Prologue Four: Fog


Le Petit was a small café hidden in a tiny street off the perimeter of the City Circle, known for its excellent caffeinated beverages, small portion sizes, and tasteful interior design.

Oh, and its secrets. Lots of secrets.

Perhaps it was the flowery garlands inside that afforded a sense of privacy or the innocence that exuded from the walls. Whatever the reason was, the owner of the establishment had masterfully crafted an atmosphere of cheerful secrecy and lighthearted mystery that seemed to succeed at loosening lips.

Rusk stared up at the pink "Le Petit" sign that sat above its entrance, bordered by a pink and green Actinidia vine that sprung up from a pot near the ground, crawling up the trellis by the wall until it looped its beautiful leaves around the "L." Through the large windows, greenery dotted with flowers obscured the view of the dining area, like smiles hiding secrets. A lump formed in his stomach as he checked his watch. Less than five till one.

Should I go in?

Visiting a café known for secrets, meeting a woman that he barely even knew for a "Victor's hangout"—and a District Ten woman at that! Why hadn't he asked for clarification? For all he knew, she could be leading him into a den of wolves, or worse, Capitol paparazzi. If she was setting a trap for him, this was his last chance to fly away.

At the same time, he had already gone to the trouble of getting there, turning down Van's coffee offer for it. He couldn't just back out now. If he didn't enter, he'd regret it for days to come—opportunities like this were few and far between… especially now that Faridah was gone. With an unsteady hand, he pushed the green door open and stepped across the threshold..

The interior was a world of lush, verdant color that immediately assaulted him with floral fragrances. Instead of a door chime, the song of a bird heralded his arrival, and he froze, letting his eyes wander over the scene. Long vines trailed down from planters near the ceiling, broken here and there by flowers that poked out through the curtain of vines. From hidden speakers, soothing piano music wafted through the air, interspersed by the sounds of wind, water, and nature. For a magical moment, it was as if the world had returned to Eden.

But then he saw the waiter with long green hair and colorful flower tattoos behind the front desk and remembered that he was in the Capitol, far, far away from Eden. "Hello!" she chirped, waving her hands wildly as she scurried over. "Oh my gosh—a new Victor! How may I help you? Are you here by yourself today?"

Still taking in the otherworldliness of the place, he ignored her excessive excitement, replying softly. "Well… no. I'm looking for Darah Sommers?"

Her eyes grew wide. "I should've known! She mentioned she had another friend coming—Come on! Follow me!"

He groaned slightly on the inside—why are Capitolites like this?—but he followed briskly after her as she led him down a series of narrow back hallways, each one as brightly-lit and green as the one before. Suddenly, she paused in the middle of the hall and brushed away some vines to knock on a door.

Tap tap tap. "Another guest!"

If he listened carefully, he could vaguely hear chatter coming from inside, but it was faint, quickly whooshed away by another rustle of the wind, heard through the speaker but not felt. The others were inside. He straightened his tense shoulders and fumbled with his hands, trying to find a natural position as they hung awkwardly at his sides.

The door swung open and Darah was there, dressed in a clay red skirt, adorned with orange red beads that hung from her neck and wrists. Her brown eyes lit up. "Rusk! You made it!"

He chuckled nervously. "I… guess I did."

"Come on in!"

Giving her a grateful look, he stepped into the room, where two others, an older man and a middle-aged woman, sat around a white wooden table, on which sat a couple plates with tiny cuts of cake. The lighting inside almost felt like natural sunlight, bright and cheery, shining down on the table and surrounding flowers as if they were actually on a picnic out in the real world. The man nodded politely, recognizing his entrance, and Rusk stiffly reciprocated. Though he couldn't pin down exactly who they were, they felt familiar—in a bad way. He vaguely remembered seeing the man brutally cut down other tributes on a screen, with the words "Shortest Games of the Century" flashing below his final blow.

"Well!" Darah said, closing the door behind him. "This is Rusk, District Nine, if you don't know. And Rusk, let me introduce you to Andor and Palomina."

"District…"

"Oh!" She laughed. "I'm sorry—We're all District Ten."

All District Ten, huh? As he shook their hands, he had a sinking feeling that he had been tricked. This was no simple Victors' hangout. This was a District Ten hangout, and as he sat down, he fought the urge to flee. What does she want from me?

Darah slid a plate over to him. "Here! It's a slice of their famous taro cake."

"You have to try it," Palomina concurred, gesturing encouragingly. "I'm a pretty decent baker, but this is a whole new level."

"Thanks." He smiled politely and took it, keeping a watchful eye on the three District Ten Victors. Under their eager gaze, he cut a sliver of purple cake with a fork and brought to his mouth with a nervous laugh, even as he squirmed internally. Their smiles seemed genuine enough—save for Andor, whose lips barely curved up at all—yet it felt like he was being evaluated, watched, appraised. The cake was subtly sweet, with a nutty vanilla earthiness not unlike a sweet potato. He nodded. "It's good—how have I never been here?"

Darah grinned, pleased by the positive reception. "A lot of the Victors like to come here, actually."

"I'm surprised we're not flooded with reporters," Rusk said, leaning back in his seat as his muscles finally began to relax. That liveliness, it was doing something.

Andor chuckled, a soothing sound that contrasted with his twinkling eyes. "Give 'em a couple good punches and they won't come back." The comment earned him a punch on the shoulder from Palomina, at which the older man only laughed.

Rusk laughed too, even though the words brought back the violent image that only uneased him once more. "I didn't see any on my way in."

"You'd expect more, with the death and all," Andor said, sipping coffee as if the recent news were nothing more than another point of interest on the Capitol tabloids.

Rusk frowned at the man's apparent disinterest, and he fixed his eyes on his cake, poking at the small bit left to make it last as long as possible. "It's all so sad, ain't it? Especially for the Fours."

Palomina frowned. "Pobrecitos—they won't catch a break here in the Capitol!"

"I reckon so." Having downed a full mug of coffee, Andor grabbed the pot from the center of the table and poured another mug-full. "But ain't that what the Capitol always does?" Darah's shoulders suddenly tensed, muttering under her breath, but before she could say anything, Andor continued on, calm as always. "They say they'll protect you, but the moment you look like you're 'bout to leave—Adios."

Every hair on Rusk's arm bristled. Did the man just suggest that Faridah's death was her own fault? He bit his lip, trying to hold his peace, yet he felt his face flush red. He caught a glance at Darah's worried eyes, looking back and forth between him and her fellow District Ten Victor. Palomina also seemed about ready to intervene.

Andor raised an eyebrow. "So you lean loyalist? Unexpected for District Nine."

"No, it's not that," Rusk sputtered, blushing madly with embarrassment. "I… I just don't think her death was her fault. So she was Loyalist. So what?" He heard his voice rising; his cheeks burned with indignation. "She didn't deserve to die!"

Andor nodded slightly. "Then pardon me. Bless her heart; I wasn't fixin' to imply—"

"Well!" Darah interjected, rising sharply with a strained smile. "Look at the time! I think we'd all better get going." She placed a hand on Rusk's shoulder. "I'll walk out with you."

The rush of righteous anger suddenly dissolved, leaving him flushed with shame. Where did that come from? He quickly rose, his head bowed low, and made a beeline for the exit, with Darah close behind. Trembling, he didn't look up or pause until he heard the door close behind him, faintly hearing Palomina's muffled "Pa' que? What were you thinking!" on the other side.

I shouldn't have come. I have to leave.

He strode down the meandering vine-covered hallway, searching for the exit as Darah apologized profusely at his side—"Por favor, I'm so sorry, he doesn't mean it."

Was this intentional? Did she just set me up?

He needed space to think, yet she just kept talking and he could feel himself unraveling at the seams.

I can't trust this girl.

As they flew by the front desk, the confused waitress' calls barely registered in his mind. The floral scent that had felt so ethereal when he first entered now suffocated him. He flung the front door open and stumbled outside, gasping for air, trying to breathe, desperately hoping that oxygen would clear his head and the pieces would fall into place.

It didn't. The stuffy summer air only sapped his energy, leaving him lightheaded and faint. Slowly, the world around him came into focus again, and he realized how awkward he looked, hyperventilating in the middle of the street.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up. Darah still stood there, with ashamed eyes that flit between his face and the ground, adding a dash of guilt to his already boiled-over pot of confusing emotions. "I'm okay. Sorry for dragging you into… this mess."

"Oh, no!" She beamed. "We all have problems. I'm not mad at you for yours."

A slow smile crept across his face. Perhaps… she was genuine. Perhaps he could trust her. "Thanks."

"My pleasure."

Suddenly, a flash. And then a click!, followed by a whoop. A Capitolite dressed in pink and red quilt stood about a block away, camera in hand, pointed at the pair. A picture of me… with a District Ten victor… Eyes wide in horror, Rusk backed away from Darah, raising a shaky finger.

"You…"

Her jaw dropped. "No! I—"

But he never heard it. He whirled around and ran, his mind in a haze of emotion and reason that felt like a thick fog, obscuring everything to the point where all he could do was accept the cloudiness and sink into it until nothing made sense anymore and he didn't have to feel. He was done with trying to figure her out. He just knew that he needed to get away from Darah Sommers.


A/N Sorry for the late update. School is a thing now. And this chapter was supposed to have an entire second half but it's already my longest prologue? I guess we'll find out more when the deadline closes next Wednesday, September 2, at 10 PM EST.

Please submit! If you've already submitted one, may I interest you in going for the D10M slot? Most of the trained slots are filled, but there's still a few personalities I'd like to see. I guess you could go for D7M too, though there's a sub there that I'm already interested in. Do check my profile for the remaining slots; many more are closed.

Thoughts?