Goodbyes & Train Rides, Part 1


As Virginia sank into the sofa in the Justice Building, she couldn't stop shaking. She clutched her district partner's handkerchief in her lap, the one he'd handed her on the Reaping stage, now soaked with tears and smudged with makeup. There had been a point when she had tried to wipe her cheeks dry, but any further attempts only smeared tears over her face.

Beside her, Janine pulled her quivering figure close with an arm around her. "I know we didn't…" Janine wiped her eyes. "I mean, we don't always agree on everything, but you're a good friend."

"We both know I'm not coming home." Virginia sighed.

Janine gasped. "Don't say that! You're smart; you have the looks—you could…"

"You don't have to pretend. It's true." She smiled. "It'll be less painful if you accept it now."

Janine leaned her head on Virginia's shoulder and sobbed.

The sound shook Virginia out of her shocked stupor. Janine? Sobbing? She wrapped her arms around her friend and pat her on the back. "You'll be okay. I'll… be in a better place. So we'll all be okay, right?"

Knock. Knock. Knock. Three sharp raps on the door, followed by a gruff "Time's up."

Janine rose slowly, still numb. It rocked the sofa cushions again, which threatened to pull Virginia under. She instinctively tried to straighten her back and shoulders, but the thick pillows provided no foundation and she collapsed in a pathetic heap. Her mother would kill her if she saw the way she struggled to maintain proper posture, maybe even say something about how bad posture "limited her desirability," but hardly an ounce of strength remained in her.

As her friend backed towards the door, Virginia could only meet her sad eyes and attempt the smile that usually came easily to her. Now that she sat on the couch alone, she wished more than ever for Jakob's embrace.

"Wait! Is… Is Jakob coming?"

"He's right outside." A sigh, but one of acceptance, instead of the usual "he's no good."

She nodded. "T-Thank you."

Janine gave her one last teary wave, and then she was gone.

Virginia stared blankly at the door. Was this… real? Her friend, her parents, her brother—they had all disappeared from view, possibly for the last time in her short life. It already felt like an eternity ago that she sat her little brother down this morning and told him a happy story to take his mind off the Reaping.

Possibly for the last time? More like certainly. How would it even be possible for her to win? All she knew how to do was balance chemical equations and act pretty. It wouldn't matter even if the Capitol loved her since any decently-built competitor could snap her slim frame like a twig.

Every inch of her longed to be wrapped in Jakob's secure arms, to feel his strong hands stroke her hair, for his rugged voice to whisper "You're so beautiful" into her inner panic of I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die.

When the door creaked open again and Jakob slowly stepped into the room, she leapt up from the sofa and rushed towards him, awaiting his comfort. But his sturdy hands gripped her by the shoulders and held her at an arm's length.

"Not today."

"Wh-What?" She pleaded with him. "Jakob!"

"Deal with it, Virginia. We're over."

The words made sense—the relationship wouldn't work out if she were dead, would it?—yet his tone cut into her heart. Something wasn't right. "B-But—"

"I never loved you anyway."

She blinked. It didn't make a lick of sense! What about all the time they had spent together? Yet his smirk said otherwise. "Y-You don't love me?"

He snorted. Snorted! She'd heard him do it before, but it'd always been towards some other person he disliked. Now that it was directed at her, she decided that it was the worst sound in all the universe. "I never did! You're just pretty and good for f—"

"Shut up!" She plugged her ears and stumbled back from this… this fool!

"Oh my, did the proper Bedford girl just tell me to shut up?" He covered his mouth with his hand in an exaggerated flourish. "Scandalous!"

Tears pricked at her eyes like needles, but she sharply sucked in a breath to keep control of herself. Sobbing was exactly what he wanted her to do. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged and checked his watch, as if he were an impatient customer waiting on a slow shopkeeper and not a man seeing his lover for the last time. "We can't have the old folks finding out, can we? Just give me a bit. I'll be gone in a sec."

Her delicate hands balled into fists that wouldn't stop quivering with righteous indignation. A loose tear dripped out of the corner of her right eye. "Get out!"

"You know? You're prettier when you're not angry."

"I don't care!" she screamed, shaking her fist at him. "Get out! Now!"

He rolled his eyes and cracked open the door. "Fine, fine. I'm leaving. Hope you're happy since you'll be dead in a week."

Oh, how could he? That… that monster! More than a few choice insults rose in her throat, but she choked them down along with the bile as he slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him. If she screamed insults after him, she'd be stooping to his level—and he might even get a few good laughs out of it! No, she'd have to do better, get back at him the only way she knew how, the way learned from all her time spent with her disgruntled classmates that glared at her as if doing the right and responsible thing were a crime.

By proving him wrong. Little, useless Virginia would have to win the Hunger Games. Was it possible? Proving to her classmates that it was possible to please Mrs. Taff had seemed like the most difficult thing in the world only a few weeks ago, but compared to the Hunger Games, it was naught but the eye of a needle.

But what other option did she have, now that he'd spit in her face and told her to die? She'd successfully passed Mrs. Taff's class with full marks; she could win. She'd do whatever it took in order to come back alive. And when she returned, she would march up to Mr. Jakob Gabardine's house and show him that she was so much better than he ever deserved.

Virginia Bedford was done being naive.


When Zeph emerged from the shadowy back room of the Justice Building with a Peacekeeper grabbing each of his arms, he found the sunlight streaming through the windows piercing to his eyes. It'd been nicer earlier in the day, when dark clouds had threatened rain, an appropriate adieu to everything he'd ever known. But now they were gone, leaving him to the mercy of the sun, a giant middle finger from the meaningless universe itself.

He'd often half-joked that he wanted to die, but he never expected it to happen like this.

They waited for Zirconia on the white granite stairs out the front door, a weak imitation of the marble ones seen all over Capitol television. The Justice Building itself seemed like little but a front for non-existent grandeur, with its dusty unused rooms visible through its reinforced windows and the coal dust spilling from under its gutters, where even the regularly hired cleaners couldn't quite reach.

Like its Justice Building, District Twelve was a fraud, producing "vital" coal although he hadn't once seen a coal-powered anything on TV all his years. A fraud, not unlike Zeph himself. The only difference was that he wasn't afraid to admit it.

Below them, a small crowd had gathered in their best Reaping clothes, likely the only good set they owned, reserved for formal events, though "formal event" might as well have been a synonym for "funeral." Some stared up at him with hesitant apprehension; others smirked, likely people he'd conned at some point. A select few stood rigid and tall, deep respect in their eyes.

The door opened behind him, and Zirconia shuffled forwards. Her long hair fell over her face, enveloping it in its dark locks. He raised an eyebrow, any hint of moisture now gone from the harsh sunlight. No response. He could've sworn she'd been crying, with her unusually averted eyes and the tremor in her hands, but her strong self would never admit it. Besides, he swore on anything if necessary. It wouldn't have meant anything.

So they walked in silence, flanked on either side by the men in white, a death march under a beautiful summer day. Their sleek coffin awaited at the station; its silver surface sparkled in a myriad of rainbows and its multicolored interior beckoned through the shaded windows. It seemed as if the universe was determined to celebrate. Songbirds sang and fluttered overheard in the gentle breeze, as if heralding the arrival of a king. Or in their case, rejoicing in their imminent execution.

Eff' y'all too.

Funny, how the very ones chasing them down for immediate execution merely hours ago now saw their "safety" as their utmost priority. Then again, there wasn't that much of a difference. Execution here in District Twelve, execution out in some distant Arena. Both ways, they'd be dead. Technically only likely to be dead since they'd volunteered, but what could they do when at least a third of their competition was guaranteed to come with combat experience? Back in the day, when only Districts One, Two, and Four trained for the Games, they would've had a better chance.

When he stepped over the threshold and into the train, he shivered, though more from the excessive air conditioning than the sadism of the Capitol. In fact, he very nearly froze, staring in shock at the fantasy world before him. The table, dressed with frills and an assortment of desserts, from a decanter of punch to a platter of chocolate-covered strawberries, drizzled in syrup. The walls, draped with silk that fluttered in the slight breeze from the vents. Even the floor, smoother than anything he ever could've imagined.

He could almost hear Zirconia's excited squeal, the way she was bound to rush around the decadent train car, with its garish tapestries and unnecessary colors. She'd tell him that he had no taste, that things didn't have to be his ugly shade of grey. She'd slip off her shoes and slide across the floor, exclaiming something silly about ice-skating. Maybe she'd even force him to gulp down some raspberry-pink punch in the name of enjoying life.

Her silence smothered him more than her voice ever could.

When the doors closed behind them and the train purred to life, Zirconia hadn't so much as budged from where her feet had planted themselves into the carpet. Her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulders huddled in, as if her frame wasn't enough of a stick. Zeph decided that he wouldn't let this be their new status quo.

He nudged her lightly. "Hey. Earth to Zirconia."

"Hmm?" she glanced at him, but judging by the look of terror in her eyes, you would've thought she'd seen a ghost (though he might as well be one). "I'm fine."

Though it took some effort, he snorted and reclined on a chair. This was for her sake, not his. "Nah, you're a liar."

"Shut the he—"

"And I'm one too. So what?"

The corner of her lip curled up, yet the smile didn't return. "Zeph… What've we done?"

Technically, she'd done it, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He shrugged and popped a grape in his mouth. "Nothing much."

"Was this the right call?" She frowned at his blank expression. "I'm serious, for Snow's sake!"

"For once," he said under his breath. "But I'm serious too. All we did was sign up for certain death."

"All, huh?"

"Everyone's going to die anyway. Why not this week?"

She sighed. "Congrats. You got your wish."

At least her wit was coming back, a good sign if anything. Now he just had to keep riding this train. He plucked a chocolate-covered strawberry off its sugar-speckled mountain and bit into it; its juice dribbled from the corner of his mouth, prompting him to scramble for a napkin.

"If they caught us in Twelve, they'd throw us in a nasty concrete cell before shooting us through." He made an exaggerated motion of licking his fingers clean of any remaining chocolate. "I think dying like this is a lot nicer."

She bit her lip, deep in rumination.

"Here. Take one."

With mechanical movements, she nibbled on the strawberry, eyes fixed on some distant point in a different dimension. Suddenly, her eyes lit up.

"Oh?"

"By Snow…" she mumbled, so softly it could've been mistaken for the susurrations of the train or the whispers of a ghost. "We're free!"

He raised an eyebrow. "We're going to die."

"But that means we can do whatever we want." Her eyes twinkled with sudden joy. "What are they going to do to us? Kill us?"

He deadpanned. "Why did I cheer you up again?"

"Oh." She grinned tiredly. "We'll raise hell."


Whenever Sostonio thought about his future, he had always envisioned an idyllic life out in the country of District Ten, under the intense sun that caused the ubiquitous orange to shine intensely, everywhere from the clay earth to the distant mountains to the dirt that coated the tires and body of the family truck. Not once had he ever considered leaving for the city, let alone the distant, faraway Capitol. Yet as he watched the station pull from his cushion by the window, he saw his life blow away like a raging dust storm.

"Mijo!" Mamá's voice still echoed in his mind. She had cupped his face in her calloused hands, the way she'd done it ever since he was a small muchacho, when Papá was still around to run the ranch. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her so distraught, at least since Papá died. But all would be fine with her. She was stronger than any other person he'd ever seen, and he knew without a doubt that she'd pull herself and the ranch together.

Nini would be fine as well. When she'd hugged him in the Justice Building, there'd been a wistful wisp of desire in the way she nestled her head by his neck, a hint of things left unspoken between them that would remain so forever. He hoped she'd stay and help with the ranch even if he never returned, if only in memory of him. Heaven knew Mamá would work herself to death if no one stopped and helped her.

Finally, Snot would be fine too, although the boy wept incessantly and clung to his shirt so hard that Sos had been sure his clothes would tear. He'd done his best to reassure the boy that there was no need to apologize for being Reaped, but how much could words do? How would the boy react if he were to watch Sos die on the big screen? Sos could only hope that the boy wouldn't blame himself.

Really, the only one that wouldn't be fine was himself, but that was absolutely fine. Better himself than anyone else.

Crunch. He turned his head and found his district partner Nevaeh lounging on a pristine white chaise longue with her legs elegantly crossed, dressed in a jade dress that complimented the pendant hanging from her neck. She stared back at him with wide eyes and an embarrassed grin as she tried unsuccessfully to take a softer bite of the pita chip in her hand.

"Lo siento!" she apologized. "I didn't ruin a moment, did I?"

He cracked a weary smile. Somehow, the past few hours of sitting around in fancy rooms had sapped his energy more than a long day of manual labor ever could. "Nah, no pasa nada."

She frowned and marched over to the overflowing refreshments at the end of the car. "You need some food in you. Sweet or savory?"

"I'm not—"

"That's not an answer. Sweet or savory?"

"Savory." He sighed. No use in fighting her on this, though food was the last of his worries at the moment. "Capitol sweet is way too sweet."

"Yes! That's literally what I'm always telling them Capitalinos, but then they always go 'yadda, yadda, yadda, you have no taste buds.' Like ugh, I'd like to not go diabetic at twenty-one?" She paused to grab a plate of pita chips. "Hummus or queso?"

"Well… hummus?"

She gave him a strange look, but then she shrugged and grabbed a second plate, on which she dumped a huge glob of cheese sauce. "Ay, your chips, your choice. I couldn't live without queso."

He nearly laughed, but he exhaled sharply through his nose instead. This girl was certainly a personality. "I'm more of a red salsa person myself."

She rolled her eyes, though not maliciously in the slightest. "Of course you are. There's actually some here too, but I thought it'd be more interesting to try new things—since we're going to the Capitol and all. Here!"

He took the plate with a grateful nod and crunched down a hummus-dipped chip. Though he had to remind his jaws to chew at first, the taste of food provoked growls from his stomach and there was no turning back.

"Y'know," he said, "I'm usually the one forcing people to eat."

She chuckled from the chaise, her fingers playing absentmindedly with a loose strand. "That sounds like a you thing to do."

"Really? You barely know me."

"But I know you're not the designated volunteer,?" she said, with a sudden seriousness in her dark eyes that contrasted with her sunny demeanor.

"Well, no…"

"I really didn't have a choice, but you didn't have to volunteer for that muchacho." She smiled somberly. "I respect that."

The train clacked on. It'd been quiet, but in the lull of conversation, it suddenly felt overwhelming. Their reality sucked the air out of the compartment. They were just two kids, likely going to their deaths, both of them having volunteered. No amount of chips could change it.

Yet one thing was clear, a firm undertone to the fear. He had no regrets. If he were given the chance again, he'd give his life for Snot's in a heartbeat, and though he barely knew Nevaeh, one look at her expression was enough to convince him that she wouldn't do anything differently. He hoped their conviction would last.

"But that's enough depression for now!" Nevaeh jumped up and fished around in her coat pocket until she came up with two caliente lollipops, each illustrated with a smirking jalapeño. "You want one? I wasn't sure if I wanted to share, but I like you."

The sight of the District Ten candies left his mouth watering, but he chuckled nervously. "Are you sure?"

"I've got more! And mi papá can send more if we run out."

"Is that allowed?"

She shrugged. "C'mon; it's just candy. I thought it'd be nice to have a taste of home in the Capitol."

He glanced out the window. Gone were the miles and miles of open wilderness, replaced by woodland that seemed to press right up against the window and intrude on the safety of the train, and his heart sank. District Ten was… gone, and he'd have to savor any flavor of home for as long as he could.

"Dale, I'll take one."


Navarro kicked at the leg of the circular table, his mouth watering at the food set before them. Atop its pearl-white surface, an assortment of dishes spiraled out from the blue-lily centerpiece, enveloping him in smells that not even his parents' money could buy. He'd always considered himself well-to-do, but with the Capitol's bounty in his face, he couldn't deny that compared to them, he was nothing but a bratty minnow. His fists tingled with a visceral need to give someone a faceful of his feelings.

"Now let's be patient! It'll be just a little bit longer, okay?" the escort said, sitting to his left. She patted the table gently with her jewel-studded hands, like an owner trying to placate a poodle. The stupid woman might as well be asking for a few good punches. "I understand that being from the districts, you must be eager to try our food! But we'll wait for Myrddin."

He glared at her and her leperous polka dots. She was new this year; her ignorant head hadn't yet comprehended that her tributes were people and not dogs—if she were even capable of such complex understanding. What did she call herself again? He hadn't caught her name during the Reaping; he'd been far too busy thinking about what he'd do to that bastard that had dared shove him on his way in. Who did the kid think he was anyway? Either way, the escort's name eluded him. Maybe he'd call her Leper Lady.

But that couldn't take him mind off of the food. A platter of steak kebabs beckoned from its spot near his own sadly empty plate. A heaping pile of what looked like mashed potatoes tempted him from beside the flowers. Bacon-wrapped ocean delicacies called his name from the opposite end of the table, where his district partner sat properly, with her hands folded in her lap. What was her name? Azolla? Wasn't that the name of an aquatic weed?

"Hey," Azolla said, lifting her eyes like a beat-up puppy. Even given the circumstances, she still smiled, albeit sadly.

Navarro snarled. "What do you want."

"Nothing. Sorry." She quickly looked away, just the way he liked it. A satisfied chill ran up his spine.

Leper Lady frowned and raised her hands in protest. "Tributes! We're a team, so let's all work together, alright?" She turned to Azolla. "Don't mind him. He's just grumpy because he hasn't eaten; that's all!"

With an incensed growl, he kicked under the table, satisfied when the side of his shoe brushed by her leg and she shrieked. It's what she deserved for being such a stuck-up harridan. He glared at Azolla too, for good measure. There wasn't a single thing strong or interesting about her plain, huddled figure, yet everyone seemed to dote on her, from Leper Lady to the mayor to the Peacekeepers. Good thing she still kept her head bowed, else he might be tempted to give her a good kick too.

They were worthless. One of them a babbling buffoon, the other one a scraggly shrimp. And he knew that he couldn't be like them, all talk and sugar rainbows without anything worth anyone's time, without the strength and success to prove their value in the world. But was he really worth anyone's time? Or was he cannon fodder, destined to fall for the victory and glory of others?

He grit his teeth. Judging by past performances from District Four, he'd be cannon fodder. And that only infuriated him more.

The door to the next car slid open, and in came Myrddin O'Halloran, victor of the 209th Hunger Games over thirty years ago, dressed in a weathered trench coat whose collar brush against his salt-and-pepper beard. The man's stern gaze instantly landed on him. Navarro narrowed his eyes, refusing to look away. Myrddin pressed his lips together and frowned.

"You're here!" Leper Lady clapped her hands and gave Navarro a wide smile, about as sincere as a rat. "Now you may help yourself to the food."

Even with permission granted, he held back from the food until he saw the others move first, just to prove that he wasn't just a starved animal that could be easily bought with food. She evidently didn't notice and he sighed, gnawing on a kebab.

Myrddin wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. "This year's a bit strange for us with the murder and all, so I hope you'll be patient."

Azolla nodded. Navarro kept his face impassive, appraising the man.

He continued. "I'll be mentoring Azolla, and Avisa will mentor Navarro."

"Then where's Avisa? Shouldn't she be here?" Navarro said, scowling. Didn't they know it was his life on the line?

The man gave him a warning look. "She's in the Capitol right now. Things haven't been easy for her, so recommend you calm down."

"But things won't be easy for us if we don't have our mentors."

"Child, you'll meet her in the Capitol. Relax." Myrddin chuckled, but it held no hint of warmth. "But being mentored is a privilege, not a right. You'd do well to remember that."

Navarro smoldered. He was not a child, and he was sick of being treated as one. "You can't just—"

"Oh yes we can." Myrddin gently rested his fork on his plate to look directly at Navarro. He tilted his head with a polite smile, yet his eyes spoke of tumult buried deep beneath his calm exterior, much like the ocean itself. "We're required to assign a mentor, but there's no rule for what a mentor has to do. And with this attitude… you won't have a good time with Avisa. She's a feisty one."

There was nothing for Navarro to say. He slouched in his chair and crossed his arms, nostrils flaring and lip shaking. With all words irrelevant, he refused to break eye contact, his last line of offense. What were they going to do? Just let him die?

Myrddin's gaze didn't let up. "Are we clear?"

Navarro grunted. "Sure."

"It's your life on the line; you choose what you think best." He returned to his food and served himself a pile of mashed potatoes, as if nothing had happened at all.

Navarro found himself still glaring at the mentor, yet the mentor paid him no attention. He rested his elbow loudly on the table and swished his shoe against the table. Leper Lady rolled her eyes. Azolla flinched. Myrddin ate unperturbed.

So he sighed and dug back into the food on his plate with a large bite of orange chicken, though the bacon-wrapped seafood kept teasing him from the opposite end of the table, out of his reach—and he wasn't about to ask them to pass it over.

"Um," Azolla said. She lifted the plate and extended it to him, arms unsteady but eyes kind. "Did you want some?"

He frowned.

"I'm sorry—I couldn't help but notice that you were looking at it, and I thought that maybe you wanted some?"

An adamant "No!" rose in his throat, yet the smell filled his nose and his stomach screamed "Yes!" and he couldn't resist, no matter how much he clenched his fists or decided he hated this foolish girl. He clenched his teeth and picked two bacon-wrapped scallops off the plate, refusing to make contact with those ridiculously soft eyes that felt like they could descale his defenses as easily as a fish.

Yet in the corner of his vision, he caught a glimpse of her smile. And he hated it. He hated the way she smiled when he glared, submitted when he fought back, sat in peace when he raged.

But most of all, he hated himself.

So worthless.


A/N If you're on discord, then you already know that the pre-Games are set in stone, the arcs are finalized, and the Games arc is virtually finished. So that means I can write without worrying about how everything will come together, which means (hopefully) faster updates?

I hope y'all enjoyed our time with Virginia, Zeph, Sos, and Navarro, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!