Victory Tour!

[etcircenses]

Most of you weren't around the last time District tours were allowed. The opulence of the train is just as great however. It is plush, full of the same comforts and pleasures as the Capitol. Dining, entertainment centers, and shared rooms for the Tributes, the bunk beds featuring the finest of fabrics. The wide windows all around the train give way to the stunning views of the District countrysides.

Before the quell, it used to be that only the Victors of the arena would behold such sights, but you Tributes, the survivors of the fifteenth arena of the seventy fifth quarter quell are very lucky indeed. It will be a greater pageant than ever before, with so many Tributes getting the chance to speak to the Districts their children were reaped from, where you stand and the children stand no longer. The honor, duty, and sacrifice a Tribute's life involves cannot be understated.

Staff and Mentors are, of course, brought along for the ride. You'll need them for when you are to give your speech to the Districts! There will be a lot of preparation work involved, but maybe, should you do well, you will be afforded some time to travel between the cars and visit those of other Districts.

As always, the tour will be starting in District twelve, which will take just over forty eight hours to reach. There's no need to feel unsafe. There's an overwhelming number of Peacekeepers on board, here to keep you all safe, as will there be in each of the Districts you visit.

Sleep tight.

Comments

[quiethumerus]

He reaches up to touch and smear the blood like he hadn't realised. There's a moment where he simply marvels at the color of the blood. Disgust follows soon enough however and he's back to holding that gun, forcing himself to focus on her.

She's watching a car down the way and he follows her line of sight. They're running. The most traitorous part of him thinks thank fuck. He doesn't want to be here in the midst of the bloodshed. He doesn't want to watch all this.

But then is the other part, whispering, hissing at him. He ought to fight. He ought to do good by the Capitol. He ought to wield this dreadful thing the way he's been taught.

He looks at her, all lit by fire, her pale self highlighted in oranges and reds, the shadows cast into deep purples. He nods sharply at her then, but he doesn't follow just yet. He drops the gun, lifts his heeled boot high and stomps down on it, breaking it in what little way he can. He ducks his head down as he moves then to go with her.

[occasio]

Phi doesn't know exactly what's going on in his head, but whatever it is seems to pass. He looks more focused for a moment, and there's no lack of surprise on her face when he decides to drop the gun and stomp on it. There's no telling if that did anything, but she feels a little respect for him in that moment. He clearly has no intention of joining in a fight that he doesn't want to be in.

She doesn't complain when he comes with her. They're both ducking and running, making their way to the train car and trying not to get shot along the way. Adrenaline is pumping through her, and her thoughts are fixed on that one singular point ahead... but she doesn't leave go of his wrist. Not until they're being asked to board the train car in an orderly manner as quickly as possible. She releases her hold, climbing up into the car. Her eyes scan over dozens of worried and terrified face, finding a place where the two of them can sit out of the way of others.

"Here. Over this way," she turns and say to him, as soon as he's on board as well. If he follows her, she'll lead him over to the far end of the car. There's no seats here, but there is an empty section of wall that they can sit against, away from any windows that might end up broken before the train manages to move off.

[quiethumerus]

She doesn't ask. He supposes this to be a relief, a good thing, because he's not going to tell. This was the exact sort of thing he was made quiet for and it truly does seem like they've got bigger problems on theirs hand. So much mother fuckin bigger, and faster, bullets ripping by as they run.

She pulls him along like a child, keeping it so he isn't left behind. His eyes too are fixed on that spot ahead but not with the same focus. Things catch his eyes and many a times he believes he sees someone else and glances back sharp.

When they get to the train he is out of breath, something that's very difficult to be dealing with at the best of times. He follows her command thoughtlessly, settling against the wall with her but with far less grace. It's more of a thump to the floor, his shaking hands already up to claw that yellow shirt piece away, open his collar, rub at his scarred neck as he tries to pull in air.

[occasio]

Phi watches as he tugs away the cloth around his throat, dragging in breaths without being able to open his mouth in the same way that she can. It hadn't occurred to her to slow down and let him catch his breath. She was too preoccupied with the dangerous situation around them. But now that they're stopped and seated and as far from harm as they're likely to get anytime soon... She feels a little bad for him.

"Are you okay?" she asks, and not only because of the panting. There were a number of things that she didn't understand about him, from the broken gun to the stitches to the marks on his neck.

[quiethumerus]

He doesn't answer right away. He feels her concern but he's focused more upon air and breath, trying to pull more in to settle himself, beating back any panic to worsen it by sheer force of will and luck. The coughs that quickly began to punctuate like shots don't make things better. With watering eyes he holds up a hand, a pointer finger and flat palm in succession. Wait a moment, please.

There's a moment where his vision threatens to darken but the small calamity is avoided. Miraculously. He takes several minutes more just to breathe easy and steady, then some time to glance out a the violence breaking out before them. Derek and Chuck were out there... his Tributes...

At last, he does what's instinctive for him to do. He lies. Just a nod of the head to say, I'm mother fuckin fine.

[occasio]

Given the state of him--both before and after finding their way onto this train car, it's no surprise that Phi doesn't believe him. He nods like she didn't witness him half-dazed and bleeding outside the District 4 car. Like she didn't watch him smash that gun before taking off with her. She stills has to wonder about that.

"Derek said he was going to find the others," she informs him, sidestepping around his lie as if she didn't notice. "It's better for us to be waiting for him here. He won't have to go searching for us, too." The less running around everyone had to do, the better.

She lets some silence fall between them, listening tot he sounds both inside and outside the car. The former consists mostly of hushed voices--some snatches of crying and angry, frightened words between. The former is mostly gunfire and shouting with the distant crackle of fire. Sometimes the smashing of glass breaks through. Her thoughts drift back to that gun.

"Why did you smash it? You looked...angry? Or was it determined?" It might be both, to be honest. It wasn't impossible that both of those things could go hand in hand with one another.

[quiethumerus]

She looks at him like she doesn't believe. She speaks like it doesn't bother her. That's for the best, for her and himself. He's no good, not to be taken for what he presents. But digging would get her no where good, and would put him where he perhaps belongs in truth. Or someone else undeserving, perhaps.

He agrees with her assessment, nodding. Even if the flame and fight before him shines in his eyes. He has nothing to offer out there. He doesn't want to be out there anyway.

He does hope Derek will return soon however. He tries to tune out the cries and smashing but he flinches just about every time.

He starts when she speaks to him, a voice so sudden by him, a question so like to dig. He recoils internally but freezes on the outs. He shouldn't have smashed it. It represents much to Panem. He glances quickly at the other Peacekeepers, looking to see if they're paying any attention to her words, or to him. He swallows.

The shake of his head is sharp, too much so to really be an answer. He doesn't look at her as he tries to think how to respond, fingers tracing his threads unconsciously.

[occasio]

She's picked a difficult question to ask. Phi sees it in the way he looks around, like someone might overhear the answer that he doesn't give her. She sees it in the way he jerks, mind going off elsewhere as his body is left to traces repetitive patterns over the stitches sewn through his lips.

Phi raises her hand, ever so gently taking his wrist and pulling his hand back down to his lap. His face has already suffered enough abuse today. He doesn't need to unconsciously pick at his thread--whether he's prone to doing that or not.

"How about I make some guesses?" It makes it easier on him, though she knows he's already tried to lie to her once. Her voice is lower in volume now, taking a hint from the way that he was nervously checking the Peacekeepers. "...It seems to me that you don't like violence. Is that right?"

[quiethumerus]

He appreciates the lowered volume and the way she accommodates for his muteness, even if it defies the ways and reasons of why he's mute. So rare is it that people go to meet him half way instead of the reverse, it might just be a help for lowering his guard a little. That, and the surprise that comes of her bringing his hand down, nothing big but enough for him to stare a little and feel foolish with the revelation.

With a weary look, he nods. He can play such a game, he decides. She delivers her question.

There's some irony in a stylist of the Games being adverse to violence. Truth was, he watched as little as he could get away with. His brow is furrowed as he looks on down, then with a pause, he opts to nod. No, he doesn't like it. He ain't like the slightest bit.

[occasio]

He nods, and Phi is a little surprised at the honest answer. She was expecting to have to scrutinize a shake of his head--to determine if his No was really a No, or if he was hiding something from her. The trust implicit in that answer gives her confidence as she nods back at him.

"I see." Her hand is still on his wrist, but she doesn't move it. Unlike a lot of the other things she does, there's no ulterior reason for keeping it there. Only that it feels like she should. It grounds her a little, and she thinks that it might do the same for him.

"Is it only the violence?" she asks in the same quiet voice. Her gaze flickers towards the Peacekeepers again, making sure that her volume is still below their perception. "Nothing more than that?"

[quiethumerus]

She's not wrong. He's struggled to connect with people for a long ass time. Yet, he's never been shy about physical contact. Really, this is the best means of going about things. It's the closet he gets.

Her question makes him frown. He's not sure what she could mean by that, only the violence. But then she spares a glance at the Peacekeepers and he goes very still, freezing in place as he looks to them also, holding his breath to be sure he's inspired no wrath.

It's only when he's sure that he looks back at her and realises she wasn't checking the Peacekeepers deliberate. His mouth presses to a line and two questions in, he's not sure he can answer.

[occasio]

There's no answer this time, and Phi is pretty sure she knows why. She's not sure how else to interpret that look that he gives the Peacekeepers. It hadn't been her intention to implicate them as a reason for his aversion, only to make sure that they weren't being overhear. But now she has to wonder if there's more to this.

"It's alright," she assures him. The look that he gave almost reminds her of a child, terrified of being caught. "You can be afraid of authority without having done anything wrong. There's no shame in that."

[quiethumerus]

She's still hanging onto him. She's watching him. She speaks all gentlelike, reassuring, like the way Momma-- Mother used to, but not quite. No, it's more sincere than mother. Words said and meant not just spoken cause they sound so sweet.

He can't remember his mother's voice. He can't hardly remember her face. It doesn't matter, not really. There were more important things now.

But he can't help his guilt, knowing he was the reasons she and Gamzee and the rest of his family suffered. He had done something wrong. His existence was wrong and it was all tied around his threads, whether in or out. He turns his face from her.

[occasio]

He turns his face from her, and she's not sure what that means. Only that her reassurances haven't reached through to him. He sits on his secret, and she's not sure that she has the heart to try and pry it out of him with her questions. She's not sure that he would let her, either, and she doesn't want to push him away. She knows that he doesn't want to be a part of this fight, and that's enough for now.

"It's alright," she says again, but for a different reason this time. "I appreciate you being here. I'm glad you're okay." As okay as any of them can be in a situation like this. She hopes that he understands what she means. She hopes he understands how rare it is for her to say that.

[quiethumerus]

Why? He thinks first because the topic of his shame was brought up, even if only in his own mind, and he has to wonder why anyone else would give a damn. But soon enough it registers that... she's offering more of that care genuine. He's not sure how exactly he is to handle it. At some point along the line, what came easy to him, turned foreign. Alien.

He decides to bob his head a little, bowing it to her. His eyes meet hers as his head rises again. You too, he means to say, despite all uncertainty.

Despite everything, it is good not to be alone in this.