#acttrain55

The girl, the child, rushes away from him as soon as he boards the train, and he hasn’t got the willpower to rush after her. They will both be dead soon. It is no use pretending otherwise. She couldn’t lift a dagger and he can’t even breathe. District Eight sure got lucky this year.

He’s quietly impressed, as much as he ever is, by the extravagant elegance of the train. Chandeliers like icicles hang from the ceiling, the kind of beauty that, in the grey world of Eight, is only seen in picturebooks and on television.

Sasha saves up these glimpses of beauty, he had since he was little. A flower, a snowstorm, a ribbon blowing in the wind, he catalogs these images and saves them up for when the world is too dull, too dark, too monochrome.

It is real. Beauty is real. There is more to life than the paving slabs of an uninspired mind.

And now he is here, in the midst of it. Beauty feels as though it is a tangible thing. He rises onto the tips of his toes and raises an arm to try and touch the glass chandelier, before pausing.

 In the corner, his mentor and Escort stand, very close to one another. Carnation the picture of earnestness, Maximus an image of bittersweet submission.  Her small hands reach out and touch his neck gently and he shivers, eyes closed.

"Carnation I... I can't..." He seems as if he is about to resist, but her hand moves up to caress his face and he sighs, melting into her touch. "I... I can't breathe straight..."

"Um." Sasha says.

The pair whip around to where the small boy stands, staring blankly at them from behind huge glasses, standing forward on tiptoes as if he's trying to fly. Carnation Wells steps forward, trying to pretend nothing happened.

"Are you feeling better now, Sasha?”

Sasha is uncomfortable with public displays of affection. He has never once considered himself in love, or even close to it. Aesthetic beauty he appreciates. But love, to him, is just a bunch of people touching each other all over and pretending to understand the endless complexities of each other’s minds. They will never be one. There will always be secrets. Love, however pure in intent, always makes him feel dirty. And there is something explicitly wrong with this romance. Still, he offers his mentor a polite and thoroughly forced smile.

“Yes, thank you. Much better. Just... a little hungry.”

As he says it, he rests his limp hands on his concave stomach while it makes a noise of protest. It is a noise that he is used to ignoring, but the smell of food wafting through the train is too great for him to resist. Carnation, undeterred by his lack of openness, lets out a pleasant laugh and gestures for Maximus and Sasha to follow her into a room laden with more food than he has ever seen before. The tables seem to creak under the weight of it. Despite himself, he lets out a grin, a flash of teeth showing from behind normally pursed lips.

Carnation piles her plate high with bright fruits, in every colour of the rainbow, and seems to revel in their sweetness, catching stray droplets of juice elegantly with a pink catlike tongue. Maximus, as ever, overeats, and spends the rest of the meal sprawled in his chair fighting between his desire to sleep and his desire to watch his nymphlike lover. And Sasha, to both of their vague disappointment, eats a rather meager amount, sticking to familiar foods like breads and broths and meats. Both Mentor and Escort alike are unimpressed with their decidedly bland tribute, but they are too busy looking at each other to care, much.

Maximus reaches out lazily to brush a seed away from Carnation’s lips.

Sasha sits and waits for some kind of advice.

Carnation giggles sweetly and brushes Maximus’s lank hair away from his brow.

Sasha sits and wonders if they even got the memo that they’re supposed to be helping him.

Maximus catches Carnation’s hand and presses it to his lips.

Sasha sighs, rolls his eyes, and quietly quits the room, unsure if they even noticed his departure. On the way out, he picks up a small batch of prettily shaped cookies, and plays with the ribbon between his fingers. Then, when he passes the door of Edison, of the child, he places the bag on the floor just outside. Because despite it all, Sasha Toille is sickeningly sentimental at heart. And she is tiny. And she missed dinner. And she will be dead soon.

Inside the next car I greeted both my mentor and escort by cuppin my heart with both my hands and bowin my head, my eyes fallin shut as I did. Upon lookin up again I noticed the young girl was confused but overall disinterested, she turned on her heel at took a seat facin the wall. The woman from the capitol was notably interested, unlike the child. She pulled a shiny notebook lookin objected and slide her finers all across it.

I took this as my opportunity to leave. The ride the Capitol was short and there was work to be done.

Inside my bedroom car, I turned off the lights and ignored all the lavish luxuries. They were mere distractions to the greater purpose, and in truth I was sure they’d cause my fear. I didn’t need those sorts of emotions with me then. I removed my white dress and undergarments, foldin them neatly and settin them on the corner of my bed.

My arms spread a little bit in front of me, I wandered around for few moments with my eyes closed. Preparin yourself for a purgatorial was a different process for everyone. I thought about the month we spent followin our thirteenth birthday to find our purge paths - it was pretty ridiculous. Until Dalton fell into his while practicin in the livin room. He remained in a half conscious state for a mere minute, but while he seemed entirely unconscious and his heartbeat had slowed down somethin dangerous, he could tell us verbatim what we said, how we sounded, where we were standin in the room. It turned out his path required him to feel comfortable, no threats, as if everythin were a normal occurrence. And that happened to be sittin down on the couch as we all carried about our lives, makin homely noises.

I found my path alone after showerin. I was wrapped in my towel on my knees on top of my bed, prayin. After gettin everythin off my chest and connectin with the spirits that guide me, I felt so at ease. I didn’t want to leave God’s presence in that moment, so I kept the prayer “open”, just enjoyin the silence between me and Him. I don’t know how much time passed but at some point, I still felt like I was on my knees, but I was in the different place, a different positions.

My path implied vulnerability, uncertainty, transparency and honesty.

When I came too, I felt clean, cleaner than I did after my shower, and I was collapsed layin on my bed. When I told Father Lyle about the experience he congratulated me - and the steps to refine my path were explained. Relaxation, a mirror, mantra, mudra, and finally ascension.

In those first purgatorial trials I would not attempt ascension. In order to, you must choose a sin to address. Among my other duties, that is one of I must complete before I am sacrificed. Participatin in the first steps would make the appropriate sin clear. And better to start early than never.

I crawled onto the center of the bed and sat myself on my knees, closin my eyes and hummin inside mind. I hummed the tune I normally heard when the jasmine incense spreaded in my room as I projected, resistin the urge to dance with it. Coaxin the music to slow down, I fit it match the ambience needed to calm down.

And then I heard nothin anymore - but I could still feel the room around me. Inside this trance I could explore me. Some may consider it a self centered move, but how can one beg to know anyone else well if they don’t understand even themselves?

The first feelin I felt was loss and longin. Of course I missed my brothers and sisters. They missed me too, they always will. Tell me what’s new, Halo.

Then I felt guilt. ...I didn’t tell the truth about Keaton. I.. couldn’t.  

And deeper guilt. I succumbed to my emotions... Twice. I...

I felt hate. I deviated too far, I rejected Him. I did, I was young, I was growin. I came back!

I felt darkness… I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see at all. Not that I could ever see in this state but where these memories flowed from, I could not see. I heard shatterin glass, sobbin,  I felt darkness. I felt e-

I had never been forced out of trance ever in my life. A purgatorial was supposed to be a safe place. I thought that maybe I forget to use my mudra - when the feelins aren’t right anymore, the safe word can change anythin - but I never had the chance it happened all so suddenly. I just awoke, collapsed on my bed, my heart racin with an odd feelin blended between birth and forebodin.

I covered my face with my hands tryin not to stress myself out. Father Lyle warned us about being kicked out of a trance - it didn’t mean good. Either there is somethin you as a person aren’t willing to confront yet, implying a heavy magnitude, or there is somethin interfering with you. I didn’t know which one to fear more. 

The room was still dark, but I could hear voices, plenty of voices. Cheerin. I slipped off the bed and ran to the window. Movin the curtain a mere inch, I looked through - and greetin me was a sea of vibrant faces, I’d never seen a group so happy, so intense in my life - I nearly jumped out of my skin, almost exposin myself. I ran from the window and caught my breath.

I was in the Capitol.

Inside the train was nothing like Ximena had ever seen before. As many times as she had daydreamed about the opulence of Capitol living never had she imagined something quite like this. Everything just seemed sharper, more saturated, more alive. It was almost enough to make her head spin.

“I can’t imagine how much this all is to take in.” The hint of Capitol accent gave Yancey away. There he was perched on a lime green arm chair; how Ximena hadn’t noticed him when she walked in was a miracle. “Just wait, it only gets better from here.” Noticing her gapping mouth, the escort shot her a wink.

“HOLY SHIT THIS THING IS AMAZING!” Ajax boomed as he followed Ximena into the car. Yancey laughed as the boy sprinted to the cart laden with snacks and immediately started to gorge himself. 

At the rate he was shovelling down the food Ximena was worried it would all be coming back up. The escorts grin grew but Ximena knew all too well the pangs of hunger from skipping meals. The winters where sometimes it was days between full meals. She had even been one of the better off families from Twelve, though the words better off and Twelve together were an oxymoron.

“Keep eating like that and you’ll be the first one to drop in the arena.” The female’s icy tone cut through the train car, freezing Ajax in his place. Slowly, he lowered the half-eaten croissant from his lips and dropped it on an empty plate. “That’s better. First lesson, don’t let your stomach get too used to being full. Careers might have it hard but they’re almost always going to have a source of food, even in the arena. We don’t get the same privilege and going from empty to full and back is hell on the stomach.”

Ajax’s excited state visibly diminished and he backed away from the table. “Sorry miss, I just haven’t eate-” 

He started saying through a mouth full of crumbs before the intimidating woman cut him off. “Haven’t eaten for four days? Or is it a week? You do look the desperate type.” Ester mused whilst plopping down on a plush sofa.

Ximena didn’t know what to say to this new arrival, already things seemed overwhelming. Feeling like Yancey was the nicest in the room she took a seat beside him, just in time for her mentor’s gaze to fall to her.

“You. Mouse-girl. You speak, yes?” She looked down at her immaculate nails before fixing Ximena with an almost reptilian stare.

“Y-yes.” Ximena managed to stammer out. Never before had she felt so scared of a person and she found herself wishing her Papa was here to deflect that awful gaze.

The woman clicked her tongue thoughtfully, as if pondering what her next words were going to be. “An overeager twig and a terrified wisp, cannon fodder and cannon fodder.” 

At this Yancey stood up, as he’d been growing more and more agitated as the mentor was speaking. “And who are you to be speaking to them like that? They’re just kids, show a little compassion. You were in their shoes once too.” 

“Ah yes, I almost forgot. Yancey Proulx, our ambitious little intern. Decided a life in the big leagues was a little too much for you to handle? I’m the only success this shit hole of a district has produced.” As she spoke, Ester rose from her seat and walked purposefully to where Yancey was standing, stopping only inches from his face. So, I think I’m pretty qualified when I say that these two won’t last more than five minutes.” 

Ajax tried to stammer out an answer and Yancey looked like he wanted nothing more than to yell at the woman invading his privacy, but, evidently, his years of political training gifted him with the ability to hold his tongue. Ximena wanted to speak up, to defend herself, but deep down she knew it was true. What chance did she have?

Ester brought her hand up gently to Yancey’s face, letting it slide down his his cheek to rest just briefly on his jawline. “That’s what I thought.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “Now, I wonder just what secrets are rattling around in that pretty little head of yours.” Yancey’s face wavered just a moment and Ester knew she’d won. “Oh, something bad enough to make someone born for politics up and leave without a moments notice. Interesting.” She clicked her tongue again before returning to her seat.

Yancey was frozen, seemingly unable to process what had just happened and the mess he’d unknowingly thrown himself into. Likewise, his tributes were equally as unsure of how to react going forwards. Only their mentor seemed to have any level of comfort, pouring herself a martini from the tray next to the couch.

“Well don’t just stand there, sit.” It was more a suggestion than a command, and both Yancey and Ajax sat down, all three now across from Ester. “We’ve only just left Twelve, and we won’t reach the Capitol until tomorrow.” She sipped at her drink. “Try to enjoy your last few hours of privacy by the way, once you step off the train, every move, every word, is scrutinized.”

Never one for wanting the spotlight, Ximena could feel the lump in her throat only growing larger. While she was warming up to Yancey, and felt decided neutral towards Ajax as she’d only just met him, she knew without a doubt Ester was not a woman she wanted to be around. 

Internally, she couldn’t help but compare Ester to her mother. Where her mother’s eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners when she laughed, Ester’s were cold and calculating, like every movement had to be analyzed; her mouth was stuck in a firm line instead of big and smiling. The more she thought about it, the most she disliked this woman who had barged into her life; but, above all, the worst part about her was the fact that Ximena’s only chances at survival hinged on her.

An odd silence fell over the group. Ajax appeared to be struggling to contain his boisterous self in an effort to impress Ester, while Yancey had a troubled look on his face. “We still have a few hours until dinner, might as well try to prepare ourselves against the competition.” Ester glanced around at her companions. When no one responded she sighed, flicking on the screen just as the symbol for One flashed onscreen.