AN: Short chappie. Blame Finn. And the fact that I just had to get everyone to the Capitol for the sake of the plot.
Finn's not really sure how he feels about the Games. He's never really had time to watch them in the past. . .the youth in District Ten are often sent to watch the sheep in the pastures during the day, or to feed the chickens, or any other of a series of mundane tasks. He's seen the Reaping, of course, and at night his mom always makes him watch the death toll, but that's really all that he knows.
He knows that District Ten hasn't had a victor in thirteen years, not since Will Schuester. But he figures those aren't such bad odds, not when there are only twelve districts anyway.
So while there's a part of him that recognizes that the Games are dangerous and knows that he'll probably die, there's also a part of him that figures that it might not be so bad. After all, he's big and he's strong. People like him. . .he's one of the most popular guys in District Ten, so he's sure to get some good gifts from sponsors. And he's tall, so he can totally see danger coming before other people.
Besides, it's hard to get really nervous when so far everything has been pretty awesome. The other tribute from District Ten is seriously smoking – Brittany is a year older than Finn, and they've never really gotten to talk. She's been assigned to the geese and the ducks her entire life, while he's been hanging out with the wool-headed sheep. Still, everyone knows that Brittany's hot, and rumor has it that she puts out.
Yes, Finn Hudson is hoping that he'll get a little action from his tribute. After all, if the Games really do usually result in death, he doesn't want to die a virgin.
Saying good-bye to his mom had sucked, but then he'd gotten put on this train. Finn's never been on a train before, and he's fascinated by all of the gears, the smooth traction, the way it seems to just glide. He opens a window and pokes his head out, looking for the ox or horses that must be pulling it, but there's nothing in front of him but a black box and billows of smoke.
It's like magic. Maybe the Capitol is magic.
"Hey," a soft voice says, startlingly near his ear. "What are you looking at?"
"What am I not looking at," Finn corrects. He reaches out and awkwardly sticks his arm out the window. He's trying to point, but his shoulder just gets in the way. Brittany peers curiously at his armpit. "I was trying to see what was pulling the train."
"Oh," Brittany says, pulling back a little and blinking at him. "Don't be silly. Nothing's pulling the train."
Finn instantly feels stupid. Now there's no way that Brittany will bang him. Plus, she probably won't even want to ally with him in the games.
"The horses are underneath. That's why you hear the chugga sound from below you."
Finn considers for a moment, before nodding. It does make sense, and he does feel something going up and down beneath his feet. He glances to the girl at his side. She smiles at him.
"I'm Finn," he says impulsively, sticking out his hand.
"Okay." She says. "I was told to come get you for dinner."
Dinner? Finn instantly perks up, even happy than he'd been before. He'd kind of just assumed that they wouldn't eat until they reached the capitol. He wonders what they'll be having – eggs or milk, baked bread or leftover grains? He follows after Brittany, and he only checks out her ass a little as they go.
The dining car is unbelievable. It's covered in a weird red fabric that's soft and kind of furry to the touch. It's almost like the walls are covered in rabbit fur, only the fur isn't as long. There's a table set out in the middle of the room, bolted to the ground, and a series of stools around it. Most of the seats are empty, but one man is already seated at the table, curly-haired and a little lonely-looking.
"Hey, Mr. Schue," Finn says, happily clambering onto a table. William Schuester, District Ten's lone surviving victor of the Hunger Games also happens to be the district's only school teacher. Most of the adults insist that there's no point in the kids going to school – it doesn't require a lot of education to milk the cows or watch the sheep, after all. At eighteen, the biggest and strongest boys are carted off to become butchers, the kids scoring well on their anatomy tests begin training to become veterinarians, and the girls begin supervising responsibilities in the fields or pens. But really, most people think that the schooling should belong only to the upperclass, who inevitably become the veterinarians anyway.
Finn's hoping that he qualifies as a butcher. That would be way cooler than carting things around as a trader, or having to carry bags of feed all day.
Though, now that he thinks about it, he'll probably either die in the next couple of weeks or return to the district as the richest man ever. Except for Will Schuester, of course. Yet another awesome thing about the Games.
"My chair won't move," Brittany informs them. Mr. Schue just kind of gapes, and Finn pats his hand consolingly. It's the same expression his teacher makes whenever Finn turns in an assignment. He's not entirely sure what it means, but his mom once told him just to apologize, shrug, and smile disarmingly.
Finn still isn't quite sure how to smile with his arm, so he usually just smiles and pats his teacher on the shoulder.
"Food will be out in a minute," Mr. Schue says when he's recovered from his fit. "We're sharing the train with the tributes from District Eight, since we were directly on their route. As soon as they get out here we'll be able to eat."
"Dude, there are other tributes on this train?" Finn asks excitedly. "Doesn't that mean that we'll get an advantage? Being able to scope out the competition ahead of time?"
Mr. Schue just sighs. "Finn, there are no advantages to this Game. Unless you count the years of training that the Careers put in."
"I train my rear every day," Brittany says. "Sometimes with sex. Sometimes with my finger."
Finn frowns, trying to figure out what she means. With her finger. . .wait. Oh. Wow.
He's still taking this in (Mr. Schue has that expression on his face again, so Finn pats him) when the door at the opposite end of the dining car opens and three people walk in.
Finn's initial impression is that he can totally kick their asses. Then he feels a little bad about it. The kid walking in front is kind of short and skinny, plus he's dressed like a girl. Behind him is a fat black girl, and behind her an older woman with eyes that look like they're eating up her face.
Mr. Schuester stands up and does a weird half bow thing.
"Emma, please, come in, have a seat."
The red headed lady blushes a little and sits down beside Mr. Schuester, motioning toward the other two seats. The two teenagers sit down.
"Hi, I'm Finn!"
He reaches over the table with his hand. The black girl grins and shakes it enthusiastically, but the boy just grabs one of Finn's fingers between two of his own and kind of wags it, like he's afraid of getting his hand dirty. Brittany grabs the boys hand away.
"Your hands are soft," she says. "Like a baby's. "
"Thank you," the boy says. Finn's glad that they don't have food yet, because if they did he would totally spit it out. The boy sounds just like a girl. But that can't be right, because each District is supposed to send one boy and one girl.
"My name's Mercedes," the new girl says.
"And I'm Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."
Finn frowns. Kurt, he's pretty sure, is a guy's name. Elizabeth is definitely a girl. And Mercedes is. . .well, he's not sure. He knows it's a kind of car. Anyway, she's definitely a girl because she has boobs.
Not that he was looking.
Before things have the opportunity to get more awkward, the door opens again and some people begin walking in with food. Not just a little food, either, but heaping piles of food. There's a thick orange carrot soup, and piles of freshly baked bed, and a tender beef that Finn's never been allowed to touch even though he's seen the butchers tearing down the cow, and there's some kind of a drink that's sweet and hot and. . .
Now his stomach feels like it's going to explode. As the dishes are cleared and plates of a cold, creamy substance are placed in front of them, he slowly comes back to the present, and realizes with a sick jolt that everyone else has been talking throughout the meal. Maybe he should have been listening. After all, as far away as the Games seem now, they are coming up, and these three people sitting around the table, as nice as they seem, will be trying to kill him.
But then he's eating the sweet, sweet cold thing, and he figures that he can worry about it in the morning.
"Finn? Finn?"
Except that Mr. Schuester obviously doesn't want him to put it off. Finn looks up, over the edge of his spoon. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Kurt sneering.
"He eats like a dump truck," he hisses to Mercedes, who just shrugs.
"You're ready for the stylist tomorrow, right?"
"My mom writes on a stylist when she doesn't have any paper," Brittany says. Everyone turns to look at her, and she just shrugs. "She says it's what the cave men used to do."
"Right. . ." Mr. Schuester takes a deep breath, before turning to face Finn. And yeah, Finn feels pretty good about that, because obviously he and the teacher are bonding, which means he may be Mr. Schue's favorite, which means he may get more gifts from sponsors, which means. . .
Oh yeah, his teacher is still talking.
"Whatever they want to do, you let them. Finn? Finn, are you even listening to me?"
"Yeah, of course," Finn says, nodding. "It's totally cool. Whatever the stylists want to do."
How bad can it be, after all? They'll just, like, cut his hair and dress him up, right?
AN: Oh, Finn, how little you know. . .
COMING SOON: Some people get along better with their stylists then others, everyone gets their first glance at one another, and the Opening Ceremonies!
