The Scent of Roses || Coriolanus Snow

Chapter II

You and your classmates stood at the train station, awaiting the cattle cars of tributes to arrive at the Capitol. Once here, your tributes would be walked to their cells, where they would stay until the interviews, the publicity stunts, and the games began.

During the 11th annual Hunger Games, the idea of keeping tributes in a public zoo for all to see them was scrapped to try and prevent half of the contestants dying before the games. Also, to avoid the tributes from killing anyone from the Capitol. They would now be kept in prison cells, only visited by their mentors who could choose to provide them with anything they wished, within guidelines. Essentially, all you could bring them was food, water, medicine (but only to cure illness), and books. You shook your head, dismissing how a tribute would react to getting a book while being kept in a cell awaiting their possible demise.

Body heat pressed against your coat as Cedar arrived beside you, his breath stagnant as if he came running here. He was chewing on something, maybe gum? His breath smelled of mints, which agitated you beyond belief. Of course, he shaved today and made sure his breath smelled ideal. He even styled his hair for once. He would never do that for you even if you begged him, which you had before. The mint smell was off-putting, as he usually reeked of alcohol from partying the nights before.

Those were the luxuries of growing up rich and stupid. He got everything he wanted because money paid for everything. That included servants who completed his homework for him. That ensured he placed at the top of his class while all he had to do was get hammered each night.

Cedar's eyes drifted down towards you. Maybe he could sense the resentment burning in your body. "You nervous or something?" he said, smacking disgustingly on his gum. "I thought you were excited to get your hands on that big, strong man."

"Says the boy who freshened his breath, shaved, and styled his hair for once." You glared at him, clenching your jaw tightly.

It was challenging to focus on your task at hand when you had a backhanded, jealous, sorry excuse for a man trying to piss you off to win you back. The lack of common sense was causing your head to ache.

The screeching sound of metal came from down the tunnels. The cattle car was approaching, and the weight of the moment finally set in on you and your classmates. You could feel the anxiety blow past you like a breeze.

Once the tributes stepped out of that car, you were no longer a student; you were the teacher. You would have to prepare a boy, someone your age, to fight to the death in an arena for a cause he probably didn't believe in. Maybe being so close to the Capital, you'd have better luck with someone from District 2. Perhaps he wouldn't resent you as much as someone from 11 or 12 would.

The cattle car rolled down the tracks and came to a halt at the platform. The car was a beat-up red with holes in the sides of it, but as the doors opened, there were some stained mattresses and lights inside the cars. Not ideal living quarters, but better than had been years before. In one of your classes, you were required to research early practices in the Hunger Games. These tributes should've been grateful for the luxuries they were given.

Cedar grabbed your arm tightly as the tributes from District 1 unloaded from the car. You couldn't tell if his grip was to try and protect you or to send a message to your male tribute, who was about to get out of the car.

Your classmates assigned to the District 1 tributes did their best to greet the young teens, but they were both too frightened to say or do much of anything except start walking alongside a peacekeeper to their transportation car. Another change brought in recent years was that all tributes would not ride together to prevent deaths before the games began.

Instead, they would ride in a small car, locked in the backseat with a divider between them, their mentor in the passenger seat and a peacekeeper in the driver's seat. Another peacekeeper sat in the trunk with a divider separating them and the tributes. Safety was now a priority. Thank God it happened during your time.

The door to the District 2 car opened, the female tribute showing herself first, covering her eyes from the blinding light at the station. Behind her, your tribute, Garnett, walked forward, taking the girl's hand as he stepped down before her and then led her off the car.

"A gentleman," you sighed in relief, feeling Cedars' grip loosen on your arm.

You took a step forward, your body now practically touching Garnetts. His eyes looked down on you, so sullen and depressed. It looked as if he had died already.

"Welcome to the Capitol," you said, realizing that this arrival was anything but welcoming. You slapped your wrist in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't welcoming; I'm just here to help."

Garnett eyed you up and down, then looked to the female tribute from his District and then down the platform at all the other tributes now exiting their cars.

"No, I'm sorry." His voice was deep and smokey, like he had been breathing in smog and never clean air. "You can try all you want to make me a winner, but you can't change what I am."

What he was? Was he kidding? Garnett was tall, strong, and handsome despite having a proper shower. There was nothing about him that screamed, loser, not in the slightest.

You smiled, trying to instill some hope in him before he was thrown in a prison cell for a few days. "We'll get that confidence up in no time. I promise you that!" Even with such enthusiasm in your voice, Garnett didn't share your sentiment. He kept staring down the track at all the tributes, an emotionless expression forever stained on his face.

"I can't see, hardly at all. I've been going blind for years. That's why I keep staring. I'm trying to look at everything but can't." He looked at you intently, like he was studying your face for anything he could see, but nothing would show itself. "I can't even tell what color your eyes are or where they are. I'm sorry. I know winning is important to you, but I can't see anything."

Your heart sank deep into your chest, causing a lump to form in your throat. It maybe was a good thing he couldn't see because then he wouldn't notice the extreme disappointment on your face. He was blind. How could this have happened? He didn't look blind. I mean, he helped his fellow tribute from 2 get out of the car. Why would he do that if he couldn't see?

"I know it's confusing," he sighed, sounding more distraught with every word. "I can see just a little, but it's not enough to help me in an arena. Sure, it helped me back home, but back home, I didn't have to kill people, and I didn't have to try not to get killed. At least not like this."

You didn't have time to process what was said before your hand was enclosed around his. You held him tightly between your hands, hoping that even if he couldn't see you, he could feel you. "What you're capable of in that arena doesn't matter. I will make sure the people of the Capitol keep you alive." You pulled him closer to you, hoping the little bits of vision he had left would allow him to see you just once. Just once, right here.

He shook his head, even though a glint of hope shone across his face. "How can you make them love me? I'm District. I'm weak and worthless to them. I don't have anything to give them."

You held his gaze for as long as you could, praying that for just one second, he would see your eyes, hair, and smile. "I'm not going to give Panem a tribute that makes them want more games. I will give Panem a tribute that makes the Capitol want to end them."