brass collars | [d11 train 88th]

[sbeeg]

What a way to live and die

She feels older than her two decades. This will be her sixth round of tributes and yet some bars still won't serve her. Her fourteen year old face stares out of the frame set in the dining hall. They're all there: Kirito, Harbinger and Katelyn squishy faced and crowned preserved in time by the worst thing that had ever happened to them.

There's another Izar this year, a volunteer of all things. Kassandra keeps an eye on her. The family is large, but not big enough to keep losing children every year. They're close to her heart, especially Vasco, and to see the family tree trimmed down branch by branch made her chest hurt. Why would someone volunteer if they had a family? Especially a family so wounded by the Reaping.

Kassandra drops into a booth, kicking her feet up on the end so no one would slip in next to her. Despite the height many had promised her after she won she had failed to grow and still hovered around everyone's elbows, but she refused to be shoved against the wall by the bigger people on board. Even the ginger named a number was taller than her.

The Victor made a silent bet with herself on which kid would start crying first.

"Six. What's it mean?" she asked, pouring herself a generous helping from a flask. Some bars in Eleven may not serve her but the train and the Capitol certainly did. They were accustomed to rich underaged Victors shuffling in looking for something to fill the hole the Games had tunneled through their childhoods. Kass didn't think she'd lean on vices like the older victors, but she was becoming older and the longer the years stretched and the closer Peacekeepers sniffed into her life the more she enjoyed them. Her bag sat in her assigned room in the sleeping car and all it held was her cards and a pack of cigarettes. Avoxes showed up with everything else, there was never any need to pack. Eleven didn't have the box Trish carried with her, instead Kass had a small white box with wheat symbols painted on the front. In the Capitol she'd get Trish's the kind, the ones that burned more but released more of her sorrows on the exhale.

Kass took a sip of her drink. She should look at Estelle but she's finding it difficult to. She can only think of in a few weeks when the train pulls into the station and Vasco and the Izars are mourning another child. Another grave, another argizaiola. And this time it wasn't beyond their control but a choice. She couldn't help but resent the child. So instead of saying anything she pressed a fingertip against a plate of pastel macarons and shoved it across the table towards the tributes. Pull a Persimmon, offer them sweets.

lyrics from Be an Astronaut by Declan McKenna | table by griffin

[Deleted]

Six normally wasn't the talkative type. Normally he was quiet, reserved. But right now? He really didn't want to talk. He was upset, and understandably so. He didn't even get to finish saying goodbye to his entire family before he got ripped away from them. Hell, he didn't even get to really give Lock a goodbye before he got dragged out of the room. Yes, sixteen people is a lot, but they couldn't have at least given him the luxury of getting to say goodbye to two people? Just Fly and partially Lock. That was it. The rest of his family wouldn't even get to see him again unless he was killing other people or being killed.

Honestly, remembering that made a wave of nausea hit him and he felt like he was going to vomit. Kill or be killed. He had no clue how the fuck he was supposed to kill anyone, even with the mentors help. Six was the one in the family who dealt with all of the bugs in the house. Why? Because he'd catch and release them. When he was little he'd even cry if one of his older siblings stomped on one. He knew he had to kill. He knew he did. That didn't mean he hated the idea of it any less.

The O'Malley family was religious, always had been even when Winger O'Malley was selected for the 5th Hunger Games all of those years ago. And right now? He knew what his future held. Whether he survived the Hunger Games or died immediately, he was now destined for Hell. Even if he didn't kill anyone, in his mind being prepared to ready to murder was bad enough. But, if he's going to Hell anyways, he wanted to make it count. And by that, he wants to try to win the Games. Not for his sake, since at this point he was certain he would die anyway. For his family. All of his siblings except for One were eligible for the reaping still. There were thirteen O'Malley's who could suffer the same fate as him. If he gave up right away, they might to if they ever got reaped.

That's what he kept telling himself at least. Everything he did would be for them. Everyone he killed and hurt, was for them. He wanted to tell Lock to make sure that if he died the younger kids aren't watching the screen, but the Peacekeepers ripped them away too quickly. He hoped that Lock somehow knew that's what he wanted anyway. Then another wave of nausea hit Six as he imagined that. His family all gathered around, watching as some kid bashes his skull in with a rock or strangles him or stabs him over and over again. And then they'd be expected to move on with their lives like all of the parents who lost their kids to these sick games in the past. Loss was a normal part of life in Panem, and he hated that.

He wasn't sure what to think of the mentors, not yet at least. But he knew that no matter how much he didn't feel like talking that he would have to. Well, he'd have to if he wanted any chance. And sure enough, one of them asked about his name. He thought that was a weird question. A really weird question. Maybe it's because he grew up with them he didn't realise how strange him and his siblings names were - Inside, Fly, Six, Scrum, etc. When he spoke he was quiet and his voice was soft. It took everything in him not to start crying honestly. He felt like crying, but he wanted to be brave and his eyes were still sore from all the crying he did in the justice building.

"My name? It just means Six. I was the sixth one born in my family. And some of my other siblings are named based off of when they were born too. The ones with numbers are myself, One, Four, Eightman, and Eleven."

When offered the macrons he hesitated then took one. But before he started eating it he inspected it for a moment. His family was definitely among the wealthier families in the district, but that's not saying much - especially when there's seventeen of you in one house if you include his parents. Plus, they usually tried to eat healthier food so they can work on the farm all day. But after that moment of hesitation he took a bite, then another, and another, soon finishing it off.

"Thank you, ma'am."