"Convince me. By the way, I know about the kiss."
As President Coriolanus Snow got up to leave, he couldn't help but think this interaction had gone quite well. His visit to District 12 had served two purposes. First, he'd wanted to intimidate the Girl on Fire to quench her flames and make clear exactly what would happen if she didn't follow his orders. That was the easy part. Second, he'd wanted to have a proper conversation with the Girl on Fire to size up exactly who she was. That part was harder, but he'd been able to sniff out who Katniss Everdeen truly was under all the smoke. A scared little girl, desperately trying to save her younger sister. The entire country hinged on the shoulders of a borderline unhinged teenager who couldn't even decide on a lover to choose from. The whole thing would have been hilarious if it didn't enrage him so.
Coriolanus plucked his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and coughed into it, leaving a fresh splatter of blood on the checkered pattern. The scent of roses tinged with iron cut through the air. It was a scent he had grown intensely familiar with over the past few years, and his condition had only been worsening in the time since the 74th Hunger Games. The Capitol doctors had done everything they could and more, and he'd even sought the help of his old friend Lysistrata Vickers, who had become quite the prominent surgeon, but it had been of no use. It could have been the years of poison or the cancer, but one thing was certain. He was dying.
"Are you all right, sir?" Egeria stepped forward to help. Waving her off, Snow tucked his handkerchief back into his jacket and composed himself. She was a good assistant, insufferable mothering creature that she was. She'd been the fourth hire in a string of power-hungry, desperate social climbers who had clawed their way up beside him in an attempt to elevate their status. The first three were long dead now, of course. Anyone that ambitious was a risk to have around. Egeria, on the other hand, was wonderfully dull and unassuming. He certainly wouldn't have to worry about any power struggles coming from her end. Plus, the woman doted on him with a ferocity that even the Tigris of old would have been impressed with.
The new Tigris would be more likely to strangle him on sight, of course. He hadn't seen his cousin since she had stormed into his office decades ago, whiskers twitching, demanding to know if the rumors were true. The… ah, side business that he had established apparently had not been kept under wraps enough. It was all true, of course. Flesh was one of the few markets that had persisted through the Dark Days, and the Victors that passed through the Capitol halls were beautiful, young, and — once he had dealt with their loved ones — willing enough. She'd nearly clawed his eyes out and had to be dragged away by his personal security force. He'd had her removed from the stylist pool for "concerns regarding taste". A few months later she'd replaced the skin on her face with fur. Last he'd heard, she'd holed up in a shoddy apartment in the Flats like a common factory worker. What a colossal downfall, Coriolanus thought. Thank god she'd distanced herself from the Snow name. Why couldn't she see that everything he had done was to protect their legacy?
Accompanied by Egeria and his bodyguards, the President of Panem strolled through District 12. All around, winter coated the ground with an icy glow. He'd always loved winter, naming aside. The way that snow froze and crystallized on every surface was a beautiful and powerful reminder of how nature laid waste to even the grandest of man's creations. He caught himself bemoaning the inevitability of destruction, then stopped himself. Dr. Gaul had made him read Ozymandias at the Institute all those years ago and it had yet to leave his mind.
Snow shook his head. Don't be stupid, he thought. What you built, The Games, will last in history forever. For better or worse, President Coriolanus Snow would be remembered.
As they walked through the dirtied streets towards the hovercraft, Coriolanus found himself reminiscing about the last time he'd come to this despised District. Before they reached the entrance, he stopped. He didn't know what it was that made him so sentimental. Perhaps it was the smell of coal that infected the air like a toxic perfume. He pointed to the bodyguard closest to him.
"You, follow me. Egeria, take the others and wait in the hovercraft. I'll be back in an hour."
"But sir," Egeria protested, "Are you sure it's safe for you out there? Besides, in your condition—"
"My condition is fine." Coriolanus cut in sharply. Speaking about his cancer would make him appear weak, and appearing weak would be the death of his reputation. Maybe his newest assistant would find herself walking off a bridge after all. "Besides, the people know better than to attack a president, at least in broad daylight. Go on." He waved them off and Egeria retreated back into the hovercraft.
As Coriolanus passed by the Peacekeeper's grounds, he realized that he remembered significantly more of the dingy old town than he had thought. Memories of eating mess hall dinners with Bug and Beanpole, doing sprints and suicides on the hot asphalt, and spending his nights trading sweets for liquor at the Hob flashed through his mind. He hated it. Sentimentality was a weakness that he had fought hard to purge but never seemed to be able to. Besides, anything tying him to 12 had been long dead. Lucy Gray was, in all likelihood, a pile of bones in a ditch somewhere. That or rotting in a gray jumpsuit in District 13, not allowed to sing. The thought made him overjoyed and furious at once.
There had been search parties sent after her from both the Capitol and District 12 alike. Coriolanus himself had been heavily involved, which most people had attributed to his love for her. Surely they envisioned the romantic duo that had conquered the Games living a long and happy life in some beautiful penthouse together, as he once dared to. In reality, he was dreaming about cutting her tongue out and feeding it to the birds. Either way, they had come up completely empty handed. After her footprints disappeared they hadn't even come up with a trace of her DNA. Wherever Lucy Gray had disappeared to, she had done so thoroughly.
The same couldn't be said for the rest of the Covey, though. Their band had remained successful for a few years after their lead singer disappeared, but their various escape attempts of their own had been largely foiled and punished in kind. Tam Amber was beaten and thrown into jail for 48 hours for her escape attempt with little girlfriend. Clerk Carmine was hanged for his involvement in rebel schemes. Still, the seemingly endless Covey clan continued to persevere.
It was just such a shame that Maude Ivory had been reaped into the 19th Hunger Games.
The Institute had taught Coriolanus an ancient lesson in the art of war: to crush one's enemies completely. It had been easy. At that point in his career the dashing young councilman had more than enough political power to ensure that one set of slips, plausibly multiplied by years of tesserae, had a red marking on them. He hadn't even needed to do the rest. And if he'd felt a tiny shred of remorse as the young girl he once carried on his shoulders was slowly tortured and skinned alive by a particularly bloodthirsty career pack, it was quickly drowned out by the satisfaction of how her older sister would react if she were still around. One last wasteful death before he got truly serious.
His spies had kept him informed. Without Lucy Gray or Maude Ivory, the Covey quickly fell apart. They became miners or merchants, assimilating into District 12's culture and ancestry. The stages where they used to dance were replaced with merchant stands and storage piles. Eventually, the district forgot about the curious but talented band of roaming musicians that used to fill the air with the sound of music and laughter. Annoyingly enough, though, their music had persisted. That infernal lullaby the Everdeen girl had sung during the 74th Games was only one example of Lucy Gray's legacy that had survived throughout the ages to haunt him. Sometimes he swore he could see a glimpse of her eyes in that male tribute, or perhaps her hair shining in the light like that female tribute, but it didn't matter. He had won, no matter how much her memory doggedly pursued him.
They passed by the town's square. Bleary-eyed peasants strolled in and out of town, going to work or back home to their impoverished families. Coriolanus caught the occasional glimpse of recognition, but most of the beaten-down citizens of the nation's poorest district gave him a wide berth, which likely was the smart option. Apathy and avoidance was truly the morphing of the masses.
As they reached the large hanging tree in the center of the square Snow decided to rest a moment. He was an old man now, and although far from geriatric, he wasn't quite the spry young thing he used to be. He took in the magnificent old oak that stood tall before his eyes. It hadn't changed a bit since he'd stood before it so many years ago, listening to Sejanus's cries for help. He could almost hear them now…
"Ma… Ma… Ma!"
Coriolanus whipped around. His bodyguard did so as well, lifting his pistol to point at the source of the sound. Behind them, a young child, not more than 3-4 years old, ran to his mother's outstretched arms, who quickly scooped him up before scurrying away. Snow waved the bodyguard down, and the man lowered his weapon, turning around and resuming a watchful stance. Of course it wasn't Sejanus. His former companion was long dead, buried in the family mausoleum in the heart of the Capitol right next to his dear old Ma and Pa. Coriolanus was sure he was rolling in his grave, but if Sejanus's bones had any complaints about where they were resting they had yet to make them known.
Strabo Plinth had been one of Coriolanus's staunchest financial supporters after the death of his son. Coriolanus suspected that he was overcompensating somehow; that the death of Sejanus had perhaps taught the stoic old man that relationships were to be cherished. He'd stuck with him through thick and thin, helped fund his initial campaign for councilman, and even earned the right to call him Coryo (a right that precious few retained anymore). It was therefore with great displeasure that Coriolanus had spiked his morning coffee with something that the scientists in Dr. Gaul's lab called IX-17. Within hours he was pronounced dead from a stroke. Ma hadn't been too far behind him, and Coriolanus hadn't even had to lift a finger. The woman could barely go downstairs to turn the lights off by herself; living without her precious son and husband would have been unthinkable. All three of them, out like a light in one fell swoop. As for Strabo Plinth's enormous fortune, Coriolanus needed more capital to run for President, and the death of his adopted father would generate quite the sympathy story. Just one more name on the long list of bodies that the future President Snow would build his empire on. Oh well.
He just wished the nightmares would stop. The finest sleep specialists that Panem had to offer had pumped him full of enough supplements and morphling to kill a small elephant, but they hadn't done anything but made them worse. Sometimes he'd see Sejanus's face on a mockingjay's body, screaming in twisted agony as the rope tightened around his neck. Other times, a woman who was somehow both Lucy Gray and Tigris at once would beckon for him before their face melted into a puddle. He wouldn't wake up screaming – no, that would be unbecoming of someone of his status. Maids and home nurses would only spread rumors, and thought he hadn't slept in the same room as his wife since their wedding night, Livia would certainly hear him panicking. Instead, he'd wake up glassy-eyed and still, locked into a stupor. For a while, they'd been under control, but the Girl on Fire had invoked more than just annoyance and anger. Now the flames were part of his dreams as well.
Following his muscle memory, Coriolanus took his guard on a long, twisting walk back into the Seam until they reached the electric fence that blocked the woods. A quick phone call later and he was strolling the path that he had once walked with the Covey. The lake was too far to reach, especially in his condition, but he wanted to see the forest one last time. He didn't know why he was so nostalgic today. For a very long time he'd wanted nothing to do with 12, but in his old age he supposed he was becoming more wistful about his past. The sight of the trees again filled his head with memories of his time as a Peacekeeper. He thought about when Dr. Gaul had sent her assistants to collect jabberjay specimens to return to the Capitol. The artificial species was long gone in the wild now, and the sound of those infernal mockingjays filled the air in their stead. That damned Everdeen and her pin. He would've had it removed had he gotten the chance, but by the time his team had realized what it symbolized it had already become a national icon.
Coriolanus stepped forward into the overgrown bush. He waved his guard away, just for a few minutes. There were no dangerous animals this close to the District and he could handle himself just fine, temporarily at least. He sat there, soaking in the leaves and the sun, and thought about how differently things could have gone. He let himself close his eyes. Suddenly, a sharp pain seized his foot.
"You're headed for heaven, the sweet old hereafter
And I've got one foot in the door"
His eyes snapped back open. What? He saw a small, green snake slither away, explaining the bite, but the singing? Impossible. There was nobody in a mile radius around him other than his security guard. Mockingjays could sing notes, but words were completely out of the question. "Who's there?" He demanded.
"But before I can fly up, I've loose ends to tie up
Right here, in the old there-before"
The voice reverberated in his head. No. She was long dead. He was imagining things. Perhaps the morphling from last night hadn't worn off entirely. He knew he had to be more careful with the stuff; he was turning into Dean High-as-a-Kite-bottom.
"And I'll catch you up
When I've emptied my cup
When I've worn-out my friends
When I've burned out both ends"
Snow's vision blurred. Suddenly, he saw her step out from behind a tree, looking just as she'd ever had. Or wait… no, that was a deer. Or, perhaps some kind of large bird? He put his hand out onto a tree to steady himself as the choir of mockingjays began to pick up the song, screeching and shouting it into the afternoon sky.
"When I've cried all my tears
When I've conquered my fears
Right here, in the old there-before
When nothing is left anymore"
She was right here and she was going to kill him. His breath became uneven and haggard. He began coughing furiously and reached out to pluck his handkerchief back out, but it was missing. The blood spewed all over the ground and his suit, painting the front of his shirt a crimson red. Red like roses, or her lips. God, he missed the way she tasted.
"And I'll bring the news
When I've danced off my shoes
When my body's closed down
When my boat's run aground"
His lungs burned and his stomach ached and Coriolanus no longer knew where he was. He began seeing more visions – songbirds flying out from bushes and being snapped up and swallowed by snakes, bludgeoning poor Bobbin to death with that plank, Lucy Gray turning into Katniss turning into Sejanus. He should've never come back. This was no place for the boy with the roses.
"When I've tallied the score
And I'm flat on the floor
Right here, in the old there-before
When nothing is left anymore"
He was going to die here. He was going to die miserable and alone and calling for help.
"When I'm pure like a dove
When I've learned how to love
Right here, in the old there-before"
And then he passed out.
When he woke up, doctors and medical officials were standing over him as he stared up at the dingy gray ceiling. They'd found a small snakebite on his lower left foot, fangs just long enough to reach his skin. Their scientists reported it as a garter snake; a harmless little creature. He must've stumbled into its nest unwittingly. A couple hours rest and he would be completely fine. They didn't know about the hallucinations, but they didn't need to. Nobody would learn about this; it would destabilize an already unstable nation. Learning that their beloved president was collapsing in the middle of the woods in the country's dingiest district would certainly cause an uproar. No, this secret had to stay between him and the trees. As the doctors that treated him were unknowingly led off to become Avoxes, President Snow slid his jacket back on and tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. It had fallen out, but luckily the bodyguard had collected it when he'd found him collapsed on the ground. He made a mental note to have the bodyguard's tongue cut out as well. No loose ends were to be left.
As the hovercraft took off into the gray sky, Coriolanus allowed himself one more look out the window. It was a depressing place, District 12. An impoverished, shithole town that he had ensured would remain that way. How it had produced the ticking time bomb that was Katniss Everdeen was truly a mystery. No matter. He had a meeting this week with Plutarch on how to best address that problem, and the rising Head Gamemaker was truly a man after his own heart. He'd surely have an idea of how to deal with her and the baker's boy. She would perish and the world would forget about her, just as they had Lucy Gray. And one day he would come back and burn it all down, the whole District into ash. The thought of the way the flames would melt coal and flesh into one, destroying every last memory of the place that had caused him so much pain, brought a smile to his face. He would come out on top. He always did.
Around him, snow fell.
Author's note: This is my most fanservice-y chapter by far, and will likely stay that way for some time. I had no idea how to write the first canon Victor, but I decided that a small flash forward into the future would be a good way to tie in pre-existing lore with some of my own creations. I tried to capture the writing style of ABOSAS, and I hope to have done it justice. Thanks for reading, as always.