Dancing With Death [Garrison + Grim, Train]
Feb 9, 2021 14:32:57 GMT -5
Post by grant on Feb 9, 2021 14:32:57 GMT -5
Head straight to the bar car, Garrison thinks as though he has a choice. There was always a Peacekeeper within a few metres. He wonders on whether the other districts get the same treatment. Whether, by nature, there's something more to fear from the stone-lugging games-lovers in Two.
Garri loved the games when it was sport. To be involved, to watch, to bet, and to laugh along to with friends. Now, it's a reality, and that's why he brushes the bead of sweat from his forehead every now and then.
It's not a concrete fear, but a Basalt fear. There's a solidarity that he feels with the other tribute by his side, yet they haven't spoke just yet. Unease, probably. Unsure of each other, always. It's exactly how he'd imagined being next to a future murderer would be like, except he'd failed to imagine he would also be one very soon, too.
The bar car is exemplary. Not dissimilar to the beautiful banquets held by mayoral candidates, visiting Capitol officials, and even head Peacekeepers in District Two. Though, he doesn't quite know of all of that. Garrison has been locked away between work and the training centres to know anything of dessert rolls and hot chocolates. But, he couldn't avoid giving them a good glance every few seconds, waiting for the go-ahead, as though he'd be penalised for even trying to take one.
The pair are directed to their seats, and the moment the tributes are left along, Garrison can't help himself. The silence had to be cut, and he had a way with words, at times.
"I'm just going to break the ice. I'm Garri, what was your name again?"
He knew what their name was. What's the harm in being civil in such an uncivil time.
Garri loved the games when it was sport. To be involved, to watch, to bet, and to laugh along to with friends. Now, it's a reality, and that's why he brushes the bead of sweat from his forehead every now and then.
It's not a concrete fear, but a Basalt fear. There's a solidarity that he feels with the other tribute by his side, yet they haven't spoke just yet. Unease, probably. Unsure of each other, always. It's exactly how he'd imagined being next to a future murderer would be like, except he'd failed to imagine he would also be one very soon, too.
The bar car is exemplary. Not dissimilar to the beautiful banquets held by mayoral candidates, visiting Capitol officials, and even head Peacekeepers in District Two. Though, he doesn't quite know of all of that. Garrison has been locked away between work and the training centres to know anything of dessert rolls and hot chocolates. But, he couldn't avoid giving them a good glance every few seconds, waiting for the go-ahead, as though he'd be penalised for even trying to take one.
The pair are directed to their seats, and the moment the tributes are left along, Garrison can't help himself. The silence had to be cut, and he had a way with words, at times.
"I'm just going to break the ice. I'm Garri, what was your name again?"
He knew what their name was. What's the harm in being civil in such an uncivil time.
-x-
