thecapitol | District Tours: Train Ride

Prior to their departure, the Tributes have to suffer a photoshoot, a few interviewers asking them a thousand questions about how excited they are, and more than a few members of their style teams asking the Tributes to bring back mementos. "Don't worry about quality, dears, we can get that all here - we want you to bring us souvenirs for the novelty of it!"

The day of the trip, Tributes are roused bright and early, well before sunrise, and driven in Peacekeeper vans to the train station. It's all rather dour, and not like the start of a vacation at all; if one didn't know what was going on, and if the Escorts and head Stylists weren't chattering excitedly, they might think they were being hauled off to a war zone.

The trains, on the other hand, are plush, fancy things, and there is one per District. There's a single blockaded car for cargo, another for maintenance, driving and Peacekeeping staff, and then several others which are open to the Tributes. A dinner car serves three meals and has small snacks available throughout the day. Another car is an entertainment center with a selection of Capitol-approved films, and a the last one is the Tributes' temporary room. It has a bunk bed for each with sheets that was a truly intense threadcount, and a single massage chair in the back. The Stylists, Mentors and Escorts sleep in the same car, although separated by a partition.

Unfortunately, all the Tributes have to share the sleeping quarters, and it's first-come, first-served.

For the most part, the trip is so smooth that the surface of a glass full of water would not be disturbed. The trips to the closer Districts are a little under a day, but the furthest Districts - 3, 4, 7, 8, 11 and 12 - take nearly 48 hours.

[OOC: For Tributes accepted during the District tours, you can assume they arrived before the departure so they can participate in the District festivities. During the train ride there is still network access. There will only be this post and the party post from the mods for this event, so players are encouraged to make their own of their characters exploring their surroundings and enjoying the Districts.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There was this guy he hadn't seen in the hallways before, and Hawkeye liked to think he roamed them plenty- awake or asleep or sober or stupid. That he avoided certain stylists or escorts or tributes, for that matter, didn't mean they'd be so outstanding with the lack of memory they conjured up when he was confronted with them. So after the initial pause, lavish and obvious, he started roaming the car again. Looking for any refreshments, maybe, or else looking for anything to stuff into his face, so he doesn't look as dead or disgusted as he might.

Not that he'll try to hide it this once. He thinks he knows full well who the fruitcake is supposed to be- he'd seen the face in the magazines because he never wanted to look at the screens for too long, but escaping the utter devotion the Capitol had to the Games was impossible. It was heartbreaking. Seeing that he was only hovering around the foods and casting a cold shoulder on the guy, Hawkeye sighed and turned and stood straight and said, "The mermaids I know are a lot more- ah," and he brings his hands to cup his own chest, and gestures growth. Boobs. "Curvy." That'll do it. Does he get a trident to the face? Would the Capitol allow that? The fella seemed laid back enough, but was he? A long train ride would break down anyone, and Hawkeye was certain he'd soon find out.

Finnick isn't insulted at all. He's been called so much worse and lived to tell the tale. And even if he had been insulted he wasn't about to take it out on one of his own tributes. That would be bad form as a role model for the games and as a well known Capitol icon.

"I think they call us 'Mermen'. But if you're patient I'm sure there will be some merfolk more to your liking when we arrive in District 4. Where there's Capitol parties there, there's always an ocean theme."

He will have to keep an eye on Hawkeye, there's clearly some potential here.

"Ah-ha." It was just a substitute for a sigh, but Hawkeye was keen on at least grinning this once. It was tight and forced and all that good stuff, but never let it be said he didn't try. He turned his back to the fellow again- younger, handsome, clearly in a hell of a lot better shape than he'd ever been in his life- and this time his hands went to grab a glass and a bottle. Capitol drinks were sweeter, and he wasn't made up on his mind if he loved it or if it made him sick like the rest of the things. "They call you a merman," he corrected over his shoulder.

A mentor. His nose wrinkled at the thought and he took a sniff of the drink before tasting it. And he made a mental note to correct himself. Usually the Capitol drinks were more sweet. Whatever poison he had just swallowed was vile and with no other outlet, he says louder still- "The rest of us are tadpoles."

"Oh, so maybe I should throw you in the deep end and teach you how to swim. Is that what you do with tadpoles? I was never all that good at biology."

He wasn't sure what Hawkeye's angle was. Was he trying to play himself down, did he think he would get out more easily that way? Finnick made himself comfortable and put his feet up on the closest table. There was a lot more he needed to know before he felt like he could handle this man. And it certainly didn't help that Hawkeye was older than he was.

"Really, you should be telling me how I can help you sprout legs and hop away."

Oh, so he's being threatened to be drowned already. For shame, Odair, though Hawkeye doesn't honestly believe that. He hesitates in pouring another drink, then does, then thinks that maybe it's been far too long since he'd been a kid to correctly answer that. Tadpoles were collected in a jar, hidden from the mother, raised to be big bull frogs and stuffed into short pockets to play races at the schoolyard. But anyway, back to the big murder happy game.

His nose wrinkles again, and Hawkeye blinks back understanding and channels confusion. "You were planning to eat me?" He asks, because hopping away seemed like such a better alternative than being fattened and boiled, and he turns to Finnick again, drink in hand and still untasted. "I would normally welcome the idea, but we've already established you're lacking in butter cups and I have some very strong feelings about those." So, uh. "Hopping sounds- nice. But I'm not easy. I'm not telling some strange fella about my legs, I don't care how rugged you've been primed up to be. Give me a name at the very least."

Sonny.

Finnick isn't sure whether it's the alcohol or just the difference in cultures, but this conversation is getting away from him. Not that it's beyond repair.

"I haven't eaten any of my tributes yet, but I guess I could make an exception for you. But I was planning on being helpful to you. I'm Finnick Odair, did they not tell you about me? I was the youngest victor ever in the arena and now I'm here to try and give you a chance."

He raised a glass toward Hawkeye, and he could probably use a refill, but he wasn't going to push for that. "That is, if you want a chance."

Different machetes carving the same path. Hawkeye looks sidelong at the glass, for a second wondering if it's a toast he only hadn't seen the build-up to, before he takes it from Finnick and only swaps his own with it, still full of whatever he had poured in it and untouched. The trade was the most natural thing in the Swamp, seemed it had transferred over without a glint of protest. And, as naturally, Hawkeye says, "First off, I'm sorry."

And feels his heart sink for the boy, but that wasn't the point of their chat-- wasn't what it should build up to, even if they were both grasping for a direction to pull. It just wasn't the time, but the feeling was there, the sincerity. He sets the glass in his hands down on the cart behind him. "Second, if you think I'm interested in winning this thing, then you've done about as much homework on me as I have on you." Which said nothing. After all, he had known the guy's name before he was told it. "I'm not even showing up when they blow the whistle on us next time." Like it was the simplest thing to do. It sure as hell was to say. "See, I have this very peculiar condition. Self-diagnosed but I can get another signature on my slip if that'll better convince you. I like living."

Finnick looks at his new drink with a little skepticism, but he takes a sip anyway.

"You don't have to apologize for the drinks, they're always like this."

He lets Hawkeye get it all off his chest, he won't feel better until it's out of him. But he just shakes his head at the sentiment. "If you want to live you'd better be prepared to win. You may have to actually kill a person or two, but at least in your case they come back again. You can't count on being lucky enough to just outlive everyone else, but don't get me wrong, it does happen." He knows all too well that it does happen, that's how Annie won her arena.

"If you really, genuinely want to live, I'll do whatever I can to help. That's what I'm here for, whether you believe it or not."

District Tours: Train Ride

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