TWO. brave new world; C. Snow

Coriolanus stood on the empty train platform, awaiting his tribute's arrival, a long-stemmed white rose balanced carefully between his thumb and index finger. It had been Tigris's idea to bring her a gift. She had arrived home very late on the night of the reaping, but he had waited up to consult with her, to tell her of his humiliations and fears. She refused to let the conversation spin into despair. He would get a prize; he would have to! And have a brilliant university career. What bothered him was the tax reclaim soon to be placed over the Snows' apartment, how they would be homeless if unable to scrape together enough pennies to pay off the debt. But he was to think of none of that. Only of the Hunger Games, and how he might make a success of it.

At Fabricia's reaping party, Tigris said, everyone was nuts about Calpurnia Flint, so much as crying over her. His tribute was a plain "scarred angel," her friends had declared as they drunkenly slurped their posca. The cousins agreed that he needed to make a good first impression on the girl so that she would be willing to work with him. He should treat her not as a condemned prisoner, but as a guest. Coriolanus had decided to greet her early at the train station. It would give him a jump on the assignment, as well as an opportunity to win her trust.

"Imagine how terrified she must be, Coryo," Tigris had said. "How alone she must feel. If it was me, anything you could do to make me feel like you cared about me would go a long way. No, more than that. Like I was of value. Take her something, even a token, that lets her know you value her."

Two days had passed since the reaping. The city had held on to the oppressive heat, and even though it was just past dawn, the train station was beginning to bake. Coriolanus felt conspicuous on the wide, deserted platform, but he couldn't risk missing her train. The only information he could get out of his downstairs neighbor, Gamemaker-in-Training Remus Dolittle, was that it was supposed to arrive Wednesday. Coriolanus could have inquired through the Academy, but he didn't know if greeting the train would be frowned upon. No rules had been laid out, per se, but he thought most of his classmates would wait to meet their tributes at a session overseen by the Academy the following day.

An hour passed, then two, and still no train of any kind appeared. The sun beat down through the glass panes of the station ceiling.

Perspiration trickled down his back, and the rose, so majestic that morning, began to bend in resignation. He wondered if the whole idea was ill-conceived and if he would get no thanks for greeting her in this way. Another girl, a typical girl, would be impressed, but there was nothing typical about Calpurnia Flint. In fact, there was something questionable about a girl with such a large, intimidating gash running half a foot down her face. She was terrifying, really. And here he was in his uniform, clutching a rose like some lovestruck schoolboy, hoping she would—what? Like him? Trust him? Not kill him on sight?

Her cooperation was imperative. Yesterday, Satyria had led a mentor meeting in which their first assignment had been detailed. In the past, the tributes had gone directly into the arena the morning after they'd all arrived in the Capitol, but the time line had been extended now that the Academy students were involved. It had been decided that each mentor was to interview their tribute and would be given five minutes to present them to Panem on a live television program.

If people had someone to root for, they might actually watch the Hunger Games. It was that simple.

Another hour crawled by and he was just about ready to give up, when a train whistle sounded deep in the tunnel. The sharp ping blew as the train sped into the station and screeched to a halt. It was a short train, only an engine and two cars. Coriolanus looked for a glimpse of his tribute in the windows before he realized the cars had none. They were designed not for passengers but for cargo. Heavy metal chains attached by old-fashioned padlocks secured the goods.

The wrong train, he thought. Might as well go home. But then a distinctly human cry came from one of the cargo cars and he remained in place.

He expected a rush of Peacekeepers, but the train sat ignored for twenty minutes before a few made their way to the rails. The first Peacekeeper took his time meandering down to the first car, flipping through a set of keys before he selected one, stuck it in the padlock, and gave it a twist. The lock and chains fell away, and he rolled back the heavy door. The car appeared empty. The Peacekeeper pulled out his baton and banged it against the doorframe. "All right, you lot, let's move!"

A tall boy with dark brown skin and patched burlap clothing appeared in the doorway. Coriolanus recognized him as Clemensia's tribute from District 11, rangy but muscular. A girl with similar coloring but a skeletal frame and a hacking cough joined him. Both of them were barefoot with their hands cuffed in front of their bodies. It was a five-foot drop to the ground, so they sat on the edge of the car before launching themselves awkwardly onto the platform. A small, pasty-faced girl in a striped dress and red scarf crawled to the door but seemed unable to figure out how to cover the distance to the ground. The Peacekeeper yanked her down and she landed hard, barely catching herself with her bound hands. Then he reached into the car and dragged out a boy who looked about ten years old but had to be at least twelve, and hauled him onto the platform as well.

The Peacekeepers moved on to the second car and released the chains. The door slid open, revealing Lysander, the male District 12 tribute, squinting into the brightly lit station. Coriolanus felt a jolt run through him, and his body straightened in anticipation. Surely, she would be with him. Lysander hopped stiffly to the ground and turned back to the train.

He murmured something into the darkness, and Coriolanus's excitement wavered. Was his tribute not in there? Where else could she have been?

Then, as Lysander exhaled another string of coaxing words into the train car, even using his bound hands with as much of a gesture as he could, Coriolanus understood where Calpurnia was.

The Peacekeepers didn't give Lysander long to try and lure out his counterpart. They shoved him by the shoulders so hard that he stumbled for five more steps in the direction of where the other tributes had been taken. He glanced back over his shoulder, consternation and grief written all over his face, before the Peacekeepers gave him another shove and he was turned around once more.

At once, Coriolanus knew what was going on. The Peacekeepers were going to be just as rough with his tribute, especially if she refused to come out of the train car on her own, if nobody intervened on her behalf.

She had nobody else on her side besides Coriolanus. He inhaled sharply, letting the white rose fall to his side, and forcefully made his way to the train car before the Peacekeepers could return from escorting Lysander.

It was awkward for Coriolanus to try and make the five-foot elevation from the ground to the doorway, but he used both hands, gripping the sides of the entrance, and stamped his foot firmly on the ground of the car to haul himself up even with the limited strength his weak diet allowed him.

For a moment longer than usual, his eyes refused to adjust to the darkness. The manure stench of the car wafted into his nose and mouth and he coughed it away roughly. He felt unclean already, dirtied by the livestock train car that had been assigned to transport the tributes.

Then he saw her.

It took him a second to register that it was a person curled in the corner and not a bundle of cloth. Her head was buried in her hands, her knees pulled to her chest, her shoulders rising and falling with steady, even breaths. She hadn't noticed Coriolanus's arrival yet, which meant she would be startled when he saw her, he thought.

All at once, dread enveloped him. This bumbling ball curled in the corner of the train car couldn't have been his tribute. It couldn't have been the girl with the mystery scar, the girl that had stood on the stage after her reaping with such a strong resolve on her face.

But it was. That hair, it was the second-most noticeable feature of Calpurnia's. It was limp and dirty, likely from days of travel and neglect. But that black string of cloth was still there, stark against her white hair, tied in a miserable bow at an attempt for decor.

Coriolanus thought he should say something. He didn't know how long he had with her in private before the Peacekeepers would return to gather her. But what to say? How to comfort a girl who had presented herself as such a warrior, but was now bundled in a ball like a child?

"Hello," he decided on. His voice was slightly gravelly, as he had not used it in hours, but he thought it gave him a nice maturity.

Calpurnia did not jump at the sudden announcement of Coriolanus's arrival, which he took as a silver lining. Instead she lifted her head slowly to reveal her face.

Her eyes were so tired that they were the first thing his gaze was drawn to, not her scar. But he looked there next. It was deeper in person than it had been on the screen, and now Coriolanus could see that a small fleck of her eye's lower waterline was missing, just beneath her eyelashes. Not for the first time, Coriolanus was enveloped with curiosity and an urge to ask, but he figured that wasn't a wise idea. Not if he was going to earn her trust, like Tigris said.

The girl sized him up from her small space on the musty floor, and Coriolanus worried that she might burst into tears on the spot. Instead her eyes fell to the rose in his hand.

"This is for you," prompted Coriolanus quickly, extending it to her.

She didn't take it from him, nor did she say anything. Coriolanus swallowed his frustration. The least she could do was play along politely—didn't they teach manners in the Districts?

Slowly, Coriolanus moved to kneel before her, leveling himself with her like he learned was a strategy for dealing with quiet children or distrustful animals. His eyes searched her face. She didn't move away from him like he was an attacker, and he thought that was the first sign of actual humanity in her.

"I'm your mentor," he continued in a quiet voice, managing some sort of smile as best he could, despite his frustration. "My name is Coriolanus. You're Calpurnia, right?"

She gave no indication that she heard him, but her eyes were staring deep into his. He noticed dried tear streaks disrupting the dirt on her face.

"I'm here to help you," he said gently. Somewhere he hoped there was a camera or something, some way for people to see how patient he was being with this pitiful girl, some way for him to be rewarded for not giving into his rage. "Do you want to step out in the sun? It's rather cold in here."

Then she said the first words Coriolanus ever heard from her lips. "I'm used to the cold."

She had the slightest District Twelve twang, the kind you wouldn't think she had, just from looking at her. And her voice was quiet—too deep and soft to belong to a warrior.

That was when he decided: She wasn't the fighter he'd pinned her to be. Wherever she had gotten that scar, it was a false promise to Coriolanus. He wondered if Dean Highbottom had known all along and was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Despite her claim that the chill inside the train car didn't bother her, Calpurnia wavered to a standing position by herself. Coriolanus's free hand reached out to steady her—it didn't seem like she'd used her own two feet in a while—and she clutched his forearm like it was a wall deliberately placed to help her balance.

That seemed to be when she noticed Coriolanus's outfit: His Academy Rouge, his clean-shaven face, his swept hair. Her brow gave the slightest furrow of interest.

"You look like you shouldn't be here," she admitted, her voice low, uneasy.

Coriolanus exhaled a light laugh. "I probably shouldn't be. But I wanted to meet you on my own terms. Not the Gamemakers'."

"A rebel?" said Calpurnia.

The Peacekeepers arrived before Coriolanus could react to the insult. They shouted some nasty words into the train car, and though Coriolanus knew they were directed at Calpurnia, not him, he still bristled with offense. He used the advantage that Calpurnia was still clutching his arm and led her to the doorway of the car. The Peacekeepers seemed unaware of what to do—surely, they'd never seen anything like this before—an Academy student escorting a District officer of the train. They let Coriolanus take the lead, moving around the odd pair to unload the next car.

"What does my mentor do for me?" Calpurnia said in that same quiet tone, her voice thick and low. "Besides bring me roses."

"I do my best to take care of you." Coriolanus couldn't help but be extra-aware of how this must have looked: An uneven District Twelve girl clutching the arm of a put-together Capitol boy, their sides intertwined as though heading to a dance together.

Calpurnia glanced over her shoulder, where the Peacekeepers were tossing two half-starved children onto the platform. The girl broke a front tooth on the platform, while the boy received several sharp kicks upon landing.

"Haven't been doing a good job this far," she murmured, and Coriolanus fought back a biting response.

It was then that Coriolanus saw the truck that awaited the tributes. Less a truck than a cage on wheels. The bed was enclosed by metal bars and topped with a steel roof. Following orders, the tributes presented their cuffs for removal and climbed into the cage.

Coriolanus hung back but then saw Calpurnia watching him from the corner of his eye, and he knew this was the moment of judgment. If he left her to her own devices now, there was a great chance she'd try to run for it and get shot down, losing Coriolanus his prize right off the bat. She seemed to be waiting for him to follow her, anyhow. He took a deep breath and hoisted himself up into the cage behind her.

The door slammed shut behind him, and the truck lurched forward, knocking him off balance. He reflexively grabbed for the bars on his right and wound up with his forehead crammed between them as a couple of the tributes fell into him. He pushed back forcefully and twisted his body around to face his fellow passengers. Everyone had hold of at least one bar now except the girl with the broken tooth, who was clinging to the leg of the boy from her district. As the truck rumbled down a wide avenue, they began to settle in.

Coriolanus knew he had made a mistake. Even in the open air, the stench was overwhelming. The tributes had absorbed the odor of the cattle car and it mixed with an unwashed human smell that made him feel slightly nauseous. Up close, he could see how grubby they were, how bloodshot their eyes, how bruised their limbs. Calpurnia was behind his shoulder, almost as though he were her greatest protector. She seemed to be the only one grateful to have his presence; the rest of them stared at him like a pack of feral animals eyeing a pampered poodle.

At least I'm in better condition than they are, he thought, and he made a fist around the stem of the rose. If they attack, I'll stand a chance. But would he? Against so many?

The truck slowed to let one of the colorful street trolleys, packed with people, cross in front of it. Although he was in the back, Coriolanus hunched down to avoid being noticed.

The trolley passed, the truck began to roll, and he dared to straighten up. They were laughing at him, the tributes, or at least some of them were grinning at his obvious discomfort.

"What's the matter, pretty boy? You in the wrong cage?" said the boy from District 11, who was not laughing at all.

The undisguised hatred rattled Coriolanus, but he tried to look unimpressed. "No, this is exactly the cage I was waiting for."

The boy's hands came up fast, encircling Coriolanus's throat with his long, scarred fingers and slamming him back. His forearms pinned Coriolanus's body against the bars. Overpowered, Coriolanus resorted to the one move that had yet to fail him in schoolyard scuffles, driving his knee up hard into his opponent's crotch. The district boy gasped and doubled over, releasing him.

"He might kill you now." The girl from District 11 coughed in Coriolanus's face. "He killed a Peacekeeper back in Eleven. They never found out who did it."

"Shut it, Dill," the boy growled.

"Who cares now?" said Dill.

"Let's all kill him," the tiny boy said viciously. "Can't do nothing worse to us."

Several other tributes murmured in agreement and took a step in.

Coriolanus went rigid with fear. Kill him? Did they really mean to beat him to death, right here in broad daylight, in the middle of the Capitol? Suddenly, he knew they did. What, after all, did they have to lose? His heart pounded in his chest, and he crouched slightly, fists extended, in anticipation of the imminent attack.

From the corner behind Coriolanus, Calpurnia's low voice broke the tension. "They'll punish your families instead. Kill them if you hurt him."

This seemed to take the wind out of the other tributes' sails. To Coriolanus's surprise, she wriggled through from behind and placed herself between them and him. Suddenly his before assumption—that she wasn't a fighter, or at least had some sort of fight inside her—was wavering. He just couldn't get a grasp on this girl, and it was killing him.

"He's my mentor, anyway," she said. "Be down on my luck if he was killed already."

Already? Coriolanus thought worriedly.

"How come you get a mender?" asked Dill.

"Mentor. You each get one," explained Coriolanus, trying to sound on top of the situation. "An Academy student, like me."

"Where are they, then?" Dill challenged. "Why didn't they come?"

"Too busy stuffing their shoes with gold to make them taller, I'd say," said Calpurnia wittily. The other tributes let her claim settle in their minds for a moment, then exhaled some curious chuckles. Turning from Dill, Calpurnia gave Coriolanus the closest thing to a smile he'd seen from her.

The truck veered onto a narrow side street and bumped down to what appeared to be a dead end. Coriolanus could not quite get his bearings. He tried to remember where the tributes had been held in previous years. Hadn't it been in the stables that housed the Peacekeepers' horses? Yes, he thought he had heard some mention of that. As soon as they arrived, he would find a Peacekeeper and explain things, perhaps ask for a bit of protection given the hostility. After Calpurnia's smile, it might be worthwhile to stay.

They were backing in now to a dimly lit building, maybe a warehouse. Coriolanus inhaled a musky mix of rotten fish and old hay. Confused, he tried to get a better fix on his surroundings, and his eyes strained to make out two metal doors swinging open. A Peacekeeper opened the back door to the truck, and before anyone could climb out, the cage tipped and dumped them onto a slab of cold, damp cement. Not a slab, actually more like a chute, for it was tilted at such an extreme angle that Coriolanus began to slide immediately, along with the rest. He dropped the rose as his hands and feet scrabbled for purchase but found none. They all traveled a good twenty feet before they landed in a jumbled heap on a gritty floor. Sunlight glared down on Coriolanus as he scrambled to untangle his body from the pack. He staggered out a few yards, righted himself, and froze in horror.

This was not the stables. While he had not visited in many years, he remembered it clearly now. The stretch of sand. The artificial rock formations twisting high in the air. The row of metal bars engraved to look like vines curved in a wide arc to protect the audience. Between the sets of bars, the faces of Capitol children gawked at him.

He was in the monkey house at the zoo.

Via Speaks :P

Every morning that I wake up and have to write this jerk's perspective is a day off my life