going up // [Carter+Temple]

Another day gone from Carter's life, just another reminder that death was coming.

The sounds of twenty four others doing all that they can to get better for the inevitable fight for their lives. Instead of training on this day, Carter spent most of it littering his arms in doodles of nature that he remembers. A rocky mountain side with snow like the one Mitchell had died on. The rest of the time was spent moving cards around with ease and reminding him of his quick hands that impressed even his brother and father. Mitchell had protected him from the stealing side of Jack and himself, but after his brother's death, he knew what Mitchell did when he was too young to understand. A new watch that his father could have bought them appearing on his brother's own arm, despite Carter knowing they could have afforded for one themselves. A sigh as he remembers those days.

The capitol was different. Different in a way that only a place with extremely high tech technology and more ingenious ideas exist. Not that the people of the districts were dumb, just that the capitol kept them from the existence of this stuff or that many of the districts didn't share their pleasantries. The elevator was an interesting place in all of the training center. Carter took any reason to try and go up and down on it every so often, but this time there were others. Not paying attention to the small brunette who leaves the elevator, until she's gone and he's actually looking around at who's left.

Only one other with the number '10' on her shoulder. The female tribute of District Ten, who he couldn't remember the name of off the top of his tongue. The elevator moves up again as he focuses back to the expanse of black ink that swirls in patterns and shapes. He almost misses the girl's words when they come out.

"I'm sorry about your brother,"

Sorry. A word that he's heard since Mitchell's grave had been picked out. Jack's tearful one as he tried to convince Carter that they'd be okay. They never were okay since then. The sorry of Raisa Mortuus in the form of a dead man's voice. The sorry that echoes from his father's lips when he was found in the icy cold of a morning on the porch. Sorry got old, but he just ignores the pang of hurt in his chest and instead gives a half smile. Speaking of the easiest words to stop the conversation from happening.

"It's fine."

A fake smile on his face as he glances to the wall past her waiting for the dreaded ride to be over.

Too bad, he was never lucky enough for that.