THREADS OF AMBITION: CORIOLANUS SNOW

SET

"What do you think?"

"It's definitely an option, Tigris. You'll do amazing," I reply with a grin. She had been showing me dresses and tops she made. I had stopped by Fabricia's place to visit my best friend.

"Have you considered adding tulle for texture?" I ask, looking at the silk skirt.

"Ugh, no, I haven't, but the cotton lining is just as good," she says, stressed, walking away from the mannequin.

"This is probably one of, if not the most important shows ever," I finish her sentence. "In the history of all god-knowing fashion."

I do jazz hands for extra emphasis. She rolls her eyes annoyed. "It's super important."

"I know it's up there," I tell her, grabbing her shoulders. "I don't know what goes in your head half the time, but most of the time it's filled with the most brilliant ideas."

"It isn't today... Fabricia will still find a way to tell me that this isn't good enough," she says, looking directly into my eyes.

"That old hag doesn't know what she's doing. I'm telling you, you should just come and work with Philomena," I suggest. Tigris had unfortunately won an internship with Fabricia, who treated my friends poorly.

"Tigris is just testing me; she knows what she's doing," Tigris insists.

Shrugging my shoulders, I decide to switch the topic. "I heard your lovely cousin is the runner-up for the plinth prize."

"He's climbing up there," she says. "Grandma'am is very proud, and it's been helping out with our situation."

"That's great; everyone at school is talking about it," I inform her. "It's a bloodbath, I tell you. I think Sejanus has even considered quitting with the amount of people asking him."

Tigris gives a weary smile, adjusting a fabric swatch absentmindedly. "Sejanus is resilient, but the pressure is getting to him. Sometimes I think this plinth prize is more of a curse than an honor."

"I nod in understanding, realizing the weight carried by those entangled in the Capitol's web of expectations. "Well, if he ever needs a break from the chaos, he's always welcome at Philomena's boutique. We could use a bit of District flair," I say with a subtle wink.

Tigris laughs and pushes me aside. Sejanus was a good-looking man, and I was just a girl.

As the intricate details of the upcoming fashion show unfold, a shadow looms—the ever-present reminder of the Capitol's harsh reality. The looming threat of the Hunger Games hangs like a dark cloud over their ambitions and dreams.

I catch a glimpse of Fabricia passing by, her scrutinizing gaze fixed on Tigris's designs. Tension rises, and I sense Tigris's anxiety building. "Stay true to your vision," I whisper, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

Tigris takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "I will. Whatever happens, at least I'll know I stayed true to myself."

"I'm happy for you, Tig," I say with a grin. Grabbing my things, I head toward the academy, having skipped the first class.

The weather is perfect for a walk, not too far from Fabhags place to our lovely school. I'm in my red uniform that I may or may not have altered, getting away with it for the past month.

Once inside the academy, I make my way to my classroom when I'm pulled back by the arm.

"Did you see Tigris?" Coriolanus Snow asks.

"Yeah, I saw her. Working hard on her designs for Fabricia's show," I reply, trying to keep my tone casual, though the weight of his scrutiny is unmistakable.

Snow studies me for a moment, as if searching for any hidden truths. "Good. Fabricia's expectations are high. This show is crucial for her and for Tigris," he remarks, his voice a low murmur echoing the gravity of the Capitol's fashion world.

A surge of irritation flares within me. "Tigris has been giving her all. It's not easy working under Fabricia's thumb," I say, defending my friend against the unspoken judgment that seems to linger in Snow's gaze.

He releases my arm, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "It's a tough world. Only the resilient survive," he comments cryptically, leaving me with a sense of unease.

"Well, I just... you know... uh," I stutter out. His eyes meet mine, and I nearly levitate off this earth, not in the way you think; I was nervous.

"She's working on a shirt, is it ready?" He asks, peering into my eyes.

"Shirt?" I ask confused.

"A white linen shirt," he clarifies.

"Oh? You mean this one?" I ask, showing him the fabric in my bag. He looks down and closes the bag shut.

"Right. I'm going to work on the stitching, add a pop of blue to hide the wear & tear," I inform. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm heading to class because I missed one already."

Brushing past Tigris's cousin, I head to the auditorium where the lecture will begin.

Coriolanus makes his way inside and sits down in the front while Highbottom discusses some things I couldn't care less about.

With the unexpected encounter with Coriolanus Snow, the weight of his expectations and the cryptic nature of our exchange linger. Still, I push those thoughts aside to focus on the lecture at hand.

Highbottom's words become a distant hum as my mind wanders back to Tigris and the impending fashion show. The contrast between the creative haven at Philomena's boutique and the rigid structure of the academy amplifies the difference in our lives in the Capitol.

As the lecture drones on, I catch a glimpse of Coriolanus Snow in the front row. His eyes, ever watchful, seem to follow the professor's words with calculated precision. The air in the room thickens with an unspoken tension, a reminder of the Capitol's influence seeping into every aspect of our lives.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the lecture, and I find myself navigating the bustling corridors once again. The weight of the altered uniform feels more pronounced as I make my way to Philomena's boutique. The comforting embrace of creativity and fabrics offers a sanctuary from the rigid expectations of the academy.

The threads of our lives become more intertwined, weaving a tapestry of ambition, secrets, and the looming specter of the Hunger Games.