Capitol I: Train Rides & Chariots
The Art of War
Remington 'Remmie' Van Lieu, District 3 Operative
10:13 AM
It's difficult for Remmie to expect anything but long strings of thoughts to occupy her brain. She doesn't know what to do with the silence that's rang in her skull since departing District 3.
The train car is beautiful, nothing like the white-walled rooms of the Institute. There are several couches sat around the spacious room, half a dozen tables all spotted with food and reading material. In fact, all three of the tributes have a book laid across their lap. Remmie glances over and sees Saida turning another page, while Linux, like herself, barely seems to be looking at his. The only words that were spoken between the team this morning were greetings at the station.
For the first time in her life, she finds the silence suffocating.
Remmie closes the book and lets out a slow breath in an attempt to calm her beating heart. There are no thoughts to work though, no worries to tell herself are idiotic. There's just the overwhelming feeling that she is supposed to be doing something even though, for the next several hours, there is decidedly nothing for the team to do.
They're not in the Capitol yet. The only people on the train are Remmie's teammates and their mentor Ansel. There are no first impressions to make, no sponsorships to vie for.
They're not in the training center yet. There are no other tributes to observe or gamemakers to impress.
They're not even back at the Institute, where Remmie could be flipping through every exercise she's already completed a dozen times.
It feels to her like they've entered some kind of limbo, where the only task is to think and yet Remmie's mind can't conjure up a worry nor a topic to practice recall on. She's not concerned. They've trained hard over the past few months, both as a team and individually. This is how long it's taken every team before them to get ready, and thus hers must be ready.
There can't be any doubts, and yet Remmie can feel them start to creep forward the further they get from District 3.
"I didn't take you for an entomologist."
Remmie barely suppresses the flinch as the voice reaches her. Her cheeks heat up quickly when she realizes that Ansel is sitting on the couch to her right. She hadn't even noticed. Remmie swallows the embarrassment that comes with that realization.
"We complete that unit in year three," she says without thinking. "I reviewed it all for final trials and again two weeks ago."
Ansel's gaze tilts ever slightly and that's all it takes for Remmie to realize that he's talking about the book she's holding. She didn't think it was possible for her face to get any redder, yet somehow it manages. Remmie likes the mentor as much as the rest of her trainers at the Institute. His role is to push and coordinate them, and he's more than fulfilled that. However, beyond training talk, this is already the longest conversation Remmie's had with him.
"If it helps, I don't like the train either." Ansel's lips barely move as he speaks, as if he doesn't want anyone but her to hear him. This isn't unusual for the trainer; he has a clear preference for one-on-one instruction. Remmie just doesn't understand the purpose of this talk.
Despite the trials being over, she can't help but feel like it's another test.
"It's quite comfortable," she states flatly. Not too much information, but enough to tell Ansel what he needs to hear. Remmie is doing fine being outside of the Institute and away from District 3. She will not crack under the weight of homesickness or anything else. Not even motion sickness should or will be able to deter her focus.
He watches her for a moment and Remmie takes the opportunity to open the book on her lap. She doesn't need to review insects, but if the material was provided then it can't hurt. Besides, she should be doing something. If she can fill the echoing silence in her mind, perhaps she will force her last statement into reality.
Zev Huxley, District 5 Tactician
11:46 AM
The last thing Zev expected from today was to become a victim of motion sickness.
He squeezes his eyes tightly shut as the lights continue to beat down on him. They've been travelling for most of the morning, but the journey to the Capitol is an all day affair. Zev never in a million years thought the reason for his misery today would be nausea. He certainly would have put his money on it being Pippin.
The couch cushion by Zev's feet dips with new weight and he doesn't bother to suppress the displeased groan. He doesn't even have to open his eyes to bet on exactly who sat down. It doesn't take a genius to know that Arwan would rather die a slow death than approach him and Luz doesn't strike him as a cuddler. That only leaves one option-
"Ginger is a good remedy for motion sickness." If the train car weren't spinning around him, the Operative would have been eating Zev's fist before he could finish the first syllable. Zev opens his eyes and knocks whatever Pippin is holding out to him onto the floor "Luz said to bring it to you. We have to talk before we get to the Capitol."
Zev groans and turns over so that he's facing the back of the couch. The last thing he wants to do is get up. He feels worse than last year when the entire elite section got a stomach bug during evaluations. "Go away."
"Suit yourself but she's walking over here right now." Zev's certain he doesn't miss the hint of amusement in the Operative's voice.
"Fuck," Zev moans as he forces himself upright. Even that simple motion feels like it's going to be enough to pull his breakfast out onto the floor. In fact, he can taste it behind his teeth along with the familiar sting of bile.
"I won't ask twice," Luz says, no louder than the breath that follows. Most of the Faction instructors get their respect from being the loudest or rudest person in the room. Zev's certain he's sustained a nonzero amount of hearing loss from them alone. Luz, however, he's never heard shout. He can't even remember a time when she's raised her voice.
Zev can't decide if that makes him like the woman more or less.
He groans as he hoists himself from the couch. Part of him wants to point out that he never heard her ask once, but truthfully he's not up for it. If Zev has to say more than a couple of words, he's sure he's going to hurl. Maybe he should've taken that ginger, but it's still on the floor behind him.
Somehow, when Zev gets to the table, Pippin and Arwan are already seated. There's no spread of food on it, all of it having been cleared up from breakfast. Zev couldn't be more grateful. He puts both hands on the table in front of him and directs his next sentence to Luz.
"Any chance we can make this quick."
She raises an eyebrow, but that's the only indication she gives that she's heard him at all. "We arrive in the Capitol in five hours. You are all clear on the proceedings for the remainder of the night."
The team nods and the united act makes Zev feel even sicker. "Excellent, I have just received information on attire for the evening. I'll hear exactly zero complaints regarding them."
Zev rolls his eyes, and when they return back to Earth level he finds Luz staring directly at him. He swallows but doesn't allow any of the discomfort to show on his face. He knows as well as anyone that it won't do him any good.
Luz doesn't care about apologies, excuses, or comfort. She cares about one thing and that's results. More than likely, that's the only reason Zev hasn't been beaten into the next century for his quirks. She doesn't like him, but the fact that he can deliver and usually maintain some level of respect in public is more important.
The Faction still chose him. Even though Zev was every instructor's least favourite. Even though getting paired with him was every other student's worst nightmare. Even though he got closer to getting kicked out every year.
Zev's good at what he does and that's all that matters.
Luz and Pippin and his fucking boyfriend can kick rocks about their opinions.
Kiona Madrell, District 10 Artillery
11:51 AM
Kiona absentmindedly rubs the bare skin of her inner wrists as she glances around the train car.
She's never been inside any building that even comes close to this grand. Furniture has been placed around the perimeter, all of it more comfortable than anything she's ever sat on. Every surface is draped with a tablecloth, pristine white with neat tassels on the corners. When Kiona looks upward, even the ceiling has been intricately painted with swirled details where the walls meet it.
She's never felt so out of place in her life.
It makes her think of her family for the first time in a long, long while.
When Kiona looks up again and drinks in a sharp breath, she finds familiar eyes on her. Jamison, his face as unreadable as she's always known it, watches her carefully. She looks away. Even if she can't see it in his eyes, part of her can feel it. He knows about her life before The Reform Program. This is the first time she's realized how much he likely pities her, pities them all.
They don't belong here. They won't belong in the Capitol. Kiona tells herself to get used to this feeling but it still sinks low in her stomach.
"Help yourselves."
It takes at least a full minute before any of the trio react to Jamison's invitation. Kiona hasn't even had time to take in the spread of food on the center table, but it hits her senses all at once. All the scents together, it's almost nauseating. Cedella is still glued to the door of the closed car as if she might take the chance and jump out. The only one left is Thistle, and even the way he moves past Kiona feels unlike them.
"Don't mind if I do," he mutters and approaches the table. They don't sit, in fact he reaches down and snatches a pea-coloured pastry from one of the near plates. He takes a tentative bite and shrugs. From behind, Kiona might have been tricked into believing Thistle actually felt comfortable here.
When they turn back to her and Cedella, the illusion is gone. His cheeks are so pale they look almost green and they swallow the pastry like it's a hunk of concrete. He takes another small bite and gestures to the table. When they turn back to Jamison, Kiona has to wonder if the instructor sees it too.
She can't decide if it makes her like the Tactician more or less. Kiona still hasn't made that decision about either of her teammates. In truth neither one feels real yet, just like none of this feels real yet. Kiona spent so much of her young life isolated that it's hard to think of them as people.
And it's just about impossible to trust them no matter how hard Jamison's tried to convince her. How many times did the instructor try and reason with her in the past weeks? How many times has he told her that this is different than her early life, that her teammates have just as much at stake as she does? How many times has he told her that she has to trust again, that her life depends on it?
And how many times did Kiona want to scream at him that she can't? How many times did she want to pull her own hair out because, no matter how right he is, she doesn't know how to trust them? It's not that her parents betrayed her trust and that's why she's reluctant. They never had the fucking chance. No, even at ten years old, she never trusted them. Kiona can't recall a single moment in that house where she even came close.
How are two strangers supposed to be any different? The Reform Program only gave them a few weeks to get to know one another. If trust is so important like Jamison says, then they're already doomed.
Neither Cedella nor Kiona join Thistle at the table. She doesn't see where Cedella ends up, but Kiona takes a corner of the room by a window and curls up away from all of it. She doesn't see Cedella take the opposite corner. She doesn't see Thistle drop the rest of the pastry or Jamison try to sit down with him. She just doesn't see it.
Kiona simply doesn't want to.
Cedella Altieri, District 10 Operative
6:09 PM
Cedella never thought she'd miss the train, but the last hour has shown her how much worse things can be.
She's counted at least six separate people, all of them with dramatic expressions painted on their faces, working around her at various times. One of the women focuses only on her nails, moving between the end of each limb and scrubbing until Cedella wonders what will be left when she's done. Another, a person with the roundest eyes she's ever seen, plucks or otherwise rips every stray hair from her body. All of them chatter in high voices that might as well speak another language. Every single bit of it is too loud.
Cedella only realizes that she's crying when the man standing over her makes a tsk sound and dabs a piece of soft white cloth into the corner of her eye. He tells her to breathe. Am I not? Cedella just nods, but seconds later the cloth is back again. She mumbles an apology but no one in the room seems to hear it. No one seems to mind either.
Pippa would have hated this. Nearly every thought since Cedella stepped onto the train has been of her sister. Where did Pippa sit? What did she think about? Did she stare out the window or did it make her stomach turn as well? Now that they've arrived in the Capitol and she's been separated from Thistle and Kiona, the thoughts have only gotten louder. Pippa loved having her hair brushed, did she love it here? I was always the one that complained. Cedella blinks and this time catches the tears before they start to fall. She flinches as another piece of cloth is ripped from her leg, taking all of the hair with it and leaving a sting behind.
That's the only good thing about what's happening. Every new slice of pain pulls Cedella from thoughts of her sister just long enough to breathe. She should take it as a chance to think through the next few hours. All of the teams will appear in front of the nation for their debuts tonight. She needs to remember what Jamison told them when he finally managed to corral them into one part of the train car. She needs to think and not about Pippa.
Another cloth is ripped away and Cedella grimaces. "Don't wrinkle your makeup." She doesn't know what that means. She mumbles another apology.
"There's one thing that, year after year, the other teams have that District 10 does not."
"Training?" Kiona said under her breath.
"No," Jamison replied, though his tone didn't sharpen with her disrespect. "Teamwork. You have to be one entity in the arena, and that starts tonight. I won't tell you that it's the only way to win, but it's the only way that all three of you can."
Cedella swallows as another rip of pain makes sweat bead at the back of her neck. The man pulling brushes across her face doesn't say anything more, which she hopes means she's not making things more difficult. Teamwork, that's what Jamison wants us to show Panem. Cedella doesn't remember the rest of the conversation. In fact, she's not even certain there was more to it than that. She needs to focus. She knows that's the only way she's going to get through this and have any chance at all in the arena.
But Pippa-
Cedella closes her eyes and tries to push her sister away, but even the slightest effort makes her body go cold. This is the closest she's felt to her sister since the morning she was notified of her death. This room might very well be one of the last places her sister breathed. Pippa is gone and Cedella is exactly where she was before it happened. Pippa was the one that always knew what to do. Cedella was always just a shadow at her heels and now she's supposed to do something her sister couldn't manage.
How am I supposed to think about anything else? Cedella opens her eyes and stares up at the bright light glowing above her. It burns no deeper than the memories she doesn't have of her sister's last moments. How do I stop believing that I'm going to join you?
Linux Gillen, District 3 Tactician
8:28 PM
Linux beams as he stares towards the front entrance of the stables. He can see the bright lights sneaking underneath it and practically feel the heat of a thousand bodies waiting to see him. He doesn't know if he's ever been this excited for something in his life. It almost masks the nausea that's been eating him alive since he woke up early this morning to catch his train.
Tonight is more electrifying than all his years at the Institute combined. Tonight is certainly more exhilarating than the trials. Truthfully, tonight is at least a hundred times more intoxicating than Graduation Day.
He doesn't have to choose. Linux can be equal parts entertaining and brilliant; he can be pieces of both of the people that change places behind his eyes. It doesn't matter because he's here. They'll love him either way.
No one will be able to take their eyes off him. From the poverty-ridden edges of Panem to the richest elites of the Capitol, when Linux rolls through that door, they won't be able to look away. If the sparkling silver of his costume weren't enough to ensure it, the final detail will seal the deal. Linux reaches up to touch the knotted metallic crown but stops himself. The last thing he wants to do is knock it off center.
He's not only the Tactician for District 3, the future Victors of the Hunger Games. That in itself would be impressive, but today he took a step even above his teammates. Ansel chose him as the team lead. When their chariot enters the spotlight, all eyes will go to him first. He'll be in the middle, raised ever so slightly higher than Saida and Remmie. And of course, there's the crown.
No one will ignore him tonight. Linux' smile starts to hurt the corners of his mouth but he couldn't wipe it away if he tried. No one will ignore him again.
He wonders if his parents will be watching.
Linux can almost convince himself that he doesn't care either way.
The doors inch open and the brightness pushes itself through the stable. Linux squints but his smile doesn't falter for even the slightest moment. On either side, his teammates stiffen but they manage to hold their composure as the chariot starts to roll forward. It's the least he expects from them, from himself. District 3 doesn't falter.
But, historically, District 3 doesn't shine either. That changes now. As their chariot inches past the threshold into the center of thundering applause and deafening cheers, Linux knows this year will be different. He will shine. He will force everyone to notice him, to see how hard he's worked every day since he can remember. He will not falter this opportunity.
District 3 doesn't falter.
The three of them have worked hard, they wouldn't have been chosen if they hadn't. They are the best the Institute has to offer in their age bracket. Saida and him have been teammates for over a year. She's good at what she does and she's never questioned him, at least not in practice. Linux wants to believe that she respects him even if she's just about impossible to read. Linux respects her position on the team, her unwavering ability to follow orders with inexplicable precision. Their classmates didn't nickname her 'Laser' for nothing.
Remington is a different story. She is just about the only Operative trainee that Linux never worked with before Graduation Day. He doesn't remember anything about her from before the ceremony. Yet, she has proven her worth in practice. She knows every skill and tidbit that an Operative should be expected to. However, whereas Linux hopes that Saida respects him, he can be almost certain that Remington does not.
She hasn't even looked at him without Ansel's express request. She doesn't speak to either him or Saida outside of practice. Truthfully, she's only slightly more animated than the hologram teammates Linux often used early in Tactician lessons.
He's gotten used to it. He's a Tactician, he's the team lead, Linux can get used to anything. There is nothing that the Hunger Games can throw at him that he isn't one hundred percent prepared to handle.
Especially not tonight.
Linux takes a deep breath as he allows every cheer to fill his ears, every bit of applause to rain down on him. He brightens his smile, straightens his posture, feels every bit of importance that he's been yearning for his entire life. Nothing can ruin tonight, nothing.
He doesn't notice the murmurs that start in the crowd behind him. The applause is just as loud up ahead. Then, the stadium gasps and, in an instance, the silence that follows seems to pull every eye from his body. Linux feels his body go cold as the lights seem to leave him. Beside him, his teammates don't even flinch but Linux has to force his expression not to fall. What's happening? He tells himself not to turn around. The chariot screeches to a halt and Linux is pushed forward into the railing.
Their eyes don't return. Seconds, maybe even minutes go by and the audience chattering comes back but their gazes do not. He can't feel them. The cheers that soaked into his skin moments ago are nowhere to be heard. Linux stands straight, he smiles, he raises his hand in a wave but the feeling is gone.
What should be the best night of his life is over before Linux gets more than the slightest taste.
Pippin 'Pip' Navarra, District 5 Operative
8:32 PM
All Pip can think about as the chariot enters the stadium is keeping his hands firmly on the railing in front of him. The crowd is the loudest thing he's ever heard. It's far worse than the simulated explosions and lasts far longer. Within the first thirty seconds, the urge to put his hands over his ears and never remove them is strong. If blood were to start dripping from them, Pip wouldn't have been surprised. It's too much.
It feels like a sign as Pip watches the tiniest black beetle crawl around the railing between his white-knuckled hands. It scrrries to the inner edge, probably shielding itself from the wind. Pip's smile starts to feel just that little bit more genuine the longer he watches it. The crowd isn't quite so loud, even the wind doesn't feel as much like sandpaper on his cheeks. It reminds Pip of home, even if he can't quite put his finger on the species. The last year or so has left little time for his insect hobby, but that hasn't quelled his fascination in the slightest.
"Fuck." Zev jumps beside him, knocking the twisted crown askew on the Tactician's head. He brings both hands away from their spot on the railing, tucking them into his chest as a look of absolute disgust crosses his features.
Zev lifts his fist over the beetle and, before Pip can rethink, Pip slaps the Tactician's wrist away. "It's not hurting anything."
Zev doesn't seem to hear him, or if he does it doesn't have any impact. From the second Pip touches him, Zev's expression tells him that his mind is positively made up. His fist unfurls midair, resulting in his flat palm striking Pip across the cheek with a sound loud enough to ring in his ears above the crowd. Pip recoils, ducking down slightly with his hands still firmly on the railing. The beetle, for its part, doesn't seem to notice the commotion.
Zev reaches towards it again and this time Pip just closes his eyes. He doesn't feel any contact on the railing, but can't miss Zev's screech of disdain as the crowd starts to quiet. There are still shouts of cheers, likely from those that have yet to notice, but murmurs too start to fill the wind. Pip opens his eyes to find Arwan holding Zev's arms firmly to his sides and Zev doing absolutely everything he can to thrash out of the Artillery's grip.
"Control yourself." Arwan says through gritted teeth. He's taller than Zev by over half a foot, wider by several inches, but that doesn't mean it's easy to hold him back. Pip stares with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. When Zev gets one hand free and throws a fist back at Arwan's chest, Pip doesn't think twice.
He's not a fighter. Pip was branded early on as an Operative for a reason, and it wasn't physical strength. He's fast and agile, his hands reaching his teammates before he can even blink, but that doesn't mean he knows how to help. All Pip can think about is keeping Zev still. He can't even hear the crowd anymore.
All he can think about are the trainees at the Faction that would show up with black eyes and broken bones after taking on the tiny Tactician. Zev comes with a reputation; he has since long before Pip and Arwan entered the Tower. Zev might be his teammate now, but that doesn't mean that Pip isn't at least a little bit afraid of him. Still, his friend looks like he needs his help.
Pip clumsily grapples for Zev's free hand and Zev uses all his strength to push him backwards with it. Pip manages to absorb the shove, but the stray kick to his stomach is unexpected. Before he even realizes what's happened, Pip finds himself staring groggily up at the sky.
I can't breathe. He knows this feeling, like every molecule of oxygen has been forced from his lungs. It takes three tries to get a breath in, and it's so loud he can hear it echo in the stadium. That's when Pip realizes where he is; when he realizes that every eye in the Capitol, or more likely the nation, is staring down at him.
Pip pushes himself up on the concrete. His head spins as he sees the next chariot screech to a halt beside him. It looks so much bigger from down here. How did I get here? His vision is filled with black spots but it's impossible to know whether to blame the fall or the panic beating in his chest. Pip tries to climb to his feet but his legs refuse to even try. His body won't respond but nothing hurts. He's trained to feel for that first; nothing hurts. Get up. He can hear a half dozen different trainers in his ear but that doesn't make it easier. Get up!
"Don't move!" Pip doesn't recognize the voice that explodes from the surrounding silence. He trembles as he turns his head, but that only makes the dizziness spin faster. He can still feel their eyes on him; all of them. All Pip wants to do is get back in the chariot, which is something he never in this lifetime thought he'd say. He wants the staring to stop. He wants to go to sleep.
I hope the beetle's alright.
A/N: Welcome to the Capitol, hope that wasn't too long of a break between updates. This is the general format the pre-games will be taking - shorter POVs that encompass multiple events. All of the tributes I am writing will get two POVs before the games begin.
For ease, here is the list of team leads: Linux (D3), Seren (D4), Zev (D5), Uzzah (D6), Fennel (D7), & Thistle (D10). These were chosen by the mentors of their respective districts and these tributes act as a point person for their team throughout pre-games. More on this later.
Next chapter will be training!
~ Em