ideal || d2 train

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The train is as luxurious as she’d expect – the Capitol, once again, never failing to show their superior wealth. She can only imagine how the lower district tributes would feel, stepping onto a train that’s worth more than their district’s wealth combined. She’s greeted by the escort, the same woman who had called her up to the stage, chirpy and excitable as if her job wasn’t to call the names of children who will be dead within a few weeks.

At least, one of them will, if not both. But after the stunt her district partner had pulled, attempting to run from his death, she doubts he’s got it in him to survive the Games. It’s almost pitiful. She’s not a monster; she doesn’t enjoy death, doesn’t enjoy seeing weak children perish every year, children who have done nothing to warrant such a thing happening to them. She doesn’t want to see the boy die, but she has a feeling that if he wins, it’ll be by pure luck, just like how he sits unharmed on the train with her rather than being shot down by the Peacekeepers after trying to run.

Neither of them listen to Ginger, who seems overly enthusiastic about returning to the Capitol. Is it really such a good place? As tempting as the wealth and luxury of the city is, she’s not sure she’s a fan of extravagance. Chandeliers, peculiar fashion choice, copious amounts of rich food – it seems tiring, if nothing else.

Eventually, Ginger pipes down – whether it’s because she realises no one’s listening, or because she got distracted, Blair doesn’t care to know. She can feel her district partner – Claudio, was it? – look at her, and he breaks the short moment of silence.

“So, Blair… How do we do this?”

It’s as good a question as any. Despite being raised a Career, trained to kill with the Games in mind, she’d never truly planned on being here. Training was more a distraction, some way to take out her feelings. Of course, it had started as a way to prove herself to her mother, like everything else did, but she developed a liking for it.

She wonders if her advice will have any weight if she speaks it now. This boy doesn’t know her – she doesn’t even recognise him remotely. But he asks her a question, and so she responds.

“No more running, first of all.” She doesn’t know what reason the boy had for running – it could have been cowardice, as her first thought was, or maybe there was something else. There’s no use in thinking about it, not now that he’s here. “And… I guess we have to make them like us first.”

It’s not something she’s ever been good at, but it’s somewhere to start, at the very least.

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To the credit of Claudio Markham, he takes her jab at his earlier fiasco surprisingly well for someone unhinged enough to attempt to run from authorities. It’s not like she blames him for wanting to run – fear, after all, is an emotion that can’t be controlled. What can be controlled, however, is the actions taken in response to the emotions, and his have already humiliated Two for the year. Considering that the twentieth anniversary of the last time a victor from Two was crowned is coming up just next year, she has a feeling that they’ll already be a laughing stock somewhere in the Capitol.

If they think they’re weak, they won’t like them. Blair knows that – they can put on the charisma, smiles and glitter and winks thrown at audience members, but it won’t mean anything if they can’t prove that they’re worth betting on. Worth taking risks for. Money flows easily through the Capitol, yet the people themselves seem to clutch quite tightly to their purses, giving only to who they think is truly worthy.

No victors for nineteen years. A boy who ran from the reaping. A stoic girl who can't make friends. No allies means little protection. Little protection means certain death.

So far, the odds are not in District Two’s favour.

She wonders if Claudio is good at making friends. He has a strange charm to him, in the way he speaks, the way he holds his own against her comment. Of course, fear shows itself in subtle ways, but even then he’s no better than her at hiding it. It would be hypocritical of her to judge him for fear, when her own eyes still ache dully from the justice building. She wonders if her father will uphold his end of the bargain, or if he’s already drowning his sorrows. There’s no way of her ever knowing what will become of him. Ignorance may be bliss, but part of her heart still feels heavy, holding hope for her father above all else.

After all, he can still save himself. Her chances of surviving these next few weeks are less than favourable, and the more she learns to accept it, the more she can focus on making the show easier for her father to watch.

No more tears. No weakness. If Dad sees that you’re suffering, he suffers too.

Claudio speaks again, this time pondering ideas on how to make the Capitol like them. She doesn’t know any better way than him, but as he sifts through the options, she notices one thing; it’s all focused around putting on a show for them. Charisma, above all else. Lovers? Ruthless careers? Why would she be someone she’s not, if she’s strong enough by herself?

“It’s not just about showing that we can put on a show,” she speaks slowly, trying to organise her thoughts as she does so. “It’s their money they’re putting on the line. If they have faith in us to succeed, they’ll help us. You could be the most charming tribute in the arena, but if you don’t know how to hold yourself in combat, you won’t convince anyone.”

Charisma. Strength. Intelligence. Strategy. Luck. She’s convinced that a mixture of those five things could increase her chances – the question is, which ones do they have?

His last point strikes her – “Hell, some of the lower districts have been making a killing in sponsorship in past years and I haven’t exactly found a pattern.”

She thinks.

“They had allies.”

It almost hurts to say, because out of every skill she listed, charisma is her weakest; there’s a reason she’s never had any friends she could truly connect with. She doesn’t work well with others. After all, she trained on her own, teaching herself as much as possible, rejecting help as much as possible, because what was the point of glory if she hadn’t earned it herself?

But the Games are not like the training academy. It’s real people. Real people who will have other people fighting by their side.

“Are you good at making friends, Claudio?”