Departures

When their mother came, she was nearly impossible to understand. A wreck. Jaina was crying, too, and Arnold just wished he hadn't had to say goodbye, because it was too final. He knew, at the bottom of his heart, he'd never return. He'd let Lorna win, if it came to that. But he wouldn't be coming back.

And his mother had figured that out, too.

Resolute, he was led to the train, where he sat with his head in his hands in his compartment. He didn't surface until dinner, still in his Reaping clothes. Ushered along, he sat at a table across from Anna, the overweight and flamboyant rep, and Finnick, the heart throb, and...Mags. That was her name. He hadn't even been alive to watch her compete.

He waited for Lorna, his eyes downcast to the table, of which was completely silent.

Lorna waited for her mother and when she arrived the three women of the family just held each other and sobbed.

Her mother whispered one thing. Over and over.

"Come back to me. My lamb, my dove."

Lorna knew she'd already seen Arnold and she was clever enough to know what he'd probably decided.

Well. They'd see about that. For then all she could do was make this as painless as possible.

"I will."

She felt another well of tears flood her eyes as they were basically ripped from her arms. She heard herself screaming for them, even after they were gone.

Lorna wasn't made for this. She just wasn't. She was made for everyday life. For being with her family. She wasn't made for the Games. No one was made for murder.

So she was basically useless until she was fetched for dinner. She just lay on the bed and sobbed, sometimes crying, sometimes sobbing, sometimes screaming.

Apparently the compartment was soundproof, so no one witnessed her weakness except the Avox girl with similar hair to hers, except hers was more a vibrant red, whereas Lorna's was dark. The Avox looked like her mother. Which just set her off again.

Sooner rather than later Lorna was summoned to dinner.

Still in a half stupor she treaded to the dining car and sat between Mags and Finnick, Arnold across from her diagonally.

Wearing a weary poker face she poked at the food in silence.

She'd managed to keep her emotions in check as long as she didn't see Arnold. As long as she didn't look at him, she wouldn't cry.

What really shocked her, so much in fact, that she dropped her glass, was when Mags' usually hazy disposition straightened and she clearly said,

"Not fair."

Lorna began to cry, yet again and Anna just looked like she was in the most awkward situation ever.

"Cheer up, eh? Cutie?" Finnick tried his usual approach, which just earned him a glare from Arnold.

Arnold poked at his food, taking small, dry mouthfuls of whatever rich dish was offered. Anna cleared her throat, pressing a button on a small remote as a screen lowered.

"Well, we don't have all the time in the world, so we may as well get started!" she began, her chipper disposition grating on Arnold now. He brought his sea-blue eyes up, meeting the bright picture.

And there he watched a summary of all his competition, marching up onto the stage and meeting their fate. And he knew he should be taking notes. But he didn't. He couldn't look at those trained guys and assassin-type girls. Those who had been trained. Those who had natural training. Those who didn't.

Did he even stand a chance?

Then he saw his own face. Emotionless. And then, Lorna's. Full of emotion. A pan shot of the crowd, staring in stunned silence. Their mother, screaming. And then his face again, contorted with a mix of emotions, light brown hair contrasting with shocking blue eyes. And he realised then that he needed to start believing that he could get Lorna to the end.

He sat up straighter, finishing his food.

"How long until we get to the Capitol?"

"Only a day, dear," Anna answered quickly. Finnick shook his head, looking almost haunted as he remembered this time last year for him, the Capitol generally striking some fear into him.

Arnold pushed himself away from the table. As cruel as it felt, he felt an obligation to space himself from Lorna. Maybe make her hate him. So when he told her to kill him, should it come to it, he wouldn't have to force her.

He knew that would never work. But he turned on his heel, heading back to his room and curling into a ball on his bed. Tomorrow he would be thrown to the wolves, and styled horrifically. It would happen. And he couldn't stop it.

Lorna watched the video, a few tears straying from her eyes still, but she watched, she felt her heart clench at the sight of her mother sobbing, and was oddly impressed by the male Tribute from Seven. But she didn't catch his name, she was still preoccupied with the image of herself at her Reaping. All she saw was a small and terrified girl, sentenced to death. Not the works of a girl who could win the Games.