HEART OF GOLD | CORIOLANUS SNOW

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 64

Coffee was lovely, but coffee was not talked about.

Not the next day, not the day after that, not the week after that. Coriolanus and Lilith proceeded as if he had never made that jaunt to her home, as if he had never enjoyed a good forty minutes of exemplary hospitality in the Gold Residence's west drawing room, where Lilith argued all the benefits of herbal tea—a very specific herbal tea, that was—while he sipped on a superiorly aromatic and flavourful latte, wondering where on earth had she ever tasted a bitter brew, partially-glazed lychee rose madeleines slowly disappearing from the gilded plate between them.

No, that wasn't precisely true. Their excursion had left its own mark—Lilith didn't stop sneezing the entire week. As for Coriolanus, it wasn't that he'd been left untouched. It had impressed upon him, just like their dinner. It had, just not on the surface. It had, deep and indelible, inside of Coriolanus.

He thought about trying to forget it, then thought better of it. Instead, he kept the mark where it was, as it was, wearing it like a scar reminding him to be more careful. Reminding him to learn from his mistakes. He didn't volunteer for anymore trolley rides, that was for sure—he didn't give himself the chance to.

Every evening, Coriolanus stayed at the Citadel later than was necessary, ensuring his apprentice was long gone before he left. In fact, he gave it at least an hour after her departure before exiting the building. His extra time was spent diving into every aspect of the 21st Hunger Games. Rather than just reading the executive summaries and minutes from the round up, he devoured the weekly reports tendered by each project's lead, familiarizing himself with details and progress of all upcoming plans. In hindsight, it was good he confirmed everything was in order, given they had not yet heard back from the Environmental Department even after a fortnight.

Nothing adopted in the previous Games had been so substandard as to warrant relegation; all practices would be preserved: 

Electronic trackers would continue to be planted inside tributes, monitoring not just their locations but vital signs. This year's mutts were being created to mimic creatures that inhabited the forest, but with a twist; these could be released into any arena. A Night of Interviews hosted by crowd-favourite Lucky Flickerman was scheduled for its usual prime time slot. Tickets for Reaping Fair—a carnival that distinguished itself from regular ones only by the fact that it broadcasted the back-to-back reaping ceremonies live for people to watch alongside fellow Hunger Games fans—had already sold out. Public betting and sponsorship schemes remained unchanged, with options to participate via phone, mobile, or the net; post offices had not been able to keep up with the increasing participation rates.

Newly added segments, however, were what Coriolanus focused on. The suggestion to install televisions in the districts to improve exposure had its merits; the approach for its funding less so. If the Games were to be indebted to a Heavensbee, it assuredly would not be mediocre Perseus. Even his wife was so ashamed of him—or perhaps herself for choosing him—she became a recluse.

Personally acquainted with Hermes Heavensbee by virtue of the Snows' involvement in the military, Coriolanus had cleverly woven the subject into their conversation back at the gala instead. The head of the clan adored his shoal of grandchildren but doted especially on the girls. As Coriolanus apologized and blamed his own shortsightedness for having to shelf his youngest granddaughter's proposal on account of a blown budget, a cheque was promptly produced.

"But leave me out of it," the ex-general had insisted. "She hates help, particularly from me. Just give her the credit."

Just as well.

Lining the streets was deemed immoderate, but an oversized screen would be fitted to the stage erected for the reaping. Rather than dismantling the set up immediately after the tribute selection, it would be kept throughout the length of the Games, airing all associated programs live daily from eight in the morning until ten in the evening. Once the boys and girls lucky to survive another year were dismissed, the Justice Squares would be transformed into pavilions, cordoned off for a private audience and guarded by Peacekeepers. Shelter from summer, a packet of nutritional crackers, and a bottle of water ought to entice enough district citizens to fill the seats in eight-hour shifts.