( * ░ &&. –– fiction

“C’mon, don’t say that,” Xander chuckled in response and pointed in the direction he was headed. “How about I give you a tour? Unless you have somewhere important to be.”

“You’re right, bad start. I’m Ptolemy.” He smiled. Ptolemy’s gaze followed the direction of the other’s hand and shook his head. “Unless you would consider listening to your mentors and stylists jabber to be important, my schedule looks free.”

“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think? I mean considering that you don’t even know me. You just assume that I’m a fruitcake and an airhead.”

“Unlike you, fruitcake, I’m not here to make friends. Looking at you, right now, proves that I’m definitely not just assuming.”

She almost stopped dead in her tracks. Almost. She’d been trained better than to give herself away without a second thought. But there was her brother, and he was walking right toward her amongst a crop of tributes, and Rian’s heart thundered in her chest, so hard she was sure President Snow himself could hear it. She hadn’t caught all of the Reapings, really she’d tried to avoid them as best she could despite her orders to know all she could about the tributes entering the city, but she’d managed to keep herself ignorant as to who exactly from her district had been reaped for fear it would be someone she’d known – how could it never have crossed her mind that this was a possibility? Swallowing, she began to follow Ptolemy and the female tribute arriving with him, her footsteps slow and steady. Their mentors had paused to speak with friends of theirs from another district, and Rian took that as her opportunity to slip forward, take Ptolemy gently by the arm and lead him to a deserted corridor. She was quick to remove her helmet, assuring her brother would see her face should he begin to panic. “I – fuck I’m sorry.”

Ptolemy continued to walk along the pathway, holding his breath as they passed the last row of Peacekeepers. He felt the presence of several still behind him and immediately his late husband came to his mind, a vivid image of him being shot in the head at the town center months ago. A flood of emotions erupted throughout his entire body, causing his heart to pulse even faster within his chest. When he felt tears build up behind his eyes, he immediately pushed them back and pulled off the best straight face he felt was possible, although he knew he couldn’t be more like a mess. He saw the mentors stopping as an opportunity to slip away and recollect his thoughts, but as he took a step back from the group he felt a tug at his arm and felt himself moving in the opposite direction. Looking back, he recognized the white armored hand of a Peacekeeper and thrashed against it, cursing at them under his breath. They ended up in a dimly lit corridor, and he nearly heaved the Peacekeeper to the wall before she took off her helmet. It wasn’t the unfamiliar face he expected. It was... Rian?  Ptolemy swallowed. “Holy --- “ he covered his mouth with his hand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

    “I can’t believe the games are finally here! Seems like just yesterday we were holding the last. I have to say I’m a bit excited and nervous to watch. It’ll be my first time styling my own district.”

“Great. She’s a fruitcake and an airhead.”

“Just a bit, but there’s no shame.”

“Geez ---- sorry. Everybody welcome Ptolemy, the most clueless tribute here!” He cleared his throat. “I’m making myself sound stupid. Could you direct me to the... well, anywhere?”

Being a peacekeeper was a strange thing. In Rian’s opinion, there was no peace to be kept, not in the Capitol. And she was unsure, really, who she was protecting. The tributes, or everyone else. It all seemed useless and futile, and she found her fingers curling around her baton as she watched the arrivals into the Capitol.

After what had seemed like ages, Ptolemy stepped out of his train and shuffled alongside the other tributes and mentors. Some were waving at the cheering crowds, others were sobbing. But Ptolemy made note to keep his expression blank, despite the rows of peacekeepers that bordered him. He forcefully locked his gaze on the massive set of doors in front of him, shoving back any urges to turn his head. One foot after the other, he reminded himself. The peacekeepers aren’t there.

The boy seemed panicked. No one had reacted that way to her since her Games, not that she didn’t enjoy it. The Hunger Games had left her feeling almost sinister with no way to release it. she didn’t mean to be this way, almost detached and careless, rarely giving a damn how her tributes did and instead enjoying the front row seats to the Games, watching every tribute fight their own personal demons before the very real ones attacked in the arena. Though even she was getting bored of it. “Same thing every year. I’m amazed they’ve kept it going so long. Thought everyone would be utterly desensitized by now.”

Ptolemy looked away from the blonde, attempting to mask his pained expression. He figured she was judging him. Hell, even he was judging himself. Before entering the capitol, Ptolemy had promised to himself that he wouldn’t reveal what he was feeling to anyone, especially to someone higher up than him. She was a mentor, and he was a horrific mess. And he, in that moment, was showing off exactly the kind of weakness that the capitol wanted to see. “The capitol isn’t capable of being desensitized,” he grumbled, glancing up at the girl before moving his gaze back to the other end of the hallway. “Let them watch.”

     “You look a bit lost.”

“Is it that obvious?”

It was getting just a little bit monotonous. Although Hannibal certainly appreciated the riches and the glamour of the Capitol, simply standing by and watching was becoming boring, it was making her fidget. She barely glanced at whoever had come closer, feeling someone’s presence but not acknowledging it as she eyed the new tributes. “Do you think this will ever grow old? Like, at some point, they’re bound to get sick of this.”

There is no place, Ptolemy thought, that could possibly be any worse than this. Other tributes and their mentors surrounded him on all sides, their stiffness closing in on him. He wouldn’t admit that he was afraid, not to anyone he didn’t know at least. But his heart pounding against his chest and the abhorrent ringing in his ears proved otherwise. A foreign sense of vulnerability washed over him, causing his legs to carry him away from the cluster. Not knowing that anyone had noticed his escape, he jumped at the sound of a voice from behind him. Ptolemy swallowed. “Uh, well...” he hesitated, clearing his panicked expression. “I guess if we’re lucky.”

              Her eyes were narrow as she moved through the hallway. A sly grin adorned her features, makeup contouring her face in a way that nearly rendered her unrecognizable. Nearly. Her path crossed with another and her features softened. “You should stand straighter,” She was lucky her former position as the daughter of the mayor of Twelve didn’t allow for those of the Capitol to commit her voice to memory; her voice was the giveaway. “Otherwise you could be overlooked.” She didn’t like playing a character, but she wasn’t terrible at it either.

Ptolemy had been observing the scene of the Capitol, bitterly eyeing every fruitcake that brushed past him. The night before he slept fitfully, images of the reaping keeping him awake. He knew that despite his efforts to look at least half presentable, his facade barely hid his bloodshot eyes and the blotches of black around them. Ptolemy let his mind drift, inevitably taking him back to District 5, and he let himself slouch himself onto the wall. As he began to close his eyes, he heard a posh voice sound from behind him. “And you,” he began, rolling his eyes at the girl. “Should learn to not interrupt a man’s beauty sleep.”