Goodbyes & Train Rides, Part 2
As the limousine rolled through the streets of the Capitol, Eros found himself gaping anew with every turn. The street was lined with shimmering towers that reached for the sky, whose smooth surfaces seemed as precious as diamond. The concept of a "skyscraper" wasn't exactly foreign to him, but he'd never seen one in person before, neither in his home of Two nor during his travels to One.
He was here. In the Capitol, the crown jewel of Panem. It'd never been in his plans to ever come here, yet now that he faced its splendor, he had to admit that he didn't mind it all too much. Forget the tippity-top of rustic District Two—this was far better. He'd never considered himself an easily impressed person, mind you, yet before the glory of the Capitol, how else could he respond? The Capitol was simply too fabulous to not love. The only remaining question was if he was fabulous enough for them.
"Oh!" Ilithyia gasped from the other side of the car. "There was such a cute cafe back there; we have to visit it on our day out!"
He laughed. "That's literally the millionth time you've said that!"
"Okay? I mean it this time."
"I'm down for it."
"But real talk—what are we even going to do on our day out? I want to go everywhere!"
The short train ride from Two to the Capitol had been a fever dream, between the wave of opulence and Ilithyia's unbridled excitement. They'd spent the time tasting gourmet cheeses. She seemed friendly enough, especially for the girl notorious for ending Athanasios Denzino's bid for designated volunteer. At first, he'd been watchful around her, waiting for the claws to come out, but he hadn't seen any sign of them.
The car looped around another flower-filled roundabout and left the glossy towers behind for stately columns and marble statues. Government buildings. Not like the ones back in Two, most of which were drab, concrete blocks likely designed for intimidation back in the day. These were majestic, proving their absolute strength by their grandeur. And before long, the famed City Circle came into view, a round expanse in the center of the Capitol that held the most crucial structures in Panem on its circumference.
Without warning, the car descended into a spiraling underground tunnel. Eros caught a glimpse of a sign that read "Tribute Tower," and beside it, he could've sworn he saw people with lizard skin taking photos. Oh, how Eunomia would laugh if she were here to see it! He finally tore his eyes away from the window and glanced over at Ilithyia, who had her eyes shut and her head tilted back, a silly grin on her face.
She cracked open an eye. "It feels like a roller coaster."
He tried to suppress his laugh, but it wheezed from his pursed lips like steam from a kettle. As she nodded insistently, he closed his eyes and gave it a try himself. Maybe "roller coaster" wasn't quite it, but it was definitely nice.
The car pulled to a stop beside an elevator, where their escort waited for them. He led them in and swiped a card, and the three of them shot upwards. One… two… three… four floors up.
The elevator doors opened to a whole new world, one where the Romans of old and the modern world collided in all its glory. As their shoes clopped on the polished stone flooring, they stepped into an entryway that opened up to larger spaces on every side. The living room, both in front of them and to their left, with the sun streaming in and a view of the porch and garden outside. A dining room to the right, lined with two marble colonnades parallel to the edge of the mahogany banquet table. A hallway to the side that beckoned them towards their private living spaces.
"You have a moment to look around if you'd like," the escort said as she sauntered off towards the kitchen. "I'll call you over when lunch is ready. Go have some fun!"
Eros looked to Ilithyia, only to find her staring back at him with eager eyes. It was time to explore! He barely had a moment to process before he found himself running after her down the side hallway.
While she charged on ahead, he came to an abrupt stop before a door halfway down the hall. "Look!" he called. "They've even engraved our names on the doors!" He traced his finger along the gilded letters. "Ilithyia Aella, District Two. So this is your room?"
"No, dummy. It's clearly yours." She laughed. "But forget the engraving. Let's see inside!"
He swung the door open and gave her a curt nod with a wink. "After you, milady."
"Many thanks, kind sir," she said. "But— oh!"
The room was gorgeous. There was no other way to describe it—and he'd thought he knew what extravagance was, with his life in the upper tiers of District Two. Ilithyia tenderly brushed through the silken canopy that surrounded her bed and laid down on the blanket, sighing in pleasure as she rubbed the fabric between her fingers.
"This is the life." She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, but then she was on her feet again, marveling at the painting of Panem on the opposite wall.
Eros agreed that it was breathtaking, with its colorful (glamourized) illustrations of each district, but he couldn't help but feel as if he'd disappeared from her view, replaced by a painting.
He chuckled. "I once accidentally broke a painting."
"Oh no! You parents didn't kill you for it, did they?"
"Only halfway."
He left it at that so his mind could catch up and come up with something believable. In fact, he hadn't ever broken a painting before—that was always Aegon's job as the dumb brute—but for story's sake he might as well have done it. Either way, she didn't ask. Instead, they ran back down the hallway and swept out onto the balcony, where they were greeted by the urban wonder of the Capitol.
The sun was still high in the sky. A pair of eagles soared far above them towards the majestic purple mountains in the distance. Rainbow skyscrapers shimmered like a dreamy mirage, calling out to him. He smiled as he stepped out from under the awning and allowed the sun to kiss his skin. From this perspective, the City Circle seemed even more impressive than it did from the ground, with its overflowing flowerbeds of every color known to man.
Ilithyia looked about in wonder, her hair already completely undone from its previously styled waves. She shifted her weight from leg to leg, as if her heart would stop beating if she had to stand still.
"Oh. My. Wow." Her voice was breathless. "District One's got nothing on the Capitol."
Eros almost burst out laughing at how much of an understatement it was. District One was penniless compared to the magnificence that assaulted his eyes, reminding him of how little his own home of Two was. And if Two was nothing, then what was he? Less than nothing? Thankfully, he had a stylist and prep team for that.
Ilithyia descended on a marble bench nestled in a ring of gardenias, which perfumed the air with fragrance. Her eyes fluttered shut as she basked in the sun. "Tell me about the painting."
"Painting?"
"The one you broke."
"Oh, the painting." He flashed a smile and scratched his head. "My parents weren't actually that mad because it was my uncle's."
"Your uncle?"
"He and Father don't get along."
"Ah." She nodded, staring out over the Capitol. After an unfamiliar moment of silence, she chuckled. "My parents used to get mad at me when I broke stuff. Now they're just used to it."
"Clumsy?"
"Nah. I just forget things sometimes when I get excited." She opened her eyes, just to roll them. "But we just move on, right? No use wasting time on a mistake you already made."
He appreciated the sentiment, yet it didn't sit quite right, not while they waited to enter the Hunger Games. In the Arena, any mistake could be his last, especially if he didn't have anyone around on his side.
But that was why it was so crucial for him and Ilithyia to get along well—and boy, were they getting along! If it was going so well on the first day, he could only imagine how much better things could be. It must've been some stroke of luck or divinity, with the way the two of them just worked.
"You know? I'm glad it's you and not Aegon."
Of course she preferred him to Aegon. Most human beings did. But he blushed anyway and smiled to feign embarrassment. "Really?"
"I think we vibe. We just need solid allies, and we'll be set for the endgame, but then…"
Her brow suddenly darkened with realization, although the sun shined just as brightly as it did before. He averted his eyes. Once the endgame hit, even district partners would have to fight each other. Only one of them could live. No matter how well they hit it off, there'd come a point where they'd have to part.
He couldn't let her positive vibes throw him off.
Zap!
Something small but hard hit his cheek. He looked up to find Ilithyia with a handful of gravel and a playful grin. When he rolled his eyes, she scattered a few more over the edge of the balcony, where it bounced back in a chorus of zaps to rain down over him.
"Let's enjoy our time, okay?"
When Mati first boarded the District Nine train, he had felt that anything would be better than sitting alone in the visiting room of the Justice Building. His only visitor had been his roommate Spate, but neither he nor his roommate had talked much and they spent most of their allotted time sitting in awkward silence. Mati didn't blame him. What was he supposed to say—"I'll miss you… Can I have your side of the room?"
But now, he sat at the lunch table aboard the train to the Capitol, shaking in his seat as fiercer personalities thickened the atmosphere until he felt like he was about to choke. Though the elliptical table was covered in silver platters with smells that stirred his stomach and all kinds of delicacies he'd never even heard of, let alone tried, he couldn't work up a real appetite.
He'd once heard that wild animals only stopped to eat when they felt secure in their environment. Despite the Peacekeepers at either door, the train car was anything but secure.
At one end stood Chamois Debonair, the escort for District Nine, with her hand on her hips and her waist-length curls flowing in the wind from the air conditioner. She cocked her head. Beneath her thick eyelashes, her eyelids fluttered in unamusement, as if she couldn't believe how base people could be.
At the other end, Clarke pressed her fists against the table. Her veins popped from her skinny arms, on which every hair stood on its end. Though starvation had clearly whittled down the girl's body over the years, her blazing eyes showed no sign of backing down from this existential threat.
"Miss Brioche," Chamois started again for the nth time that day. "Must I repeat myself? You need to eat!"
"I'm not touching it!" Clarke said. "You can't make me!"
If it weren't socially unacceptable, Mati would've ducked and covered under the table to hide from the ticking time bomb. His eyes darted back and forth between the two. Where were the mentors? Weren't they supposed to keep fights like this from happening? If things got physical, they'd keep the situation from flying out of control—yet Clarke didn't seem to care, which only led him to fear for her sake. If she attacked Chamois, the Peacekeepers wouldn't hesitate to intervene. He remembered the year District Nine held a special Reaping to replace the male tribute, who'd mysteriously disappeared without a word.
Chamois let out an exasperated sigh. "For the sake of your health, I implore you—"
"How dare you talk about my health!" Clarke hissed. "You'll be cheering for my death with the rest of 'em Capitol bastards."
"Excuse me?"
Amidst the shouting, a door slid open, so softly that Mati would've missed it had it not been to let in Vannes and Matza, the unlucky pair of victors chosen to mentor this year. The man paused for a second as he entered the train car. His eyes met Mati's, demanding answers. Mati could only silently beg the man to do something.
"The Capitol has provided such scrumptious delights out of its generosity." Chamois shook her head. "And this is the way you repay—"
"Generosity? Generosity my a—"
"Watch your language, dear girl!"
"I don't fu—"
Vannes brought down his fists with a slam. "Cut it. Both you guys."
Mati jumped in his seat. Clarke whipped towards Vannes in shock, not having noticed him enter. Chamois crossed her arms, muttering something about how barbaric it all was.
Under Vannes' forceful gaze, both aggressors eased away from each other. Chamois settled down in her seat and helped herself to a pork cutlet, yet Clarke continued to glare at the escort, the Peacekeepers, at him. Matza rested a wrinkled hand on her balled one and whispered something in the tribute's ear. Clarke nodded and turned her face away from everyone else, reluctantly lifting her fists off the table and following Matza off to the other car.
The silence wasn't much better.
Vannes cleared his throat and smiled kindly. "Don't worry. Matza will make sure she's okay."
Though Mati felt like he should say something, he couldn't put together any coherent thought. So he stared back at his mentor with wide eyes and hoped that it wouldn't be misinterpreted as cold indifference.
"You betcha." The man chuckled. "Heaven knows I was a total mess. She calmed me down then; she'll do it again."
Now that Mati thought about it, he hadn't ever seen a replay of Vannes' games, or Matza's either. On the off chance that Capitol broadcasting played old footage of a District Nine victor, it was always Rusk's Games, the haunted arena, more memorable for its gory deaths than its meek, reclusive victor. Maybe the Capitol only showed Rusk because the other victors were too rebellious to show.
Rebellion. The movement his parents sacrificed him for. The mobs of "patriots" that beat him up on sight. The destructive field-burning that starved its own people more than it ever did the Capitol.
No, rebellion was not a good thing. But neither was speaking an unpopular opinion, so he bowed his head and stuffed food in his mouth though he still lacked an appetite. Even with the immediate threat now gone, he didn't feel any safer than he had before.
He could feel the man's appraising eyes on him. Had Vannes noticed his subdued reaction and already guessed that he wasn't too fond of the rebels? The District Nine victors weren't known for their open-mindedness. As long as he kept his thoughts to himself, he'd be fine.
That was, as fine as anyone could possibly be in the Hunger Games. With the crushing tension of the moment, he barely had the energy to think about his imminent death. He hoped he'd be okay. He hoped Clarke would be okay. He hoped everyone would be okay. But he knew for sure that things would be anything but okay.
When Razer, the mentor for District Three, called his tributes in to watch the Reaping recaps, it was the first time Ace had seen Ada since they arrived in the Capitol. The short train ride had been a silent one. She had sat in the corner and stared out the window the entire time, without a single sound. Even now, she huddled in the corner of the sofa and clutched a pillow to her chest. Though Ace wanted to say something so badly, nothing he could come up with seemed right.
But that was nothing new to him. He never had the right things to say. Not to Lumosa as she clutched his hands and made him promise that he'd try to come home. Not to his younger brother Axel as the two hugged and all Ace could see was his brother alone, without anyone to protect him. Even when the neighbors came to say goodbye, he could only mutter something stupid about how they'd need to find someone else to fix their roof whenever it rained.
He'd often wondered when his joints would finally loosen up and he'd find himself at ease among his "friends," the way everyone always seemed to be. None of them ever seemed as stiff and mechanical as he felt. But that time would never come now, leaving him with nothing but unfulfilled fantasies of belonging.
The screen flickered to life as Jovian Vermillius took center stage to great applause from the studio audience, whose cheers echoed inside his skull. They would cheer the same when he died.
"Our tributes are finally here, so I won't hold us any longer. Let's meet the tributes of the Two-Hundred-Fortieth Hunger Games!"
Panem's familiar seal flashed across the screen, transitioning to District One. Though he'd seen it tens of times, never once had he imagined that he'd be here in the Capitol himself. He glanced over at Razer, just in time to see his mentor leave the room to pick up a call.
Great. His own brain already strained under the weight of simply functioning. He'd try his best to glean information from the recaps, but he could already tell that no matter how hard he tried, half of it would go in one ear and out the other. Or in one eye and… out the other?
He sighed. First he couldn't talk; now he couldn't even think straight.
Sure enough, the tributes appeared and disappeared in a blur. First the Ones, and then the Twos, all tall, muscular tributes that didn't look like they'd ever starved a day in their lives, with the way they waltzed around in their expensive clothes. When District Three appeared after them, his heart sank. Watching his own Reaping would be reliving it all over again, yet his eyes remained glued to the screen, too brain-dead to tear them away, even when he heard a soft gasp from Ada.
It wasn't as painful as he expected. Instead of the knife in his heart, he felt… nothing. Only emptiness. And he didn't know how to feel.
District Four… Five… Six…. Their faces passed by like the garbage in the streets after a heavy rain, momentarily holding his attention but quickly forgotten the moment it cut to the next district. Seven brought back the strong tributes, but it quickly returned to Panem's regular programming of poverty with Eight and Nine, though the Nine girl's barrage sent a chill down his spine. So dumb, yet so brave, and in a weird way, he wished he could do it too, unleash the locked-up frustration towards the Capitol that never seemed to find its way out of his system. District Ten, predictably strong. District Eleven, not so much, though their odds were still better than Three's. District Twelve yielded two volunteers, but their malnourished frames didn't support the bravado in the girl's voice.
The screen cut back to Jovian. The man said something about excitement or whatever, but it was hard enough to register the sound of someone speaking—forget paying attention to the words! When the screen turned black, he stared at it in a stupor until the biting silence roused him.
He looked around. The two were alone; Razer hadn't returned yet, so they had no instruction on what to do next. Ada still remained in her huddled position, staring off into nowhere, and… well, he didn't like it. She looked sad. Somehow, that made him sad too.
"Um, hey," he said. He hadn't spoken for far too long and it showed, his voice scratchy and low. "You, eh… holding up okay?"
She nodded quickly and wiped her eyes. "I'm fine." Her voice was barely louder than a whisper, flat and emotionless. "If we want any kind of chance, we need to start strategizing now."
We. They hadn't ever agreed on an alliance—they hadn't even talked before—but the idea felt oddly comforting, that she'd chosen to include him in whatever plans he had. Of course, he probably wouldn't be much use to her, with her extensive education… He hoped she wouldn't break off the alliance once it became apparent that he had little of her brainpower.
"So… what did you think?" she said.
He stared back blankly. Think? What was there to think? They'd only seen their competition for a few seconds. "Districts One, Two, Seven, and Ten look scary."
She nodded politely. "The trained tributes are certainly… scary, as you put it."
"Twelve too, and uh… Nine girl maybe?"
"I'm thinking that the Four Male, Six Female, and Eleven Male might be threats. I'm not convinced about Nine Female since there's no way they would let her win, correct?"
"Um… right."
After a pause, she seemed to realize that he had nothing to say, so she continued, her voice picking up in pace. "The problematic variable is that all the trained tributes seem agreeable enough, which could imply that they would choose to band together in one big super-alliance. It's just too early to tell. We'll just have to watch them in training before confirming the hypothesis—" She suddenly froze. "Am I talking too much? I think I'm talking too much."
Was she? He wasn't quite sure himself. But he couldn't bring himself to say yes, so the answer had to be no. "You're fine."
"Thanks. Sometimes I get excited and forget how to talk to people… But that's it, I think. I'll need some more time to process all this information… "
He wasn't any better—for heaven's sake, he couldn't talk to people even when he wasn't excited—but the words jumbled in his brain in an incoherent mess. Perhaps it wasn't worth saying.
In any case, he didn't get a chance to speak, for she was soon gone again, staring off into nothing as she retreated into the inner workings of her own mind. It left him twiddling his thumbs. He didn't know what information there was to process; what he'd told Ada had been all he got. But he was fine with that. He never claimed to be a genius.
It was nice to just be wanted.
After dinner and the Reaping recaps, the passengers about the District Eight train settled into an uneasy silence, each retreating to their own corners of the vehicle. Ellis alone sat in the car that functioned as their living room, buried in a luxurious purple bean bag with his arms retracted into his oversized sweater, held close to his chest. His eyes stared blankly at the floor-to-ceiling screen before him. It blared the latest Capitol gossip from the only non-Games station he'd been able to find.
"Right after this advertisement break, we'll hear from Madame Othella and her delicious dog show on CCN, your one-stop shop for all the latest celebrity news!"
He knew he should be doing something to improve his odds. Making a plan for the next few days, maybe, or even getting all his emotions out. Yet even thinking about the deathmatch ahead felt like a burden too heavy to bear at the moment. At home, whenever work got stressful, he'd usually bake or savor the crumbs from his cookie stash, but he was now stuffed from dinner and every additional cookie only added more stress on his stomach. The whirlwind of a day had left him exhausted, and it was simply easier to let the bright colors and shapes of Capitol television numb the pain.
It wasn't that he hadn't tried. Au contraire, he'd done his best to function up to this point, from handing over his handkerchief to Virginia during the Reaping to participating in the discussion about their competitors over dinner. He had always made it a point to help whoever needed it, Hunger Games or not. But how did one function normally knowing that he would likely be dead in a week?
He heard the door slide open and glanced back, shaking himself from the television-induced numbness. Virginia walked towards him with his handkerchief neatly folded in hand.
"Hey, Ellis." She seemed about as tired as he was, yet her perfect posture didn't so much as waver.
"Hey."
"Thank you for the handkerchief; I washed and dried it for you."
"Oh, no. It was my pleasure." He wriggled his hand free from his sweater cocoon to take the handkerchief. Hoping that she'd respond, he cracked a tired grin. "The least I could do for my district partner."
She didn't smile back as she settled down rigidly on a nearby chair.
Something had changed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but between the Reaping and boarding the train, an icy shell had coated her gentle features. It had been most obvious during dinner. She had smiled and nodded, her manners elegant and refined (much to the escort's delight), yet she didn't quite seem like the same girl he'd met on Reaping Stage. Even now, as she stood there, wringing her hands in uncharacteristically visible signs of distress, she refused to meet his gaze.
Maybe it was shock, or she was emotionally worn out, or one of a million reasonable explanations. Somehow, it didn't seem like any of those were the case.
"If you want to talk, I'm open to listen," he said.
She sucked in a deep breath. "Maybe we really should talk."
"So! About what?" He grabbed the remote and clicked the screen off. Though he wriggled to try to right himself, the bean bag was useless for sitting up. "Family? The Games? Mr. Escort's fashion choices?"
She pursed her lips as if suppressing a smile. A long pause ensured. With the television gone, the clickety-clack of the train rumbled in his ear.
"I don't think we can ally," she said.
It caught him off-guard. They had never explicitly agreed to team up, but it would've made sense after what happened at the Reaping. Maybe he'd gotten his expectations up too early.
He frowned. "Why?"
"I'm sorry, Ellis." She looked up with a mournful smile, this time genuine. "You're a good person. A really good person."
"It was just human decency."
"That's the problem." She sighed, a deep one that seemed to rock her very core, as if she herself couldn't believe what she was about to say. "They want us to be inhuman."
No one could deny that Panem wasn't friendly towards people that clung to their morals, yet it still sent a chill down Ellis' spine. He'd survived this long in the cruel; hadn't he? Never once did he hesitate to help one in need whenever he could. Why should this be any different?
He knew why, but it didn't make admitting it any easier. He nodded slowly.
"And I don't think you could ever be inhuman." Her blue eyes pleaded for understanding. "I need to win."
As he looked back at her, he wondered if she herself could ever be inhuman, with her gentle gait and meek demeanor. "I get it. It's the Hunger Games, after all."
"I hope you won't be mad at me, but I completely understand if you are…"
"Don't worry about it… I wish you the best."
The pair sat in silence, staring at each other. He smiled sadly. She didn't reciprocate. He already knew she wouldn't, but he had hoped anyway. If she didn't want an alliance, he'd respect her decision, but it didn't make it any easier for him.
She rose softly. "Well… I'll see you around."
"Hopefully not in the Arena?" he said. "It'll keep things simple for you."
Her voice cracked. "Y-Yeah."
With nothing else to say, she quickly turned around and strode towards the exit, but she froze at the door. Her shoulders rose with a deep breath, and then they fell.
"Hey," he said. "If you ever change your mind… I'm always open."
No response but a light sniffle, and then the opening of the door. Then she was gone.
His suspicions were right. Virginia's decision still stung in his heart, but it must've hurt her more. Deep down, she seemed to be a compassionate person herself, torn by the system of the Games itself. He hoped that the Games wouldn't physically tear her apart too.
Ellis reached for the remote again.
A/N Welp. This took longer than I expected. I wrote and rewrote this chapter so many times; I feel like I struggle to catch the vibes when writing in 3rd Person Past. But I'll figure it out eventually. Thank you to those who reviewed; it always puts a smile on my face.
I'd love to know your thoughts!
