"I'm telling you, can't you see I'm fine?" Cassandra whined the millionth time at the doctor. He didn't say anything in return, which infuriated her even more.
"Hello? Yoohoo! I'm addressing you. Don't you understand I'm absolutely functional?" Cassandra tried one more time, waving her hands like a maniac in front of the doctor's stone-cold face. The tubes attached to her forearm jerked with her, causing the doctor to shoot a death glare at her. She froze there for a moment by the man's gaze, it made her wish if Katniss, the Girl on Fire, could be here and provide her with the warmth of her rage to break the cold visage of this doctor.
"Look here, mister, do I look like a mentally retarded person to you?" She hollered outrageously and clutched the pure white covers under her thighs in irritation. The doctor gave her a blank look, again glances down at his note pad, probably noting down that she might've crashed her head somewhere before arriving a 13, "Well, no, right? So, GET ME OUT OF THE BLASTED HOSPITAL!"
Before she could continue any further, the doctor had to abruptly push her back into the pillow as the tubes were being stretched beyond their length. She had spent past two days in the claustrophobic room, tied to a bed. Well, not literally cuffed to the bed but forced. Whenever she'd try to get out, the doctors would drag her back to her confinement, much to her annoyance. Being of a respected and powerful linage such as Snow, she had never been treated like this. Actually, she hadn't imagine herself dangling on one of the District 13 soldier's shoulder. Being carried in a bridal style on her wedding day would've been a different thing in her dreams, but, being forcefully pushed around was so out of her Capitol mannerism. The tube on her arm was adjusted again and the doctor tapped his index finger to let the liquid flow from the cache to her. Technically, she had no deficiency or problem, since she wasn't thrown in the arena for the 75th Hunger Games, she had no reason to be here. A freaking underground hospital which puts her on the edge. Claustrophobia, too. But, she was told by a doctor here that she lacked some kind of vitamin that made her pale, to which, Plutarch added that she also lacked a brain and hoped she'd find one soon. Little had the doctor known Snows were meant to be pale. Though she took after her father, a naturally tanned skin, the paleness was surgical on her grandfather's orders.
"C'mon, doc, I'm dying." She gave up in a sluggish tone, banging the back of her head against the pillows. She was dying, she'd been having this throbbing headache since she set her foot here. When consulted, the doctor informed her that it was due to the underground ventilation system that gives less oxygen than above the ground and Cassandra being a person living high in the clouds, the fact that she was underground like a trapped mouse made her go bananas. Should there be any attacks from the Capitol, she'd be stuck here for the rest of her life without any fresh air and buried alive, so less than an airy mansion she resided in which was at the heart of the Capitol and looked over calming green expanse of garden her grandfather maintained with great care. What was more terrifying was that she'd never be able to dress up as she wants to (she can't do it now, too. 13's regulation to wear grey rags they call uniforms) and eat until her stomach screams, 'THOU SHALL STOP OR ELSE THOU'S STOMACH SHALL BURST OPEN!' Quite dramatic, her stomach as well as a fan of Shakespeare. But, again, she couldn't eat whatever she wanted to, thanks to strict lunch timings, her diet was reduced to nothing.
Finally, the doctor quits being a statue as the girl had troubled him a lot by whining the very minute she stepped in this room and spoke in a demanding yet soothing voice, "You are not dying Miss Snow. It's simply the effect of the dose."
Cassandra rose up again, much to his exasperation and snapped her head at him, "Wow, so you do speak. Now that you're done with proving it, can you GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE?"
He staggered back in bewilderment on the teenager's sudden outburst. She did look more like a dragon breathing fiery flames than the Capitol-loving Cassandra Snow. Before the doctor could stand straight and speak, the Head Gamemaker barged into the room. The doctor would've been getting the worst traumas of his life in these few minutes with Plutarch Heavenbee's lucid face at the door. A small smile cracked his lips to see Cassandra in her usual self.
"I had trouble locating your room, Cassandra, but your unmistakable sweet voice guided me through the labyrinth." He grinned as he indicated the doctor to leave with a respectful bow and a stiff swipe of hand. The doctor returned the gesture with a rather small bow than Plutarch's and left the room. Since she had arrived at 13, no one even cared to acknowledge her, let alone bow. The only reaction she kept getting was whispers behind her back and she could sort out what were for her or her grandfather, of shocks, anger or joy that the President's granddaughter had joined the Rebellion. She was used to it back in the Capitol when she walked along the streets in glamorous clothes among the crowd of painted faces. But, those were of admiration and these are of hatred.
"Jesus, Plutarch." She sighed bewitchingly, "You are a life savior!" Finally, there was someone in her room that actually liked her and knew her as her, not as the President's granddaughter, but, as Cassandra Snow. The statement he said earlier was only to make fun of her, she knew. That's why Plutarch was one of her favorite Capitol citizen. He, at least, didn't grow a bizarre beard such as Seneca Crane's. There were rarely any occasions where people made fun of her. Actually, there were none, because, even if they do, Coriolanus Snow will have his soldiers ready for public execution. All her guests talked about her as if she was an angel sent to the Earth by the Almighty. That was corny, plus, she'd always loved to label herself as the devil.
"I know that, don't I?" He chuckled with his thin, grey eyebrows raised in his signature kind, "Well, then, how's everything going?"
Cassandra could write a whole book on how everything was going right now with her. She ran away from her own humble abode with Plutarch and Haymitch. It was quite 'smooth' escape plan, actually. She was savoring her fancy time in her never tidy room as usual (her maids were sick of cleaning it over and over again. 5 times a day, to be exact), watching the 3rd Quarter Quell with zeal like a normal Capitol citizen. To add on to the normality of Capitol citizenship, she kept a bowl of popcorn in her hands should anyone come into her room that can be her grandfather or his assistant, whatever-her-name-was. There was a small part in her, she admitted, that was hungry from all the anxiety she spent pacing around her room. The time had come for the plan to be executed, the time for Katniss' escape as well as her's, and, luckily, her grandfather was at the Gamemaker's Quarters. The screen displayed Katniss Everdeen trudging through the dense back to the tree after Johanna cut her tracker out, this was a trick only Cassandra, Plutarch, Haymitch and the other Victors knew of. Cassandra had reacted like a normal Capitol native when Johanna nearly killed their beloved Girl on Fire and had to yell, "You traitor! You lumber-jacking fraud! You two-faced, tree-climbing baboon!" She could've used other words, but, her stupid Capitol mannerism got in the way. The household considered this as a perfectly habitual situation. The fact was that, she wanted to relive her tension. Why? Because Plutarch promised he'd come and pick her up so they could run... fly away to the arena, collect the surviving Tributes, especially Katniss and continue with their pleasant road trip. She obviously couldn't holler, "That heck of a Head Gamemaker needs to be beheaded!" All because he got a bit late. Suddenly, Plutarch is dragging her towards a waiting hovercraft through a series of solitary passages alongside Haymitch over the mansions rooftop before the power goes of, mumbling that his pee break would be everlasting for the President, who'd be helpless when Katniss 'lets the arrow fly'. Then Cassandra started to ramble on her dressing, that she'd be welcoming the Victor from District 12 in her pink pajamas. But, within a second, the power went off. Everything in the Capitol was pitch-black and all she could hear was the dismay and confused cries of the citizens all over the Capitol when she heard Haymitch whisper-shout over the commotion, "C'mon, it's time" They boarded the hovercraft, skillfully grabbed Katniss, Finnick and Beetee from the burning arena and finally landed at 13.
"Here's what 'interesting' things that have happened to me," She exhaled some air, lightly banging her head against the pillow, "I escaped from my own humble abode, was stuffed into a hovercraft, flew into a burning arena that fell apart, such a waste of money, dealt with a girl who wants to kill my grandfather and, surprisingly, wants me dead too. Then we land at 13 and I'm pushed around like unwanted food on the buffet table, chained to a bed and left there to DIE!" She grunts with robustness no one could tame. Moreover, if you went to silence her, she'd go on and on in an outburst than you would've ever expected. Except that there was no unwanted food on the buffet table as the Capitol chefs were good at their job. Excellency must be their forte if they work for Snows.
"You need to be quiet in here, Cassandra, Finnick is in the next room. He's pretty shaken up." Plutarch shushes Cassandra, informing her of the Odair's health.
"I sensed that since when we rescued him. Looked like he'd jump off the plane anytime soon." She fiddled with the covers of the bed, wondering why were they so bland. This was so contrary to the vividness of her home she grew up in that she felt like an outsider.
"Annie Cresta is captured by the Capitol. There is a little hope of Peeta, Johanna and Enorbia being alive."
Cassandra's eyes quickly lit up at the information she had just received. Just like what she had predicted when she thought like a typical Snow. She was well acquainted with her grandfather's moves and tricks and, God, were they so brutal and inhumane that even she was a bit afraid of giving then any thoughts. Actually, she was trained to do so as the only heir to Coriolanus Snow and the future President of Panem. Think like a Snow, plot vicious strategies like a Snow, groom like a Snow, there was a point where she had to resemble Snow, that's where the surgeries came in. But, Cassandra never wanted to be in line of becoming the President. Being the President meant the Hunger Games would be controlled under her watch, she had to come up with ideas to kill all but one tribute in the Arena with the Head Gamemaker. She could've become the President and then settled the Games crisis and would've been the hero, but, was Coriolanus planning to go easy on his death? If so, they would've had to wait for another 5 years and things can go out of control by then. She was already done with faking those dazzling smiles when on TV whilst a tribute died of unbelievable pain in the Arena.
Her grandfather's strategy was quite clear to her as well as Plutarch from the sadden look in his eyes. Coriolanus Snow was about to use Peeta against Katniss, the only hope of the Rebellion. This master plan was like of chess, Peeta was the Capitol's pawn and Katniss was the Rebellion's. And unless the first line of defense is broken, there are no possibilities of check-mate.
"Grandfather will use Peeta against Katniss." Cassandra concluded, grimly, looking up from her legs entangled in the sheets, suddenly feeling sympathetic for the District 12 Victor at the thought of fighting her lover.
"I don't think Peeta will take Snow's side..." Plutarch began, hopefully, but was immediately cut off by her.
"I know, Plutarch. But, you are well aware of how grandfather is. Let it be a small bug from the forests beyond District 12...well...was." She didn't know what to say, District 12 was doomed the moment Katniss fired the arrow at the forcefield. She wanted to stop them, but, it soon dawned on her the idea that she was outnumbered. Opinion of a minor wasn't to be taken seriously, exclusively if the minor was an angel such as Cassandra Snow. She was a spoiled brat, she was warned to not poke her nose into the President's political matters, "He gets it no matter what. Let the soldiers die in the process, he'll still want it. And that too why? To add that to his collection of insects framed dead in a wooden box."
Plutarch momentarily caught on, "So you are saying Snow will..." There was a pinch of daunt and horror in his jolly expression when he got what Cassandra was pointing out.
"Continue being a filthy skunk that he is despite his granddaughter on the Rebel's side and somehow lure Peeta into going against us." She states in a tone all inevitable and not at all bemused as Heavensbee, "And by lure I mean force him. Either physically or mentally. But, looking at Peeta's dedication, I don't think physical form of luring would affect him at all."
At this, Plutarch had to cover his puzzlement with an ever so beaming grin, "All those training session with Snow didn't go to waste, did they, Cassandra?"
Cassandra groaned internally, realizing she did think like her grandfather. The mindset she refused to have was already constructed in her and had started to work. In one way, it was of great advantage, she could predict all of his tactics in the near future and keep warning her fellow District 13 companions that adored her to their deaths. But, on the other hand, it did disappoint her to get thoughts such as these, the thoughts she so badly wanted to get rid of since the day Coriolanus Snow started to mold her into himself, "You have no idea what my tendencies might be." She wore her casual, devilish smirk with one of her threaded eyebrows quirked up.
Plutarch was about to open his mouth when his communiband dinged. That ding did sound really important as he reluctantly looked down to his wrist only to be met by an alarming news while Cassandra made a mental note to inform Alma Coin on how horrendous those bands look. She could toss one into the dustbin if she had the energy and freedom to do so.
"Katniss escaped her room again." Plutarch mumbled, not bewildered at all. Cassandra was now familiar with their future Mockingjay's frequent rendezvous. So familiar that even if it's on the news that Katniss Everdeen ran away from District 13, she's rather not pretend to be frantic. Cassandra felt she's been trapped here, too. Not allowed to go out of her room, meals on designated times and daily dose of medicines prescribed to her. She did feel like an animal locked in a cage at a circus. Except that, they needed no trained animals or hilarious jokers here in 13 or else Cassandra would've elatedly monkeyed around, probably promoted to ringmaster. But, this is 13. They are military. Which means circus is alien to them. Nearly slipped from her mind. Such authority they have here, she wouldn't be surprised if Katniss refused to be their Mockingjay unless she gets to play the game by her rules. A free-spirited soul such as Katniss' isn't meant to be locked away in a mental hospital. Nor was Cassandra's.
"That's amazing." She chimed, "Ask her to give me some advice on that. I'm in dire need of an escapade."
"I'll try if she seizes yelling every time she wakes up. When she she starts to talk, that's when the real problem arises." Plutarch smiles, "I don't think Katniss is happy about her stay here."
"Nor am I."
"I've to go now, check on our Mockingjay."
"She hasn't agreed yet, Plutarch." Taunted Cassandra.
"You don't have to worry about that. Shall I?" She nods and Plutarch swiftly pulls open the door.
As soon as he exits, Cassandra' shoulders slump as a wave of loneliness surges in, 'Well, Cassandra,' She said to herself, 'Here you are, I, me and myself. All alone again.'
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Feel free to kill me. As mentioned earlier, my lappy (laptop) as been quite a pain in the ass lately. On-screen keyboard sucks, trust me. And especially with the 'g' and 'h' keys being fucked up, things can't get any worse.
Ps- I'm broke as I can't afford a new laptop.
Oh, and yeah, please leave a comment if you think the story needs any improvements!
-Madison