Train Rides I
Akiara Ito, 16
Tribute Train, July 4th A.D.D.
Things had not gone according to plan. Never in a million years did Akiara expect to be chosen for the Quarter Quell. She had been handpicked by Matchmaker because of her supposed romantic compatibility. As if.
As the train rumbled under her feet, Akiara couldn't help but feel like she had already failed. Sure, she was she trained, but she was still only 16. That was 24 months of training she was missing out on. 24 more months to perfect her skills and memorize everything she possibility could. She wanted to be prepared for anything in the Arena because Akiara Ito would be the victor of the Hunger Games.
But now, a statement that once seemed so assured was now called into question. Akiara felt like her wings had been clipped. It was the worst-case scenario. Her years of training had value of course, but she never trained for something like romance. That sort of thing came naturally to a lot of people in District 1, but never for her. Akiara kept going over and over it in her head. Why would she of all people be chosen? And HOW was she supposed to be in love with Junia Allaire?
Of all the people she could have been paired with, of course it had to be him. Of course. Just three days ago, Akiara remembered the little interaction with him where she denied his advances. Junia was everything she wasn't, and now, she was stuck with him until the end.
Upon this thought, she glanced over in his direction. His attention had been on the large TV screen taking up an entire wall of the train compartment. But, as if she had triggered an invisible alarm, Junia's head spun around and his golden eyes flashed at her as a smirk made its way onto his face. Akiara didn't have time to look away without him noticing despite her quick reflexes. Junia seemed shallow but there was something more underneath that glittering visage. In actuality, he housed a startling intellect paired with lightning fast reflexes and charisma to match.
It wasn't an overstatement to say that Junia Allaire was the most dangerous person in the room, and that was counting the two victors who sat on a plush velvet couch across from Junia.
Cleopatra Bertinelli and Augustus Braun were the mentors in rotation for this Games, and Akiara was grateful that both of them had been able to take the Capitol by storm. Augustus was the Capitol's golden boy, their prodigal son. There was nothing he couldn't do, nothing that stained his image. Cleopatra on the other hand had started a successful make-up brand that became an instant success. Her products were everywhere in both the Capitol and District 1. Akiara had never bought the stuff herself, but still appreciated how nice it could look.
She wasn't pleased with her situation, but she wasn't about to give up. Akiara Ito would still win the Hunger Games. Adaptation was what she needed, and she needed to do it fast. She was hoping the mentors would expedite the process, but as she knew from her reading, successful adaptation in nature took years, years that she didn't have.
Since boarding the train, Akiara had mostly kept herself in her quarters. She needed some time to herself and to process everything that had happened. Being Reaped meant she was thrown into the hurricane of glamor and attention that District 1 cooked up every year. It got overwhelming very quickly.
Yet another disadvantage she was at was her lack of mental preparation. Usually, tributes had months to prepare themselves for volunteering. Akiara valued having an appropriate mental state for whatever activity she was undertaking. For her, a strong mental state and focus was the difference that often gave her the edge over her peers.
Currently, her mental state was a wreck. She had no time to prepare for going into the Games, no time to process everything that she needed to do in order to achieve victory. Goodbyes had come and gone in a flash, and now, she wished that Jasper had been there. Akiara's biggest regret was not saying a proper goodbye to her little corgi. She thought she would have seen him minutes after the Reapings, running into her arms upon returning.
Akiara would never get the chance to truly say goodbye if she died in that Arena. Jasper would probably run outside at the time she usually came home every day, only to find no one. Maybe he would repeat the routine every day, and it would always be the same. He would never be able to jump into Akiara's arms ever again.
These thoughts were exactly the kind of thing she would have been able to avoid with proper mental preparation. She had to get a hold of herself. As it stood, Akiara figured she had about a 30% chance of winning the Hunger Games, and with her current state, it would probably be lower.
That percentage needed to be 100%, she needed it to be. But there were too many variables, too many flaws in her best laid plans.
She chanced a glance back at Junia. If he was going through something similar, he didn't show it. Akiara cursed herself for already being at a disadvantage. Was this how the tributes in other districts felt like when they were Reaped? If so, it almost made her sympathetic. This was a feeling of anxiety and unpreparedness that she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.
Well, that wasn't true; she wished it on Junia, because him being potentially on a level above her pissed her off to no end. All that studying and prep, and she had lost the mental game to a spiritual loser with a savior-complex.
Akiara's thoughts continued to spiral as all senses evaporated, dissolved into the train's movement.
POP.
She was instantly jolted out of her tumult at the sound that could only be one thing. The escort of District 1, Babylon Blaevian, was staring at her, having just popped a bubble of gum in front of her face.
Babylon was fitted in an all pink dress, with a variety of shades that made the ensemble completely atrocious. The woman was known for her constant chewing of gum, and of course, her tendency to blow and pop bubbles.
"Akiaraaa, the recaps are about to start!" Babylon trilled in her ear. Akiara flinched instinctively and resisted the urge to slap Babylon in the face. It was so frustrating that her usually observant senses couldn't even pick up a flamboyant mess of a human being, if she could even be classified as that.
"Right, sorry," Akiara muttered. Junia turned to grin at her.
"Lost in thought Miss Ito?"
"Not lost, just in thought," she shot back. Junia shrugged and turned away.
Cleopatra sighed, glancing at Akiara. Her bronze skin was accented perfectly by the flecks of gold and blue make-up that adorned her face. "We have got to work on your charm, darling."
Akiara felt her legs shake, knowing they wanted to take her away and back to her room. Instead, she forced them to stand and sit on the couch opposite the victors. Next to Junia.
He was leaning back on the admittedly comfortable cushions, seemingly relaxed. Akiara made a point to sit up straight and keep her posture from slacking. Years of training as an archer and violinist had contributed her to expertise in poise.
"Let's see what we're working with," Junia said as he turned his attention to the screen. "With us first of course."
That's right. She would have to watch her own reaction to the Reapings. The thought horrified her. What had she looked like? Did she look scared? Angry? Lost? Confused?
Calm down, she thought to herself. Akiara took a short breath and pulled out a small notebook she had been holding onto. Maybe some analysis of the competition was exactly what she needed to steady herself.
The Reapings began, and she watched her expression flash with shock before hardening into a neutral expression. Akiara couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief. It could have been a lot worse. Cleopatra must have been thinking the same thing because she gave a slight nod at the screen. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Then Junia appeared on screen. He looked calm yet confident, suave yet humble. His charisma was already oozing through the screen. It was like he was born camera ready.
"Ooo what a handsome, scrumptious man," Babylon exclaimed after popping another bubble.
Junia flashed his smile at her and softly said, "You have excellent taste Ms. Blaevian." Akiara didn't have to look around to know that Babylon had flushed a deeper shade than her monstrous garment.
"Everyone is gonna love you," she giggled.
Akiara wanted to throw a book at her, and she knew exactly which one. 1000 Fantastic Flora was appropriately sized with around 1,294 pages. The hardcover copy would be essential.
Junia shifted on the couch again and she made sure to stay focused on the TV. She could feel his eyes boring through the back of her head. Was he trying to make her jealous?
For the first time that day, Akiara smiled. She scribbled down on her notepad as the District 1 recap concluded. The announcers had commented on Junia's charisma and Akiara's quietude, but her confidence was finally returning.
She looked down at her finished note, making sure Junia had no way of seeing it.
Junia Allaire (District 1):
-Overconfident, can be exploited
-Thinks his charms will work on everyone
-They don't (ex: Akiara Ito)
Rampart Szajko, 16
Tribute Train, July 4th A.D.D.
It felt like time was completely frozen, and yet, the train kept barreling onward, and no amount of wishing would make it stop.
The past couple months had been some of the worst in Rampart's life, but it seemed like the worst was yet to come. The only solace they had was that Jericho had returned to them.
Rampart was sitting very still at a dinner table by themselves, staring at the far side of the train compartment where the whole wall was lined in a spectacular buffet. There were so many colors and so many food items that they didn't even know the name of. It was a stark contrast to the grey-blues of District 3 and the simple food they and Jericho were able to scrounge up.
But, it seemed like Jericho was taking the transition far easier than they were. The rabid boy was moving back and forth along the buffet, piling up a variety of items onto his plate. Rampart was worried that the plate might tip over from the weight, so they opened their mouth, but no words came out. Ever since the Reaping, Rampart had a hard time finding words. Everything in their head was sparking wildly, as if powerlines had suddenly snapped and plunged into an unforgiving sea.
It really shouldn't be such a shock that Jericho was acting like nothing was wrong, but the situation was just…so otherworldly that Rampart couldn't feel like they were even there. It was like they were watching the world as a series of moving pictures that moved so fast that it seemed real, but there was something wrong about it.
In fact, everything felt off since the moment the bomb exploded. Rampart couldn't believe that they let themself get talked into it, but they had to admit, it did feel vindicative. But were the consequences worth it? Logically, it seemed not. For months Rampart had been alone, spending most of their time in the factory just scraping by. No Jericho. Nothing, not one word or sign in all those months.
Why did you leave me?
Jericho had absolutely come back to the factory; there was plain evidence of his return. He was usually so easy to follow, but Rampart never found him again. Did he get caught by Peacekeepers? No, otherwise Jericho's execution would have been announced by the Peacekeepers. Rampart made sure to keep tabs on the criminals and executions. Every day was miserable, a daily check to see if their friend was about to be murdered.
But, Jericho never appeared. It seemed as though he had vanished into thin air, unable to be tracked by the Peacekeepers…or by Rampart. They tried to rationalize that he was just laying low, but that became increasingly unlikely as the months went by. After all that, had he died in some accident?
Or even worse, did you leave me?
The fear of abandonment set in quickly. And days turned into weeks which turned to months, and Rampart was devastated by the thought of learning a new lesson.
In the end, everyone leaves you.
Rampart had even told Jericho to wait for them. Why didn't he, if not to leave them? Was he mad at them for not being able to keep up on the roof? Maybe that was understandable. After all, it was their fault they were even in danger. They were just dragging down Jericho, and they didn't want him to get caught too if things came to that.
Little did Rampart know that the divide between buildings was about to be between them, potentially forever.
They remembered scaling the ladder, and slicing their finger on crudely cut metal. The slick blood caused their ring to slip off, but they couldn't stop. They had to keep moving.
Rampart only found respite in a dumpster, which they stayed in for days. They survived off of whatever food was in the dumpster and surrounding area. By the time they made it back, they were sick, hungry, and dehydrated. Their only comfort was seeing Jericho again. But of course, he was nowhere to be found.
After all that, who would have thought that the two of them would be reunited by being handpicked for the Quarter Quell?
Rampart certainly wouldn't have thought. If anything the Reaping was opportunity to maybe try to find Jericho in the crowd. But, if it was as they feared and he didn't want to be found, it would have been like trying to find a speck of dust in a snowstorm.
It turned out that it wouldn't be that hard, with Jericho's face being projected onto a screen for all to see.
Seeing Jericho's face again made Rampart feel like they had received a jolt of electricity to their brain. It had been so long since they'd seen each other, and here he was, on stage next to them, then shaking their hand wildly with a stupid grin on his face.
Wow your hand is warm!
Jericho didn't seem bothered by anything that was happening, but to Rampart, the world was spinning rapidly and they couldn't move. The Peacekeepers had to drag them to stage after all.
There were just too many feelings to process. Excitement, fear, horror, sadness, longing. Rampart just wanted to stop and think, but ever since the Reapings, things had moved too fast. And now they were barreling towards their future, their deaths on this metallic harbinger of death.
Now that Rampart was able to sit and at least attempt to think clearly, they wondered why on earth they had been chosen out of all the people in District 3. Was it because they blew up the school? Was this punishment administered by those at the very, very top of the ladder? Or, was it because the Matchmaker had thought them romantically compatible.
They couldn't even begin to sort through how they felt about that part. This Quell twist was based entirely around romance, and they and Jericho were just friends…so why were they picked?
Although, it was true that Jericho had a crush on them for a while now. Jericho was never very good at hiding his feelings like that, but he never pushed them for anything more, so Rampart just pretended they did not see it. They were too scared of what addressing what those feelings could mean, so they just made sure to not even try to figure out how they felt about it either.
But now, survival might hinge upon falling in love. Love…what did that even mean? It was all too much, too much all at once.
Rampart found their eyes focusing on Jericho as he happily shoveled food from the buffet directly into his mouth. The escort had long vacated the dining car, completely disgusted by Jericho. If the situation was different, maybe Rampart would have laughed, but now they were scared that feeling anything would just make them cry again.
After Jericho shook their hand on stage, he pulled them into a tight hug, and Rampart just started crying. What else could they do? They were in Jericho's arms after so much time. The two of them hadn't been separated since they met for the first time, and now they were reunited.
But the world was cruel, so of course they were reunited under the banner of death—brutal, public death.
As Rampart sat there, lost in a web of thoughts, ifs, maybes, and whys, a woman appeared to their left, leaning on the table.
Modelica Lovelace, the Victor of the 34th Hunger Games. She had midnight black hair in a long, full ponytail. She was dressed in blueish-green bellbottoms and had lots of dangling earrings, necklaces, and accessories. Her shirt was practically nonexistent. It reminded Rampart of the lingerie they saw all the woman at the brothel wear. In fact, the woman oozed seductiveness, and she did remind Rampart very much of all the woman who bullied them and their mother.
"You haven't touched your food, hun," she said in a silky deep tone. "Trust me, it's good to pack on a few pounds before the Games. You'll regret it if you don't."
Rampart forced themself to nod, but avoided eye contact, still looking at Jericho. He was now nearly climbing over the buffet table to reach a chocolate fountain in the back.
From what they knew, Modelica was very atypical of the usual District 3 tribute. She dressed extravagantly and scantily, while also being very aware of "poise" and what Rampart figured all the teachers at school had tried to force them into. But, Modelica also dressed like that and didn't seem necessarily bound to rules of politeness. After the escort had been acting obnoxious, Modelica had banished her with effortless yet cutting sarcasm.
If she was going to be their mentor, Rampart had no idea what to expect.
Modelica followed Rampart's gaze over to Jericho.
"Mhm, yes we'll have a lot of work to do with that one." She leaned back and fold her arms. "I know it's unfortunate, but I'm your mentor this year for a reason. Do you think Wiress and Beetee could coach you through this mess of a Quell?"
Rampart certainly couldn't imagine that, but how were they and Jericho supposed to be appealing and romantic if they couldn't?
"I have rather extensive experience with the Capitol. I know what they like, what makes them tick, and I also know the Matchmaker," she said, checking her nails. That got their attention.
"The Matchmaker?" they said in a whisper.
"Yes, he's a real piece of work I'm afraid."
Rampart looked back at Jericho again, who was now taking cupcakes completely coated in chocolate. They wanted to smile desperately, but there were so many fears and doubts in their mind that they couldn't manage. Jericho was right here, right in front of them. They couldn't be happier to him again, but with such trials ahead, the doubts reached their cold, skeletal hands around Rampart's beating heart.
Remember Rampart, everyone leaves in the end.
Makara Opras, 17
Tribute Train, July 4th A.D.D.
Makara had gone to bed the previous night not worried for the Reapings. She had a good showing in training and was completely unbothered by the promise of the Reaping the next day. Why would the Capitol ever take interest in her?
Why indeed.
She had never been on a train before, and very quickly she decided she preferred the gentle lapping of the ocean current against a simple wooden boat. This roaring mechanical box was not calming or inviting in the slightest.
In fact, everything about the train was foreign to her. But out of all the luxuries that seemed otherworldly, having servants was by far the most uncomfortable. Makara was so used to doing things for her family: setting the table, getting dinner ready, cleaning the house. All duties she did without complaining. She was happy to make sure the house was nice for her father and her brothers to come home to.
But now? Silent figures moved around the train like red shadows, taking care of her needs before she could even anticipate them. At first she insisted that she didn't need to be served, but their escort, Aquarius, looked so abhorred at the thought that she thought it best to let it go. Fitting into the Capitol would likely be an essential part of survival, if Katniss and Peeta's success was any indication.
And then of course, there was the fact of being Reaped itself. The moment she saw her face appear onscreen, she felt a seed of worry spread through her. But, there was a slight bit of excitement there. The scars from Brizo ran deep, and there was a part of her that hoped that she would be matched with someone she could love.
Makara didn't want to judge someone harshly based on first impressions, but her supposed Match was not promising.
Tahoe Cuero, a girl much more muscular and taller than she, was sitting across from her at a circular table. Makara hadn't heard of the girl before, so she didn't think that she was big on training for the Games. That fact alone was worrisome. Even more worrisome was the fact that she was...well…a girl. After Brizo, Makara was not interested in dating another girl. They were too dramatic, too fiery, and Makara was looking forward to a potential mellow man to get to know. Tahoe was neither mellow nor a man.
Also sitting at the table was none other than Finnick Odair. It was fitting that the Capitol's sex symbol would be guiding them through a romance. While he seemed flashy and arrogant, he had won his games rather decisively (and the youngest ever to win), so Makara figured that his advice would invaluable during the coming days.
Finnick brushed a hand through and sandy hair and looked back and forth between them.
"I know both of you are probably processing a lot right now, but I know my way around the Games, both inside and out."
Makara focused her eyes and met his, taking in his sea-green eyes. They reminded her of home. She missed it so much already. How had so much changed in only a few hours?
Finnick smiled. "And, romance happens to be a specialty of mine."
"That's certainly one way to describe it," Tahoe scoffed. She did not look very happy. It was understandable. They had just said spoken to their families for potentially the last time, and now they were faced with Hunger Games and the added factor of falling in love with someone they had just met.
"Yes, well, you may not like it, but the Capitol is very excited for this deviation. You saw how they reacted to the patented star-crossed lovers."
Makara nodded. Katniss and Peeta's romance was incredibly compelling. If she and Tahoe could replicate even a smidgen of that level of love, maybe things would be ok.
Tahoe made a face. "Did you really buy that? I didn't. I mean, it's great that it got them out of the Games. But love? I didn't see it."
Such bluntness was foreign to Makara. She figured that her face must have lost a bit of composure because Tahoe just shrugged at her. To her surprise, Finnick laughed.
"A critical eye? Well at least you're thinking strategy." He leaned forward. "It doesn't matter whether it's real or not. What matters is how it's perceived. How people perceive you is the difference between life and death in the Hunger Games."
Like it or not, he was right. Finnick won his games at 14 largely thanks to the expensive sponsor gift of a trident. It made killing the rest of the tributes quick work. But, being charming and likable to that degree wasn't Makara's area. She was smart and good in a fight. Interpersonal interaction was a weakness, and she hadn't even thought about how important it was to the Games until faced with competing in them. But it all made sense.
It was one of the things her family told her during goodbyes. One of three things actually. Each of her three brothers had wrapped her up a hug, and told her advice that could save her life. Clarion was the eldest and a naturally gifted salesman. He had leaned in and told her the first of 3 principles she promised to keep in mind throughout the Games.
To make it far, you need allies, both within the Games and outside the Games. And making allies comes with being approachable. Promise me, promise you'll make an effort to be more approachable. I know it sucks, but to secure the deal, you have to sacrifice a bit of yourself to give people what they want.
Sacrifice. Makara knew all about that. Three years of her youth were gone to Brizo, and those three years were spent giving everything to someone who didn't give anything back. If she could get through that, then she could try this "approachable" thing.
Next, Davit had come in. He was the mechanic, always good at fixing the boats and anything that went wrong with their business. Makara took after him with being a good puzzle solver; she just hoped she could come up with solutions as fast as him.
Remember, there is a solution to every problem. Nothing is unfixable. There is always a way forward, even if it doesn't seem like it.
This one would be a bit harder to follow. For years she tried to fix her relationship with Brizo, but it ultimately never worked. There wasn't a way forward there, and things ended without resolution. Makara just had to hope that things in the Games wouldn't be like that, that she would be able to find solutions to any obstacle in her path. Even if that obstacle came in the form of a girl named Tahoe.
Lastly, Fram had looked at her with sad, yet earnest eyes. He clasped her hands and told her what wasn't really advice, but it was still important, at least to her.
I wish you the best of luck, even if that means there's none left for me.
Fram was a talented sailor, but he always said he owed it all to luck. He was just a lucky guy, somehow getting out of perilous situations that he put himself in. It worried her how careless he would be, but things always turned out ok, somehow. If he had really wished all his luck to her, maybe she would make it home. But where would that leave him? Makara wasn't sure if she believed in something like that, but she believed in her brother, so she hoped that his luck would bring her back to him.
Because of everyone's busy schedules, she didn't see a lot of her brothers, but this advice meant everything to her. She would try her best to adhere to it. It almost like they were there with her. Not quite, but almost.
Finnick continued, "But, you need to have the skills to talk the talk and walk the walk. So, what kind of physical skills do you have."
"I'm fast, and pretty skilled against opponents that look stronger than me," Makara said matter-of-factly. Finnick nodded.
"So I've heard. Pike told me that just yesterday you made bit of a fool out of one of the more talented boys."
Makara nodded, bowing her head slightly. Finnick smiled. "Good, that'll be a big asset." He turned to Tahoe. "And you?"
Tahoe shifted uncomfortable before answering.
"I'm a fast swimmer."
Silence.
"Oh and I'm decent with a harpoon gun."
More silence. Not good.
It had seemed Makara's suspicions were correct. This girl had not had much training, if at all. That meant that it would fall on Makara's shoulders to carry them through combat if it came down to it. Of course, things would only get really bad if they had to go up against a pair from One or Two. So, it seemed like the right strategy would be to stick with the usual alliance with the Ones and Twos and try not to split up the pack. They hadn't watched the recaps yet, but Makara was praying that their potential allies were competent and at least of average intelligence. If the tributes from the 74th Games were any indication though, her prayers might fall on deaf ears.
Finnick sat back in his chair. "Ok, we can try to follow up with that later. Swimming is a useful skill, but only if the arena has water. If the arena does have a lot of water, it'll give both of you the advantage."
"I think for now though, we should try to focus on the two of you and getting you more acquainted."
Makara locked eyes with Tahoe. She recalled how they had shaken hands at the Reapings, both of them trying desperately not to show apprehension. It was hard to read Tahoe right now, which worried her. What dangers could possibly be lurking beneath those waters?
There was only one way to find out.
Solana Parhelion, 18
Tribute Train, July 4th A.D.D.
Never in a million years did she suspect that the one and only Solana Parhelion would be Reaped for the Hunger Games. And yet, here she was, sitting in her barely adequate quarters awaiting the call for dinner.
Solana would have loved to just leave, but unfortunately, her foolish mentor had put her in "time-out." Who the fuck would dare put her in time out? Well her name was Porter something-something and Solana didn't give a single fuck about her. Who was she to exercise her will over her like that?
She huffed, pacing around the room a few times before flinging open the wardrobe. There was a massive selection, and Solana was surprised to see that a lot of it fit her tastes.
Without hesitating a single beat, she began rapidly combing through the various dresses, shirts, blouses, and accessories. She would find the perfect dinner dress and she would look hotter than everyone else in the room. Especially Eulalia. Yes…especially her.
The truth of the situation hadn't quite set in for Solana yet. When she saw her and Eulalia's photos projected (she looked stunning by the way, Eulalia looked like fucking garbage), she thought it was just a big joke. Let's play a prank on Solana! That's what the Capitol must have been thinking, surely. There was absolutely, positively, undoubtably, certainly no way that she would have been chosen for a Quell such as this. And with Eulalia? No, not a chance.
But, as everyone turned and stared at her (admittedly, as they should), it became clear that this was not a joke and the Games were her future. Dying was one thing. Dying with Eulalia was another thing entirely. Solana wondered if it would be worth killing herself just to take Eulalia out too. But, she refused to die at the same time as Eulalia. No mam, there had to be a way to get that bitch away from her. There had to be.
Solana scowled, growing bored with her fashion escapade already. She slammed the wardrobe closed and strutted over to a button on the side of her room. Her finger jabbed into it, pressing it over and over again. A euphoric ding! accompanied each press.
She continued to press until her door opened and tired looking person dressed all in red entered the room. They had short, dark hair and were dressed in distressingly ugly red clothes. This individual was an avox, a mute servant to attend her every whim.
This particular avox had been summoned to Solana's room at least 10 times in the last hour alone, but she was hardly aware or considerate of this person. They were servants, nothing more.
"Oh good, you're here!" Solana said, waving the avox in. "I need you to start pulling out any golden dresses in that wardrobe, pronto!"
It was nice talking to someone who didn't talk back. There was no need to speak in the presence of a woman such as herself. Her sonorous tone should be enough for everyone.
"I want to look marvelously stunning for dinner tonight. Since I've been made a prisoner in my own quarters, I want to spend the time to make them all regret it." She flipped her hair dramatically, but the avox was already going through the wardrobe and pulling out some dresses.
"No, no put that one away. Absolutely not," she barked as the avox took a hideous golden number out. The dress needed to be perfect. She would enter the dining car looking like a dream, too good to be true.
Too good to be true.
Only a few hours ago, her beautifully crystalline world had cracked and nearly shattered, all thanks to her good-for-nothing father.
Solana tried to get lost in the glittering garments that were flowing into the bed, but her father's words kept jolting her out of her gilded dream.
Everything about you has always been…too much.
"You know, who's an absolute whore?" she asked the avox. They didn't respond.
"My father. Who does he think he is, telling me lies, telling me that I'm not stunning." She stood up and glared at the avox.
"I am stunning."
The avox nodded furiously, eyes wide with…admiration! Yes, that was it. Admiration. Everyone should look at her with admiration and awe, not the downcast, guilty, downturned gaze of her father.
He was the only person who came to visit her. The only person who had always cheered her on, defended her against the world, poured money into everything, all for her.
Solana had been insistent that she would easily win the Hunger Games. The Capitol would love her too much, maybe so much that she wouldn't even be sent into the Games. She had looked at her father for affirmation, but instead looked into sunken eyes that were glazed with guilt.
I'm so sorry sweetie…
For what? Everything is perfectly splendid.
Everything was fine, everything was splendid. But her father looked at her, and she could have sworn she saw the color of his eyes fade into darkness.
I don't think you'll be coming home, and I don't think you have much of a chance…but I'm proud of you anyway. I love you Solana.
What on earth are you talking about?
For once in my life, I have to be honest with you. You don't have what it takes. You never have. And I am truly sorry for facilitating this life…this façade that I helped you construct. I thought I was protecting you from yourself, but I just ruined you more.
His words had set in, and she screamed at him, told him to leave, told him that she would never see him again. He told her she was right about that part and left without another word.
Everything after that felt like Solana was sliding down a steep hill, barely catching the details around her and she kept barreling down, unable to grasp anything.
It was the flash of the cameras at the train station that finally jolted her out of her fall. In the flashes and faces of the crowd, she found herself again. Her world wasn't a lie. Everything about her was perfect, and the world would know it too.
Solana swore to herself, as she struck pose after pose to let herself be embalmed in time, swore that she would prove her father wrong, swore that she would put on a show for all the world to see. Yes, all of Panem would soon know the truth. Solana Parhelion was the most stunning creature on the face of the earth, and no one could compete with her splendor.
A short while later, Solana was truly dressed to kill. She looked herself over in the full body mirror in the bathroom. The dress was absolutely gorgeous, fit for a queen such as herself. It glittered spectacularly in the light and as it moved, it seemed like glitter was moving in waves across the skirt and bodice. And of course, there had to be a nice slit in the side to show off her legs.
Just as she put the finishing touches on her make-up, there was a knock at the door. Solana rolled her eyes and continued touching up her eyeshadow.
"Solana, if you're in there, we're going to have dinner in a few minutes," called Porter from the hallway.
Solana finished touching her face up and posed in the mirror. She was certain to turn heads at dinner.
"I hope you can behave yourself. We have a lot to discuss." The sound of footsteps grew faint afterwards. Solana huffed.
"Porter whatever-her-face," she hissed. "Just wait until she sees how pathetic she looks compared to me." Her reflection beamed at her, and that was all the affirmation needed.
Once she put some golden heels on, Solana wasted no time exiting her quarters. She strutted the whole way to the dining car. Time for her grand entrance.
She blasted through doors confidently, tossing her hair as she did so. How you make an entrance sets the entire mood for the room, and Solana wanted everyone to know who was the most gorgeous, the most spectacular girl under the sun.
Her eyes surveyed the room. It was opulently decorated with beautiful golden chandeliers. The table was polished wood of the highest quality, and a bouquet of white roses served as the centerpiece. Expensive-looking utensils, plates, and glasses were peppered throughout, each concentrated on an area in which of the attendees was sitting.
Solana noticed that the chair closest to her was at the head of the table, so she didn't hesitate to slide elegantly into her seat. As she moved to sit, her dress snagged on the arm of chair and there was brief ripping noise. Someone at the table scoffed.
She didn't flinch, keeping her smile plastered for the others to see. And there, sitting at the other end of the table across from her, was Eulalia Lux. She was still dressed in that horrid black coat that she loved so much. How dreadful that she would choose to wear such a garment to a feast such as this?
Eulalia had a smirk on her face though. Her eyes met Solana's and for a moment, there was no sound, no breathing, just the two staring each other down.
"Ahem," said a woman to Solana's right. Titania was her name, and she was the escort for District 5. She was dressed in a spacious emerald green dress that had a pair of fairy-like wings attached to the back. They were so large that Titania had that entire side of the table to herself.
And even worse, Titania always wore a crown on her head. Sickening. There was only one queen here, and it certainly wasn't that mess of a person.
To Solana's left sat the two mentors, Porter and Staffon. Porter looked tired and Staffon looked…quite wasted. They were both aging poorly in Solana's opinion. With access to the Capitol's resources, it shouldn't be that hard to stay looking fresh. It wasn't that hard to just moisturize.
Porter looked at Solana and then to Eulalia with a weary smile.
"I hope we can move on from the earlier events of today and be civil for dinner. It would do us all some good."
"Certainly, I'll behave if she does," Eulalia stated gruffly, folding her arms.
"Behave? You? Be my guest, but I think you'll find it hard. Animals aren't very good at being so poised," Solana sneered.
"Both of you, enough." Porter rubbed her temples. She looked just about fed up, and they hadn't even starting eating yet.
Shortly after they departed the train station, Solana and Eulalia had gotten into quite the battle. They were throwing daggers woven from words at each other, back and forth for what seemed like hours. Emotions were running high, and after Porter was unable to diffuse the situation, she sentenced them to their rooms. It was humiliating, but Porter was surprisingly strong. Solana tried to break free of her grasp but found it quite impossible.
This was the first time the two girls had seen each other since that incident, and the tension was already simmering. Solana and Eulalia weren't strangers to tense dinners; they'd both been a part of many over the past few months. Their fathers arranged the dinners to try to make peace, but the dinners never went well. Not once.
Silence fell upon the table, but only for a moment, as Staffon started hacking up his drink. The man couldn't hold his drink it seemed. How unsightly.
As if on cue, orchestral music started playing throughout the compartment. Solana figured it was supposed to set the mood, but no feast could be scrumptious as long as Eulalia was tainting the atmosphere. That girl truly was an incurable disease.
"How nice, now we won't have to hear you talk so loudly," Eulalia said, tilting her head and staring right at Solana.
"I really don't understand how you live like that, listening to yourself day and day out. It must be miserable having to listen to your disappointing tone constantly," Solana retorted.
Porter rapped her knuckle on the table rather harshly. "Enough. Please, for your own sake. If this is all you do we won't have any time to talk strategy."
"Oh yes, let's talk strategy," Eulalia drawled.
"I won't be needing one of those, so we can stop this conversation right now." Solana smiled sweetly. Porter turned to look at her with a raised brow.
"Then what exactly are you going to do?"
"Oh, I don't think I'll be entering the Games. The Capitol will surely see that they've made some sort of mistake matching me with her. I find it rather rude that I've been confused with whatever rat is her one true love. If she has one."
Eulalia breathed in deeply. "We're going to fucking die aren't we."
"Oh I won't, but I don't think your chances are very high!" Solana blew a kiss at her from across the table.
"How stupid are you? For fuck's sake…" Eulalia leaned back in her chair and glared at Solana. "You. Are. Going. To. Die. Get that through your ugly mug will you?"
"Oh look, dinner is served!" Porter interrupted with relief as a group of servants brought plates and plates into the room.
Lamb chops, chicken breast, gravy, and all assortments of food were dished up. It was a rather impressive display, maybe fit for a princess, but not for a queen.
Still, Solana admitted to herself that she was rather hungry. So, she and the others began eating in silence.
She looked up from cutting through her food to see Eulalia glaring at her, aggressively skewering meat on her plate. Solana responded according, shredding through her own portion with a dreadful scrape as her knife dragged across the plate. Everyone in the room flinched.
After a few minutes of this back and forth, Porter tried, in vain, to strike up conservation.
"So, what do you two think the Capitol is going to be like?"
"Oh I think the Capitol will absolutely love me," Solana schmoozed.
"No, I don't think they will," Eulalia responded with a terrible smile before ripping into a chicken breast.
"Eulalia," Porter sighed.
Solana breathed deeply, clutching her fork until her knuckles went white.
"Why don't you go break your spine again?" Eulalia swished her gaze directly at Porter, whose mouth slightly dropped open. After Porter won her Games, she had to wear a brace due to a severe spinal injury she sustained during the finale.
"Why don't you break yours? Personally I think you'd look much better with a broken spine," Solana shot back at Eulalia.
Eulalia stood up fiercely, staring Solana down. She did the same, but knocked her plate off the table and it came crashing to the ground, shattering to tiny pieces on impact.
Suddenly, Staffon laughed.
"You're both going to die," he snorted. Then, he burped before lurching forward and vomiting across the entire table.
It was rather revolting, but a fitting summary of the horrible circumstances Solana found herself in. But, Solana Parhelion played to win, and she always got what she wanted.
And there we have it! The Tributes are on their way to the Capitol and it is an absolute disaster. A variety of dynamics are at play, some explosive, some simmering, and some just kinda sad. Which was your favorite ? Next time we'll be hitting more Train Rides with Brent, Haruki, Cyan, and Arys.
