MUCH LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES TO:

fujiyuki: Thanks so much! We are working very hard to get used to the first person POV :)) And Yuuta loves Syusuke –nod- :) Here's the next chappie :D

Alatarielf: Yey~~~ Thanks! We try our bestest! And writing's fun :)))

Tennotsukai no Saiten: Ooh~ Secret future happenings are secret ;) Though we will say that no, Ryuzaki (who, yes, is Mags, you genius :)) will be replacing secret-someone-else ;) On the Districts question, see for yourself, kay? :) And Shiba is happy that Fuji is chosen because Yumiko had been very very popular, and Fuji is Yumiko's brother so.. (we were trying to play on the superficiality of the Capitol :)) And by that phrase, we just meant that Yumiko volunteered as tribute. Thankies for the luck wishes, and we'll try our bestest!

taraentula: Awwee~~ We're touched –sob- We hope this chapter meets your expectations, too! :)

xMythrilMist: Ehehe... This... is kinda late isn't it... –sheepish smile- We're sorry...

neumegami: Your drawing's beautiful! It is so love, we love it so much so much :) You're too humble :) And we have a few of the other tributes here, so enjoy, ne? And the 'making up Fuji' part... well stay tuned to the next chappie for that ;)

:)

Clary: Okay, so I know the next update kinda sorta had to be MoTH, but that chapter's currently undergoing major and I mean MAJOR overhaul. My writing's been sucking exponentially the past few weeks, I suck now~~~ Boo :(((((

This chappie's up mostly because Kat and Alex are angels and are awesome :)

Oh, and neumegami drew an AWESOME AWESOME inspiration-inducing picture that you guys should TOTALLY check out here (thankies so much for the lovely lovely pic, neumegami-san~~):

i61. photobucket. albums / h44 / neumegami / Crimsonwaves. jpg (just please remove the spaces :))

That said, enjoy~


Crimson Waves

04


The train is fancier than anything there would ever probably be in District Four. Shiba Saori 'tsks' at the decor and tells us they get blander and blander every passing year. She assures us that our rooms, when we finally get to the Capitol, would be so much nicer, because the people who design it have 'exquisite taste.' I wonder why they bother with the niceness. After all, it's not like it will make any difference when we're in the arena and dying.

We'd still be dying. We'd still hate the Capitol.

I hate it so much I take the heavily fluffed pillows that sit neatly on the bed twenty times larger than my own and throw them all around the room until there is nothing more to throw. The down covers my room in white, but there is blood everywhere, because Yumiko dying in front of me, her crimson blood staining the pureness of the room. And when the picture shifts so it is me who is bleeding on the ground, I have to bite my lips hard so I don't scream.

The Games haven't even begun, and I am already losing.

"You win!" Yuuta tells me, with hard, trusting eyes that hurt me every time I remember.

But I can't win, Yuuta. You know I can't. I have next to nothing compared to all those other kids from the other districts, and next to One and Two, I am nothing at all. They can kill me so fast I would not even be able to say I am sorry.

I don't know whether it is brave, or cowardly, to think that I do not want to die.

I do not want to die.

I repeat this over and over in my head until I am not sure where the first sentence ends, and another begins. I sit on the down and think nothing else, because everything else would just kill me. I cannot think of my mother, I cannot think of Yuuta, I cannot think of Yumiko, I cannot think that this time next year, I would no longer be able to see the sea.

Perhaps there are seas in the afterlife. Perhaps there would be one just like what we had at home. Perhaps seas in the afterlife would be green and blue at exactly the same time, too, and perhaps they would still have shiny fishes and magnificently shaped shells. Perhaps I could take them to Yumiko every night, and she would spend her days making the jewelry my mother still furiously makes back home.

The sound of the waves calm me, and I am completely lost in this fantasy that I do not hear the door to the room opening.

I only break out of my fantasy when I feel the familiar, cool gaze of eyes the color of the sunset. I raise my head to meet Tezuka's and when I do, the corners of his lips twitch up in what could be a smile. His eyes are different now, and even though I cannot put my finger on why, I return the smile with a small shaky one of my own.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, and I somehow keep myself from blurting anything embarassing like, 'with my life.' Instead, I slowly nod my head, and try to look as if I am severely contemplating my answer. I am not, but it is not something Tezuka should have to know.

He looks at me for one long moment, before he is nodding back. He moves until I can no longer see him in my line of vision and sits on my bed. I know because down dislodges into my lap when he does. He picks me up from where I am crouched on the floor, and sits me down next to him. I try not to get disturbed at how easily he could carry me, and I am trying to convince myself that it is only natural for him to be able to do that, with him being so strong and manly and all, before I am not thinking at all.

His eyes overwhelm me with their intensity. "Do you trust me?" he asks again, and this time, I say, "With my life."

It is embarrassing, but it is the truth.

"Then," Tezuka says, and he is brushing the down away from my hair. He wipes my eyes, too, until I could no longer feel the coldness of my tears. "I will tell you right now that you will become this year's victor."

And I suddenly know what is different.

Tezuka's eyes are clear.

He is no longer afraid.

That is good. I am happy for him.

At least... That makes one of us.

"Okay." I nod my head, too, in case my voice is too soft, and he lets go of me. I am lying, but I am lying with a feeling of calmness that makes it sound almost convincing. I actually almost believe myself, and I feel accomplished, because I have become such a good liar.

Tezuka says nothing and brushes some of the whiteness away from my bed. He looks like he is thinking very deeply about something, and I want to reach out and take him away from the place that is making him seem older than he really was. I do not understand Tezuka, I realize. I do not understand victors at all. There is something in them that makes me wonder, makes me think that of all the tributes that enter the arena, it's the ones who die who are getting the better deal.

It is a strange thought, so I push it away. The victors are alive. The dead tributes (Yumiko) are not. It is not very hard to determine which is the luckier bunch.

"Shiba wants you for supper," he finally says, but he is still tracing patterns into my bed's sheets. I do not know what to say, so I say nothing at all. Instead, I walk to the bathroom, and spend many minutes standing under a hot shower. We had a shower at home. It is not as fancy, or as elegant, and it did not have so many buttons or heads. Yuuta always uses it before me, so by the time I take a bath, the hot water would have already run out.

I am bathing in hot water right now, and already, I cannot miss Yuuta enough. I hope he is alright. I hope Mother still remembers that he is to eat at seven on the dot so he could keep up with his high-maintenance diet, and I hope I have stocked up on enough seaweed so at least today, he would not have to starve.

I hope he still trusts me.

When I come out, Tezuka leads me towards a train compartment wordlessly. I want to fill the silence, but I am too scared of agitating him, I end up saying nothing at all once again.

The dining car is 'drab and disgusting,' Shiba says, but it is probably the most luxurious dining room I have ever seen. An entire wall is lined with just food. I don't recognize most of them, but they are there, forming mountains of varying degrees of colors, my head starts to ache. Meiko and Ryuzaki-san are already there, and for a moment, I think that she and Tezuka had exchanged glances, but I do not understand victors, so I don't bother to confirm.

I sit next to Tezuka, across from Ryuzaki-san. Whenever I looked at her before, I used to only think that she was Yumiko's mentor, and I would hold her gaze fiercely until she has looked away. Now, I think that a few weeks from this moment, she will be plotting my death, and I can hardly meet her eyes at all. Shiba sits at the head of the table and tells us to 'tuck in' before we start on dinner. I glance surreptitiously at the food wall when we are served the food we have to eat. It is untouched, and I wonder what it is for. 'Drab and disgusting' decoration, maybe? Don't get me wrong, it is not like people from District Four starve. But there are people from other districts who do, and here is a solution to the problem, only nobody in the Capitol cares enough and roll their eyes at it and call it 'drab and disgusting.'

I am so mad, I dig my fingers so tightly in my palms, I am afraid they would start bleeding all over again.

Tezuka meets my gaze halfway into the dinner, though, just when Shiba starts throwing me curious glances and I know exactly what he wants me to do.

Make conversation.

Pretend.

I am surprised that he still knows me so well. Because if there was something Fuji Syusuke could do, it was put up a mask and pretend.

I am pleasant for the rest of the meal. I engage Shiba in a lively conversation that has her bouncing on her seat. Meiko joins in and she is as good a conversationalist as what Careers are trained to be, and between the both of us, we are able to have Shiba grinning so wide, I am afraid her blood lips would tear her face in half. Shiba tells story after story after story, and by the time the meal is finished, I have heard her entire autobiography. I laugh at all the right parts, and sympathize with her when she tells of how she had started out in Twelve, and how it is the most disgusting district of the bunch, and I say yes, we in Four have horror stories about Twelve, but what I really think is, I hate you I hate you I hate you.

When the others move to separate compartments, Tezuka lags behind with me, and he raises my hands palm up so he could see the bloody half-moon crescents that have formed there. He does not reprimand me for damaging myself because he has to pretend as much as, maybe even more, than I do, and I know he understands what I feel. But his fingers dance over the wounds as he assesses them and I am barely able to hold back shivers.

"These might scar," he says, but I hardly care, I hope they would. Then, I will forever remember the ghost of his touch on my hands, even when I am hollow and alone in a deadly arena. He is so close, so close to me, I can feel the wind shifting through his lashes, and see the fine gold flecks on his otherwise hazel eyes. He is so beautiful, so unbearably handsome, and in a few weeks, I won't be able to see him, not anymore, and this warmth, this feeling I get when we are close is just yet another thing I have to lose.

My heart constricts, and I pull my hand away, hugging it close to my chest.

I turn towards the general direction of my room, crushing my hand in a bruising grip. "I'll..." I clear my throat, trying to steady the sudden squeak in my voice. "I'll wash the... I'll wash it off."

It is a miracle how easily I find my room in the labyrinth. I run directly to the adjoining bathroom, and dump my hand under the stream of water. It is more cold than warm. I am thankful, and I keep my hand under the stream of water until I feel it is numb. I do not want the sparks. I can't lose them. I won't.

They don't belong to me in the first place.

I glance away from my hand, towards the only window in the bathroom. Outside, it was almost dusk. I do not know where we are, only that we are no longer in District Four. The sky is the same orange-red, but there is no water now that would glitter and catch the light, no shimmering orange streaks that was fairytale-like and not at the same time. There was only a mound of earth - a mountain - and it covers the sun as it goes down, very much unlike my ocean, whose waves rise up in warm welcoming arms.

I try to remember what it was like to listen to the waves crash to the shore, and I think I have to blink back frustrated tears when the sound comes out garbled with the noiseless but distinct purr of the train.

"Knock, knock."

I keep my gaze on the steady stream of water. "Meiko," I say.

She is leaning against the doorway to the bathroom, dressed in her fancy Capitol dress. It suits her in the way it doesn't suit Shiba, and the sinking sun lights up her features, her high cheekbones, her long, long lashes. She is beautiful.

In a few weeks, she could be dead.

"Was there anything you needed?" I fake a smile. It does not make anything hurt any less, but it is easier now. With more practice, maybe it would not hurt at all.

Meiko straightens up, brushing her curls back. There is always something motherly about her movements to me, and I keep forgetting she is not my sister.

"Watch the replays of the Reapings with us?" she asks, and I make a sound at the back of my throat and focus on trying to ignore her.

The water from the faucet is now just the right temperature, and near the right color. If I pretend hard enough, this could be water from the sea, and today could be just another day, where I am in my boat, and Meiko would swim right up to me in the docks. She would be naked, and I would throw her a towel so she could get covered up. She'd take the towel but get out of the water naked anyway.

Like Yumiko.

"Calfling," she is whispering, her hands meeting mine under the trickle of numbing water. Her eyes are so green, like my ocean, but I find nothing in them that comfort me one bit. They are every bit as tired as I am. "They're just fish."

I know right away what she means.

All District Four career tributes say it. There are twenty-four tributes flung into the arena every year. Twenty-two are fishes. The two from District Four are the fishers. In an ideal Hunger Games setting, Four dominates the field until only both of them are left. Then, it is the fight of the fishers defending their own catch. One would die, of course, one always had to die. But because that one tribute was from District Four, he is not merely a fish. He is a hero. They are both heroes.

I think that one is dead.

And the other is a murderer.

I was thirteen when Yuuta turned to me for the first time since the Games of that year started and asked me, "Did you know? It's actually pretty easy to kill humans. They're just flesh and bone, after all." And then he turned back around because Four and Two were mutilating a double-crossing tribute from Eleven and the screaming was filling our entire house.

I barely heard his last words, but it was loud enough that it cut through the loud, awful screams. He said, "Exactly like fish," like he was an accomplished fisherman who has just come back with his day's supply of catch.

Later, the screaming followed me into my dreams, and Yuuta was on the boat with me. For the first time since he started training as a Career, he was not dead, dying or bleeding on the ground. Instead, his hands were stained with red, the sea around us was peppered with dead, dead bodies, and all I saw was crimson and scarlet, and scarlet and crimson, and the manic triumphant grin that was unrecognizable in my brother's young face. When I woke up, the first thing I did was try to convince myself that it was just a dream, and dreams never turn into reality.

Yuuta does not even know how to fish.

But of course I am wrong, because in truth, Yuuta does.

In the training center, Yuuta is also being trained to fish. We just have two different sets of catch, because careers are not taught anything as measly as fishing for mundane things like food. No, Yuuta fishes people.

And it hurts so much, because I have promised my Mother and Yuuta, and even Tezuka now, that I would come back alive and the only way to do it almost seems so parallel to what I had loved doing, where I loved being when I was still in my district, and I cannot do it. I wonder how I would live with myself when every time I look at the sea, the faces of the people I have killed to remain alive would be staring back at me. Their blood would be painting the sea a bright crimson, and they would be flopping lifelessly, their mouths half-open, their eyes milky and white.

Exactly like fish.

She gives me another smile. I think it is meant to be encouraging, and I smile back. It is not encouraging, and I think it is insulting to her that I do not respond in kind, but I have nothing else to give, so at least, I have given her something.

"Watch the replays with me?" she invites, the change of pronouns conspicuously obvious, but not one she looked like she minded. I look down on our entwined hands, hers over mine over hers, and I keep my eyes level that as I nod.


Tezuka looks up from a discussion with Ryuzaki-san when we arrive. On the white-washed wall, there is the seal of Panem, and Shiba is bouncing up and down her seat, giddy with expectation. She berates us for being late, and I take a brief moment to wonder since when we had a schedule in the first place. I give Tezuka a fake smile, too, and he looks at me for a very long time, before he looks away, and starts whispering with Ryuzaki-san once again. I hear snippets of their conversation, something about 'Two and Five' and the 'problem with Atobe and Seven.' They had probably already watched the replays before us, but by the way Shiba is grinning, I am guessing she has not.

"Watch carefully," she warns.

In One, a delicate-looking girl is chosen. I remember her though she does not look like strong competition at all, because when her name is called out, a strangled exclamation comes from the group of males, and I have to watch and try not to cry as a broad-shouldered boy wearing a strange hat shouts that he volunteers for her, only to be turned away because he is not a girl. I look at the utter anguish spelled out on his face, and I want to reach out and tell him, I know, because I do know how it feels, and it hurts so very, very much. When the male tribute is chosen, it is so much more chaotic because about four more boys step up and volunteer at exactly the same time. Their escort looks infinitely pleased, and congratulates the district on breeding 'boys with substance and character,' though I have no idea how being ready to kill for glory leads up to 'substance and character.' They finally decide on one that looks just on the brink of eighteen. He has hair as green as seaweed, and a cocky, small grin as if the whole world falls to the ground underneath his feet, but I think he grips the girl's hands extra-tightly when they shake.

And right before they broadcast Two, I see that boy with the strange hat one last time, and there are tears in his eyes, and I so badly want to say I know, I'm sorry, it hurts me, too. In the background, I hear Tezuka and Ryuzaki-san talking strategy, murmuring about the strength of this year's Career alliance, and Meiko is pitching in, but all I could manage is my heart throbbing in response to my thoughts, as if saying here, it hurts here.

In Two, an eager boy volunteers, amongst many others - twelve others (twelve, twelve!) - and I think he looks like the devil when he turns his reddened eyes into the camera triumphantly. Two victors stand up in support of his volunteering, even though he is just young and is still fourteen. I remember these two victors very well, because they have played in Games known to be legend. Sanada Genichirou finished off all his competition in three days flat. Yukimura Seiichi, even though he did not have the time element, was even worse. He won by seeming to be sickly and weak at the beginning, only to turn into the fiercest kind of sadistic monster the very second the enemy let his guard down. It is his face I see sometimes, when I have nightmares about the Games. The male devil-tribute with eyes the color of blood had the backing of them both, and my heart falls to the bottom of my stomach in dread.

He says, "I'm going to kill all of you," and the people present in the Reaping respond with, "Always win, District Two!" And while the escort laughs it up, all I am thinking is that he is probably right. I will die, and he might kill me, or he might not, but still I will die.

He'd probably be this year's victor. Some small part of my head reminds me that it was the District Two victor that had killed my sister, too.

I try not to look like I am avoiding the screen when my own Reaping is being broadcast. Shiba squeals so hard, my ears throb and I try to pretend I am being comforting when I pat her on the shoulder because she is crying tears of joy. She says we both look so perfect, but we are not perfect at all. Meiko looks resigned, and I look every bit as terrified as I felt. Yumiko did not look like that when she volunteered for the Games. Yumiko did not look scared. Yumiko did not give half-assed acting or half-assed smiles. Yumiko had been perfect.

Yumiko had been perfect, but she had died. So the following logic is simple enough, even the stupidest people would understand.

(Yumiko had been perfect.) I'm not perfect.

(She had died.) I'll die for sure.

At least, I'm smart enough to realize that.

And then, there is the disaster of Seven. It is not a disaster to anyone else, but it is a disaster to me. They have reaped a child. He is fourteen, but he looks so very much like a kid, my hearts drops even further downwards. He seemed to be asleep when his name was called out, and it took great effort, and a great deal of embarrassment to the district escort just so he could be woken up. I remember this Reaping not because of that, but because, for a moment, when the boy bounces into the stage, rubbing his eyes like (Yuuta) a little kid, there is a shot of the victor sitting behind him. I remember this victor, too, because he is the worst kind of arrogant any victor could be. But when I see his face at that moment, I recognize the naked fear, the painful anguish that had warred in my own eyes when Yuuta announced he will become this year's sacrifice.

He looks just like me.

I cannot do it. I cannot kill anyone. Not the girl from One, or my district partner who reminds me of my dead sister, and especially not the boy from Seven.

They have people who want them back home, too. They have lives, they have people who love them. I think of the stricken look in the boy from District One's face ("I volunteer! I volunteer! Don't take Stephanie away!"), and the arrogance draining out of Atobe Keigo's when he is faced with the exact same anguish everyone has to face every year.

I cannot just take them away from the people that they loved.

Meiko's hand drops into my own, but I do not recognize it, because it is not the hand I wanted. I know it makes me a bad person. But I only think that perhaps I should start learning how to be heartless. That way, lifting a sword and cutting off heads would not hurt so much. That way, I would not have to think of Atobe Keigo, or that boy from One, or anyone else, when I raise my hand to end someone's life.

That way, I could be a killer that would make my younger brother proud.

"They're just fish," she murmurs soothingly throughout the entire replay, but she is wrong, they are more than just fish, and I cannot find the strength to kill a single one. I do not want to.

...I'm going to die. I'm going to die and it's going to be all my fault.

By the time they announce the last tribute, I am sick to my stomach, and gripping Meiko's hand so tight I know I have cut off the circulation. She does not complain, because she is gripping my hand just as tightly and cutting off my circulation, too.


That night, I toss and turn in my bed until I give up, and just look at the ceiling. It is a strange kind of brown, so light that it looks yellow, but too dark to be. This is the first time I see it. I think maybe it will not be long until I see skin as strange as that. Perhaps the people from the Capitol don't just stop at their skin. Perhaps, their blood is of a different color as well. Perhaps, they have changed themselves so much they are not even people anymore. What other reason could there be for their blatant enjoyment of the deaths of children from their own species?

I turn to my side at the same time the door to my room slides open with a soft hiss.

There is Tezuka, bringing along something I could not recognize in the dark. He says nothing as he settles down beside me, but the smell of fresh fish fills the room, and I do not know whether I am once again wishing I am home, or whether I want to run into the bathroom to throw up.

"Would you eat?" he asks me. The small light on my bed blinks to brightness at his words, and I am staring that depthless hazel once again. Their calm spreads to me like a soothing balm, and all the tense muscles in my body loosen so I feel more at ease than I have ever been since the Reaping. I try to remind myself that Tezuka is asking me a question, but there were many things more important in the world than answering it. I do not want to stop staring at Tezuka's eyes.

But there is a question, and it has to be answered. My head drops down to the tray he has brought, and I am wary, because I am afraid of what I would see. For the first time in my life, I do not want to see the fish.

And I do not.

Instead, it is rice wrapped in seaweed. I hardly recognize the fish, and but I know it is there, because the smell of home fills my room and permeates my senses. It is topped with something green that I do not recognize. It is Capitol-green, I suppose, a little more earthy than the sea green that is common to our district. And even though it is from the Capitol, I like it. I smile up to Tezuka for his efforts, and take one of the rolls laid out on the tray.

I cannot describe the taste even if I try. My tongue tingles at the spice, it is hot and fiery but I don't mind at all, because it is so delicious, and so unbelievably tasty, I suddenly want to cry all over again.

Back at home, we ate bland food.

"Wasabi," Tezuka tells me, pointing to the earthy green paste topping one roll. "I thought..." He looks down on the plate and contemplates on a roll. "It seemed like the sort of thing you would like."

If only for that reason, it would become my most favorite food in the entire world. It is a sad thought, because this is probably the only time I would be able to taste it. There would be none of it in the arena, I am sure. And after the Games, there would be no me to taste it, no matter how plentiful it is. But at least, maybe, Tezuka will always remember this night. And then he will think that Fuji liked wasabi on his fish-rice-seaweed rolls, and I would forever be remembered.

I like thinking about it, even though pretty soon, I would not be around to think it at all.

"It's not bland," I reply, turning another roll in my hands before I bring it to my mouth. "I like it very much."

I say this and try not to think about Yuuta and his bland, healthy diet, but it is useless, because the next moment, Tezuka is saying, "Your brother..." and the grief hits me back full force once again.

I have never been Yuuta's brother. In name, perhaps, but that is all, because I was never good enough.

I still am not.

I will never have the chance to be.

"Tezuka," I say, keeping my eyes carefully on the wasabi on the roll. "The Capitol supposedly has a bunch of advanced, powerful technology, right?" I handle only a second's pause, before I continue. I cannot wait for the reply. I might lose what courage I have gathered. "So, if I try to reach Yuuta, and... and my Mom, can I?"

I meet his eyes then, but they are the same unreadable victor eyes he had always worn ever since he moved to the Village. I feel so helpless, because now, I am losing Tezuka all over again. "Why?"

"I don't..." I don't want them to watch me die. But, of course, I cannot say it. It lodges into the back of my throat and stays there, until it blocks my air passages, and makes it hard for me to breathe. "Nothing. Nevermind."

"Fuji." He clutches my chin and lifts my face up until it is only his eyes that I see. "You don't know..." Perhaps it is his hand that is trembling, or perhaps it is my own. Perhaps we are both trembling, but I cannot pull my eyes away from his to see. "You don't know how strong you are."

Oh, but I do. I do, Tezuka, but that is insignificant because I am not very strong at all. It is just something everyone has to accept. I cannot win. No matter how many promises I make otherwise, I cannot win. Not even you, Tezuka, could help me. There is nothing you can do to turn this... me... into the last survivor.

Have you seen what I do when I am thrown into crimson water?

I drown.

"I'll see you win, Fuji," Tezuka promises, and I want to tell him to stop. I am so tired of people lying to themselves. I am so tired of believing it may come true. "I'll make sure you come out of your arena alive, if it's the last thing I do."

I don't know what to say so I settle for nothing. Tezuka tries to make me eat some more, but I have lost any appetite I may have had. At this rate, I'll starve myself to death before the Games even come, but at least, that death is a death of my choosing.

It is all I have left right now. And of course, the Capitol could not leave even that well enough alone.

Pretty soon, it'll be their entertainment that'll decide my death.

When Tezuka leaves, he takes the warmth away with him. He pauses by the door, and I look up in anticipation. He does not say anything for a long time and I think maybe he will not say anything after all.

Finally, there is a very soft, barely audible, "I'm sorry."

The door closes, and I am left looking at an empty slate, because Tezuka has disappeared just as easily as he had done three years ago. Just that easily? I want to ask. Have I always been nothing to you?

I turn my head away, and watch the flutter of the curtains when I force out, "Me, too."


I have just fallen asleep when Shiba Saori sails through my door and jumps on me on the bed. The breath is knocked out of my lungs and my first coherent thought is that she is forty times heavier than she looks. Are all people from the Capitol like this? Stick-thin, but heavier than a full net of fishes?

"We're almost there!" she trills into my ear. Her voice is grating, and it almost makes me wince before I remember that I am mandated to be nice to her. So I tease her for a bit before I run her out of my room so I could afford myself a few minutes of privacy. I dress quietly, unhurriedly, because I am not overtly-eager to prance the way Shiba wants me to. I have slept very little, but it does not show on my face, and I am torn between being relieved or being annoyed.

I eat minimal breakfast, and so does Meiko. Shiba does not notice, because she is too busy blubbering about how much we'll love the Capitol, we might even forget about our own home. I think that is impossible, nothing would ever match District Four and my own humble house with its wooden beds, nets and tridents. But I smile, and tease her once again, and Meiko teases us both and she giggles like there is no tomorrow.

Tezuka and Ryuzaki-san are conspicuously absent throughout the whole ordeal.

And the breakfast is over and Shiba shoves our faces into the window of the train, and tells us to take it all in, don't be shy. There is nothing to see, because we are passing through a tunnel, but I obediently try to look pleased about gray walls that look the same every time I look at them.

Tezuka startles me when he comes up behind me, almost in the exact same time Ryuzaki-san does. They do not say anything when the tunnel gives way to light, and Meiko and I see our first glimpse of the beginning of our funeral march. Shiba is screaming. It is so beautiful, she says, go ahead, take it all in.

It is painful to look at. Everything is so fake, everything is so forced. Is there anything in this city that is real? I see the first clumps of people, with their pink and yellow and purple skin, and I think, no, no, no. It is all so wrong, and wasabi could have never come from this fake city. Tezuka would not give me anything from this. I don't want to believe he would ever give me anything that was created here.

I am cut off my thoughts when the windows open, and cool, unnatural air blasts into our faces.

"Wave," Tezuka says. I could feel his breath ghosting at the back of my ear, and I try not to feel as if fire has not entered my veins. "Smile."

Meiko is already throwing kisses to the wild crowd when I join her. I school my face into my most pleasant smile, and start to waggle the fingers in my hand. I know exactly how I look. Delicate, gentle, feminine. I have learned, in my very brief acquaintance with Shiba, that Capitol citizens are crazy about looks like these. I am proven right, when the shrieks that have greeted Meiko triple in magnitude. All the people in the streets look up at us now, and I smirk some just to get them going. They are throwing kisses in my direction and I caress the air as if I am trying to feel them as I pass. They are screaming and shouting, and the more they do, the more I waggle, and wink and catch their kisses back.

My heart is shrivelling in disgust, but my smile is so wide, I might as well be the happiest person on earth.

I have just been in the Capitol for a few minutes, and already I am more fake than I will ever be.

Meiko finds my hand and grips it, beneath the ledge so no one would see, but I cling to it again, because it is the only way I could have survived this ordeal. Her hands are filled with callouses, but so is mine, and the thought that no one else in this wretched city did had me clinging on to her hand tighter.

When we roll into the station, away from the eyes of the crowd, I am exhausted. Tezuka pulls me away from the window, and from Meiko, and I think that it may be a growl that underlines his, "That is enough," which leaves me confused, because was he not the one who told me to smile and wave in the first place?

So why is he angry?

I do not ask, and he does not tell me. I suppose I will never know.

Unlike the city, the station is deserted. I wonder why. Aren't there supposed to be people waiting to film us and show us off so we could entertain the people of the Capitol more? I turn to Shiba for confirmation of my thought, but she does not look displeased at all. On the contrary, she looks beside with herself in excitement. I look around the empty station once again, just to make sure. There is nothing around that will induce excitement.

Tezuka frowns, too, but it is only when we have stepped off of the train that he stiffens, and something suspiciously like alarm fills up his once clear, fearless eyes. His hand flies to my wrist and it stays there, in a tight, uncomfortable lock. I do not try to pry it off, because I am just as unsure with the setting as he is.

I take a deep breath and almost choke. It is not a smell that is familiar in a district like ours, but when Yumiko had died, we had gotten package after package of this every day, so it is a smell that I know.

I understand next to nothing about trains because there is little use for them back home, but even I know that the station does not smell like what it should be smelling like at all.

Instead, it smells of roses and blood, and the awful fragrance permeates the air, so sickly sweet, and so cloying, so deceptively innocent, I feel as if I want to throw up. And it is only when the shadows on the other end of the station shift that I realize that the smell is coming from a person.

And my hearts flies to my throat and drops down to my stomach at exactly the same time, because when he smiles, I see the smile of a killer.


Preview Wave 05:

"Why do you think his name came out of that bowl this year?"

"No matter what, I am friends with you... No one else."

"Sponsors aren't everything. Your sister proved that well enough."

"Either way, I die."

"See that you control your tributes, Yukimura."

"Syusuke, they Reaped you because-"


Clary: Okay. We know there is no excuse. You guys can yell at us, if you want. We decided we'd make longer chapters so we can get to the Games quicker, so that sorta means there'll be scene cuts, boo.

Oh, but you guys got a sneak preview of some of the tributes, ne~~~ Districts One, Two and Seven, right? ;) Actually, we still have holes in our Tribute lineup –sob- so if you guys wanna suggest some characters you might want to see in Fuji's Games, do tell! :))) Anything, except for the characters we are contemplating for the Seventy-Fourth Games, is fair game :DDD We like to know what you guys think :)

So please do stop by and drop a review~~ :)

PS: PROMISE, after this is the chappie for MoTH, though it might take longer because my writing skills are dying –IS SAD- :(