retreat & feast [90th VT] Talon&Flynn

I can feel the knots twisting in the foundries of my stomach before we even reach the edges of Six. Each is a cold gnarled tether turning in endless loops making any thought of comfort a distant desire. This isn't the first time I've felt this way on the tour though and I'm certain it won't be the last. Twelve, the beginning, came with its own form of nausea. I'd rather have popped a hundred pills than stand in front of Ellis' brother. Then there was Eight and Seven, forms of friendships and deaths in Kiibo and Rafael. Now there's Six with its own set of circumstances, memories of angels and devils tied to the lips of a dead boy who I didn't kill, but I might as well have. Three Districts in a row where even breathing feels criminal, stolen.

I'm in the main carriage of the train before anyone else. Running my eyes over the fresh coat of turquoise paint on my nails gives me something else to focus on other than Peter. It doesn't work though, my mind is still mauling itself over the details. Hadn't he been in the Games because of a girl he had gotten pregnant? Is that girl here? Am I going to have to look her in the face? Am I going to have to see that baby in her arms and know that I am alive instead of its Father? I feel like I am going to be sick all over the white open skirt wrapped around my legs. Instead, I pull the grey shawl on my shoulders tighter over the turquoise v-neck I'm wearing and pray that by closing my eyes I can make the urge pass.

Thankfully the station is announced by a spout of squeals before anything utterly regrettable occurs. As always, I'm the first one out of the train and onto the platform. Instantly, I am consumed by camera flashes and shouting voices. Even after six other Districts, I find myself staggering in the flickering flashes that bring about endless recollections of intense music and dying boys from Twelve. I try to put on my best stoicism, but I'm sure I must look rigid while I walk because every muscle in my body is tense. I really don't want to do this, to be here.

On the way to the Victors Village, I'm told that Flynn Garner is who I'll be meeting first during my visit. The thought makes me go quite for a while as we walk along the stone sewn streets. Out of all the Victors, he's the one I'm most anxious about meeting. Victor of the 87th Hunger Games, thirteen years old and the first one from District Six in over a decade. I've memorized his face and he doesn't even know me yet, not really. He won Turner's Games. He had nothing to do with Turner's death, but still every step closer to him makes my worries of Peter fade behind the flames of my brother's death. I ran from him the first time, I didn't even go to the speech. I couldn't stand on that platform and look a little kid in the eyes while high out of my mind missing my brother.

I should know better than anyone else that just because Turner died in the same Games doesn't mean Flynn is a bad person, but still here I am starting to tremble as the gates of the Village are growing closer. I don't think he's a bad person, he was just a kid, but I'm terrified to be this close to something tied to all that mess. Along with these fears, I can feel the urge for a high tearing away at me in the silence of this walk. I might be a Victor too, but I don't know if I'm strong enough for this.

The doubt stays with me all the way to his side, to my first up close look at Flynn in person as my heart hammers inside of my throat. I can feel Turner's icy gaze looming in the shadow behind the boy. I can hear Turner's voice in my memories, hear his lessons and hear his simplicity. I think I'm going to turn to ice right here, freeze in front of all the cameras even worse than I did with Avriel that day in the Capitol.

Then, I thaw.

His hand is on my wrist as he guides me away from the pressing paparazzi and his words aren't cold like Turner's, they're light and linked to burgers. In an instant, he goes from some terrible apex of anxiety within my mind to just another sixteen year old. Not only that, another sixteen year old who has been through the same kind of things I have. I'm not afraid of Flynn Garner, I actually think I'm grateful for him. For someone similar.

"Honestly, uh, everyone has been telling me so much stuff I don't remember most of what they say." My eyes take in the boy leading me for a moment before I lightly clear my throat. "I'm sure she did though. Oh, and I don't mind a selfie." I can feel my heartbeat starting to settle even if I'm not the best with my words. Should I say anything else? "Um... thanks. I could use a- yeah, a break."

The smell of the diner reaches me well before Flynn is pushing open the actual doors. The intoxicating aroma of grease and meat sends a flourish of excitement across my tongue. Caught up in the adrenaline of the thought of something fatty and fresh has me shaking my head quickly to answer the Victor from Six. "No, no restrictions at all."

As we walk into the diner, I find my eyes falling back again onto Flynn. He's not that thirteen year old boy from the screens that I watched anymore. I mean, he is, but he also isn't. He's a Victor, but he also seems like a teenager still. I find myself kind of wishing I could be more like him. He seems so free for someone like me. "Could we actually sit up by the counter? It's kind of nice in here, away from it all."

"It is just nice to have some peace…”

"Yeah, it's peaceful."