so a bitch is done with intros!

Hall Silversmith

District One

Hall wanted to feel anything as he walked into the train car. It seemed like he was supposed to feel something. The train was covered in fancy foods and sparkling decorations. There were booths and a little couch, and a door that led to another section of the train. But it wasn't the big living trains that districts further from the Capitol rode in, nor was it any fancier than what he was used to during trips with his father. He wanted to be excited, or to at least feign excitement like he was sure he was supposed to, but his heart wouldn't stop hammering in his chest.

He wanted to say goodbye to his father. He wanted not to feel like he was in a box that was getting smaller and smaller, crushing him in on all sides. What was going to blow up next? The train? The Capitol?

"I'm not supposed to be here," he said, the first time he'd opened his mouth since the explosion in the square. He wasn't sure who he was saying it to, but he realized that Nicolette Dion was right in front of him. He'd met her before. Well, he hadn't met her, but she had been at his house one day, when she was meeting with his father. He designed one of her outfits for meetings in the Capitol during Games season.

She looked down at him with squinty eyes, like Dazzle's eyes. The two of them looked so much alike, even though their appearances were starkly different. Hall felt like he was talking to an older version of the girl who seemed to still be throwing a fit about his presence.

"Well, I don't think we can do anything about that now," she said, and heaved an annoyed sigh. He was choking on his helplessness. Nicolette wasn't going to do anything. He was a hindrance to her; he knew he was! If she wanted a victory in her pocket this year, she'd have a much better chance with two capable tributes.

"I—"

Nicolette cut over him before he could speak, walking briskly toward the other car. "Can't catch a break," she muttered, and he paled.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She couldn't hear him anymore, but it was instinctive. He sat down in one of the booths, near a tray full of cookies iced in bright colors, with little shiny edible decorations creating designs on top. If he ate one, he would be sick.

The Dazzle girl was pouting on the opposite end of the train car. There was nowhere for her to disappear off to since this wasn't a gigantic train. It wasn't long enough of a ride for that, but it was long enough that he felt like he'd be drowning by the end of it. He just wanted to talk to his dad. Maybe there was a way he could figure it out. The Silversmith name was big enough that he had to be able to at least talk to someone. Hall wasn't sure how any of that worked, exactly. But he knew that there had to be a way. This wasn't fair otherwise. If there was nothing that could be done, then Hall was going to die.

He had imagined going to the Games before, when there was nothing better to do than let his mind run wild. He imagined himself becoming what the Capitol would want him to be: a ruthless killer, slaying the other tributes in the arena, and helping his district partner slash through the competition until they emerged alive. But he was always older in those stories, because there was no way that he would be in the Games as young as he was. It just wasn't what was expected of him, of anyone. There was no way those gory fantasies would help him here.

It was up to his dad. He was Hall's last chance.

Neha Alexander

District Two

Neha was probably supposed to resent Balder Stein for beating her boyfriend up, but when they were finally on the train, away from the Capitol's cameras and fawning, all she wanted to do was thank him.

Lucretia Palmer, the mentor for District Two this year, seemed uncertain with what to do with the two of them. She wasn't an inexperienced mentor, but it was a Quell this year. Neha didn't really know what to do either. She wasn't sure if she should be talking with Balder, but there wasn't much to say. There was no strategy they could build together. They were opponents this year.

She knew the Career pack existed before two people could win one Games, and she wondered how the hell that worked. Why would all the Career districts band together with their district partners when they were enemies? How would a Career pack work this year? She wanted to ask Lucretia how she thought it would play out, but the woman was stoically sitting in one of the booths, a bowl of soup she'd asked for from an Avox in her hands.

It wasn't the most awkward situation she'd ever been in, but it was bad enough that Markus Orion had fled to the next train car. She wished the ride to the Capitol was long enough that this train could be equipped with bedrooms that she could disappear in.

For probably fifteen minutes straight, there wasn't much to break the silence except natural noises around the car. She spent most of that time staring off into space and missing her family already. Missing Lars so much, her hand felt empty without his entwined in it.

She couldn't spend five hours of her life like this.

Neha turned on the charm that she could fake so easily if she needed to. As she stood up and slid into the seat across from Balder Stein, she smiled thinly. It wasn't perfect, but she hated faking this cheeriness so much, it was always a little bit off from the real thing. "Hi," she greeted, and immediately thought that maybe Hi was worse than any weird conversation-starter she could have come up with.

"Hello," he said, his voice wary. Which was fair enough. There was a pause while she tried to think of what to say, but he broke it with a quick inhale. She glanced up at him from where her eyes had strayed down to the table, and saw him considering whether or not to say something. Her interest piqued, she leaned forward with eyebrows raised, and he smiled a little nervously. "You're— I mean, I beat your boyfriend, didn't I?"

His voice was kind of cocky. The nervousness in his smile slipped away as soon as the words left his mouth, and the fucker was smug about this. She should've been pissed off at him right away, but she was just amused. There was something intriguing about him, about the way he carried himself, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Lars would like him, if they hadn't been opponents in reaching the volunteer spot.

"You did," she said evenly.

"Well," he said, nodding slowly and laying his hands on the table like this was a business deal, "you're welcome." Her eyebrows shot up at his boldness and he held his hands up defensively. "Hey, this Quell isn't for couples. The Games aren't for couples in general."

"No, you're right," she told him, before he could think she was actually angry. The nerves of this guy, though—or maybe this was just how he was. "I didn't want to go in with him. I was rooting for you."

Balder leaned back in his seat. "Harsh."

She shrugged, leaning back as well. She was making herself at home in this setting just as much as he was, mirroring it a little bit. She wasn't going to lie and say she was rich like he undoubtedly was, but she also didn't want to flaunt her lack of opportunities back home. She wasn't going to let Balder see any uncertainty she had. She wasn't going to let anyone.

Maybe talking to him was a good idea. It would give her good insight on how to fuck him over later.

Ferrin Novak

District Three

Ferrin wanted to go to his room the moment they got on the train, numb from the reaping and needing time to let his brain catch up. But then he saw all the food laid out in front of him and his stomach growled instantly. He launched himself as politely as possible at the table—which was to say that he walked over to it quickly instead of actually sprinting.

There was stew in a big pot on the table and little sides spread out all around. He ladled himself out a bowl full of the dark brown soup and grabbed a roll from the big plate beside it. There was a little white dish full of slowly-melting butter and he spread it all over his roll. This bread was so much nicer than the bread he got from tesserae, and the soup smelled so strongly he was nearly sent into a starved haze.

The other person, Audrey, looked a little warier, which was maybe just the natural state they were in. They stayed at the door to the train car as Imelda got herself a bowl of soup as well and found herself a spot in the dining car. It wasn't lunchtime now, but maybe she hadn't had time to eat before all of this. Decima didn't get any soup, but she got a couple of unbuttered rolls and sat with one knee against her chest at the table.

The way she carried herself was so much like Reyna, it was creepy. If he only watched her movements, the thirty-nine-year-old victor was indistinguishable from his nineteen-year-old big sister.

"You two," Decima said, motioning for Ferrin and Audrey to come over. He paused for a moment, feeling strange at the thought of being close to Decima. She was a legend, the only victor from District Three, and Ferrin kept seeing her kills run through his mind. He hadn't studied her Games or anything, but what he remembered from reruns played during Games season seemed to hang over her head in his mind. But he knew he should listen to her, so he sat across from her. Audrey joined, with one empty seat hanging between them.

It was quiet for a few minutes. Decima ate her rolls and Ferrin sipped at his soup as quietly as possible, the broth traveling through him in warm gulps. Occasionally he scooped up pieces of the soft beef, too. It was so good it felt criminal. He knew Reyna was still hungry and skeleton-skinny in District Three, and he was enjoying this for free—well, free if you didn't consider his life to be his payment.

Finally, once Decima had wiped her hands off on a napkin that was already laid out at the dinner table, she sat back, one foot still up on the chair. "Tell me a little bit about yourself," she said, eyebrows scrunched together and lips pursed. She looked like she was in pain, even as she asked them to rattle off facts about themselves like this was a fun activity on the first day of school.

Ferrin looked over at Audrey, who was balling up the end of the tablecloth in their hands and letting it go. They glanced up between Ferrin and Decima, eyes widened slightly as if they weren't the only person in the room Decima would be talking to other than Ferrin. And he wasn't going first.

"Oh. Uh." They looked down at their lap, one hand scratching their head. They had only a shadow of their brown hair, as it had otherwise been shaved off. "Audrey. I go by zey-zem."

Ferrin noted the pronouns. Even though they would be in a deathmatch in a week, he didn't want to get them wrong. A lot of people still mistook him for a girl in District Three, so if Audrey and Decima could call him his pronouns, he could make an effort to remember Audrey's. Even though he'd never heard them used before.

It seemed that Decima was doing the same, but a normal amount of time passed and she still didn't say anything. Maybe waiting for Audrey to say more, but it seemed zey retreated into zemself, going back to picking at the end of the tablecloth. "Well," Decima continued finally, "what about you?"

Ferrin looked at her, feeling caught off guard even though he knew he was next. Maybe he judged Audrey's reaction to having to speak too quickly. "I'm fast," he said. He knew that would be helpful. It was the only thing that was helpful to him on the streets, and it seemed to him like the arena would just be a more violent version of that. "I steal a lot."

Decima gave him a once-over, probably disappointed at how small he was. He didn't want to feel bad about himself so soon on this stupid train ride. Wasn't the rest of this enough? But he guessed she had to put together his strengths and weaknesses. "Homeless?" she asked. He nodded. "Right, well, that's really in your favor here." She looked over at Audrey, and then at Ferrin. Not a very strong duo she had to work with this year. He felt bad, knowing she wouldn't be bringing home anyone.

Distantly he was aware that it was fucked up that he felt bad for her over his imminent death, but who cared about that right then?

"You're both handling this well, considering," she said. She stood up from the table with a huff, and her already-graying hair fell back behind her shoulders. She looked so much older than she already was. "At least there's that."

Sedna Dyan

District Four

Sedna had no idea why her dad wanted her to kill Carloman Longstaff so badly, but she had no doubt upon meeting him that he was a menace to society.

Ever since that morning when they boarded the train, Carloman had been all over Isaac. She had wanted to go over strategies with their mentor, but it seemed like this was just a fun vacation for him. Maybe he'd get serious in the Capitol, but she wanted to be as prepared as possible. At lunch, she gave up and went off to the lounging car to watch reaping recaps away from the two of them. Her breaking point was when Isaac started dangling chocolate-covered strawberries over Carloman's mouth.

Osmi Sola, the escort, had thrown himself into the loveseat after eating, laying his plate of dessert on the stand next to him. He had given her an apologetic look and said, "I escorted for Mr. Welsh," like that was to explain all of his nonsense. Maybe for him, being a tribute was time for fun and games, since it was only his life on the line. But being a mentor was a job, goddammit, and her life was hanging by a thread! She was going up against Carloman Longstaff, and all the other skilled tributes from One and Two. She couldn't afford his bullshit.

Tonight at dinner, she wasn't going to let it fly. It was already intolerable to see Carloman walking out of Isaac's car with nothing but a robe on, his dopey smile stretching across his face, but she could put that aside as long as they were willing to work before reaching the Capitol. The Games may have been a week away, but the performance started today, the moment they got off the train.

She waited until everyone was sitting down for dinner and scanned everyone's faces, getting a feel for the mood of the room. Osmi was yawning and looked a little bit like he wanted to slip out the train window and flee into the woods between districts, never to return. Isaac was devouring his breakfast like he'd never eaten before. And Carloman was slung over his chair, which was facing backwards, cool and disinterested in what they'd served. He picked at some of the biscuits, which were actually really nice. But he was probably some arrogant prick, spoiled to death by his victor mommy.

Her hatred for him grew by the second, but she took a deep breath. She had to keep herself level if she was going to be the only voice of reason.

"What's on the agenda for today?" she asked after Isaac and Carloman stopped talking about some fancy satin from the Capitol. Apparently both of their sheets were made out of the same satiny light blue material back home. She was sure they were dying for Carloman to win so they could see up close their identical sheets, but that wasn't going to happen on her watch. Isaac could flirt with his next hot tribute if he had to.

Isaac looked up at her and instantly his entire persona shifted, as if he was realizing for the first time since they all got on the train that there was something he was supposed to be accomplishing here. He sat up and sort of shrugged Carloman away from him, the younger man's hand falling from his shoulder. Relief washed over her. Maybe her mentor wasn't entirely useless.

"Well, chariots are tomorrow, but you will be in front of the public when you get off the train," he said, his voice steady and thoughtful. This was the man who had always seemed intelligent when he was being serious in interviews, and the one she was intrigued about when she first heard that Talisa Longstaff wouldn't be mentoring this year. He'd probably be perfect for his job, if only the other tribute weren't Carloman Longstaff, Isaac Welsh's exact double.

"Right," Sedna said, leaning forward at the table and clasping her hands together. "I was thinking we should talk about presentation."

Isaac smiled at her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling up. His laugh lines were already prevalent enough on his young face, but it really just gave him character. Oh, fuck, if she didn't care so much about not dying, she would probably think he was hot, too. "You're more on top of this than I am, aren't you?" he asked, the words somehow feeling like the taste of metal in her mouth. Her entire mood shifted in a snap. She sat back in her chair and let her arms fall off the table, unsure how he could give her such a genuine smile while letting the tone of his voice do all of this threatening for him.

And for what? Because she wanted to get down to business and he didn't?

"Suits and dresses," Carloman said, looking between Isaac and Sedna.

She didn't want to hear anything out of him. None of his input was going to be genuine, and she didn't have time for anything else.

"What?" she said, clipping the end of the word and crossing her arms at him. She wouldn't toe too close to Isaac's tipping point, but she was more than fine with prodding at Carloman until he understood how strongly she already disliked him.

"What don't you understand?" Carloman asked with such a sweet smile, her stomach hurt. And the worst part of it was, he was being entirely sincere. There was no snark in his words. He wanted to know what she didn't understand. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of explaining where their communication went wrong, so when she was silent for long enough, he told her, "I just meant you and I should wear a suit and a dress. Let the Capitol get the best pictures of us out before the other districts."

Oh. That actually did make sense.

"We're not a team," she reminded him, refusing to concede that she would be using his idea.

"Not a team?" Isaac asked, bringing his cup of wine close to his chest as he finished his dinner. He swallowed his last bite of biscuit and stood up, clinging to the wine glass. "I think you need to respect my authority a little more, Miss Dyan."

He turned out of the dining car with a flourish, Carloman trailing after him. Before she could think of exactly how much she'd just fucked herself over, Osmi Sola patted her on the back and said, "That could have gone better for you, sweetheart."

Yeah. It really could have.

Natalia Orson

District Five

Natalia hadn't spoken since boarding the train. That was mostly fine. It seemed that Owen Eleksi was more focused on Aren Turing, even though in Natalia's opinion, neither of them were more likely than the other to win this shit.

Still, it helped her get her shit in order. After she woke up covered in blood, she hadn't been thinking straight. Everything had sent her off kilter, and she felt like she needed to turn everything off and back on again, one by one. Her logic, her reasoning.

Clear her head. Get focused on this Aren Turing. He was her opponent, and she would be in close quarters with him until the Games. Use that to her advantage, maybe.

When the recaps came on, the four of them were sitting in the living car, each of them with a comfortable chair tilted toward the screen showing the District Two girl volunteering. For some reason, there was no coverage on District One's reaping, but she didn't care enough to ask why.

Dmitri Waterfell turned to her, now in a much more conservative outfit than the one he wore on stage at the reaping. His entire chest was covered now, which was a relief, but he was no less flamboyant than before. He wore a purple, pink, and light green satin cardigan that tied in the middle like a robe. Actually, she was sure that if it wasn't tied around his waist right now, his entire chest would be bare for her to see again.

"Darling, you've been so quiet since we've arrived," he said, hand placed delicately on the edge of his chair. He moved so naturally, but it was all so light and exquisite, it seemed to her it must be fabricated. It was interesting to watch him, and to watch the mentor and see what he acted like in the face of all of these awful things happening to him. "Are you all right? Would you like some tea?"

She was going to say no, but then she actually thought about a warm cup of tea. "Okay," she said, finally speaking up. Owen Eleksi looked over at her, eyebrows raised. He glanced away quickly, back at the television. She shot her gaze over to Aren Turing for a moment. He was unmoved by her talking.

"Come here," Dmitri said, standing up. What, was he going to take her personally to ask an Avox for some tea? She hated speaking to them. They were awash with shame, so much so she could feel it in the air around them. Shame and despair. It made her feel so much worse than she already did.

Once she was up, Dmitri placed a comforting hand on her back and guided her into the dining car where they'd sat for a while upon arriving. She had snacked on some of the fancy cookies in there, but her stomach wasn't stable enough to eat much more than that. She wasn't sure if she would ever not feel nauseous again, but with all of the delicious, expensive Capitol foods surrounding her, she hoped it would settle down soon.

Dmitri slipped back behind the counter where the Avoxes presented their food when Owen had asked them for soup earlier. He and Aren had eaten in one of the booths, with Owen occasionally glancing over at her sitting alone. She kept her eyes on them when they weren't watching, focusing on their interactions, which was what originally calmed her down enough to start thinking more logically.

To her surprise, Dmitri started pulling out things to make the tea on his own. Perhaps her eyes widened a bit without her realizing, because he smiled at her and motioned for her to take a seat at one of the barstools. "I may look helpless, darling," he said, throwing items into a tea-maker, or whatever the big device on the corner of the counter was, "but I can make tea."

She nodded, settling into a seat and watching him flit about, putting things together. Once he was satisfied and the tea was brewing, he leaned over the counter, head in his hands and elbows resting. His eyes jumped back and forth between hers, and it seemed a bit like he was gazing at a puppy he was considering adopting. She shifted in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, annoyed at the silence. She didn't like to be picked apart by Dmitri's eyes like an animal.

"Why haven't you been talking, dear?" he asked after too much silence had passed between them. "Is it because Owen favors Aren?" He hissed out the s in favors, like all Capitolites did, but somehow he still sounded so sincere and kind. That was something the Capitolian accent usually didn't afford, which made Dmitri more interesting to her. Did he have a real fondness for the tributes that he watched over? She had never known before if escorts did, since they participated in the Games even more so than the average watcher from the Capitol.

"Does he like him more?" She hadn't picked that up, but Dmitri knew Owen better than she did. It seemed to her he just didn't know how to deal with such a quiet tribute.

Dmitri shut his eyes and sighed. "Owen is so new to this job," he said mournfully, like he missed years in the past when he was the only one who had to look over the tributes. It struck her then that this was the first year that Dmitri didn't double as a mentor and an escort for District Five, and he was probably closer to tributes than the escorts from successful districts would ever be. "He sees himself in Aren, I'm sure." He opened his eyes, which she realized were kind of golden. She couldn't tell if it was a modification or if they were simply contact lenses. "They're very similar people, although I suppose Owen had a bit more of a chance in the very beginning than poor Aren does."

Dmitri turned around as the tea-maker made a chirping sound, and poured out a steaming blue liquid. He slid a mug across to her and she breathed in deeply, relaxation climbing over every inch of her body. The smell could make her mouth water for days.

"It should help relieve anxiety," he told her, pouring a mug for himself and coming around the bar to sit next to her. "Natalia, love, I don't want you to worry about Owen's mentoring skills. Even if he should pour all of his energy into Aren, I'll keep my eye out for you." He smiled at her, pearly white teeth catching the light so that they glistened.

Judah Tines

District Six

Judah could see the Capitol from here. They were going to arrive soon, and be whisked off into the city to be dolled up. Actually, it would probably be a little bit before things could get rolling. They'd seen a map of Panem before, and District Thirteen's square was the furthest from the Capitol's center. Everyone would have to wait until they got there for Opening Ceremony preparations to begin.

They turned back toward Athena Maine and Oscar Wintry, unsure what was about to happen. They had obviously never been styled before, and they weren't exactly ready to be out in front of all the Capitolites as they were now.

"What are our costumes going to be?" they asked Athena.

Their mentor looked at them with empty eyes, looking like she was still staring right past Judah's head. "Oh," she said. She shrugged unhelpfully and sat down as they waited to enter the train station.

Balisong wheeled over to the window and peered out at the beautiful skyline of the Capitol over the water surrounding it. The buildings' colors were visible from even this distance, standing out starkly against the sky they caressed. "What if they make my chair a train?" they asked. Judah had learned since their overnight stay in the train that Balisong used the same pronouns as they did, which was a nice little piece of solidarity that was completely useless in light of this year's Quell twist. Judah had to remind themself over and over again that the two of them weren't partners this year, and they couldn't get attached to the bright-haired kid in the wheelchair. They couldn't both make it home.

"You'll be meeting your partners," Athena told the two of them.

Apparently there had been a list made before the reapings even began, pairing tributes up based on where they were reaped. Athena didn't know yet who was with who, but the stylists would have to, since they needed to know how to blend two different districts' styles early enough to have outfits ready. But that way it would be completely random.

They weren't totally sure if they believed how completely random the whole system was. Judah was pretty forgettable—an average sized person with an average reaction to the reaping, already overshadowed by their district partner having blue hair and a wheelchair. So they wouldn't be surprised if they got paired with someone with no chance whatsoever, just so their lack of potential could be killed off quickly in the bloodbath. Wouldn't that be their luck?

"Everything's going to go spectacularly once you know your partners," Oscar said, coming up behind them. "And your costumes will be delightful, I'm sure."

Oscar had turned out to be decently comforting in all of this, which was nice enough. Judah didn't know what to think about this experience, but having an escort and a mentor who wanted to help at least prevented them from having another breakdown. At least so far. They didn't know what that night would bring, after they would be paraded around and everything would start to become a lot more real.

"What if they don't like me?" Judah asked, looking back at Oscar. God, why did they say that? They couldn't let their insecurities guide them throughout all this. They wouldn't get sponsors or recognition that way, but they couldn't help feeling horribly insignificant.

Oscar tapped on Judah's shoulder until they turned around to face him. He never seemed fully sincere when they looked in his eyes, but his words and actions were so comforting, it was best that they just let themself believe. To keep themself sane for now. They wondered how Balisong was holding up, and then squashed that thought quickly. It didn't matter how Balisong was holding up.

"Judah, I think you'll be remarkable tonight, so long as you think you'll be remarkable tonight," he promised, and looked down at Balisong as well. "And the same goes for you. You are not underdogs because you're from Six. You only appear to be underdogs. Do you know that the only outer districts with more victors than Six are Seven and Ten?"

Judah didn't know that. Somehow, that did help a little bit. They didn't know all that much about Six's victors' Games, but they knew that none of them were standout victors from the beginning. They worked at their victories, unlike Careers who had it handed to them, or those from Seven who were always stronger than the other districts because of lumber work. They had to push to win, to be more than a boring tribute from the most crime- and drug-filled district in the country.

Maybe with a push, Judah could tip those scales a little bit, too.

the first half of the train rides! next chapter is going to be an intermission chap to break up train ride monotony a little bit.

back to the chapter questions: which group has the most interesting dynamic this chapter?