the pros and cons of breathing. d9train.

[✨ zozo.]

Nobody came to say goodbye.

And why would they? If they wanted to mourn her they could bury her dead body. She's half-surprised, half-okay with the fact, sitting there in the Justice Building behind a locked door, swinging her legs up and down, up and down, up and down, trying not to give a shit that when the going gets tough they'd hang her out to dry without a second thought.

Maybe Seb would turn up. Maybe she'd throttle him and his stupid beck-beard and spend the whole time cursing his name for vanishing. Maybe he'd just laugh and ruffle her hair. Maybe he'd throttle her for stealing his name. Maybe-

"Time to go."

It's what she should have suspected, Slate supposed, escorted onto the train amidst the hustle and bustle with a Peacekeeper's tight grip around her arm. "Watch that one" his friend had muttered. "Gang shit."

Slate had just scowled and complied - there'd be a time and place to unleash her anger, and this was not it. Not yet. She just had to wait a few more days, a few more hours, a few more painful moments. Plans and strategies were already whirring through her head as they passed through doors, up a few stairs and through a carriage - until her eyes lit up and her stomach growled with glee, all thoughts of death set aside for the concept of food.

And so much of it there was. All colours and shapes and sizes, breads and cakes and meat by the dozen. Fuck, she thought as she grinned, this tribute thing might not be so bad after all.

"HA-HA!!" Slate cried the second the Keepers had left and the train began to move, rubbing her hands together with glee and pouncing toward the cart of food. "Finally. I'm fucking starving!"

Immediatley shoving three cheese croissants into her mouth, the rabid girl turned to her District partner and raised her eyebrows.

"Schoo wanch shum, cray-sheee?"

He had to be at least as crazy as her to volunteer.

title is a fall out boy song !

[kap]

"I am a fuckin' machine
I'm always strong and
I will never be weak"

♛

The sole visitor I'd had in the justice building had been completely unexpected. To be entirely honest, I didn't think that anyone at all would ever decide that they wanted to take time out of their day to say goodbye to me, much less that that would be a person who I'd never met before in my life. Fiona was kind, though, and I wasn't used to that feeling of kindness in my life. She thanked me for saving Fable, and said that she couldn't repay me. I told her that she shouldn't repay me. I chose to be here. I volunteered for all of this. I asked for it all.

When my time with Fiona ended, I was ushered out of the Justice Building by Peacekeepers. Their white uniforms and guns at their hips made them look important, but I knew that they were people just like anyone else. The Capitol had just liked them enough to give them a somewhat important role. No one ever saw their faces, though, and they weren't supposed to have kids, from what I'd heard. If I really thought about it, I figured that they may be close to being just as solitary in life as me. Perhaps they were even lonely, but I didn't feel that part of things.

Sure, I was a loner, living on the streets by myself for the last several years, no friends or family to call my own, but at least I wasn't lonely feeling about it. Being alone didn't bother me. What'd prompted me to volunteer wasn't because I was by myself all the time. It was because everything just seemed to never change. I'd had the same routine every day for the last several years, and nothing changed it until I made that step to volunteer.

Finally, something was different in my life, now.

As I stepped onto the train and the Peacekeepers departed, I saw that my District partner, Slate, was already delving into the food. I certainly didn't blame her. I didn't eat much myself, and here it was, free and right in front of me. It was almost too good to be true. I was certainly looking forward to the pre-arena pampering that was going to be happening, and apparently, it started now.

Slate turned to me and raised her eyebrows after she'd already shoved a significant amount of food into her face.

"Schoo wanch shum, cray-sheee?" She said, which I assumed translated to 'you want some, crazy?' which wasn't something I was going to turn down. Sure, she'd called me crazy, but she wasn't wrong in that. A big grin crossed my face and I immediately grabbed a couple of the croissants that she'd been eating out of the pile of. After that, I made my way to the large plate of chicken wings that were set out and grabbed some, quickly eating two and still holding another in my hand by the time a door on the train slid open. I turned to see who I recognized as one of District Nine's old victors who was likely assigned to be our mentor, and pointed a chicken wing at him when I spoke through a mouthful of food.

"Wancha wing? Ish good," which I suppose translated to 'Want a wing? It's good.'

There was sauce from the wings all over my hands and face, which made me realize I must have looked ridiculous, but I didn't particularly care. I was hungry, and this was some of the best food I'd ever had in my life, and certainly better than any food I'd had since being on my own.

word count: 600
lyrics: "War Cry" by Diamante

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Colgate O'Leary
"the elements tried to kill me."

He tries not to pay attention to the Reaping.

Everyone he knows is free from its grasp, and that leaves a horde of children that he can’t protect. He doesn’t pay attention because he doesn’t dare let the memories sink into his consciousness. Before the Reaping even begins, he takes a swig of something strong and keeps on drinking, dulling the emotions so much that they don’t even exist in the first place.

When the crowd descends, when the kids are grouped together, when the parents look on in worry, his head clears just enough to be presentable. But he doesn’t look at their faces, the stage, the presenters.

He tunes out the words. Lives in his own head.

Like this, nothing exists.

He doesn’t make a habit of numbing himself with alcohol. Usually he just sleeps, but he was hauled out of bed this morning against his will.

Colgate stares forward as the names are called, gazing into the numbness like a shroud.

He isn’t nudged so much as pushed out of his chair. He should have moved a long time ago. Someone is urging him toward the train, and his legs move. His footsteps strike the dirt, his mind in another place.

If he looks at the train for too long, the memories flow back. He climbs the steps and turns the corner, meaning to find his way to some kind of bedroom so he can collapse under the covers, but there are new faces gazing at him through a pile of croissants and chicken wings.

With his mind in another universe, it takes him far too long to realize that they’re tributes.

Something pulls in his chest when he sees how happy they are to eat the Capitol food. Colgate bites his lip to keep his face from contorting into something messy, and then he tries to put on a smile. His stomach drops with an unspeakable sadness for them, and all he wants is to pull them into a hug.

Instead, he steps forward and takes a chicken wing, settling in beside them.

The sauce dribbles down his chin, but he doesn’t mind.

"they need to try harder"