Star Crossed Killers

4: The Traincar

I find nice, expensive Capital clothes in my room, folded neatly in wooden drawers. I pull out a green tunic and pants. I don't put them on though. First I take a hot shower.

I've never taken a shower before. It feels summer rain, only much much warmer. I turn it to high at first and then hurt a bit, but I find the temperature after a couple minutes.

Afterwards, I dress in the clothes I laid out, remembering the bird pin and sticking it through the soft green fabric. I look in the mirror, and recognize the bird that is now flying through the green foliage of my shirt. A mockingjay. They are a cross between jabberjays, a Capital mutt from the dark days used to spy on rebels, and mockingbirds.

The rebels figured out how to use the jabberjays to their advantage, sending back lies to the Capital. The Capital, of course, didn't like that very much, and they abandoned the jabberjays to die in the wild.

The birds, instead of dying like the Capital planned, mated with mockingbirds and created the songbird that lies on Madge's golden pin. It's surprisingly rebellious, given that the entire history behind the bird is one big slap in the face to the Capital. I wonder if Madge realizes the meaning behind her gift. Either way, I appreciate it.

Then Effie Trinket is calling me to dinner. I leave my hair up because it reminds me of home and head out to the dining car.

The dining car is just as gorgeous as the rest of the train. Polished wood chairs and dinner tables. Squishy armchairs and coffee tables. Chrystal glasses and the most delicate china I've ever seen. Sitting at one of the tables is Peeta, and the seat next to him is empty so I sit there.

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks, masking her annoyance with bright syllables and tight smiles.

"He said he was going to take a nap," says Peeta as he leans back in his chair. He stretches his arms out and is about to wrap out around me before he thinks better of it. Instead, he awkwardly drops them back down to his side.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie Trinket, obviously relieved by his absence. It makes me wonder if the two get along at all. They have to bring these kids to their deaths every year. It can't exactly be fun for them. Well, it can't be fun for Haymitch at least. Effie probably loves it.

The supper is so decadent I find myself stuffing my face with the never ending courses. Carrot soup so silky it feels like velvet on my tongue. Green salad that makes me think of the greens I gathered with Peeta and Gale just earlier today, though it feels like a lifetime ago. Mashed potatoes that I would have gladly eaten for every course of every meal for the rest of life, which admittedly, might not be too long. Cheese and fruit. And above all, a chocolate cake for dessert. I spy Peeta examining the handiwork of the cake and have to shove down a smile.

Both of us eat so much we're a little green, but it's good. We could both stand to gain a couple pounds before the games begin. The dinner almost goes by without issue. That is, until Effie Trinket decides to open her mouth.

"At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

I feel my shoulders tighten as well as Peeta's next to me. Last year, the tributes were both starving kids from the Seam. They probably never had enough food for manners to be a thing. Fortunately, Peeta and I have both almost always had enough to eat, especially the past few years. The rest of the dinner gets from plate to mouth by fingers, and to add the cherry on top, I smear the tablecloth with my chocolatey hands when we're finished. This makes Effie purse her lips and Peeta shake with suppressed laughter.

Now Peeta and I are green and barely hanging on, but we've both eaten our fair share of Greasy Sae's worst. Peeta even more than me. He's too polite to ever refuse a bowl. Mice meat, pig entrails, and tree bark, Sae's winter special, has trained us for this moment, and neither of us let dinner make a reappearance.

However, the universe seems to be testing my stomach's strength, for after dinner we have the pleasure of watching the recap of the reapings.

There is, of course, a separate train car that serves as a television and living space. Peeta and I sit next to each other on a soft and bouncy couch. I don't think Effie notices how close we are sitting, or that Peeta's hand is locked in mine.

The recaps are expectedly horrible. We watch as tribute after tribute are picked to fight against us to the death. I try my absolute best to make note of everyone, but only a few stand out in my mind. A huge, brutish boy from District Two leaps forward to volunteer. I hope I didn't look like that when I volunteered. He looks... excited. It sends a chill down my spine, and Peeta pulls his hand from mine and wraps it around me, pulling me in close. Luckily, Effie turned out the lights before the program began, so Peeta's intimate act is only seen by the darkness.

The next tribute to catch my attention is a red haired girl from District Five. She reminds me of a fox, and I decide she'll be more danger than she looks. Then a boy from District Ten with a crippled foot. He has no chance, and as much I as want to, I don't let myself feel bad about it.

District Eleven holds my attention more than the others. A twelve year old girl with dark skin and wide brown eyes steps up, with only the wind to take her place. She reminds me of Prim, and I know she reminds Peeta of her too, because he grip tightens around my shoulders. The boy from District Eleven is eighteen and built like an ox, and I can tell from the television that he's got several inches on Peeta even. I'll be dwarfed in comparison.

Of course, District 12 comes last, and the announcers agree that 12 was the star of the reaping ceremony this year. With Prim being called, my desperate screams as I volunteer, Gale and Peeta pulling her off me, the silent salute, and Haymitch's nosedive off stage, we manage to steal the show. When Peeta and I shake hands, they cut to the anthem, and the program ends.

Effie Trinket is disgruntled, probably due to her wig just about falling off on national television. "Your mentor has a lot to learn about presentation. A lot about televised behavior."

Peeta pulls his arm from around me and laughs. "He was drunk," says Peeta. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," I add with a smirk as Peeta and I meet each other's eyes. Effie Trinket doesn't seem to find our jibes funny.

"Yes," she hisses. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these Games. The one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your life and your death!"

Haymitch has perpetually perfect timing today, for he picks now to stumble into the train car. "I miss supper?" he says, vowels and constants slurring together like words written with poor penmanship. Then, as if on cue, he vomits all over the expensive carpet and falls in the mess. I have to push my dinner back down my esophagus.

"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket. She hops in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room.