Train Rides Part 1

TW: Contains mentions of self-harm and distress

ALDER PIERCE (18)

DISTRICT ONE MALE

Alder was terrified.

Cold sweat dripped from his palms. His eyes shifted about uncontrollably. A jelly-like feeling enraptured his knees. The loud chants of the crowd outside as they were whisked to the trains triggered his chromesthesia, inducing a bleak, white image that pulsated deafeningly within his head, making him clamp his clammy hands over his ears and squeeze his eyes shut.

It didn't help that Fleur was right there in that care with him, separated by the escort.

They boarded the train, Fleur entering first, Alder lagging behind, taking deep breaths to hide his terror.

A luminescent terror, but not one stirred up by the Games. Rather, it was a gnawing fear of the girl he considered his best friend.

Fleur.

He feared. Feared her reaction. Feared her oncoming wrath. Feared her imminent breakdown.

She's gonna kill me for volunteering.

He didn't even dare to chance a look upon her face, the fear within him denying him the courage to do so. It manifested and swirled within him, threatening to tear him apart.

One foot on the train, followed by the other, and then the train door was slammed shut.

And Alder found himself face-to-face with Fleur.

Her expression was unreadable, a blank slate with no hints of any sort of visible emotions, which did nothing to soothe Alder's worries. She stood straight, her chin slightly raised as usual, her eyes meeting his and holding his gaze in an iron-clad grip. Behind her, from the corners of his locked eyes, he caught fleeting glimpses of their mentors, Geneva and Cartier, observing their conversation with tense anticipation, perched in casually defensive positions, as if preparing for the worst.

Alder himself couldn't bear to unravel the worst.

The tension crawled into his skin, creeping through his insides and shooting tendrils through his veins. Silence taunted him like a booming menace, whipping him into its laughingstock. Alder took a deep breath. He had to be the one to break the silence.

"Uhm," he muttered, gripping the coarse fabric of his trousers. "So, about the volunteering thing, I-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Fleur breathed, a flash of distress beeping in her eye. She chewed on her lower lip, her wrists pressed hard against one another.

Shame smashed straight into Alder's chest like a wrecking ball. All of a sudden, his heart felt heavy, taking on the weight of a mutt. He swallowed, tracing the bile as it slithered down his throat. With an apologetic dip of his head, he continued, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't want to stir up any trouble or anything. I had to do it, for Cara, a-and I knew that if you couldn't convince me to stay, you'd refuse to volunteer and-"

Fleur cut him off. "It's fine, uhm, let's not dwell on that, yeah? It's happened, now all we can do is think about what happens next." She flashed him a forgiving smile, but Alder could tell it was a forced one. Still, by most standards, it was a rather convincing smile, one that seemed to relax Geneva, as the tension went out of her eyes.

"Great, now that we've got the elephant out of the room-" she sighed.

"Elephant?" Cartier asked, raising a confused eyebrow. His gleaming golden watch, one he undoubtedly fashioned for himself, reflected an uncomfortable beam of light into Alder's eye.

Geneve rolled her eyes. "Figure of speech, Cart, you're supposed to be the smart one here." She shook her head, blinking rapidly. "Anyway, as I was saying, now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's talk about the Games." She gestured for them to sit on a couple of couches, separated by a small table with a vase on it. Fleur and Alder did as they were told. As he sank into the comfy velvet seat, he realised that these couches were much more comfortable than anything Alder had ever sat on.

It's Capitol-made, of course it's more comfortable than anything from the Districts.

"So," Geneva piped up. "Tell me a little more about yourselves. Cartier and I, well, we haven't exactly checked you guys out at the Academy, that place still gives me the shivers." A haunting look crept upon her face and Alder could sense the lucid fears emitting from her expression, as if the Academy itself brought about bad trauma. Maybe she'd been bullied? But that couldn't have been the case, Geneva was at one point the poster girl of the Academy, Alder found it impossible to believe that she of all people would be terrified of the place that practically worshipped her.

So, what changed? he wondered, but Geneva interrupted his thoughts.

"Alright, let's start with you, Fleur, a Montgomery." She nearly spat out Fleur's surname, her expression shifting to a disgusted look that oozed right into the atmosphere. Alder frowned.

What was that for?

Fleur, however, didn't seem at all bothered. Donning a casual look, she snatched a few apples from a basket on the table that separated them and their mentors. Then, she began to juggle. The apples soared into the air, in quick, rapid-fair succession. Fleur's hands moved like clockwork, tossing and catching the apples with such incredible speed and precision, even Alder was left speechless.

If only he could do something like that.

Fleur giggled as she juggled on, a concentrated yet delighted gleam twinkling in her eyes. Then, for the finale, she headbutted one of the apples and sent it barrelling straight in the direction of a cup of water placed right in front of Cartier. Alder held back a guffaw as the cup tumbled backwards, spilling cold, shimmering liquid all over Cartier. Their mentor yelped as he stumbled out of his couch, a huge, dark puddle splashed over his shirt and pants. A lively, bright yellow colour popped into his head, triggered by the sounds that were erupting from all across the train car.

Beside him, Fleur gave Cartier an apologetic look, although a devilish smile had whipped itself upon her face. "Oops, I totally didn't mean that," she giggled, handing Cartier a box of tissues.

Geneva stared on, a ghost of a smile tugging upon her lips. "That was a good one," she admitted. "I used to do that all the time to him back when we were kids."

"I did not miss those times," Cartier grumbled, sighing deeply. "But I suppose you got me there, kid. Wouldn't hurt to use a similar strategy in the arena."

Alder raised an eyebrow. "What, splash some water over the Careers and hope they disintegrate? I mean, sure, that's totally worked out in the past, right?"

A glimmer of a grin clung onto Cartier's lips. "Ah, I didn't say it had to be a glass of water. Could be poison, could be a snare, could be a trap, whether tribute-made or Gamemaker-made. Juggling could be an unexpected form of distraction, and then once they're off-guard, bam! You've got yourself a kill."

Geneva winced at the word kill, which again, Alder found rather odd. "Yes, exactly that. Now Cart, go get changed, if Manizha finds out we've dirtied the carpet again, she's gonna have a go at our heads."

ITHACA EMORY (18)

DISTRICT THREE FEMALE

Ithaca hated the train.

Was it luxurious? Yes.

Was it comfortable? Yes.

Was the food delicious? Yes.

Did it stink of the Capitol? Hell to the yes.

Everything from the colossal, oversized portrait of President Snow hung on the walls of the dining car to the golden chandeliers that sparkled with dazzling diamonds, all of it reeked with a Capitolite stench.

Ithaca loathed it.

Still, that didn't stop her from chowing down the food that was set before her on the train, making sure to dig into the dishes with her hands and gobble the food to maximise her annoyance level. As soon as the red-haired Avox set the sparkling silver plate of what Nikola told her was 'pizza' before her, Ithaca grabbed it, staining her fingers red with tomato sauce, before shoving a large mouthful of it straight into her mouth, making a less than flattering noise as she did so. Almost immediately, she was greeted with an explosion of incredible flavours. The oozing cheese, the savoury tomato sauce, the crispy thin crust, the succulent mushrooms, the juicy beef, delectable goodness bombarded her, lighting her eyes up as she continued to stuff herself silly.

"Savages, the whole lot of them," she could hear the escort mutter, to which Nikola responded by giving the pink-haired lady a firm glare.

Ithaca looked up, the corners of her mouth blotted with bright colours after chomping on some 'spaghetti with pesto sauce', as Nikola called it and slurping on some creamy mushroom soup. "Well," she mumbled, food still in her mouth. "That's bold of you to say. You find a barbaric, rather primitive pleasure in watching scared little kids get massacred in the most gruesome ways imaginable. Furthermore, if you're keeping score, your savagery is heightened by the fact that you treat those who are not from your society like utter crap. Oh, and at least us 'District savages' have the decency to dress up properly unlike you clown folk, and we refrain from bragging about literally every single damn thing we have ever done in our fucking lives." She flashed a wide smile, sauce dribbling down her chin. "Contented with my response?"

The escort seethed, fumes almost piping out of her ears. Ithaca witnessed the redness rising in her cheeks, which only widened her smile.

She had successfully pissed her off.

Ithaca casually dumped a couple more fries sprinkled with sea salt and topped with truffle oil into her mouth, and that proved to be the nail in the coffin. The escort jumped to her feet and stormed off, screeching unintelligibly in that unprofessional Capitol accent of hers.

"Damn," Coda whistled, slurping his glass of fruit punch, his eyes wide with amazement.

"That's almost as good as the time I dissed Martha Newton."

Ithaca scowled. "You've never dissed her, that's a lie!"

Coda shrugged. "She started preaching the Capitol's greatness and I just gave her a nice talking-to. I got her good," he declared, puffing his chest slightly with pride.

Crossing her shoulders, Ithaca narrowed her eyes. "Oh really? I'm inclined to believe that you merely shouted at her and ran off."

Coda's face flushed. A smirk spread across Ithaca's face. Oh, she got him good. "Well, alright, maybe I did do that, but it's still an iconic moment!"

Ithaca rolled her eyes. "No it isn't, you idiot."

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not!"

"Yes it is!"

"I think I'm going to head out of here," Gadget murmured, her face a sickly shade of green. She had barely touched any of the lavish dishes laid upon the table, merely taking a couple of bites of something the escort had referred to as 'shepherd's pie', a dish that Ithaca had been meaning to try out next once she'd finished gobbling down the crispy, juicy piece of fried chicken cutlet she was holding. Gadget stood up, almost lurching forward, but she stopped herself just in time. Taking a deep breath, she began to walk off but Nikola held out his arm to block her way.

"Gadget, please," he implored.

What the hell was going on? she wondered. Was Gadget about to throw up? If so, why on earth was Nikola trying to stop her? Ithaca certainly did not want vomit all over the table.

"I-I'm sorry," Gadget whispered softly, brushing Nikola's arm aside as she stumbled towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Nikola sighed, staring ahead with a wistful look.

Coda and Ithaca exchanged glances. Neither quite knew what had just unfolded before them. Was Gadget sick? Was she doing something wrong? The possibilities swarmed through Ithaca's brain cells. They ate in silence for the most part after that. Gadget was nowhere to be found, and a queer feeling began to flicker within Ithaca's guts, as if she sensed something was wrong, but Nikola waved it off, his face uneasy whenever the topic moved to Gadget.

That got the cogs inside her brain turning.

Once lunch was finished, Ithaca stood up. "Is there a library or something here?" she asked.

Nikola gestured ahead. "Two cars away, go ahead."

Ithaca nodded, and whisked herself off to engage in the one activity she so dearly loved before certain doom was impended upon them: read.

Maybe she would find some hints to Gadget's condition in her reading.

PERSEY FAYRE (16)

DISTRICT FIVE MALE

After eating some eggs, Persey had an egg-cellent time with Switch.

Passing his empty plate to an Avox and wiping the crumbs of egg toast off his chin, he gave his mentor a meek smile. "Egg-scuse me for burping just now, but those eggs were egg-ceptionally delicious!" He shot Switch a pair of fingerguns, a gesture she instantly returned, her infectious grin shining upon her face. It had been years since her victory, yet she'd still maintained her youthful joyousness, all the smiling and positivity allowing her to sustain a look that masked her true age.

"I like this one!" Switch declared, letting out a soft giggle.

Alea sighed, giving the pair an exasperated look as she continued counting and sorting the contents of a jar of nuts, a politely bored expression on her face. "Can we go somewhere else?" she asked, glancing bemusedly at Marie. "Someplace away from this joker."

Persey frowned, shooting her an appalled look. "Hey, I'm not a joker, I'm an engineer! And don't try changing my mind on that, unless you want to give me a brain transplant!"

Switch let out a soft chuckle at that half-hearted pun. Alea, on the other hand, merely gave him a listless nod, continuing in her pursuit to calculate the ratio of pistachio to cashew nuts and scribbling her results on a notepad, something Persey found to be an even bigger joke than his awesome puns. "Uh-huh, sure, whatever." She stared off into space, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

Maybe that's better, Persey thought. If she's thinking to herself, she'll shut up.

"So Switch, you like my jokes?" he asked, his tone nonchalant as ever.

Switch nodded quickly, her dark ponytail bobbing up and down as she did so. "Ooh yes, you sound just like me when I was your age, all fun and jokes! That's not a bad thing at all!"

Alea gritted her teeth. "At least you had humour," she murmured, continuing to stare blankly out the window, watching the wide meadows scattered with tiny, unknown blobs and splatterings of shrubbery roll by, rows of lush, green hills tumbling by in the distance underneath a vivid, lucid sky that sparkled with azure tones, a sight that was distinctly unrecognisable from the sky he'd grown so accustomed to back home in Five.

But this was not home, was it?

Persey bit his tongue, squeezing the edge of the dining table tightly.

No, no more thinking about home! he reminded himself sternly. Focus, focus on engineering your way out of this!

"Persey here's got bucketloads of humour, and I'm sure you do too sweetie," Switch told Alea, flashing a warm smile.

Alea snorted. "Yea, of course I do, just don't think this is the right time to joke around, you know?" She murmured something else under her breath, but Persey didn't quite catch it.

Whatever, let Queen Bee say whatever she wants, she's going down soon enough anyway.

His eyes drifted to Marie, who'd remained quiet all this while. Her head was drooped downwards like a wilted plant, her long, flowing, blonde strands of hair cascading over her face like a veil, covering her features. Under the shine of sunlight, her hair seemed to glisten like gold.

Persey could only wish his hair was like hers.

It was hard to believe that she was a year younger than Persey, and a full three years Alea's junior. She excluded an aura of calmness and maturity, one that bested even Alea's aura, yet every time the air conditioning blew a couple of strands of golden hair from her face, Persey spotted her eyes. Specks of hazel, blank, emotionless, numb. They gazed downwards at something on her lap, but Persey couldn't see what it was. Perhaps a book? Or maybe a drawing? Or maybe even a scientific paper? He craned his neck, trying to sneak a peek at what it was.

"Hey!" Alea hissed. "Mind your own business, don't bother her!"

Persey paid her no attention, however, as he stared at the armada of words lined neatly across twin pages dusted with a light shading of brown. On top of one of them was a large heading, written in cursive.

Chapter Fifteen.

Persey couldn't tell what she was writing, but the way her pen danced about the pages, sprinkling an assortment of words and phrases with such magnificent, poetic ease, made him think that it was something close to her heart. "What is that?" he asked, eyeing the words curiously.

Marie glanced up and instantly snapped the book shut, her eyes widening in alarm. "Oh, uhm, nothing," she murmured quietly.

"See? I told you not to bother her," Alea grumbled. "Sorry 'bout that Marie."

"It's fine," the young, fifteen-year-old Victor uttered, a far cry from the confident self she seemed to be during her Games and in the aftermath. Had that been just an act?

"What are you writing about? A crush maybe?" Persey queried, flashing Marie a sly grin.

"Ha, that's funny, but I don't have a crush," Marie said dryly, a small smile tugging at her lips. She brushed some of her hair out of her face, revealing an expression that seemed almost weary, the creases in her forehead making her look a bit older than she actually was.

Her maturity compared to Persey's alarmed him.

Switch raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh really? Just the other day, I saw you giving a certain someone a nice, long look-"

Whack! Persey blinked as Marie whacked Switch in the head with her book, and yet she still failed to quell the barrage of laughter that sputtered out of the older Victor's mouth. "Oh shut it, Switch," Marie snapped. She turned to Alea, bearing a Why am I surrounded by idiots expression. "You wanna go to your room? We can talk more about other stuff there."

Alea jumped to her feet, her previously entranced eyes that were staring out the window finally escaping from its hypnosis. "Thought you'd never ask," she murmured, making a beeline for the huge oak door marked with D5F. Marie gave Switch a final nod before picking up her book and moving away, her swift, steady movements making her almost seem as though she was gliding.

"Good riddance she's gone," Persey muttered. "She was a pain in the neck." He turned his attention back to Switch, who seemed to be deep in thought, her eyes glancing sideways as she rested her chin on her hand. "What's on your mind, huh?"

A small smirk curled on her lips. "Hmm, you up for a few little pranks?"

KIERAN ACHLYS (18)

DISTRICT SEVEN MALE

At least he saw a familiar face.

Jill Wilson, or 'Bloody Jill', as many of the older folk in Seven called her, knocked on the door of his room on the train. She was neither the first nor would she be the last, because Kieran had no intention of letting anyone come in.

No, he planned on staying in solitude so he could think in peace.

The knocking stopped after a brief while.

Good, Kieran thought. At least she's not like that annoying Omega girl who knocked for five fucking minutes.

He could still hear her annoying little voice inside his head, telling him about how loneliness wasn't going to do him well in the arena and that she just wanted to talk and all of that nonsense.

It had worked for Mare Trybull, Gadget Schroeder and Hassan Greenwood, Kieran was simply making good use of a tried and tested tactic, unlike some idiot whose name contained the letters O-M-E-G-A.

He sighed, staring at the blank television screen ahead of him, propped up on a wooden desk that undoubtedly cost his fellow District folk their blood, sweat and tears. His reflection stared back at him from the glass of the screen, forcing upon him the image of his own broken self. He gazed upon his own eyes, world-weary, worn, in search of solace that had been ripped right out of his bloody hands.

All his life, he'd waited for a miracle like Nathaniel, and now, just as he was on the verge of waking up from his nightmare, the Capitol had plunged him into the deepest depths of his own abyss.

Letting out a wistful sigh, Kieran reclined into the soft cushions of his bed, his body void of any energy left, his fragile heart unable to withstand all the demons that had been shaken from their slumber by a single slip of paper.

End it now, just jump off the train, then you won't have to face the blinding lights of the Capitol, then your death won't be cheered on by the masses.

"Jumping… How tempting," he mused aloud, furrowing his eyebrows.

"It wouldn't work."

"What the-" Kieran spun around, his hands scrambling for a bow that wasn't there. The voice had startled him, causing him to almost jump out of his own skin. His neck swivelled, his eyes narrowing in contempt as Jill Wilson came into view, sitting primly on the windowsill, violin in hand, a hardened look on her face. A sterling silver hairclip clipped her waist-length brown hair, tied in a neat waterfall braid, and coupled with her regal green robes, she looked like one of the mythical elven queens that, according to local mythology, once ruled the aspen forests of Seven. She raised her chin as she met his eyes, maintaining her stance ever so well, unheeding to his wretched glare.

"You'd ricochet off the forcefield back onto the train," she said calmly, acting as though her intrusion wasn't even an issue at hand. "So unless you're going for the thrills like Olive and Birch and Blight back in their tribute days, I wouldn't bother."

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, keeping his voice down to avoid attracting attention from Omega and Olive, who were in the room right beside his, and the escort, who he presumed was in the dining car, not exactly too far out of earshot.

Jill sighed, stepping down from the windowsill and slowly making her way forward, her walk looking as though she'd practised it over a million times to perfect it. "I know you, Kier, you need my help."

"You don't know me, you just taught me the violin for two years, but you don't know the first thing about me," Kieran said matter-of-factly, folding his arms.

"Ah, that's what you think." Jill cleared her throat, giving him a hard look. "And I presume your little ventures with Nathaniel will be missed?"

Kieran's jaw dropped.

No, that wasn't possible, how could she-

"And this might be a bit of a stretch, but he saved you after you slit your wrist, with hmm, let's see, I presume an arrow? Or two arrows?"

Kieran blinked rapidly. Unfolding his arms, he pointed a finger at Jill, his mouth wide open but no words came out. His throat closed up, unable to generate any further line of dialogue. Slinking back into himself, he hung his head, gritting his teeth but unable to say much more.

"I've been observing you, Kier, all this while, ever since the first day you stepped into the music school. That's why I sent a little distraction that steered Nathaniel in your direction on that fateful day, why I also told him to look out his window on that other night, knowing you'd try to hang yourself. It's why I've been giving advice to him and his family all his while, since he just happened to be a fellow violinist at the school. I've been looking out for you as best as I could, Kier, all this while. And now-" She took a deep breath, her eyes flickering uncertainly for a split second. "-I'm here to make sure you come home as Victor."

Kieran stared at her, dumbfounded. All of what she said, it was a mouthful, so incredibly hard to process and even dwell upon. His mind went blank so many times throughout her speech, unable to comprehend the thought of someone actually caring for him, unable to get rid of that odd apprehension to her watching him all this time.

Jill bit her lip. She held out the violin to Kieran. Locking eyes with him, she uttered, "Play it."

Kieran took the pristine instrument gingerly, careful to avoid harming it in any way, shape or form. It was shiny, having possibly been recently polished, its surface smooth, without any blemishes or rough edges. District Seven made, evidently, crafted by the best craftsmen in the District, the ones that specialised in crafting the finest musical instruments in the country. Jill handed him the bowstring, and Kieran held the violin at the ready.

"What do you want me to play?" he asked softly.

Jill pondered for a moment, the creases deepening in her forehead. "'Keeper of Woodlore'. It's Nathaniel's favourite song isn't it?" Kieran nodded. "Good, and think of him when you play it," Jill instructed.

Kieran squeezed his eyes shut, digging deep into the forrays of his mind and picking out images of Nathaniel in their happiest moments together. Instantly, he was hit with a tidal wave of emotion, his heart throbbing with aching pain as he thought of his lover waiting anxiously back home. Taking a deep breath, he raised his bowstring and began to play, pouring bucketfuls of emotion into his music. A low, enchanting melody fluttered into the air, drenching the atmosphere with nostalgic melancholy. The song was written by an old composer who was rumoured to be an ancestor of Olive, although the bubbly, fun-loving Victor had never confirmed this. It conveyed ancient stories of a time when music was much more abundant in the ancient forests of their District, when hunters glided through the soil, in chase of mystic beasts that had long gone extinct, under the canopy of lush trees and in the company of otherworldly flora. Nathaniel had always yearned to see Seven restored to this former glory, no matter how impossible such a reality seemed.

Nathaniel…

Kieran played and played, fighting the tears that were threatening to wriggle out of his closed eyelids as the images of Nathaniel continued to flash before his eyes.

He was lost within the moment.

Time seemed to eclipse him, and he lost all sense of the present. This was his time, his reality, and the music drowned out everything else.

Suddenly, a loud, shrill scree! flooded into his ears, startling him enough such that he nearly dropped the violin. Giving an annoyed glower at the door, he heard the sound of Olive and Omega laughing as more crude flute noises screeched about, a messy cacophony that crushed his beautiful little moment.

"Ugh, I can't stand them," he murmured.

Jill sighed. "That's what I thought when I first met Olive, back when she was a little tot. But my goddaughter has a way of making people smile, and she's got brilliant talent and wit to sweeten the deal. Omega's not so different, you have to try and appreciate the bright spots around you, Kier."

As the crude flute noises slowly began to improve and Olive's laughter shifted to applause, Kieran gritted his teeth. He should get along with those two, but did he want to?

Not in a million years.

A/N: What did you think about the mentors and the first batch of train rides? Let me know your thoughts in the reviews! So there will be a part 2 of this featuring another 4 tributes from 4 other Districts, and the remaining Districts that didn't get a POV in the train rides will be featured in the following chapter, if that makes sense. Thanks ya'll for reading and see you soon! Cheers:)