Iris had been in this position before.
She knew the drill. The swift goodbyes that never really gave anyone an opportunity to say goodbye, the tears streaking her parents' cheek and the stoic, unrelenting Capitol guards that ushered her on the train and away from the District she knew as home. It made no difference whether it was Victor Village nor the small ranch she'd grown up on; anywhere was better than the Capitol, full of luxuries that none of them could enjoy. But still she kept her face set in a emotionless mask. The cheer from District 5 had been surprisingly loud - perhaps they were glad to be rid of Uri's, the golden boy, murderer - and she'd been joined by thirty nine year old Yanin Scar, a man who know couldn't walk without the aid of a cane. She felt a flicker of pity for him; though strong in his youth, he'd barely last five minutes in Cornucopia's bloodbath. She wondered whether to pull the same trick again - though she doubted he would ask - and give him a swift exit from this cruel world. She wasn't scared of being painted as a villain. It had already happened once.
She hadn't cried, not even as her mother had handed her, with trembling fingers, the token she'd taken into the arena last time - her favourite silver hairpin. And not even when her gruff father had leant down to hug her. And not even when her siblings had complained about the unfairness of it all, trying to volunteer themselves, despite not being eligible.
But she could see the slight ease in their eyes. They knew she was a fighter - they knew she had a chance.
On board the train, she'd nodded along to one of the elderly tribute's advice, despite having heard it all the first time she'd been reaped. She found herself snapping at Yanin after he tried to get her to talk game tactics, yelling at him that they weren't even in the Capitol yet. And then she'd retired to her cabin and just sat, staring vacantly into space. She knew that it would be much harder this time and her chances of winning had decreased drastically from last time.
She knew that she'd probably just seen her family for the last time.
As the train slid into the Capitol - it's innovative architecture cutting through the clear, blue sky and gleaming in the sunshine - she snapped the blinds shut violently. They may look silver and pure, but the underneath was stained with blood.
The only thing that filled Arturo's thoughts was his father.
After having a son nearly die before his eyes, Arturo's father had been ill for months after Arturo's first Games ended and he had to nurse him back to health in Victor village - where the two had lived in relative contentment (as much as one can, after being forced into killing). Both worked as engineers and though they chatted frequently over dinner, they never went near the topic of the Hunger Games. It was the black stain on their past. And, now, it was oozing over onto their future.
"Four years ago..." Arturo's father kept ranting "We've had less than four years' worth of comfort and now my boy has to go through it all again...it's pure evil, that's what it is..."
Of course, the Capitol guards had soon shut him up.
The bruised, old man had hardly anytime to press the small token - a cog, from Arturo's first engine that he had built with his father - into Arturo's shaking, white palm before Arturo was ushered onto the sleek, white train of the Capitol and torn from his father forever. For even if the impossible happened and Arturo survived again, he wasn't sure his father could. And this time, he was against more experienced competitors who knew all his tricks and were ready, probably planning how to counter them as he was thinking.
He was sat on the plush, cushioned seats of the rear cabin, watching the power stations of his District whizz past him at hyper speed, thinking. He never stopped thinking and rarely spoke these thoughts. The female tribute - a pretty, 29 year old blonde named Mareena - entered and took the seat opposite him. She didn't speak either. He'd seen her passionately kissing a handsome, dark-haired man back at the station, both of their eyes wet with tears and he wondered the Capitol could do this to it's people.
Well, the answer was in the name. They were the Capitol.
The train slowed as it entered the impressive city itself, the buildings dazzling and the people even more so, in weird and wacky fashion, all attempting to outdo one another. In the station, Arturo even caught sight of a couple of them in the Arena bodysuits, laughing gleefully. He felt sick.
Home sweet home, he thought bitterly.
She knew the drill. The swift goodbyes that never really gave anyone an opportunity to say goodbye, the tears streaking her parents' cheek and the stoic, unrelenting Capitol guards that ushered her on the train and away from the District she knew as home. It made no difference whether it was Victor Village nor the small ranch she'd grown up on; anywhere was better than the Capitol, full of luxuries that none of them could enjoy. But still she kept her face set in a emotionless mask. The cheer from District 5 had been surprisingly loud - perhaps they were glad to be rid of Uri's, the golden boy, murderer - and she'd been joined by thirty nine year old Yanin Scar, a man who know couldn't walk without the aid of a cane. She felt a flicker of pity for him; though strong in his youth, he'd barely last five minutes in Cornucopia's bloodbath. She wondered whether to pull the same trick again - though she doubted he would ask - and give him a swift exit from this cruel world. She wasn't scared of being painted as a villain. It had already happened once.
She hadn't cried, not even as her mother had handed her, with trembling fingers, the token she'd taken into the arena last time - her favourite silver hairpin. And not even when her gruff father had leant down to hug her. And not even when her siblings had complained about the unfairness of it all, trying to volunteer themselves, despite not being eligible.
But she could see the slight ease in their eyes. They knew she was a fighter - they knew she had a chance.
On board the train, she'd nodded along to one of the elderly tribute's advice, despite having heard it all the first time she'd been reaped. She found herself snapping at Yanin after he tried to get her to talk game tactics, yelling at him that they weren't even in the Capitol yet. And then she'd retired to her cabin and just sat, staring vacantly into space. She knew that it would be much harder this time and her chances of winning had decreased drastically from last time.
She knew that she'd probably just seen her family for the last time.
As the train slid into the Capitol - it's innovative architecture cutting through the clear, blue sky and gleaming in the sunshine - she snapped the blinds shut violently. They may look silver and pure, but the underneath was stained with blood.
The only thing that filled Arturo's thoughts was his father.
After having a son nearly die before his eyes, Arturo's father had been ill for months after Arturo's first Games ended and he had to nurse him back to health in Victor village - where the two had lived in relative contentment (as much as one can, after being forced into killing). Both worked as engineers and though they chatted frequently over dinner, they never went near the topic of the Hunger Games. It was the black stain on their past. And, now, it was oozing over onto their future.
"Four years ago..." Arturo's father kept ranting "We've had less than four years' worth of comfort and now my boy has to go through it all again...it's pure evil, that's what it is..."
Of course, the Capitol guards had soon shut him up.
The bruised, old man had hardly anytime to press the small token - a cog, from Arturo's first engine that he had built with his father - into Arturo's shaking, white palm before Arturo was ushered onto the sleek, white train of the Capitol and torn from his father forever. For even if the impossible happened and Arturo survived again, he wasn't sure his father could. And this time, he was against more experienced competitors who knew all his tricks and were ready, probably planning how to counter them as he was thinking.
He was sat on the plush, cushioned seats of the rear cabin, watching the power stations of his District whizz past him at hyper speed, thinking. He never stopped thinking and rarely spoke these thoughts. The female tribute - a pretty, 29 year old blonde named Mareena - entered and took the seat opposite him. She didn't speak either. He'd seen her passionately kissing a handsome, dark-haired man back at the station, both of their eyes wet with tears and he wondered the Capitol could do this to it's people.
Well, the answer was in the name. They were the Capitol.
The train slowed as it entered the impressive city itself, the buildings dazzling and the people even more so, in weird and wacky fashion, all attempting to outdo one another. In the station, Arturo even caught sight of a couple of them in the Arena bodysuits, laughing gleefully. He felt sick.
Home sweet home, he thought bitterly.
