train rides are surprisingly fun to write so i have fun!

one tentative alliance is formed, one boy got good advice, one girl almost died-

next batch of POVs we're going through 2 train rides, 1 arrival, 1 capitol/fitting, and 1 chariot rides! than we dig into training, where alliances form heh

anyways, leave a review and let me know what you think!

Vivian Argyle, 18

district 2 female

Lunch was awkward, but Vivian smiled through it as if her mind wasn't currently spiraling. She had a tentative alliance with Kasem, she had a plan for the games, and yet this nobody showed up and volunteered for the game as if he was deserving of the spot. Which he was not, for obvious reasons.

"So was the volunteering thing a momentary loss of judgment or…?" Vivian stared unblinkingly into dark void eyes, her fork stabbing into her steak with more force than necessary. Bartholomew looked up, even sitting down as he towers over Vivian, took a huge breath, and shrugged, resuming his meal. Vivian fought the urge to reach across the stable and shake him until he gave her some sort of answer, some sort of understanding of his madness. For these reasons he decided that today was the day he wanted to ruin all of her carefully laid out plans. "Can you even talk?"

"I can talk just fine, Vivian," Bartholomew spoke with an air of authority Vivian wasn't used to hearing from Kasem, who was more laid back and allowed her to take control whenever they were training together to build chemistry. "Do you want to talk strategy now or do you want to continue your fruitless attempt at interviewing me about my decisions? Leave that to the expert, Vivian."

The way her name rolled off his tongue rubbed her own in the wrong way, and Vivian had to press her nails into her palm to prevent herself from lunging across the table and just stabbing him right here and there. She still needs him, as annoying as he is. No career in the past Hunger Games had won without a pack, those years in which outliers won were all time in which the career pack failed to come through, or they killed off each other, which was something Vivian did not want.

"I'm so sorry, Barty, I wouldn't need to have this conversation if my district partner hadn't been brutally punched out by you," Vivian forced a smile on her face that almost fell natural, given the amount of time she had fake that smile and batted her eyes to get what she wanted. Or to get out of a situation she doesn't want to be involved in. "But I guess we both can't have what we want."

Bartholomew's knuckles turned white as the grip on his steak knife tightened and Vivian almost giggled in delight at how easily he had taken her bait. He gritted his teeth. "Why I volunteered is no one's business but my own. If you want to have your life before the first canon sounded signifying the beginning of the game, you will do well to never call me Barty again. It's Bartholomew."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she wasn't, and she cut aggressively at her piece of steak before shoving it into her mouth and looked up at Bartholomew again when she swallowed. "I thought a name as hideous as Bartholomew must have been made up for by an adorable nickname like Barty."

Bartholomew took another deep breath, his eyes wild and Vivian wondered if this would be the moment he breaks. Those not in the Academy yet chose to volunteer are those with secrets. They will have an ultimate goal, and Bartholomew doesn't seem like the type to volunteer for a loved one, so there must be some secret agenda. Vivian would discover what it was, before that secret tore apart their career pack and the second part of her carefully laid out plan started to fall too.

They stared each other down, and before any of them could attack, the door to the train cart hissed open and Vela and Weasley walked in, bright smiles on their faces. Weasley's more fake than Vela's, who looked genuinely excited to be here. The mentor system rotates every year, as district 2 had more than enough victor to compensate for that. Each year, one male victor and one female victor is sent to the capitol with the chosen tributes, and those who sent the most kids home get a bonus from the Academy. Vela has had one of the highest success rates, but Weasley was known to not care much. Not that it bothers Vivian, it was Bartholomew who should be concerned.

Weasley wasn't one for nonsense, and he marched straight towards Bartholomew and shoved a finger into his chest.

"You better have potential, boy. I did not cancel my vacation to district 4 with my wife just so I could watch a random boy die in the bloodbath," Weasley took the offered wine from Vela's hand and drowned it in one gulp. Vivian watched with disdain, struggling to keep the scowl from her face. Weasley slumped down on one of the chairs and laid his elbow on the table. "So what did the two of you cook up?

"We are still in the talking process," Bartholomew tried for a smile, which looked more like a grimace than anything. "I show more potential than the other boy could ever have. You will do well to have me as your tribute… sir."

The 'sir' was added grudgingly in the end, but Weasley looked pleased as Vela took a delicate seat beside Vivian, who liked her instantly. There was something soothing about her presence, paired off with the elegance of her actions that made Vivian feel like she could trust Vela to take care of her in the arena.

"I hope the two of you will take the traditional route and join the career pack this year," Vela started, taking out a huge piece of paper and a pen. Weasley rolled his eyes. "As we all know, the key to success as a career is to join forces with the others. We can't win if all the strongest tributes had turned against each other at the start. Do not take in any outlier into the pack, regarding the potential they may show as you observe their training. But keep note that those with potential to join the pack should be those eliminated first. My colleagues may encourage otherwise, but you will do well to listen to me."

Vivian watched in fascination as Vela started a detailed diagram on the paper, laying out her points.

"And what if the others refuse to join the pack?" The question came from Bartholomew, who took in the diagram with a hungry glint in his eyes.

"We best hope they all do," Vela looked up sharply, her eyes meeting Vivian's for the first time. "If they don't join forces, the two of you will do well to eliminate them first in the bloodbath. I trust the two of you will get along?"

Vivian shared a look with Bartholomew, and they both scowled before looking away. Vela gave them a pointed look and Vivian sighed. "Sure."

"We will get along just splendidly."

Sorghum Grane, 13

district 9 male

"I dwell in Possibility

A fairer house than Prose,

More numerous of windows,

Superior of doors."

Mother came to say goodbye, so did Father. They hugged him and Mother cried into his shirt, while he tried to hold back tears to be strong for them. "It will be okay, Mother."

The words sounded fake to his own ears, but he couldn't dare to think of the other possible outcome, even as it beat against his brain threatening to spill out. Farro came, ruffled his hair, and wished him the best. Maize clung to him and refused to let go. Luke looked at him with sadness in his eyes, and he pulled Sorghum into a hug, and whispered, "you got this, bro." that made Sorghum want to cry again.

Then the Peacekeeper came and he whispered his last goodbyes, wondering if he would ever see their faces again. Just in case, he gave them all one final gaze, memorizing everything about them before the large door of the town hall slammed shut and they were ushering them towards the train, claiming that they needed to be on schedule if they wanted to make it to the Capitol in time.

Sorghum got his first good look from his district partner then, a girl with pink hair who looked into the camera as if it was a reality show and she was the model. Which it technically was, a reality show that is. What else would you call a game in which twenty-four children are placed in an arena with cameras at every ankle, capturing their every moment, every weakness, and every death. The victor who greeted them, Phoebe, was a middle aged woman with a warm smile yet haunted eyes. But Sorghum had noticed that almost all past victors had the same look in their eyes.

As soon as the train started, Sorghum locked himself in his room, preferring solitude over socializing. Even though he knew it would be his best chance of survival, as victor provides them with strategies and advice that will keep them alive in the arena. His district partner (Leslie, he learnt), accepted the offer for an afternoon snack giddily, almost bouncing on her feet as she followed Phoebe towards the food cart while Pallas watched Sorghum with a look he couldn't quite describe.

The bed was the softest thing he had ever touched, and he took a hesitant step before sitting down on the edge, sinking slightly into the mattress. His eyes widened and he laid down, a grin spread across his face. "Hello Heaven," he said to no one in particular.

This was his new home, and he won't ever leave it.

A knock sounded on his door, and Sorghum turned so that his face was pressed against the soft mattress. He debated on ignoring it, but it grew more insistent and he sighed and dragged his feet over, meeting the smiling face of Leslie, pink hair swept to the side.

"Hello!" Her enthusiasm was noted but unwanted.

"Hi," Sorghum said wearily, he was never one to make new friends, Luke was all he ever needed. "Do you need something?"

"Phoebe seems to think we should both join her and Pallas for a strategy session, just to up our chance of survival you know?" Leslie didn't wait for a response before bouncing away, and Sorghum debated within himself before shaking his head and following the other girl. He was never one to give up this easily, and the odds might not be in his favor but the odds aren't impossible.

By the time he got to the food cart, Phoebe and Pallas were talking in hushed whispers and Leslie was happily munching on a weirdly colored blue cookie. He debated going back to his room to sit this conversation out as the thought of walking into a seated room caused his palm to start to sweat, but he took a small step forward and was greeted by Phoebe's warm smile again. "Come on in, take a seat."

Sorghum sat down slowly, taking in the sheer amount of food in front of him. He doesn't think he had ever seen such a luxurious amount of food before. "Leslie said that we're talking survival pointers?"

Phoebe smiled and nodded. "Yes. Do you know how old I was when I won my game?"

"Eighteen?" Leslie guessed.

"Seventeen?" Sorghum followed up when Phoebe shook her head.

"Twelve, actually." Sorghum blinked, and felt as though he was looking at Phoebe in a new light now. "I told you not to impress you, but to let you know that age isn't a problem in the game. Sure, those younger people are at a disadvantage from those with more life experiences than them, but you guys have what those older people won't have."

Sorghum hated those types of words in school, when the teacher asked him about his secret talents like he would know them. If I have them, they are secrets to me too.

"My amazing charm?" Leslie flipped her hair, and Phoebe shook her head.

"You two, Sorghum specifically, are still young. Which means you look more innocent. Although I am all against manipulation, this is a game of death, so I say manipulate away. Find an older tribute willing to protect you, one person's intense care can go a long way," Phoebe had a strange look in her face as she said it, and Pallas placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Obviously, you shouldn't count on that," he gave Phoebe another look before turning to Sorghum and Leslie again. "If that plan were to work, then cool. But in the really likely event that it doesn't, you two would benefit from partnering off to have someone from home in the arena."

Leslie took a look at Sorghum, furrowing her brows. Sorghum doubted they would partner in the arena.

"If you were to be alone," Pallas sighed as he glanced at Leslie's face. "Know your own strengths. I recommend the survival sections, you never know what sort of useful techniques are taught there. I won my game because I was the only one there who learned to tame the wild birds."

"Thank you for your advice, sir," Sorghum said quietly, glancing down at the table.

He silently vowed to find an ally in that training center if that was the last thing he did.

Cordera "Cora" Escudo, 18

district 10 female

Cora was not supposed to be reaped.

She was supposed to be sitting at home now with Maribel, chuckling about how anxiety inducing the reaping was every year. They were supposed to be celebrating their freedom from the games, drinking wine from her mother's pantry. She was supposed to be happy now, and looking towards the future. Even if all she could see is a rich husband. That was all Cora needed anyways. A rich husband to keep her afloat as she escapes the slaughterhouse.

Cora was not supposed to be stuck on a train with a murderous psychopath, who had a pair of peacekeepers standing guard outside his door as he screamed bloody murder from his room. District ten hadn't had a female victor in a while, only Kinsley, who had a fatherly presence that made Cora feel a little bit safer while sharing a hall with a psychopath.

A psychopath that later sat across from her as they ate dinner, his eyes glinting in the moonlight and his porridge (the only food that doesn't require the usage of a knife or any sharp utensils) sitting untouched in front of him.

"My sister was supposed to be here," he growled halfway through the meal, and Josephine flinched as the peacekeeper held him back before he could lunge towards Cora, who let out an honest to god whimper as she clung the spoon tightly in her hand. Worst comes to worst she pours her whole porridge on top of his head and hopes he gets a burn so bad he dies instantly.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Cora whispered quietly, hands trembling as she took another sip of her porridge (Everyone was given porridge, just because of this insane psychopath Cora was missing out on the one part that might come from being reaped: good and luxurious food). Dolion glared and Cora wondered if the group would open up and swallow her right here and now. She wouldn't be opposed either if the train suddenly went off rails. Or even better, she just opens the window right now and yeet herself out. She was probably going to die in the games anyways, what's a few days shorter?

"You don't even begin to understand it," Dolion lunged forward again, and the scary part was that he managed to grab her neck, and she swore her vision started to flickered as he squeezed, strong grip refusing to leave her neck even as the peacekeepers tried to pull him away. In the end, it took Kinsley stabbing a knife into the back of his hand that caused him to release his grip and Cora stumbled back, grasping at her throat and gasping for breath.

The peacekeeper escorted Dolion out of the cart as he screamed out from their grip. "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU CORDERA. JUST YOU WAIT!"

Cora folded into herself as Josephine all but ran from the room into the bathroom at the end of the cart, and they all heard her as she vomited into the toilet. Cora rubbed at her throat, grimacing at her reflection in the spoon when she saw dark bruises begun to form. That would not be a pretty look for her first impression by the capitalists, hopefully the stylists would have something to cover it up.

"Are you okay, Cora?" Kinsley's voice was kind and soft, and Cora just nodded. "I'm sorry you are stuck with him. I heard rumors that his reaping was rigged anyways, and the capitol is going to kill him either way."

"Not before he killed me though," the honest response slipped out from Cora's lips before she could stop it, and the thought of dying made her want to cry. Her hands were still trembling, and Cora sat on them. "I did not expect to get reaped this year."

"None of us did," Kinsley sighed. "It was supposed to be his sister, but she died just a few days before. Mr. Joseph has not been the same since his sister's death. If you thought he was murderous before her death, then he is a downright psycho after her death. I would recommend finding strong allies, Cora. He can't kill you if you are surrounded by people way stronger than him. But do not, under any circumstances, try to associate yourself with the careers. They may be stronger than Mr. Joseph but they are more vicious than he will ever be. They are trained in the art of the games, and every one of them won't hesitate to get on top."

Cora nodded and tried to grab for her glass of water. Her hands were still trembling uncontrollably and it shook as she took the glass to her mouth and took a small sip of water.

"Try to get a good sleep, we'll be at the Capitol soon. I'll wake you up before we pull into the station," Kinsley smiled at her, and Cora nodded and made her way towards their sleeping quarters. But she found that she couldn't quite get herself to step into the threshold close enough to Dolion, even with peacekeepers stationed outside his door. Her foot refused to cooperate the closer she got to the door connecting the two train carts and she glanced at the perfectly sleepable sofa.

"Do you mind if I stay here?"

Kinsley looked on with understanding in his eyes. "Go ahead. I'll be here the whole time."

Cora nodded, took a seat, before laying down on the couch. Her hands still shook and her heart was still beating out of rhythm. She wondered how she was going to survive the game of death when a near-die had already redeemed her useless.

The Hunger Games would only be worse, and Cora already made her first enemy.