A/N: Sorry it's been a while, my laptop still has not ceased breaking all of this time. But I have churned out another chapter for you to read, and quite a long one at that. While not much happens, things will soon, and I hope you enjoy it. ;)
The look on Zen's face is the kind of thing you'd want to take three pictures of; one to frame and hang on your wall, one to use as some serious blackmail if ever the need occurs, and the final one to sell to the joke card industry and make a fortune. Unfortunately, no matter how much I wish I have, I don't have a camera on me so I have to let the look of total and utter surprise slip off Zen's face, the possibility of becoming a millionaire overnight vanquished.
"Lumina's your sister?" I gawp suddenly, the satisfaction of Zen's surprised face postponing the expression on my face to match his. Renny is Lumina's brother, Lumina is Renny's sister... it's starting to make a strong wave of nausea sweep over me.
"Err... who is this Lumina girl?" asks Ophelia and Zen and I whip around to face her, glowers of pure evil sweeping over her features.
"'This Lumina girl'," Zen starts for me.
"Is the most amazing-" I add.
"Highly intelligent."
"Kind and courteous."
"Generally fantastic."
"Most friendly and caring."
"Flabbergastingly beautiful."
"Mentor in district eight after myself, of course," I say, a smile possessing my features.
There's quite a possessive pause as everyone stares at each other, trying not to break the awkward silence which seems to have built up around us.
"Well, that silence is promising," I say with a grin and then open the door of the compartment, sliding out of the room. "Zen, you fill them in with the basics." And, chuckling at myself as Zen's face goes bright red with confusion as three sets of eager eyes blink at him, waiting to be filled with knowledge, I find myself walking down the train with a spring to my step and I reach a halt at a cabin reading 'Kara Jaymond', which happens to be directly opposite to one which has the words 'Zen Strike' plastered onto it. I know exactly what my train compartment looks like, and by popping my head around the door I'm presented by the familiar deep purple covers on the silver framed bed, the frame in the decoration of intricate flowers and vines, entwining themselves around each other as if they were trying to weave themselves into a net for protection.
I back out of my room and turn around to see the tempting wooden structure of a door, his door. I wonder what's inside. I didn't know what was inside mine before I went in, and what he's got hidden inside his will give me a hint to what his so-called hobby is. So, with a reluctant shrug I sneakily creep towards his door, hurriedly glancing in either direction to assure myself I'm safe, then I press myself up to his door, before hurriedly yanking it open, almost ripping it off its hinges in the process. And when I gradually force myself to open my eyes, I find myself confronted with a room full of "I heart Kara" merchandise, t-shirts with the slogan pinned around the walls, but not enough to cover up the "I heart Kara" wallpaper, the floor a giant void of colours, soon to be discovered as a huge picture of my face, the bedcovers smothered in every single word I ever said in my hunger games, the lampshades shaped like my triple ring. I gasp as I notice that replicas of my outfits are in the "I heart Kara" wardrobe as the door is swung open. As I raise my head to the ceiling, expecting to see a plain sheet white brushed paint ceiling, instead I find a huge close-up of my lips. The room is a quilt of pictures of me, quotes from me, outfits I've worn, the tokens I've possessed, the tributes I've killed, and most importantly – the "I heart Kara" symbols that smother the whole room. And I haven't even seen the bathroom yet...
Yeah right.
In fact the room's pretty plain, a mousse brown floor and cream walls, with that brushed white ceiling I was expecting to see. His bed's a simple wooden frame, with a sort of deep chocolate brown lining on the cream covers. His furniture is sparse, but I pick up an alarm clock that looks like the old fashioned ones, only it's surrounded by a box of something that looks like wicker and his wardrobe is just of a plain wooden build, the caramel colour of the wood with the odd dark swirly patch of the deeper shade, giving it a sort of rippling effect. I'm just thinking it's a bit plain for the Capital when I notice the usually wooden skirters at the bottom of the wall, that wooden panelling section between the wall and the floor, but they're not made out of wood, but the entwined mass that is rope. I look around the room more carefully and see it skirting everything, the bed, the wardrobe; even the alarm clocks supposed wicker is actually a light coloured rope.
Only noticing now that I'm probably intruding his personal space, I manage to back out of the room and close the door just in time as Zen clatters open the train door and crashes into the very same corridor I'm standing guiltily by his room, a sheepish flash in my eyes. Luckily Zen doesn't seem to notice, and he seems more interested in the blood red carpet and the crisp golden walls, dazzling throughout the train, to be looking at me.
"H-hey Kara," Zen says, a small stutter starting to spread through his voice, "I think dinner is meant to be in an hour or so, so maybe you should get ready."
"Of course," I say, grinning in reply, and dart as quick as I can into my room, slamming it after me, a quick succession of pants racking through my body, a small smile threading its way across my face. I just went into Zen's room! Wait just one cloth threading second... why did I care? It's just Zen's room, not like it's a real celebrity or anything. I find my hand automatically guiding me to my "I heart Zen" mug and stroking it slightly as if a comfort vice. Okay, so maybe he is a celebrity. But so am I, and anyway, it's not like I even like him. He likes me, I think he's cute but as a follower, I suppose. As a friend, that's all. He's fifteen and I'm seventeen. Sixteen in a few weeks... I just manage to stop myself. I don't like where this train of thought is bringing me, so I pull myself away from the "I heart Zen" mug which is for some reason placed on my bed side table. It's if I want a drink at night, that's all. Not because I want it close to me or anything...
"Outfits!" I shout out loud and spring out of my daze, rushing towards my wardrobe. I manage to tug them open and find myself confronted with a horrendous sight... again.
"Damn it!" I yell, and then decide that since President Snow's probably watching this tape, that it wasn't exactly the reaction he would have wanted, I quickly smother my mistake up as soon as possible, "There aren't any of my designs in here, I was hoping there would be some."
Choosing my actions (and my clothes) very carefully, I pick through the layers of skimpy outfits after skimpy outfits, trying to find something at least half decent. When I'm just about to give up I find that aquamarine blue dress that ripples like the sea that Indi gave me last year hurriedly shoved in the back of the wardrobe where I must have hidden it last year. With a sigh of relief I tug it out smugly while imaging President Snow's reaction as something he definitely didn't want me to wear goes right onto me. I just love myself like this, devious and all.
I whip into it as soon as possible, thankful to get out of these hideous reaping clothes that make me look like a prostitute, and then hurry down the corridor to get to the compartment where a lavish spread of food has been set out. I'm just going over what I just thought, and then remember what I've tried so desperately to swipe out of my mind, a prostitute, that very well might be what President Snow wants. Well, he's certainly not getting it, is he? If there's one thing he needs to learn is that Kara Jaymond plays by her own rules. But deep down I know that it's not true.
I take my seat opposite Heather, her gangly figure absent-mindedly fiddling with the daintily laced tablecloth, and Ophelia not even scolding her for it, looking longingly out of the window. She's certainly a lot different than Heather. I bite my lip slightly, mentally scolding myself for the habit straight afterwards, then slowly drift my hands towards the closest thing to me, a weird sort of pastry. I asked Alder about it once, he said it was a buttered croissant. Well, that's what he wrote anyway. I don't know exactly how it's pronounced. I dip my hand forwards and swipe the croissant off the table then, testing Ophelia, cram it into my mouth in one fell swoop. And she doesn't even bat an eyelid. I cough loudly, to check she's looking at me, and right as I want her face swivels slightly in my direction, then I cram another croissant in my mouth. No reaction. I even picked the croissant because it's meant to be a breakfast food, as Debbie told me. I'm about to speak up when Zen and Renny march into the room side-by-side. I was expecting some height difference, what with Zen being a victor and all, but if anything Renny's slightly taller than Zen as they march in a pair towards the table, then both symmetrically sink into their chairs.
There's an awkward pause as everyone turns to the food in front of them, and then lunges at the table. Or rather, I lunge at the table while everyone else picks fussily at the food around them. What's wrong with these people? I know they're upset, but food is food, and from what it looks like they're both pretty much from the starving part of eight, so why so fussy? I cram in morsel after morsel of food, trying to ignore the polite atmosphere the rest have built up in silence, until I honestly can't eat any more.
"I'm going now Zen." I sigh deeply into the empty silence, leaning towards Zen slightly in a bit of a whisper, "I want to turn in early. But when I'm gone try and say something positive to them, something that will convince them they're doing well."
"Something positive?" Zen questions with a grin, "Like what you told me when I just came on the train?"
"Yes, precisely like that," I answer and get up, scraping my chair backwards as I head off down the train, lingering slightly by the door just before I exit for Zen to talk to the tributes.
"You're going to die!" exclaims Zen cheerily to the pair of tributes, and as Heather and Renny break down into floods of tears, evidently the silence having being the only thing keeping the pair of them upright, he manages to catch my eye as I leave the room and send a flirtatious wink in my direction, causing me to chuckle. Maybe Zen's more like me than I thought.
