please stow your carry-on luggage [j&c, 88]

"No fucking way. I don't believe you."


"You can't trick a victor."


"Fine then. I dare you."


In retrospect, maybe stuffing myself in a duffel bag wasn't worth proving a point. The air is stale, the scent of worn plastic burning the inside of my throat as I'm jostled between two other suitcases. They dig into already-bruised knees, and I can feel sore spots blossoming along my sides. It's lucky I've always been small for my age and rich people have so much stuff or else I don't think I'd have made it as far as the train.

My camera digs into my sternum, wrapped in a woolly sweater because I'd rather break a bone than break the camera Papa worked overtime to afford. It was the only good part about my last birthday. Twelve must not be a very happy number because Uncle Asher was the only one who smiled when I blew out my candles.

I got to stand with the crowd this year, instead of outside it. Mom had that far away look in her eyes when she dressed me up in the nicest suit we had, the kind that seems really cold but her hands are shaking and my tie ended up crooked 'cause of it. Sage laughed at me for a long time and then we held hands the whole way to the District Square.

Then we got into a fight about whether or not Mom was close enough to Uncle Justice that I could sneak onto the train with him and well-

here we are.

I considered leaving my parents a note about where I'm going, but that'd kinda ruin the surprise. They're always hovering over my shoulder, stuck like burrs on knee socks. So wound up in the threads there that they've begun to cut into the skin underneath. I clutch my camera a little tighter, it'll be nice to give them a present for once.

And maybe I'll finally know what it's like to not be treated like I'm a sandcastle too close to high tide.

The train starts with a jolt and I make the mistake of moving with it. Luckily I fall flat on my back, knocking the air out of my lungs before I can scream. "Cedric, what are you-" I recoil at the sight of the pointy knife-thing in his hand, frowning at Uncle Justice with furrowed brows.

He sputters a bunch, going all awkward like he always does when he talks to me. It's funny to hear him call me by my name. He's only done that a handful of times in twelve years, most of them after we started training together a couple months ago.

"Nice to see you too, Uncle Justice." I cross my arms as I exaggerate the polite greeting he hadn't been courteous enough to offer me. "This was my idea, don't worry! No one believed I really knew a victor so-" I trail off, snapping a picture of him as he paces the carriage.

He's right about Mom though, she's scary when she's angry. But that's something Uncle Asher calls a tomorrow problem.

"how do you feel so proud?"

Sir Ellington-

"You mean my dad?" I blink at Uncle Justice a few times too many, wondering why his voice got all twisted when he said his name. Like it's poison on his tongue with a particularly bad taste. There's a lot of questions there, ones I know better than to ask. Like why my parents are split up and I'm living with Dad and his new partner but spending afternoons in a Victor's penthouse with my mom and uncle. "You can just call him Ellie, everyone else does."

I roll my eyes like that's obvious because it is and I'm a little offended for him if I'm being honest. The moment passes quickly, though, a smile creeping onto my lips as I adjust to the way the train rolls and my stomach likes to roll with it. It's exhilarating, like tumbling down a hill that has no end. My brains rattles around my skull but in the nicest way I've ever felt.

And the smells. I can't quit looking around at the tables laden with food and drink I don't recognize. They're brightly colored, sharp in contrast to the dull browns and greens of the stale bread and spinach soup that I grew up on. Something tells me he won't mind if I scoot along the bench and sneak a berry into my mouth. It's a bit too sweet, but otherwise quite nice.

My chest seizes a bit when the whitecoats come around and I hate that I'm not strong enough to stop from hiding behind Justice while he talks to them. Uncle Asher likes to call them fucking pigs under his breath whenever they pass by, but I know enough to be sure they'd shoot him if they ever heard him. I think that's the point of his game.

It must feel nice to be able to wave them off with such ease and- "Wait you're married to my Mom?" If that's true I don't even feel bad about not telling her I was leaving. She's always kept too many secrets. I sit back down on the bench, picking at a weird looking pastry with bright blue frosting. It's a bit too sour, but otherwise nice. "I'll stop calling you that if you don't like it."

I wipe stray frosting off my cheek and wince at the stain it leaves on my dress shirt. "I just figured-" I furrow my brow, staring at Justice in hopes he's be forced to look at me. Instead of through me, or at something just behind my head. I'm pretty sure he hates me but I've never done anything to deserve that. "Well if you're not as good as family, then what are you?"

With the way I'm smiling at him, he must know its half a challenge.

"how do you feel so proud?"

Sometimes I'm pretty sure I've got it all figured out. It's not hard to pick up on what someone's not saying, their smiles go all tight when they lie. I'm so used to people making themselves miserable for my sake that I forgot genuine smiles exist. Ones that don't make me feel bad when I see them. "It's no fun if you pick up on it that quick." I mumble, ducking my head to hide that I don't mind he's let himself in on the joke.

It's like we're sharing a secret, one I made for myself. It's wonderfully grown-up. I sit a little straighter as he talks, running my fingers through the curls I never quite learned how to manage and successfully smearing more frosting within them. There's a weird aching in my gut when I realize Dad isn't going to be around to comb through the knots tonight.

"I am very smart, thanks for noticing!" I preen a bit, though it's hard to put on airs when there's a streak of electric blue sticking straight up from my forehead. When he tells me to quiet down, I repeat what I just said in a rushed whisper, tacking on, "though that's a lot fewer rules than I'm used to."

And a lot more freedom than I've ever had. It weighs on the corners of my lips, tugging my expression down with it and I really wish I could be as good as Sage at looking angry when I don't want anyone to know what I'm feeling at all. "Thanks for trusting me." I press my hand against my chest as if I could hold that warm feeling there a little bit longer.

I exhale through clenched teeth, kicking my heels back against the bench, "Sometimes Home can be... a lot?" It's an apology for being here in too many words, "I came here to prove a point but I also kinda wanted to-" I sniff the drink he pressed into my hands and drain it as fast as I can, giggling at its peculiar taste, "run away? For a little bit."

I realize the aftertaste is guilt.

"how do you feel so proud?"

They whisper the word weak like it's a dirty little secret. Like I'm not on the other side of every mirror, watching myself swim in sweaters I've had since I was nine. People I used to consider friends started calling me Twenty-four a couple of weeks ago. It took me longer than it should have to figure out why.

I know they're just trying to hurt me, but it's hard to be hurt by what's obviously true. There's so much I'm supposed to understand when I'm older and so little they want me to know now. Jokes on them, though, because I'm sitting next to a murderer, one who's teaching me how to be just like him. I'm smart enough to know what's going at the opposite end of this train, I know why people don't come home.

My face scrunches up when he mentions Uncle Asher, eyes snapping from locked doors and dead men's silhouettes, "Uncle Asher goes to Victor's Village most days. I'm not allowed there 'under any circumstance'," I mimic Mom's voice the best I can. "I think he said something about bullying the Earnest guy when I asked." But it's best not to linger on this topic because my uncle and Justice are still pretending to hate each other.

Instead, I fiddle with my camera before snapping a photo of the ruined buffet. "I hope we can still train some too." It hurts more than anything I've ever done. Skull smacking against the carpet, no breath in my lungs, and the world spinning as I stand up and - do it again. So I swing at him because it's nice to feel strong sometimes.

"I was thinking of making a scrapbook!" It's hard to stop smiling through blue teeth, "I thought it would help. She worries a lot." Too much.

"how do you feel so proud?"