Hope and Nightmares - A Hunger Games Fanfiction

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Once all the reporters and cameras have gobbled up our faces and got their shots, we're finally allowed to go into the train.

It's more luxurious than I expected it to be. I get my own private bedroom, dressing area, and bathroom all to myself, and an entire new wardrobe stocked with clothes.

By the time we're pulling away from the station, Crassus tells me that dinner will be in fifteen minutes, and I should look presentable, since we'll be meeting our mentors.

The mentors are different every year. I'm hoping we'll get one of the older, more experienced victors that have already trained some winning tributes.

I change out of my reaping outfit and into a more comfortable white blouse and a pair of pants. I stand in front of the mirror for the longest of times, waiting for the tears to come. But they don't.

It still hasn't really sunken in for me yet. It took me days for Scarlet's death to actually hit me. Once it did, my crying was uncontrollable for a week. But now, I'm desparately hoping I can get all of my tears out now, so I don't have to arrive in the Capitol sobbing uncontrollably in front of my potential sponsors.

I carefully study my features, wondering if I'm one of those tributes who can get sponsors with their looks, like Scarlet. With a little batting of the eyelashes and a supportive brassiere, she got two parachutes full of food from sponsors within the first five days.

We look similar in many ways. I share the same wavy blond hair she once had - though mine falls only a few inches above my waist while hers was kept at her shoulders religiously. Same big blue eyes and creamy complexion. Same heart-shaped face and thin nose. She had more prominent cheekbones and sharper features, while mine are more delicate and forgettable than hers.

After entering the dining car, I'm genuinely surprised to find two recent victors: Chiffon Glassman and Maximus Fairbain.

Chiffon had won the Games when she was 18 - so about five years ago - give or take. Not that recent when I think about it. She was Career-trained, and had won by viciously slaying any tribute who got in her way. Chiffon is kind of notorious with the Capitol people for bluntness and for her hair: naturally glossy and the exact color of copper. At the time of her Games it was down to her elbows, but her stylists chopped it all off and now it hangs at her chin in permanent curls.

Maximus, or more commonly known as Max, was the gorgeous heartthrob of the Capitol. If I remember correctly, he won three years ago when he was sixteen. He was not Career-trained, which was the most unusual thing about him. He surrounded himself with an alliance of the weaker, easier to dispose tributes, so when the stronger players came after him, they had to get through a wall of others. Cruel, but not a bad idea. That, combined with his good looks, charm (which gave him sponsors) and ability to handle a spear, gave him the winning edge. I can clearly remember Crimson drooling over him in front of the television set.

"Another year," Chiffon says, circling her fingertips along the rim of her wine glass. "Another pair of tributes. Another entertaining show."

Flint and I both take seats at the dining table, but we're only ordered to stand back up by none other than Chiffon.

As she circles Flint, prodding his biceps and assessing his stature, it gives me a chance to take in Maximus Fairbain.

He's sitting at the head of the table, smirking and watching from afar. He seemingly hasn't changed a bit since his Games. He has the same dark brown head of curls, tanned skin, dimpled white smile, and startling golden, caramel-colored eyes. He seems to have gained ripples of muscle, which are bulging out from under his tee.