4Hey there! I know I haven't been updating lately, but I've had my school play, and finals for French and Math, not to mention projects due in most of my other classes. So I've been busy. However, now that the school year is wrapping up, I'll hopefully be able to update more often.
Anyway. I'm not really sure where this came from. I guess it's my idea of why Snow is the way he is. You don't become cold and sentence children to death any year without having some bad things happen to you. Read on!
The year of the 42nd Hunger Games
It all started with an accident.
Coriolanus Snow didn't mean to poison his manager. How was he to know that nutmag, a plant derived from nutmeg, was fatal? It was only his first day, and he hadn't learned how much nutmag his boss liked in his coffee yet. However, despite his inexperience, he was clearly the most qualified for the newly vacated position. Graduated from The Academy at the top of his class, attended Panem University for 4 years and got his degree with top marks. He was only 21 years old. He had always been the best…
A week after "the incident," Coriolanus settled into his brand-new manager's chair. The leather was worn, but soft. The desk in front of him was pockmarked with scratch marks and a few marker stains from when the manager at the current time had let his child sit at the desk. It was imperfect, not really his, but it still felt right somehow. It's the feeling of power, he decided. Yes, I quite like that. There was a knock at the door.
"Sir?" Snow looked up. "Your wife, Pulchra, is here to see you." He stepped aside to reveal a smiling woman, her face glowing. The assistant stepped out and closed the door behind him.
"Cory?" Pulchra asked timidly, using her special nickname for him.
"Yes, what is it?" Snow asked, his voice softening as he closed the distance between them.
"We're having a baby!" Her face broke into an even bigger smile. "I found out this morning."
"A-a baby?" Snow froze. He didn't know how to be a father.
"A baby boy. Isn't that wonderful?" The words "baby boy" broke him out of his stupor. He had dreamed of having a son, someone to carry on his legacy. People already expected great things from Snow himself.
"Yes, yes. That's wonderful, honey," he said before he kissed her.
Those were the two important things in his life: power, and family. Those were the things that mattered to him.
The year of the 44th Hunger Games
A giggling 2 year old boy sat on Coriolanus' lap as he worked at his desk. The numbers on the papers in front of him seemed to swim and settle themselves on other pages. Snow put his head in his hands. He couldn't concentrate with the little toddler on his lap. A gentle hand placed itself on his shoulder.
"Why don't I take Julius for a little bit?" The toddler was handed over to his mother and taken to the kitchen. Snow turned to his television and tuned it in to the 44th Hunger Games. He was just in time to see a tribute viciously beheaded. He couldn't work with Julius in the room, but with the sounds of the Hunger Games in the background he was just fine.
The year of the 46th Hunger Games
Now, the Snow home was full of the shrieks of young boys as they played with their mother. 4 year old Julius climbed on top of Pulchra as she bent to pick up 2 year old Augustus. Snow plucked Julius from Pulchra's back.
Already, Julius was showing the signs of being very intelligent. A possible child genius, the doctors called him. They didn't get many of those in the Capitol.
"You're a big boy now, aren't you Julius?"
"Yes, Father," he answered.
"Distwic acksent! Distwic acksent!" shrieked Augustus. He loved Julius' imitation of how the districts talked.
"Yes, Father," Julius repeated, but this time with a strong twang in his words and drawing them out as if he were slow. Snow chuckled before setting him down. The phone began to ring. Snow strode over to where it hung on the wall and picked it up.
"Snow residence, Coriolanus Snow speaking… Yes. Yes. I'll be right there." He set the phone down and turned to face his family. "My partner, Traffe Prenders, is in the hospital from a drug overdose. They don't know if they're going to be able to save him. They said he wants to see me." He started to walk towards the door when Julius ran to grab his leg.
"I want to come, Father. I've never been to a hospital."
"Yes, you have. You were born in a hospital," Snow reminded his son as he detached himself.
"I've never been in a hospital when I can remember," he amended. Snow sighed; he didn't have time for this.
"Alright, fine, you can come." They set out for the car lot, across from their apartment building. In his excitement, Julius ran ahead.
"Julius, come back!"
Everything happened very quickly. A screech of tires. A screech of pain. Snow's head swam as the image before him burned itself into his mind. His son, his joy, lying in the road. Motionless. Nearby onlookers already had their phones out, dialing 111, the number for emergency help. Within minutes, ambulances were on the scene. But it was too late. The boy who had held so much promise was gone.
That day, Snow lost one of the things most important to him; family. That left him with power. He could fill the void in his heart with power. That would surely fix him, make him whole again.
By the time he realized that it wouldn't, he was in too deep to stop.
Year of the 56th Hunger Games
10 years after Julius' death. After a few weeks, Snow had started formulating his own concoction to gain power. It had to be tasteless, odorless, and colorless. Untraceable. Nutmag wasn't going to cut it anymore. The problem was that with no test subjects, he couldn't know if it was untraceable, or even potent. He couldn't test it on himself or any others- people would surely wonder why he was making poison, and if it did work on himself… Pulchra would be upset if he tested it on the dog, so that was out. In the end, he secretly bought himself a dozen mice. Then, he had to make an antidote. It made the inside of his cheeks sore and bloody, but he could cover that up with a scented rose.
When he was satisfied, he began to start moving up the chain. He had to work slowly, so not to draw attention to himself, but by the end of 10 years he was holding the position of Vice President. It still wasn't enough. He wanted to be the most powerful man in the country. Tonight was the night that it would happen.
"Presenting President Lindor and Vice President Snow," a voice announced as the two men entered the room.
This is supposed to be a democracy, but they treat it like an anarchy. Well, after tonight, I won't be "queen" anymore, Snow thought, smirking to himself as they settled themselves at the table. He quietly listened to the conversation swirling around him, contributing when he felt he'd been silent for too long. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Lindor drink three glasses of wine and start on a fourth. This will be too easy. When the dessert wines came out, he pretended to reach across Lindor's glass for a decadent strawberry. Concealed in his sleeve, a few drops of poison slid out into the President's white wine. Even if someone was watching, it simply appeared that his sleeve was dripping from the water he had "accidentally" spilled earlier. Everything had been planned for and executed perfectly.
A few sips later, Lindor put his hand to his head. Snow turned and whispered to him.
"Feeling a little dizzy from all that wine?" He put a touch of concern into his voice. Lindor nodded and reached for a glass of water. Snow did nothing to stop him; the poison was already working its way into his blood stream. Ten minutes later, he excused himself from the table to go lie down for a bit. Snow got up to leave as well, saying he had several meetings to attend early the following morning. As he walked towards the door, one of the servant boys, a non-Avox, caught his eye. The look in his eyes told Snow that he saw everything, and knew exactly what had happened. The next morning, on the orders of the new President, he became an Avox.
Year of the 65th Hunger Games
Snow had been the leader of the country for 9 years, but his life was falling apart. The gap in his heart was growing larger; he didn't trust anyone. His wife was filing for divorce; she said he was a different man than the one she married. And now that he couldn't climb the social ladder any higher, he had to find some other way to spend his time.
The answer to his last problem came in the form of a 14 year old boy named Finnick Odair. Finnick was the male tribute from District 4. He also happened to be extremely handsome, with wavy copper hair and sea green eyes. He already had several sponsors based on his looks alone, and he seemed to have a winning personality too. It was a comment from one of his closest friends, who was talking about how she was going to sponsor him, that first gave him the idea.
"Ooh, I would love to go fishing with him, if you know what I mean," she'd said with a mischievous glint in her eye. Snow did know what she meant. He wondered how many other women thought the same thing, and how much money he could make from them. After all, money and power do go hand in hand. He could ask popular victors to have a personal little "thank you" with their sponsors. If they refused? Well, he could take their families away too.
"Mr. Odair, you seem to be very popular, especially with the ladies. Did you know that 99 percent of your sponsors were women?" Finnick shook his head. "Wouldn't you like to be able to thank them? They did make your time in the arena much more comfortable, after all." Finnick nodded.
"Yes, of course I would, sir. But how could I? I don't know any of them." Snow smirked and leaned forward in his chair.
"But I do. I have a list of names of every woman who sponsored you. Many of them have expressed interest in having certain…services from you."
"Services, sir?"
"Pleasure-inducing services." All at once, realization lit in Finnick's eyes.
"You want me to be a man-whore?"
"Not in such rough terms, but yes."
"Sir, with all due respect, I'm only 14 years old. If I were to refuse?"
"Then your family would be very sorry that you did." Snow let that sink in for a moment before leaning back and taking another sip of tea. "I'll let you think about that, and you can give me your answer tomorrow," he said as he motioned for Finnick to leave. "And Finnick?" he added as Finnick reached the door. "You'd like to keep your friends safe too, wouldn't you? Specifically one Annie Cresta?" It felt good to be in control.
Year of the 70th Hunger Games
"You promised she'd be safe if I agreed to your terms!" Snow calmly took a sip of his tea and looked up at the very upset and enraged 19 year old Finnick Odair standing in front of him.
"My dear boy, I have no control over the reapings. It was simply fate."
"That's bull, sir. We both know it. This is about you and me, leave her out of it." Finnick wasn't backing down.
"Very well, Mr. Odair. I have a proposition for you: you have sex with whomever I tell you, with no complaints, for the rest of your life. In return, I will make sure that your Annie Cresta wins these Games."
"Deal." They shook on it. A few weeks later, in the arena, a dam collapsed. Being the best swimmer, 18 year old Annie Cresta was proclaimed victor of the 70th Hunger Games.
Year of the 74th Hunger Games
Snow sat in the living room with his 7 year old granddaughter on his lap. On the T.V. screen were the star-crossed lovers of District 12, Katniss and Peeta. Katniss was holding out a handful of small, deadly berries.
"Kill them, you idiot! Blast them to smithereens! How dare she defy the Capitol?" he roared at the television. The girl, Malla, covered her ears.
No one but Snow knew just how close the country was to rebelling. This was just the sort of thing that could set it off. People getting around the rules. Teenagers outwitting the all-knowing Capitol. They had to be stamped out immediately, yet Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane wasn't pushing the big red button.
He watched, enraged, as Katniss and Peeta spit out the berries and washed their mouths out. Pity that one of them hadn't swallowed the fatal juice.
Snow removed Malla from his lap and put her on the couch. She watched him fearfully, being no stranger to his fits of fury. He crossed to the phone, picked it up, and spoke with a strange calmness in his voice.
"This is Snow. I'd like Seneca Crane to be imprisoned and executed next week." From anyone else, this request would seem bizarre and raise many questions. From Snow, it was put into effect almost immediately.
Year of the 75th Hunger Games
Snow smiled at the crowd and cameras gathered in front of him before plunging his hand into the box and removing a yellowed envelope marked "75." Aging the paper had been easy enough. The hard part was making it sound convincing. A fool-proof way to get rid of his problems would seem a little too convenient unless he really sold it, made people believe that it was the real Quell, from when they had all been written. He would have enjoyed seeing the real one, something about "as a reminder to the rebels that their choices are killing the youngest members of their community, everyone reaped will be 12 years old," but this was more important in the long-term. Snow cleared his throat and began to read.
"As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, tributes will be reaped from the existing pool of victors." Reaction was immediate and passionate. For a moment, he wondered whether it was worth it. Victors were well loved and celebrated in the Capitol, and surely this would make many people upset. However, he dismissed it. His control was more important than their happiness. They were already pampered, and they would have a new victor to fawn over as soon as these Games were done. He wondered if Katniss was watching. She was the target here, after all. As the only female victor of District 12, she would have to go in. And he would make sure that she couldn't cheat death a second time.
District 13
So quickly, he had come down from power. How exactly had he ended up captured by District 13? Not clever enough? Maybe he was too clever. He had become arrogant, over-looked things. Now he was going to die for it. Executed by the very same girl that he had tried to kill so many times, he was told. Coin would become president in his place, they told him. Over my dead body she will, he thought. He had heard what had happened with the children and the parachutes. They were clever to blame it on the Capitol. They were already killing children yearly, why would this be different to them? Somehow, he had to convince Katniss that it was Coin who had pushed the button and sent her sister into battle. His last great challenge.
Snow was standing on a stage in front of thousands of people. Normally he would have been very comfortable up there, if it weren't for the fact that he was tied to a post and the thousands of people were waiting to see him killed.
He watched Katniss step up to the stage, black bow in hand. He studied her face carefully but it was guarded. Somehow, he knew that she was still mulling over what he had told her. He watched as she raised the bow, arrow knocked. He braced himself for impact but continued his eye contact with her. He saw her suddenly pivot and shoot Coin in the head, the would-be president toppling over the railing. Almost immediately, people began running onto the stage. They pressed around him, trying to get to Katniss.
A strange feeling began to bubble up from his stomach and he laughed. First a chuckle, then a deep, throaty cackle. He had convinced her to shoot Coin, while making her forget about the consequences. This would surely tear down the last remaining bits of credibility she had left. He tried to take in another breath, but the crowd wouldn't let him. It was too tight. The people swam in front of his eyes. Was the ground moving beneath him as if in an earthquake, or was it the lack of oxygen? Gasping, his knees collapsed and he fell back against the post, hitting his head. That woke him up for a few seconds, but the edges of his vision were getting fuzzy and there was a rush of blood in his ears. The fuzzy parts moved closer and closer to the middle of his view, until everything was dark or mixed up or blurry. And then there was nothing.
Please, please review and tell me what you thought. This is the longest single thing that I've ever uploaded and I'm pretty proud of it. It took me a while to write. I had to find time on the bus in the morning or afternoon, but without my friends looking over my shoulder and going "what's that?" For those of you who don't know what that's like, it's really awkward to explain that you're writing Fanfiction. Yeah.