THREADS OF AMBITION: CORIOLANUS SNOW

PLAY STUPID GAMES?

In the midst of the interview chaos, the atmosphere takes a dark turn that sends a shockwave through the Capitol. My eyes widen in horror as Archne's tribute seizes her by the neck, a glass juice bottle in hand. The abrupt violence shatters the facade of the interview, and screams echo through the air.

With a sickening realization, I watch as the glass bottle is plunged into Archne's neck artery. A guttural scream escapes me as the unthinkable unfolds before my eyes. Coriolanus, swift and strong, pulls me into the shelter of his chest, shielding me from the gruesome scene.

The chaos continues as Coriolanus, now realizing the severity of the situation, attempts to rush to Archne's aid. Lucy, standing nearby, shares the horror etched across my face. I turn to her, my voice trembling, "Are you okay?"

Lucy, her eyes reflecting the terror of the moment, nods in shock. But before I can process the gravity of the situation, gunfire erupts, piercing through the air. The assailant, now lifeless, falls to the ground.

Coriolanus, his hands stained with Archne's blood, is pulled away from me in the commotion. Panic sets in as I see him being dragged, a helpless witness to the unfolding tragedy.

As I chase after Coriolanus, the world around me blurs into a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. My heart races, and my steps echo the disarray within. When I finally catch up, standing within arm's length of him, a flood of feelings overtakes me.

The image of Coriolanus with blood-stained hands, trying to save Archne, lingers in my mind. It's a stark reality that life in the Capitol can swiftly shift from glamour to gruesome. Yet, in this moment, as I gaze into his eyes, I find an unexpected connection, a shared vulnerability that transcends the horrors we've just witnessed.

The blood on his hands, now transferred to mine as we embraced, serves as an unspoken link between us. It's a visceral reminder of the fragility beneath the Capitol's veneer, a vulnerability that binds us in the face of unforeseen tragedy.

In that emotional rush, I find myself pulled into a tight hug with Coriolanus. The weight of the events crashes over us, and his request for me to go home with him holds an unspoken promise of mutual support in the aftermath of the Capitol's relentless spectacle.

As we make our way home, the weight of the recent events hangs heavy in the air. Tigris, engrossed in the turmoil of Fabricia's collaboration proposal, looks up and is quick to notice the shaken state of Coriolanus and me. Her initial excitement about the potential collaboration fades as she takes in the somber atmosphere.

"What happened? You both look like you've seen a ghost," Tigris questions, concern etched on her face.

Coriolanus, still grappling with the guilt of Archne's murder, begins to explain the gruesome aftermath that unfolded after the cameras cut. Tigris listens in shock, her eyes widening with each detail.

"I can't believe this happened. Are you okay?" Tigris asks, a genuine worry in her voice.

Coriolanus, burdened with guilt, turns to me. "Cordelia, you should stay away from all of this. It's dangerous."

I nod in understanding, realizing the magnitude of ruthlessness and the consequences it can inflict. Tigris, sensing the heaviness of the situation, offers a comforting presence.

As Tigris questions the fate of the Games, Coriolanus, driven by his unyielding determination, asserts, "The Games will continue. It's unfortunate what happened, but I still need to win." His eyes betray a steely resolve, and he elaborates on his plan to humanize Lucy Grey, using the image of a civil man holding her hand.

Meanwhile, I find solace on the couch, grappling with the raw emotions stirred by the recent tragedy. In an attempt to give shape to the whirlwind of feelings, I reach for a piece of paper and let my emotions flow through the tip of the pen. The sketches on the paper become a poignant reflection of the complex and tangled web of emotions that define this harsh reality.

The rhythmic sound of the pencil dancing across the paper catches Tigris's attention. Her eyes follow the intense strokes, leading her to the couch where Cordelia is pouring her emotions onto the page. The patterns emerging under the pencil's embrace are intricate, resonating with a depth that transcends mere sketches.

Intrigued, Tigris walks over, her eyes widening in appreciation as she observes the emotional tapestry Cordelia has created. "Cordelia, these patterns are incredible. We could use them for Vendetta," she suggests, recognizing the unique beauty in the raw expression on the paper.

As Tigris embraces her in comfort, Coriolanus watches them, his gaze lingering on Cordelia. He senses a vulnerability, a tenderness that binds her to Tigris, and he makes a mental note of this newfound insight.

Inspiration sparks in Coriolanus's mind—a grand idea that requires Cordelia once again, but this time, it's a venture that stretches beyond the immediate horizon. As he contemplates the unfolding dynamics, he can't ignore the subtle undercurrents of emotion and connection, realizing that his cousin might hold a key to Cordelia's heart or more so, the knife that'll end it. And that, wasn't very good for him.

Coryo gracefully walks over and settles himself as close to Cordelia as possible, his presence carrying an air of gratitude. "Cordelia, thank you for being there when... well, you know," he says, offering a sincere smile, one that might hide deeper intentions.

He takes a moment to admire her designs, acknowledging, "Your sketches are truly something else. Tigris is right; we could use these for Vendetta."

Seating herself beside them, Tigris playfully interjects, "You two are practically a couple. When are you going to kiss already?"

Cordelia rolls her eyes, retorting with a smirk, "Please, Tigris, we're not in a Capitol romance novel. This is real life."

Coriolanus, caught in the crossfire of banter, can't help but sport a lovestruck smile, his eyes fixed on Cordelia. Tigris laughs and teases, "Look at him, he's down bad for you, Cordelia."

I tap on the side of Coriolanus cheek. "There's not one thought in here."

"Right" she says sarcastically. "We'll go with that."