HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 44

Redecorated in what was known as a Victorian style, the Plinths' eleventh-floor apartment boasted rich details that soothed Coriolanus. Strolling through the wallpapered halls, he felt right at home, which was the point—he had chosen the ancient theme to emulate the penthouse's. After all, the units were linked, and a seamlessness ought to be the expectation. Besides, he disliked the thought of any Snow living in anything less than opulent.

As the characteristic perfume of Sunday mornings wafted toward him, Coriolanus picked up his pace. Perfectly sober, he had more than an appetite what awaited. Inside the dining room, sunlight diffused through the sheer, full-length day curtains, bathing the furniture in a soft, welcoming glow. As usual, it was empty: The Grandma'am allowed herself one day a week for breakfast in bed. Strabo no longer made it out of one, and Ma had taken to staying by his side practically 24/7. So Coriolanus was taken aback as he observed that two places had been set.

"Good morning, sir. Miss Tigris rang for breakfast," said Sergeant. The butler was always quick to answer the unasked questions—it was what made him so good at his job. Although, sometimes, his perceptiveness was rather unnerving. "She should be here shortly. Would you like yours served now or together?"

"Together is fine," replied Coriolanus. "Thank you."

Calmly assuming his seat at the head of the table, Coriolanus was secretly surprised by the news. He missed his cousin so much around the house these days it was like she had moved out entirely. Indeed, he could not remember the last time they had shared a meal without it being prearranged.

Sergeant poured him coffee, splashing it with milk and a cube of sugar. These were indulgences reserved only for the weekend—Coriolanus preferred the beverage strong when he needed it to jumpstart his day. Idly stirring the piping concoction, he cued up today's copy of Panem Post. No sooner had he glimpsed the headline, in which he relished, than brisk footfalls were heard.

"Morning, Sergeant!" chirped Tigris, hastening in. She always seemed to be in a rush.

Returning the greeting with a brightness to match, the butler excused himself to arrange for the delivery of their food. Tigris never fancied being served, so he wasn't required to mix her tea, or even pull out her chair—a treatment every respectable lady deserved. While Tigris contested the necessity for ceremonies at home, some customs Coriolanus simply could not ignore. He rose and drew back her seat. Mild astonishment crossed Tigris's bony features when she pivoted on her heel, but then she smiled.

"Why, thank you, General," said Tigris playfully.

"You're welcome, stranger," countered Coriolanus.

Tigris gasped in outrage. "I've not been that scarce!"

"No?" He chuckled. "I feel like I haven't seen you in months."

"Well, I've seen you aplenty."

Her eyes darted briefly towards his cup, where a photograph of him—alongside President Ravinstill, Midas Gold, and Cora—occupied almost the entire holographic projection beneath the title:

HUNGRY FOR PHILANTHROPY

Gamemakers Remember Sponsors with Presidential Award at 10th Anniversary Gala

Immediately, Coriolanus sensed the shift in Tigris's mood. Even though she never said as much, not recently anyway, he knew that she did not think highly of the Hunger Games. In her words, it was a vicious, unnatural punishment no good person ought to go along with. His only indication that its rise in popularity had not tempered this sentiment was the fact that the more favored the Games became, the less Tigris talked about them. Silence was her form of dissent. She would never disapprove of the Games outright, but she would never approve of them either. No wonder she was such fast friends with his apprentice.