Train Rides Part 2

MAXIMON VULCAN (17)

DISTRICT TWO MALE

Maximon was on the train.

At long last, he was set on his way to the arena.

No one could stop him from his warpath to glory now. Even if they discovered his little antics, there was nothing they could do. He was on the train, on a ticket to the Hunger Games, ready to win and return to his home bathed in riches, honour and fame.

If only Alvaro could see him now.

Oh wait, he could, because Alvaro would be at the medic's, forced to watch him take his coveted volunteer's spot, while the dreadful jerk lay in bed bemoaning his fate.

Revenge was truly something.

He didn't feel overly happy with what he'd done. Of course not, hurting others was simply a necessity, not an act of pleasure. But he did feel a growing sense of satisfaction, and besides, Maximon simply had no time to dwell on his feelings.

A new dawn was about to rise upon the shadows of his life.

Walking down the famed corridors of the train, the same corridor that many other young Academy prospects such as him had trodded upon, several of whom would go on to write themselves into the fabric of history, Maximon couldn't help but grin. Lunch had been incredible, far better than anything his family could have ever afforded back home in District Two. He was being showered with lavish luxuries during his stint in the Capitol during the pre-Games, luxuries that were a far cry from the comparably torrid lifestyle back home in Two.

Life was good for Maximon.

Strutting into the main car, he wiped the grin off his face, donning a mask of grim seriousness. Draco Hadley, arguably the most famous of Victors, and the most powerful due to his friendship with Snow himself, awaited him on a couch, hunched slightly over a desk filled with tapes and sheets of paper. A dark frown was painted over his ageing features, his plump cheeks dark with concentration. Maximon would never admit it to his face, but frankly, he felt that Draco was rather overrated. His often cruel methods and obsession with the Capitol and District pride was way too much for Maximon or any of the recruits, for that matter, to digest. The dude needed a chill pill, plus an extra dose of reality. While the Capitol was fantastic and worthy of a fair amount of respect, it wasn't godly. That was something Maximon understood very clearly. Nothing was perfect, everything had a flaw that, with just the right amount of cunningness, one could easily exploit.

Perhaps Draco understood that too, to an extent, hence his outward mission to brainwash the people of Two.

But either way, it was a key principle, one that had guided many in the past en route to victory, as they went on to seize the advantage over their opponents' weak points, twisting the odds in their favour with, quite literally, the stroke of a wrist.

It would be the key to Maximon's victory too.

"Maximon," Draco murmured, giving him a curt nod. Maximon stepped out of the shadows of the corridor, moving to sit on the couch opposite Draco. He tilted his chin slightly downwards, keeping his gaze trained just beneath Draco's eyes, in order to avoid the snake-like menace that trickled from their dark brown irises. Pressing his lips tightly, he patiently awaited his mentor's instructions.

If he glorifies Snow again, try not to erupt, he reminded himself.

"I must admit, I did not expect to see you on this train," Draco admitted, his voice monotonous, flat.

Of course you didn't, Maximon thought to himself. No one would've expected Maximon Vulcan to pull off the most devious trick in Academy history.

"But you're here now, so I guess fate has decreed it to be as such. Make Snow proud, my boy, and show them how a true citizen of Panem fights," Draco commanded, dipping his chin to fasten a hold of Maximon's gaze. "And most importantly, show those brats from Five that we're not going to let some fourteen-year-old artsy girl make a mockery of us without any vengeance."

Although he doubted it was wise to go for another tribute purely out of spite, Maximon nodded along. Maximon didn't necessarily want to kill, he was perfectly fine with sitting back and letting the other tributes kill themselves off before sauntering in and picking up the pieces. Besides, he had no intention of directly engaging the girl from Five in Bloodbath combat, something about her made him uncomfortable, not that he would ever admit it, of course.

"Now, moving on to what you will do when you arrive," Draco hissed, taking a gulp of his beer. Maximon twitched his nose. His breath smelled awful, as though he'd just ingested a mouthful of used diapers. Maximon chewed on his lip, forcing himself to sit still and maintain his poise, even as the horrid stench engulfed his poor nostrils.

The Games were going to be much worse anyway.

"You will act stoic, you hear me? Show to the Capitolites that you're a strong warrior, but also show that you adore them. Prove your allegiance towards the Capitol in these dark, harrowingly rebellious times, and the sponsor gifts will rightfully fall in your hands," Draco barked, every word he uttered chartering the reeking whiffs of his bad breath.

"What about Mia?" Maximon asked. "How do I have to act around her?"

"Oh, her?" Draco scowled, his brows furrowing at the mere mention of her name. "If there had been an alternative. Ah, I would have ensured that Mia Keller never represented our glorious District at such a riveting, prestigious event. But alas, no other girl even came close to her this year. Such a pity." He clicked his tongue and leaned a little backwards, raising his bottle to his lips. "I suggest you attempt to gain as much insight as possible on her, but whatever you do-"

"-Do not get close to her. I understand, yes," Maximon finished.

A crude chuckle slipped out of Draco's mouth. "Perhaps you shall be my heir to lead this District to greater heights. You certainly have my astoundingly high levels of intelligence."

Maximon knew that if Draco had been even a fraction of as smart as he claimed to be, he would've realised that Maximon had been resisting the urge to punch him all this while.

CERIDWEN ADAMOS-CARDINAL (15)

DISTRICT EIGHT FEMALE

Ceri was having the time of her life!

She had just been Reaped for the Hunger Games and was all set to die, what an incredible way to spend the summer! She couldn't wait to get to the Capitol and kiss President Snow, thanking him for this golden opportunity to fucking die just because he wanted to be some big fat arsehole!

Such an incredibly unforgettable experience this would be!

Ceri sulked on the train, giving her plate of pasta a cold, hard stare, her forehead wrinkled and her brows furrowed as she shot the meek dish a command to remain still lest the end be nigh. Red blotches adorned the flecks of hazel in her eyes, unremovable remnants of the tears Ceri dared anyone to insist she'd shed. Brunette strands of hair ravaged her face, slithering down her back in messy, tangled clumps, certainly not because she'd been digging her fingernails into her hair in a heap of frustration. Her lips twitched, in a mixture of fear, apprehension, anger, denial, stress, annoyance, and, oh goodness, there were too many emotions bubbling about for her to comprehend and list out in full.

In short, Ceri was just fine.

"You need to eat something, Ceri," Woof insisted, peeking from behind his rose-red novel, his voice muffled after he'd stuffed it with some roasted chicken. "You can't go on with an empty stomach."

In truth, Ceri was hungry. Her stomach was growling, years upon years of being on the brink of starvation culminating in constant, intense hunger circling through her veins. Yet at that moment, she had zero intentions of eating.

Because fuck that, she was angry and simply not in the mood to indulge in this posh nonsense of a lunch.

"I don't want to fucking eat," she said flatly, shoving the plate of pasta aside. "And no, before you ask, it's not because I'm anorexic or have any sort of eating disorder, I'm just. Not. In. The. Damn. Mood. To. Eat." She paused after every word, letting every bit of emotion drip from her tongue, displaying her inner fury for everyone around to witness.

Woof sighed, his brows knitting in concern. "Tell you what, if you eat some food, I'll let you whack our dear escort over there." He gestured towards Natalia, the District Eight escort, standing in the next compartment, barely visible from where Ceri sat. She was chatting ever so loudly in that high-pitched squeal of hers that could make someone's ears bleed, on a phone call with someone in the Capitol. A smirk tugged at Ceri's lip as the thought of giving her a hearty slap swelled over her. Maybe on the head? Smack dab in the middle of her face? Up her nose? The possibilities were oh so limited. There was already bad blood between the pair anyway, after Ceri's, ah, flattering choice of words during her Reaping, and Ceri was more than keen on pushing her around further, because Natalia's oh so smug smile when she'd glimpsed Ceri's tears obviously deserved some mercy.

"Fine, I'll eat," Ceri quipped, digging her fork into the pasta, the same way Levi's mentor Calico had, and twirling it around, before plucking off several strands until only a couple were left tangled around the fork. She then stuffed it into her mouth and gave Woof a sly grin. "You didn't say how much I had to eat."

Calico sighed exasperatedly, shaking her head in dismay, but Woof merely chuckled, the middle-aged Victor's eyes lighting up in a flame of amusement. He set his romance novel on his lap and leaned slightly forward, examining the haughty expression on Ceri's face carefully. "That was a good one, I'll have to admit. Go on, you can give her the best slap you've got."

Ceri's grin widened. "Nah, I think I'll be gentle."

Beside her, Levi frowned. "Was that sarcasm?" he asked, his voice meek, tiny, weak. He would be cannon fodder, that was for sure. Did Ceri feel bad for him? Oh, totally, but did she care about him? No, this was the fucking Hunger Games, she didn't have time to care for some lousy kid who'd only stopped crying because his girlfriend had kissed him.

Cruel as it may have seemed, such was the way of the Games.

Standing up, Ceri wriggled her fingers, ready to walk over to Natalia and carry out her reward for eating. But just as she'd taken a step towards the next compartment, the large screen, placed atop a wooden desk in the corner of the dining compartment, flickered to life.

Ceri froze, her eyes numbing over as the Capitol seal flashed before her eyes.

"The Recaps," Woof murmured. "They're playing it now. Ceri, you might want to wait, this is far more important."

Reluctantly, Ceri slowly lowered herself back into her seat, her hazel eyes fixated upon the screen, unable to tear herself away from the sight of the other tributes, from the menacing to the weak, all coming up on stage with varying degrees of nervousness, about to get shipped off to death's ultimate game. One by one they surfaced, their names flashing on the bottom corner of the screen for Ceri to read.

Fleur, a pretty name for a rather pretty girl.

Ithaca, a sophisticated name for a girl who exuded confidence.

Kieran, a dark name for a boy sizzling in pitch-black emotions.

And then came District Ten. Ceri paid little attention to the girl, but the boy, Jotham, well he was something. In his dapper cowboy outfit with a neat hat, he looked rather handsome. His focused gaze, the way he radiated maturity, Ceri couldn't help but stare at him, her forehead creasing, her pupils widening ever so slightly.

No, she couldn't be feeling that way, definitely not.

"Earth to Ceridwen?"

Natalia's voice rang out of the blue, stifled with all the cheekiness the ridiculous pink-dressed woman had to offer. Ceri whirled around, her face flushing with annoyance but for some odd reason she couldn't pinpoint, a tinge of embarrassment too. Natalia's smirk widened. "Perhaps you find him handsome?" she mocked, drawing her face closer to Ceri's.

Oh no, Ceri thought to herself as she felt her cheeks go red. No, she couldn't be blushing, Ceridwen Adamos-Cardinal never blushed! Mustering up a newfound anger towards this stupid Capitolite woman, she raised his hand and gave Natalia a well-deserved slap.

EVIE FAWN (17)

DISTRICT TEN FEMALE

Evie wanted to wake up.

Because all of this, the Reaping, the boos when she'd come on stage, the uncomfortable looks Jotham shot her, all of this was nothing more than a nightmare, right? One that she would wake up from and forget in a heartbeat. One that was all fake, a twisted reality presented before her by her mischievous mind. One that she wasn't actually living.

And yet, no matter how many times she'd pinched, slapped, punched herself, she couldn't wake up.

She was still on the train.

She was still on her way to the Capitol.

She was still a tribute sent to the Hunger Games.

Despite her innumerable, futile attempts to calm herself down, Evie's body still trembled on stubbornly, refusing to be still and relax. She huddled underneath her bedsheets in her room, pressing her lips so tightly they almost bled.

"Take a deep breath," she tried to remind herself. "It's gonna be alright, it's alright…"

Knock, knock.

Evie nearly jumped out of her bed, the light taps against the wooden door having startled her. She let out a soft, rather shaky growl, her eyes glistening over with an annoyed frost. She wanted to be alone, for crying out loud, was that really so much for those stupid jerks?

"Leave. Me. Alone," she hissed, raising her voice by an octave with each word she enunciated.

"Evie? Is everything alright?" Jotham's voice squeaked from the other side of the door, saddling a tone filled with concern and pity.

Not that Evie needed his pity.

"Go away!" she screeched, squeezing her eyes shut as an influx of demons surged into her mind, infiltrating it with hatred and bitterness.

Jotham, please go away, she pleaded silently, aware of what could arise next. Please go before I-

"Evie, please, I just want to talk," Jotham implored. He sounded so sweet, so mature, yet so… obnoxious. Evie tilted her chin, trying to suppress the emotions clamouring through her chest. Why couldn't Jotham just leave her alone? Why did he have to be such a nosy little son of a bitch? Thoughts began to swirl into a crown of negativity atop her head, and as Jotham continued to knock, Evie charged forward and flung the door open. Her eyes flared with fiery temper as she shot the stunned young cowboy in front of her a death stare.

"I told you to leave, didn't I?" she seethed, her voice deathly quiet. "SO GET LOST YOU-"

Pause.

Evie caught herself right in the act.

Oh no.

She glanced back down at Jotham, his eyes wide in alarm, his feet rooted to the ground in terror.

Oh gosh, she'd lost control again.

Flushing horribly, Evie slammed the door shut. The world seemed to sink beneath her as she collapsed on the ground, all the energy sucked out of her by the demons within that were snickering at her in a corner. Laughing at her misery. High-fiving one another after making a fool out of her.

She just wanted to die and get it over with.

But she couldn't die. No, she had to get home. For Viscera's sake, she had to. She had to get her stupid arse off the floor, stop moping about for a change and win for Viscera.

A newfound flash of determination struck her square in the chest. For the first time since her Reaping, Evie felt strangely calm, oddly confident, puzzlingly empowered. Energy began to flow through her veins again, charged by the thought of having to come home for Viscera, her daughter, and slowly, Evie got to her feet. Glancing around her, she frowned. Surely there had to be something she could do to pass the time, right? Something that was better than lying on the floor or on the bed for an hour straight. She laid her eyes on a tiny metal box that sat on a stool right next to a water dispenser, a small object with several multicoloured buttons and a crisscrossed circular surface on one particular part of it. Frowning, she moved closer, eager to examine this curious oddity.

"Wonder what happens if I push some of these buttons," she mused, sticking out a finger and pressing the largest button, a red one, on top of which was a symbol she recognised to be indicative of turning something on. Instantly, the box whirred to life, producing a tiny, almost inaudible noise that made Evie step a couple paces backwards. "What the actual fuck?" She pushed another button, a tiny green one, and her ears were greeted with a sound she'd only heard a few times during Austin's annual concerts.

Music.

Sweet, melodious rhythms began to play out of the metal box, sweeping into her eardrums and filling her with an almighty urge to dance.

Dance.

That was it. Evie could simply dance her woes away. Pasting on a smile just like her mother had taught her, she continued to listen carefully to the beat and tempo of the music, odd and bewitching as it was, before, gradually, moving her limbs to craft her own, impromptu dance.

And she made sure to enjoy every single last second of it.

After all, it could well be her last dance.

WISTERIA AMBROSE (15)

DISTRICT ELEVEN FEMALE

Wisteria was going to die.

It wasn't even an opinion or a prediction, it was a cold, hard fact.

There was no way in hell that she was going to win the Hunger Games. And besides, did she even want to win? Wisteria shook her head, sitting slouched on one of the couches aboard the train, a useless stain of nothingness, set to die and be forgotten for the good of humanity.

All hope was lost for Wisteria Ambrose.

She snuck a glance at Phoenix, Seeder and Chaff, who were huddled together in the next compartment, busying themselves with tactics and long, fruitful discussions.

Planning Phoenix's route to victory.

Wisteria knew that she should be there with them, chipping in ideas, being a useful person for once by trying to help bring Phoenix back home, back to his brother, back to a normal life. But no, her useless arse couldn't haul itself off the couch, instead being glued on the pristine cotton for an untold period of time, unwilling to do anything to get out of this predicament.

It summed up everything that was wrong about Wisteria.

She simply was nothing, an empty vassal that had been fragmented and left to rot as the years passed, and karma had finally decided to get rid of her once and for all, removing her pathetic stench off Panem.

And there was nothing Wisteria could do about it.

Letting out her third weary sigh in three minutes, she continued to gaze blankly at the gleaming silver chandelier dangling from the roof of the train car, mindlessly ogling at its shiny, crystalline exterior, dully staring at the sheer beauty of it in comparison to the ugly, dim oil lamps that lit up her home in Eleven.

You couldn't even light those oil lamps back home, the demons within taunted her. Amaryllis had to light them for you, you useless little prick. Now go jump off the train, you know you want to!

"No," Wisteria countered but her voice was a mere shadow of a whisper, barely audible, hardly even close to being enough to dispel her inner voices and demons. "No, I can't… I have to save Phoenix. Or an ally, anybody, I-"

"What's wrong, my dear?"

Wisteria rolled limply to the side and came face-to-face with the escort, whose name she couldn't even remember. She had intricate dark hair, which reminded Wisteria dearly of Amaryllis, sparking excruciating pangs of yearning and loss within her already crushed soul. Wisteria forced herself to try and ignore the searing pain in her heart, something she'd done on countless occasions. But the similarities between the escort and Amaryllis ended with their hair. The escort had dark brown eyes, eyes that were just a shade darker than Amaryllis's, a little detail Wisteria would bet most people would never have picked up on. But Wisteria could tell. All that staring ahead doing absolutely nothing had made her pretty observant and she could see the tiny difference in shading within their eyes.

Now, if only she was able to put this observant trait to some good use for once.

The escort was dressed in a simple dark blue dress, an oddly plain look for an escort, but a style Wisteria appreciated nonetheless. In fact, with her limited makeup and fairly 'normal' clothing, Wisteria thought she looked much better than most other escorts who often dressed in atrociously appalling outfits and besmirched the name of fashion.

Perhaps she could end up liking this escort after all.

Wisteria didn't realise she'd been staring off into blank space, lost in her own chugging train of thoughts, until the escort placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Wisteria gasped as her cold fingers scraped the skin of her arm just beneath her short sleeves, and she almost flinched backwards. The escort donned an encouraging smile, one that reminded Wisteria so of Amaryllis. "Hey there, I know things aren't going too well for you, but I'm here to talk." Her voice was gentle, genuinely kind, a stark contrast from most in Eleven who stumbled upon Wisteria's pitiful self. There was just something about her, some sort of aura that she gave off, that made Wisteria want to trust her, against the wishes of the voices inside her head.

"I, uhm, I can't remember your name," she admitted, embarrassed shyness coursing through her tone as she spoke. "Sorry, I'm just-"

"No it's alright," the escort assured her, chuckling lightly. "My name's Trish. Trish Meeleheide." She stuck out her hand and Wisteria gingerly shook it, tiny cracks of doubt towards Trish's supposed kindness still present. "So, what do you like to do for fun?"

Wisteria blinked, taken aback by the casualness of her question. She had expected Trish to ask something about her strengths or weaknesses or something related to the Games. But she hadn't, and instead, she'd asked a seemingly out-of-the-blue question, one that Wisteria couldn't quite bring herself to answer.

"Uhm, well," she stammered, wondering if Trish could even hear her muffled voice. "I like to sleep I guess."

Trish's smile broadened. Wisteria scrunched her eyebrows. Was she laughing at her laziness? She probably was, and if Wisteria had been put in her position, she probably would have laughed too.

Such was her incredible patheticness.

Trish's response, however, caught her off guard. "That's very relatable. I've come late for work way too many times. Gotta have my beauty sleep after all." She didn't seem to bear any sort of judgement towards Wisteria, something Wisteria found oddly peculiar. How was it that this woman couldn't see the filthy pile of useless shit right before her own eyes?

"No, that's not the point, I- I can't even get myself off the bed because everything just hurts so-" Her voice broke off, and Wisteria could feel her insides churn with agony as guilt began to swarm around her, the feeling of raw shame pouncing upon her like a mutt in the arena.

Don't think about mutts now, WIsteria implored to herself. You're gonna face them soon enough so don't think about them.

"I understand, dear," Trish told her, sneaking a glance towards Seeder and Chaff, who were still huddled together around Phoenix. "Chaff felt the same way too, for a while, after his cousin Satsuma and the last escort from Eleven were killed." She lowered her voice, peeking about as if trying to make sure she was out of earshot. "Don't tell anyone else, but I think Snow had poor Satsuma and Juliana murdered."

Wisteria's eyebrows shot up in alarm. "Murder?" she breathed, her voice stunned beyond belief.

Trish shushed her, her warm gaze faltering to reveal a distressed look, a bit of vulnerability that made her feel more human, more relatable to Wisteria. "The point is, you're not alone, we're all here for you, alright?"

Wisteria nodded slowly. "Alright."

Trish clapped her hands, grinning broadly. "Great. Now, I heard from Seeder that you love challenges, is that right?" Again, Wisteria nodded, but didn't say anything. "Great, now, I challenge you to do a backflip on the forcefield."

Wisteria raised an eyebrow. "Forcefield?"

Trish let out an excited giggle. "Oh, you'll see."

A/N: What did you think of these POVs? Which one was your favourite? I'm sorry that I haven't been able to update recently and that the quality in this chapter dipped, I just haven't been anywhere near the right headspace to do stuff so yeah, everything I do, including this chapter, inevitably suffers as a result and I'm truly sorry for that. Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed, ya'll really mean the world to me. And that's a wrap, I'll see you guys next time. Stay cool, stay safe, cheers.