Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
The days following their arrival in District Nine followed as planned.
Tawny retained her grip on her slipping mental wellbeing, facing the smiling, welcoming faces of the Mayor of District Three and District Six with the same stiff lip that only relaxed to offer a facade of cordialness in the disguise of a smile and gentle tone.
No more tirades of her brothers, nor threat of additional reparations, she merely acts as an accessory to the Capitol, allowing Snow to speak all on his own—which he silently thanked her for with a glint of his eyes in her direction at both stops.
Other than that, he hasn’t paid her any attention, nor has she paid any to him.
They don’t dine together, nor do they socialize with Mr. Marius in the main living quarters together. If Tawny enters the same space he’s in, she either immediately turns on her heel and flees, or he stands and dismisses himself.
His reasoning is merely keeping peace and proper conduct, acting accordingly as future President who cannot allow himself to be led by his prick.
Her reasoning is her bruised ego, feeling the harsh sting of his rejection.
For months it was him who chased her, fiending for the thrilling high she brought with her like a morphling addict chasing the next hit of paradise.
She had taken being wanted for granted, feeling hideous and undesirable the moment he turned her away, not looking at her since, unless on their Capitol dealings, and those looks are not personal the way she knew they could be.
Each night she calls home to speak to her mother and father, every other night she gets in contact with Pias, deliberately lewd in her words to provoke Snow—whilst also imagining whoever has the liberty of listening to the possibly recorded phone call turning bright with blush.
It always ends with her gushing about her love for her fiance—laying the lie on thick to disguise her disgust for the man that had taken part in killing her daughter—her brown eyes glaring at her former lover as he speaks quietly to his own significant other.
She knows when he’s overheard her phone calls, however, when he slams the phone on the hook and ignores her.
Little does she know he loses himself to his own hand in the privacy of the shower each night, imagining her wrapped around him tightly, sobbing his name as he punishes her for her ridiculous behavior that seemingly no one else seems to take notice of except him .
Because she only means for him to notice .
By the time they arrive in District Twelve, he’s seering at the sight of her.
Adorned in black—a distinct shade of it to express mourning, to be exact—she steps into the living quarters, black gloves adorning her hands, as a smug expression on her face as he eyes Coriolanus up and down.
“Are we attending a funeral?” He snips at her, Philo halting the sip of his tea as he watches the two of them.
“I’m wearing it in memory of your father.” She says, casually, wanting to add, Since you’ve forbade us from verbally mentioning those we love that the rebels have robbed from us, but deciding not to stoke him to anger.
“Go change.” He says flatly. “Something more uplifting.”
Glancing down at her outfit, severing her tongue between her teeth, she finally nods.
“Okay.” It’s nearly strangled leaving her throat in a polite tone, turning on her heels to go back to her room to change.
Instead, she shuts the door behind her and sits on the bed, taking in a few deep breath to compose herself.
She wants to go home, and the days are stretching by so slowly that she can’t fathom being trapped with him for another handful of them.
When their escorts of Peacekeepers come to collect them, Snow takes it upon himself to retrieve Tawny, hastily making his way to her door, only for her to open it before his knuckles can make contact with the wood.
It’s a red dress she wears now, with matching heels, the very color of the flag of Panem and the simplicity of it pleases him.
No muss, no fuss, no tantrums or petty statements to be made in her attire this time.
It’s just red.
“They’re here.” He says lowly, eyes still holding hers, deliberately working not to roam over her.
Again, she nods, refusing to speak anymore to him.
Commander Hoff is standing with a proud smile at the sight of Coriolanus Snow as he exits the train car—the nip in the air stronger than when they first arrived—Dr. Gaul and Mr. Marius trailing behind him.
Snow’s cold and stoic demeanor shifts when he sees the man, a genuine smile coming to his handsome face in a way Tawny hadn’t seen in ages from him.
“Mr. Snow.” Hoff greets him cordially, extending his hand to grasp ahold of his former Private.
“Commander,” Snow replies lightly, stepping aside to introduce Tawny and Philo. “This is Mr. Philo Marius, my exemplary apprentice through the last year as a Gamemaker, and this,” Tawny tenses when his hand holds at her back to usher her toward Commander Hoff once the man is done shaking Philo’s hand, “Is Dr. Tawny Gaul — one of our most prestigious Gamescientists in the Capitol.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Dr. Gaul. Truly a pleasure.” He nods to the woman and she forces a smile, replying swiftly, “Thank you. You as well.”
They’re escorted in a town car, snow that’s muddied from coal pollution littering the ground, making Tawny wish she had grabbed a thicker coat.
The car is imported from the Captiol surely, as District Twelve had never had anything so fine at its convenience, and upon squeezing in together, Tawny and Snow find themselves too close for comfort.
They smush into the backseat, his long, lanky right leg pressed smug against her left.
Shoulder to shoulder, tight and uncomfortable.
It’s as miserable for her as it is for him, her smooth skin exposed little by little the longer they sit as her skirt rides up her thighs more and more with each bump in the road or sharp turn.
And upon a sudden, abrupt stop caused by a railroad crossing, his hand leaves his own lap and grabs at her knee.
Upon the feel of his fingers gripped so tightly into her flesh, a shock rolls through her and settles between her legs, a familiar, dull throb growing more and more intense as his hand lingers on her.
No one has noticed, Hoff and another Peacekeepr up front while Philo sits on the left side of Snow, looking out the window with a curious gaze of the foreign environment.
Her breath grows heavier though she keeps it quiet, her chest rising and falling as he keeps his expression neutral.
Slowly, his fingers creep higher, causing to squirm just slightly, wishing she could wantonly splay her legs open and let him touch her however he pleases.
Only they stop on the inside of her thigh, barely at the middle of it, a near whimper leaving her when he pulls his hand away, a stroke of his ego occurring when she almost grabs his wrist to keep him.
But then she comes to her senses, forcing herself to regain her composure, and by the time they arrive at the Mayor’s home, she’s subtly gasping for fresh air as she practically stumbles from the car.
“Just a warning, Snow,” Hoff says, shutting the car door behind him. “Mayor Lipp hasn’t quite been the same since his wife’s death. She couldn’t handle the grief of losing their daughter and . . .” He trails off, unable to speak of her suicide.
A tug at Tawny’s heart somewhat surprises her.
“If he speaks out of turn, or appears inebriated , he may very well be.” Hoff finishes.
“Understood.” Snow nods.
The four of them step onto the porch of the large house made of white wood, Hoff knocking at the door.
While they wait, Snow glances at Philo and Tawny, the latter looking at him like a wounded puppy.
He nearly smirks, hoping to have gotten back at her for the times she has caused him to screw himself for relief.
The upturn of his lips fades, however, with the image of her desperately plunging her fingers in and out of her soaked cunt, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tries to deliver relief to herself.
Gritting his teeth together, he corrects the image in his mind, instead replacing it with that of his hand grabbing a fistful of her hair, her beautiful face in the mattress to muffle her screams as he bends her over the bed, buried to the hilt in her, forcing her to come until it’s painful, until she’s made a mess of the entire room, her own spent running down both of their legs.
They’d shower, rest briefly and do it all over again, no matter how sore they’d be, or fucked out she would get, crying but pleading for him not to stop, repeating how good he felt, how she was his.
The already uncomfortable tightness of his trousers since grabbing her in the car, turns painful.
For a split second, the blink of her eyes, she catches him looking at her.
The way he had during their affair, the lust, the want, the longing.
It’s gone as soon he reaches out himself and knocks on the door once more to hurry this ordeal along.
The door opens, leaving only the screen door between Mayor Lipp and the group of Capitol visitors.
He’s not even dressed, not truly.
A white tank top and his briefs.
Tawny averts her eyes from the sight of the man’s indecency.
“Mayor Lipp,” Hoff starts, cordially. “This is Coriolanus Snow, Dr. Tawny Gaul, and Mr. Philo Marius from the Capitol…they’re here on behalf of the unsettled nature of District Twelve before the elections.” He explains to the hazy Mayor, his drunken eyes lingering on Tawny before falling to Coriolanus.
“ You .” He points, lips nearly slurring the single word. “I know you.”
Anxiousness roots itself in his gut, flashes of the past he had worked endlessly to forget, to bury, seem to be dug up before his very eyes.
At least he assumes.
“You were a Peacekeeper when those rebels killed my little girl.”
Tawny eyes shift to Coriolanus as he somewhat feels a bit more relief.
“Yes.” He confirms, looking to Hoff.
Awkward silence looms in the air before the Mayor clears his throat and looks behind himself, stepping back to invite his company inside.
“Please, come in, just…excuse the mess.”
Empty whiskey bottles litter the home, stray laundry scattered here and there, to the extent that Tawny has to toss aside a shirt to sit on the sofa, blue eyes staring as she does so, looking up at him before he settles beside her.
“Would any of you like a drink?” Lipp inquires, holding another bottle that’s partly empty already.
“No, thank you.” Snow replies politely despite his distaste for the Mayor drinking so early in the morning.
No wonder so much has been able to happen right under their noses—the mayor is too drunk to pay attention to much of anything.
“Why are you here, again?” He asks, next, sitting with his bottle, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Rebel activity has increased here in Twelve. With an election around the corner, the Capitol just wanted to establish a mutual understanding .” Coriolanus answers, raising his brows.
Again, Lipp glares at Tawny, then Philo, before settling on Coriolanus.
“The Capitol , or you , Mr. Snow?” He presses, wanting to muck through the formalities. “Being as you are the Capitol at this point.”
The future President is sitting on his couch and threatening him to ensure District Twelve doesn’t rebel.
“I’m only a candidate, Mayor Lipp.” It’s humble coming from him of all people, the faux humility to his tone nearly causing Tawny to scoff.
“Your fiancé doesn’t mind you showboating with his competition, Dr. Gaul?” Lipp shifts the subject, focusing on her.
Tawny can hear the skepticism in his voice.
“He’s endorsing him, Mayor Lipp.” She retorts sweetly, as if it’s all handled and thought through.
As if Pias won’t be infuriated with the decision to plant Snow at the head of Panem.
“Is he, now?” He asks, next, glancing around. “Where is he?”
“He had matters to tend to in the Capitol and was unable to join us.” It’s not a lie, not completely, at least.
“Hmm.” He leans back, drinking his poison straight from its dusty, blurry brown bottle as the fire in the hearth dwindles somewhat. “I hate to be a waste of your time, truly, but I assure you there is no matter of rebellion in Twelve. Not after my daughter.” He assures them blankly.
Tawny bites at the inside of her cheek, relating too closely to the way Mayor Lipp carries himself.
If she hadn’t had a reputation to uphold, she too would have fallen into a bottle and never climbed out of it after she lost Tullia.
It’s now that she somewhat spits in the face of Snow’s order of not getting personal as she stands and moves around the wooden coffee table to sit across from him, adding softly, “I understand, Mayor Lipp. Truly. It’s a horrible thing to lose a child to the hands of monsters.”
Coriolanus bristles at her words, glaring at her.
Mayor Lipp keeps his face stoic, stern, strong, for a moment.
Her empathy reels a twisted expression from him as his eyes squeeze shut, tears toppling forth.
Snow sighs out, rubbing his forehead briefly, trying to find how this will be explained:
Yes, the tour went wonderfully. Tawny had a heart-to-heart with the wealthiest alcoholic of District Twelve .
“The twisted part…” He trails off, having to let a few sobs out before collecting himself once more, the sight lodging a lump in her throat. “...We never truly found the gun…or the person responsible.”
Nausea rises at the back of Snow’s throat at the words, Hoff meeting his gaze with an expression of remorse—guilt, perhaps, for not being able to bring forth justice for Mayfair.
The look only confirms to Snow that his expression reads that of sympathy, as well.
Not impending doom of being randomly found out ten years later.
“Mr. Snow’s Presidency will prevent anything like you and I have suffered to happen, again. So many believe that the reason tragedies such as this occurred was due to too much leniency from our former Presidential cabinet.” It’s a soothing promise, Snow leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as if wanting to hear her brag about him closer up.
Philo sits silently as Tawny goes on, shamelessly stroking Snow’s ego as if it’s a form of foreplay they’re all bearing witness to.
How protective he is, how vigilant , how she doesn’t fear having more children in the future because she knows they’ll be safe in a Panem guided by Coriolanus Snow …that their daughters’ deaths won’t be in vain because every moment Coriolanus will spend as President will be dedicated to honoring them, keeping their memory alive in every executive decision made.
Hoff nods with each word, fully in agreement as Coriolanus had been his star pupil, his most diligent and thorough.
She sells him, peddles him, as convincingly as a high-dollar Capitol whore peddles high-dollar cunt.
Once their visit has come to a close, Mayor Lipp has his bottle set aside, shaking Coriolanus’ hand, thanking him for taking the time to visit—clearly not understanding that this was all mandatory—and he hugs Tawny.
It’s excused due to his liquor-fueled daze, but the ride back to the train is even heavier than it was on the way.
Snow’s floating from how perfectly Tawny spoke of him.
Floating so effortlessly, in fact, that he completely ignores the opportunity given to call home, deciding to blame it on the snow interrupting phone lines—should Livia ask tomorrow night—stepping directly onto the train, following closely behind Tawny.
She sheds her coat, stretching and yawning simultaneously whilst kicking her heels off.
“I am freezing.” She declares to Snow and Philo. “I’m about to get a hot shower and then I’ll be back for dinner.”
“I’m so exhausted I might just do the same and go to bed.” Philo retorts, walking with her until he reaches his own bedroom.
Coriolanus needed something to do to keep himself from barging in to shower with her, ultimately deciding to go to his own bathroom and scrub himself of the pollution and snow.
Once he’s finished, he eats what he can, gathering a roll to offer her for his behavior earlier in the morning—his behavior the last few days, actually.
Tawny’s plucking the pins from her hair she had used to keep it from getting wet when a knock at her door pulls her attention away from herself, tying her robe around her before sliding the door open.
Coriolanus extends the napkin-wrapped roll to her, only for her to raise her brows and glance from it to him.
Knowing it’s more-so a front, an excuse to come see her, she accepts it and steps aside, not a word between the two being spoken as he reaches around her and slides the door shut, locking it.
She sets the roll aside, once more reaching her hand up to pull another pin from her head, only to find it’s stuck in her hair.
Wincing, she pauses, trying to configure how to pull it loose without breaking any strands.
“Allow me.” He offers, stepping behind her before she can argue, gently untangling the raven hair from the silver, doing so with each one left until her hair is free.
“Thank you.” She whispers, her voice catching in her throat from holding her breath throughout the process of him touching her so gently, carefully.
“I suppose I should be thanking you, too.” He speaks lowly, his breath fanning her neck as he moves her hair to one shoulder, causing her brown eyes to flutter close, the hitch in her breath bringing a smirk to his lips as his hands reach around her waist to pluck the belt of her robe loose. “Speaking so highly of me.” He continues, fingertips running across her skin to catch on the silky fabric at her shoulders.
It pools at their feet, his palms smoothing down her arms, his lips pressing to her shoulder.
His cock engorges when she grinds her ass into his crotch, her head resting on his shoulder as she assures him, “I meant every word of it,” while his hands grab at her breasts, fingers rolling over her nipples teasingly, causing her mouth to fall open.
“You want me to be President?” He knows her answer, the mere power in the possibility has her legs squeezing together to aid some form of friction, his right hand sparking at her skin as it descends between her legs, circling her slick clit, her hand grabbing his wrist as she fervently nods, whining out a pathetic, “Yes,” before biting into her lip.
“Aren’t you sweet .” He grins as he holds back his own groan as he looks down at the outline of his cock against the plump curve of her ass.
He steps back from her just enough to get his hand between them, freeing his length to run it along her wet folds, the thick tip of it having her reaching between her legs to try to angle it into her, the pinch of it pushing a hiss from her as he grins.
It’s a cute attempt, angling herself once more, Coriolanus’ chest rising and falling as he grabs her hips, watching her try to stuff him into herself. After the third time of discomfort despite her throbbing, slickend cunt, he chuckles, grabbing a fistful of her hair to pull her back against him.
“You can’t take it, yet.” He speaks it in a taunt, as if it’s a reminder she’s forgotten—as if the months spent apart has rid her of the details of their time spent together.
His tongue and teeth leave a sweltering path in its wake on her neck, her hand reaching behind her to wrap around him, his length slippery from her attempts, the action stalling his own movements as she once more rubs her thighs together and pleads in a sultry tone, “Make me take it.”
His teeth scrape against hers as his grip in her hair only tightens, Tawny turning to face him, wrapping around him the moment he grasps at her, her legs snaking around him, her arms capturing his shoulders, her greedy mouth assaulting his own.
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
An uncomfortable heaviness spreads throughout the small group of three, accompanied by a shroud of Peacekeepers.
Snow, Tawny, and Philo approach Mayor Lockleer’s home with hesitance and dragging feet.
“Remember what I said.” Coriolanus reminds her under his breath.
Behave yourself , she can hear his words echo in her mind.
Fumbling with the string of pearls adorning her neck and burrowing further into the gray and black fur covering her arms and shoulders, she nods at him in acknowledgement.
The door of the home is snapping open in another blink of Tawny’s brown eye, a short, bright eyed and bushy-tailed man shining bright with a wide smile.
“Mr. Snow!” He pipes, eagerly extending his hand, but Snow has already beat him to the punch, grasping control of the situation as he firmly grasps Mayor Lockleer’s hand.
“Mayor Lockleer, pleased to make your acquaintance.” He replies, his hand leaving his to fall to the small of Tawny’s back, Philo’s eyes darting from the sight of it to Mayor Lockleer once more, as Snow adds, “This is Dr. Tawny Gaul,”
“Wonderful to meet you, Dr. Gaul.” Lockleer replies nervously, holding his hand out to her.
She glances at it, a lump in her throat forming—it feels like cement the way it refuses to be swallowed down, blocking her from speaking comfortably.
“And my right hand, Mr. Philo Marius,” Snow doesn’t miss a beat, speaking the words while he steps aside and allows Philo to be introduced to the Mayor, though the future President glares at Tawny throughout the exchange.
“Wonderful to meet you, Mayor Lockleer.” Philo says to him.
“Well, let's get you all out of the cold!” Lockleer says, ushering them into his house.
It’s now that they see an even shorter woman, shaking like a scared lap dog at the sight of the Capitol at their door—in their home—somewhat invading, the feeling even more looming as two Peacekeepers follow them inside.
“This is my wife, Ardith.” Lockleer pipes,, a familiar charming smile coming to Snow’s lips, Tawny eyeing him as he grasps Ardith’s hand, warmly, stating, “A great pleasure, Mrs. Lockleer.”
She blushes, Tawny raising her brows as she turns her head to look at Philo who’s standing behind them, still.
He knows she’s silently mocking Snow’s words with her eyes, but he widens his own a smidgen as if silently telling her to cooperate.
When Coriolanus is finished with his flirting, Ardith looks at Tawny and clears her throat, plucking the woman’s attention forward once more.
“It’s such an honor, Dr. Gaul.” She reaches for her hand, taking it by near force, paralyzing Tawny with the touch of her hand. “Truly.”
Her full lip twitches, fighting back a snarl as she plucks her hand from Ardith’s grasp.
“Mhmm.” Is all she can muster with her brows raised for the moment, Philo swooping in to rescue her and introduce himself while Tawny quickly follows after Snow, who’s following the Mayor into his living room.
It’s clear they’ve tried to dress it up a bit to host such company, old but decently conditioned furniture, a few pieces of crystal here and there in the form of a vase, ash tray, and candle holder. It’s as if they’ve rummaged through dumpsters of the Capitol and collected out-of-season prizes.
“Make yourselves at home.” The mayor says, looking at Ardith as she comes in to say, “Is the tea ready?”
“Yes, dear.” She replies, offering up, “Would you all like some tea?”
“We don’t want any.” Tawny says it as politely as she can, grimacing at the thought of it but Coriolanus pinches her leg, out of sight from their hosts, and states, “We would love some. Thank you.”
“Alrighty, coming right up.” Ardith smiles, stepping into the kitchen as Mayor Lockleer adds, “Give me just one moment while I help her,” and disappears.
Without warning, one of the Peacekeepers follows after them, the other standing neutral attention in the corner farthest away as if not even present.
“I’ve never been a guest to hosts that vanish before we can even have a decent conversation .” Tawny mumbles as Snow stares at her, sharply.
“You won’t even speak to them, Tawny. What kind of conversation do you expect from them, exactly?” He hisses, lowly.
“They’re in that kitchen cooking up bombs . We’re about to be martyrs. And you're at fault for thinking any of this was a good idea.” She speaks hushedly through her clenched teeth.
“We have security, Dr. Gaul. We’ll be here for just a few minutes, and then we’ll get to leave.” Philo assures her quietly.
“Thank you, Mr. Marius.” Snow says to him before stating, “Dull your paranoia before you fuck this up for all three of us,” in a manner that the Peacekeeper in the corner can’t quite make out what he says.
“Oh, I’m paranoid?” Tawny whispers harshly as the blonde spits out in the same tone, “You can at least pretend to want to get along with them.”
“Like you? ‘A great pleasure, Mrs. Lockleer’.” She mocks him.
“We are not speaking about this right now.” He cuts at her, blue eyes bearing into hers before she continues, lowly, “Is that how we’re going to maintain an amicable relationship with the Districts? Have all the Mayor’s wives rubbing their legs together at the mere thought of the ever so charming future President Snow in their home?”
Her question has him seething, and when he goes to reply, Philo abruptly stops him, hearing steps approach from the kitchen.
“Shh!” Mr. Marius says as the Mayor and his wife return, bearing three tea cups, resting on finely painted saucers.
“It’s still a bit hot.” Ardith says sweetly, offering it to Coriolanus.
Tawny grits her teeth but accepts her own from Mayor Lockleer.
“Thank you.” Snow says politely, as the Mayor and Ardith sit across from them on the opposing sofa, waiting patiently for someone to speak.
room, Tawny’s jaw rolling as she eyes Mayor Lockleer, waiting for either him or Snow to speak from where they’re seated in his home.
It’s painful for Snow, truthfully.
He wishes to speak plainly, to skirt around the cordial routine of upkeep appearances.
He knows Tawny is somewhat right by not trusting any of these people, but he also doesn’t want to leave the condition of the rumored rebellion in worse condition than when they arrived.
He needs allies in the Districts.
Not Mayors that will condone their Districts’ uprising.
Everyone in the room hates each other equally, it’s merely about favoring peace over who is right in their hatred.
“. . .Those are neat shoes.” Ardith says, motioning down to Tawny’s heels that match her coat, Snow’s attention snapping in the direction of Mrs. Lockleers gaze, only his eyes get there by sliding down the smooth skin of Tawny’s legs.
Tawny ignores her, earning a subtle nudge from Coriolanus.
“Thank you,” She forces out, clearing her throat. “They’re maddeningly uncomfortable.”
Another moment of silence drives both the Mayor and Snow closer to insanity with each passing second.
“Mr. Snow,” Lockleer begins, the young man raising his brows as he takes a small sip of the bitter liquid and sets it aside, clearing his throat as he awaits the mayor’s words, “Not that me or my wife don’t appreciate your company, but we are a bit confused as to why you all are here? We weren’t even made aware you would be here until early this morning, truthfully.” He continues, nervous but even, Ardith wringing her hands as she nods. “We just. . .” He pauses, “. . .Is something the matter?”
Snow rolls his jaw, glancing at Tawny before asking, “Is something the matter, Dr. Gaul?”
She doesn’t know if it’s a test, if he’s wanting to see if she’ll reply politically or merely as herself, but there’s a shift in the air around them once he asks the question to her, her brows raising as she discards her own tea onto the coffee table in front of them and states, “I don’t believe so.”
Snow watches as the two across from them look somewhat relieved, only for him to add, “Unless the whispers of possible uprising in District Nine are true.”
Color drains from their faces, Snow waiting patiently for them to respond, Tawny no longer hiding her glare that threatens to melt them under its intensity.
“Which I don’t think they are.” He adds. “But there are some in the Capitol who do. We’re here to find middle ground on the matter, if need be.”
“Oh, no, there’s no need.” Ardith immediately chimes in before her husband can answer, shaking her head. “District Nine has always agreed and complied with the Capitol.”
“Do you have siblings, Ardith?” Tawny asks her, Snow feeling her tense up beside him, looking at her cautiously as she eyes the mayor’s wife.
“I do. Two older brothers.” She replies.
“Old enough to have possibly been in the war, I presume?”
Ardith’s expression, gentle and optimistic, slowly drops.
With a small nod she replies, “Yes, Dr. Gaul.”
“Up North?” Tawny presses further, to which Ardith swallows and once again nods. “I had four older brothers.” Tawny informs her with a soft smile. “All of them were in the war, too.” She adds, raising her brows. “In fact, if I recall correctly—and I do —Cicero was also here in Nine. . .up North. . .” She pretends to think about it, clearly a show of sarcasm because every detail of it will forever be ingrained in her mind forever.
It’s when her brown eyes flicker once more to lock with Ardith’s own, that her facade of naive pondering comes to an abrupt halt.
Bitterness overtaking her pretty features, venom enriching each word, “ Your brothers and their rebels chased my brother down through the snow. With starved dogs.” She says, Ardith’s eyes fleeing the lock of hers after she says it—so Tawny turns her attention to Mayor Lockleer. “We eventually got what was left of him after he’d been maimed and eaten alive .”
Philo glances at Snow, who looks at him, keeping his mouth shut as the mental image of Tawny’s brother getting torn to shreds and being able to feel all of it replays in his mind.
There’s no telling how many Capitol soldiers fell so sadistically at the hands of the rebels.
At the hands of the Districts .
“So, Ardith, we can all sit here with one another and pretend as if District Nine has always agreed and complied with the Capitol, but there is a few bones buried in the Gaul crypt that are proof that District Nine did rebel, and it did actively participate in the unnecessary war that killed thousands of Capitol men, women, and children. And it’s reckless to pretend rebels aren’t very well lingering under our noses—my dead daughter can attest to that, as well.”
Blue hues look at her, she feels them burning into the side of her face.
He has to keep his smirk hidden.
“I agree.” Mayor Lockleer states, gently. “Several arrests and executions have been made, Dr. Gaul, in the passing months.”
He now looks to Coriolanus—the man he very well knows will be the President whose thumb he’ll have to grow accustomed to being under.
“Any and every mutter of rebellion launches a thorough investigation that rarely ever happens to be a waste of time.” He adds to him.
“Is that so?” Snow asks evenly, his interest now piqued.
“Certainly.” Lockleer confirms with a nod, a proud nod.
“And why is it, exactly, that so many here in Nine feel comfortable enough to even consider defying the laws set in place to protect not only the Capitol, but their own District as well?” Snow asks, watching the Mayor clear his throat before scrambling to explain, “Mr. Snow, there’s rebels everywhere—as Dr. Gaul stated before.” He explains. “But they aren’t welcomed nor tolerated here.”
“Then why so many?” Tawny presses, interrupting just to watch Lockleer further squirm.
“I understand your concern, but I assure you, The Capitol has nothing to worry about.”
“We know.” Snow retorts, flatly. “Increased security will ensure that. Accompanied by more. . .discouraging shows of execution to better get the point across. Yes?”
Lockleer frantically looks from Snow to Tawny, to Philo, and back to Snow.
“President Ravinstill recently adjusted the taxes as well as executions—”
“Giving District Nine a generous inch. . .yet it appears as if they’ve all taken a greedy mile from it.” Snow points out.
“Like a dog on a lax leash .” Tawny adds.
Lockleer sees now that there is no room for an argument.
They’re being as nice as they can be given the circumstances.
Ardith keeps her mouth shut, allowing them to finish their conversation.
“Thank you, Mr. Snow, Dr. Gaul, and Mr. Marius for the honor of your company. I District Nine would be more than pleased to see more security to ensure the safety and peace of the Disctrict.”
A faint grin holds at Snow’s lips as he smoothly replies, “ Wonderful .”
The ringing of the phone drags on for seemingly forever as his fingers tap impatiently against the wall, waiting for Livia or her mother to pick up the phone.
Just as he’s about to hang up, someone picks it up.
“Hello?” He sighs at the sound of his wife’s voice.
“Livia, Darling, it’s Coriolanus.”
“Sweetheart!” She pipes, bringing a smile to his lips.
“Hello, darling, how are you?” He asks her, glancing around in the empty train station where they’re permitted to make personal calls home.
“I’m a little better since you’ve called.” She replies sweetly. “How’s life among the barbarians?” She adds, raising a brow.
“District Nine is much like the Capitol.” He sarcastically mumbles, making her scoff.
“How are you, Livia? And the baby! Is she out, yet?” He chuckles it lightly.
“No, we’ve discussed it and she agrees that we want you home before any of that happens.” She tells him, her hand rubbing at her huge stomach.
“Well, we’ve gotten one District down—only four more to go and then we’ll be home.” He assures her. “I’ll be home. And then I can have my inauguration, you can have my baby—”
“Oh, your baby, is she? Maybe we should’ve waited for Scientists to find a way for the husband to have a baby for the wife.”
“You know what I meant.” He says to her. “You’re both mine. I’m struggling with the notion of having to share you once you’re First Lady.”
“You won’t be sharing me more than I’ll have to share you.” She comments, raising her brows. “You aren’t even President, yet, and it’s already started.” She adds with a heavy breath just as the echo of heels sound around him, his eyes looking up to see Tawny stepping toward a phone on the other side of the empty lobby.
“I won’t have to take trips like these often, Liv. This is just a freak thing I’m having to settle out.” He explains.
“. . .With Tawny Gaul. . .” She comments, waiting for his response as Tawny dials a number.
“Livia.” He turns his back to Tawny casually, guarding her from hearing their conversation while being as honest as he can be.
He and Tawny had been finished for months—though, of course, Livia hadn’t known they actually ever had an affair in the first place.
“I don’t understand why she can’t endorse you from the Capitol.” She asks, next.
“Because that doesn’t. . .”
“. . . Hey, honey ,” Tawny pipes, causing Snow to clench his fist up at the sound of her doting on her criminal fiance.
“. . .Dr. Gaul highly suggested we do this tour together. To show a united front that Pias’ withdrawal in the race only means he sees me more suited for Panem.”
Livia doesn’t say anything for a moment.
“I’ll be home before you know it, Darling. And we’ll be together again, and have our little girl, and everything we’ve both wanted for a decade, now.” He assures her.
“I’m not sure this is something I want, Coriolanus.” She confesses softly, and he can hear the tears pooling in her blue eyes.
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose while Tawny’s giggling grates against his nerves.
“You only feel that because I’m not with you when I need to be.” He tells his wife, calmly. “But I’ll be back soon, Darling, and I miss you,” He adds.
She takes another moment of silent and finally nods to herself.
“I miss you, too. Be careful out there. I’ll see you when you come home.” She says, gently. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He knows she needs to hear it—whether he genuinely feels it or not.
“Goodnight, dear.” She tells him, and he replies, “Goodnight, darling.”
She doesn’t hang up until he does, slowly dropping the phone back to its hook as she wipes stray tears, the muted television of her room flashing video of his arrival in District Nine, Tawny and Philo on his heels.
He turns to see Tawny twisting a piece of her hair around her finger, grinning into the receiver of the phone as she pipes, “I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”
“Ha! Hopefully I’m done with all of this by then.” Pias mumbles to her. “I really shot myself in the foot with this entire debacle.”
Her eyes lock with Snow’s as he steps toward her casually, causing her to take in a breath and add, “This will all blow over soon, sweetie. My aunt’s pulling a few strings and you’ll have your career and reputation still intact because no one knows why you’re withdrawing. It’ll be as if none of this happened.”
“That’s the part I’m worried about.” He admits, clearing his throat. “How is Snow ? Is he behaving himself? Provoking anyone else to blind rage?”
“No, no, he’s on his best behavior.” She assures him with a small grin, still eyeing the blonde who merely stares down at her. “It’s myself I’m trying to keep a hold on, truthfully.” She informs him. “I think Mr. Marius is nearly ready to throw me off the tour.”
“Just grin and bear it and it’ll be over soon.” He tells her before a Peacekeeper approaches him.
He sighs out and adds, “I have to go. I love you, I’ll talk to you soon.”
“I love you, too, Pias.” She replies.
“Bye.” He hangs up, and she lets out a sigh, slamming the phone onto the hook before stepping past Snow, heading toward the train.
He doesn’t say a word to her, nor her to him, the two of them stepping past the Peacekeeper guarding the entrance of the train cart.
Philo is already eating his dinner, watching the two of them walk by him, Tawny muttering about taking a shower.
He downs the rest of the burning liquid that has him wincing with its bite, setting the glass aside as his racing mind starts to dull some.
Orange flames from the fire shine against the blue of his eyes as quiet steps approach.
“I take it you’re doing to him what you did to Crane?” He says lowly, not looking at her until she’s sitting on the rug by his feet, propping her elbow on the sofa next to him, her hair damp from her shower—her body only covered in a lilac colored silk bathrobe. “Acting like you don’t know a damn thing.”
“I’m doing the same to my aunt.” She says to him. “We can’t do anything until you’re elected. So why let them know that we know.”
“Pias knows that I do.” He states, rubbing his forehead. “Of course he won’t suspect that you know if you keep laying it on as thick as you are.” He adds.
There’s a bitterness in his voice that has her glaring at him.
“How’s your wife ? And her baby ?” She does what she’s been doing the last several months, digging into him with her words like he had done to her.
“They’re fucking peachy, Tawny.” He hisses, leaning his head back, staying quiet another moment before adding, “I know this is difficult, being in the Districts your brothers were killed in. . .but what happened today does not happen again.”
“Me clarifying their horseshit?”
“ You getting personal with these people.” He clarifies. “They do not care about our losses. The only reason they pretend to is to stay in our good graces as best as they can.” He adds. “I don’t want any arguing or tension between us and them.”
“They started a war that killed our families! Excuse me for being a little hard-pressed when it comes to not having tension—”
“I know what they did!” He leans forward, his eyes holding her own captive. “But I’m saying enough . Not here . For the last time, we will deal with what we need to deal with when we get back to the Capitol.”
She lets out a defeated breath, her finger tracing the pleat of his slacks—taking note of the way he clenches his jaw—before asking, “What do you plan to do with Pias and my aunt?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.” He lies, and she knows it, but she doesn’t push any further, allowing the soft hum of the fireplace to be the only sound before she adds, “What do you plan to do with me once we get back to the Capitol?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.” He repeats honestly, letting out a breath as she shifts to her knees, her fingers reaching up to twist at one of his curls starting to form from wear through the day.
He flinches and grasps her wrist.
She expects him to toss it aside and her with it, dismissing her.
But he doesn’t, he just stares at her, trying to get his tipsy thoughts together.
All of which, now, are of their past.
He wonders if she still tastes the same, if she still sounds the same, if she still feels the same.
It’s only been months apart but it feels like decades.
She recognizes the look in his eye, the one she’s seen from him so many times before.
The one she’s missed so much despite it being her own stubbornness that kept her from him.
She grasps the hand around her wrist with her free hand, standing on her knees, their faces inches apart as she whispers, “What do you plan to do with me, now ?”
He closes his eyes momentarily, before recoiling from her.
“We can’t do this.” He tells her quietly. “I have a family and a Presidency—”
“You’ve said it yourself.” She says softly, gently tugging at the silk fabric of her robe tie. “We’ll deal with what we need to deal with when we get back to the Capitol.”
She doesn’t take it off, the robe merely falling open just enough to see she’s completely naked underneath, her smooth, supple skin taunting him with the fragrance of her bath soaps and moisturizers.
It’s a dose of his own medicine, all those months he’d cruelly tease her, trying to seduce her.
She always stood her ground, no matter how tempting he was.
He doesn’t protest when she straddles him, the growing strain in his pants becoming painful when she gets on his lap, her lips brushing against his softly, leaving a delicate kiss that sharply contradicts the second one they share.
His hands grab handfuls of her hair, tongues meeting as she grinds against the bulge she feels underneath her, friction of her bare skin against the material of his pants causing her to break their kiss and let out a quiet moan that he once more smothers with his lips before trailing his tongue along her neck.
She reaches between them, fumbling with this belt, pulling him out of his hazey trance.
Anyone can walk in at any moment and everything will be ruined .
He pulls away from her neck, and she kisses him once more, only for him to reciprocate it for only a second.
Furrowing her brows, he takes a deep breath and grasps her robe closed, stating, “Go get some clothes on.”
Summary: Seven years after the Lost Boys' transformations, someone from their past -- David's past, in particular -- comes back to Santa Carla on account of attempting to help cover up their reckless murders and missing persons cases as the Santa Carla Police Department -- specifically Sheriff Hewitt -- begins to close in on the culprits.
Warning: THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL SITUATIONS, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, AND EXPLICIT VIOLENCE. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OWN OCs.
Summary: Seven years after the Lost Boys' transformations, someone from their past -- David's past, in particular -- comes back to Santa Carla on account of attempting to help cover up their reckless murders and missing persons cases as the Santa Carla Police Department -- specifically Sheriff Hewitt -- begins to close in on the culprits.
Warning: THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL SITUATIONS, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, AND EXPLICIT VIOLENCE. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OWN OCs.
“. . . yeah, you shook me all night long . . .” It filters through the air in loud waves that almost have her flinching, as she slithers through the packed out lakehouse, holding a cold, red cup filled to the brim with beer that she’d been pretending to sip on since arriving.
Cigarette smoke, among other things, clouds the air, random claps and cheers for a keg stand begin close to the kitchen while she inadvertently hunts.
She wasn’t necessarily starving by any means, she could go a couple more days before the desperation kicks in and crawls out of her in the form of reckless slaughter that will have the cops whispering about another serial murder.
However, she wants to avoid that, so in the back of her mind remains the reminder that she, in fact, does need to eat for the sake of keeping the peace with Max.
The thought of his name makes her roll her brown eyes.
Her makeshift father who took her under his wing and has never allowed her to forget she owes him for saving her life.
It’s why she’s here tonight, why she’s been so painfully social.
Not just on the prowl for a meal, but siblings to add to Max’s fucked idea of a family of his own, being that he never got the chance to experience for himself as a human.
“ My mother had seven children: three girls, four boys ,” he had told her. “ Only five more to go .”
“Seeing anything?” Cynthia’s voice pulls her from her thoughts, Elicia glancing up at the auburn-haired beauty.
Max had given her that speech before Cynthia had come into the picture.
The second out of three girls to be had.
“Nada.” Elicia shakes her head.
They know almost all of these people.
They have stable enough homes, or family members that love them enough to care if they go missing.
Not safe to eat, nor abduct for an eternity of young adulthood.
“Me either.” She replies in a low tone, growing discouraged.
“I’m about to go check by the lake.” Elicia states, handing off her cup to her best friend, who doesn’t hesitate to start chugging its contents.
Pushing through the crowd, the strapped heel on her foot hits the deck of the back porch facing Lake Carla.
More smoke lingering from questionable substances infiltrates her nostrils and she’s wrinkling her nose, wafting the smoke away from her face, taking a step toward the doc before stopping in her tracks at the sound of, “Sorry, Princess !”
She turns to see blue eyes looking at her smugly through the thick of cigarette smoke.
“I would say, ‘go choke’, David, but those things will plant a tumor in your throat and do it for me.” She smiles sarcastically at his cigarette as he deliberately blows smoke in her face.
She doesn’t even flinch, glaring at him, unamused.
“It used to not bother you.” He reminds her, teasingly.
She refuses the smile that threatens to pull at her full lips at particular memories that surround him in her mind.
“Still holding onto the past, I see.” She says, instead, pouting dramatically to mimic how she can only imagine him when he speaks of their short lived time together.
“Still playing hard to get, I see.” He retorts with a scoff.
No, he had gotten her. Completely.
It was the keeping her part that had been an impossible feat.
It was nothing he had done wrong, she wishes she could tell him as much, but she can’t.
He was too independent, too lonely, too unattached to any family.
The perfect candidate for Max.
Elicia abandoned him to save him.
“Always.” She replies lightly, turning on her heel toward the doc.
“That’s it?” He goes after her, trailing on her heels, continuing, “No, ‘how you been?’, ‘what’re you up to?’, ‘how’s the sting of rejection?’” He rambles to keep talking to her, truthfully, entranced with her in the blink of an eye.
“It was a year ago, David, the sting should have faded by now.” She doesn't try to hide her grin anymore, remembering how much she enjoyed his seemingly endless banter of flirtation.
It’s how he got her to fall in love with him in the first place.
“I still have your balls in a jar at home. Would you like those back?” She adds, next, warmth spreading through her when he grabs her wrist and turns her to face him. “Too far?”
“What’re you doing here, El?” He hisses, the playfulness drained in his smooth voice. “You don’t. . . party . . .” He adds cautiously, glancing around at the half-baked crowd around them. “At least not with any of us.” He goes on, referring to the many young alcoholics and drug addicts in the making. “Are you okay?” His blue eyes flutter back and forth, studying her face, willing her to tell him she had been looking for him, that she missed him, she wanted him back, she hoped he could forgive her. . .
“I’m fine, David. I’m just looking for someone. Maybe you’ve seen him ?” She lies, but she knows the moment she mentions a “him,” he’ll back off.
Dropping her wrist, “Yeah, alright, Elicia,” He takes another inhale of his cigarette and makes sure to blow it away from her this time, confirming his flirtations were done before walking back to the deck.
Guilt settles in her gut before she’s huffing out a breath and glancing back around at the crowd on the doc.
Perhaps as the night carries on, and they thin out, she’ll have an opportunity to strike.
At least one has to be a nobody with no one.
Her mouth waters at the thought, and she’s heading back inside to find Cynthia, which leads her down one of the hallways, her flat palm hitting at the door twice as she says, “Cynthia, c’mon.”
“ One second !” She pipes, holding back her moan, the lips of her lover grazing across the skin of her neck.
Elicia rubs her temples, stepping back further up the hallway to lean against the wall and wait out the woman’s needs that are being met at an irritatingly inconvenient time.
She hears someone behind her, turning to see Tony Dewey.
He looks out of place here, much like she and Cynthia probably do, the product of a decent homelife and squeaky clean record.
“H-Hey, Elicia.” He greets her shyly, but it’s clear he’s trying not to let it show, wanting to puff his chest up and speak to her with the same confidence all the other guys that approach her do.
“Hey, Tony.” She’s polite, but doesn’t entertain him, turning back around to stare at the bathroom door and wait for Cynthia.
“You look good.” He adds, her eyes closing as guilt strikes in her.
She’s always noticed him looking at her anytime they’d see one another out and about, but most times she had been with David.
She’d somewhat engaged him once before – a little over a year back – with the intention of making a meal out of him, until she put it together his father was the Sheriff’s Deputy.
“Thank you.” She says to him, looking over her shoulder to smile briefly.
“Have you seen Paul?” David asks one of the girls in passing as he enters the house once more, and she replies in a shrug.
He repeats the question to a guy who motions in the direction of the bathroom and says, “he disappeared with Cynthia that way.”
“You waiting for someone?” Tony asks, next, not taking the hint that Elicia wishes he’d take and leave her alone.
“No, I need to piss.” Elicia blurts, hoping her blatancy would scare him off – make him wrinkle his nose in disgust at the thought and never speak to her again.
She felt that way with any guy that wasn’t David, truthfully.
He had ruined guys for her completely, setting a bar so high she feared no one else would even be able to graze with their fingertips.
“Me too.” He’s committed, she has to give him that.
“Lucky you can just go outside and do it.” She reminds him, silently begging him to do so.
“Technically speaking, you can, too.” He replies, making her snap around to face him just as David walks into the hallway with them.
“You want to see me squat over an anthill?” She asks, her goal to make Tony uncomfortable.
It works, an expression coming to his face that tells her he’s taken aback.
“Um. . .” He starts, trailing off.
“I’ll let you watch.” She keeps going. “You can hold my dress.”
“N-No.” Tony shakes his head. “Thanks.” He turns to go, slipping past David who looks at her pointedly.
“God, you’re mean.” He mumbles, adding, “What has Tony Dewey ever done to you? I mean, I’m not a fan because his dad but. . .” He trails off, realizing it’s the same reason she isn’t particularly fond of him, either.
“I thought Cynthia broke up with Paul.” She ignores him, changing the subject.
“She did. It lasted, like, two days.” He replies.
Cynthia had also agreed to stop seeing Paul for the sake of saving him from the same fate Elicia had wanted to save David from.
The redhead clearly had the willpower of a leaf in the wind.
In the midst of the quiet, he looks her over. Her dark hair pinned up, stray spirals escaping here and there, framing her face, long legs accentuated with the deep purple color of her strapless dress that doesn't necessarily cling to her, but fits her well enough, leading down to heels that put her right at his height, perhaps even a smidgen taller.
She hadn’t just taken off with his balls, she tossed them in a blender and he was certain he’d never get them back.
She can hear his thoughts almost as clearly as she can hear her own, invading his privacy completely, a frown coming to her lips.
“David.” Elicia starts, rubbing her lips together, “I —”
“ Cops !”
Both of their eyes widen as they scramble to the bathroom door.
“Cynthia, we have to go!” She shouts as David adds, “Cops!”
The young woman in the bathroom furrows her brows at her company, the two of them in their own world to have heard it the first time.
“Fuck it.” Elicia hisses, taking a step back before shoving her shoulder into the door.
It snaps open, leaving David to say, “Well. . .that’s one way,” not taking the time to gawk at her strength.
“There’s cops. We have to go.” Elicia repeats clearly to Cynthia and Paul, both, as the two of them stumble from one another, confused and frantic for a moment. “There’s a window facing the lake in the spare bedroom, we can scatter out of it—”
“What about the boys?” Paul asks, looking at David.
“What?”
“Dwayne and Marko?” Paul points out.
“I thought they left early to ride with Jules to take Donna home?"
“ Police !” They hear someone shout in the foyer.
“Okay, we’ll dissect this all later, we’ve got to get the hell out of here.” Elicia whispers, Cynthia peeking her head out of the bathroom to see officers already stepping out the back door.
One approaches the end of the hall they’re on, and she’s snatching her head back in the bathroom, mouthing, “Right there,” as she points toward the end of the hall.
“We’re fucked.” Elicia mouths back to her.
Footsteps start easing down the hall, the sure sound of, “This is the Santa Carla Police Department. Anyone hiding needs to come out.”
They all hold their breath as he grows closer and closer, only to open one of the spare rooms next door to the bathroom and begin searching.
The four of them take their opportunity to run for it unannounced, being followed by a sharp, “Hey!” in their wake.
Heading to the spare room that holds the key to their escape, they hear more shouting, and just as David is the last one to enter the room, several cops come barreling toward the door, only for it to slam in their faces and lock.
“They’ll just kick it down.” Paul states as Elicia opens the window and glances around to make sure the coast is clear.
“You get out and run. Don’t wait, we’ll meet up when we get away.” She tells them once she sees it is.
“Ladies first.” Paul grins to Cynthia who smiles back and shuffles out of the window, and he motions for Elicia to go, next.
“You go.” She states, not leaving him any room for an argument as they’re short on time with the banging on the door.
“Go.” David says to her as Paul clears the window, meeting Cynthia outside, the two of them running toward the woods.
The door knocks down, officers shuffling in and rushing toward them.
She and David dive out one after the other, making a run for it in the same direction Cynthia and Paul had.
It seemed like a good plan until they’re being met with a line of cops.
In a few moments, David and Elicia are reunited with Cynthia and Paul, as well as Marko and Dwayne—who in fact had not left to take their dates home—and a gaggle of other party goers who are all cuffed and lined up along the grass, sitting.
Elicia and David are sat beside one another, the flash of red and blue lights flickering across their faces.
Heavy hitting shoes hound the ground with steady steps.
“Well, well, well. . .” The gruff voice huffs out with a chuckle, David, Dwayne, Marko, and Paul all rolling their eyes with quiet groans as they look up to see Sheriff Hewitt. “ . . . I’ve had this talk with you boys before. You haven’t learned your lesson?”
“We’re deaf.” Marko pipes smartly, opting Dwayne to shove at his shoulder with his own.
His weathered eyes drift to Elicia and Cynthia as Deputy Dewey glares at Tony and says, “Get in the car.”
The intense weight of Hewitt’s gaze has Elicia leaning a bit closer to David as the man crouches down inches from her face.
“Does your daddy know where you two are?” Hewitt asks, eyes darting to David. “Or who you’re with?”
“She’s not with us.” David states a little too harshly, recoiling slightly from Elicia to better make it convincing.
Hewitt glances between the two of them.
“Hmm.” He stands back to his feet, nodding to his deputy.
“IDs, everybody! If you don’t have ‘em on you, tell us where they are, if they aren’t on the premises then I hope you’ve got money for a fine!”
Once IDs are checked, each subject frisked for any drugs in the meantime, minors’ parents are contacted to come pick them up, anyone found not guilty of possession or consumption of anything other than cigarettes are let go.
Except Elicia, Cynthia, and the boys.
“Dewey, you know the number to that video store down on the Boardwalk?” Hewitt asks Deputy Dewey.
“Like the back of my hand at this point.” He says as he looks at the two girls.
“Ring him up and let him know his girls have been detained for trespassing and evading law enforcement.”
“You’re snitching on us to our father, you fucking pussy?” Elicia’s face twists up as she nearly barks it out, angrily.
“Keep talking, Powers, I’ll get you for disrespecting an office.”
“That’s not even a law!” Cynthia pipes as Hewitt looks at Dewey and says, “Go call.”
“He’s not our dad, why’re you holding us?” David asks him.
Hewitt doesn’t reply, heading back to his car.
Max Powers arrives at the lake house, shutting the door of his car as he approaches Hewitt, looking at his girls perched on the porch with four boys he’s never seen before.
“Sheriff.” Max extends his hand, Hewitt accepting it. “I’m so sorry if my girls caused any trouble.”
“They didn’t, Max. Not enough to hurt anything, at least. I just wanted you to see for yourself the miscreants they spend their time with out from under your supervision.” He pipes, leading him toward the porch. “Dewey, let ‘em go.”
Elicia and Cynthia are pulled to a stand, their cuffs unlocked.
Her heart sinks to her stomach at the look on Max’s face.
“Who's this?” He motions to the young men.
“No one.” Elicia dismissively grasps Cynthia’s hand and tugs her off the porch as they head to Max’s car.
“You two stop right now, young ladies.” He commands, his daughters’ steps halting, and he looks at the four boys once more.
“What are your names?”
No answer.
He glances to see Hewitt and Dewey speaking quietly among themselves, and he gets on the porch and speaks to the boys quietly.
“Sheriff Hewitt is a friend of mine. Perhaps I can talk to him on your behalf to let you be from here on out — within reason, of course.”
They all glance at one another.
Hewitt had a personal vendetta against them, it seemed.
Always on their asses about something, as if he stalked them and waited for them to light up a joint, or have a beer, step six inches over a property line that isn’t theirs . . just so he can terrorize them legally.
David watches Elicia, and Max watches him, knowing exactly where his gaze is focused, but he pretends not to.
His hand reaches out to grasp David’s shoulder, a flash of Elicia laughing, another flash of them kissing in the throes of a rather intimate moment, an echo of, “ I love you ,” fleeing her lips sweetly.
“I’m trying to help you fellas.” Max says it as calmly as he can given what he just learned.
How ungrateful Elicia is, how dishonest. . .
Another uneasy glance at one another before David finally says, “David.”
“Dwayne.” The brunette adds.
“Marko.” Marko mutters.
“Paul.” They look like defeated puppies.
Lost puppies.
“Where do you boys live? I’ll give you a ride home.” He offers.
“They don’t need one.” Elicia interrupts abruptly. “Do you?” She adds, glaring at them to cooperate and say, “no.”
But David narrows his blue eyes and states, “Yeah, we do, actually. Thank you .”
“Sheriff,” Max calls, stepping toward him.
“You’d rather us walk back to town?” David whispers to her sharply.
“We would, actually.” Cynthia cuts in before Elicia can reply.
“I’m not speaking to you, Red.” He dismissively retorts.
“David, let up.” Paul jumps in.
“Why? Because we would’ve gotten in this situation anyway even if you two hadn’t been screwing around?” He asks, furrowing his brows.
“Oh, so it’s our fault, now?” Cynthia once more cuts in and David says, “It’s not not your fault.”
“Just because you couldn’t keep your girlfriend doesn’t mean you have to trample all over mine.” Paul quietly grits through his teeth.
“Yeah, let’s not even get into that.” Elicia bites, glaring at Cynthia for maintaining her relationship with Paul despite the two of them agreeing to split from their partners for their safety.
“Give me a break, Elicia.” Cynthia argues.
“Shh!” Dwayne shushes them all, adding, “You can all do this when we get outta here.”
They know he’s right, shutting their mouths as they wait for Max to finish talking Hewitt into letting the boys leave with them.
In a couple more moments, he’s walking back toward them, holding out the car keys.
“Girls, you and your friends go wait out in the car, please. I need to finish talking to Sheriff Hewitt.
They just nod, Elicia taking the keys, the six of them cramming into the Vista Cruiser.
“Okay.” Elicia starts as soon as they get inside the car, turning around in the front seat to face them. “He’s probably going to ask where you guys live when he gets back. You give vague directions, let him drop you off at a random house–”
“What?” Marko furrows his brows in confusion.
“Please.” She pleads. “You have families, you have loved ones.”
“ . . . No we don’t.” Marko replies.
“You have families . You have l oved ones. ” She repeats it like an order, like a command, leaving off, That will absolutely notice if you go missing or change drastically.
“The hell’s going on, El?” David says, rolling his jaw.
“Just go with it.” Cynthia adds as Max comes back to the car.
The door swings open and Max gets in the vehicle beside Cynthia, clearing his throat.
“We will have a very long discussion when we get home, girls.” He says to them, disappointed.
They don’t reply, already knowing they’re going to get an earful and inevitably let it roll off their backs.
What’s he going to do?
Punish them for going out like he told them to? It isn’t their fault they were swept up in a bust in the midst of just obeying his orders.
“Okay, boys, where is it you stay?” Max asks it as they get back on the road.
Elicia digs her nails into her palms as she awaits their responses.
That Lake house we just left , is the answer.
Tami Fulton’s parents owned it, but once she drowned, they immediately left Santa Carla, but still mindlessly paid for the bills connected to the home because they refused to return to town and cut it all off, and sell the home.
Every once in a while the cops come by and bust up parties held there while the boys hide out in the woods and wait for them to leave.
No evidence was ever left that someone lived there–not even a cigarette butt.
They had grown good at hiding out.
It’s not the first time they’ve been caught there with a group of people, however, so cops have always thought they were like everyone else and came to the lake house on account of a good time.
Not that it was their residence.
“I live off Wallace Drive.” Marko states JuliAnn’s neighborhood.
“Darby.” Dwayne says, taking Marko’s lead and naming the street Donna is on.
“What about you two?” Max refers to Paul and David.
“We stay with our aunt.” David informs him, claiming Paul as a cousin. “It’s in the cul de sac of Ladmire road.
Elicia wants to let out a deep breath of relief but doesn’t.
“Alrighty.” Max pipes, not giving any clue or inkling that he doesn’t believe them.
Not until he’s growing closer and closer to his own home.
“Dad, we need to drop them off first.” Elicia suggests, clearing her throat.
“I’ve cooked too much dinner, girls. I wanted to invite them to join us. Perhaps you two can tell me how you all met.” He says back. “Are you all not starving ?” He adds, looking at Cynthia and Elicia.
It’s now that Elicia knows he knows the truth, rolling her jaw.
“I’m sure they have a curfew, Dad.” Elicia declares.
“I don’t think their guardians care too much about their whereabouts, as they’ve had so many run-ins with Sheriff Hewitt already–do they, boys?”
They don’t answer fast enough, opting for Max to say, “That’s what I thought.”
“Just take them home–”
“David, might I ask you a question?” Max starts, next, casually, the speed of the car begins to accelerate.
Before David can properly say “yes” or “no”, Max is blurting out, “How long have you known my daughter as intimately as you have?”
“Don’t answer that.” Elicia orders David, her brown eyes boiling over with hatred at the man behind the wheel.
Max looks at her, taking his eyes completely off the road, grinning before snatching the wheel so abruptly, the car is ripped off the road in a split second.
Summary: Seven years after the Lost Boys' transformations, someone from their past -- David's past, in particular -- comes back to Santa Carla on account of attempting to help cover up their reckless murders and missing persons cases as the Santa Carla Police Department -- specifically Sheriff Hewitt -- begins to close in on the culprits.
Warning: THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT SEXUAL SITUATIONS, EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, AND EXPLICIT VIOLENCE. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS EXCEPT MY OWN OCs.
Sticky May air settles in the dense woods, muggy and humid from the storm clouds rolling in the distance, the accompanying crack of thunder sounding in the distance.
Tony Dewey and Burke Hewitt stare down at the maimed body, the man’s remains scattered within a thirty foot diameter of the premises, the rustle of waves echoing in the wind as the young Sheriff’s Deputy looks at the Sheriff.
Pretty serious, is how it had initially been described to him in the first case he had seen in Santa Carla since returning.
He’d imagined a shooting or a stabbing in the midst of a robbery or mugging, but he soon learned that anything described as “pretty serious” meant there was more than just foul play involved.
There would only be a pile of bones, meat and muscle left to distinguish a body – or what’s left of it.
This one is missing a scalp, entirely.
“Maybe it’s an animal. . .” He mutters to Sheriff Hewitt, the older man spitting his wad of tobacco to the ground. “. . .a lion or a bear or something.”
Hewitt looks at him from behind his blacked-out aviators with a scoff.
“Very precise Lion.” He says to his colleague.
“Or bear.” Dewey replies lowly as Hewitt glances around for any other possible evidence before saying, “This stays right here. Don’t speak a word of it to anyone. The press doesn’t know, the press won’t know, locals won’t know. We keep it close.” He orders him. “Understood?”
“If it is someone, Sir, would we not hope the story of it breaking the news, knowing we’re investigating would keep them from doing it again?”
“That’s the thing, Dewey,” Hewitt steps to him, his hand on his shoulder as he raises his brows. “The hope isn’t that they won’t kill again. . .it’s that we catch them killing again.”
“Catch them before killing again.” Dewey mindlessly corrects him.
“What?” Sheriff Hewitt questions.
“You said the hope is that we catch them killing again. You meant to say, ‘the hope is that we catch them before they can kill again’.”
“I know what I said. And I meant exactly what I said.” The Sheriff retorts. “Just don’t mention a word to anybody about it. You got it?”
“Got it, sir.”
“Good deal.” He nods, hands on his hips as he looks at the mangled body once again. “Now, what is it that you know about vampires?”
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
Livia Snow watches solemnly as her husband hands off his bag to Philo, his blue eyes meeting hers once they’re left alone in her bedroom at her mother’s house.
Sitting up on the plush mattress, legs crossed underneath her, fingers nervously wringing at the floral comforter. . .
“It will only be for a little over a week, Darling.” He assures her, hands in his pockets as he slowly steps closer to her. “I’ll be back before you know it.” It’s added with his finger tips grazing her chin, a sweet smile spreading across his lips.
Her face is more painful today, bruised more than it was the night of the incident.
He wants to wince each time she has to move her mouth, knowing she’s in pain.
Livia doesn’t try to speak, just as she hadn’t the last three days since losing so many teeth.
So, she nods.
Kissing the top of her hair while reminding her, “I love you,” he leans down and kisses her pregnant stomach, “Goodbye, dear.”
Again, she nods, not wanting to try to speak.
Not wanting him to see how horrid she looks now when she speaks.
Truth be told she doesn’t mind not speaking to him at the moment, anyway.
Frustrated and hurt that he would leave her side now of all times.
She tries not to let it hurt her feelings or bother her too badly as he shuts the door behind as while he goes, a few stray tears trickle down her swollen cheek.
Philo and Snow arrive at the train station after Tawny, her father already handing her bags off to the luggage attendant as the two men step onto the platform.
Snow grows frigid when unwanted memories slip through the seams of his mind, his lip threatening to curl with its intrusion.
“You have everything you need, right?” Tiberius asks his daughter, clearly worried senseless about her traveling to the Districts.
“Yes, I do.” She tells him, a small smile coming to her lips before she’s hugging him tightly. “I’ll be perfectly fine, dad. We’ll have security at each stop, and we won’t be mixed with the public at all. These are merely discussions with Mayors and whatnot.” It does little to ease his concern, but he nods, kissing her cheek.
“I love you,” he says, next, to which she replies, “I love you, too. I’ll see you in a week.”
“See you in a week.” He mumbles as she and Philo head toward the train cart, leaving Snow and Tiberius. “Keep an eye on her.” He adds to him. “They have yet to release Dr. Pinnacle. She’s getting more and more frantic over it as the days pass. . .I took her cigarettes out of her bag but I’m sure she has more somewhere. If you see her with one please take it. She’s been smoking quite a bit more recently, and was coughing and hacking yesterday morning.” He continues, his words bringing a slight furrow to Snow’s brows. “My father died with a tumor the size of a grapefruit in his lungs. Volumnia said it was more than likely because he smoked so much. . .me and Mini have lost so much already between our boys and our granddaughter. . .if anything were to happen to our Tawny Owl, they’d have to put us down like mad dogs.” Tiberius explains, honestly.
Snow nods, assuring him, “I’ll take care of her, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Snow.” He pats his shoulder, turning to go, but stops himself to say, “I appreciate what you said at that debate. So many people suffered just as much here as we were in the Districts. Thank you for reminding certain people of that.”
Snow accepts his compliment from someone he actually respects, saying, “I’m glad I could do so, sir.”
With one last smile and nod from Tiberius, he’s leaving the platform.
Snow enters the rather lavish train, the last time he had traveled to the Districts, it was mere benches and wide windows — though he supposes those are for public citizens, not potential Presidents.
This one is laid out like a regular living room, a sofa and leather parlor chairs, rich, mahogany side tables that match the coffee table, a thick, fluffy area rug that’s beautifully woven.
A gas fireplace is the finishing touch.
“. . .The dining room is through this door,” he points to the door along the wall in front of them, sleeping quarters are here,” he motions to the door in the wall behind them.
“What about bathrooms?” Tawny asks, raising a brow.
“Each bedroom has a private restroom.” The attendant informs her.
She only nods, glancing around their living space for the next week.
She and Coriolanus both feel the room spinning at the idea of being In such close confines with one another for so long.
“Who gets what room?” Tawny asks, next, crossing her arms.
“All the rooms are the same, so it doesn’t particularly matter I suppose, Dr. Gaul.” He replies. “If you’d like me to take your luggage, I can—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Snow interrupts him.
Her eyes flicker to Coriolanus to see he hasn’t broken his gaze, her throat going dry.
“Thank you, Mr. Siphon.” Snow extends a bill, a generous tip that the attendant gladly accepts.
“You’re more than welcome, Mr. Snow. Do ring anytime you need me.” He motions to the phone on the wall beside the window, and takes his leave.
The three of them are left in an awkward silence, Philo more than observant of his boss’ attention toward Tawny.
“I’m going to my room.” Philo clears his throat, grabbing his luggage.
Neither person acknowledges him, glaring at one another, instead.
Once Philo goes, leaving them be, Snow’s stepping closer to her, leering down his nose at her.
“I expect we will keep this trip civil, Dr. Gaul. Which means bickering, petty comments, ugly looks and smart remarks stay to a minimum—and don’t happen at all while we’re working.” He says plainly, sternly. “Don’t fuck this up for me.” He adds.
She looks at him, her tongue running across the inside of her bottom lip before she says, “‘Don’t fuck this up for me’.” She quotes him. “The first time I’ve heard you acknowledge there’s nothing left of mine to fuck up.”
“The actions of Crane and Pinnacle and your blind devotion to them has nothing to do with me.”
“My husband, who you framed for murdering the President, and my fiancé, who you deliberately pushed at publicly—on national television—until he snapped.” She states. “Do you see the common thread the disintegration of my personal life has been woven with?”
“I did what had to be done for the sake of Panem—”
“Oh, fuck Panem!” She outbursts, anger clenching at her fists that curl up until her hand shakes. “You do not snuff out every relationship I’ve been in for the sake of the country—you do it all for yourself !”
“It’s my fault that you just so happen to crawl into bed with treasonist bastard after treasonist bastard.” He harshly states.
“Pias didn’t commit treason by having an opinion different than yours!”
“He committed treason by bombing that arena and killing Capitol children!” He barks back.
Her brows furrow deeply, her beautiful face twisting in disgust at his words as her stomach drops.
“What?” She asks just as he adds, “It was a plan to shift the layout of the arena in the tenth games—to make it more challenging—”
“You’re lying.” She shakes her head, feeling lightheaded as she stumbles back, turning from him.
“It worked, but not without killing Tullia Gaul, Felix Ravinstill—”
“—Enough.” She holds her hand up to get him to stop, but he continues with, “Your aunt knew about it, Pias Pinnacle knew about it—”
“Enough!” She screams, tears falling to her cheeks as she squeezes her eyes together as he shouts back, “—Because they planned it!”
He watches the realization wash over her face, the confusion following, all mingling with tears. . .he watches her for minutes it seems, the time dragging by, slowing down.
Eventually, she hears him leave once she turns her back, and with the closing of the door behind him, she’s allowing a quiet sob to rack up her throat.
Over a day passes before Coriolanus sees her.
She’s pushing her breakfast around her plate as Philo goes through the itinerary.
“Tonight we arrive in town in Nine, and then Eight by noon Tuesday, then Three Wednesday evening, and Six by Friday morning, and then—” He stops reading off the paper Dr. Gaul had left him with, his eyes catching on the last District to visit.
“Then what?” Coriolanus presses.
“This one was written it, it seems. An annotation—”
“What does it fucking say, Philo?” Tawny spares no feelings in her hoarse tone, tired of the bullshitting and dancing around corners.
Tired of the lies, the coverups and the sugarcoating.
“It appears the order is Nine, Six, Three, Twelve, and Eight.” He reads off the edit made by hand in Volumnia’s handwriting.
“ Twelve .” Snow repeats, realizing why Philo had hesitated to say it, his fists tensing as he restrains from throwing his glass of orange juice at the wall and pitching a fit.
It’s a sick joke that Gaul’s making at his expense.
“Three, Six, Eight, Nine, Twelve.” She repeats, pushing her unkept hair out of her face. “The districts plotting rebellion are the ones my brothers and your father got murdered in.” Tawny dryly says to Snow, eyes watering, anger once more rising within her. “After all those ungrateful bastards have taken from us, yet they still feel entitled to peace separated from the Capitol.” She grimaces. “And it’s us they send out here to endorse that peace when all I want to do is blow them off the fucking map.” She kicks out of her chair, ringing her hands as she stomps out of the dining cart to her room.
“Excuse me one moment.” Snow tells Philo, clearing his throat.
“Of course.” He replies, watching as the blonde follows after her.
As soon as Tawny shuts the door of the cabin only big enough to fit a full sized bed and small chest of drawers, the door opens without a knock.
“I want to go home, I shouldn’t even be here.” She shakily tells him, her voice low and thick with the attempt at keeping herself calm.
“Tawny—”
“—This is not what I signed up for. I agreed to accompany you and make you look good, I did not agree to a great tour of soils my brothers got gunned down on.” She
“And that’s all you’ll do.” He raises his brows. “Just smile and play nice with the other children and we’ll be done with this entire. . . production , before we even realize it.”
“ Production .” She mutters, turning from him to sit on the bed.
“That’s all it is.” Snow steps closer. “Pairing us together–you accompanying me as if you’re going to be an integral part of my Presidency. . .it’s for show. Spectacle .” He informs her, piecing it together in his mind, thinking the way Dr. Gaul and her ring of bureaucratic politicians think.
“‘ As if ’?” Her dark brows drop, nostrils flaring slightly as she repeats him. “If the goal is for me to be Head of the Department of War when my aunt is gone, and the goal is for you to be President, then there is no ‘if’ about it, Snow. I will be a rather integral part of your presidency.” She argues, only for him to roll his jaw, his expression giving way to the thoughts in his head.
Her face falls flat.
“The position is for me to appoint when Dr. Gaul’s time in it ends.” He reminds her.
“And you won’t let me see the light of day in it.” It’s said more-so to herself, taking in a deep breath. “Yet another man I’ve shared my bed with that winces at the thought of me having some control.”
“It has nothing to do with—”
“Yes, it—”
His palm is covering her mouth to shut her up, his forehead almost pressing to hers as he outbursts, “You were just throwing around wanting to incinerate five districts, Tawny!”
Her chest heaves with each breath, while he calms and continues, “You think I’d trust you with our War Department?”
She refuses to admit that he’s right, that she can’t be trusted with such a responsibility.
She’s not a big enough person to stand for the greater good of the Capitol without him holding her hand to the flame of peace .
Soft fingers gently rest over his hand, pulling it from her lips, but he doesn’t make a move to back away from her from where he’s leering over her, still so close.
“Believe or not, I have been trying to figure where you’re going to fit in all of this. . .I want you to fit.” He admits quietly, his eyes scorching hers as he speaks. “Not as my mistress, or someone I’m taking along to secure people’s support, but as an indispensable asset. Because you’re good at what you do, it’s valuable to the Capitol , and it’s valuable to Panem .”
Her eyes play tricks on her, she's sure of it, when she sees blue flicker down to glance her lips for a split second, before once more meeting her eyes in the amount of time it takes to blink.
“But not you. . . Mr. President. . .” She whispers bitterly, long, black lashes framing her watering eyes, a lump forming in her throat.
It’s quite clear in this moment, to him at least, that she’s not well-rested.
Her words sound as if she’s had a bit too much to drink in a sense, though he knows she hasn’t.
She’s not drunk, only exhausted.
He can’t tell if it’s due to the shambles of her personal life, or him merely exhausting her.
Irritation bubbles in him at the latter.
If anything, he should be the one crawling to the finish line of this madness, begging for it to just be over with—under far more pressure than her and concealing it better.
“Stop trying to figure out where to put me in your circle.” She tells him in a rasp. “Because I’m going to smile and be cordial, and do my damndest to sell the shit out of you as President, and then as soon as we get back home, and I’m released from this torture chamber on wheels, I’m staying as far away from you as humanly possible. And I will stay as far away from you as humanly possible until one of us dies .
They look at one another once she says it, staring, his features hardening again as if to protect his ego from her relentless words.
Pulling away from him, she’s reaching behind her pillow, pulling her cigarette compact out from under it, along with her lighter.
It’s fitted between her lips, the flame flickering as she strikes it before it’s catching.
Before she can even inhale, he’s snatching it from her lips, grabbing the compact of them.
He ignores the daggers she shoots at him with her eyes as he steps to the door, not saying another word.
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
“. . .Dr. Pinnacle is right. I haven’t seen any combat. Nor have I had to drag any of my fellow soldiers’ bodies to safety while they bleed out from their war wounds . . .” He trails off, vivid images of Livia’s father chopping into the frozen carcass of his dead maid in the street re-entering his mind.
His dead mother.
His murdered father.
“. . . Most of us didn’t.” He adds, raising his brows. “However, I wouldn’t go as far to say I can’t comprehend the cost of war. I know the cost of war — much like every citizen of the Capitol who was old enough to be affected by the three years of confusion, pain, and suffering each of us endured. My grandmother, my cousin, and myself starved – we all starved. . .” Coriolanus adds, furrowing his brows as he glances at Pias and sees him roll his jaw, already knowing where this is going, but Coriolanus only throws salt in the wound when he briskly adds, “Not even accounting for the lives lost due to lack of resources, like my mother and baby sister who passed in childbirth. Or those who fell in battle like my father, and left their families riddled with grief and the harsh readjustment of no longer having them present once the war was done with, or those who did return but were mutilated from war wounds, visible and invisible, and were no longer the same people they had been when they had been drafted, and had to readjust accordingly.” He continues, raising his brows. “So, you all might understand my concern and disappointment that Dr. Pinnacle equates comprehending the hardships of war with whether one was in the thick of combat, or not. My disgust with his backwards way of thinking is only amplified by the fact that his very own fiancee lost all four of her brothers during the war. And more recently, lost her four year old daughter at the hands of rebels!”
There’s a shift in the audience and Tawny is standing to her feet, chest heaving as her heart hammers, and Snow looks at Pias directly.
“ – Yet you have the audacity to stand here and say that she, myself, and all the Citizens of the Capitol know nothing of the cost of war –”
“Mr. Snow, you cannot address Dr. Pinnacle direct –”
“ – When we all have scars that prove that we , and the people we loved, paid for it!” Snow ignores Lucky’s attempt to get him back in line with debate regulations.
A pin could be heard dropping if someone decided to do so, the packed out University Auditorium collectively holding their breaths awaiting Pias’ reaction of his own love being weaponized against him.
It’s even more effective being as Tawny hadn’t even spoken of Tullia with him.
In fact, he had completely forgotten she had a child at all, as he never paid attention to her truly until after she became a Gamescientist.
Then, something more sinister begins to settle in his mind upon this realization.
His concocted plot with Dr. Gaul, to bomb the arena to change the terrain in hopes of a better show, ultimately murdered his fiancee’s child.
And she has no inkling of an idea it truly hadn’t been rebels.
He can see it in Coriolanus’ eyes, the blue hues looking at him in resentment, disgust, horror, rage, fury . . . he knows the truth. It’s why Snow sharply added it, his venom spewing.
But how does he know, is Dr. Pinnacle’s question.
Philo Marius nervously watches the screen as the two men stare one another down, Coriolanus’ chest rising and falling with each deep breath.
He can feel the fury rolling off of him in waves.
To anyone else it probably appears that he’s glaring at his competition, as opponents do, but Philo, Tawny, Livia, and Tigris know very well that he’s seething.
Only Philo, and now Pias himself, know it’s not just because of Dr. Pinnacle’s statement.
Not another word is spoken between the two men as Pias rips his microphone from himself, Lucky pipes, “Dr. Pinnacle, if you leave the stage, it may reflect poorly –” He shuts up when Pias tosses the microphone that had been pinned to him onto the floor and leaves the stage despite Lucky’s advice not to.
Tawny doesn’t wait to see how Lucky wraps it up as professionally as he can, abruptly shoving herself past Philo and Cyrus to exit the room and find Pias.
He’s storming toward her, and she’s immediately stating, “It’s okay,” grasping at his hand only for him to snatch away from her, her touch making him nauseated as embarrassment shutters through him as he grits out, “It’s not okay.”
“Pias.” She speaks gently, taking his hand once more, her other gloved hand caressing his cheek to get him to look at her, “It’s okay –”
“ – It’s not!” He barks yanking away from her before harshly demanding, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
She knows he’s referring to Tullia, and she struggles to find an answer.
She assumed everyone she worked with knew at one point or another.
With prompted applause from the crowd, Snow exits the stage, Pias’ eyes flickering in that direction, his steps following his own gaze.
“Pias, no!” Tawny hisses, grabbing his wrist.
Her tugs don’t slow him down as he tears his way toward Coriolanus who is kissing his wife’s cheek.
“Pias!” She shouts it to give Snow a warning, and he’s turning to see Dr. Pinnacle barreling toward him.
Albus Shoemake, who had decided to watch the debate on one of the monitors closer to the stage, intercepts them upon seeing Pias’ line of sight.
“Dr. Pinnacle,” He starts, in his way.
“Move, Albus.”
“Your career , Pias. Presidency or not. Your career . All you have worked for.” Albus states quietly. “It will all be gone.”
Pias calms, taking in a breath, swallowing thickly, before slowly nodding, giving Tawny and Albus both the impression that he’s gotten his wits about him.
Perhaps he had for a moment, until the horror show that was Coriolanus ripping him to shreds, weaponizing his own fiancee against him, confirming to him he knows what Dr. Gaul and Pias had done to Tawny’s daughter . . .
Pias charges past Albus, fist balling up as he shouts, “Snow, you son of a bitch!”
“Pinnacle!” Albus tries to grab at him.
He blindly swings, seeing red, only hearing the blood curdling scream after his fist knocks into teeth.
His vision clears to see Livia Snow on the ground, a shower of red pouring from her as she silently cries like an overwhelmed child, paralyzed by pain from several of her teeth being shattered.
All he recalls next is Snow abruptly lunging at him, unable to seek his retribution due to the Peacekeepers peeling the two men away from one another.
Mortified was an understatement.
Utterly embarrassed, humiliated, so much so that she was tempted to lay across the train tracks and go to that place of eternal sleep.
The Justice Building is freezing despite the frigid air outside, the sickly clean, crisp air burning Tawny’s nostrils as she waits in the uncomfortable steel chair in the lobby.
“He’s in the process of being booked. I’ll let you know when, or if , he can be released tonight,” The clerk had informed her upon inquiring about Pias’ whereabouts
He’d been arrested quickly after his fight with Snow had been interrupted.
The two men had both been brought here.
Once they release Pias, they may have to get her next for getting him as soon as they get into the parking lot.
Eventually, the metal doors click open, Tawny coming to her feet expecting to see someone willing to speak with her about her fiancé.
Instead, she’s met with Snow’s sharp gaze as he flatly states, “He’s still being questioned.”
He hopes she’ll leave him be and stay so he can focus on finding Livia and going to her, but Tawny can’t miss her opportunity to rip into him until she’s able to rip into Pias, following him out of the building.
“You should have kept your mouth shut about me, my brothers, and my daughter.” She says when the freezing air hits them. “I appreciate you defending me but you had no right to use us for your political gain.”
“It had nothing to do with me defending you or my policial gain. I was insulted, and you should have been, too.” He snaps back to her, the two of them stepping down the marble steps. “My point was made either way, and he pitched a tantrum because he knew he was wrong.”
“You had no valid grounds to bring me or them into this,” She grabs his wrist to pull him to a halt, causing him to huff out a breath.
“No, he had no valid grounds to turn his nose up and get on his soap box to minimize everything and everyone we have all lost. All on a technicality that most of us weren’t shooting rebels left and right out in the districts.” He grits out to her through his teeth, finger pointing at her. “And if you want to defend him so valiantly then go ahead, but I’ve always thought more highly of you than aligning yourself with someone so asinine .” He hisses. “Though you did spend fourteen years with Dyess Crane so I shouldn’t be perplexed by your unwavering loyalty to his equally moronic successor—”
“ — Oh, please, Snow, give me a fucking break — ”
“ — You truly know how to pick them, Tawny.” It’s ranted out, seeing the hurt in her face as the words spill from him.
“You gave me no other choice!” She raises her voice, bitterly. “You’re with her . You chose her . You stayed with her . You’re about to have a baby with her !”
“Keep your voice down!” He scolds her quietly, yanking her closer to him. “We are not having this conversation.” He adds harshly.
“Of course we’re not. It would make too much sense for someone so insistent on getting me to abandon every relationship I find myself in, to want to have a conversation about why that is.” She cuts out at him, taking deep breaths to soothe her hounding heart.
It’s on the tip of his tongue, his recent finding, the plethora of redacted information Dr. Gaul held so close.
The arena bombing that took place a decade ago, the precious Capitol lives it took with it.
Felix Ravinstill.
Tullia Gaul.
How it had been Pias’ idea to bomb it in the first place.
Just like Dyess Crane, Tawny’s oblivious to his lies and deception.
It seems Coriolanus is the only lover she’s had that hadn’t kept such secrets from her.
But now he has to.
With Pinnacle unofficially — but officially — out of running for President due to his acquired criminal charge, Coriolanus is the last man standing.
Which means protecting the institution of the Capitol over his own personal relationships has never been more imperative.
He stares at Tawny, those words still on the tip of his tongue, but instead, he says to her, “I’d like to know why it is you’re so desperate to be underneath someone that you can’t see who they truly are until they do something horrendous like sabotaging your career, or assaulting a pregnant woman.”
He gets his desired effect, her full lips sealing shut as she thinks of what to respond with, what to cut him back deeper with.
But she can’t.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get to the hospital — you know, a busted up wife with a stressed out fetus by the hand of your fiance, and whatnot.”
She closes her eyes and lets out a shuddered breath with his words, and he’s walking away when she opens them back up again, guilt eating her alive.
Coriolanus arrives at Capitol General with a swiftness in each step as soon as he exits his car, tapping impatiently on the resting rail in the elevator, irritated with each passing second until he approaches reception and asks, “Livia Snow?”
“Just over there, Mr. Snow,” she points to a row of beds all encircled with privacy curtains. “Third one from the left.”
He sees Philo standing outside of the curtain, and pipes, “Thank you,” before heading toward him.
His chest tightens at the sight of Livia’s bruised face, her chin black and purple, swollen with her lips.
She’s asleep, as at ease as she can be.
“Several of her teeth are gone, they suggest implants when the baby is born. Her jaw is fractured — they said when you got here they would come and explain things better in depth. They’re giving her mild painkillers that are safe for pregnancy — they were vague as to what those were exactly, but she eased off about an hour ago. She was hysterical when we first got here.” He explains to Snow. “The nurse came in and said the baby’s fine. Tigris left after that and took Cyrus home.”
“I should have kept my mouth shut.” Coriolanus admits, hating the fact he agrees with Tawny.
“Mr. Snow, the debate was a success. You won. Pias is going to be out of the running.” Philo tells him, reassuringly.
“My opponent assaulted my wife.” He scoffs, rubbing his forehead.
“Because you made a rather outstanding point. How can a President undermine his people and discount their sacrifices? He’s too out of touch. Too arrogant. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with him running the country.” Philo continues, seeing Snow’s apprehension still evident on this face.
He moves closer so not a soul more can hear what he says, next, “I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with having a President who knowingly put the lives of Capitol children at risk all in the name of better entertainment.” He whispers, honestly.
Accident or not, Dr. Pinnacle knew Capitol citizens and their children toured around outside the arena each year the Hunger Games had been held there.
He knew the risk, he merely didn’t care.
Snow thinks for a moment, rolling his jaw, looking at his bruised wife.
She’s going to need dental implants for ruined teeth.
On the bright side, perhaps they’ll wire her jaw shut.
He then thinks of their daughter, still trying to grow and absorb all the nutrients she can.
Will she get fed enough if her mother can’t eat normal food?
Wincing at the thought, he’s interrupted with a tug at the curtain, revealing Dr. Gaul.
He bristles at her presence, rolling his jaw, and she holds the same expression, unamused with his performance tonight during the debate.
“Mr. Snow, a word.” She says to him, to which he quips, “I’m waiting for her doctor.”
“A word. Mr. Snow.” It’s repeated intensely, different colored eyes glaring at him flatly.
He feels as if he’s back to a teenager under her guidance once more.
After their success as somewhat of a team in his last few weeks at the Academy, when she had fully taken him under her wing at the University, he did everything with her approval of it in mid.
They thought so alike that anything that would make her proud – any law, bill, new idea to be implemented into the Games – he could think of, he would jump at the opportunity to do so, and he hadn’t been steered wrong, yet.
But knowing what he now knows about that bombing, how she covered it up, allowed it to continue to be blamed on non-existent Capitol rebels, allowed her great-niece to be blown to bits. . .allowed Pias to go unpunished for such stupidity. . .
He sees her differently.
Truly a loose canon in her complacency.
He frees himself of the confines of the small space of Livia’s makeshift room, searching for any place with large enough space to withstand near Dr. Gaul without showing his repulsion.
She doesn’t know he knows the truth.
He doesn’t want her to know that he knows.
“That was uncalled for tonight.” She states, her eye twitching. “A petty attack of a personal life that has no business in politics.”
“Much like him belittling me due to my age, correct?” He furrows his brows, earning a small sigh from her. “He’s an infant in an adult's body, pitching a hissy fit because a twenty-eight year old has already made a mockery of his career, and is now gunning for his Presidential run, as well. A Presidential run that I also put to rest, so he’s more than likely planning my assassination as we speak.”
She doesn’t speak for a moment, looking at him for a few minutes before stating, “There are some who believe it would be best for you to get some time away from the Capitol for a little while.”
Coriolanus rolls his jaw, feeling his nostrils flare with irritation at his words.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“It means only a select few know of what Dr. Pinnacle did to Mrs. Snow, so he still has loyal supporters in the Capitol that are not very fond of you. Once he announces he’s exiting the race, he will endorse you. All while you travel to a few select districts to address whispers of rebellion, and ease their. . . concerns .”
“Excuse me?” He feels sick at the thought of stepping foot anywhere surrounded by District mongrels, let alone mongrels that itch for another uprising. “Throwing me out into districts that want me dead?”
“You won’t be by yourself.” She informs him. “Mr. Marius is going with you, as well as Dr. Gaul.”
Dr. Gaul.
It’s a sick sense of humor she has.
A mad woman entertained with the idea of watching Tawny and him both squirm with the uncomfortable ghost of their previous affair, added on to the already uncomfortable atmosphere of any and every District they’ll be sent to.
Then he remembers every step she gives him to take is merely a test.
“Another test?” He asks her, accusatory, watching her smile truly, unaware of her reasoning behind it.
“Consider it your last one.” She assures him.
“What about my wife?” He demands, next.
“Mrs. Snow will remain here in the Capitol at her mother’s estate where we will fund personal doctors and nurses to give her the utmost care and attention while she prepares to birth your child.” She says next.
He looks at the ground, asking, “And Dr. Pinnacle?”
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
Tawny’s not entirely sure how exactly it all ensued.
One moment she was trailing after Pias who charged toward Coriolanus with a balled up fist and a twisted mouth, bitterly spewing venom at the young man for embarrassing him so richly in front of the entire nation whilst Albus and Philo attempted to keep the two men separated from one another.
Snow hadn’t entertained an altercation until—
“Oh, my!” A harsh gasp is let out by Tigris as everyone falls silent for a split second, not a sound made other than Livia’s silent crying as she struggles to catch her breath from the shock, blood pouring down her chin, face nearly turning blue as she sobs without sound.
Tawny's lover's knuckles are adorned in the crimson liquid as the shock falls over his face.
The reality settling in.
Pias Pinnacle just punched Livia Snow so hard it threw her to the ground and knocked some of her teeth out.
The next blink of Tawny’s eyes brings chaos into the quiet, a rush of people to check on Livia, a rush of people to get the two men apart as Snow lunges for him.
TWO HOURS EARLIER
His eyes crawl up her legs exposed by the tasteful cut of Panem-red fur ending just below her knees, matching the fur trim of the same color that wraps each wrist and her exposed shoulders — the deep color of it a sharp contrast to the snow-white of the rest of the dress.
Even when her smooth skin turns to the fitted fabric, he still traces every curve with his icy stare, knowing what each and every inch of her looks like under the exuberant outfit.
And he does so knowing that she takes notice of it.
He sees her try to hide a smile when her eyes meet his, staying with the group around her of Pias’ posse while he’s in his own as well, consisting of Philo, Cyrus, and Tigris.
“Gentlemen,” A sound engineer that had arrived with Lucky Flickerman approaches between the two separate small crowds, catching Pias and Coriolanus’ attention, “These are going to be on in case the stage mics malfunction.”
He starts with Pias, putting the small box into his pocket, taking careful measures not to mess up his suit as he gets the mic pinned.
Going to Snow, next, Pias follows him, Tawny’s brown eyes widening before following after him, not knowing what he’s going to say.
Philo, Tigris, and Cyrus give Snow a moment as his opponent approaches him, the three of them offering Tawny warm smiles before speaking amongst themselves.
“Mr. Snow,” Pinnacle extends his hand cordially.
Snow glares down at his hand, the sound engineer tensing and trying to hurry.
“Pinnacle.” Coriolanus states passively, not even bothering to throw, “Dr.,” into the mix — still relentlessly pissed off that he had voted against his and Tawny’s subject to be featured in the Games.
Still pissed that he’s now gotten Tawny right where he wants her.
Still pissed that Tawny has let him.
Pias rolls his jaw and retracts his unshaken hand, stating, “I just want you to know, that whatever happens on that stage tonight, you still have my utmost respect.”
Snow glances at Tawny before flickering his blue hues back to Pias.
“I can’t maintain something I never had to begin with, now can I?” He asks, raising his brows.
Pias rolls his jaw, slowly smirking.
“Despite our past differences, I believe so long as either of us become President, Panem will be in safe hands.”
“I believe if one needs something done right , one must do it themselves .” Snow retorts dismissively, causing Pias’ tight smile to falter lightly.
There is no one else that could secure Panem the way Coriolanus Snow would want it secured, other than the man himself.
Pias stares at him a moment before gritting out, “You have fun out there tonight, kid,” meaning it as belittling and degrading as he can, and Snow knows it.
“Worry not, Pinnacle. I intend to.” Coriolanus assures him flatly as the man turns to go.
“I will be there in just a moment, darling.” Tawny says to her husband, softly, his eyes glaring at Snow before he’s kissing her cheek.
She clears her throat as she turns back to her old lover.
“Hi.” She says softly, her hands clasped together to keep from ringing to calm her nerves.
He ignores Pias’ attention as he looks at his fiancée speaking to his opponent.
“Hi.” Snow says to her in the same tone, before adding, “Did you skin that yourself?” Picking at her for her fur, to which she shoves at his arm, biting out an irritated, “Shut up,” before he replies, “Awful brave of you to talk to me so openly.”
Tawny looks back over her shoulder to glance at her fiancé, her pinned up hair allowing her neck to remain exposed, the flesh glistening with whatever moisturizer she had used earlier, tempting Snow’s hand to wrap about the plush skin.
“He’s far less dramatic than Dyess.” She assures him with a sigh, offering a small smile to Pias, who returns it to her. “He doesn’t take issue with me conversing with other men.”
“I’m not just other men, though, am I?” He asks in a near whisper.
She doesn’t know if he’s referring to himself being Pias’ opponent, or the man she cheated on her last husband with. . .
“You were my friend long before you were his political competitor. He knows that.” She retorts innocently.
“Is that what we are?” It slips from him, knowingly. “ Friends ?”
“We can be so long as you’re done behaving like a child and not speaking to me.”
“I’ve spent more years of my life than not, being compared to that of a child.” He informs her, lightly irritated with her words.
She lets out a breath, guilt settling in her at his words.
It was a burden on him, she supposes, to accomplish so much so young, to outdo veterans of their professional field before even reaching the age of thirty, only to be dismissed as too green to comprehend the weight that he had been helping to carry since he’d been fresh out of the Academy.
The cheap shots taken at him politically had centered around his age.
“You’re not a child, Snow.” She says, next. “Though I do wish we got to speak to one another more. . .”
She wants to tell him she’s missed him, but she can’t find a way to say it without sounding too needy. . .too willing to once more roll around in the horrendously cruel infidelity they’ve already put Livia and Dyess through.
“I haven’t had time to speak to anyone I don’t live with or work with.” He explains to her.
“Hmm.” Tawny hums with a little nod and closed mouth smile before it falls and leaves her looking around. “Is Livia alright? I didn’t think she’d miss this for the world.” She says next, in search of his wife while he absorbs how breathtaking she is without the focus of her attention catching him.
“She got sick before we left. She’ll be here later in the night.” He replies coolly. “You should know she of all people wouldn’t miss seeing me get to tear into the competition for all the jewels in Panem.”
It works, a small chuckle leaving her from his words.
Before she knows it, the palm of her hand is resting against his as he examines her engagement ring, letting out a quiet whistle.
“32 Carats.” She informs him with a sigh.
“I wouldn’t expect any less for you.” He scoffs.
Her hand lingers in his, savoring the feeling of his touch, wishing he could explore far more than just her hand with his fingers.
An aching stir strikes between her legs, picturing herself sprawled out for him, soaking the both of them as he forces another orgasm from her with those fingers roughly moving inside of her.
He catches her eyeing his fingers and he has to pull from her, swiftly stating, “You look lovely tonight,” having to change the subject due to the discomfort beginning to settle inside of him, trying to remain professional and keep up appearances whilst imagining bending her over in front of her fiance – his opponent – to prove that running a country isn’t the only thing he far exceeds him in.
“Thank you.” She tucks her arms behind her back, blushing, looking over the crisp white of his own suit paired with a lush rose pinned to him, its crimson color flourishing.
If anyone didn’t know any better, they’d think the two were an item and deliberately matched one another’s attire.
She doesn’t have to assure him he looks nice, as well.
He can tell by the way she’s looking at him that he looks more than good enough.
“Darling,” Pias is stating in a moment’s time.
She hesitates for a split second, long enough not for Pias to notice, but Snow does, Tawny looking at him as if waiting for him to dismiss her before she can run back to her fiancé.
At first he believes Tawny hadn’t heard Pias, until Pias repeats, “Tawny,” and her gaze remains on Snow.
What has gotten into her ? Snow asks himself, confused and taken off-guard by her new found interest in him.
The last time they spoke she was refuting him, now she’s blatantly ignoring her future husband just to keep talking to him.
“Go,” He nudges her, motioning to her fiancé.
It’s now that she pretends she’s just now realizing he had been trying to call her over.
“Oh!” She pipes, walking away with a quick Look over her shoulder at him. “I’m sorry,” she says, next, kissing Pias’ cheek as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, continuing on his conversation with someone Tawny had never met, nor cared enough to meet while her eyes lingered on the man several feet away, looking at him as he greets his own wife with a kiss when she arrives just in time.
Within the hour Tawny’s eyes are glued to the screen backstage, tucked away into the room they offered to Pias upon arrival.
She’s alone, whereas she’s certain that Coriolanus’ room is filled to the brim.
The applause settles after the two men are introduced, Lucky Flickerman shuffling his questions as he pipes, “Some months ago, we started this race to the most crucial position in Panem. Many have fallen to the wayside, overwhelmed with the impending obligation of Presidency, leaving only two remaining: Pias Pinnacle — ”
He’s cut short with applause that he has to speak loudly over as he adds, “ — and Coriolanus Snow.”
Again, another yell of applause.
“Both of whom are here tonight with the intention of proving their competence to guide the great nation of Panem, and hold themselves in the same manner as our late, beloved, former leader, President Ravinstill had before them.” He pauses once more for dramatic effect. “I ask that you hold your applause between answers to better ensure our understanding, and optimize our ability to hear.” A small wave of chuckles roll through the crowd. “However, you may exude all applause, fainting, and awe as I introduce our candidates: Dr. Pias Pinnacle and Mr. Coriolanus Snow.”
Everyone is to their feet, applauding, whistling, as Pias and Coriolanus step onto the stage, waving politely to the crowd as they approach their podiums.
Tawny watches nervously, fumbling with her ring as her brown eyes stay glued to the TV.
“Alright, gentlemen, let the record show that these questions are my own, and I have not shared any of the following questions with either of you or anyone else. You will be given one minute to answer a question. Keep interruptions to a minimum.”
The two of them offer a nod before Lucky starts once more, “Mr. Snow, with the most recent and jarring attack on the Capitol in the form of the assassination of our beloved President Ravinstill, how is it that you intend to further secure and protect the Capitol and its citizens from particularly radicalized individuals?”
Her stomach turns as he takes in a breath, and as soon as he opens his mouth to answer, she’s standing up, leaving the room to pace outside to spare herself the nervousness that threatens to devour her.
She sees Philo standing out in the hallway, too, leaning against the wall as Coriolanus’ voice echoes throughout, though his words sound more like background noise with the bustle of backstage.
“Dr. Gaul.” He greets her politely, to which she replies, “How are you, Mr. Marius?”
“As well as I can be while avoiding potential second-hand humiliation.” He nods in the vague direction of the stage.
“Oh, please, Coriolanus won’t embarrass himself.” She assures him, certain of it, only for him to chuckle.
“No, no, not from him.” He knows very well Snow had been prepared for this back and forth for weeks – years even, if you’d count the endless hours spent in meetings, arguing his points with a confident politically correctness that border-lined outright blunt at times. “Do you not agree?” He adds, raising his brows, curious of her answer given her recent interaction with her own fiance’s competition.
“I’ll not incriminate myself by even entertaining such discussion.” She states, accepting a cigarette when he holds one out to her. “Are we allowed to smoke here?” Tawny asks, next, glancing around for any signs stating different.
“As if either of us cannot afford a fine for it.” He chuckles.
She looks at him, amused and impressed, as if seeing his confidence fully for the first time.
The meek man squeaking behind Coriolanus was gone.
“You’ve changed since being Snow’s lackey.” She informs him, allowing him to light her cigarette.
“He told me if he wanted a scared puppy following him around, he’d go to the kennels.” He informs her. “What about you and Pias? Any wedding planning being done?”
“No. I had to force my parents to stay home tonight because I knew my mother would be hounding me about what kind of flowers I want, or if I want beef, or pork, or fish, or chicken.”
He gives her a sad smile and doesn’t even try to hide it.
“Poor Tawny Gaul, it’s so hard being rich, engaged to someone even richer, having to plan out the richest wedding. How awful.” She makes fun of how she sounds, but her tone, her shaky voice, gives way to all he needs to know before he states, “You looked so happy in those photos," referring to the images of her engagement in the papers.
“I was for a few days.” She says, swallowing thickly, flicking ash as Livia Snow opens the door of their room and steps out alongside Tigris, walking down the hall – more than likely to go to the ladies room.
Tawny’s brown eyes stare at the back of Mrs. Snow’s head as she states, “I find it difficult to stay truly happy anymore, Philo. Not since my daughter. But there have been times since then that I am happy – fleeting moments – times that are so few and far between I don’t even realize I’m happy in them until they’re gone.”
He knows what she means, following her gaze to meet the back of Livia.
Neither of them speak again, but the the door of Snow’s room snaps open and Philo’s husband is quietly shouting, “Get in here!” motioning quickly.
Tawny absentmindedly follows after him, their eyes immediately seeking the screen out just in time to catch Pias saying, “. . . I admire and respect Mr. Snow’s mind. He is correct when he says his ideas that have been implemented into our systems already have greatly improved, not just the Hunger Games, but have stimulated the economy, woven out rebels, and innovated our War Department. . .but I can’t help but wonder if those ideas, those bills, those laws, were dreamt up solely for the benefit of Panem, or as a means of personal gain.”
Tawny’s brows furrow as Pias throws his first fistful of mud.
“With the benefit of Panem as a mere side-effect of that gain.” Pinnacle continues. “Yes, he holds this impressive record, but promotions and accolades mean so little when one’s priority isn’t to act solely on behalf of the precious people of Panem –”
“ – Every promotion and accolade I’ve earned was awarded to me because my sole priority has been bettering our country, Dr. Pinn—”
“ — Mr. Snow, I believe I have another minute — ” Pias states as Lucky replies, “that would be correct,” but is too engulfed in Coriolanus finishing with, “and questioning whether I’ve deserved those awards or to be recognized for my contributions puts into question the ethics of our own government officials who have bestowed those honors upon me.”
“Mr. Snow, I did not question whether or not you deserve your recognition. I questioned whether you’ve done your good work for Panem selflessly, because if not, you’ve no business being at the forefront of the nation.”
“Oh, shit.” Cyrus mumbles, stressed with the back and forth.
“I’m already at the forefront or else I wouldn’t be up here on this stage with you.” Coriolanus states to him.
“To answer the second part of your question, Mr. Flickerman, I have – unfortunately – had to see firsthand the grotesque yet eye-opening realities of war. I’ve had to sacrifice my physical and mental wellbeing to protect the people in my unit, to protect my family, to protect the citizens of the Capitol. And as somber and heart wrenching as it was, it has helped me enormously understand how to avoid being put in a position of that magnitude again, but also how to prepare for it properly in case it ever does happen, again.” Pias says, confidently. “Mr. Snow has not dodged bullets, slept in mud, nor seen his fellow brothers through years of war. I believe he knows very little about securing the Captitol’s safety because he’s had the privilege of never knowing life without it – not as intimately as I have had to, myself . He simply cannot comprehend the cost of war and therefor lacks experience and knowledge of how to avoid such extremities.”
Tawny feels her heart sink into her chest, a quiet, “What are you doing?” leaving her lips as if her fiance can actually hear her.
“Does he not realize he, too, lived through the war here?” Cyrus hisses. “Dodging bombs, rabies, starvation . . . he's not that young.”
The camera focuses on Coriolanus who keeps his composure too well, looking as if he’s already won the debate.
Tawny glances at Philo who looks just as confident and relieved despite Coriolanus not even replying quite yet.
When Lucky offers him a one minute rebuttal period, Snow calmly accepts it before taking a drink of his water and holding back a smile fueled by righteous fury at Pias’ ignorant words.
It’s then that she looks once more at Philo and realizes they anticipated something like this, and her fiance simply took the bait.
Her stomach nervously flips as Coriolanus clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak, burying Dr. Pias Pinnacle in doing so.
I am on my knees begging for the next chapter of reprisal
I posted it last not on Ao3 but I’m posting it in a few minutes on here!! I didn’t have time last night before I fell asleep but you will get it in just a few minutes!!
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
HERE LIES OUR PRIDE:
CYRUS ALISTAIR GAUL
HERE LIES OUR STRENGTH:
CICERO BARNABAS GAUL
HERE LIES OUR PATIENCE:
CONSUS GALEN GAUL
HERE LIES OUR GENTLENESS:
MAGNUS CECIL GAUL
Tawny glances over the etched marble, marking the resting places of her brothers, echoed with what their father had always said of his children:
“Cyrus is my pride , Cicero is my strength , Consus is my patience , Magnus is my gentleness , and Tawny is my joy .”
When Tullia was born, he’d piped, “Oh, my light .”
Brown eyes now shift to the stone beside her brothers.
HERE LIES OUR LIGHT:
TULLIA CALLIOPE GAUL CRANE
Crane.
Her mind shifts to the last time she had seen Dyess.
He can see she hasn’t slept, dark bags under her eyes that are puffy and red from crying. Her hair matted as if she didn’t bother trying to fix it before rolling out of bed and coming here.
Little does he know she hasn’t even gone to bed, too distraught to will herself off the couch.
“Get it out of your system,” Coriolanus had told her. “By the time he’s executed you need to have your hands washed of him.”
So she allowed herself to go ahead and feel everything she could.
Wallow in the sorrow of the death of their future together entirely with no hope for a possible reconciliation.
He looks far worse off than she does.
His cobalt blue eyes are bloodshot, face raw and red with his own tearful grief.
Taking a step forward, they’re both reminded of their surroundings at the sound of his shackles echoing in the cell.
For a moment, they keep five feet between one another, but after taunting silence that mocks her for what a horrid wife she’s been, she can’t keep away, stepping to him quickly, wrapping her arms around him.
Dr. Gaul watches from two-way glass, grimacing at the sight, lip nearly curling at the sound of Dyess’ tears.
“I didn’t do it, T.” He says, pulling from her, the words nearly catching in his throat before he coughs, cheeks wet with tears, the back of his hand rattling with it’s chain when he reaches up to wipe it away only for Tawny to do so for him. . .her fingertips linger against his cheek.
“Murder the President, or sabotage my work?” She asks him, confirming to him that she knows.
His face scrunches once more, shame clearly cloaking his features, eyes abruptly looking to the floor as his shoulders shake with his sobs.
She focuses on her anger as best she can to keep from joining him in his sorrows – remembering the years she’s put into her career, the hours, the resources, money, mental and physical space her cases have all taken up in her lab, in her mind. . .all for him to discard that hard work with a year of screwing her over to belittle her – to dim her so he appeared brighter.
“You took vows, Dyess, to love me and protect me and you. . .” She trails off as he cries once more. “. . .and you betrayed me.”
Rich words coming from her in her affair-riddled past with Coriolanus.
“I know.” He shakily repeats, eyes still on the floor.
“. . .And then your country.” She adds, his attention snapping from their feet, to finally meet her eyes once more.
“No.” He shakes his head, getting a grip on himself as he raises his brows. “Tawny, I didn’t do it, I swear.”
It’s a test that Tawny knows she’s being graded on; either tell him she believes him, or convict him for actions he did not make.
“They found evidence, Dyess. They found the plans in your writing, they found your DNA on the gun –”
“ – I didn’t do it, Tawny, I swear!” He pleads. Growing frantic. “I didn’t shoot him, you were with me the whole night!”
“They’re not saying you shot him, Dyess.” She reminds him, clarifying it evenly.
“I didn’t plan it, I don’t know who shot him – I didn’t plan this, Tawny!” He shouts sporadically.
“Who did, then, Dyess?!” She says in the same tone. “Because you were the one with the layout of the Presidential Palace, you were the one with the contacts to the gunman, you were the one paid off Peacekeepers to smuggle the gun into the Capitol –”
“I didn’t do it! I didn’t do any of it!” He argues, shaking his head. “Tawny, I swear, I promise, I didn’t do this, you can’t let them do this to me!” He pleads, getting on his knees, arms wrapping around her, soaked face wetting her shirt as her heart sinks to her stomach, a lump forming in her throat. “They’re going to torture me to death, Tawny. I didn’t do it, I promise, I swear.”
His cries are muffled by her hip as he goes on, her shaking fingers resting on his shoulders as he wails against her.
She lets him for a few moments, finally taking in a last breath before holding her chin a little higher.
“I can’t trust you, Dyess. Not anymore. Not after you lied to me for so long.” She says it gently but stern, grasping his arms at an attempt to peel him off of her, moving away from him, but he grabs her hands.
“Tawny, please, I love you, please, Tawny, please –”
“ – Dyess,” She grasps his hands in hers, raising her brows, speaking to him in the tone she would use to a child having a fit. “This is the bed you have made.” She adds, repeating Coriolanus’ words. “I will no longer lie in it with you. I can’t. You have to let me go.”
His knuckles shine white as he tightens his grip on her hands, blue eyes shutting as more tears trickle down the unshaven skin of his face as he desperately croaks, “Tawny, please, don’t leave! Don’t leave me!”
“I have to go, Dyess. You have to let me go.” She pries herself away from him, and he goes to follow her but is held back by the shackles anchoring him to the floor.
The last words he speaks to her is a blood-curdling scream of, “Tawny, please!”
Her attention now falls to the diamond on her finger, signifying her future as Mrs. Tawny Pinnacle.
Or Dr. Tawny Pinnacle?
Does she even want to work again? Surely if Pias secures the Presidency, she’ll have to tend to whatever it is the First Lady
does. . .read to children? Host luncheons? Attend charity events?
She frowns at the thought, preferring the company of vicious mutts compared to the high class biddies of Capitol Society.
There’s a chance she very well won’t be First Lady.
Coriolanus has a decent shot, himself.
She can’t help but wonder how he feels about her and Pias.
He can’t be angry — he’s no right to be.
He is the one with a pregnant wife.
Surely he had known they couldn’t go on forever sneaking around with one another.
An affair is not sustainable, after all.
Letting out a breath, she’s gently pressing her finger tips against each slab of marked marble, bidding her silent goodbye to the graves of her brothers and daughter before stepping out of the Gaul family crypt.
Snow taps an impatient foot against the floor, forefinger and middle finger pressed to his lips as his thumb holds at his chin, watching Livia run on and on.
First about crib bedding, then about how long she’s due out on maternity leave, then she goes into a rant about how her dress she’s gotten — for the debate taking place within the next week — will no longer button, which means his cousin will have to rush to alter it to better suit her growing stomach.
“ . . . What’s wrong?” She asks, taking notice of his utter disinterest, when he usually doesn’t mind her ramblings and most time interjects in conversation.
“My mind is preoccupied at the moment, darling.” He confesses with a sigh, sitting up and rubbing his forehead with his finger tips before clearing his throat.
“You’ll win, Coryo.” She assures him for certain, stepping to him, lips pressing to his temple as she adds, “The Capitol isn’t so ignorant to completely overlook your resume as a Gamemaker, what you’ve implemented in the Games, your efforts with Dr. Gaul for stricter security and observation throughout the Districts . . . you’ve been putting the glory of Panem first for years without even being a politician, and have the sanctions to prove it. So, surely they’ll imagine how wonderful it can all be if you are given the opportunity to truly have the say-so without the need of pesky approval.”
“You and I both know the citizens of the Capitol do not actually have a say in the matter. Their votes are purely a decoration to the decision of the Capitol .” He mutters bitterly, learning years back there was a strict distinction between the two: ‘The Capitol’ was the collective bout of citizens, as well as a place, as well as the ominous “powers that be” that shrouded political matters and kept close to the President.
The Capitol ultimately killed Ravinstill – as ironic as that would sound to a regular citizen . . .
“I’m not so sure that they favor me.” He mumbles, next.
“If they didn’t favor you, you wouldn’t still be alive.” Livia’s harsh reality strikes him.
She has a point.
A good one, at that.
“They certainly favor Pias.” He adds, raising his brows.
“They don’t favor him. They favor his fiancee because she’s a Gaul, positioned to inherit the daunting Gaul legacy.” She replies. “How a First Lady will also head the War Department, whilst also being Head Gamemaker is beyond me – she’ll have to run on stimulants to keep going.”
“I don’t see Tawny running the War Department – or even being Head Gamemaker.” He retorts with a scoff.
Livia’s brows furrow for a split moment at him casually saying, “Tawny,” outside of his typical, “Dr. Gaul.”
He speaks her name so effortlessly . . .
“Why do you say that?” She asks him, next.
“She’s too . . .” He tries to find the word to describe the youngest Gaul, unable to do so. “She runs.” Is all he can come up with. “The moment something gets too hard or uncomfortable, or complicated, she leaves.” It’s nearly gritted out before he’s adding, “War is far too uncomfortably complicated for her to dependably do her job should she ever be in that position.”
Another beat of silence passes between them before she’s rubbing her lips together, and stating, “You’re going to be President. And you will have control over who does what. And you can put someone more comfortable with complications as the head of your War Department.” She assures him. “But you will be President.” Another kiss to his temple. “The best one we’ve had.”
He wants to believe her words, he knows very well he will eventually run the country, he’s just not entirely sure it will be this soon.
In fact, it’s the first time in years he’s not entirely sure about much of anything.
In the week leading up to the debate, Snow and Pinnacle both spend hours in preparation, making sure they have politically correct yet effective answers to any questions or topics that might come up.
Lucky Flickerman is rather good at fanning the flames of competition each day he reviews recent pole numbers, flashes clips of citizen interviews he composes at random to test the gauge of the political climate in the Capitol out of curiosity of knowing who is voting for who, and why.
The theatrics are a sham.
Pias and Coriolanus both know it.
Perhaps Lucky even knows it, but still entertains this notion that the Capitol of Panem can reliably vote for someone to take care of them all on their own.
“ . . . He’s got a reputable resume, but . . . He’s a kid. ” The elderly woman explains to Lucky as Tawny watches with furrowed brows.
“ No, no, he’s a grown man .” Lucky politely reminds her of Coriolanus’ age, to which she replies, “ Pinnacle has twenty-years of wisdom and experience over Snow. If I hire a chauffeur, do you think I trust the one who’s only had their license for one week, or one decade ?”
The television is cut off with Tigris’ huff of air, the two women sitting quietly in the living room.
“They’re tearing him apart.” Tawny mutters with a frown, pulling her heels on.
“Coriolanus is a big boy.” Tigris states, standing and grabbing her glass. “He expected this, he’s letting it roll off his back.”
“How is he?” Tigris tenses when it’s asked, the glass gently placed in the sink as Tawny awaits her reply.
“He’s good.” She assures her. “Stressed, but good.”
“ . . . And Livia ?”
The distaste is practically visible as it drips off Tawny’s lips.
“As far as I know she’s good. She had a small scare from a little bleeding, but her doctor told her it wasn’t anything to worry about.” She explains.
“Oh.” Tawny mutters, breathing out.
The inside of her lip is raw from her teeth, her tongue aches from her biting into it to keep from asking her next question that she inevitably cannot hold back any longer, “Does he ever ask about me?”
Tigris comes back into view.
“He’s married, Tawny.” She says, blonde brows raised as Tawny sighs out and rubs her forehead. “And you’re engaged.” She adds. “His opponent is your fiancé.”
“I’m not asking because of that , Tigris, I just . . .” She trails off, too prideful to admit she misses him at times.
Instead she says, “We weren’t just sleeping together. We were friends. And now he probably loathes me for being with Pias.”
Tigris huffs out a breath and steps back to the sofa Tawny’s on, sitting down before saying, “He thinks you’re moving too quickly.”
Her dark brows furrow, as she asks, “He told you that?”
“Yes.”
It was the truth.
He had snarled at Tigris’ own copy of the newspaper and had bitten out, “ It’s ninety or nothing with her. What is she doing? ”
Tigris also agreed her friend was moving too fast for her liking.
It seemed unhealthy and too codependent, too reliant.
As if she couldn’t bear to be by herself after Dyess so she latched onto the next man that showed her the slightest touch of attention.
Though Tigris also knew, deep down, it wasn’t Pias’ attention Tawny had been fishing for.
“Oh.” Tawny says, irritated with the fact Snow had commented at all, but amused nonetheless.
It had gotten under his skin, and she knew it.
She had gotten under his skin.
His perfect, smooth, pristine skin that she misses running her fingertips over in the aftermath of their time spent, memorizing how he appeared as he slept.
“ You look so peaceful when you sleep ,” She had once informed him with a gentle smile.
“ Do I not appear peaceful any other time ?” He had asked her with a scoff whilst he sat up in his bed next to her and swung his legs off the side of it.
“ You’re not a peaceful man .” She had blatantly blurted to him in response.
He wasn’t .
Not to her.
It had been further confirmed with him framing Dyess.
He didn’t just frame him, the voice in her head starts, Your aunt and your fiancé did so, too .
She thinks back to her last meeting with Dyess again.
His cries, his brokenness.
Volumnia Gaul did that.
Coriolanus Snow did that.
Pias Pinnacle did that.
Dyess’ blood was on their hands, and it unsettles Tawny, she can’t deny it.
But she also can’t shake the feeling that perhaps Coriolanus was right:
Someone had to take the blame for the assassination.
Ravinstill had to go. Dyess had to go.
It had to be done.
Then her mind starts to wonder what other tragedies or misfortunes struck the Capitol or even Panem as a whole that was orchestrated by its own government to stimulate a change — to fix a problem, or at least something a select few deemed as a problem.
Or worse: what had been carried out and covered up to save face?
It’s as if her mind is already a step ahead of her without her knowledge, immediately recalling Pias’ smug comment some nights ago about potential mudslinging with Snow if it came down to it:
“ One mutter of the Tenth Hunger Games and he’ll be done for completely .”
She had overheard it while he was entertaining Albus Shoemake in the parlor of his apartment, Tawny and Dayla refilling their own glasses and re-entering, only to catch the smart remark – the tailend of a conversation they hadn’t wanted either woman to hear.
But they did hear it, indeed, and decided to pretend not to.
Dayla works for Coriolanus, and is more than likely biting at her nails to decide if she should mention it to him or not.
All Dayla could remember of that year's Hunger Games was that it was a clusterfuck from the jump, but various details had been made fuzzy with time and the burial of the event.
Albus had told her not to mention anything of it ever again once it was all said and done, and she did just that,
And Tawny. . . She was too preoccupied grieving her daughter to care anything about the Tenth Games when they happened.
She didn’t watch any of the coverage when it happened because she didn’t want to watch any of the coverage – she didn’t want to watch any of the coverage.
But now, with Pias’ remark and her own close-ties with Coriolanus, she can’t help but bring it up later in the evening, on the way back from dinner.
“. . . I have a question,” She giggles out at the feeling of his lips against her neck, hands holding at her hips whilst she outright straddles him in the back of the car. “Pias.” She pulls from him, holding his face in her hands so he has to look at her.
“Hmm?” He asks, his mind swimming with only one thought as he leans back in to kiss her.
She lets him, letting out a breathy sigh when she pulls away, again, asking, “Do you have access to my Aunt’s archives?”
“Archives?”
She nods, fingertips running along his jaw.
“Her case archives, or . . . ?”
“The Games.” She corrects, rubbing her swollen lips together, his eyes focusing on them.
“I might.” He informs her with another kiss to her lips. “But you no longer have the clearance to dig through them.”
“Oh, come on, darling, they play reruns, anyway.” She rolls her eyes.
“Exactly.” He chuckles. “Why not just watch those?”
“Because I want a specific year.”
“And what year might that be?” He asks, holding back a groan when she deliberately shifts in his lap, playing it off innocently before kissing him once more, her tongue brushing against his before she breaks it to whisper, “the Tenth.”
She can see him fight with himself, his eyes giving away too much thought behind them.
“Why do you want that one?” He questions, brows furrowing.
“Because I didn’t get to see it after Tullia died. . .” She trails off, hoping the crack in her voice is convincing enough to guilt him somewhat.
“I’m sorry, dear, but I can’t.” He finally says to her, brushing a few pieces of hair from her hair.
“Why not?”
“It. . .your aunt wanted that year’s destroyed.” He informs her. “It no longer exists.”
“ Destroyed ?” She doesn’t have to exaggerate her confusion.
“So much went wrong that year, it just. . .it was too much of a mess to even be entertaining, honestly.” He lies. “So once it was over she wanted any copies of it destroyed. She doesn’t even have a copy.” Another lie – one that Tawny struggles to believe.
She can’t picture her aunt throwing out any recording of children killing each other.
No matter how large of a wreck it might’ve been.
“Oh.” She pouts.
“But, I’ll see if I can borrow any other year for you.” He suggests, a faux smile coming back to her lips.
She should have known Pias wouldn’t tell her the truth, her gears turning up a new idea just as her fiance is pressing his lips along her jaw.
Coriolanus had always told her the truth – perhaps omitted the truth to her a few times – but he hadn’t lied to her.
If he had anything to do with the Tenth Games the way Pias had insinuated in his talk with Albus, her best bet is to ask him directly, is it not?
It’s a conflict of interest, certainly, and breaks her attempt to keep neutral between her future husband and the man she’s had an affair with. If Snow even thinks Pias is throwing around such threats. . .
Then of course, Pias would demand to know where Snow had even heard such a thing.
All roads would lead back to either Dayla or Tawny mentioning something to Snow about it, all roads would reveal the two women had overheard Pinnacle’s words and ran to his opponent to warn him.
Pias would leave her.
But if she tells Snow, and makes him swear to pretend as if he doesn’t know anything about it, then surely he would dig up something on Pias, too, correct? And knowing Snow, he would make sure whatever he’d find on Pias would be ten times worse than his own misdoings, and –
She has to stop herself.
The man underneath her, groping her, whose car she’s in the back seat of, whose ring she’s wearing on her finger, whose very name she’s going to take shortly, is her life, now.
She cannot fantasize about her ex-lover running her life into the ground – again .
Wiping the slate of her thoughts clean, she anchors herself back into reality and tries to keep her mind from straying back to Coriolanus as her fiance slips his hand under her dress.
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
THREE MONTHS LATER
She was almost surprised with how quickly she fell for Pias.
Their previous issues at the Citadel aside, he was a good man:
Entertaining and incredibly brilliant, charming and attractive, very wealthy, already quite powerful in the political circles of senators and representatives due to his status as a member of the Board, and his status as a war veteran.
He had a legitimate leg to stand on for Presidency, and he did so with Tawny by his side, the first time he had true interest in finding someone to share his life with in his forty-eight years. . .truth be told, his original interest in Tawny stemmed from wanting to be more approachable to the people of the Capitol.
Coriolanus, though quite young for a Presidential candidate, has a wife, and a baby on the way.
He was a family man, and thus appeared more relatable.
But Pias had quickly been as swept up in Tawny as she was in him.
Within three days of that small conversation on the elevator, he was shrouding the apartment shared with her parents in roses – the gesture made her flinch initially, the flower being tied to a completely different person in her mind.
But she still appreciated it.
She appreciated him.
For a while, Coriolanus was merely a memory that would be conjured from time to time when his name would be brought up in terms of the political climate.
A temporary President was set in place in the form of a member of Ravinstill’s cabinet, only staying in the position until the next President is elected .
Anyone willing to get their hands dirty had been given six months to prove themselves.
Most of which had dropped out of the running in the first two months.
Now, with three months left, Pias and Coriolanus are left.
Which makes it slightly less easy to keep her old lover buried in her past thoughts.
“. . .Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday, dearest, Tawny, Happy birthday to you!” The table consisting of Tawny’s parents, Dayla and her husband Albus as well as Pias, all sing before Tawny’s blowing out the candles marked with “35.”
“Thank you,” She says about the beautiful cake Dayla and her husband had bought for her through the restaurant, Pias kissing her cheek.
Today had been spent celebrating her.
He made sure of it, given the last rift in her previous marriage before Dyess had been done away with – at least to everyone’s knowledge, he had been done away with – was him growing jealous of her success, not wishing to celebrate her.
“It’s all yours.” Dayla assures her, though there’s no choice in the matter being that the cake in question is more so a big slice, only enough for her and her husband – or just her if she really felt like eating it all.
All day she had been showered in gifts, waking up in the apartment she now shared with Tigris, to a new pearl necklace from her parents who had surprised her with breakfast.
“ Every First Lady needs a good string of pearls .” Tiberius had said as she excitedly gawked at the white spheres, perfectly rounded.
Then, Lucky Flickerman – a grand acquaintance of Pias and Dr. Gaul’s – opened his morning show, singing her happy birthday with the help of his audience.
Tawny knew it probably cost Pias a few hundred dollars, but it warmed her heart, either way.
And then, when she headed out, walking to her car to discover it wasn’t where she had left it, she panicked. . .until she realized the shiny, new car in her spot was wearing a giant golden bow.
She nearly tackled Pias out of sheer joy when he casually came from seemingly nowhere, stating, “ Huh? I wonder who did that ?” whilst waving a car key in his hand, handing it out for her to take.
Then he surprised her with dinner at her favorite restaurant.
It was turning into the most spectacular birthday she’d had, yet.
After a few more moments of conversation, Tiberius and Albus are heading to the front parlor for cigars and a drink, whilst Minerva and Dayla are coincidentally going to the powder room.
“You didn’t want cigars and liquor?” She asks her boyfriend, sarcastically, scooping icing into her spoon, trying to hold back a smile when he wrinkles his nose.
He informed her early on he had stopped drinking a year after he returned from the war, leaning on it far too much to numb the memories of his experiences.
“I’m just fine here.” He replies. “Watching the most beautiful woman put away sixteen square inches of – “ His voice cracks, the two of them laughing before he can fully get it out, her hand shoving at his arm when he finally adds, “ – Buttercream.”
“Would you like the other eight square inches?” She offers, knowing he’ll decline, her question only spurring the both of them further into chuckles.
Once they get settled off, she’s taking a sip of her water, while he starts, “You know, I didn’t know exactly how you and I would work out.” He confesses, next.
“Is that so?” She asks, raising her dark brows.
“Mhmm.” He nods, wiping a small dot of buttercream from her lip with a grin. “But I quite like us together.”
“Oh?” She replies, another bite of cake going to her mouth.
“Certainly.” He states, green eyes still soft from gazing at her another moment before stating, “We get along so well together, in fact, I’d love nothing more than for you to move in with me.”
He now places an open velvet box in front of her, containing an unused key.
She stares at it, brown eyes meeting him as she struggles to find her words.
So soon ? Being two of them.
“You’re forgetting something, Dr. Pinnacle.” She finally says to him.
“And what is that?”
“My father — who is deeply old-fashioned and damn near had a stroke when I came up pregnant out of wedlock — would not approve of nor appreciate his future President shacking up with me.” She informs him, looking down at her cake as she scoops one more bite onto her spoon.
When she looks back up at him, he’s got another box in his hand.
“Who said anything about shacking up?” He replies to her.
Her bite of cake falls back to her plate, her silverware with it.
“ Pias .” It’s merely a whisper as she glances from him to the ring and back to him.
“Tawny Amaryllis Gaul, I absolutely adore you,” He says as the shining 32 carat, oval cut diamond stares at her, another shaky, “Pias,” leaving her lips.
“I know the first time you got married, it did not go how you planned it, but there is no other reason for me to want to marry you other than being completely enamored by you.” He says, softly, before repeating, “I absolutely adore you, and I want to continue to do just that until my last breath.” He adds, raising his brows. “Will you finally make an honest man out of me?” He asks, causing a giggle to leave her as she had poked fun at the fact he hadn’t been married before, earlier in their relationship.
She’s nodding before she can stop herself.
“Yes?” He asks her.
“Yes.” She repeats, and he slips the ring onto her uneasy finger that rattles with each breath that’s heaved from her chest.
She honestly did want to marry Pias, to be with him, feeling for him what she hadn’t felt since first falling in love with Dyess — but that was puppy love that faded before she even got pregnant with their daughter and they married.
With Pias, she was sure it would be different.
Neither of them are children, they know who they are, they know what they want, and they’re certain that they want each other to be included in those goals.
His lips press to hers before he’s pulling away, exclaiming, “We have to tell your parents!”
Her smile almost falters as he stands, his words like throwing ice on her as she glances at the large diamond on her finger.
It’s not her parents that she’s concerned with knowing.
It’s not her parents that barge into her peace of mind.
It’s not her parents that she feels the need to apologize to for agreeing to marry the man clinging to her hand.
She truly wants to marry Pias Pinnacle, but she can’t deny the unnerving feeling that by doing so, she’s betraying Coriolanus.
Coriolanus scribbles down another thought that had come to his mind while Philo fips through the recent poling papers stating, “We’re up more than last month.”
“And Pinnacle?” Snow questions calmly.
“He’s still ahead, sir.”
Snow scoffs under his breath, once more baffled by the ignorance of the Capitol.
“Of course he is.”
The two men completely ignore the meek receptionist standing in the doorway, not until a shaking hand knocks at the open door.
“Hmm?” Snow hums, not glancing at her.
“Mr. Snow?”
Dayla’s voice pulls his and Philo’s gaze.
Coriolanus had hired her as an assistant of sorts – only under the condition that her husband would rally support for Snow amongst his politician friends.
Albus Shoemake had stated, “ But. . .I’m not a politician . I’m merely a Gamemaker. ”
“ Gamemaking is the highest form of politicking ,” is what Snow had informed him in response.
Within two days, Dayla was resigning from the Citadel to work for Coriolanus, and had been doing a wonderful job thus far.
She unfolds the newspaper, looking down at the front page with a small frown.
She hadn’t necessarily planned on telling him herself, but since a photo of it had been captured and plastered damn near everywhere in the Capitol, she’d rather he find out now instead of in public.
He accepts the paper when she offers it, adding, “I was going to tell you about it last night, sir, but we got back so late. . .”
Snow furrows his brow at the newspaper before him, his blood pressure getting a small uptick at the sight of Tawny crying with a big smile on her face, her hands resting on either side of Pias’ face, her hand adorned with a massive diamond, under the headline:
WHAT A GUY!: TAWNY GAUL SAYS ‘YES’ TO PIAS PINNACLE AFTER THREE MONTHS OF DATING.
He knew they were dating, he had seen them photographed together but this ?
A few minutes later, the paper is tucked underneath his arm as he quickly makes his way down one of the aisles of Dr. Gaul’s experiments, usually taking the time to look them over and gawk, but not now.
She catches a glimpse of him before turning back to her jabber jays with an amused, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. Snow?”
He holds the paper up for her to read, studying for any shift of expression, but she just smiles and pipes, “Ah, well on her for finding someone so. . . complacent .”
“She found my rival .” He hisses, frustrated that she doesn’t seem to understand the magnitude of what this means.
“Rebels are your rival, Mr. Snow. Stagnant leadership is your rival.” She replies, closing the small enclosure of the chirping birds. “But until you secure your presidency, lack-luster debates and poor poll numbers are your rival.” She starts to another cage and he follows right after her. “With the upcoming debate, perhaps focusing a bit more on those instead of floundering about over who my niece lies her pillow next to –”
“ – This has nothing to do with that .” He argues lowly, sternly, repulsed with her insinuation, and she ignores him.
“I must say: I never thought you to be the type to expect loyalty you’ve not earned.”
He clenches his jaw.
He has well earned Tawny’s allegiance.
Not just hours put into working together on her cases and ensuring she had one successful subject for the Games, but personally .
She had been the one to encourage him to run for President, only to quickly get together with Pias and now agree to marry him?
They hated each other.
So why did they get together the way they had in the first place?
Snow recalls that he and Tawny had their own banter, disagreements, rows when they first had to work together. . .it ended with him between her legs.
A grimace crosses his face at the thought of Tawny and Pias in the predicament.
No , he thinks to himself. She’s with him for money, and that alone. She has to be .
He knows better, however.
She’s with him to be First Lady.
It doesn’t matter how it’s justified, his mistress is still fucking his Presidential competition.
Former mistress , a voice in his head corrects him.
No, no. Not former.
She’s still very much his .
He just has to remind her of that, and she’ll be crawling right back to him, begging for his forgiveness — and he’ll grant it to her because he’s patient, understanding, gracious. . .the qualities of a fine President.
Qualities that Pias Pinnacle can’t offer.
“I want to be rid of him.” Snow says evenly, confiding his thoughts in Dr. Gaul as she fiddles with an eel tank.
“Does Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, wish to be rid of Pias Pinnacle? Or does Coriolanus Snow, former lover of Tawny Gaul, wish to be rid of Pias Pinnacle?”
His suspicion of her knowing is plainly confirmed, Dr. Gaul not batting an eye or sparing him a glance as she asks it.
He takes in a steady breath, not replying.
“If you want to win this election, Mr. Snow, you need to differentiate between President Snow, and Coriolanus Snow. Those two versions of yourself that will be in constant battle. President Snow can’t react irrationally, nor can President Snow blatantly smite those around him that inconvenience him — not so obviously, at least. And certainly not right now before he’s even secured his Presidency. If Dr. Pinnacle were to randomly become incapacitated, or worse, it would be too coincidental. It would cost you your election, as well as my niece’s affections.”
“I don’t care about your niece’s affections.” He denies harshly.
She glances at the newspaper in his hand, before looking back up to him.
“Clearly.” She sarcastically retorts.
He tightens his grip on the paper, his knuckles turning stark white as he composes himself in her company before turning on his heel to leave.
“How is Dr. Cardew? Did she ever see her doctor this morning like I recommended?” She’s stalling his steps, and he furrows his brows and looks at her as she keeps her back turned to him. “I’m sure it’s just some spotting — although such as that is abnormal in women eight months pregnant.”
Livia had called Dr. Gaul late in the night after her husband had laid down, concerned with some bleeding she had been experiencing.
Worry washes through Coriolanus, confusion mixing with it, anger following. . .but he doesn’t dare allow it to show, refusing to give Dr. Gaul what she wants, knowing that she’s aware he doesn’t know about it or else Livia wouldn’t have waited until he wasn’t awake to call.
“She did.” He replies cooly, smoothing any shaking or surprise in his voice. “All is well.”
“Delightful!” She pipes, now turning her head over her shoulder, smiling widely. “What a fright for you two. . .but I’m relieved we’ll still be having our little Snowflake flurrying about soon enough.”
Livia looks up from her book upon Coriolanus stepping into their bedroom, a wide smile on her lips at the sight of her handsome husband, dropping her book to belly, reaching on his side of the bed for the many newspapers she had been brought concerning Tawny Gaul’s engagement to Pias Pinnacle.
“Darling, can you believe this ?” She asks as he takes his coat off, then his shoes, plucking at the buttons of his cuffs. “I told you! I told you something just was not adding up about Dyess’ alleged involvement in Ravinstill’s assissination.”
Livia had been verbally expressing — quite enthusiastically — her suspicion of Tawny and Pias.
Coriolanus had heard every conspiracy theory of hers under the sun, but she was sticking to the one of Tawny and Pias murdering Ravinstill and blaming Dyess to get him out of the way so they could be together, her only evidence was that they started dating so quickly after Dyess’ arrest.
“It’s obvious at this point.” She starts, once more. “I mean, her husband messed up her career — then he randomly gets arrested for planning Ravinstill’s assisination. Next thing we see is Tawny and Pias Pinnacle — who’s never hid his disdain for her — out and about, and within a few months they’re getting engaged?” She explains, walking him through it while he takes in heavy breaths, unbuttoning his vest, then his shirt. “I’m telling you, Darling, she and Pias have been having an affair, and he’s always given her a hard time to cover up the fact they were secretly together.” She continues, her theory making Snow’s knuckles tense up where his hands tug at his belt. “They needed to get rid of Dyess so she could be with Pias so obviously having him killed was the best option.” She finishes, finally noticing the fury behind his blue hues that glare at her. “What’s the matter?” She asks him, her brow furrowing in concern.
“I saw Dr. Gaul today.” Is all he has to say before she’s closing her eyes and sighing out.
“Coryo — ”
“ — You were bleeding and you didn’t tell me.” He gets the rest of his clothes off before heading to the bathroom.
“I didn’t want to worry you, sweetheart.” She winces as she gets off the bed and follows him. “And it was nothing, truly. I went and saw Dr. Lilas, and she said all is well. It was just a little spotting — I even got pictures. I left them on the kitchen counter for you to see.” She explains. “Clearly you didn’t, however.”
“It’s my child, too, Livia. You can’t just omit things such as that. If something were truly wrong and I were blindsided by it — ”
“ — But nothing was wrong, and you weren’t.” She argues, leaning against the counter as he turns the shower on.
“That’s not the point!” He yells harshly, slamming his palm against the glass of the shower so hard that it pops under the pressure, threatening to break from its place secured in the gold trim of the shower door, making her jump in her skin.
Very rarely — very rarely — did Coriolanus lose his temper with her.
When he had before, he shouted and left it at that.
She hadn’t seen him this angry.
Ever.
Lately, his temper flared more and more.
She knows the stress of running for President is contributing to it, surely.
Little does she know Tawny rolling around with Pias is also contributing to it.
“I’m sorry, Coryo.” She says softly, reaching her hand out to touch him.
He dismissively flinches away from her touch, escaping to the comfort of the shower, slamming the door of it shut behind him.
He waits until her blurry form steps to the door of the bathroom and leaves him before tears of resentment roll down his cheeks, mingling with the hot water.
Resentment of Dr. Gaul, resentment of Tawny, resentment of his own wife, feeling as though they are all conspiring to drive him to utter madness.
Summary: Ten years after the Tenth Hunger Games, Coriolanus Snow is under Dr. Volumnia Gaul’s wing as a Gamemaker alongside her niece. Unbeknownst to either of them, they’re both being prepared for a much greater task.
Warning: This story will contain explicit violence against adults and children alike (I mean, it’s Dr. Gaul AND Snow) as well as explicit language, and sexual situations.
***This fic is in no way, shape, or form, me endorsing or co-signing the horrific shit Snow does, nor am I trying to romanticize it. Also, apathy and will be the main driving force of any remnants of a relationship between my OC and Snow’s character. So if you’re interested in something very romantic and fluffy…it’s not gonna be this.
Thank you for reading, I hope you like it!
It only takes a few seconds to realize what’s just happened, all the delicately proper and polite Gamemakers and scientists that grace the Citadel daily, turn chaotic and panicked, most of which hitting the ground as more shots ring out toward the stage.
Those who don’t duck down are rushing to the doors, nearly trampling over one another.
Tawny stays down, trying to gather her bearings.
She looks to her left on the floor, eye to eye with Dayla who is in shock, staring off wide eyed where her husband has shoved her to the floor.
He’s still covering her as more shots come.
Tawny hears a familiar voice shouting in the ruckus.
Dyess, covered in Ravinstill’s blood, is being dragged away by two Peacekeepers, while three more fire back in the direction of the gunshots.
Martia’s been shot, as well as Dr. Gaul.
Upon this realization, Tawny’s springing up to rush to her aunt, but a harsh grip on her wrist stops and yanks her down.
She’s nose to nose with Coriolanus who is far too calm at this moment.
“We have to get out of here, we’re sitting ducks.” He grits out.
“My aunt, Coriol — ”
“ — She’ll be fine. We have to get out.” He speaks it so surely that it makes her mind swim further, relenting as she nods and allows him to yank her toward the closest door on the wall parallel to them.
“Livia!” Tawny struggles it out in the midst of her heart pounding in her chest.
“Mr. Marius has her. She’s safe.” He states as they get free of the room.
There’s too many people trying to cram down the hallway toward the front of the house, only making it more difficult on themselves, Coriolanus’ grip on her hand tightening.
“This way.” He mutters, going the opposite direction, heading deeper into the house.
They find one of many staircases, and she’s stumbling along as she follows him.
Once they find an empty room, he’s locking the door behind them as she tries to catch her breath while more gunfire echoes through the Presidential Palace.
Tawny feels as if she’s unable to calm herself, the image of Ravinstill’s body hitting the ground, her husband’s face smattered in the President’s blood, Martia’s dead body collapsed beside Ravintill’s, her aunt. . .
The more she thinks of it, the more frantic her breaths become, Snow’s words becoming muffled in her ears as she struggles to get enough air in her lungs, grasping ahold of his arm to keep from falling down as her head feels too light, the floor sinking underneath her.
“Tawny,” He says, following her to the floor, his hands grasping her face, gently shaking her until her eyes meet his, tears soaking the palms of his hands. “Slow breaths.” He states sternly, but it’s no good, Tawny feeling as though it’s impossible to do it.
He’s tempted to slap her, to bring her out of her episode and back to reality, recalling hearing that shock could disperse such spells.
Now certainly is not the time for her to be acting like this.
He doesn’t slap her.
Instead, he tells her the truth, which he hopes will have a similar effect.
“Dr. Gaul is safe – we planned this .” He hisses out to her, frustrated with her behavior, wishing he had told her sooner so she wouldn’t get in such a tizzy.
It is a slap to the face, he can see it as she immediately takes in a breath, brown eyes wide in shock as she cries out, “What?”
“Dr. Gaul is safe. You are safe. All of this has gone as planned.” He repeats as he assures her.
“What?” It’s broken when it’s repeated, barely whispered out as she catches her breath, finally, her eyes darting back and forth as her mind digests what she’s heard. “Oh my. . . Coriolanus . . .you. . .my aunt. . .the President .” Now she’s nauseous, getting away from his hands, pressing her palm to her forehead as she steps deeper into the large room, pacing.
“ I didn’t. Dyess did.” He states to her, narrowing his eyes at her expression.
She’s in shock, still, unable to form words when she tries to speak again, a steady stream of tears leaking from her eyes, reflecting in the dim lighting of the room.
Her breathing once more grows ragged but he’s quickly moving to her, this time his palms grab at the soft skin of her exposed shoulders, his touch keeping her from being lost to her own rampant mind.
“It had to be done, Tawny. There’s already a rumor of uprising being thrown around in one of the districts. Ravinstill was losing his grip — we can’t afford even a sliver of a possibility of another war.”
She wouldn’t argue.
She couldn’t.
She knew it was true.
“Dyess won’t just be shipped away to the districts – he’ll be put to death .” He continues, raising his brows just slightly. “You’ll be rid of him, Tawny.”
She realizes, now, that he hadn’t been dragged away by Peacekeepers because he’d been arrested for sabotaging her work.
He had been dragged away for plotting the assassination of the President.
No. He had been dragged away after being framed for plotting the assassination of the President.
“Dr. Gaul had to be shot, too, so that it wouldn’t be suspected that she had a part in it.” He further explains. “It’s a flesh wound at best. . .she'll need surgery to remove it and repair the bone at worst, but she known this. It was her idea, and she’ll be okay.”
“I. . .you. . . how ?” She chokes out, his fingers smearing the tears from her face.
“Minute details that you don’t need to know. I won’t incriminate you more than I already have.” He replies smoothly. “But it’s seamless.”
“ How ?” Her voice is stronger, more demanding.
How is this seamless? How is he so sure that they won’t face repercussions? That no one will suspect him nor her aunt of doing this?
He stares down at her.
He wants to inform her that Government officials were the ones to make the evidence against Dyess so seamless. . .that Ravinstill’s own cabinet had turned on him.
But he can’t.
“Trust me when I say that everyone will know that Dyess Crane is a treasonist in the most severe degree.” He promises her.
Dyess Crane is finally out of the picture.
Snow finally has Tawny to himself.
“They’ll kill him.” Her voice shakes when she speaks it, swallowing thickly.
“They’ll kill him.” Snow repeats her, frowning when she nods, but is clearly holding something back. “Is that not sufficient?” He asks her, sharply.
She had just wanted him to suffer as a Peacekeeper.
No matter how many times she wished he had been dead, she now feels overwhelmed with the idea of him being executed for a crime he hadn’t even committed.
“I don’t want him to die , Coriolanus.” She confesses, shaking her head. “Not for something he didn’t do.”
“But he did do it, Tawny.” He tells her as if it’s the truth, as if it’s fact. “There’s evidence to prove as much. Him tampering with your work — with the Capitol’s property — is merely the icing on the cake.”
“I don’t want him dead , Coriolanus.” She repeats, her voice thick with grief at the thought.
“Tawny,” He runs his hands up her shoulders, cradling her jaw, despite wanting to shove her away and spew out how ungrateful she is. “This is the bed that he has made. And you’ve been lying in it with him, unbeknownst to you. . .you need to get out of it."
She doesn't reply.
He can guess what she’s thinking, he can sense just in the way she’s looking at him like a wounded puppy.
She thinks he’s taken things too far.
“Sweet, blameless, innocent , Tawny.” He whispers, his fingers wrap in her hair, tugging on it to angle her face toward his, the tip of his nose grazing along her neck, a small smirk tugging at his lips that brush against her full, parted lips as he adds, “Even though I fucked the innocent out of you months ago.”
She shudders at his words, wishing he’d close the sliver of space between their mouths and kiss her, but also wishing he’d release her and pull away.
He doesn’t kiss her despite his hand tightening in her hair, pulling on the strands in his palm.
“Your wife is probably in distress and needs her husband .” She states, imagining Livia in a meltdown, just wanting the comfort of her husband while he leers over his mistress upstairs, confessing to framing her husband in order to get him out of his way.
Snow’s grip in her hair momentarily tightens, causing her breath to catch in her throat before he’s releasing her.
It’s a fitting sight — five days after the President’s death — the tendrils of dark clouds rolling overhead, the low rumble of thunder sounding in the distance as specks of rain slowly fall, smattering against the black umbrellas the entirety of the crowd has dawned in preparation of the downcasted funeral service.
Pias Pinnacle reiterates the last five days of grieving the Capitol has endured due to the tragic and sudden loss of President Ravinstill, and once more reads the obituary that had been plastered in every newspaper, magazine, and flyer in the city.
Every now and then, Pias glances at Tawny where she is in the crowd, seated between her mother and father.
Every now and then, at least a handful of people glance at her, watching her, lowly whispering.
They had been doing it anytime she had stepped out of the comfort of her parent’s apartment.
Looks of pity, looks of unease, looks of suspicion.
Poor Tawny , most of them thought, blindsided by her husband’s ways .
First betraying her by screwing up her hard work, then plotting the assassination of the President.
Then the questions follow in their minds:
Did she know about it? Did she help him plan it out? Did she know it would happen, when it would happen, and how? Was this some grand scheme for him to win the presidency someday? Is that the real reason she had resigned at the Citadel? Because she found it useless to have a job when she was soon to be First Lady?
Her aunt, bandaged back together after suffering her own flesh wound from the bullets that followed the shot that killed Ravinstill, delivers the eulogy that has so many in the crowd of colleagues, politicians, and Capitol citizens tearing up.
At least the President’s son and he are reunited, perhaps.
It’s a sweet thought that Tawny offers amongst herself.
When it’s time to lay him to rest in his family’s crypt, Peacekeepers conduct their ceremony, folding the flag that had graced his coffin before presenting it to his family, emptying their rifles on cue – each boom of bullets causing her to jolt just slightly.
The last time she had attended a funeral with so much ceremonious pomp, it was the funeral of her four brothers, all buried at the same time – what was left of them, at least.
Four flags, four rounds of medals presented to her father and mother by Ravinstill.
She wanted to steal it all away and throw it into the ocean. The materialistic accolades were poor substitutes for her brothers.
The whimpers of Ravinstill’s wife echo in the wind as she clings to the flag while Coriolanus offers his handkerchief to his wife, noticing a small, mascara ridden tear slip from Livia’s eye.
She takes it with an appreciative smile to her husband, dotting at it.
Once it’s done with, Tigris is finally able to track Tawny down, departing from Coriolanus and Livia as they head to their car in the procession of vehicles lining the cemetery.
Coriolanus watches his cousin jog as delicately as she can in her heels to catch up with his former mistress.
“Tawny,” She says gently, Tawny turning to look at her.
“Hello, Tigris.” She replies, furrowing her brows as she waits for Tigris to speak.
“I tried to call you but, um. . .” She starts, a little awkwardly, not exactly knowing how to say what she was going to say.
“I haven’t been staying in our – my – apartment.” Tawny says, trying to keep her tone casual despite the despair it’s enriched in. “I should’ve given you my parent’s phone number.” She opens her purse, scrambling for a pen and little shred of paper to scribble it down on but Tigris politely rests her hand over hers before stating, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
Tawny glances at her mother and father who wait outside the car for her as the rain starts to fall heavier.
“I’ll be at the apartment in a little while.” She tells them, not wanting to keep them waiting.
“Are you sure?” Tiberius questions.
“Yeah.” She nods. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“In a little bit.” He replies, motioning for the driver to stay in the car, opening the door for Minerva himself, the two of them slipping inside and pulling away.
Tawny walks with Tigris.
“I don’t mean to intrude, or pry, and you absolutely owe me no explanation, but I wanted to ask if you needed a place to stay for a little while, until you can get back on your feet.” Tigris says, cautiously.
The moment the perimeter of the Presidential Palace had been secured and all were dismissed by the gaggle of Peacekeepers and security, Tawny packed her basic belongings and went to live with her parents once more, refusing to stay in the apartment her husband planned the murder of Ravinstill in.
She had been heavily interrogated the day following his death, after Dyess was swept away during the chaos that unfolded in the ballroom, once the realization of Ravinstill’s assassination settled in.
Tawny was cleared as a potential partner in the crime, Dyess refuting her own involvement while he refuted his own – but there was evidence against him, enough to incriminate him.
“I wouldn’t want to burden you, Tigris –”
“ – You wouldn’t be. I promise.” She assures her. “I can’t imagine the hard time you must be enduring right now, and I want to help you as much as I can. Truly, you would not be bothering me by accepting my offer.”
Tigris knows Tawny and Minerva knocks heads too much for her to be having any real peace whilst living with her parents again, and truth be told, Tawny wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought of constantly being around her mother once more, either.
“It’s just until you’re able to find another apartment.” Tigris adds it in hopes of easing Tawny’s worry of intrusion.
Taking in a deep breath, Tawny finally nods, pulling a wide grin to Tigris’ lips.
“Just until I find another apartment, and then I will be out of your hair.” Tawny adds.
“You stay as long as you’d like.” Tigris assures her as they approach the car she arrived in, the same time Snow and Livia arrive.
Livia doesn’t even attempt to hide her expression, one of the suspicious ones of Tawny’s involvement in the hit on the President while Tawny completely avoids looking at Coriolanus.
He wonders if he had made a mistake in telling Tawny the truth.
She had already grown distant due to Livia’s pregnancy, but the most recent revelation had completely shoved her away altogether.
Tigris’ apartment is the closest to the cemetery, the beautiful blonde squeezing Tawny’s hand before bidding Coriolanus and Livia, “Goodbye,” before getting out of the car.
“Wait, Tigris, do you have those curtains?” Livia reminds her, clearly wishing for her to say “yes” and allow her a few moments out of the car with this woman she’s weary of, now.
Tigris’ blue eyes widen as she honestly pipes, “Yes! Thank you for reminding me,” not realizing Livia’s intentions of merely wanting to escape as she adds, “I can bring them down.”
“Not necessary.” Livia gets out of the car, peeking her head back in to look at her husband. “I’ll be back in just a moment, my love.”
He nods with a tight, closed-mouth smile that immediately falls with the shut of the door.
Tawny wants to leave the car and walk home, but with the rain now turning into a hard downpour, she stays where she’s at, being smothered by Coriolanus’ presence.
It’s the story of her life, at this point.
“Dr. Crane,” He starts.
“Dr. Gaul .” She corrects him bitterly, reminding him of the dissolution of her marriage that had taken place days prior.
“Tawny –”
“Don’t.” She shuts him down before he can even speak fully.
“You can’t loathe me forever.” He cuts his eyes at her.
“Or what?” She mouths it so quietly that she can barely hear herself. “You and my aunt will kill the next President, and frame me for it?”
He’s on her in the blink of her brown eyes, shoving the lock of the door down to avoid Livia randomly coming back in to Snow leering over Tawny in her seat, his nose brushing hers as he silently grits out, “You and I both know President Ravinstill was expired . He was President before the fucking war even started . His mind left him years ago, and he hammered the last nail in his own coffin with the taxes .”
He’s being honest as he says it, the entire Capitol would probably agree and share his opinion of the dead President – they just couldn’t do anything about it the way her aunt and Snow could.
Tawny ignores the ache between her legs, her black dress pushed up her thighs by his knee that rests on the seat between her knees.
She’s disgusted with the intrusive thoughts about the man who framed her husband for murder, that shroud her mind and threaten to cloud her judgment.
The longer she looks in his eyes, the longer their lips stay centimeters apart, the longer his leg maintains its place, only inches from the apex of her thighs, the more she craves to take her hatred out on him.
He can imagine the slick between her legs, wishing his wife wasn’t just upstairs, or possibly on her way back down to the car, wishing he could at least pull Tawny on top of him, push her dress up, pull her panties aside and watch her grind her cunt against the painful bulge in his slacks until she’s making a mess on him.
But instead, he’s pulling away from her, his eyes holding hers until he sees Livia approaching the door of the apartment building, about to get outside.
He unlocks the door before Livia gets outside of the apartment building, and the two of them are just as they were when his wife gets back in the car.
As soon as the car slows down in front of her parent’s building, Tawny’s quickly saying goodbye to Snow and Livia, rushing through the rain to the door, not even taking the time to use her umbrella.
She lets out a sigh when she gets inside, the freezing air conditioning not mixing well with her wet skin in the slightest, her teeth nearly chattering as she heads to the elevator.
When she gets inside, she’s pushing at the fourteenth button, the door gliding to a close before abruptly being interrupted by a hand.
“Sorry.” Pias Pinnacle states, slipping inside without looking at her, poking at the button to his floor.
She doesn’t speak a word to him, pretending he’s invisible just as he pretends she is, that is until he’s glancing her way — realizing it’s her .
His eyes do a once-over of her soaked state, lingering just a little too long on her legs before flittering to her left hand.
She somehow appears prettier without a wedding ring on.
“I’m sorry about Dr. Crane.” He says to her, and truthfully, he was sorry, his pity outweighing any ill feelings of her career, though holding onto despising her seems pointless now, being that she doesn’t even work with him anymore.
Who knows, perhaps they can somewhat be friends of sorts before it’s all said and done.
It’s not too bad of an idea to him.
The fact that Pias is even apologizing about her husband, lets her know that he had also been in on what was going to happen to the President, and who it was ultimately blamed on.
He just doesn’t realize that she knows the whole of it, too.
He’s plucking into his pocket and grabbing his handkerchief, offering it to her.
She looks taken aback by his kindness toward her, knowing how he spurns her.
“I might not be the founding member of your fan club but I can still be polite, can I not?” He asks, the comment successful at coaxing an inkling of a smile from her.
“Thank you.” She musters up, mumbling, taking the piece of fine fabric from him and patting the water off her face.
“What do you think they’re going to do about a new President?” He asks next, trying to strike up conversation.
He had never had one with her before that hadn’t been work related.
“I don’t know.” She replies, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Truth be told, I’m thinking of throwing my dog in the fight.” Pias says to her, next, looking at her with a soft smirk.
His words spark something in her brown eyes that are framed by smudged mascara ruined with the rain as the gears in her mind start slowly turning.
“Is that so?” She raises a brow, handing him back his handkerchief and he folds it back up.
"If there even is a fight." He adds.
"With all the control freaks in the Capitol. . .I promise, Dr. Pinnacle, there will be a fight." She states, scoffing.
It doesn’t surprise her that Pias Pinnacle is interested in being President.
Someone else she knows is also interested in the position.
If that someone is going to gun for running the country, surely the time to seize that opportunity would be now, would it not?
"Pias," He corrects her in a friendly manner, catching her slightly off guard.
"Pias." She repeats, finding it odd to call one of her bosses by their first name.
“Do you think I have a chance?” He asks next, a slight flirtatious tone to his voice, eyes roaming down her back as she steps forward to the doors as they open.
“I think you might have a fair shot at it, Pias.” Tawny says, truthfully before turning away.
It wasn’t a lie.
Pias was brilliant, well-rounded, and though he far exceeded her age by thirteen years — she had always found him handsome with his slightly graying brown hair and sea green eyes.
He wouldn’t be an easy competitor for Snow by any chance.
That thought amuses her.
Pias fights back a smile at her words, watching her walk down the hallway until the doors shut and obstruct his view.
No , He thinks to himself, continuing to imagine the two of them being friends , Not a bad idea at all.
"The truth was, he didn't have much experience when it came to girls, and even less when it came to love...There had been that one thing, last year, in the alley behind the train station, but that wasn't really a romance so much as a dare Festus had put him up to. Between the posca and the darkness, the memory was sketchy at best. On reflection, he had never even learned her name, but it had earned him the reputation of being rather a player."
I am reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and this one scene... Just for the love of god please...write a one shot about it
As soon as I read that line in the book I was like “HOLD UP……YOU JUST GONNA THROW THAT OUT THERE AND CONTINUE ON LIKE YOU AINT JUST THROW THAT OUT THERE, MISS COLLINS??????????????”
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