basta ya ❁ harbinger&haizea

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Liberated from expectations, Haizea tries to see the human in those around her. 

Though they try, she refuses to be made cattle. Try as she might, little thing she is, she holds onto the spirit of herself that says I'm still alive. Her abuelita would tell her don't forget that, and that's the voice she craves to hear. Of all the family in the world, throughout the two hours of her visitation period, she hadn't seen even a glimpse of her abuelita. Mateo neglected to answer when Haizea asked of her grandmother, and she took his silence alone as answer that she wasn't coming. 

That she might never see her again. 

And her mentors aren't scary, per say, just intimidating. They weren't family, no matter how desperately she'd need to rely on them, something she was never good at it. "I know the perfect place," Harbinger says, and a sense of relief finds her like a balm. No matter how she tried to shake it off, her nerves were definitely fried and speaking to all 5 of them at once seemed like overkill. Haizea had barley begun realizing them as people instead of victors, feeling more of a burden than a mentee. What if they don't want me? answered in the resolution of Harbinger's of course. 

Mr. Rhodes points to the door and she obliges with a nod of her head, clutching the ukulele like a kid does a safety blanket as she walks through the train. For a second, she distracts herself by peering into a nearby compartment, taking in what could be the humbleness of her own quarters for the night. She wasn't sure how much time they truly had in their departure - once, what seemed like a lifetime ago now, she and her mother had gotten to travel to District 10 amidst that of the Izar clan. That train ride was wrapped in bliss to her now, nostalgic and honey sweet, she tried to imagine she was back in those simpler times for just one more second. 

What weighs on her chest isn't the question she confronts first - am I going to die? No one could answer that, and she knew she wouldn't like to hear from those daring enough to respond. 

"How long do we have?" She asks, as she catches Harbinger at the doorway.

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Tomorrow, still a promise, but ever so ominous. Harbinger confirms her guess that she'd at least get a good night's sleep before her first day in the Capitol, she tried not to be overwhelmed with what all that entails. That would be the public's first sight of her in person, stepping off that train behind 4 legends and Karl, she hoped she could hide behind them all and just leave somehow. It was remarkable how unnoticable she was sometimes, for once she prayed no one paid attention to her. 

For a second, she wonders what the sunrise in the Capitol looks like. If it'll be just as burning a brilliant orange as the ones back home. 

Doubt it. She keeps her judgements to herself as she follows behind Harbinger, the stretch of the train passing by rows and rows of additional compartments. Haizea couldn't help but wonder if they anticipated more victors when they built this train. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Harbinger offers, and so much comes to her at once she doesn't know where to begin. 

"I feel awful asking anything of you," she tells him, seeing the years of misery in his aging eyes. Her mother always advised she avoided watching the Games, but she knew of Mr. Rhodes through her textbooks at school, and even then they never showed how many wrinkles had come to him since his victory. He should be proud of them, as if they're rewards, gifts for getting to live such a long life after all. 

As much as she felt a burden, she knew she needed the help of Harbinger himself, so she mulled over what to ask him first as they entered the next room. A magnificent glass house on wheels, the fear in her was replaced with a sense of awe as she took in the sight of her home district passing ever by the second. Whatever was on her mind seemed to wash away within seconds and be replaced with respectful wonderment. Haizea sets her ukulele down on a bench and finds her way to the center of the room, almost forgetting Mr. Rhodes being in the room with her as she soaks in the scene and sunlight in what could be her final chance to do so. 

It felt like the same sun as what beamed over her mother at the villa - she held her hands to her heart and tried to picture where her mother was in this instance, and she hoped somewhere peaceful. It broke her heart imagining both she and her abuelita returning to the house without them, but she tried to fantasy twin sunbeams embracing the both of them, a radiant hug even a hundred miles away. 

After a few moments gaze, she takes her eyes from the sky and back to Mr. Rhodes, "if I had a choice, I'd stay here all night," she says with her first grin since seeing Mateo hours ago. Haizea takes a seat on the hovering bench, leaning her back against the glass as she crosses her legs beneath her. There's a sense of peace that finds her watching the rows and rows of harvest still exist off in the distance, she wonders how long it'll take before they disappear behind the horizon entirely. 

"I have no idea what I'm doing," an admission of guilt, at least it's out there. She wasn't afraid of looking incapable, if anyone was to help her through it, Harbinger would be the one. He deserved to know the lost cause he was handed, "and I mean that, I've never watched a full hour of The Hunger Games. I didn't even know I was an Izar until three years ago," terribly, terribly behind on the draw. I don't have a chance she was terrified to admit, she needed Mr. Rhodes to at least have more faith in her than she had. 

"Why do they keep killing us? What did we do?" 

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"We kept winning," Harbinger starts and Haizea hangs onto every word like drops of honey. She keeps her eyes to the landscape outside of them both, two subjects in a painting much bigger than themselves. Even as the maize disappears, the mountains and hills remain the same, stoic and strong. She imagined Harbinger as something of the sort, a man built up from stones and earth, a pillar of their district and one of the sturdiest champions they had left. 

She loses herself in his words, taking it all to heart, which felt more of an open wound than anything at this point. Mr. Rhodes turns to face her and she matches his eye contact, looking up to a man not too much different to her uncle, Vasco, who hid his tired fractures the best he could. "They don't like it when we're strong and have hope, it makes them nervous because they think we're the spark that will start a wildfire," then that's what I must be, she thinks. 

If they hate it when she's strong and hopeful, she'd be so out of spite. 

"Haizea, you're strong and brave," he says, and she can't find it in her to continue looking at him. There's a single tear welling in her right eye that she refuses to let out in this moment, catching it with the sleeve of her floral blouse. For a minute, it feels too real, picturing Harbinger as an eighteen year old in her very spot, before Kassandra even. A world she hardly knew, and yet so undifferent to the one she finds herself in now. "Thank you," she croaks out, tightening her arms around her knees for a second until she can find the rest of her words. 

"I want to be strong, I do, I just-" don't know how? Am afraid to be? There was only so much time to catch up. Even then, even if she was able to hurt someone, she'd still be a 5'2" string bean from the poorest district. But you're strong and you're brave, the words echo, and she tries to believe them. "I just don't want anyone to think I'm an easy target, or some weak kid," even now, she can hear the reaping beckon from the main compartment's television, as if the other mentors turned it up to maximum. 

Those careers can tear her apart, easily, her lip quivers just thinking of it. Somehow, though, Katelyn was able to do it, Kirito and Harbinger and Kassandra, too, anything was possible - even from someone as unlikely as Haizea, as long as she believed she could. 

"If there's guns, I think I could..." she trails off, picturing what a pistol would feel like in her petite palms.