A/N: Thank you all for the follows and favorites! Remember, reviews are highly appreciated! Thank you! (Also watch out for point of view switches!)
Sea's POV:
My hands shake as Red slowly slides my dress over my head so I am left only in my undergarments. He grabs a washcloth from the bathroom and runs it over my shoulders.
"You're okay," he mutters softly. The boy from the main car is gone, replaced by a far gentler one.
"Our daughter's best friend, the one person she trusts, is our tribute," I say, looking up at him. My insides are churning, bubbling, and I know anger from before, from all those years ago, is screaming to be released. But I can't let it. I promised my family and myself that it would never appear again. The truth gets released, and our lives are over. Dust.
"We treat him like we would any other boy," Red says calmly, pressing the damp washcloth to my forehead.
I nod, holding onto his words. It's the only thing to do, after all. If I begin to act as if I knew Cedar before, as if he is special to me in some way, it will become hazardous to both of us.
"And you," I say, chuckling suddenly. "You had to say you won the third games? You couldn't come up with anything better than pretending District four had three victors in a row?" He shrugs, laughing along with me.
"I had nothing better." He pulls me up, slipping a dark green shirt over my head and pulling my hair out of its bun so it spills around my shoulders like a soft blanket.
He looks at me with those eyes full of passion- like I am the most beautiful thing he has ever laid eyes on. It makes me shutter with a bittersweet kind of joy. He takes my hand between both of his and leads me to the soft bed.
"Sleep, Sea. I'll wake you up in an hour and we can go back out there." I nod, realizing for the first time how exhausted I am. I settle into the covers, sighing, and he gets in behind me, making a perfect cocoon for my body to fit in. I am small, almost smaller than Shay, who is growing to be a healthy size, and Red envelops me easily.
And then he says the exact words I spoke to my daughter because I left her on that train station, frozen with her own disbelief.
"Brace yourself, Farley." And so I do.
Cedar's POV:
Shay manages to occupy most of my thoughts for the entire god-forsaken train ride. It doesn't help that her parents are in the same vehicle as me, and her mom could be her identical twin. I pace around my room, running my callused fingers across the silken bed sheets. The bathroom is filled with an assortment of soaps that range from Rosemary scented to 'fresh laundry.' I stare at the shelves with disbelief. My family has to trade clams for a bar of unscented soap, and here you can smell like anything you damn well want. I turn away, scowling, and splash some ice-cold water from the sink on my face. Red's right, it hasn't sunk in yet.
"I am going to die," I say out loud. "I am going to fight to the death." Still, my heartbeat remains normal and my expression in the mirror doesn't change. I was so busy worrying about Shay's safety that I didn't even take a second to consider the fact that my name was written on thirty-nine slips of perfectly rectangular paper.
What a fool I was. I could have prepared myself, calculated the odds.
A knock on the door breaks me out of my thoughts. It's the past, after all. And I've learned from the very people who are my mentors that the past has no place in the present.
"Dinner," Sea calls from outside. I stand up, brushing off my reaping clothes, and head back out into the hall. Brett comes out of the room across from me, her glasses askew and her scar shining in the dim light of the corridor.
She's holding a book in one hand; it's cover so old and worn that I can't make out the title.
"Are you...reading?" I ask, surprised. It seems like such an odd thing to do two hours after being picked for the Hunger Games.
"Indeed, I am," she says, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "I like to read."
"What are you learning about?" I ask, still trying to make out the title. She draws the book closer.
"Nothing. It's a fantasy novel."
Without meaning to, I make a face of disgust.
She snorts, starting down the hall. "I didn't ask for your opinion," she calls back to me. I start after her, shaking my head. None of the things said in that book will ever become reality, so why fill your head with impossible ideas? It's absurd, I think. But I'm not one to tell people what they can and can't do.
I turn the corner and slide into the seat opposite Red. He's already filling his plate full of cooked carrots and a cheesy pasta dish. I have never seen a table of food like this. Ever.
Brett drops her book where she's standing and practically runs into the food. She scoops up a handful of sweet potatoes straight from the dish and stuffs it into her mouth. Clemencia, who I hadn't noticed was there until now, makes a small sound of disgust in the back of her throat but doesn't speak up.
"Hungry?" Red asks, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Brett doesn't even take a second to respond before seating herself and piling more foot onto her plate.
"So," Sea says, clearing her throat. Her hair is done up in a tight bun and her face shines with freckles. "I thought we could talk while we eat." Brett nods without looking up.
"The first order of business," she begins, tapping her fingers against the hard wood. "Is the tribute parade. You'll be delivered to your stylists and I'd advise that you let them do whatever they are planning to do."
"Or they'll claw your eyes out," Red offers. He waves his fingers at us and gives a little 'rawr.' Sea shoots him a look.
"They like to create their own style, that's all," she says.
"They're blonde, they're bossy, and they're bouncy," Red says, nodding his head innocently.
"Red," his wife warns.
"Okay, fine. Not all of them are blonde," he amends.
I can't help it: I smile. Sea glares at me, her blue eyes shining with annoyance.
"Do not egg him on," she warns me. I nod in understanding.
"Sorry Ma'am."
That's the last straw for Red. He almost falls out of his chair he's laughing so hard.
"Ma'am. Sea, darling, he called you ma'am." She sighs and bangs her head against the table, groaning.
"This is going to go no where," she grumbles. "Red, go to your room." That stops the laughter quite quickly.
"What?" he asks, standing up and pushing back his crown of blonde hair.
"Go to your room. You're in a time out." He stares at her for a second, but she's obviously not kidding, so he picks up his plate and begins to exit the room.
"Toodeloo," he calls back. "Don't worry, Sea doesn't bite." He pauses. "Often." Sea grabs a bread roll off the table and chucks it at him. He sprints out of the dining car, his laughter echoing down the hallways. As odd as it is to see this side of Red, it is a nice distraction from the matter at hand.
"Okay," Sea says with a deep breath, turning back to us. "Now, I need to know something. Are you two planning to be allies? It's up to you. I don't have an opinion on this one." Her eyes flash with something, hatred? Sorrow? But it passes quickly and I have no way of knowing.
Brett finally looks up from her plate and swallows her last bite.
"Allies?" she echoes.
Sea nods, her hands clasped tightly.
"No," we both say at once.
Her hands relax as if that's the answer she wanted.
"Okay. So we will train you two separately. The basics will be together, but your personal strategies will be apart from one another. Brett, I will be with you. And the idiot that's in the time out will train you, Cedar." She glances at me and mouths 'sorry.' I shrug, smiling. They may quarrel with one another, but I can see the love between Red and Sea. I can see the unspoken promise to protect one another.
"You can go," Sea says, smiling faintly at both of us. "Finish your meal. Get some sleep. We'll enter the Capitol in a few hours." Brett and I stand up, taking our plates with us. I lead us down the hall until we reach our rooms.
"Goodnight," I say out of habit. Brett turns her good eye to me.
"Listen," she says. "We can be district partners. That doesn't bother me. But I intend to get out of that arena, or die trying. So we will never be friends. Understand?"
"Very clearly," I say sharply. "Go read your book Brett Donohue." She doesn't respond, but I hear the door slam behind her.
Brett's annoying, obviously, but she's got a point. She is already preparing to win these games; whereas I haven't thought past this train ride.
I don't want to. Hell, I don't really care.
So I can't help wondering, if Brett is preparing to live, does that mean I am preparing to die?
Shay's POV:
I never was fond of horror stories. I hate the suspense and the eerie silence that accompanies them. I shiver at the thought of blood. Yet here I am, standing in the midst of one.
"Jersey," I whisper, clutching the hem of my coat with stiff fingers.
"You wanted to come Shay," he says quietly. "You lead the way." Crumbling houses stand on either side of me, the paint on their shutters peeling off. The cement that I stand on is filled with cracks. I pull up my scarf to cover my nose in an attempt to mask the strong stench of rotten eggs and cat urine. Somewhere, a crow squawks. My boots crunch against the loose pavement as I begin to move forward, my legs shaking so much I wonder how I'm still supporting myself.
Wary eyes peer out from the holes in the shacks, following my every step. A young girl scurries along my path, her feet so callused she doesn't even notice the sharp bits of gravel that are scattered across the ground. A hand reaches for me; it's gnarly fingernails ready to dig into my skin. I shrink away, a small hiss escaping my lips.
"Where are we again?" I ask, almost too quietly for Jersey to hear. He leans in, his breath fluttering the hair on the back of my neck.
"The Aisle," he says. "Welcome to the poorest neighborhood in District 4."
There's a tug on my sleeve and I look down with a sharp intake of breath. A young boy stands there, his dark hair pushed back with dirt and sweat.
"Hello," I say lightly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I am unreasonably nervous.
"They're not going to hurt you," Jersey mutters. "You're not from the Capitol."
I don't say so, but in a sense, I am like the people from the Capitol. I've heard that the citizens there are all naïve and live for the games. Isn't that what I've been doing lately? My heart flutters at the mention of the tributes. My head buzzes with excitement and curiosity when the T.V. turns on. I am one of them; I just happen to live in the Districts.
"What's your name?" I ask the little boy, squatting down so I can look him in the eye. He grabs my sleeve again and pulls me towards the side of the road.
"What is it?" I ask, scanning the house behind him. He just shakes his head. He pulls again, his dirty fingernails ripping through my coat.
"Okay, okay, I'm coming," I say, stumbling to my feet and following him through the door that has fallen off it's hinges long ago. He leads me into a dark kitchen and the smell of old meat hits me like a gust of wind. I stumble backwards, gagging,
"Where are you taking me?" I whisper, but again he doesn't make a sound. Then he's tugging on my sleeve again and I'm squinting into the darkness until I make out the shape of a young woman, presumably the kid's mom.
"Let me help you," I say, taking her frail hand in mine and hoisting her to her feet. She is obviously starving. That is clear from the moment I pick her up without any difficulty. Her eyes flutter and I catch a glimpse of a dark green iris.
This could be me, if I had been born into another family. I would have lived on the edge of starvation. I would have known how to fend for myself. And I would have been smart. Not school smart, anyone can be school smart. I would have known about the games, and the reaping, and I would have had to sneak food and medicine and work to keep my family alive. If only I hadn't been stamped with a title of 'The Victor's Daughter.'
I make it outside with the woman and set her down unceremoniously on the pavement. She lets out a huff of breath and scrambles to her knees.
"You're Shay Farley Cresta," she says, her eyes dancing with an odd kind of knowing.
"I am," I say, slightly surprised. It doesn't bother me when the people in town know my name and my story, but these people out here, well they shouldn't know me at all. A story is meant for a few people who will understand the true meaning behind it. My story seems to be known by the entire world.
"Oh, my darling," the woman coos, and her voice is soft and beautiful. Strangely, it reminds me of a waterfall. "You should not be here. It isn't safe."
"I can take care of myself," I say lightly, smiling down at her face. It would be beautiful if it were not for the thousands of tiny scars covering her flesh. She's got a thick mop of black hair and those stunning green eyes. They are like the tops of evergreen trees in the winter.
"You're quite clueless, aren't you?" the woman asks.
"Not my fault," I mutter. "My parents won't tell me anything."
"Ah," the woman nods. "Sea Farley and Red Cresta. Wonderful people. Scarred people."
I pull out the small loaf of bread that sits in my pocket and hand it to her. "Here Eat." She takes it gratefully and stuffs some into her mouth, before handing the rest to the little boy.
"You must go Shay Farley Cresta," she says. "Watch the games if you wish. Learn about Panem. But know, that if you want the truth, you must be sure that you want it." I frown at her. Of course I'm sure. I've been sure my entire life.
"The past has a way of coming back to haunt you," she says, her eyes careful.
"Thank you," I say quickly, standing up and taking the rest of the food out of my pocket. "Ration this however you must. It's for you."
The woman nods, her lips pursed in awe. The little boy scrambles forward but she holds him back with one arm.
"Thank you Shay," she calls back to me as I take Jersey's arm and begin to rush away from the crumbling city. "Don't ever think you are like them." I continue walking at a brisk pace, my heart beating hard in my chest.
"You have kindness in your heart," she calls. "You will never be one of them."
I can only pray to the sea that she is right.