RAINFALL || [c. snow]

i

"You mean the only person who can surpass your intellect, Snow," she ignored the flutter in her stomach, masking it with a face of nonchalance, "I'm surprised actually, after seeing the list of twenty-four final students. The fact that half of them made it is a wonder itself." Though the Prize will still be mine.

Instead of retorting to her comment, his face relaxed, almost as if he were relieved from their casual conversation. Words spoken without sophistication and purpose in the Capitol were often perceived as worthless, but between the two of them, it was a warm sense of familiarity. "I think I would just die if Arachne's name gets called." Coriolanus leaned forward, taking her arm as they walked deeper into Heavensbee Hall.

"Won't we all?" she noted dryly.

"I will live for the expression on your face if that does happen," he jests.

"Me? Oh no, I'm afraid the only one who will lose their composure is you," Dolores laughed softly, grabbing a glass of posca with her free hand as they strolled past a waiter. "Actually, I would say Festus instead. Too rash and egotistical. I'm sure his face will heat right up the second another's name gets called, never mind Arachne."

Coriolanus nodded his agreement before turning his heated gaze towards the glass in her hands, "Posca?" he frowned, "I hardly think this is the time, Imber." He tried to take it from her but quickly failed as Dolores shifted her arm away.

"No, no, this is just the perfect time, Snow," she rolled her eyes, "I certainly better not be sober for the announcement of the Plinth Prize."

"Don't you recall what happened to those seniors last year?"

"Ah yes, I recall that they were wonderful entertainment."

"Utter fools, you mean," his tone was a little firmer and his grip on her arm tightened, "So if you don't wish to end up the same as they did, don't." His blue eyes stayed trained on her, the intensity practically burning her face.

"Have a little, trust me, you'll feel much better," Dolores prodded his shoulder, her face still warm from his gaze though she quickly dismissed it as the effects of the alcohol she had just consumed. "A lot." She tilted the glass towards him as an offering.

Coriolanus sighed before shaking his head and relinking their arms, "Yeah, less conscious." Mischief pooled in his eyes, "Or maybe you don't want to be conscious during the announcement because you know you'll lose."

"Oh now you have my attention," she glared at him, setting her glass on a nearby tray.

The edges of his lips lifted into a smirk, "May the best student win."

"And may the latter repent," she finished. The same thing they had always said to each other before every test, competition, or anything that ever determined their worth through comparison. She unhooked her arm from his, mirroring his smirk, "See you on the podium, Snow," and allowed herself to be swept away by the crowd.

Even at a distance, she could still feel his burning gaze on the back of her head.

Dolores found herself by the side of Arachne Crane, sipping another glass of posca. Arachne Crane. She smiled politely at her fellow classmate, noting down the waves of curls falling to the side of her face and the creamy white fabric she wore. She took a gulp of the scorching alcohol, hiding her distaste. A heiress to old money, like most families whose fortunes fell after the war. And yet, she won't just won't shut up.

"You look displeased."

Her complexion softened instantly at the sound of a familiar voice that she actually wanted to hear, "Clem, you look lovely," Dolores let a genuine smile slip as she turned to greet her friend.