head up in that sunlight // d7 train.

[✨ zozo.]

Mom left her basket of baked goods in here. By accident, I think. She looked shell-shocked. Setting it down so absent-mindedly I thought she might not be here at all. I had to squeeze her tight in an effort to get her to feel right. An embrace usually so warm and second-nature now felt like I was hugging a mother made of pine and nails - not flesh and bone and love.

I told them it was fine. That I'd be fine. Smiling - bit in disbelief, I think. But still smiling. For them, more than me. I'm a take every day as it comes kind of person. I've still got loads of days left until... you know.

That.

Dad kept it together until they left. I could hear him breaking down from the other side of the door. A beat later and I blinked, eyes caught on the wicker basket- "Wait, you forgot-!"

She brings them every year for the families in the justice building. Most of those kids were her students, once. Now it's her daughter. Such a cruel twist of fate to punish her for a little show of kindness.

So I'm left here with a basket in my arms, nudging it forward in offering to everyone I see.

"Scone?" I ask the two Keepers who arrive to escort me. They look at each other for a moment, baffled, before politely plucking two jam scones from the bundle.

This might be the first time a Keeper has ever thanked a tribute in 97 years. I'll take it.

"Scone?" I ask the driver of our carriage to the station, smile to boot. "Pastry?" I ask the conductor. "Baked good? They're fresh!" a photographer, a passer-by, a doorman. They all take one, just as bemused as the next. Someone at the station says I should keep them for when we get to the Capitol, but... I don't know. I think Mom would have wanted them to go to the people here. Our people, yknow?

Someone else cracks a joke about The Hunger Games, I laugh to be polite. Then it's me and Junie, tiny - tiny. The Mackenzie Pryce, capital T. Two scones left, butter and cream and jam.

"Scone?" I offer with a nudge, eyebrows raised in encouragement at the two of them as the train lurches to life and I leave this world behind with the clothes on my back, a basket, and a red tartan hand towel dusted with crumbs.

"Not allergic, are you?"

table coding elegant 

[clover ❁]

Junie St. James

Junie St. James has had a really bad day. 

Maybe it's the worst day she's ever had, including the time she borrowed Pa's best shirt without asking, and he found her sitting, surrounded by shreds of it, proudly surveying the glimmering pair of wings she had crafted. She'd had her knuckles rapped for that one, and not a single member of her family complimented her careful needlework. 

Today has been much, much worse than that, because Junie has done something terrible, and then, crushed beneath the weight of it, done something else terrible, and these are both somethings that cannot be undone. Junie is just now realising that she will never see her family again, and the last words she said to them are looming large in her head. 

If you loved me, you'd do something-

That's what she had said. What Junie had meant was: I'm so afraid, I don't know what to do. I love you and I don't know how to lose you. I feel as though I'm losing myself. I thought you would always be able to save me. Please, save me. I want to go home, with you. Please, I'm so sorry. I'm scared.

But instead, she had said: If you loved me, you'd do something. 

And Father had said: I can't do magic, Junie-bug. 

And Junie had screamed.

And that had been the end. 

Now, Junie is sitting on the train, watching the world she knew leave. Her knees are pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on them, a blanket of hair untied to cover as much of her as possible. She hasn't bothered looking up as Peacekeepers and doormen and conductors moved in and out, because she was quite sure that there was nothing they could say to her that she wanted to hear. 

Nobody could possibly understand-

Nobody, except, maybe JJ. 

"Scone?" comes the voice of the other tribute, permeating through the thick gloom in Junie's mind. Her head snaps up. She peers over her knees with blurry eyes. She has not eaten since breakfast. 

"Not allergic, are you?" she asks Junie, sweetly. Junie thinks she might be making a joke, here, because Junie is a frequent customer of her family's establishment, and a long-time fan of JJ's mothers baking. Sometimes, she dips her fingers into Pa's pockets and purchases tiny cakes, sits on the bench outside and peels the paper from them, devours them happily. Other times, she is the kind of customer that doesn't exactly provides payment. It's more of a pay-you-back-later kind of agreement, only Junie hasn't exactly communicated that part to the other party involved. 

If JJ is making a dig at Junie's sticky fingers, it is not evident from her face. She looks kind, pointing into a basket with two fat pastries sitting inside. Junie's mouth waters.

She reaches a hand out and takes one. After a first, hesitant bite, she devours the rest hungrily, scattering crumbs across her lap. 

"Thank you," she says, her mouth full. A pause, and then, "Maybe- can I keep the last one, for later? I don't think I'll like the Capitol food." 

Junie is, famously, a picky eater, persuaded only by bread and sugar and cream. It is as though JJ (or, rather, JJ's mother) knew this, and provided her with one last comfort before the incoming onslaught. 

Don't be rude, Junie, say the faeries, helpfully. Go on, introduce yourself.

Junie swallows loudly. "Sorry. You'd better keep it for yourself. It's yours, after all." She wipes her hand on her skirts, roughly, ridding them of most of the crumbs. She offers the not-quite-clean hand to JJ. 

"I'm Junie. I don't know if you know me or not." She blushes fiercely. 

[dars]

     

M A C K E N Z I E

The visits didn't take particularly long that year, which was a shame for multiple reasons, chiefly of which was that he had absolutely no time to settle his nerves or sit with what had happened before he could feel the train rocking to a start toward the Capitol. He didn't have time to be selfish, in other words. Which he recognized, to be fair, and he swallowed it down for the sake of being a mentor to the tributes. Violet may have been worse off at the end of this day than she was when she started it, but there were at least two other little girls who were worse off and needed him to help them. It wasn't like anyone else would be.

He stood in the doorway of the dining cart, watching as the older one offered the younger a baked good. The younger one accepted it eagerly, instantly tearing into it with her teeth. He could've seen Violet doing the same, but more than anything it reminded him of meeting Faline for the first time in the Training Center. It was a kind gesture, a kind exchange. It was not the sort of thing that could last in a place like an arena, though. He'd seen a version of it destroyed first-hand: his fingertips a centimeter away from pulling her into his arms before the waves washed her away for good. He'd also seen tributes in other Games be gifted- and drink- canteens of acid from so-called 'friendly' tributes, believing they'd been given water. He hated being the bad guy, but the sooner he shattered their egos and the version of the world where they somehow managed to survive with every piece of their humanity in tact, the sooner they'd start fighting for themselves. And only those fighting for themselves ever truly won the Hunger Games.

"Mackenzie." He took a step forward, kneeling down on a seat and using his calmest voice. "I figure we should start this off with me letting you both know that as your mentor, I will do everything I can to help guide you through the Games from afar. You have my word on that."

And he meant it. Since the dawn of his mentorship, Mackenzie had seen to it that District Seven become the biggest thorn in an arena's side each and every time he could manage it. He still remembered his eyes fluttering open in the middle of the night to see Glamour Kinkade standing over him and making threats if he didn't stop using his influence to garner so much sponsorship. It simply went too far against his nature to allow them to go in defenseless, even if it made the onslaught from the Capitol, and the grief from the losses that much more difficult to bear.

"You should both start being careful with who you trust," he said, his eyes glancing down at the nearly-empty basket of baked goods in front of them, "Most of the tributes will likely be kind to you, for fear of making themselves targets. Maybe even the careers if they aren't too proud. But unless you've formally made an alliance- which is something you also need to be careful with-" he sighed, skipping to the point.

"If it comes down to either you or them, who do you think they'll choose?"

He allowed a beat to pass, his eyes taking turns between the two of them.

"I mean, this is fine. Just be aware that enemies can sometimes look like friends at first glance. When we get to the Capitol, if you have to question which side of the battlelines someone is on then you already have your answer. You don't have room to be unsure. Does that make sense?"