attitude won't get you the crown, {95 train, d8}

[arctic]

Attitude would get Hope's ass torn to shreds under my momma's roof. By the way, how many goddamn Hope kids are there? Can we get a census on that?

I take a swig of my small glass of alcohol - a burning sensation that’s needed to soothe the nerves. To say that last year was a rough patch is… an understatement, given the lines on my nightstand had started to blend in with the dust. We got a cleaning crew the Capitol sends every once in a while, but I don’t let them touch my room. Nobody goes into my room. Regardless, this year, I gotta be better. Or at least try to be there for them. It’s not like I’m gonna be wasted by the time the train arrives. I just… need it, man. It helps me calm down before I have to tell these kids how not to get killed.

Not that I expect to succeed - hell, it took Eight right under twenty years to produce another victor, and I hardly had any help from Shelby. Someone who cares could be enough, man, but I can’t find much energy to care. Rafael’s not attached to the hip this time and Rocko’s little help to comfort anyone in this situation. Who’s to say they’re upset, though? I was… relatively at peace with volunteering; these two had done just that.

The Hope kid had a bunch of theatrics to it. Like he saved planet earth from zombies, level, givin’ some sort of show that could only get replicated by a mayor’s campaign. Dude probably thinks he’s gods gift to earth, which is unfortunate for me to deal with as he’s the first to enter the cabin. ”Hey, man.” I raise my glass, footrest up and completely unwound in the cart. ”Mac, is it?” Another sip, I place it down and look up at him, waiting for him to speak. Hard to forget the kid’s smugness after volunteering. At least show some emotion, man. You’re from Eight, you’re no career. ”Trying to win an award, or somethin? The smug shit doesn’t get you a crown.” I can poke the bear all I want. It’s my turn to play with the Capitol toys, fresh from the box.

Tavi's show at the Reaping was much more entertaining, so seeing him enter the cart allowed my energy to shift from Mr. President. "It's an honor, Caelum," I offered a playful wink, continuing the fake identity the boy had given himself. "Get comfortable, it's gonna be a second til we're there."

[Gamemaker Lauren Kinkade]

MACHIAVELLI HOPE

The train is impressive. There's no other way around it: Mac Hope has never seen something this luxurious in his life. The realization is a little painful and a little trite. He runs his fingertips along the wallpaper, wondering what material could be both so soft and so resilient as to line the walls of a vibrating train. But maybe they change it every year? Which is less luxury and more just waste, but that's a pretty good summary of the Games in general.

"Mac, is it?”

Speaking of wastes. "Machiavelli," he says primly. He's reached a point in the car where he can either take a step back and fall into a chair or take a step forever and loom over Victor Horner. Mac lets his hand fall from the wallpaper. "Trying to win an award, or somethin? The smug shit doesn’t get you a crown.”

A bemused grin flickers across his scruffy features. "Maybe I should try getting really wasted and find a mountain to climb." Having opted for sass, Mac takes the step back and folds into an armchair. Caelum? His gaze swings to his district partner waiting for an explanation or an introduction or for him to go shot for shot with the resident alcoholic.

[gamemaker artemie 🦉nyte]

   

tavi

   

He's not scared of the train.

This writing mass of screeching metal, the heat of its rage visible as it wafts off machine. He could lay down on the tracks and it would rip him to shreds, chew him up between its gears until there was less Tavi and more an eviscerated mound of flesh formerly known as Tavi.

And he's not scared of it, even as he hesitates at the threshold and feels his heart stop beating. Shame burns his cheeks as he shoves his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking. He doesn't regret volunteering, it was the best decision he's ever made.

It is. It is. It has to be.

The atmosphere is comfortably tense as he settles into a plush seat beside Theo, reaching over the victor to claim his own expensive bottle of alcohol. He wraps his lips around the mouth, pretending to drink deeply as pleasantries are exchanged. An excuse to listen, to watch, and most importantly to make it seem like he isn't.

"Thanks man," There's a red stain on his tongue as he grins at Theo. He decides he likes the victor then and there - he's the first person he's met who can take a fucking joke. His wrist still aches from that Keeper's iron grip. No way to treat a precious tribute, if you ask Tavi.

These boys are so big and bad when they snark at each other.

There's the promise of conflict, not yet a storm.

So preoccupied with this, he doesn't even realize he's stopped shaking.

"Wooooooow." He leans into Theo, regarding Machiavelli with wide eyes, "He's totally making fun of you! Are you gonna take that?" He mimes taking another drink, "'Cause personally I wouldn't let that slide."

i'll believe
it all
there's nothing
i won't
understand
⋆