A/N: Just two more Goodbye & Train chapters left after this one! :D We're revisiting the pastures of District Ten today, and we'll be learning more about Ms. Miriam Park and Mr. Rufus Braunvieh! :) Enjoy reading!
P.S. Miriam's is really, REALLY long because I pretty much accidentally wrote a whole Reaping AND a whole goodbye for her! Oops! XD I got caught up in writing her, but since most of you like her I'm guessing you guys won't mind my mess up xD
This is like insanely long, like 800 more words than the longest G&T chapter. I'm sorry XD
Trigger warnings: Profanity
Give up the Ghosts.
They know not of love,
the fragments of a memory that love knows not of.
Give up the Ghosts.
They know not of love.
I've been dancing alone all this time.
Give it up.
Give up the Ghosts.
Give up the Ghosts.
Give up the Ghosts.
Give up the Ghosts.
Yeah, the stress is coming out the walls
and down the halls,
through the chambers of this heart.
Fill the empty with the sands of time
and leave it all behind.
Miriam Park, 13
District 10 Female
The wheelchair clatters against the cobbles behind me. I walk a few paces ahead of my parents, holding my head high and sending anyone who looks my way, well, away, with a determined glare. I almost clear a small path in the sea of churning kids and parents heading towards the center of our District's capital, Pronge, for the main Reaping. When I got selected in the Preliminary, I just walked onto the stage. No hysterics, no shaking hands, no barely held in tears, no rattling breaths. Prelim Reapings aren't anything. Sure, when you sit down and think about it they are, but in the moment they're just another celebration that happens in Latticeville. There's a parade and a carnival and everything, it's one of the biggest ceremonies in town, and I got to ride on a huge float in the parade with our town's male representative, the harrowingly shy-around-girls-even-if-they're-only-thirteen sixteen year old Chapton Scudd. Uh. Chapton. My bestie.
We drove with Chapton and his guardian, his unmarried Aunt Lorraine Reeves, to Pronge in their pickup since Dad's is still broken. We sneaked in Mom with us in her wheelchair; we don't have enough money for a sitter to watch her in case something goes wrong while Dad and I are away, and our only family, Uncle Jimmy, died a few years back from liver disease from drinking too much, in which he sapped our family funds, in turn eliminating the chance of curing Mom and getting a sitter to stay with her. It's all connected, see? So yeah. She came with us, and I can't say I'm sad about it.
No one said anything when they saw my mother, a pale scrap of a woman, curled in the wheelchair as my father, Chapton, his aunt, and myself stepped out of the pickup and got signed it at the city gates. They put huge fences around Pronge and Marrow after a stampede of a good hundred steers swept through Marrow a decade back and plowed through a good two dozen people and killed them. It also limits travel of those who live in the city, keeping people pent up to work in the huge slaughterhouse and meat packaging plants, much more polluted and cramped and unethical than the ones out near Latticeville where my father works and where I will probably end up working in the future. But yeah, anyway, my Mom came along. Chapton and his aunt are already at the square, having left early this morning. It took a while to get myself and Mom dressed and ready to go, so we're getting in a little later than Chapton
"Miriam. Slow down," my Dad barks. I'm now about ten yards in front of them, too far, having been walking faster and faster as I got caught up in sort of nervous thoughts. My Mom's been lulled to sleep by the murmur of the crowd and the warm summer air, and her head lolls to one side as she slumbers quietly. I fall back and stand next to my father. We pause for a moment, the crowd flowing fluidly around us like a body of running water, before moving forward. One of Dad's hands holds mine, and I feel like a little girl, but I don't care. At least I'm with him, I rarely get to see him, so I'll take every moment I can to be with him and Mom. His other hand is on the handles of the wheelchair, pushing Mom forward in her wheelchair, gripping it tightly.
Soon enough, too soon, we're at the square. Dad kisses me on the forehead, and Mom wakes up. Her papery white skin crinkles as she smiles weakly, and I pat her on the shoulder awkwardly, unable to do anything else really without hindering her or paining her. Then I break away from them, and as I wait in line to get my finger pricked so I can go to my pen, I watch them fade away into the crowd to stand with the other parents and guardians waiting for the Reaping to be over so they can take their son or daughter home and so they can get back to working and to the rest of their family.
Soon enough, I'm in the thirteen year old girl pen. I just stand there alone and let the other girls talk and flock and find random strangers to comfort them. I don't get how other girls do this, fawning over one another and talking in too-high voices and gossiping and twirling their dyed hair. I've never been that type of girl, and I don't think I ever could be.
My head snaps up as Oxen sits down and waves to the crowd, eliciting a good amounts of whistles and cheers. Unlike lots of Outlier Victors (pretty much all of them except Calla, the pair from Seven, and Unity), Oxen played hard and had possibly the "best" Games in history in Capitol eyes. He was ruthless and bloodthirsty and had no morals or limits in the Games, but he's a recluse after the Games. There's rumors he can't sleep without a night light, but I don't buy it. No way that huge guy is afraid of the dark like a toddler. The Mayor, whose name I have no clue of, and our Escort, the unforgettable Fixtata Discos, walk onto the stage. After a speech from Mr. Mayor Anonymous, Fixtata shows the video, but I'm just distracted by her disco ball outfit, as I've never seen it in person. I'm not into the glitter-and-bejewel-everything trend some girls in my grade are hooked on, but the thousands of sparkling mirrors that make up her round outfit are rather mesmerizing, I must admit. It's almost hypnotic, like a watch on a chain, a pendulum, swinging evenly between my eyes. It's so calming, almost.
"MIRIAM PARK!" Fixtata shouts. I hear an agonized moan from my parent section, and I see the shocked face of my father and my mother doing the only thing she can, groaning out guttural animalistic sounds to show her fear and displeasure. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I push through the sea of thirteen year old out into the cobblestone aisle leading to the stand. I narrow my eyes, trying to look tough, as my hands start to tremble. I clench my jaw and I glare at the wooden slats of the stage as I march down the aisle and up the stairs. I stand next to Fixtata and tip my chin up a little. I think I'm probably the toughest looking thirteen year old tribute Reaped yet. Ha. Probably not. My hands are tremoring visibly and I can feel the sickly sheen of sweat on my forehead. My age just eliminates me already, doesn't it? Oh damn. It's the Games. It's a Reaping. My name just got chosen. I'm going into the arena for Snow's sake.
I expect to see the grim reaper floating on the edges of my vision or to feel eternal despair, but I don't, at least not yet. Fixtata chooses the male tribute, some seventeen year old guy named Rufus Braunvieh. A few tears are dripping down his face but he keeps his composure well enough compared to most tributes that get Reaped out of Ten. The fifteen year old boy last year was kicking and screaming so much that they has to tranquilize him.
Everything is like it's in fast forward. I'm shaking Rufus's hand cartoonishly fast as Fixtata spews, "TENYOURTRIBUTESTHISYEARMIRIAMPARKANDRUFUSBRAUNVIEH!" Then she's leading us backstage into the Justice Building, a soft, pudgy hand on each of our backs, softly guiding us forward. Once the crowd is fully gone and the Justice Building doors snap shut, in about a second in this fast forwarded version of my life, two Peacekeepers swiftly grab my arms and our feet are a flurry of motion as we speed down the sleek hallways and the door snaps open to the goodbye room. I race over to my bench, and the moment my bottom touches the cold wood everything slows back down. The door clicks closed, and I take a deep breath. It opens moments later.
Dad, pushing Mom in her wheelchair, is sobbing so hard I don't know how he managed to get here without tipping her and falling onto his face. The explanation enters the room behind them as Dad, and, as a result, Mom, rush at me. Chapton and his aunt walk in quietly and stand respectfully in the corner, looking at their feet. Chapton is shaking, and his aunt pats him on the shoulder. What's wrong with him? Is he crying?
As Dad embraces me and Mom grunts to be pulled closer so she can do the same, Chapton suddenly bursts out, "It's so unfair! You're just a normal girl, Miriam! Why do you have to die?! Why does anyone have to die?! Auntie, why?!" Chapton dissolves into further hysterics, and his aunt pulls him close.
"Good luck, Miriam," she says with a tight smile before stepping out of the room, shushing Chapton's whimpers. Then it's just my parents and I, and I dig my chin into my father's shoulder as he squeezes me so tight he must be compacting my internal abdominal organs. I look over his shoulder into Mom's eyes, and when Dad pulls away, I gingerly kneel next to her wheelchair and hook my arms around her neck and nuzzle my head against her cheek softly. Mom just weeps quietly, shaking her head slowly, trying to suppress herself from hurting herself from shaking so hard. I stroke her hair and stand up.
"Kenneth!" my mother sobs through her tears and the snot running from her nose. "We...what if she dies? What if I die, too? What if you're all alone?!"
The thought occurs to me for the first time now that my mother's said something, and the sad smile on my face fades, replaced with a slack, dead expression. My father, all alone, with a dead wife and a dead daughter and a dead brother and dead parents and dead aunts and uncles and dead friends and dead animals he slaughters in the slaughterhouse, everyone and everything around him dead and long gone, decaying and fading from his head. I wrap myself around him and cry for the first time, not for me or for Mom, but for him. I squeeze him until he can't breathe, whimpering over and over, "Daddy, I'm so sorry."
"Hey, hey, honey, calm down," my father murmurs. "You know we don't hide things from you. Yeah, sure, winning will be tough and you might not be able to do it. That's okay. We're grown people, we can take care of ourselves. But just think about this: if you win, you survive, and we can get treatment for Mom, and she can live, Miri. Maybe this isn't an entirely bad thing. Be an optimist. Remember us, and win it all my big girl."
My mom shakes her head vigorously in agreement, and then winces. Everything in her body aches these days. She might not last the month I'll be in the Capitol and the arena. I hope she does. I hug them and then the Peacekeepers are ushering them out. I set my jaw, clenching it tight, and I shoot dirty glares at the Peacekeepers as they escort me out to the train platform after my parents are gone. I have a long time ahead of me, but I need to make it quick, as quick as possible. I need to get back soon, very soon, to save my mother. I need to get back soon, very soon, for my own sake as well. I don't like to be selfish, but I am. Imagine. The thirteen year old girl Victor who got out of the arena in record time. Well, not record time, there's no way I'm beating Brick's handful of days in the arena, but everyone knows what I mean. I'll get home, save my mother, be the grand hero in the fairy tales that I've begun to question as of late. Then again, I could also be the villain. I can just see it. The thirteen year old girl who slaughtered half a dozen mercilessly.
I try to put on a smile as I step onto the train platform where Rufus is waiting, and surprisingly enough a smile comes too easily. When I stop smiling, it's not because I'm disgusted with the Games and my probable death and the Capitol. I'm disgusted with myself.
So we burst into colors, colors and carousels,
Fall head first like paper planes and playground games
Next thing we're touching
You look at me it's like you hit me with lightning
Ah
Oh, everybody's starry-eyed
And everybody glows
Oh, everybody's starry-eyed
And my body goes
Whoa oh oh ah ah
Whoa oh oh ah ah
Whoa oh oh
Rufus Braunvieh, 17
District Ten Male
The train is like a song as it comes to a stop. I've only seen a couple of them over my years, crisscrossing on the borders of my grandparents' many properties or stopping near the slaughterhouses to refuel. Still, it amazes me how the machine works, and I love its sounds. I want to learn about how all of them work. The squeal of the brakes, the grating of metal against metal, the rumble of the engines, the hiss of steam. My District partner, Miriam, looks half impressed and half mean, a strange combination. Her mouth is smiling softly, although it's wavering, but her eyes are steely, cold, and determined. She's not weeping like most thirteen year old girls in her position would be, so at least she has that going for her. She almost looks like she's ready to kill someone. I don't want to think about doing anything of that sort yet. Not that it makes me squeamish or anything, but...I don't need to start that yet. I'll give myself the next minute of waiting on the platform for the train to be ready for us to enter as innocent and clean, with thoughts of murder and blood out of my head completely.
I don't even get five seconds before Miriam yanks open the door and strides inside, forcing me to follow her out of plain common etiquette. Everyone knows that, it's just natural. She closes the door once I'm inside, and we walk over to the table where Fixtata, still in her huge disco ball costume, and Oxen, eyes dark and stormy, looking at the shadowy corner of the train car, sit. Miriam and I sit down next to each other, and Fixtata and Oxen both perk up.
"Welcome, welcome!" Fixtata bursts happily, giggling. She adjusts in her seat and both Miriam and I wince; the thousands of glittering mirrors on her outfit are now blinding us in the eyes as the sunlight from outside, streaming through the window, glances off of her reflective costume and comes right at us. She snickers and apologizes, rearranging herself and her costume so we can see again. Miriam sighs in relief.
"Thanks, madam," I say curtly, smiling graciously.
Fixtata dissolves into more high pitched snickers, and I furrow my brow confused. Miriam's looking at me with one eyebrow raised, and Oxen's eyes have become drawn back to whatever is so fascinating about the darkened corner of the train car where the lights do not fully illuminate it.
"Did I do something wrong?" I inquire sheepishly.
"You don't have to be so...respectful and...uptight, dear!" Fixtata cackles.
"I'm sorry, it's just how I was raised."
"Isn't your name Braunvieh?" Oxen speaks up, his gravelly voice coming out quiet and husky. I can barely understand his words, and it takes a moment until I figure out what he's saying. I sigh, and nod my head slowly, then looking down at my napkin. "So you're rich? Is that why you're too polite?"
"No," I hiss, and I stand up, the chair squealing out behind me. All three of them look at me, surprised. "Don't...don't assume things about me. I'm heading off to a fucking death match, and I don't want to hear people telling me I'm snobby and too rich just because that's my last name!"
"So you're not related to Marjorie and Edward Braunvieh?" Miriam mumbles. "Even I've heard of them, and I live...seventy miles away? Latticeville is seventy miles away from where they are, isn't it? Yeah, I wish I had riches like that, I could do anything and I would use that money to-"
"Just because I'm related to those stuck up sons of bitches doesn't mean I want to be one of them or that I'm like all of them or that I can have anything I want. If anything, the thing I really want is to not be one of them, to not be considered just a snob. I'm just polite because they made me that way. I-I'm, I'm going to go have a look around." My head feels like its about to burst. Oxen looks sad and sorry, that's nice, and Fixtata is chewing her lip and looking like she wants to say something, but she doesn't. The worst one is Miriam. She stares at me with dead eyes, and then she just shakes her head and looks away. A thirteen year old, looking at me with pity. I should be the one shaking my head at her. I clench my fists.
I walk away, trying to steady myself and be calm, keeping my composure. Once I'm out of the room however, and the door snaps shut behind me, I pick up a lamp and smash it against the wall and watch as the glass and crystal shards spray through the air like water droplets. For one moment they sing through the air, and then they crash down. I drop the metal pole which the light bulb and the crystalline lamp shade one sat on, and I pick a few tiny slivers of glass and crystal out of my arms. Little streams of blood bubble up and curl down my forearms, but I just wipe them on my pants. I stand there for a moment, take a deep breath, and then I tentatively and carefully gather the dozens upon dozens of shards in a small pile. I cut open my palms, but I don't really care. Once the pile is all tidied up, I stand up and find that I feel just a little better. I look around the room and see the gleaming crystal sconces spewing warm honey colored light and several other crystalline lamps on tables like the one I've just obliterated. I walk forward, almost in a trance, looking at the ornate crown moldings and the plush chaise lounges and fluffy recliners and puffy pillows and sleek couches that wrap around entire walls. I walk into the next car. There's huge windows, and I see pastures swirling past, dotted with steer in varying shades and combinations of brown, white, and black mostly. Ranches, barns, and farmhouses dot the white picket fence landscape of slight rolling hills and vast, flat plains of dirty brown and green grass. There's mud patches and long stretches of plain, unfertile dirt, and everything's dusty and bloody and blemished behind the doors and fences, not the perfect little farming community they'd have you believe exists in Ten. We might be one of the richer Outer Districts overall, but that's because of families like mine and the suburbs like Latticeville where Miriam lives. The other seventy-ish percent of people in our District are dirt poor and destitute like my mother was before she married into the Braunvieh family, and soon we're leaving behind the nicer farms. The fences are rickety and peeling, the grass yellowing, the buildings sagging or too small or abandoned and decaying, the animals and workers scraggly and sickly looking. The skies don't darken or anything ominous, but the bright blue, near cloudless sky looks off above this dying world.
I feel a strong hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see Oxen standing behind me. I'm a decent height, but he stills towers over me at his impressive six foot six or whatever it is, it's probably taller than that. His olive skinned face creases as he smiles delicately at me.
"Please come back to the table. I know it's a volatile time, I get it, I was rough and tumble on my train ride too and I didn't want to talk to anyone. But my Mentor, Tassel, she came down and sat with me and we talked strategy, and if I didn't have that talk I wouldn't be here today. I want to help you and Miriam, you two both seem really capable from what I've seen of you guys, a pretty tearless Reaping." His voice fades to a whisper as he murmurs. "Please. Come back to the table, Rufus. We'd really love...love to have your...you company..." He trails off, and I look behind me to see what he's staring at, distracted by. He's looking at the corner where I've smashed the lamp to pieces. It's not engulfed in darkness. His eyes are wide open and...scared?
"An Avox can clean it up. I'm sorry," I murmur.
"No, it's not that...it's just...so dark."
"Um. Okay. Back to the table?"
Oxen starts, straightening and smiling weakly again. "Yes, yes, back to the table, follow me please, follow me, time to talk strategy!"
A/N: Yay! That was District Ten. I had a blast writing these two again! :D I also really liked playing around with Oxen XD He, Serephina, and Unity are probably my favorite Mentors though I enjoy writing all of them since I did create them to be easy for me to write for xD
The point I meant to get across with the Games being planned out is that I just wanted you guys to know this is about characters, not submitters, and just because you don't review all the time doesn't mean your tribute won't make it past the Bloodbath. I love all of you who review so much, by the way. But anyway, I just went overboard. Yes I do have two Victors in mind, but that could easily change, and I also have a couple of plausible plans for the Games, but nothing is set in stone at all. I just wanted to set out a starter for myself just so I'm not going in totally clueless like I did with Oceanside. I have a couple of plot and arena events that I really want to happen so those are probably going to happen, but that doesn't mean they have to or will. Also, my Victor might not be either of those two. We'll see. You sponsorships aren't useless. I just went overboard and didn't state what I wanted to say clearly/correctly, sorry. I was half asleep at the end of that chapter honestly XD
Who did you like better here, Miriam or Rufus? Have your thoughts on them changed?
Miriam (1 pt.): What is her Preliminary Reaping Partner's name?
Rufus (1 pt.): What does Rufus destroy?
Until Next Time,
Tracee