The train's nice. It's how Gordon's always imagined the Capitol - bright colors and even brighter smells. It's got fluffed up pillows and elegant chandeliers and the best damn food Gordon's ever tasted in his life, so yeah. The train's nice. But it's not home. Home is ten miles back and getting farther every second. Home is Virgil frying up fish on the stove while Scott and Alan set the table. Home smells like settled sea salt and feels like family.
The train isn't home. It's not even close.
But there is one thing - one thing that reminds Gordon of what it feels like to be back in District 4. It's the girl. He's seen her before, he's sure. Dark skin and long black hair. She's in Alan's grade and she likes to fight. She'll be good in the Games.
Until then, the two of them stuck on a furry sofa together with nowhere to run, he's never noticed how harsh she really is. He's never noticed how straight she sits or how hard a line her mouth makes when she's not thinking about it. Sure, he's always known she could throw a hit - Alan's come home with a black eye or two in his day - but it's only there, on that train, that he really thinks about just how hard that hit feels. "They call you KO, right?" Gordon dares to ask. "As in, like, knock out?"
There's the faintest clicking from metal on mahogany as the train zooms on. The fur on the pillows dances and floats in the too-clean air. An ornate golden clock ticks from the far corner of the room and, for exactly seven seconds, Gordon wonders if she heard him. He's about to repeat himself, but then, without looking at him, the girl answers, "Kayo. As in Kyrano. Tanusha Kyrano."
"Oh," he says, but it's only a brief reprieve from the silence. Within seconds, they're back to awkward nothingness. Gordon can't stand it. "I'm Gordon," he blurts. "Gordon Tra-"
"I'm sorry," she says, sharp and brutal. For a moment - only a single moment - he sees something a little more human about her. Something more than the all the courtyard rumbles and his brother's stories. She looks up at the chandelier and Gordon knows she's trying to fight the tears as hard as she fights everything else. "But can we not do this?"
"Do... what?"
"This," she says, standing, and Gordon tries not to take offense when she gestures to all of him. "This friendship thing. I'm not doing it. It's just going to make it harder when one of us has to kill the other."
She's pretty abrasive, but that doesn't change the fact that she's right. Only one of them will be alive by the end of this thing, and that's assuming that either of them make it. From this point on, half the people Gordon meets are going to want him dead. And, he guesses, from this point on, he's going to want them dead, too.
So he doesn't argue and the two of them seem to silently agree on some sort of twisted anti-friendship pact. Kayo: not a friend. Got it. At least she's being honest about the whole thing.
The doors on the opposite side of the carriage slide open and all Gordon can see is pink. Pink hair and pink cheeks. Pink shoes all the way up to the pink hat. Her smile and her personality are just as pink as the rest of her as she says, "Congratulations." He watches her set a lacy pink glove on her lacy pink hip. "Welcome to the Games."
His whole life, Gordon's never thought that there was anything welcoming about the Games, but when her powder pink lips say the words, he almost believes there might be. That's how good she is at this. That's how good she is at convincing her tributes that it's an honor to be here. Virgil had always said that the Capitol sent in their prettiest smooth-talkers to collect the tributes. That way it's harder to get angry.
And Virgil's right. It is hard to get angry at her.
Or, well, it is for him. Kayo doesn't seem to have the same problem. "When do we start training?"
The woman frowns. "I thought you might like to take a moment to-"
"There are going to be people in that arena that have years of training over me," Kayo snaps. "I don't exactly have a moment."
"My, you're a fiery one, aren't you?"
"Listen, lady-"
"Penelope," the woman says, sounding like a lightning strike. "I do have a name and I do expect you to use it. The thing you must understand about the Games, dear, is that proper etiquette is the difference between life and death. Let that be your first bit of training."
Kayo crosses her arms and lets out a hurumph. The act inspires Gordon to see her as she really is - a child, no older than his kid brother. Gordon's still a child himself, of course, but Kayo is even smaller and her odds are even slimmer. They're just a pair of kids, riding a well-furnished train to their deaths - not that the residents of the Capitol will see it that way. To them, Gordon and Kayo aren't kids, they're long shots. Improbabilities. The tributes that will bring all betting for District 4 to a temporary standstill.
He and Kayo aren't human. Not anymore.
It is this realization that robs him of any fight he had. It is this realization that might just kill him before he even enters the arena.
But Kayo… well, Gordon suspects that Kayo's never going to lose her fight. Not until the very end. "I need to speak to my mentor."
That's right. Mentors. Gordon had completely forgotten about the mentors. Some of the kids back home have been training with victors for years - trying to strengthen their odds at winning the Games and living life in the Victors Villiage. Gordon's never wanted any part of the Games or the wealth that comes with a win - he'll take a full life with his brothers anyday - but Kayo sounds like she's already been training with someone for a while.
And then Gordon remembers. He's not the only volunteer from District 4.
But no. Kayo's not a career. She's in Alan's grade. This is her first year as a candidate for tribute. All the careers wait until they're seventeen or eighteen.
Penelope's lips are pursed now, clearly disapproving of Kayo's tone. "Yes," she says. "Well, due to your… circumstances"-she glances to Gordon, then back to Kayo-"a mentor has been assigned to you. Both of you. He will be meeting us in the Capitol."
Because they're kids, Gordon thinks. Because they're good as dead. Those are the circumstances. District 4 isn't going to waste their resources on a pair of lost causes. One mentor, two kids, and try again next year.
"You can't do that!" Kayo screams. "I have a mentor."
Penelope is not a fan of the screaming. "Oh?" she says. "Because I personally checked your file before we left the Justice Building, dear, and there was no record of a parent or guardian ever enrolling you in a training program."
At this, for once, Kayo is silent.
"I'm sorry," Penelope says, and Gordon thinks that she might actually mean it. "It's out of my hands. Please, enjoy the food."
Gordon doesn't know if it's true. He's sure things aren't really out of her hands. She's probably got more pull than she lets on, but it doesn't really matter. In a week, he'll be dead and Penelope will still be alive and he's not going to spend his last few days fighting with her.
Because this is his life now. This is it. He can actually imagine the end as inevitable rather than eventual, so when Kayo stomps around the carriage and slumps back onto the sofa, he turns away, checks for cameras, and he lets himself cry.
