn to the man. He's broken my reverie and my longing staring contest with the beautiful young woman across the ballroom. But Amadeus is a mad mixologist, and he's never wronged me before. I decide not to scold him.
"Yes, Amadeus?" I reply, folding my arms across my chest. My pristine white suit is purposefully tight across that muscled area of my body.
"Your Manhattan is ready. And I made another one for that pretty woman you're eyeing up. She just finished her own drink." I happen to see that Amadeus is right; her own glass is nearly empty, with just the dregs of the drink at the bottom. It was a Manhattan, that can be sure however. Sometimes Amadeus is a wonder. He's helped me score more than once. I wonder if there's a way to promote a bartender. Unlikely.
"Thank you, Amadeus," I chuckle with a sly grin, picking up both drinks, one in each hand.
"I happen to know Ambassa; she's my goddaughter," Amadeus calls after me as I start to walk away. "Don't go too hard on her, Mr. Snow."
"I'm sorry that I won't be able to follow your wishes, Amadeus Colusi," I laugh to myself as I delve through the crowds. They part around me once I step forward. No one tries to stop me like they usually would. I'm obviously on a mission, and everyone who has half a brain knows to never stop a Snow when they're on a mission. I march perfectly across the ballroom, keeping the Manhattans level in my hands as I approach the beauty known as Ambassa.
"My lady," I say lavishly, my words dripping with a thousand others and pure sexuality. She whirls, her hair, dyed silvery white tonight, framing her pretty face. It's too perfect; she's obviously been surgically altered. However, most of her seems to be in its natural state besides her wickedly gorgeous face, and that gets me extremely excited. Natural beauties are my favorites. "I see that your drink ran out."
"I am a rather thirsty woman. Thank you, Mr. Snow," Ambassa purrs, graciously accepting the drink from my hands and batting her silvery eyelashes at me. My heart skips a beat, and it takes me a moment to recover. Well someone's receiving my passes! It's been a long week, and I could use some time to unwind for sure...in only a few words, the sexual tension between us has risen to delectable levels. She lifts the glass to her plump, luscious lips and drinks slowly, keeping her fantastic eyes locked with mine as she sips. Each of her movements is drawn out and slow; she's pulling me in quickly, and she knows how to work a man. She knows how impatient we get.
She hands off her half finished Manhattan to a nearby friend who is trying to grind on the minister of education. Then she steps close to me. Close. Very close. Barely a half a stride between us, and her engaging eyes daunt me, daring me to step forward and meet those oh so enthralling lips. I just can't resist, I don't care what the repercussions are, I just need-
Someone steps in between us as I lean forward to meet Ambassa's pursed lips. I stumble backwards, falling onto my rump. The breath's knocked out of me, and as the person who's sent me askew gasps and helps me to her feet, I sigh internally. Know-it-all cousin Marionette Brocklinde cock blocks once again.
"Hey, Ambassa honey!" Marionette laughs, motioning towards her friend with her empty martini glass. Ambassa smiles weakly, still trying to get a good look at me, but Marionette blocks her, turning to me and glaring venomously. Of course. I can already hear the spite.
"Leave my friend alone. I don't need you running over her heart and using her body just to dispose of it," Marionette hisses.
"Well maybe it's too late," I suggest. Marionette turns red and turns to her friend, furious.
"You had sex with Coriolanus Snow?! I didn't peg you for such a whore, Amby!" Marionette spits. "I never thought such a beautiful girl as yourself would let yourself be exploited to such great lengths by such a sexually active and scoundrel like man!"
"I was just playing," Ambassa replies, crossing her arms. "Just flirting, Marionette. Didn't intend to ever unzip my dress for him. Why, did he say something?"
"He claims you boned!" Marionette gasps wildly, throwing her arms up in the air in her flurry of emotions.
"No way," Ambassa grunts. "Bye, Mr. Snow. No chance now. I'm already thinking about other guys, anyway. Never was interested. No siree." Ambassa prances off without another word, and I just stare, slackjawed, at a guffawing Marionette.
"You bitch," I whisper.
"It's my specialty," she cackles.
"Now I'll have to fuck Gargantua Morisette," I groan. The inhumanity.
"Good luck with that conquest."
"Should be easy."
"Should be taxing."
"Fuck off, Marionette."
"I'd rather wait till marriage, you promiscuous-"
I don't let her finish. I "accidentally" fall as I walk away, pouring my Manhattan all over her new dress, a birthday gift from Mom and Dad. It's expensive, genuine Grecia Mathilde and worth more than her jewelry box. She stares at me, open mouthed and furious, and I scamper off before she can say anything, grinning. I might have to screw with Gargantua tonight, always my last ditch when the night's coming to a close, but it's better than some nights. This battle's been won against Marionette Brocklinde. I can't wait to see her next move.
A/N: This took forever! I'm so sorry! Track's just been time consuming, as well as all the activities I'm in with school. I haven't had much time to sit down and write, and the time I do have I've been pouring into 500YOP since I'm still on my obsession with that story. I'm going to be gone the next three days without wifi on a class trip to Washington D.C., so I wanted to get this out tonight :D School is coming to a close soon, however, and track will be over by the end of next week. Soon I'll be back on schedule with chapters I hope.
Did you like Anneliese and Snow? What didn't you like? Did you enjoy how I wove Snow, Ambassa, and Marionette into one piece? Other comments?
I'd love to see what y'all have to say, and know I should be back on track when I can be! :D
Trivia:
Anneliese (1 pt.) - What is Anneliese's nickname?
Snow (1 pt.) - What drink does Snow get for himself and Ambassa?
Until Next Time,
Tracee