I hated Roman Lunardon long before we'd ever met. His girth hanging heavily around sagging stomach, a chin parted in thirds sagged limply from his face and flapped endless as he spoke, his hard beady eyes that stuck out from the pink enveloping folds of fat every part of his body seemed to exemplify. Making matters worse, all of this was wrapped in tight, glittering silver spandex and set atop towering shoes. The man was a disgusting display, showing off all the Capitol's greed and exuberance without having to utter a single word. My guess was that two families the size of my own could be fed off what he ate for an even year all around. No one in the families would exactly gain mind you, but it'd be enough to live off of.
His first direct words to me on the other hand had so firmly cemented my abhorrence for this Roman Lunardon that I had to quell the notion of popping him like the grotesque, puss filled zit he was.
"Oh!" he cooed from his foot, foot and a half tall shoes as he bent to examine me, running a plump sausage finger along my cheek as he did so. "Another little dark one from Eight!" It was like taking a kick to the stomach, hard, aching, but cold. Only once before had I ever been defined by the color of my skin, and it was by a fierce tempered guard that had to be "retired" due to his ideals about punishment in relation to the crimes committed.
The tone in Roman's voice was so giddy, so excited, to have a "dark one" it made me sick as he looked the two of us over. "You're going to be our next Threader Jarvis, or Mayla Stout aren't you?" he went on further proving his ignorance and twisted world views. I was floored, too stunned to react even though I knew precisely what I wanted to do to him.
Still, I'd worked with colors all my life, pairing them, and stripping them to form various types of fabric. I wasn't a "dark one," where he was fat and red faced I was a thin and somewhere between umber and mocha but I couldn't see how or why that would matter. I was human being no different than anyone else, no different than him despite how that thought disturbed me. Apparently however, he saw it differently, and I wondered, what if the rest of the Capitol did as well? What were my actual odds of winning or hell survival even, if I couldn't muster any sponsors? And all because of my skin. I was hastily trying to review past Games in my head, find a pattern, did other Tributes automatically have more advantages than others?
Roman though had moved onto the female counterpart of my District. She was shaking, pale, and not all together there as Roman talked to and caressed her as he had me. I knew what she was going though, only I was handling it differently, better.
"Now, you two make nice, heaven knows I don't need fighting little savages like the ones they Reaped last year!" he chuckled before commencing a brief tour. "This is the rear car," he said flipping his hands in a short bird like motion. "Frankly it's only good for looking at the sky come night."
We followed the man into another car which held one of our rooms and a bathroom, before another with a mirrored layout, and finally into a large dining car. There were tables and chairs to one side, with two large, majorelle blue leathered booths in the shape of semi-circles at the corners. Across from the seating arrangements was a long, low table with dozens of separate platters of food organized atop it, some hot and steaming, others chilled and surrounded with a bath of ice. This Roman called a "buffet" which he explained would be emptied and refilled three times daily to "keep us from getting board."
"And," Roman said said looking about the room full of food and floor length windows. "That's, that! I'll go find your mentor. He'll want to see you."
Left alone in the silence with only the swaying of the car I turned and looked at Prine. She was taller than me by a good two inches, her sad green eyes rather vacant and pinned to the floor. I knew her name from the Reaping, but my aunt oversaw a shift of dyers and talked about her sister Silk every now and then, so while I didn't know her, in an extended way I knew of her.
"Hey," I muttered lamely, I wasn't sure if we were supposed to shake hands or anything, it wasn't like we could ever be friends. The girl, like with Roman a few moments earlier failed to respond.
Then the door slid open silently and the compact but never the less imposing figure of Threader Jarvis stepped through. He glared at us long and hard for a minute before pointing a finger at me accusingly. "You're going to die." he said matter of factly, before turning to Prine. "And you're going to die faster."
With that the man had turned on heel and was walking back out. "Wait," I called scrambling forward in an effort to catch him. "Wait aren't you supposed to help us?" The door slid closed separating me from the only person I'd thought could help me. Like the ice bath that was being Reaped, like the heart wrenching brutality that was Voting, or the harsh blow to the stomach that was Roman's derogatory comment, the pickling sensation of fear and the knowledge that no one seemed ready to help me had to take its time to first sink in, before it would dissipate.
When most of the anxiety finally trickled it's way out of my veins I turned and was a bit unnerved to find that I wasn't alone per say. Prine was still just standing there when a competitive defiance kicked in causing me to shove past her roughly. I wasn't sure exactly why I was doing it, or what I thought I was accomplishing but I found a plate and stacked it high before dominately claiming stake to one of the semi-circle booths. Cramming food into my mouth quickly and hungrily without caring for the mess that was being made or the scorching heat of some dishes. I wasn't sure anymore who I was trying to convince that I wasn't afraid, didn't care about what was happening, her or myself.
Everything started tasting the same after a few minutes and my eyes kept straying up towards the girl who didn't move. Eventually guilt upturned my stomach and some misplaced sense of responsibility made me get to my feet.
"You need to eat, or at least drink something." I grumbled as I approached her. When she didn't respond I grabbed her shoulders gently and coasted her to the horse shoe of a table. "You're going to faint!" the words scoffed out of me in a short bitter puff.
"Am I?" she asked then, in a voice hollow and distance.
Loading up a second plate I plopped it down in front of her before resuming my animalistic rampage on all things edible. It wasn't long before I was up to get seconds only this time I'd no appetite to speak of and took several minutes to work each bite around. It must of been at least an hour before I was snapped out of my blank minded grind.
"Thank you." Prine said sipping at a glass of something. "I didn't catch your name, but thank you."
Looking up I arched a brow, "Weaver, Weaver Pin."
She nodded, then we were again enveloped in a quiet that was neither peaceful nor exactly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," she said then before laughing at the absurdity of what she was saying. "I'm sorry you're here, that we're both here, but I'm also sorry about what Roman said to you. It was wrong."
"Yeah, me too on all of the above." I replied with a smirk. "But God did you ever think spandex could stretch so far?" And like that we were laughing, it was always one of my skills that came in handy back home, swiftly defusing a bad or tense situation, usually with a joke or a witty observation. She had a beautiful laugh, though I had to remind myself that my days of flirting with pretty girls was over.
In the space of conversation where most people would have discussed their interests, their day or even families Prine and I found only silence. There was an underlying question as to where we stood with one another, our alliances or animosities. With no way of knowing how the other would be, might already be playing the Game things quickly became tense again. Knowing the largest chink in my own armor I decided to take a gamble so that I could better assess the situation.
"Tell me about your family," I said trying to sound as casual as possible.
There was another long pause before the girl spoke again, her voice suddenly dry. "My sister Rose is about to have a baby," she smiled tearily but refused to say more. I could tell I hurt her, and wished I hadn't brought it up at all, especially with what came next. "What about you?"
"Me?" I fumbled disliking how the tables had turned. Our eyes locked and I could see a strength in the twin pools of olive green staring back at me. I sighed, beaten at my own game. Where was I supposed to start? "I was raised by my aunt and uncle after my parents died, in uh, in the Year of Sorrows. And ever since my cousins and I were old enough to be Reaped from she'd always make us swear to her that she'd be the one to get elected." I paused thinking back to the small humid room where we'd been gathered, unable to muster up the rest of the story.
"She sounds very brave." Prine observed. "My sister Silk was the same way, she voted for herself."
"I'm sorry." It was a knee jerk reaction, but somehow knowing what I know doing what I did made it seem worse. "We didn't though," I blurted. "We didn't vote for her. We elected my uncle. He's been sick for a long time now and she's been doing all she can for him."
There was a long pause and I could feel the judgment passing over me, how Prine was weighing her sister's sacrifice against how we'd betrayed my aunt's. Because betrayal was the only word for it. Auntie Heather had spit her own name out the second the doors were closed, then she had to watch as me and her own three kids voted for her to live and the only man she'd ever loved, a man sick in bed with a rifle wielding Keeper guarding him because of Reaping Day, to die.
"I think she hates me, because of it." I murmured stirring some soup in my bowl.
There was a hand on mine, soft gentle, "I'm sure she doesn't." Prine smiled before asking "Friends?"
I thought about it, knowing that one of us might eventually have to kill the other I pulled my hand away. What I was doing was probably the stupidest move I could ever make, but without Threader to help it sure made me feel better thinking there was someone on my team, if only for the time being. "Allies?" I questioned hopefully extending my hand again this time to shake.
A half smile twisted on the girl's face before she reached to take it, "Yeah, allies."