REVENANT | Coriolanus Snow

Chapter 3

"Where the hell have you been?" Sejanus asked once Coriolanus met with the rest of the peacemakers.

A small group of the men were set up on crates eating something that didn't look entirely edible. He stole a chunk of it from Sejanus' plate anyways, ignoring the glare his 'friend'  gave him and taking a bite from what turned out to be extremely stale bread.

"Lphking foh Enya Fehdophov." he said around the odd mixture of sand and cardboard in his mouth. They all gave him blank stares, waiting for him to chew and swallow and give them an actual answer. "Looking for Enya Fedorov."

"Instead of helping us?" One of the peacemakers accused, though Coryo knew the tone stemmed from jealousy rather than actual anger. He sat down on one of crates, figuring he needed to take advantage of having the seat before the next truck came and they had to pack them away.

"Are you asking if I'd rather spend time with that beautiful dancer than stare at you guys' ugly mugs? Cause the answer is yes. A hundred times over." he said without hesitation.

"Her job is to be nice to everyone." Sejanus said, feigning a pitying sigh.

"So she works there?" Coriolanus asked, ignoring the jab aimed at him. He took another bite from the bread, remembering too late how horrible it was.

"She does. Half of the people there go to see her, although tonight was more about the return of Lucy Gray"

Lucy Gray, Coriolanus had completely forgotten about her. His mind had been too preoccupied with a certain curly haired dancer.

Her charm had bewitched him. It felt like he hadn't seen enough of her. He needed to talk to her again. As though some kind of invisible threat was pulling him forth.

Their fun was cut short as another truck screeched to a halt next to them, kicking up mud over their already muddy boots.

No matter their differences, the heavy sigh that exited them at that moment was identical. Could they not get a minute's rest in this damn place? Their chairs were immediately taken and loaded into the truck, along with all the other crates in the general vicinity.

The games taught the rules of engagement in a caustic way, it beats it into your body and sullies your soul. dirty hands and dirtier deeds so the rest of the world doesn't have to.

Sometimes, there were no rules. sometimes, you venture into no man's land with no sense of self-preservation and a death wish to gain victory.

Coriolanus remained a slave to his own caprices and vanities. He had developed an uncanny taste for...more; an appetite that knew no denial, a palate that would accept nothing less than his heart's bloody content.

This craving, deep in his gut, relentless. The kind that gets under your skin, makes you itch, and leaves you clawing savagely at the world, wanting more, demanding more, determined to wring every damn drop out of life.

See, if Coryo likes something, wants something, he will get it - as easy as a simple want, too soft to hone into true desire. Be it a fountain of blood, an open seat at a booked Capitol theatre , a string of hearts to dangle off each lazy finger - his teeth are primed to gnash on forbidden fruit, ready to flog the world with a flick of his wrist if the fancy takes him.

He may even kiss the wounds after, lips doting on crimson welts, but never in apology, never in repentance. Coryo doesn't recognize - much less heed - the word no or sorry.

Why should he? They'll all flock to him anyway, and he'll welcome the attention with open arms - if they're focused on him, they won't notice the traps beneath their feet.