Prologue Three: The Invitation

Rain never fell forever.

As long as the thunder still roared and the deluge still crashed, shaking the streets of the Capitol and soaking Rusk to the bone in seconds, he could block out his thoughts, overwhelming them with the forces of nature on display all around him. But before he was ready for it, the crashes faded to rumbles and the downpour became a trickle, easing him back into his reality, that he was alone, out sitting on the pavement, back leaned against a raised bed of flowers, whose petals were all torn up by the fierce wind and rain that had splattered dirt all over him.

He looked down the empty street to his left, and then he turned to his right. The only other sign of life was a muted pink umbrella a few blocks away, scurrying down the road. Though it was probably long past midnight, flashy lights from buildings all around made redundant the street lights that periodically dotted the sidewalk, reflecting their neon shine off the wet concrete and scattering everywhere. Slowly, everything came back to him. The announcement. The party. Avisa's accusation.

Is it possible that… it was my fault? Even if it was unintentional?

Alone. Now with his thoughts. The worst possible combination. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth, catching the raindrops as the ever-thinning rain continued to subside. Water ran down his scalp, his arms, his face—rain or tears? He suddenly became aware of his puffy eyes, his stuffy nose.

If I didn't exist… Would Faridah still be alive?

When he closed his eyes, he saw Avisa's, burning with pain and anger. Her voice, shaky as she blamed him for her best friend's death. Her cry, stifled as she fled from Van's commanding figure. As he replayed the scene over and over, his heart broke with hers.

I'm sorry…

Footsteps. He opened his eyes; the pink umbrella approached. His heart sank as it grew closer, pavement square by pavement square. His shoulders tensed up, trying to shrink away into the bed of flowers, crossing his arms to protect his chest, breathing rapidly as his brain began to panic. In desperation, he squeezed his eyes shut—please don't stop…

"Are you okay?"

The voice was female, concerned, tinged with a distinctive outer-district twang. In the murky pond of his memory, the voice seemed vaguely familiar… District Ten? He opened his eyes, staring blearily at the sun-tanned face of Darah Sommers, whose lips were pressed together in concern as she held her pink umbrella over him.

"Y-Yeah," he croaked, shivering as a breeze chilled his drenched skin. It struck him how pathetic he must look, all dressed up in party-wear yet also soaked, splatted by dirt and mulch. He was too tired to care.

She smiled faintly. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier. She didn't mean it. I don't even think she knows what she's doing, bless her heart."

He nodded unconvinced, wishing for her to just move on, yet her presence seemed to calm the inner tempest of his numbed heart, even if just by a bit. Why…

"You know…" She paused, staring down the street at nothing in particular, as if stuck in thought. "If you've got nothing to do tomorrow, you're welcome to join us at Le Petit at one."

He blinked. What did she just say? "What?"

"It's nothing, really. Just a couple of victors hanging out." She smiled. "I'd love to have you there."

What? He barely knew the woman! The last bits of reason left in his exhausted mind questioned the strange situation; he narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

She shrugged. "You look like you could use some company. No pressure, of course."

"Oh."

"I'll be going now—you need a ride back to the Tower?"

"No."

A smile. A shrug. A "suit yourself." And then she was gone, the pink umbrella bobbing away, just as suddenly as it had come. There were more voices now in the street, as people took advantage of the disappearing rain to return home for the night. Mind still in a haze, he pulled himself off the ground, groaning. An attempt at understanding his crazy night quickly resulted in a confused fog.

But first, back to the Victor's Tower.

When Rusk awoke, "Le Petit at one" rang in his ears, like a ghost from a dream in the night that lingered into the waking hours of day. It wasn't until he stared at himself in the mirror brushing his teeth that some pieces began to fit together.

Darah Sommers? District Ten?

Was he really about to take her up on an invitation? Everyone knew that Nines and Tens didn't get along—and for good reason. The Tens were the traitors to the rebellions of years past, the ones that abandoned their countrymen, sucking up to the Capitol overlords in return for favors and temporary security.

But that's not it.

His stomach grumbled; something was off. Why would Darah Sommers, of all people, stop to invite him to a "Victor hangout"? None of it made any sense, from his going to the party to his fleeing through the rain to the strange conversation.

Yet it also felt right. He found himself digging through the wardrobe—since when did he care that much about his appearance? And why was he so energized all of a sudden? He slipped on a brown jacket that he hoped would pass as nice enough but not too nice, biting his lip to silence the questions that disturbed this sense of tranquility he hadn't felt for a long time and hurrying out of his suite in the Victor's Tower.

A yellow sticky note on the door stopped him in his tracks. He pulled it off, squinting at the familiar handwriting. He froze, every doubt bubbling up inside again.

"Give me a ring in the morning if you want to chat. I'll have some nice coffee going. —Van"

Van? What did he want to talk about? He closed his eyes, imagining having coffee with the older Victor, sitting on the balcony, finally talking for the first time in who-knows-how-long. The scene tugged at his heart, warmth creeping through his body. Perhaps his Victor "family" could actually be more than the useless chaff it had been.

But then he saw Darah in his mind's eye again, and he knew he had to go, as if pulled along by an invisible, spiritual force. Was it the life and energy that radiated from her? Her kind yet bold smile? That she… cares?

His heart pounding, he folded the note into quarters and slipped it into his pocket. Van and his coffee would have to come later.

A/N We are now in Stage 2! The focus of Stage 1 was on filling key roles I need for the plot I have in mind, and the focus of Stage 2 is filling up the remaining spots. Don't worry! This doesn't mean that any new tributes can't win! My current plan is wide open and flexible, with only a few key plot points that require certain personalities.

(If it sounds like I'm repeating myself a lot, it's because I don;t want anyone to get the wrong idea)

So we meet a new face today! Darah Sommers, of District Ten. Blog will be updated in a few. Predictions? Expectations? Concerns?

Thoughts?