Carameuse Heloise, 48
Capitol Citizen
"Where to begin?" she muses, half to herself and half to calm the hysterical men and women in the train car.
Where to begin, indeed?
She takes in the sight of the victim himself - a dead man dressed in scarlet red, his custom-made suit fitting his trim figure nicely. His light blonde hair, nearly white - perhaps he dyes it - is slicked back with some sort of gel, and it lies down on his head nicely. It's like it's glued.
Carameuse drops down to her knees and inspects the man, taking note of his nicotine-stained fingers and grime that's built up under his fingernails. Yet he's clean-shaven, has decently clean clothes - in other words, he looks like all of the other Capitolites on the train.
So, why the…
"May you pass me a napkin?" she asks a woman who's standing next to her, tears dripping from orange feline irises. A curious woman, but Carameuse doesn't care what she looks like. Right now, she wants to examine the victim.
The woman, startled, reaches out a hand and passes a napkin to her. Carameuse takes it and wraps it around her hand. It's thin, yet works just well enough for her to inspect the body without leaving fingerprints. She should have used gloves, but this will do for now.
After all, she didn't expect this.
"How did you die?" she mutters as she looks around the suit for any wounds. The unfortunate red colour means that it's difficult to locate anything of the sort, but she notices the blood stain on the man's lips before she attempts to take his suit off.
Interesting.
She opens his mouth - and finds nothing but dark, thick blood. The inside of his mouth is a mess - she can't even see his tongue, several teeth are missing, and everywhere is blood, blood, blood.
Why did this happen? How did it happen?
But as the lights start to flicker back on, she suddenly has her answer.
"All of you, I need you to stay where you are," she tells the crowd. "I need to find the President."
Sasha Sone, 17
District Five Male
Their escort giggles as he observes his two tributes take a seat on either side of the train car, clapping his hands together in delight. "You're a bit skinny, the two of you, but you'll do for sure. We'll fatten you up to the right size just in time for the parades. Isn't that right, Rosanna?"
Rosanna Gould nods while winking at the two, letting them know that Janus won't have anything to do with their diets. "Feel free to have something to eat. Most of my tributes are nervous when they come onto the train, and I always find that it's best to give them something to get their blood sugar up and their mind alert. Helps them process the situation better."
Sasha nods quietly, peering behind Rosanna to see the monstrous amount of food adorning the tables of the train car. He doesn't dare blink, or it might vanish in front of his eyes.
"So you'll be mentoring us?" Colleen questions the woman, pushing her hair out of her eyes and back behind the toque that adorns her head. "Do you have strategies, thoughts, ideas on what we should be doing when we get to the Capitol? You were the first victor, so you know everything about the Games - right?" She pauses, as if she's realized that she now is face to face with the lone victor of District Five. Rosanna Gould is a quiet figure in the district, not mythologized like Sasha would expect District Two to do to their victors, but she's been a household name since she was taken out of the very first arena.
And she's watched forty children die under her care.
Rosanna flushes, and Sasha resists the urge to facepalm. Out of all of the victors, Rosanna should be the most prepared for the Games. But from what he sees, she hasn't figured out a solid strategy to help tributes survive the Games. He won't bother to ask her for tips, especially when he has to share those tips with Colleen. He doesn't like sharing things with others, especially when the things won't serve him any use.
Janus sits down heavily next to Sasha as Colleen and Rosanna begin to chat about what will be happening over the next week, green hair still perfectly moulded despite the amount of sweat on his brow. "You seem like a nice lad, nice and quiet. Colleen will be just fine, but you, I think you have a chance at winning. How about it? I can set you up with a few extra sponsors, and you'll do me a few favours after the Games."
Sasha lifts an eyebrow at Janus, surprised by his judgement. Anyone should be able to see that Colleen was more invested in the Games, already well into her conversation with Rosanna. From what Sasha sees, she'll be an intelligent competitor throughout this week before the Games begin, and will use anything she has to help her prepare. At this point, he's ready to give up and just enjoy the amount of luxuries around him before heading off to die, but there's something in Janus' voice that makes him stop and consider the offer.
Perhaps if he can give a good show, he could get those sponsors that Janus is speaking about.
And he could come back to Five, but not the part where he's grown up and starved in. He'll come back as rich as the Capitol, and laugh at anyone who scoffed at him before the Reapings. They'll see what he can do.
"What would I need to do?"
Emma von Habsburg, 17
District Nine Female
Emma feels strange on the train. Not that she's scared, no, she's moved past the blind fear that struck her in the goodbye rooms and has moved into acceptance. It's all of this food and finery that unnerves her. It, it, it just doesn't feel right to have access to so much when she knows people who are almost starving.
Then again, she's slated to die in a week. She might as well enjoy herself now.
The other tribute - Ezra - has been walking around the train car and eating most of the sweets on the tables, servants in red always coming to replace the platters with new, full plates of gooey brown chocolates and caramel fudge that would probably rot her teeth out. She probably shouldn't eat so much sugar, but in the hour or so that she's spent in this car that's filled with food upon food, she's tried more than a few sweets. After all, she reasons to herself, who else is going to eat all of this?
The answer to her question reaches a hand out and grabs a plump muffin from one of the stands on the table. "I've always liked blueberry, but I suppose carrot muffins are the best I can do for now. Have you had your fill, my dear?"
"Oh, I think I've had enough for now, Mr. Lycoris." Emma gives a small smile to District Nine's escort, who had gotten out of the loose-fitting suit that he had on before and now was dressed in a warm yellow robe. It billows around his body, tied around his waist with some sort of violet sash. "Now, you'll be our mentor this year?"
"Unless Falcon makes a miraculous recovery in the next two days, you dears will be stuck with me. I hope you don't mind it too much! I've worked with Nine before, and I keep a good eye on the Games. We can talk strategy all we want - and I give good hugs. All my friends say I do." Jo grins at Emma. Taking a bite of the carrot muffin and chewing it carefully, he waved Ezra over until he finished the bite and swallowed. "And you'll work with us as well, Ezra! Would you like to work with Emma on the train and in the Capitol, or would you prefer to remain separate?"
Ezra nods enthusiastically, gulping down another piece of fudge that he had taken from the counter. At this rate, observes Emma wryly, he'll exhaust the supply of fudge in no time at all. "I would love to do that, Ms. Lycoris! We'd have such fun together, and maybe we could find out if anyone is hiding secrets on the train! My uncle is a detective, and he's taught me everything he knows, and I know a lot about finding secrets. And you're strong and smart, right Emma? We'd do so well together!"
Emma bites back laughter and nods, knowing that Ezra means well but is ultimately deadweight. Perhaps, if she was a kinder person and if she knew that the Capitol would smile on her working with a child, she would work with Ezra.
But she's not a kind person. Is she? She doesn't know, the thought of killing other children makes her stomach queasy yet her mind stays firm. She could survive the Hunger Games.
"Perhaps we will, but for now I'd like to talk to Jo about a few things in the Capitol." Ezra nods, satisfied with Emma's answer. He then sizes up a particularly large cookie, gauging the likelihood of it all fitting into his mouth.
She looks away, not wanting Ezra to see that she's lying through her teeth.
Tristan Locke, 18
District Eight Male
Tristan sits inside of the booth, putting his head down and burying it in his arms. He doesn't want to think about what's happening, or what's going to be happening in the next few days.
Everything seems to be falling apart in front of him, and he doesn't know what to do. He just… he just doesn't want to think.
Mona coughs rather hoarsely from her seat in the train, trying to finish one of the chocolate eclairs that have been left out on the tables for them to eat. "We're all going to die, so what's the use of planning for this week?" she moans to her mentor - who looks severely at Mona.
"Of course you have to prepare for the Games! Even if you think you're not prepared, you don't know what might happen. You can always take medicine in the Capitol, and sponsors like to see that tributes are exciting - if we find you an angle to play whenever there are cameras out, you're going to be fine," soothes Hana Seweth. "And you never know - the gamemakers might not be in favour of a Career district winning this year. It's happened before, and they do play favourites. You make yourself one of those favourites, and you'll be good as gold."
With a bit of a shock, Tristan remembers that Hana is only a few months older than himself.
"What's your plan, Tristan?" Tomas Spool smiles at him warmly, slipping into the booth. "You know, you don't have to go it alone. We're both here to help - we know these Games. I got Hana back home, didn't I?"
"It's just… it's just… it's just that I..." Tristan flushes, not wanting to reveal what he's gone through.
"You can tell me anything, you know. I won't say a word." Tomas smiles again, taking a glass of water and filling it up from the ornate pitcher that's on the table. "Would you like any water?"
"No thanks." Tristan stares at the table, trying to make the words come out the way he wants them to. "I've been arrested before - I was part of an illegal group - and peacekeepers killed a few of them and arrested me. I'm not on their good side." He doesn't say a word of the fact that it was a rebel group. He might be heading off to die, but if there's even the slightest chance of getting out of here expressing any sympathy towards the rebels will crush it.
"Well, I'm sure that they'll overlook that. I've seen criminals go far in the Games." Tomas squeezes Tristan's shoulder, then stands up from the table. "How about I go get some paper, and we figure out something for you to follow in the Capitol?"
Tristan nods, not letting onto what he thinks of Tomas' plans. Tomas is a poor little fool, isn't he? He's Tristan's best chance of getting out alive, but he's swallowed the small little pill of the Capitol providing for all. Fools, the both of them.
And most foolish of them all is himself, for thinking that he ever had a chance of back to District Eight.
Antimony Sinebad, 15
District Three Male
He's made a fool of himself, hasn't he?
Antimony flushes at the fallen plate at his feet - it's not like him to be clumsy, but the stress has gotten to him. If he had been in his normal presence of mind, he wouldn't have dropped the plate onto the lush red carpet and spread the crumbs of baked goods that he had collected all over the floor.
Quickly, he picks up his mess before anyone else sees that he's dropped the plate. It's something that he knows how to do well - if he messes something up, it's not a big deal. What is a big deal is remaining calm and cleaning up his own messes. If a jockey lets himself get cocky, worried, or anything at all, and doesn't seize back the calm he needs to focus on an important race, he's going to tumble off the horse and into the sea of hooves that gallop across the track. You can make a mistake, but you can never, never let it go unfixed.
But today, the stress is getting to him.
Sitting down on a chair, he observes the others in the room while eating a particularly large piece of custard pie. The creamy confection tastes lovely, but what he wants to see is how the others operate.
And he sees just that.
Electra seems to be simple enough, sitting next to Kaitlynn and making elaborate gestures as she explains something about quantum mechanics. She's one of those kids from Three, the ones who go to school instead of working or rotting away in the mazes of tents and homes outside of the main cities. Those ones are the future of Three, the ones who'll get an education and become leaders in their fields while finding the next big idea. He hates them all.
But then again, maybe they won't all get those fancy positions in the cities. She's been reaped for the Hunger Games, same as him, hasn't she?
Kaitlynn is similar to Electra, but she has more guarded tendencies - she clutches her fork tightly, her feet are clamped to the floor, and everything about her just seems tense - and she's slow to speak. Kaitlynn is somebody who measures her words. Antimony likes that in a person. It's always good to know that he's speaking with someone who values how she speaks.
And then there's Freya, now walking over to Antimony with painted cheeks and a ruby-red smile. "And here is our Antimony! Are you hiding yourself away from us? Don't worry, dearie, we don't bite."
Antimony smiles back at her, his just as false as the yellow-and-green wig the young woman sports on her head. "I hope I don't bite either."
Magnolia Rosa-Tran, 18
District Seven Female
She keeps her arms folded around her stomach, protective of the small body inside of her own. It doesn't look like much: at five months, there isn't much of a baby bump for Lee to cradle.
But she'll cradle it all the same.
Timber has been staring at her for their entire time on the train, always glancing down at her stomach after finishing conversations with his mentor, Joe. She doesn't blame him. If she was a tribute who was paired with some crazy pregnant woman, she'd give it more than a few side-glances as well.
But she is the pregnant woman. That's strange to think - she hasn't had much time to think about what's actually happening to her and her baby ever since she tried to cry into Tim's shoulder but discovered that the tears wouldn't come out. Something just isn't giving up inside her - she feels stunned.
Perhaps it'll hit her soon that she's heading to the Hunger Games. But for now, she's alright with the fact that she doesn't need to cry.
And now here her male counterpart comes to sit with her, sitting down heavily on the bench she has been resting on for the past half-hour. "How many months are you along?" he asks, blushing at the question. "I mean, I've seen pregnancies before, but I was really young when my mom had my sister. I'm not, you know, very good at this."
Lee smiles at the young, standing up to stretch her arms. She's starting to feel cramped, sitting still for so long. She needs to move! But she answers the question in due time, not wanting to let him feel awkward. She knows what it's like. "I'm five months along. In four months, I'll give birth. Well, I suppose not now."
"Oh." A rare frown flashes across Timber's face as he ponders the thought, a fascinating sight to Lee. She hasn't seen the boy do anything but smile ever since they were escorted off of the stage. "That's not very fair of the Capitol, is it?"
"No, I suppose that it isn't very fair of the Capitol to allow that to happen," she agrees with the young boy. It's strange to criticize what's been preached to her as her saviour all her life, but it's true. "Not very fair at all."
Tourmaline DeMetz, 18
District One Female
She sips a long, thin glass of juice and watches the television screen, eyes narrowing as it shifts to District One's reaping. She wants to take in everything she can. After all, it will be her first impression of the tributes that she'll be fighting against - a moment that the instructors at the Academy always stressed to take advantage of. If she can glean any of their motivations, fears, or weaknesses, she can take advantage of that.
It'll be one step closer for her to winning the Hunger Games.
Duchess is jubilant as she settles down onto the couch that directly faces the television, laughing to one of the victors - is it Ben? Is it Diamonique? - about a joke they're sharing. "I hope we have one of the outer-districts who crap themselves on the stage. Always good to see that we have someone we can play with for the cameras."
"I wonder if we'll have one of those, indeed." Tourmaline personally would prefer less of the young, small tributes who bawl their eyes out. Even if Duchess views them as easy targets, Tourmaline doesn't feel as comfortable with the thought of fighting little kids. She wants someone who's her match, someone that she can feel honourable fighting.
The instructors always disapproved of that point of view back at the Academy. They said that it was weak to feel sympathy for the other tributes, and reminded sentimental trainees that their sympathy could be exploited by a young child who knows how to use a knife.
Yes, she just has to be careful. Being careful is what will keep her alive.
And as the District Three reapings come to a close, she watches for any of that spark that she's been warned about from tributes from the district. Her mentors have said that if she sees it, she needs to be ready to fight it and put it out. She's not sure if she sees any dangerous brilliance in the two tributes, one quivering and the other steadfast, but she'll take care of them just the same. She's not going to be taken down by a Three who's too smart for their own good.
Better safe than sorry.
Callous Lecket, 17
District Ten Male
Better being safe than sorry, Callous reflects as he continues to watch the reapings on the large television screen. The mentor that's been appointed to watch over the victorless District Ten, some woman who he's forgotten to learn the name of, is eating popcorn with her legs folded on top of a chair while watching the reapings as well. "That boy from Two is a bit of a babe, isn't he?"
Callous gives the woman a strange look, then turns back to the screen. Capitolites can be strange. "I… I suppose." The District Four reapings fascinate him more, the boy from Four eagerly volunteering to be the one to stand up on the stage and wave to the crowd while the girl from Four does it less certainly. She's not someone who seems like a career, she doesn't seem like she should be the one heading to the Games.
Then again, he shouldn't judge. Who knows how eager she is to fight in the Games? She volunteered, after all, and that means that she must be dangerous in some way. Shelby Doran, or at least that's what he thinks she's called from when she tells the audience what her name is, is not someone to be trifled with.
Neither are tributes from District Five, both standing tall in front of the crowd. The boy seems to be small for his age, but the girl is the real surprise. She's volunteered for some child for Panem-knows-what reason, and now is staring at the cameras with a strange look in her eyes.
He likes the look of her, he does. If they weren't fighting to the death, Callous would like to get to know her better.
But he doesn't want to trust a volunteer.
Ceres doesn't trust her either, from what he's seen of her reaction to the screen when Colleen Tosse walked on. She's someone who's wary as well.
"Do you think either of the District Six tributes will go far?" he asks her, wondering what she'll answer.
Ceres looks back with a startled glance, dark hair mussed up from leaning back in the chair. "Oh, the boy and the girl? I think the boy seems strong, and so does the girl - but she seems off. I think she's one of those who'll seem strong at the start but will die - I'm sorry, it's weird to say that. It doesn't feel right to talk about other people who are going to die."
"Yeah."
They both sit in silence, trying to ignore the fact that they're counted among that number of those headed off to die.
Jackson Kennedy, 18
District Six Male
The kids from District Nine are a strange combination, thinks Jackson as he continues to watch the reapings. The girl seems like she's a strong person, from the way she mounts the stage and keeps her composure while watching the crowd just as intently as they're watching her. She looks almost regal standing there - especially juxtaposed with the boy, a small little guy who's lip is wavering a bit under the lights of the cameras that must be surrounding the stage.
The poor boy.
But Armani is paying no attention to the screen, instead silently crying into a pillow on the other side of the room. Jackson opens his mouth to try to comfort her, then pauses. She probably doesn't want to be comforted right now, especially since their escort is trying - and failing - to do the same as Jackson was about to do.
Dashiell Remore seems to be out of his league while trying to comfort his tribute, something rare to see from the old man. Jackson is used to seeing him having all of the answers, not letting anyone best him or take his spotlight as he announces the reapings.
"You always have the answers," Selena had told him when she had visited him in the goodbye rooms. Jackson flushes while remembering what had happened.
When he told her that he loved her and had been too afraid of rejection to admit it…
When Selena said that she had felt the same way…
How they had almost kissed in the room, staring into each other's eyes until the peacekeepers had taken her out of the room and told him that it was time to head to the train…
He blinks, realizing that the recaps are over. With one last glance at the boy from Twelve, who looks stronger than what Jackson expected him to be, the reapings change to a discussion with the host of this year's Interviews.
Doug yawns, his face haggard in the evening light. "I think I'm going to head off to bed - you two better try to do the same. Isa and I can both tell you that staying up late for these nights won't do you any good. The best thing we can do is get some sleep, and talk about how you two will look for allies tomorrow. You know, the boys from Twelve and Ten seemed fairly friendly. Would you like to try to connect with one of them, Jackson?"
"Oh, I haven't thought much about it," Jackson confesses. "I think I'll sleep on it. It's been a long day."
"Sleep well!" Isa waves to Jackson with a friendly smile. "The beds are more comfortable than you can imagine, I promise."
Jackson waves back, opening the door and walking into the hall.
He's tired, he's nervous, and he has a craving for something sweet.
But first, he needs to give his mind a break and go to sleep.
Arisa Fetch, 14
District Twelve Female
She whimpers, trying to bite back the tears that just have to come to her in the middle of the night. She's tried to sleep, but it's hard to when she's going to have to fight the other tributes to death. She hates that thought, hates everything about the fact that she's going to - no, she can't say that she's going to die because that's when she'll have given up.
She won't make it through the next week if she believes that she's going to die.
Arisa sits up in the large, fluffy bed, pushing away the large spread of blankets. It's too hot in here - too hot to breathe, too hot to think. She walks to the strange device in the corner of the room - the glowing words on its screen telling her that it's a thermostat - and turns down the temperature in the room. Maybe if it feels a bit more like home, it'll be easier to sleep.
That's the worst part of it all, she thinks - it's that this isn't home. Ashira thinks that Arisa is doing just fine in the train, that she's being stoically calm because she hasn't panicked about the Games like other girls her age might, but she's still scared. She just doesn't let herself break down in the same way.
She tries to reclaim the calm that she knows that she has, breathing in and out deeply. The pyjamas that she chose for the night are comfortable on her skin, and she sees small lights in the distance as the train continues to steam towards the Capitol. They must be close to some town in one of the districts that the train must travel to in order to get to its destination.
The thought of being close to other people, the thought of being close to normal comforts her, and she's finally able to blink away those dratted tears. Now, she's going to try to go to bed. She can find that hope in the morning.
Hope, something that she should have but can't seem to find. She knows that she needs it, so she wracks her brain for something to take hope from. What will happen in the future? What good might happen? What can keep her calm?
And after thinking long and hard about it, she realizes that the hope she's needed has always been there. Arisa just needed to calm back down to find it.
She settles back down into the bed, and the train rocks her to sleep.
Fraser Killick, 18
District Four Male
It's surreal to be on the train heading to the Games, on the same train that three victors have ridden on to the Capitol before coming back with victory in their hands. He could be the fourth to do the same, to ride home with the girl he loves in his arms and with the knowledge that he'll never have to worry about others looking down on him again.
But truthfully, the best part about being on the train is Mags.
Magdalene Flanagan is still drop-dead gorgeous to Fraser, to the point where even she seems to notice that he's staring at her. Maybe she thinks that he's just another one of those stupid volunteers from Four, which would explain why she's been spending more time with Shelby. Even though the girl is under Magdalene's care, Fraser still feels a bit jealous. Why does Shelby get all of Magdalene's attention?
"Hey, Magdalene, do you know how the alliance will be working this year?" he asks, hoping to at least speak to the victor. "Has District One and Two said anything about how they're going to work with us, or is it just the same as always?"
"Same as always," she begins to reply, frowning a bit. "Well, there's Shelby - I don't know how she'll be working with everyone this year. Have you made up your mind, Shelby? I know that this is still all new to you, but if you have any ideas I'd love to hear them."
"Oh, I think that I'd like to be alone. From what you've told me, I don't think that the alliance would be very good for me. Maybe I'll do better if I'm not with the others - I don't want to be reliant on them." Shelby is satisfied with her answer, turning back to her breakfast of a sticky cinnamon bun and some eggs.
"Wait, you're not going to work with the careers and me?" Fraser is surprised by her answer. Why wouldn't she want to work with him? They had done well in the island challenge, hadn't they? They would be a great pair, and she's willing to toss it all away because she doesn't want to rely on the careers. What?
Maybe it's a ploy to keep Mags away from Fraser - if Shelby's on her own, they won't be mentored in the same setting. After all, Mags would want to keep Shelby's strategy private, right?
Well, Fraser won't let that happen. He won't let the one he loves be dragged away by a rogue.
He'll have to deal with Shelby later. But for now, he'll put on a fake smile and pretend that everything's fine.
Enyo Bedford, 18
District Two Female
Everything seems to be fine. Well, she knows that it should be fine. She got herself all the way to the Games, hadn't she? She's achieved the goal that she tossed her family away for.
And now what?
She hasn't thought much about what she'll be doing next in the few days. These last two days have been so overwhelming that she's just been trying not to meltdown in front of one of her mentors, even trying one of those stupid breathing tricks that her roommate liked to use to calm down every day as a last resort. It kind of worked.
But now here she is, standing at the front of the glass and steel train that is rocketing towards the Capitol. She can see the mountains that it's surrounded by in the distance.
Aeson is performing some type of stretching routine, bending over to touch his toes and grunting with effort as he twists around - rather like a snake, she thinks with a smile - to reach out as far as he can. "Oh, hey Enyo. Want to join in?"
She nods, bending down to easily perform the work-out routine. When they get into push-ups and sit-ups, Aeson can outperform her due to just having more muscle than her, but she can keep up with him for everything else. Aeson gives a low whistle when they finish, impressed.
"Thanks - I've been keeping myself fit for-for-for the last year-years, I guess." Enyo frowns when she stutters over a word, but continues. Aeson would probably find it weird if she paused for too long. "Are you excited to go to the parade?"
"I guess it'll be fun, but I want to see how the other tributes can perform in battle. The training days are always the most useful, in my opinion. You can see how everyone performs. Who's strong, who's weak, who's holding back: all things to look out for so we can get rid of the big threats early. Right?" Aeson gives a big smile, and Enyo smiles back before going back to a neutral expression. She doesn't like her smile.
"Well, I'm excited for the training," she says. Wait, didn't Aeson say that? She's always two steps behind on a conversation. "It will definitely be nice to meet all of the alliance. Do you think that every district will be a part of it this year?"
"Well, not every district," Aeson says with a chuckle. "But I think we'll have a full pack this year. If we keep together, Enyo, we'll do well. I trust you well enough, and I hope you're the same with me."
"Yes, I trust! I mean, I trust you," Enyo replies. They grin at each other, then Aeson glances down and dashes off, muttering something about having to go to the bathroom.
And now she's alone, but Enyo doesn't mind that. After all, she has a goal that she can finally work towards again - she's going to win these Hunger Games.
And after that?
She won't think about that for now.
Aloie Church, 12
District Eleven Female
She's felt so scared and small and useless on this train, but all of that seems to go away after they emerge from the tunnel in the mountains that seemed to go on forever and continued into this new world of light and glass and oh Panem there's a dam taller than any building in Eleven and she has no idea what to make of it.
"We're almost here," a voice behind her says, and Aloie's startled for a moment by her district partner before settling back down. Luke's been strange on the train ride - there was a moment where he tried to talk to her alone about how she had saved his life a year ago or so, and she didn't know what to do there either - but she can tell that he means well. This tall, thin stranger who always seems to be frowning wants the best for her, and she can take comfort in that fact.
She smiles back at him, giving a flash of the teeth that Cora had once said were "too bright for your own good, my girl!". They're starting to come into the Capitol, and she presses her round face against the window to stare at all of the towers made of glass and people with skin that seems to be painted in green and white and blue and every colour under the sun. Their clothes are even more vibrant, with shades of orange and pink she didn't think could exist.
Aloie doesn't know if she likes it.
"Pretty, isn't it?" Luke mutters, watching some of the people yell something inaudible to them as the train starts to slow. "But they don't care about us, none of them. We're just lambs being given up for their feast of blood."
"What?" asks Aloie, not paying enough attention to Luke to have heard what he said, but enough attention to hear the word blood. Did he cut himself? Did this train have poultices like the ones she made out of leaves back in Eleven?
"Oh, never mind me. I'm just a fool who's going to get himself killed." Luke goes back to staring at the window. "You should try smiling at them, Aloie. They wouldn't like me, but I bet that they'd love you."
"Why me? I'm just a girl from Eleven. And I'm small - and plump like a barrel, like Cora always says. I thought that they would like the people from Two and One, right?" Aloie is confused by Luke, but tries smiling at the crowd. It's not hard, she's used to being positive for others, and she's rewarded with a volley of screams that can be heard through the thick glass. "Wait, do they actually like me?"
"If you keep your smile," Luke whispers. "Sean said the same thing. You're the one that they'll like the most. Please stay happy for them, for me. Do you promise?"
"O-okay, I will. I mean, I'll try." Aloie looks back out of the window, the train pulling to a stop. She's suddenly aware of all of the people that surround the train - so many, and with so few peacekeepers to watch them all!
But she'll keep smiling.
For Luke. For Cora.
For herself.
Another chapter! How are you enjoying the tributes so far?
We're heading into the Capitol now, so we'll have eight chapters with three povs each for the tributes. After that, we'll head into the Games where the real action will begin. Excitement!
Enjoy. Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ