Kinsley Mavis, 16, D7F - 11:00AM, 01/07/207
The train started hurtling at a speed much faster than Kinsley had experienced in her life. Through the window, the trees which had towered over her all her life became blobs of green and brown, nothing more than patches on a tapestry she would never see again. No, she couldn't think that way, she couldn't let anyone in here see her tears. If they saw her cry, they'd think her weak, and if they thought her weak, she couldn't win, and she had to win. For herself, and for Delta.
Once her tears were dried from the cool air blasting onto her from every direction, she turned to her escort and her mentors for further instruction. All three of them had been doing this for a long time, and they knew tributes often weren't prepared to talk strategy after talking to their loved ones for what could be the last time.
Kinsley snuck a glance at her district partner - Micah, if she remembered correctly - and he looked quite okay, all things considered; eating a decadent chocolate cake and watching a popular Capitolite television show on "roughing it in the Districts".
"Alright, fuckers," a harsh voice called out, belonging to none other than Johanna Mason.
"I thought we weren't supposed to call kids fuckers, Jo," Jack Timber, Victor of the 80th Games and only living male Victor from District 7, said.
"You shouldn't," a sharp voice came out the lips of Atticus Diorene, flinging garish pink wings of fabric around the place. Kinsley rolled her eyes at the escort's obvious elitism; she'd rather be truthfully demeaned by The Johanna Mason than being treated with some sort of kindness filtered through layers of lies and passive aggression.
"Go fuck yourself, Atticus. I didn't want your advice 25 years ago and I don't want it now," Johanna retorted.
"I wasn't your mentor 25 years ago."
"Really? Because your whole look is really uninspired. Like, basic, you know."
Kinsley opened a can of carbonated drink from the fridge inside the table and took a sip. She loved seeing this woman put some Capitolite in their place. Those insults only existed in school hallways, behind Peacekeepers' backs, after the TV screens had been shut off. Never to their faces.
"You fuckers need a strategy," Johanna reiterated, stretching out the word for which she was rebuked.
"Do we, though? I mean, isn't it better to adapt to a specific situation?" Kinsley asked, not thinking that, maybe, she shouldn't piss off her only link to survival.
Jack sighed, as Johanna glared. "I played up a persona from the moment I was Reaped until the third last day of the Games. I thought through every single possible move for two and a half weeks. From the moment he walked into this carriage, Jack created flowcharts of potential scenarios and calculated every step he took in the Arena. We are the only surviving Victors from Seven. All the other tributes are dead. Who would you listen to?"
Kinsley sucked air through her teeth - was it possible that even the air in here was better than at home? Cleaner, somehow? "Fine. What do you recommend?" she asked, enunciating each syllable.
"Well, you're too prickly for allies, I'm assuming,"
"Jo!" Jack rebuked, hitting his mentoring partner in the arm.
"Fine," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Even if, for some reason, you do make friends, it's safer to be alone in the Arena. Basic game theory. It's more likely for everyone to survive if the group sticks together, and that's not what you want."
"I'll do whatever I'd like, thanks," Kinsley barked.
This kid is unbearable, Johanna thought. She inhaled deeply, the cold, filtered air dizzying her. Fucking Capitol. Maybe she was being too hard on her. While this was an annual obligation of pain and suffering for her, this was, 96%, the death of this kid. Granted, she couldn't get too close, of course not. Never again. But she could extend a little kindness, rather than solely this cold front.
"Okay. Sure. We can do that. What are your skills, so we know who to match you up with?"
"Um," Kinsley shifted in her seat at the sudden change in her mentor's attitude. What was that material? Softer than the trees, seemingly how it would feel to sit upon a cloud. "I'm great with knives. Oh, and hand to hand combat." Please, ask me why I'm good at them, Kinsley thought.
"That works. I don't want to know why, don't tell me. So, if you want allies, I can try to pair you with sprinters and strategists, but people who are worse at close and mid-range fighting. If I can get that done, then you can be in opposition with people who are closer to your equals. Either way, you need to have some sort of basic plan and," Johanna eyed her trainee up and down, "some sort of agility training."
"Great. Thanks, I guess," Kinsley said. "Is there anything else I need to know?"
Johanna turned to Jack, who had been standing there awkwardly for the whole conversation.
"We meet for lunch here at 1300 hours, dinner at 1900 hours, and breakfast at 0700 hours. The two tributes have fully outfitted rooms, the female on the left and the male on the right," Atticus piped up from the other side of the train carriage, watching television with Micah.
"Wait, we have our own rooms?" Micah asked, his eyes lighting up with the promise of privacy. "Do they have these screens? And food?"
"Yes, that's what 'fully outfitted' means," Johanna shouted, rolling her eyes.
"Thank you!" Micah exclaimed, hugging the man next to him, before running to the next carriage.
"Oh oh okay," the escort stammered.
"Cool, thanks," Kinsley said. She had to admit that, despite the institutional bigotry the Capitol forced onto society, at least they had fancy stuff. The girl walked into her room and melted onto the fancy mattress as she drifted off to sleep.
Micah Bradley, 14, D7M - 3:00PM, 01/07/207
"Hey, kid." Jack knocked on Micah's door, making his voice gentle for this boy. 14. Fuck, how could a 14-year-old boy have to go into these Games?
"Hi," Micah replied, not looking up from the book he was scribbling into.
"What're you writing?" Jack said, cautiously walking over to the boy leaning against the headboard of his bed.
"It's silly. But it's about me," Micah said, his doe-like green eyes refusing to acknowledge his mentor.
"About you? How so?"
"A couple of years ago, I had this dream. I was the Harvest King, ruling over the forest. A fair leader. Brave. Strong. My dad told me to write it down, I thought it was silly. Why write it down when I can live it. But now… I don't know. I guess a gentle king, a good king, doesn't demean his subjects' requests."
Jack thought for a second, mulling over the day's earlier events. "Is that why you were so calm at the Reaping?"
"Can't let my subjects fear for my life, can I?" Micah asked, a small smile playing on his lips.
"I guess that wouldn't be fair on them," Jack replied. He took a deep breath, trying not to intimidate the child. "Do you have any ideas for what you'll do in the Games?" He sped up his voice, speaking through the next sentence with anxious caution. "The sooner the better."
"I'm going to stay alive. As long as I can. I've kept a whole kingdom alive before, I can keep myself alive for a couple of weeks."
Jack tried not to groan. Or do anything that this kid would see as an attack. Granted, he probably wouldn't be able to tell, but no risks. He didn't think that Micah would actually believe what he wrote about himself. Every kid has dreams and fantasies, but in the Games? It's safer to let them go. Gosh, why couldn't he be like Johanna and tell this kid that he was clearly delusional!
"Being… the Harvest King. It gives you confidence, right?" Fine, Jack knew he shouldn't be using leading questions. Let the teenager who's about to die say and do what they'd like.
Micah thought, trying to figure out the fairest way to phrase his response. He held his voice steadily, keeping a patient and even tone. "It gives me confidence because it makes me feel like myself."
"That's good. That's good," Jack muttered. "Micah, I should tell you…" Jack paused. Maybe he could put this into the child's language. "A good king, as you are, must serve his kingdom no matter the cost to himself. Sometimes that cost is his conscience. Unspeakable crimes. But if he does not commit them, and commit to them, he will die and his kingdom will suffer. Does that make sense?"
Micah stared straight into Jack's eyes, his unflinching gaze being as strong as his resolve. "I understand."
A/N: Thanks to Marie464 for Kinsley and Paradigm of Writing for Micah, I hope you all enjoyed reading about those characters as much as I did writing about them! I am so sorry this has taken me so long, I started this in January. Basically, I only just finished high school and it's been a long fucking year lol. Also, this intro and the next three will be train rides (because I cannot handle any more Reapings, I am so sorry), but these four Districts will definitely be the POVs for Chariot Rides!