The Train To The Kingdom // [D10Tribs]

Mace had sat on the stage, alongside the Mayor's family and the stylists, and for a time, the escort. That was all it took to make him hate Olive, on par with how much he hated himself. The twit had a smaller brain than any cow he'd worked with, and couldn't seem to get over the fact that she'd been stuck with Ten - as though anyone in his district wanted another Capitolite trilling about. He gave her credit for one thing: she provided a distraction huge enough to turn his guilt and hie grief into rage.

As soon as the tributes names were announced, Mace got up and walked off the stage. He heard some nonsense about volunteering on his way out, but at the time, it was more important to get back home, to brush down Whicker and control the trembling in his extremities. It only occurred to him an hour later, once his stud was in his paddock, that volunteering just didn't happen in Ten. Something must have gone wrong, horribly wrong. He packed in a rush, finishing only minutes before one of the stylist entourage came to fetch him. The tributes would be done saying their goodbyes, and it would be time to go back to the armpit of civilization - the Capitol.

Mace was one of the first on board, despite his tardiness. There were just so many people on the platform ready to say good bye to the tributes, or harass them for an autograph or an interview. He checked one such eager fellow right in the ribs and slipped into the third car. One of the staff directed him back to his compartment, and Mace made quick work of rearranging the pillows to his liking and upending the coffee table, which he then shoved against the far wall. Call it feng shui, but the room felt much better once it was more open.

And then he sat down in the middle of it, head in his hands, and got back flashes of the day. A boy faced with his worst nightmare, a voice loud and strong volunteering, his brothers in the crowd. He should've said goodbye, or something, considering that he'd left them in charge of his overheated house and his old horse, but he hadn't. That was that. He tried to remember the face of the girl tribute and gave up. Mace didn't want to know either of them at all, not one bit, but their lives were in his hands now. He didn't have to be looking at two ghosts.

It was getting towards dusk, supper time, when Mace came out of his stupor. He did another cursory check of his packed items and realized he should've taken Elon's offer up to pack for him. He'd really done the worst job possible. In the end he decided just to change his shirt, from his stained ivory work one, to a plaid number that did absolutely nothing for him, figure or skin-wise. It just was, and he liked that. Keep it simple - he was going to try to drill that into the heads of their stylists.

But there was something he needed to do first. Mace poked his head out of his compartment and whistled at the staff. It was a painful moment of interaction with another human being, but it was all he needed. During the brief conversation, which was primarily about Mace gripping about the fact that his furniture was upside down, he plucked the keys to the car. They were heavy and cold in his hands, and he didn't like them at all.

Finding Olive was not a challenge, either. Really this was all too easy and took some of the fun out of it. He invited her to dinner, which made his stomach churn, especially when she gave him that look, and without any warning at all, shoved her into the next compartment and turned both locks. He shuttered the curtain for good measure, and the next time he saw one of the staff, informed them that Miss Olive was not feeling well and wished to be left alone the duration of the trips.

It made him grin. Just a little, off to one side. He flipped the keys end over end, jingling as he reached the end of the car where the tributes were quartered. Mace slipped the keys into the pocket of his dirty khakis, stretched his fingers, and stared at the handle for a moment before pulling it aside.

The girl was pretty, of fucking course, and the boy - well, anyone who volunteers obviously have cajones. Time to see just how much. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He asked in an even tone, quite akin to the one most people use when asking about the weather or health. Mace's gaze flickered back to the girl once more before settling on the idiot, albeit the brave idiot, he had to get through the Quell.