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drunkinchicago · 1 year ago

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coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link to chapter 1

Chapter 2: master of others

“So leave me alone, you ought to be proud that I’m getting good marks.”

Elliot Smith, “Needle in the Hay”

One thinks himself the master of others, and still remains a greater slave than they.

Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract

Coriolanus pulled at the neck of his red cashmere sweater, unsure how he could possibly feel this warm in the laboratory. He knew that the thermostat was set to a bone-chilling sixty three degrees because he’d set it himself. Yet here he was, sweating and feverish, unable to regulate his own body temperature, to control himself. How fitting.

It had taken weeks before Dr. Volumnia Gaul had allowed Coriolanus to be left to his own devices in the research facility, continuously commenting on his stint with her beloved rainbow snakes. This embarrassed Coriolanus greatly and he fell silent at the mention of it, accepting the rightful criticism. He hadn’t been trying to spite the Capitol in the action. He was just trying to save Lucy Gray, because that was all that he thought about then, but that was the shame in it, wasn’t it? How quickly and wholly he had been willing to throw aside his heritage for her, how easily she made him forget the expectations of his last name. Strategically placing his father’s handkerchief in the tank had come to him as easily as breathing. Desperately, Coriolanus had attempted to speak words of regret on the matter, but the shapes of such statements couldn’t form on his lips - the very lips that were born into importance the second they met hers. He didn’t regret any of it. He wanted to, but he couldn’t find that feeling.

He’d poisoned Dean Casca Highbottom and didn’t regret that either. Coriolanus found his emerging perspective on murder and death troubling but natural. He refused to reject a sense that came this easily, which was the very trouble with Lucy Gray Baird. He had no energy to waste on attempting to unlearn what was so deeply ingrained within him. This is all he was anymore - hatred and her.

Today, he’d be meeting with Dr. Gaul to discuss the framework of an idea he’d conjured to encourage the commitment of the districts to the Games. Just as there’d been an incentive for the mentors to win the year prior, Coriolanus had confidence in the offering of a prize to winning Districts, one greater than the life of the victorious tribute. He’d toyed with the concept of extra provisions, a monetary reward for the winner and his/her family, or a tour through the districts sporting the victor as an elongated reminder. His most verbose suggestion was a draft of a Victor’s Village on the outskirts of each District, a series of fine homes and privacy designated solely for winners. Comprehensively, Coriolanus was aiming to create a reason for those in the Districts to look forward to the games - hope in the midst of despair. Hope, he’d concluded, was the mental equivalence of wrapping your hands around someone’s neck and releasing just as their eyes rolled back. Gasping, dopamine would flood through the victim’s body, replacing prior fear and desperation, because at least the perpetrator didn’t go through with it. They didn’t finish the deal, they only came close. And here came the second chance, the opportunity to assess all that individual had taken for granted before they tasted death. You could do anything with that feeling, with that opportunity to edge a person. They’d be at your mercy and your control - suddenly, you were no longer another human, but their maker and ender simultaneously, a God with the choices in his silver-ringed hands. Coriolanus relished in the idea, warmth gathering in his lower abdomen when he imagined how powerful that moment would feel. It made him wish to perfect the exact amount of poison required to only nearly, not fully, sicken someone to the brink of their death. He could lean down to meet them on the floor, face to face on the tile. Not feeling real good, are you? He’d whisper, reaching out to touch their warm cheek, the veins pulsating on their forehead. Is there anything you want to tell me? Or do you want to drink more?

Today, Coriolanus was hoping to make requests of his own. Typically, he was the one at the beck and call of Dr. Gaul, as was expected of an internship position. He’d excelled and would continue to, but he wanted to gain capital. He knew Dr. Gaul could give him what he wanted, even if it was difficult, and perhaps it wouldn’t. Little seemed to phase her. She was incredibly calculated, and Coriolanus himself had seen her as evil, which she was. It was a necessary evil, he’d come to recognize, and necessary was his demand.

Dr. Gaul strolled into the wing of the laboratory that he occupied two hours after he’d arrived, donning one of her customary whimsical garments. Coriolanus’ stomach still turned at the sight of her, as it always had. But she was a good teacher, a great one even, and her power couldn’t be denied. Coriolanus believed in the notion that those who couldn’t be beaten should be joined, but he would surpass her eventually. He already hoped she felt insecurity at the amount of ideas she’d adopted of his - here he was, nearly nineteen only, preparing for the second Games that he’d carried a heavy influence in. The tables would turn eventually. Snow lands on top.

“Good morning,” Dr. Gauld drawled, eyeing the meticulously written notes laying in front of Coriolanus. He’d once seen the drawers in her private office chalkful with the documents he’d bestowed her with. Her prodigy - a mind that couldn’t be wasted in the Districts. He was thankful for that, at least, that her belief in him had brought him back to the Capitol. Not that it wasn’t rightful. He was fantastic at what he did and he knew that. Everything was falling into place. Almost.

Dr. Gaul’s hands, draped in red gloves, began to reach for the page laying on top, one adorned with mock sketches of a Victor’s Village mansion. Coriolanus swiftly moved the papers away from her, a mechanism that took her by shock. “Feisty this morning, aren’t you, rabbit?” She wasn’t angry, yet - just curious.

Coriolanus eyed the sterile silver clock on the opposite wall. “It’s afternoon,” he said gruffly, running his fingers along the top of the stapled document. His left index finger caught on the left edge of the stack, but he didn’t mind the feeling. He let the finger rest there, blood soaking the outer edges and moving toward his perfect handwriting. “I have a favor to ask. It’s not small.”

There was an open seat across from Coriolanus, but Dr. Gaul didn’t take it. She brought her hands together, resting them on the upper side of the chair and leaning forward. On occasions, she sounded like a snake herself, hissing as she spoke. “And what may that be?”

Coriolanus was not intimidated by her, but more so by the gravity of his request. He wasn’t sure what had compelled today to be the day he’d finally mention it, as the thought wasn’t new. He’d thought about asking for Lucy Gray Baird every day since the last he saw her. He would do anything for her to be owed to him, and wasn’t she anyway? She was his. His in the Capitol, his in Twelve, his anywhere. Perhaps it was the loss of Grandma’am, another loose end lost to wherever they go, somewhere beside Sejanus. The trees in his life were being cut down, and hopefully that would prove the forest Lucy Gray was hiding in to be of greater clarity. Find her.

He was racking his brain for the best way to say it, hoping to frame it in an academic way, a manner that convinced Dr. Gaul that the choice would serve as much benefit to her as it would him. Dr. Gaul interrupted his train of thought with an empty condolence. “I’m sorry about your grandmother. She was lovely, I presume.”

Coriolanus met her eyes, another one of her snakelike features. Perhaps he would play the wounded card, the mourning boy. “My sorrows have been immense. I’m lonely, as of late.”

Dr. Gaul erupted into laughter at this, startling Coriolanus. “You stupid, stupid boy. What did I say about lying to me? You take me for a fool, acting as though I haven’t been waiting for the day you’d ask this question.”

Coriolanus’ cheeks burned red, feeling warm again. Were his feelings that clear? He’d thought the opposite, that he was the picture of self-sufficiency. He was immediately self-conscious at the prospect of his infatuation being so detectable, whether the feeling be true or not. And it was, God , it was. Could everyone see him as Dr. Gaul could, or was she just wiser?

“You don’t give a damn about your grandmother, dumb child,” Dr. Gaul practically spit at him, moving quickly to yank his document from his grasps. In his anxiety, he’d begun clutching the papers as though they were a lifeline. The intensity of Dr. Gaul’s ripping motion caused more paper cuts, Coriolanus crying out in pain as the palms of his hands bled a deeper red. He was already mortified beyond understanding, so the begging started.

“Please,” he gasped, falling to the ground like a peasant yearning for a penny. His chair skidded behind, turning on its side. The metal hitting the resin flooring resulted in a loud clang, a sound that echoed throughout the emptiness of the laboratory. “Please, Dr. Gaul. I’m losing my wit, my motivation, my mind. I can’t be the student you want me to be for much longer.”

Dr. Gaul seemed secondarily embarrassed at his dramatics, and equally unimpressed. “Say what you want in plain English then, Coriolanus.”

On his knees, he looked up to see her face, beginning to seethe with anger. Of course she was going to make him spell it out pathetically, the exact opposite of what he’d wanted her to do. He’d hoped to turn it into a business arrangement rather than a show of pity, but esteem seemed to be lost already. “Don't you have any respect for me?” He yelled through gritted teeth.

“Have some respect for yourself.” Dr. Gaul was unmoving.

“I. Want. Lucy. Gray. Baird.”

More laughter, chastising laughter. “Dumb child,” she repeated.

“A game of repetition, huh? Then I will say it again. I cannot be the student you need without her.”

“And what if you cannot be the student I need with her? Don’t you see how distracted you’d be with that little songbird in your bedroom?”

Coriolanus’ heart drummed at the mention of his room, of her, of the picture being painted, feeling indescribably put down by her insinuation. “What are you saying?”

“You think you know love,” Dr. Gaul tsked, shifting the papers she held to her left arm and placing her right hand on her heart. “You think you know what’s in here, how that feels. You don’t have much there, Coriolanus. Naive, and it’s known that the two of you didn’t sleep together.”

A switch flipped, forcing Coriolanus to his feet. What on earth? Known by whom? He couldn’t believe that the matter of his private life, of his virginity, was something to ‘know’, another Coriolanus-shaped topic for Capitol officials to analyze. “And that's a commonplace discussion?’

“It was a commonplace concern, actually. Casca was convinced you’d close that ground with her before the Games even started and resultantly lose interest in mentoring her. This was a substantial anxiety, as the Capitol had fallen for her themselves at that point. She needed a mentor who would invest everything in her to make the Capitol citizen investments worth their time. Living long enough for people to be entertained by her was paramount.”

“And what do you think I did?” Coriolanus was counting the hours of sleep he’d lost watching her, worrying himself sick about her wellbeing. It was the only relevance in his life then and now, and that wasn’t because he hadn’t slept with her. How could it be? It was deeper, it had to be, he knew it. He remembered it all, was even wearing the memories out from how often he ran through them. Kissing until his lips bled, the promise of being written in the stars, the way her eyes were the color of devotion. Even in his most violent moments, when rage distorted her face in his mind, when he imagined how she’d feel cold and lifeless before him, a bullet wound he gave her dyeing the color of her dress, he loved her. He loved her so much it sickened him. “What type of mentor do you think I was?”

“A teenage one sick with want,” Dr. Gaul scolded. “Simply desire, my boy.”

“Then kill me,” Coriolanus said plainly, manipulatively. She couldn’t, not his brain, not his words. She would’ve done it by then if she had the means to, what with all his crimes. He was her star pupil and the future of the Games.

Dr. Gaul scoffed, but said nothing.

“Give me her or I. Want. You. To. Kill. Me.”

Dr. Gaul continued her streak of silence, blinking at him as though he’d relent.

“Hang me in front of everyone, I don’t care. I’ve gone mad at the possibility of not having what’s rightfully mine.”

“Do you not understand the difference between obsession and love?” Dr. Gaul spoke the words slowly, a tone softer than he’d heard her use before.

“Assign it what you will,” Coriolanus responded, feeling he was somehow on the precipice of gaining leverage. “Call it how you want it and put it on a flag beside me. Write it on my grave.”

Dr. Gaul and Coriolanus settled into a battle fought by their eyes. They both knew, to Coriolanus’ advantage, that the greatest but inevitable mistake the Capitol had made was granting Coriolanus his pardon and giving him the lifepath he wanted after all he’d done. They’d rewarded everything they claimed not to, because that was the true way of the Capitol. His treason and self-serving behaviors were wrong and identical to those of anyone who’d ever served the Capitol well, for it was a self-serving nation, a self-serving city. Now, Coriolanus knew his power. He knew the room he had to pack away seemingly unforgivable acts, to cheat, to kill. He was Capitol, through and through, and they couldn’t hate him for it. They could hardly even punish him, for he was their creation, a product they’d designed that held great intellect and innovation.

“What’s in it for me?” Dr. Gaul finally asked.

This part of the conversation was the only Coriolanus had prepared for - the business plan. “She will be at your service just as mine. The Districts love her, trust her, even. She will perform at both the Bells’ nightclub, garnering income in the local economy, but also at any Capitol event, and especially those associated with the Games. It will garner views like no other, reminding the Districts that if a girl from Twelve can win, anything can happen. They’ll gain hope and the false perception of control - of a chance. They don’t know what I did to make her win, they just know she won, and they’ll see her in Capitol dresses, living a life she would have never had back home,” Coriolanus laughed at the next thought, bolstering confidence to support his perspective. “I’d be surprised if tributes don’t start volunteering just for the chance to be the next Lucy Gray.”

He knew it was a risk. Dr. Gaul detested the 10th Hunger Games and had even largely erased it. Lucy Gray Baird was a reminder of them, but a necessary one - a necessary evil - to sway the opinion of the common folk, the lowly Districts. “Give me her,” he pleaded, his voice almost a whisper. “I know you can find her. Bring her to me.”

Dr. Gaul turned away before responding, likely conveying an expression of defeat that she didn’t want him to see. “You’ll have your way in time. Now, though, you are mine just as she’s yours. You will have no autonomy over the time you are to spend dedicated to your work. If you or she fails me, I will kill you both, and you will watch her die first slowly.” Coriolanus could hardly hear what she was saying, lost in the satisfaction of his way, the only way that mattered.

As Dr. Gaul began to walk away, documents in hand, she called one final thing behind her. “Your father would be disgusted at the notion of District offspring, should you know. Don’t think this is some fantasy. You and I are one in the same - unlovable.”

Coriolanus wondered if she was right, if his fate was similar, if he’d end up withered, ugly and unlovable at the hands of his choices. Selfishly and in conceit, he couldn’t imagine it, especially not with this prospect - the return of Lucy Gray. Coriolanus had been recognized for his appearance since birth - his white blonde hair that had recently grown back into his signature curls, the blinding brightness of his pale blue eyes. He knew that many of his female peers at the University wanted him and detested the way they’d stare up at him, desperately hoping to be found attractive. He’d found none of the girls in the Capitol to be worth much, and this had been true both before and after her. All he wanted, all he'd soon have.

Even his father had once acknowledged Coriolanus’ beauty, perhaps only to recognize their shared characteristics. “A beautiful babe, you are,” Crassus Snow would murmur to his small son. “Hopefully one day you’re more than just that.”

He settled back into his chair, the white sides of it printed by his bloodied hands. In time. In time. She would be his again.

In time.

authors note: archive of our own link @ the following, love u guys https://archiveofourown.org/works/52089274/chapters/131741047

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg series #thg #tbosas spoilers #coriolanus snow #snow #president snow #snowbaird #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #suzanne collins #archive of our own #ao3

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diariomatuto · 5 years ago

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15 de junho de 2019

Vim quinta para a feira no capão. Descobri que pode ser bem desagradável esse caminho e já penso em retornar ao plano inicial de uma vinda por semana. Talvez diminuir a quantidade de alimentos frescos e voltar a apostar no arroz e no feijão, que estão lá na barraca, compondo com alguns frescos que leve, para não precisar levar o peso que carregava no início, mas também não precisar vir duas vezes por semana.

A questão é que não importa se choveu por dois minutos de uma chuva fina na mata, eu vou me molhar pelas gotas grossas nas folhas durante as duas horas que caminhar. E nunca acreditei que folhas molhadas podiam molhar mais meu pé do que enfiar ele num rio corrente.

Quando cheguei na ponte velha decidi tirar os sapatos e aproveitei para lavá-los no rio, já estavam completamente encharcados, não fez diferença. Lavei os sapatos e as meias e segui. Consegui chegar na feira por volta das 8:30. Apesar de encharcado e da temperatura baixa, não estava com frio.

Fiz minha feira, comi e desci pra casa de Milena, onde estão ainda algumas coisas minhas, e pude colocar roupas secas que deixei aqui. Ela também me ofereceu um banho quente. Estou aqui desde então. Hoje o dia amanheceu ensolarado, mas amanhã já é dia de feira, não vale a pena voltar pra casa agora.

Milena não está no seu melhor momento, de qualquer forma ela é muito pessimista e negativista. Em todas as coisas prefere pontuar os problemas, foca neles e ignora todo o resto. Cheia de não posso, não gosto e não quero. Ela se colocou muitas barreiras, de forma que qualquer coisa que a acontece soa muito desagradável. E ela interage com isso de uma forma pior ainda, com agressividade, raiva, impaciência, reclamação. Dai não tem sido uma tão boa companhia. Ela chegou a hostilizar o gato da casa e gritar inferno não sei quantas vezes.

Ela me disse que o gato ficava irritando ela com miados em excesso, eu tive que pontuar que não era o gato quem irritava ela, mas ela que se irritava com o gato. E que se esse era ele, e morava naquela casa, ou ela se mudava ou aprendia a lidar com isso, mas se irritar, comparar com outros gatos, reclamar e gritar só prejudicava a ela mesma e tornava a experiência da vida desagradável, em que o gato tornava-se mais irritante quanto mais ela se irritava com ele. E com isso todas as outras coisas.

Então no primeiro dia eu corri pra casa de Desiree e passei a tarde com ela. Pintamos e conversamos muito de uma conversa honesta. Foi muito agradável e me deu uma respirada. Tive uma brecha de sol pela tarde que me permitiu voltar pra casa, mas acabei ficando. Aproveitei a noite pra dar uma volta e socializar um pouco, ver gente. Depois voltei, toquei um pouco de violão com Milena e Claudia, que é uma hóspede que está aqui e Desiree me emprestou uma coberta para passar a noite.

Com mais calma e podendo ver Milena interagir com outra pessoa, numa perspectiva de observador, enquanto tocava violão, percebi o que tanto me incomodava em seu jeito. Coisa que sempre me deixou meio sem entender. É que ela se aprofunda em detalhes de todas as histórias que conta, mesmo as mais desinteressantes ou em perguntas simples como a temperatura ou as horas. Ela não sabe eleger figura e fundo, tudo é figura em suas histórias cheias de personagens que ela fala como se fossem conhecidos para desconhecidos ouvidos.

Isso não a ajuda a eleger que histórias devem ser compartilhadas para cada pessoa, nem de que forma essas histórias devem ser compartilhadas, que pedaços podem ser suprimidos, que pedaços devem ser essenciais, onde ocorrem as revelações, os plots. Tudo se torna uma monotonia contada de forma empolgada.

Depois que percebi isso, me incomodei menos. Acho que por compreender do que se tratava e não se tornar uma espécie de antipatia metafísica. E depois disso a companhia ficou mais agradável, embora ela não tivesse mudado em nada no comportamento, mas a compreensão me deu calmaria no tato com essa pessoa.

Ontem conversei um tanto com Pablo, como conversávamos enquanto jogávamos Fifa, passeando por assuntos, reflexões, dos mais variados temas, só pela diversão de debater. Falamos sobre o tempo, indivíduo, salvação individual, salvação coletiva, canudos, Canudos, veganismo, capitalismo, anarquismo, empatia, ansiedade, isolamento, industrialização, idealismo, realismo. Tudo isso por que compartilhei uns trechos do Walden, que finalmente estou lendo.

Ler Thoreau é como ler a mim mesmo no futuro escrevendo de algum ponto do passado. As reflexões, as perspectivas, raciocínios e práticas são muito próximas das minhas, de forma que me identifico muito e me adianta alguns pontos nesse caminho. Me salvou do Rousseau, até por que já não aguentava mais suas lamentações repetitivas.

Hoje minhas roupas secaram, minhas meias principalmente e o sapato está quase lá, mas provavelmente molharei novamente amanhã quando voltar pra casa. Meu não-dente resolveu inchar de novo de ontem pra hoje. Acredito que pela falta de escovação, já que não trouxe escova. Inclusive vim extremamente despreparado. Já havia refletido que seria bom trazer sandálias, até para poder vestir enquanto descansava para voltar, mas nem pensei na possibilidade de precisar por conta das botas encharcadas. Também não pensei em meias extras. E as roupas de frio que pensei para uma eventual dormida, não trouxe. Apostei que voltaria ontem mesmo.

Deixei cascas de banana pra fora do vaso e comida fora da composteira. Acho que fiz de forma que me movesse a voltar com mais força para casa, do que me preparar para possivelmente ficar, caso fosse necessário. Se mesmo assim já fiquei, imagina se tivesse trazido tudo que necessito para estar confortável aqui.

Mas amanhã faço a feira de qualquer forma e volto. Segunda é a lua cheia e eu quero acabar com esse mito de nunca ter passado uma lua cheia no terreno. Amanhã volto nem que seja debaixo de chuva. Não é possível me molhar mais do que quando vim.

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