09 – Train Rides II

TW: there is a brief mention of suicide in Ivan's POV


Cinderella Kettering (18) — 6:00AM
District One Female

Cinderella has never felt as lost as she has in this moment. Staring up at the ceiling, on a train the morning after she volunteered for the Hunger Games. In the room over, Kieron is probably asleep, but she knows that when he wakes he'll be happy; determined. Not lost like she is, wondering where she went wrong.

Because she's living out a dream here. The issue being that it's not her dream.

Her mom had been happy yesterday, though, bursting through the doors of the goodbye room to wish her well. Cinderella doesn't think that she's ever seen her mom smile that wide, or has ever hugged her so tight. Whilst her mom had never been able to volunteer, bitterly missing out on her chance when she wasn't chosen, Cinderella had somehow managed it. Being the mother to a Victor is almost as good as being one yourself, right? Or will her mom just end up disappointed once Cinderella gets home? She doesn't quite know.

There's only one problem; Cinderella might be a Career, but she doesn't want to kill. She really doesn't. She just wants to get home, live out her mother's dream, become a Victor and then never have to do anything like this again.

One gets Victors. One gets plenty of Victors; if Cinderella plays her cards right then next year could be the only year that she would have to mentor. She could retire in Victors Village with everyone and act as if none of it ever happened the year after.

Because how is she supposed to live with herself knowing that she killed that tiny girl from Eight, or watched it happen at the hands of another tribute? Or the girl from Six, the boy from Three. Any of those children who'd barely had a start in life. When their deaths—inevitably—happen she can't let herself dwell on them because that's when she'll start to spiral. She knows it. Hell, how is she supposed to face the death of Kieron, either, the boy who'd stepped up to bring the honour that his family desired after his brother's unfortunate accident?

He wants this. She knows he does. More than her, at least. Well, maybe not the victory because she really, really, wants to go home. He wants everything that she doesn't; the glory, the prestige, the money. All Cinderella wants—has ever wanted—is to impress her mom and now... well, she isn't sure that it's the best motive going into this.

Because the longer she gets tangled up in her thoughts, the more the Academy plan starts to dissolve. She'd watched the reaping recaps yesterday afternoon with the sole purpose of finding out what the Career Pack would look like. It ended with her feeling crushed for all of the kids she'll be up against. That was never part of the plan. She's supposed to kill. But she can't. She knows that she can't.

She's starting to doubt whether or not she's quite cut out for this.

It's not a good position to be in, especially not right now, but she doesn't know how to get out of it.

And if she goes to the mentors about this then they'll be furious at her. Kieron will shun her, the Careers will more than likely toss her out; caring is soft and soft Careers don't win the Hunger games. She'll be a burden to them. A target.

So, she has to keep this quiet. Cinderella has masked this almost the entire time she's been in the Academy, training day after day. If she managed to keep up the charade there, then what's another week or so? It's nothing compared to the years. She just has to keep reminding herself of that.

She can do this. They wouldn't have selected her if she couldn't.

She pushes her duvet back, opening the curtains. It's still dark outside, and she shivers in her thin cotton pyjamas. It's a little weird to think that they'll be in the Capitol in a few hours, dressed to the gods in whatever their stylists have made for them. At least she doesn't have to worry about being made a laughing stock like some of the other districts. The Careers at least have effort put into their costumes.

As a child, the parade was always her favourite part of the Games. She would sit in front of the TV with a notebook in her lap, jotting down the descriptions of her favourite costumes that she could rework into a story later on. She'd always say that the girls looked like princesses, and her mom would always jump in with a "and so will you when It's your turn. You're named after a princess, after all!" And the process would repeat with the interviews, the magic only wearing off when the timer counted down and she had to watch the slaughter.

The grubby outfits that the tributes would wear in the arena, often becoming stained with blood, just didn't delight her in the same way.

She doesn't necessarily think that that's something to be ashamed of. Maybe she's a Career, but she doesn't need to be heartless, right?

It's not only the vicious Careers that win, after all. And there have been Victors who haven't killed anyone. Not in a long while, but their names are still in their districts' books of Victors, read out every year as a reminder that you don't necessarily become a Victor through mindless violence. If you play your cards right you can win however you want to.

Cinderella lets out a quiet sigh, turning away from the window. She needs to stop thinking for once. Usually, getting lost in her thoughts is never a bad thing. Not when she's dreaming up plots for her stories, or characters that she wants to start fleshing out. Her father is the same way; forever dreaming, and he's done just fine for himself with his sold out books and seemingly perfect family.

She'll be fine. She's trained for this. The Academy put great thought in the tributes that they choose; they wouldn't have chosen Cinderella if they thought that there was absolutely no chance of her making it out of this alive. It's that simple. Both she and Kieron have something to offer, and both of them have chances. Much higher than any of those other tributes that she'd watched yesterday.

If she just keeps her head on straight, she'll be back on this train in no time. She'll be a Victor, and her mom will be proud. It'll be what she's always dreamed of, even as a gap toothed kid, skipping home from her training sessions.

She'll become a Victor. She has to. For her sake. For her mom's sake.

It's just hard knowing that in order for that to happen, she has to let go of what makes her human.

Tyravia Grange (13) — 7:30AM
District Six Female

Tyravia sits cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom, a notepad in her lap and a pencil in her hand. She stares down at the blank page, willing for something to just materialise there, something to just appear that she can work with and get all of her pent-up creative energy out on. But nothing comes; she just remains staring at an empty page, and she can feel the frustration start to build up.

Getting to her feet, Tyravia leaves her room, blinking back tears. The doors to the mentors' rooms are already open, and so is their escort's. For a minute, she debates turning towards the dining cart, where she can already hear quiet chatter, but facing people is the last thing that she wants to do right now until she can get herself together, so she turns to the viewing platform where she sits down, peering through the gaps in the fence, more than likely put there to stop tributes from throwing themselves off, coupled with the forcefield. It's not a very appealing idea to Tyravia, but then again, neither is entering the Hunger Games.

She reaches into the shirt pocket of her light blue pyjamas, pulling out the folded photograph she'd placed in their last night. Her token. Her family. Tyravia takes a deep breath as the tears threaten to fall again; if she wants to make it back, then she can't just spend the whole time in the Capitol crying. Besides, she managed to survive living with her real parents for ten years. She can… she can do this.

Behind her, she hears the door sliding open and she twists around to see who it is. Her district partner, still in his pyjamas too, waves at her as he shuffles out onto the deck, yawning as he sits beside her.

"In the words of my friend Marco," he says, stretching his hands above his head. "We're both fucked."

Tyravia quickly puts on a smile, pretending as if she found the statement funny. Carson seems to be handling things well; she doesn't want to drag his mood down just because she wants to go home.

"Yeah." She agrees. "Probably." After all, he's not wrong, as much as she tries to divert her attention away from that fact.

Just when things were starting to get better at home; when she wasn't waking up every night plagued by the nightmares of her parents and the life she lived before moving in with her friends, this had to happen. Because what's more unrealistic? Tyravia making it through the reapings without getting chosen, or Tyravia being able to live a normal life for once, free of fear? Clearly whatever deity is up there has something against her. Whether it's a curse or she's done something wrong, she doesn't know. All she knows right now is that she'd rather be at home than sat here, staring at a line of train tracks.

"Well," Carson says, pulling Tyravia out of her thoughts. "Tributes do better as a teams, right?" Tyravia looks at him, nodding slowly. "So... do you want to ally?"

"Really?" She sits up straight, frowning slightly at him. "You want me?"

"Sure I do," he smiles. "We're both from Six; we gotta stay together."

And Tyravia doesn't have any particular loyalty to her district, but is that's what brings her an ally, then... "Sure. Thanks, Carson."

"That's alright," he says. Tyravia draws her knees to her chest, staring forward through the slats in the wooden fence. It would almost be a peaceful moment if it didn't feel as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Beside her, Carson gets to his feet. "We should probably get to thinking about a game plan," he murmurs. "So we're prepared and all."

"I—I don't really want to think about the Games right now." Tyravia grimaces. She turns away from him, looking forward.

"We have to." Carson's voice is steely, and when Tyravia turns to him he's gripping the railing so hard that his knuckles are turning white. "This isn't something that we can just ignore."

"I just—"

"If we ignore it then everyone else is just going to get a leg up on us." He continues. "Do you think the other tributes aren't already planning how they're going to murder us? Or how they're going to get out of the cornucopia alive, or..." he trails off, his eyebrows knitted together. After a moment he turns back to her, expression softening. "I don't mean to be short with yoy or anything, but... if we want any chance of winning this then we can't afford not to think about the Games. It's the unfortunate truth."

Tyravia doesn't answer, squeezing her eyes shut. God, she just wants to be at home. What has she done to deserve this? She doesn't want to think about it, she really doesn't, but Carson is right. Ignoring it isn't going to make it go away; whether she chooses to acknowledge it or not, in a week or so, she will be fighting for her life inside of the arena.

"Yeah," she says eventually. "I guess you're right."

Carson exhales. "I thought you were going to freak out on me for a minute," he says. 'I mean, not that that's a bad thing... You can cry if you want to, but I'm not too good with people crying, so..."

Tyravia lets out a quiet laugh, wiping at her eyes. "It's—I—this just sucks."

He sits down beside her again, nodding. "It does."

And there's the statement on the tip of her tongue: only one of us can go home, though. But she knows better than to speak it aloud. If she doesn't want to focus on the Games, then she doesn't want to focus on that either. Though out of the pair of them, it's not going to be her. She knows it's not going to be her. Because, clearly, nothing good ever happens to her; all her reaping has done has cemented it.

"I'm going back to my room," she says abruptly, getting to her feet. Carson calls after her, but he doesn't come knocking on her door once she slams it shut. As soon as the lock has slid into place, she starts to sob, all of the stresses of the morning taking over. All of the tears she'd almost cried on the observation deck sliding down her cheeks as she wraps herself in a blanket and crumples to the floor beside her empty notepad.

The blank pages only make her cry more.

She's going to die. Far from home, far from her real family, with Carson and the picture she'd been given as her token to remind her of home. Of her real home. Of the home that she had seemed to have taken for granted.

Jos Callarin (15) — 8:00AM
District Five Male

"Jos can you stop tapping please?"

He looks up at his district partner's quiet request, nodding. She gives him a small smile, and turns back to her plate of untouched food, pushing around some scrambled eggs as they wait for their mentors to join them. Jos drops his hand to his side, tapping against his leg rather than the table, and wraps his other hand tightly around the hand of his fork, taking a small bite of something that the escort had insisted that he try.

"Is it good?" She asks as soon as Jos has started chewing. "It's my favourite."

He nods. "Yeah," he says. "It's nice."

Gracelynn wrinkles her nose from beside him. "What even is it?"

"Black pudding," Jairus says simply. "It's a blood sausage."

"A... a what?" Jos grabs a napkin, spitting out the little bit he had in his mouth. "It's made of blood? You could have told me that before I ate a bit of it!"

Jairus sniffs. "You said it was nice."

"It... well, it was." Jos frowns. "but I don't want to eat something made out of blood no matter how good it is."

"Suit yourself. Jairus shrugs. "I'll eat the rest of it if you're not going to."

Jos lets their escort take the slice off of his plate, the carriage falling into silence as the three of them get on with their meals. Jos eats until he's full, avoiding anything that their escort mumbles is nice, and beside him Gracelynn still pushes around her food. Jos wants to say something to her; to remind her that they will be going into the Games in a few days and therefore they had to eat all that they could now, but he doesn't want to start an argument so he keep his mouth shut. His district partner is nice, sure, but she also hasn't spoken much since the reaping, and he doesn't want to tread on the toes of someone he's barely met, and definitely not someone who will be his enemy in a short while. Someone in the way of him returning home.

Because as nice as Gracelynn is, Jos just can't see them allying. It was a suggestion from their mentors yesterday that they should, but neither of them had made the move. He doesn't know who he wants to ally with, but not her.

After all, it's going to be hard enough to kill someone already. Let alone someone who he's allowed himself to get attached to. Someone from home.

"Morning, Jairus, Gracelynn, Jos." One of their mentors, Alexander, finally makes an appearance. He nods in greeting to all of them, taking a seat beside Jairus as he reaches forward and starts filling his plate.

"Jairus made me try black pudding," Jos says, trying to fill the silence. Alexander looks up at him, eyebrows raised.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. But not before he told me it was made from blood."

Alexander laughs at that. "That's mean, Jai," he snickers as he butters a slice of toast. "But you could've at least waited until I was here."

"Where's Brianna?" Gracelynn asks.

"She'll be here soon." Alex shrugs, shovelling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "If you're worried about anything you can ask me now. I'm as much your mentor as I am Jos', the assigning thing is just a formality. Now. Back to what we were talking about last night; are you two going to ally?"

Both Gracelynn and Jos look at each other before shaking their heads.

"Right. Okay. And you're both pretty set in that decision?"

They look at each other once more, before Gracelynn speaks up. "Yes. That's what I wanted to talk to Brianna about. Allies, I mean."

"Well, who do you have in mind?"

"I—"

"I want to ask the boy from Six," Jos cuts in. "Do you think that's a good idea, Alexander?"

"Jos," Alexander says. "Gracelynn was speaking. Ally with the boy from Six if he'll take you, sure, but nobody is going to want a rude ally, are they?"

Jos feels his cheeks start to heat up, dropping his gaze down to his mostly empty plate. "Oh," he says. "Sorry, Gracelynn. I didn't mean anything by it, I was just reminded and..."

"It's okay, Jos." His district partner murmurs. But still, Jos feels awful.

He stands up, clearing his throat. "Um. I'm done with breakfast, so I'm going to go and explore the train."

No one says anything as he leaves, making his way down to the end of the train. He'd discovered the ladder, concealed in a small room, last night when he couldn't sleep, and now he climbs it, pushing open the hatch. It's not any surprise that it leads to the top of the train when he hauls himself up, but being up there, standing up at the wind whips through his hair... well, it's the best he's felt in a while, that's for sure.

Jos peers forward, over the edge of the train. There's a faint urge in the back of his mind to just jump; to pitch himself forward and let himself fall into the forcefield. He's always liked doing dangerous things, but he concedes that that's probably a little bit too far. What if the forcefield is a myth, and he ends up splatting himself on the train tracks? Jos knows that the chances of him leaving the arena are slim, but he'll completely eliminate them if he falls to his death now.

He twists the black bracelet given to him for his token around his wrist, sitting down as it begins to get harder for him to maintain his balance.

The odds are stacked against him, but Jos needs to get home as quickly as he can. What if his dad gets sicker? What if he dies and Jos doesn't even get to say goodbye? Being so ill that you're excused from the reaping isn't something to take lightly.

He's tried not to think about it too much, but here, on this roof and alone with his thoughts, it's hard to think of anything else. Jos realises, with a sick feeling in his stomach, that if his father was in Jairus' place, a citizen of the Capitol, he'd be cured of his pneumonia easily. No forlorn doctors, or wills, or older siblings stressing about having to become providers for everyone should the unthinkable happen. He'd be cured. Because the Capitol can cure almost anything.

And here Jos is, as healthy as he's ever been, speeding towards the very same place that possess so many cures. Heading towards his death.

It's sick.

Ryker Bansal (18) — 8:30AM
District Nine Male

Ryker grimaces as he takes another sip of the bitter coffee in a bid to try and wake himself up before he's subjected to the unpleasantness that is the parade prep. His mentor, Omri, has already made sure that he knows what an awful experience it is, telling Dalia and him about it at dinner last night, and Ryker can't say that he's looking forward to it at all. From the little he's grasped from their escort about it as the irritating woman has been jabbering on this morning, Ryker is sure that he'd rather just skip straight through to the training days.

The Hunger Games sure are acting as a pretty good contraceptive for fun, that's for sure.

"Rye?" A snap in front of his face startles him, and he almost spills his mug of hot coffee everywhere as their escort demands his attention. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Maybe you should give him a moment to wake up." Dalia murmurs from somewhere across the carriage. "He looks pretty tired."

"I'm not a morning person." He counters, waving a hand dismissively towards their escort. "Just give me a minute and..."

"And what?" Amabel demands. "You'll wake up? Oh, I'm sure that the Careers wouldn't kill you in the arena if they found you during one of their morning hunts and you said that. Yeah... I'm sure they'd let you just shake it off."

Ryker opens one eye lazily, catching Dalia's gaze from where she's sat on the sofa. Both of them are clearly holding back laughter. Not at the reality of Amabel's statement; he doesn't really want to think of the scenario that she'd laid out, but more so the overreaction. Ryker had barely said a word before the woman has practically jumped on him, and he and Dalia had to find humour wherever it cropped up, especially as they were reaching the Capitol and things were becoming a lot more real.

But, with a glance towards Amabel's face, Ryker swallow the laughter with some difficulty and picks the mug of coffee back up, letting it warm his hands. He takes another sip, and he assumes that he must grimace again because Omri's reaching across the table, handing him a small jug of something.

"Put some milk in that coffee," she says with a quiet laugh. "Nobody likes drinking it black."

He murmurs a thank you as he tips it in, and he's pleasantly surprised the next time that he takes a sip. It's still bitter, but a little less than it was before. Definitely a game changer.

"We'll be at the Capitol soon," Omri says after a while, giving Ryker some times to wake up. He's still not fully awake, but at least he's able to take in what she's saying. When Omri beckons her over, Dalia sits beside Ryker, offering him a warm smile. "Now I don't know what costumes you're going to end up with, but whatever they are you have to find a way to get the Capitol on your side."

"Even if we're dressed as something stupid?" Dalia asks.

"Especially if you're dressed as something stupid," Omri nods. "This is the first time that they're seeing you since the reapings, when you've had some time to collect yourselves and wrap your heads around this. If you're weak now, then they're not going to pay any attention to you later on down the line. Especially if it's coupled with a low or average training score. You can be as charismatic as you want during your interview, but if the big picture isn't as compelling then you're not going to get many sponsors. I can't work with nothing."

"So... what entails looking strong in the parade?" Ryker asks. "We're just stood on chariots."

"Smile and wave," Omri says. "Make eye contact with anyone you can, blow some kisses, stuff like that." She leans across the table, snagging a banana from the fruit bowl. "They want to know that you're confident. There's no point in just staring forward, or looking up. If you're nervous, you're out."

"but how can we not be nervous?" Dalia fiddles with the edge of the table cloth. "We're in front of thousands of people."

"Fake it 'til you make it?" Ryker suggests, glancing towards Omri who smiles and nods.

"Fake it 'til you make it," their mentor repeats. "I was scared as shit. My partner was an asshole, my mentor wasn't of much help. I was pretty much completely on my own. But, I womaned up and gave the Capitol a show. Waved, danced, whatever I could do without falling off. They bought it. The knife that I used to kill? A sponsor gift. The canteen of water when I was on the edge of dehydration? Another sponsor gift."

"What if we bomb the parade but do well in everything else?" Ryker finishes off his coffee with a huge gulp. "Would people still sponsor us then?"

"They might." Omri shrugs. "But they also might not. A lot of people will pick out their favourites during the parade. Capitolites are a weird bunch—"

"Hey!"

"It's kinda true," Dalia snickers, and Amabel lets out a loud huff.

"Now, something else," Omri continues. "The time when you're milling about before the parade starts is a prime time to start taking note of allies. Or, asking them if you're certain. Have you two decided on anyone else for your alliance?"

The pair of them shake their head. They'd attempted to talk about it last night, but neither of them could really come up with anyone right off the bat. Not that the other tributes were beneath them or anything, but they have absolutely no idea of the personalities of the others. How are they supposed to know at this point who will work well with them? There's no point in inviting someone to their alliance now just because they're around the same age as them, only to find out that the person is very likely to turn on them a day into the Games.

Ryker turns to the window as Omri continues to give them tips, staring out at the scenery flying by. What he'd give to be out there right now, free from worry. He thinks back to his childhood, to the books he used to read where there was no oppression, no Hunger Games. He used to tell his parents that he wanted to live in those worlds, and they'd agree with him.

"But we're here," his mother would tell him sternly. "This is our life, and we can't change that."

Ryker thought that he grew out of that childish wishing years ago, but as he stares out, he realises that he hasn't. Not quite.

Ivan Rolcaster (15) — 9:00AM
District Ten Male

He wonders if Madison has told everyone what he did by now. Idly watching the gossip channels whilst tucked in bed with the curtains closed and their escort banging on his door hasn't given the impression that she had—surely the news of a tribute trying to murder his sister would be everywhere should any Capitolite gain wind of it—but he knows that she must've. And if she does... Will the district connect it? Would they reopen his father's case? Admit that it wasn't the suicide that they thought it was?

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what they'd do, and that freaks him out. Of course, they can't really punish him, not when he's on his way to a death match already. Not in a way that he knows of, at least. They can't lock him up.

But they could set a mutt on him. They could find some way to lure him somewhere and set him right in the path of the Careers. There's a lot of ways that they could make him meet his end in the arena, and it unsettles him just a little. He had to volunteer, though. He had to. Because if he was at home when Madison blabbed to everyone, he'd be in the small district prison before he knew it. He'd have to watch his mom try to come to terms with it; He'd have to stand there as a judge sentenced him to years and years behind bars. It'd be worse. It would be a lot worse.

But if he wins the Games and makes it back alive... well, they can't execute a Victor can they? They wouldn't.

And would they take the word of his sister over a Victor's anyway? For all they knew she could just be jealous of him getting all of the attention.

This was his only option... and the Capitol love him already.

Ivan runs his thumb over the face of his father's old watch. The one that he had pocketed before he left the house for this exact reason. They wouldn't let him take rope into the Games, so he'd have to settle. Even looking at the watch knowing that it belonged to hi father is enough to make his lip curl in disgust.

He hadn't wanted to kill the man. Not really. But at that moment it felt like he needed to. He had to do it. And it was the same with Madison this morning. He didn't want to kill her, and when that rope had snapped it had almost been a relief. Until he remembered that she could tell. She could and she would and Ivan would have to pay for what he'd done...

"I've got a key!" His escort declares, diverting his attention away from the TV in the corner of the room. "I'll unlock this door if you don't!"

Ivan rolls his eyes at the woman's threat. Why was breakfast so important anyway? In a couple of days he'll be starving, and whatever meal he has now isn't exactly going to save his life. Still, to put an end to the incessant pleas for him to leave his room, he tucks his father's watch into the pocket on his pyjama shirt and crosses the room, unlocking the door.

Ophelia glares at him as he opens the door slightly, just enough for him to look out of. "And what time do you think this is?" She asks, arms crossed across her chest. "I've been knocking for the last half an hour."

"I'm a deep sleeper." He jests, but the joke seems to fall flat as the woman seems to narrow her eyes even more.

"Breakfast will be cleaned up soon," she says shortly. "If you want to eat then you'd better hurry up."

The woman storms off, and Ivan begrudgingly follows her. Maybe the meal won't matter in the long run, but he is kind of hungry, and both of the mentors had made sure to tell the two of them that they were in for a long day over and over again last night.

Sitting down opposite his district partner, he gives her a warm hello. The girl returns it, popping a strawberry into her mouth.

"And I thought I was late for breakfast." she says with a snort. "You almost gave Ophelia an aneurysm."

"She's horrible." Ivan shrugs.

"I wouldn't say she's horrible." Bonnie shakes her head. "She just... knows what she wants, I guess."

"And doesn't shut up about it."

Bonnie shrugs at that. "She's just trying to keep everything going," she says. "I'm sure she'll chill out a little towards... well, you know..."

"The bloodbath?"

Bonnie's smile drops. "Well I was trying not to think about it, but yeah. The bloodbath. The Games as a whole, I guess."

"That's kind of a long way away, though," he says, and he holds up a finger as Bonnie frowns and opens her mouth. "A week is a long time when you're stuck with an insufferable person."

"You're telling me."

Ivan raises his eyebrows, getting ready to ask what she meant by that when the doors slide open and their mentors shuffle in, still in their pyjamas, too. Ophelia trails in after them, looking rather smug with herself as the three take the empty spots at the table. She quickly dissolves into a tirade about how all of the other districts were 'almost certainly' up by now and how 'uncivilised' it is to eat at the table in their pyjamas. How Roscoe 'astounds' her every year with his 'inability' to use even the 'utterly basic' table manners, how Cricket's meal choices are just so 'bafflingly odd'.

Thankfully, she seems to keep both him and Bonnie out of her tirades, the two of them chuckling into their food as their mentors grow increasingly uncomfortable with every word that tumbles out of the woman's mouth.

Ivan is starting to be thankful for the fact that his initial idea for a token would have been almost immediately confiscated; if he had access to that bundle of rope right now... well, he wouldn't be accountable for his own actions. But then again, would anyone blame him? Hell, everyone else in this room would probably help him do the deed with the annoyed glances they keep giving the woman.

The murder of an escort, though... Ivan isn't exactly sure that he'd be able to get away with that one, Victor or not. The Capitolites take any threat to their society very deeply. Someone that far in the public eye? Ivan would have practically signed his death warrant the moment he'd started towards her with the intent.

Full, he gets to his feet and leaves the room, ignoring Ophelia's calls after him. She's trying too hard, he thinks as he slams his door shut, because he and Bonnie are never going to be the District Ten dream team she seems to be after.

Settling back into his bed, Ivan flips through the channels, listening for any indication that Madison has told everybody what he'd done.

That's perhaps the scariest thing to him right now. Not the Games, not the Careers, not the realisation that he could be dead.

His own sister and the deed he'd almost committed yesterday morning.

Kite Aegir (17) — 10:00AM
District Four Male

Kite can't believe that he's actually here. Only thirty minutes or so away from the Capitol as the official tribute for District Four. He's finally done it; he's finally proved to Tiber that he's stronger than he is, that he's the better of the two like he's always said. Nothing felt better than standing on that stage and staring down at his self declared rival knowing that he's finally bested him.

"You know," Aveta says, taking a bite from an apple as the two of them lounge on the sofa. "There's always the chance that Tiber will volunteer next year, right? Whether he's picked to or not. Then suddenly you won't be the best anymore."

"I'll be the first," Kite says sharply. "That'll still make me better than him and you know it."

Aveta holds a hand up in a mock surrender. "I was just saying—"

"Save the arguing for the arena," Baia murmurs. "you'll have plenty of time in there to be at each other's throats."

Aveta scowls at her mentor, but she doesn't say anything. Kite wants to tack on that he'll be the leader in this years' Career Pack, because there's no way in hell any Career with good sense would let that good for nothing lead, but he knows that It's also Aveta's goal, and he doesn't want to start something just before they pull into the Capitol. They might not like it, but for the next week then they need to act as if they get along because nobody is going to put their bets on a fractured Career Pack. They'll go for the boy in Ten who volunteered, or whatever alliance seems the most coherent.

It's surprisingly easy for a Career Pack to fall out of favour, and Kite can't be having that in his Games. Not when he's trying to prove to Tiber, to the whole of Four, to the Capitol... to anyone and everyone watching him, that he's the best. Because he is. He is. And he finally has a chance to make it known; to attempt to put the rivalry to bed (although he knows that Tiber won't let it rest. The idiot will more than likely give his life next year for the refusal to believe that he's been bested. Kite almost looks forward to watching it. To having to mentor him, and make the boy listen to what he says).

"Talk to the other Careers before the parade," Baia breaks the silence, offering more unwanted advice. Their other mentor has already resigned himself to being no help. At least he had some sense. "Make it clear to the others that you mean business."

"They already know." Kite rolls his eyes. "It' not as if this is some cool new alliance. The others know that we're going to be an alliance. They know that we're going to kill their sorry asses."

The Career Pack lead every kill scoreboard across Panem year after year. The other tributes are scared of them, should be scared of them. Because more likely than not, the six of them are going to be the ones to end their lives. That's just how it is. He doubts that anyone is going to meet his gaze as he stares around the holding room waiting for the chariots to roll out. Hell he'll take pleasure in it.

If he wants to show off to Tiber than he has no other choice than to be on the top of his game. Not that he rarely isn't, of course—he'd been chosen for the Hunger Games after all, despite only being seventeen. It had been rather entertaining to listen to the complaints of the boys who were aging out this year. Kite feels a little sorry for them, but he doesn't doubt that it was the right decision.

Aveta may think that she's going to be the one to bring District Four glory this year, but Kite has to disagree; the trainers at the Academy didn't give him the nickname of Shark for nothing.

"I still want to know what your plan is for next year," Aveta murmurs as they move towards the window, away from Baia, as they start to approach the outskirts of the Capitol. "You'll have to mentor him."

"Which means that he'll have to do as I say."

"Right," Aveta smirks, crossing her arms. "Just like we're giving Baia the time of day? I've trained with Tiber; he's going to do the complete opposite of what you tell him to, just because. He's not going to give you that satisfaction. No way in hell."

"Well that says more about him than it does me," Kite says, tilting his chin up. "If he doesn't want to listen then that's fine, but we both know he'll just die quicker. I mean he's never getting out of that arena alive, but…"

"I wouldn't big yourself up too much," Aveta says. "Anything can happen in the arena. I wouldn't want you to be disappointed."

"I'd say the same to you," he retorts.

"At least I'm doing this for something other than a petty rivalry." Aveta curls her top lip. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, Aegir—"

"I said leave it for the arena!" Baia interrupts them and both of them immediately tense up. Kite doesn't know what it is about the woman, but he's starting to lose his patience with her. Both he and Aveta have made it clear that that they don't want her help, yet she keeps offering it.

"Why doesn't she just go and mentor Twelve or something," Aveta huffs as the woman finally takes her leave after a tense stony silence. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have her…"

The conversation falls flat as the train finally starts to pass the insanely large crowds lined up only a stone's throw from the train. The two of them instantly start smiling and waving, something that was drilled into them in the academy; always engage with the Capitolites. They can save your life.

The train screeches to a halt, and before they know it they're being herded onto the platform themselves, with the noise becoming almost deafening as they step off the train. People are calling their names, people are cheering, and Kite is pretty sure that it can't get better than this. The pride swelling in him is so much stronger than it ever has been before; even when he was on that stage. Even when his name was read out as the selected volunteer.

They're chanting his name. Not Tiber's.

He can't even begin to imagine what this will be like when he's boarding the train to head back to Four. The platform will be even more crowded than it is now; the amount of cameras and flashing doubled. People asking him to sign things for them, people asking him to marry him.

Capitolites go crazy over tributes, but downright insane over Victors.

He can't wait.


Alliances:

Career Pack: Kieron, Cinderella, Percival, Desdemona, Kite & Aveta
D3 pair:
Nathaniel & Ariah
D6 pair: Carson & Tyravia
D7 pair: Cypress & Lilah
D9 pair: Ryker & Dalia


AN:

We finally have all twenty four tributes introduced, and I couldn't be happier! I've been wanting to get this chapter out for a while, with the hopes of getting into the second round of tribute's POVs sooner, but for some reason this chapter took a while to write. But it's finally done and that's what matters. I hope that you enjoyed reading this, and I'd love to know your thoughts on everyone. Now that we've seen them all, there will be a poll on my profile asking about your favourite tributes—this isn't going to influence anything; I'm just curious!

If you're in the discord then you would know this because I literally don't shut up about it; I'm a third year university student, and I have a dissertation to write this year, blah blah. Anyway, to focus on this, I'm not going to be focusing on this SYOT until it's done. I might write a POV here or there, but there won't be anything consistent and likely not an update until my dissertation is finished and submitted. The due date is the 22nd of May, so hopefully I'll see you around then!

This chapter is also likely to have a lot of typos, I'm aware. The keyboard on my laptop is starting to pack up, which isn't fun given my approaching deadline, but I'll try to sort any typos out tomorrow. I just really want to get this chapter out so that the intros are done.

I'm still figuring out how I want to structure the pre Games, so I'm not sure who will have POVs in the next chapter or who they'll be from, but once everything is figured out I'll have them on my profile as usual.

See you next chapter whenever that may be! I hope that everyone is staying safe and well! :)

-In Writing