Thanks to booksandcuddles, maitaitiu, Dante Alighieri1308, Skeekiest, Grim Apocrypha, Very New To This and yoyowhitehole for the reviews!
In particular, I remember someone brought up the fact a while that they'd believed this iteration of the Games to be entirely free from Canon victors way back in the intros for D10 when I was plotting out my timeline. Upon further deliberation... yeah I've decided to go with that! They're all gone now, no more canon timeline people (aside from Snow).
But upon further planning I've also realized mentors just... won't really have that much of a role if I want to fit as much of these Tribute's own unique backstories and personalities in as possible. We might see them for like... three out of the twelve districts maybe idk but they'll take a much less important role than initially planned. This is a Submit Your Own Tribute, after all... nothing about mentors in there haha. That being said a whopping 0 of them will probably appear in this chapter due to how short I'm keeping these individual snippets - not enough room to introduce them without stomping on the first interactions of our district pairs. That's all! Just wanted to bring clarity to it, for your guys' sake and for my own!
Let's get into the train rides!
District One
"If they come at you with a knife?"
"Play at a range and tire them out."
"A sword?"
"Keep them on even ground and don't let them press an advantage."
"There are two of them, spears pointed at your gut. Your move?"
Hyperion stops to consider for a moment, a smirk playing across his lips.
"Pray."
Avalon throws her hands up in exasperation, falling back onto the plush couch. Five minutes had yet to pass and she'd taken immediately to quizzing her partner on all there was to know. Formations, social cues, Academy key-words meant to serve as a secret communication between One's volunteers - he'd known it all, and answered in a cool voice that had caught her off guard. Her brief encounter on stage with her partner had prepared her for someone who... well, wasn't. Wasn't prepared, wasn't ready, wasn't trained, but clearly something had been set right in Hyperion's head after the goodbyes, because he was calm now - calm enough to crack jokes.
"So you're trained. Good. I was worried about that."
"Couldn't tell." Hyperion's smirk remains, the same playful snark in his voice.
Trained enough to completely perfect his angle in the hour they'd been apart.
Perhaps the work of ensuring he didn't smear her reputation wouldn't be as difficult as she imagined.
But when it came time to face him down, at the end of it all?
...
"I'll have more questions for you later." Avalon stands up. Clearly, she needed to go at this from a new angle, because the circumstances had changed. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable for the ride."
"A splendid idea." Hyperion stands himself, stretching his arms above his head. "I'll do the same. Convene back for recaps in... say, 30?"
"Sounds good. I'll tell an avox to prep some food for us."
Avalon swears she sees a flicker of disgust in her partner's eyes before his cool smile returns, the emotion passing like the briefest flicker of light.
Wordlessly, he turns to go to his own room, and the gears in Avalon's mind begin to turn yet again.
District Two
Unlike their predecessors in the Luxury District, Two is eager to catch the recaps as soon as they can figure out the fancy Capitol remote.
"Not even Pavlov had one as nice as this." Youssef sinks deep into the leather couch, the sensation of the hide smooth against his skin. The remote in his hands feels light, yet has more buttons than he's ever seen on a television. The Academy's technology had been second rate compared to what The Commander had kept for himself - and even that completely paled in comparison to the sleek designs in front of Youssef now. That TV was so... thin. How could they possibly fit all of those wires and shit in there?
His partner takes a seat beside him - sort of. She perches upon the arm of the couch, sat as light as a feather. She reminds him keenly of a cat, perched and tense, ready to spring away at any sudden movement.
"Lethe, right?" He turns, and confirms his mental comparison as his partner's head instantly cocks in his direction, eyes focused directly on him. She relaxes - but only after a moment, scanning him over as if she was assessing his threat level.
Boy, if she only knew.
"Youssef Vyrax." He extends his hand, summoning his most professional Peacekeeper voice. "We'll be working together for a while. Watched your Trial. That last girl you tagged was my colleague. I gave her hell after the fact."
Youssef's smile widens as Lethe extends her own hand. To many, that smile symbolized fear. Pain. Anguish. A serpent baring its fangs. But he could be genuine, too. Lethe was no criminal, no mess to be cleaned up. She, like him, had won her spot - regardless of if he would have personally preferred another candidate. Fair was fair. She'd earned it.
"I know of you, Serpent. It seems we both favor knives."
Lethe's grip is limp and ice-cold. Youssef can barely manage a proper handshake.
"I saw your work in the Trials, as well. Your... other work, too."
Lethe's whisper hangs in the air, seemingly amplified by the silence in the rest of the room.
A laugh escapes from Youssef, despite himself.
So she did know.
"You're a riot. Don't worry - I won't be after you until we're down to just us."
"I would not have it any other way."
What a kook. Youssef thinks to himself - but, in his own strange way, he fully respects it. She'd grown up in her own harsh environment. He could tell that much from her father's outburst at the reaping. She'd survived that upbringing and thrived in the Academy. So what if she wasn't all there? Most of the trainees weren't.
"Let's get to review, then. Slater! Hey! How do you get this damn thing on?"
Youssef calls, summoning his own designated mentor to the room to officially begin the Games.
District Three
Vivienne knew that things were dire for her. For the both of them.
But it was becoming increasingly clear that Alt Kingston was still struggling to accept that for himself.
She'd watched him run the gamut of emotion. He'd walked in, head held high and with a newfound confidence.
Gained from his goodbyes, surely. He was someone worth fighting for.
She had consented to watching the recaps with him. To get a feel for the competition, he'd said. To understand what they were up against.
One cracked his confidence.
Two broke it entirely.
He'd stopped watching by the time Four had stepped up, the Career pack being rounded out and Alt's confidence dropping just as low as it had been when he was dragged to the stage and dumped off unceremoniously like a bag of old computer chips.
Vivienne, though, hadn't - because as inconsistent as her partner could be, he'd had a point while he'd still been in control of his thoughts. It would be good to see who they were up against. If there were any weak links to be exploited.
And boy, were there.
The Careers weren't as stable as they'd like to present themselves. One of them was actually reaped, and one of them clearly hadn't been meant to step onto the stage as a volunteer.
Most of the Outer Districts had one thing or another - but a couple remained a mystery to her. The girl from Five, obviously, had something fishy going on. The boy from Seven was-
"How can you still watch it?"
Sadness had left Alt. Indignation had replaced it.
"How? We're going to die - to fucking die - and you're sat here calm!"
"You said it yourself. Know our competition."
"Right, and they'll get to know us, too, and peg us as easy targets and then they'll-"
"Enough." Vivienne's voice is cold and certain. "If you wish to resign yourself to death, then do it. But don't take me with you."
Indignation turns to bitter anger.
"Right. You wouldn't want to come down to my level, would you, Cross? No champagne and silk down here." Alt spits, and actually startles a gasp out of Vivienne, because how dare he? What had prompted this? Her father had nothing to do with this, nor did her family?
"Don't talk like you know me." The snap in her tone is enough to cause Alt to flinch backwards. Her eyes harden, and she makes the decision.
Things would be dire for him.
She would sort things out for herself.
District Four
Not much needs to be said among District Four.
They both know why they're here - and Gulf seems to be in a much better mood upon boarding the train.
He still has that air of insufferable confidence about him, sure, but Kiana is keen to pick up that it's paired with a smile, not a sneer.
That already 'good' mood had been bolstered by his viewing of the Reaping recaps. It seemed something had perked him up a bit.
Maybe this would be the time to smooth things over a bit? As horribly arrogant as he was... he was from home. The twisted, propagandized, brain-washed part of home, but home nonetheless. Dealing with Gulf, in one way or another, would determine exactly how these Games went for her. Sink or Swim, as Mom had always liked to put it.
As if on cue...
"So, how's my favorite little nepo-baby holding up? Reality setting in?" Gulf swaggers over, cocky grin still plastered all over his face. She almost preferred him when he was in a bad mood. When he had something to prove, like when he'd confronted her at the Reaping. At least then she knew what was coming her way.
"I asked her about that in my room, by the way." Kiana shoots back, doing her best to keep her voice casual and free of any emotion. "She said she had nothing to do with it."
"And you took that at face value?" Gulf scoffs, shaking his head. "God, you're sheltered."
"Sheltered?" Kiana bristles. So much for keeping cool. "Your dad's some Peacekeeper, isn't he? You've lived a better life than half the District and you're still twice as insufferable as most of the other Academy boys."
"And your mom's the Head Instructor. You wanna talk authority, she's got it more than Dad does now that he's retired." Gulf fires back, tone still chipper and jovial.
"But that's not what I want to talk about. You tuned into the Recaps yet?"
Kiana suppresses a retort. God, she wants to just tell him to shut up, but he's obviously ready to brush off any real discussion about their lives.
"I have."
"Good! Then you know their eyes won't be on you."
"I deserve to be here just as much as-"
"The boy from One was Reaped." Gulf continues on, interrupting Kiana's protests. "So just try not to flail around too helplessly and you'll fly right under everyone's radar. Of course, I'll know, and I'll tell them when it gets down to it, but until then, your secret's safe with me!"
What the hell was he even talking about? Had he convinced himself that she hadn't earned her place, or was he just prodding at the insecurity he'd opened up?
It's enough to finally cause Kiana's long fuse to spark to life.
Springing up faster than her partner can blink, Kiana's hand wraps around Gulf's collar. His eyes widen in surprise, and then harden with fury.
"There is no secret, Corpus." She spits, venom etched into every word. "I earned my spot. You didn't. You think they'll care that my Mom ran shit when they find out you weren't even supposed to volunteer? Cause I don't. So you keep your mouth shut - about my mom, about my family, and I'll keep mine closed. You're closer to that One boy than I am. Remember it."
The sudden show of emotion - and the strength of her grip - had clearly caught her partner off guard. He eventually manages to brush her hand off, scoffing.
"Whatever you say. We're riding with the same Pack. Don't get in the way of my victory."
Kiana snorts. His victory.
"I won't."
District Five
Blitz had done a lot of digging in her life.
Not with a shovel, hands covered in dirt - but online, slipping through encryptions and smashing down firewalls. Knowledge was power, and forbidden knowledge was usually even stronger.
So, when her partner had volunteered for Orin. Spoken his name, something in the back of her mind sparked with recognition. It was quickly quenched with fear - the fear that came with knowing that you were headed for certain death.
But now, on the trains, she'd had time to think again. Time to circle back to that flicker of familiarity.
Kairos Fomalhaut.
Fomalhaut...
It was on the tip of her tongue, because she'd heard that name before. Or, more accurately, read it - plastered on top secret documents with censored text.
And he'd volunteered, as happy as ever, easygoing grin plastered across his face as he joked with the crowd and won over the escort with his words.
But, in her situation, that wasn't any of her business. Her partner was an enigma, sure, but one that she couldn't spare the energy to unravel. All of her energy had to go to her. To focus on survival. Winning. Not just for herself, but for Orin.
God, Orin. Where was he right now? Was his family okay? Was hers?
She needed a distraction. This, too, was too much to think about right now. If she burdened herself with thoughts like those, she would become irrational.
But why? He's just a tool - someone to help you break the system.
"Damnit.." Blitz mumbles to herself, fists clenching at her side as she exits her room. Maybe a good book would help her take her mind off of-
Book.
Library.
The dots begin to connect in her head.
She rounds the corner, and Kairos is already standing at the bookshelf, thumbing through pages and clicking his tongue with disappointment.
"Well, that just isn't how it happened at all- oh. Hey, Blitz. Fancy a book? I've got plenty in the way of recommendations."
His tone is deliberate - as if he's making a show of speaking to himself before she arrives.
"You..." She sputters, her mind working so fast and so hard that her ability to speak is temporarily suspended.
Library. Fomalhaut.
Fire.
Betrayal.
"Me. What's up?" Kairos dog-ears his book, marking the page and closing it. He appears curious, yet almost pleased, a grin spreading across his face
"You figure something out? Like I said, I know plenty in the way of books..." He trails off.
"Or perhaps you're here to play a game?"
District Six
Mira Andrelo had not stopped talking since the two had boarded the train. Now halfway through the ride, even the patient and personable Sterling was starting to grow tired of the questioning.
"Siblings? Hey, me too. Gotta provide for the young ones when ma n' pa' aren't around anymore."
"Yeah. Morphling?" He asks plainly.
"Bingo. Took 'em out years ago. Yours?"
"Not dead. But might as well be. Only get out of bed to eat and piss - and sometimes they don't even bother to do that."
"Yuck." Mira sticks her tongue out in disgust. "What'd ya' do?"
"Factory work." Sterling lies through his teeth, shrugging as he pulls down at his sleeves.
Mira cocks an eyebrow.
"I played poker. And blackjack. Craps, too. Worked some odd jobs and then doubled it swindling old men out of their money."
Sterling finds himself interested beyond simply being polite.
"They let you in the Casino?"
"Hid behind Ol' Spades, most of the time. Taught me everything I know." Mira's eyes drop from Sterling's own gaze, and down to his arms.
"Including how to spot a bluff."
Shit.
"What do you mean?" He attempts to play stupid, but Sterling already knows he's been figured out. She'd seen him on stage, and been with him for the prior two hours. Even a child would have noticed the marks on his arms.
"Come on, I didn't take you for someone to play ignorant. Your arms are covered in scratches. Too deep to be an animal's claws and too shallow to be from the point of a needle." Mira states matter-of-factly. It was hard to believe that someone this bright - this intelligent - was from Six. Her chipper demeanor and quite frankly startling eye for detail didn't seem to fit with the faceless, slouching crowds that wandered the streets in search of work... and other, less acceptable things.
"I worked with knives."
Perhaps a half-truth would suffice?
"Me too, but I don't look like someone's carved me up."
This time it's Sterling's turn to raise and eyebrow. What the hell did she mean by 'me too?'
She can tell he's curious, and bites instantly.
"I'll tell you my deal if you tell me yours?"
Silence hangs in the air for one moment, then for two. Sterling deliberates. She was willing to make a deal with him instead of just speak until something slipped. He was certain she would have been capable of working his past out of him, latching on to details and forcing a slip-up somewhere, but... something about the up-front nature of her request endeared him a bit more. Made her seem more genuine.
"I'll think on it."
Mira shrugs. That was fine. She could let curiosity linger a bit longer. Eventually, he'd want to know!
District Seven
Ronan Truntley and Acacia Letterfield gel together quicker than most.
The same silent strength emanated from them in very different ways. Ronan gave the indication that he would be prepared for anything in his way. Tall and lean and self-assured, he almost seemed infallible.
Acacia, by comparison, came off as much scrappier. She twitched more - evidence of just how nervous she was. But in that nervousness came her desire. She was nervous because of what was on the line. Terrified, sure, but strong enough to overcome it. To face whatever came her way with her head held high and one hundred and ten percent of her effort.
Perhaps it was this that had drawn them to one another. 'Allies' was a bit of a stretch - but they'd work together for now. See how things went. For now, that meant small talk. What you did back home, what you thought of the competition. Safe topics.
"What'd you do back home?" Ronan asks pouring himself a glass of some sparkling liquid he'd fetched from the fridge. It fizzes as it meets the ice cubes in his chalice, colored an artificial bright red.
"Trimmed trees. My own business, actually." Acacia states, pride swelling in her chest. "Not super interesting, but I'm the owner and only employee. Got myself a nice little customer list and I make twice as much as most of the lumberjacks."
"Hell yeah. Toast to that." Ronan finishes pouring a second glass of the liquid, sliding it towards Acacia. She picks it up and raises it to meet his own cup, the glass clinking as the rims collide before each of them take a sip.
"Strawberry." Acacia's eyes widen, and she takes another sip. "It's pretty good."
Ronan takes a sip of his own, his eyes lighting up.
"Whoa.." His jaw hangs open for a moment, and then he tips the glass back, chugging the rest of it down. Once that's done, he licks his lips, ensuring he savors every last drop of the new flavor.
"Never had anything like that. It was, like... popping on my tongue. Only ever had that happen with beer down at the pub, but this stuff tastes so much better."
"Pour yourself another glass, then. Ooh - wait, think they've got other flavors?"
"You're brilliant." Ronan grins, replacing the cap on the drink he'd taken out and crouching down, digging through the fridge once more.
"Peach... Blackberry... Vanilla..."
"Think you could mix the vanilla and blackberry?"
Ronan's head pops up over the counter, grin widening on his face, and he quickly rises with two new bottles in his hand.
Soon, the two are clinking glasses together yet again, sampling each and every flavored beverage they can get their hands on. It was a toast, indeed. To family. To life.
To a bountiful partnership.
District Eight
Merlino was getting hungry.
He'd been cooped up in his room for hours. His eyes were dry, yet sobs still racked his body. He'd thrown up three times now and he could feel his stomach trying to eat itself. Even after growing up in Eight, it was the most starved he'd ever felt.
He opens his door slowly, careful not to make any noise. He wasn't keen to receive another one of his partner's verbal lashings, and his mentor hadn't served to be much better. Upon trying to get the two to speak, the surly early 20's man had simply given them an ultimatum. Sort it out themselves by the time they got to the Capitol, or he'd sort things out for them so that they didn't get in each other's way during the Games.
Neither sounded appealing.
Creeping down the hall, Merlino emerges into the common room and his heart drops when he sees Ariadne at the table, sipping something out of a champagne flute and daintily cutting into some choice cut of meat, completely unaware of her surroundings.
He contemplates leaving, coming back later, but his stomach gives him away, yowling with hunger and spurring him onward.
One step, then two, and soon he's close enough to the kitchen that it alerts Ariadne to his presence.
The soft smile on her face immediately sours as she sees him approaching.
"I'm going to my room." She announces, standing herself up promptly. Her plate is in one hand and her drink is in the other. She doesn't spare her partner another glance before she's brushing past him - careful, though, not to actually touch him - and on her way to her own private quarters.
Merlino finds that he's too hungry to even feel sad about it this time.'
District Nine
"...Sucks about the family. Lucky you didn't have to go to school, though... everything there's just the same. Same classes, same people, same routine every day."
Melisa still couldn't figure her partner out.
Why was he so... nonchalant about it all? He didn't seem eager to be here. He clearly understood the gravity of his situation - but he seemed totally fine with it. If she felt like the weight of the world was pressed down upon their shoulders, Gerald seemed as light as a feather, unburdened by the reality of the Games.
"..Yeah..." She stammers out, unsure of just how to continue the conversation. Something had seemed just a bit... off about Gerald. He seemed genuine in his intentions to chat about life, but his remarks, his jokes... all were just slightly off-color. Mistimed and only hindering any real connection the two would attempt to forge.
But, still, there was something to be said about the effort. He was confident and he was at least attempting to be friendly. That was probably a whole lot better than it could have been, so Melisa forges on.
"I had my friends, though. Mint and September and Catrina. They'd stop by every so often after school got out."
"That's great!" Gerald latches onto the new topic immediately, sensing he'd made an error somewhere complaining about school to someone who still wished they could attend. "Good friends. That's good. I, uh.. I never really had any. Not any real ones, anyways."
"Oh... I'm sorry, Gerald."
"Hey, you can call me Gerry." He waves a hand. "Most people I get close with do. Those being my parents and my sister." Gerald had rather come to like the nickname. If anything, it separated him, just a little bit, from the countless other Geralds back home.
Were they close now?
Melisa certainly didn't think so - but, she reminds herself, this is her most likely ally. Don't go upsetting him before you've even met the others.
"Gerry... got it. Hey, can I ask... why you stepped up? I mean... you're not the only Gerald. And the Games..?"
Melisa can't quite articulate themselves, but it seems Gerald had prepared an answer to this question already.
"Maybe I'm not. But... you know, I've always wanted to get out of Nine. Fields and wheat and boring nothingness as far as the eye can see. Figured this was my chance. I either get some excitement in my life before I die, or I win and my whole life changes. If I could save some other little Gerald out there from dying in the process... hey, why not?"
Melisa is at a loss for words. Surprised a bit at the absurdity, and yet even more surprised that she can almost relate. Nine had become her own personal prison. Locked between four walls and surrounded by endless fields, Melisa had long since given up hope of leaving. But... now, one way or another, she would be unshackled. Able to be her self for the rest of her life - however long that might now be.
"I... I think I get it, honestly." Melisa sighs, and Gerald's eyes light up.
"I'm glad! Makes working together a lot easier, doesn't it?"
Working together? Would they?
If she wanted to get out of here, it was a good bet.
"It does." She extends her hand, and Gerald meets her halfway there.
"Here's to escaping a bread-ful existence. Get it? Bread, and dreadful, because-"
Melisa rolls her eyes, but can't fully stop the smile tugging at the corners of their lips.
District Ten
Fraser feels like an outcast in his own train car.
What was he meant to do, with his partner being someone like her?
His friend's fears hadn't been made up. The tremble of Kerry's hand wasn't something they could fake, and the fear in Ossie's wide eyes was not something easily placed there. They'd identified her, and Ossie had pointed her out when she'd been called up on stage.
Rhea Clement currently lay sprawled out across the couch in front of the television, re-watching the recap broadcast for what was the fourth time now. Each time she seemed just as invested, eyes gleaming as various other victims were called up to the stage.
Fraser couldn't quite figure out what to say - so he didn't say anything. How do you bridge such a gap? How do you overcome knowing that the person you would be sharing your quarters with was an absolute psychopath?
Trusting her in the arena would be out of the question. She'd had no problem slitting the throat of that stray, just because. What would stop her from killing him to thin out the competition a bit?
"Are you just going to stand there and stare?"
Her voice is measured, yet almost thin with impatience. As if she's taunting him.
Well, he wasn't. Fraser could tell that picking a fight with her - or really having anything to do with her - was not worth it.
Wordlessly, he turns and heads back to his room, where he decides that he'll remain for the last hour or so of the journey.
Back on the couch, Rhea wears a Cheshire grin, checking something off on a pad of paper that she holds at her chest.
Easy pickings.
District Eleven
The mission was already proving to be more difficult than Melora had imagined.
Speaking of 'proving,' that was all her partner had asked her to do since they'd officially met. Attempts to pry into his personal life were met with curt refusal.
He'd scoffed when she'd told him about Odin and the Bunker and her goal to secure a rebel Victor. Regarded her with contempt when she'd said she wanted to help him win.
"Right." Raiden had rolled his eyes, arms folded across his chest. He was utterly closed off from Melora.
"I'm supposed to just believe it? That you're some shithead PK's little pet project, picked to tear it all down from the inside? Bullshit."
When she'd mentioned Odin, the visceral reaction had been unexpected. His hatred for authority ran much deeper than she'd initially predicted - which only served to strengthen her belief that he was a prime candidate for Odin's grand plan.
"I am." Melora insists, summoning all of her available strength into her voice. "Our goal is to-"
"That's another thing." Raiden cuts her off, irritation rising in his tone. "You're telling me you were trained... not to win yourself, but to pick someone else? Must have worked under a shitty teacher, then. If it's true. You wanna know what I think?"
Raiden stands tall, straightening his back and setting his jaw.
"I think you're already playing their game. Trying to win some protection and get me to trust you so you can stab me in the back and claim victory for yourself. Fuck that, and fuck you."
She hadn't counted on him being so incredibly jaded, either. But it made sense.
"I'll prove it to you." She calls as Raiden turns to leave, and he pauses at the doorway.
"Give it your best shot. Show me something real, and I'll consider your offer. Otherwise, I'm going in alone."
She watches as he storms off, and listens as the door to his room creaks open and then slams shut.
Melora had set her mind to it.
She would convince him.
But just what could she show him to get him to take her seriously?
District Twelve
Had Fox done something wrong?
He didn't remember his time on stage all that well. It had gone by in a blue of sound and color that his mind was still working to fully process. Not being able to remember made it harder. Had he done something to offend Esther? The way she'd looked at him made him want to curl up into a little ball and hide in the corner.
He wanted to say sorry, tell her that he didn't mean it - whatever he'd done - but she just wasn't around. She'd walked straight to her room and had refused to come out at the requests of both Della and Twelve's mentor.
"T-minus 10 minutes to arrival. Please prepare to exit your car. Happy Hunger Games."
Fox nearly leaps out of his baggy, oversized Reaping attire as a robotic voice sounds overhead, startling him and dragging him out of the pit of doubt that plagued his mind.
"Fox, dear, are you ready?"
"No..." He responds to Della's call, voice despondent and trailing off.
"It's alright, dear, I've got something for you. Do you get new clothes back home very often?"
"No... I lived in the Community Home, so all I ever got were old hand-me-downs from the big kids. Even my Reaping stuff.."
Fox tugs at the collar of his shirt - which stops just above his chest as opposed to just below the neck - and looks up as Della enters the room.
"Well, the Capitol's got something here for you, alright? A brand new shirt, pants, and even some shiny new shoes."
Fox's eyes widen with wonder as Della presents him with some neatly folded clothes, with a pair of neat black dress shoes sitting on top.
"We want all of you to look your best for the audience, dear, so hurry on and put these on. If you hurry along, I'll grab you one of those pastries from the top shelf."
"You mean it?" Fox's eyes sparkle. He'd already figured out by himself how to reach them and had eaten a total of three over the hours, but the simple kindness behind the gesture was enough in and of itself to lift his spirits, if only slightly.
"I do. Run along, now... we'll be there soon!"
Fox gives a quick nod of the head and speeds off towards his room. He's moving so quickly, focused solely on hurrying back to Della and her promised treat, that doesn't really watch where he's going and runs right into someone else.
Clad in a black dress that hugged a thin frame and strange, dark lines applied under the eyes, Esther looks scarier than she did up on the stage.
Her eyes are scarier, too, the black causing her pale blue irises to appear almost as cold as ice itself, devoid of feeling and care for the world.
She's a lot lighter than he expects, so much so that when they collide she's actually knocked back, hissing in frustration as she falls to the floor, the heels on her feet hindering her balance.
"I'm sorry!" Fox immediately apologizes, leaping to his feet and offering a hand to help his District partner up.
Once more, she brushes it away.
She looks past him, as if he's not even there. Steadying herself on the narrow hallway wall, she stands once more, head tilted slightly upwards so she can't even see Fox in front of her.
And she brushes right past, clearly ready for whatever laid ahead.
Fox wishes he could feel the same.
That's train-rides... oooooo officially pregames time... the pace of posting will most likely slow a bit here as I'll have to get much heavier into planning for payoffs and arcs as opposed to introducing and setting up. POVs will also get longer as well and we won't be getting everyone all at once or all in order anymore - it'll jump around the cast as I see fit, with the goal being giving everyone at least one major POV before the bloodbath begins (though your favorites will also likely appear during the POV of their DP/allies/etc so don't worry about only seeing them once!)
Thank you so much for reading! It's been a joy to write these guys so far. Any thoughts/comments/concerns are very much appreciated!
Any alliance predictions? Which pairs do you think might work together? Which will stab each other in the backs? Who falls somewhere in between? Let me know!
Until next time,
logangster out.