peasant's parade - d2 train

His goodbyes are short, given his foster moms are the only ones to see them. They hold him, hug him. They place a flute in his hands, the one he used on the national stage. Maybe it's meant to be some transitional tool to gain the people's hearts. But it doesn't help the flute was the cause of his televised national disaster. Whatever. This must be a call that the Capitol is bored, and they need the local clown to come and give a poor excuse of a joke, and use that poor excuse to execute him.

The foster parents end their visit with the hush of a few words, saying that they love him, and that they'll be rooting for him. Not that they can't wait to see him, because they know a boy like him isn't expected to move into a victorious path. Thompson's then shuffled toward the carriage that's meant to take them to the capitol. He told the peacekeepers not to bother waiting. There's nobody else that the boy is expecting.

Initially, it's just him. The hum of the train as it's awake, just waiting for it's command to move. Sometimes, a door whirrs open, a body passes, and the door whirrs back shut. Nobody is there to see him. It's like he's in exile. The people that are there for the boy can't even talk, which makes it even worse. Eventually, the door whirrs open to reveal the other boy that was reaped. Thankful that it's not just him anymore, Thompson slips a simple "Hey," accompanied with a smile. There was no way to make it easy, so he's doing it anyway. "Nice to, uh," his smile turns slightly sour, awkward at what he's stating. "meet you, I guess. Bad conditions for it though."