𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲, silent but deadly
✄ .・。.・゜✭・.
if you're lost out where the
lights are blinding, caught and
all the stars are hiding
━━━
██ 005. / SILENT BUT DEADLY
█ ✄ ... / THE QUIET PATTER of Paisley's heart felt like a hammer, reverberating through her body with every violent beat. No other sound filled up their journey, and the quiet came with a certain dizziness to it, her fingertips tingling as the blood rushed to her skull. The pulsations pounded in her ears like clockwork.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Ba-dum.
Outside, the July sun still burned hazily, yet the way her skin shivered suggested it was barely spring. Something about the atmosphere in the cramped car felt almost... glacial.
If it had been anybody else sat beside her, Paisley's instinct would be to strike up conversation. About anything, really — even something as frivolous as weaving patterns — so long as it would drown out the rhapsody of her own thoughts. It was something of a district-wide habit; the easiest way to fill those dark hours when the doors were locked, and the entire district fell still. Noise wrapped itself around them like a warm blanket. It was how they made each other feel safe.
But she didn't really have that option here.
Sitting beside Dowlas Steed — the only person in Eight who had never followed that rule, she felt completely stumped. It was like following the map to something that didn't actually exist — every attempt she made to read him brought back nothing but blank pages. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to him...
What could she possibly say to the one person who never said anything at all?
Their entire world was spinning off its axis, and yet, in all of the commotion that had followed, Dowlas really hadn't said a word. Not when they had left the Justice Building, or when Aurelia had lectured them clumsily as they climbed into the car. Even now, as their preliminary hearse carted them towards the station, not even a whisper left his lips. He just said nothing — so lifeless and lame that he almost disappeared.
Paisley took in a sharp breath, her restless fingers following the pattern of the seat. This was not the half-quiet that she yearned for when the voices wouldn't sit still. It was more like the agonising, shrill kind that made her ears bleed, the kind that always came with some kind of danger or bad news. She turned, shuffling her body in an attempt to get a subtle look at him. She hadn't meant anything by it — only that the fascination was becoming harder to control. But then she noticed something curious, and her eyes honed in on the fabric of his shirt.
Were the stitches of it... splitting?
Her eyes narrowed, latching onto the seam around his right shoulder. They were splitting, and not just slightly, either. They were bursting at all edges, as though the flimsy material was one harsh strain away from completely falling apart. The shirt had to be two sizes too small for him, at least — it was clear from the physical struggle as it stretched across his skin. And there were holes in it too, glistening with stains from where somebody had tried to fix them with glue. Paisley couldn't help but frown, knowing how easily it could be mended with a needle and thread. Hadn't he been wearing it yesterday too? She really didn't understand...
Why keep wearing something that was practically in shreds?
His body stiffened, and the tiny movement was enough to divert Paisley away from all her burning questions. Even in the silence, it felt like he could somehow hear her thinking.
"I hope you're ready for the cameras, you two", Aurelia called out, "You have about five more seconds to screw up, before everything you do becomes material for good TV!"
Great.
Her voice still sounded like static, but it was the most enthusiasm their escort had exuded all day. It was tantalising. Aurelia's obvious thirst for fame was driving Paisley mad. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting — their endless reel of escorts had been like this for as long as she remembered. But it was so careless. Aurelia was so busy fluttering her own feathers that she had barely given her tributes a second glance. If only Paisley could remind her that the millions watching probably weren't interested in seeing her.
But they didn't have the time to mess around, not when their entire world was apparently shattering in just four seconds.
Three.
The vehicle turned another corner, pulling into the section of Eight where the station rested.
Two.
A chorus of yells rang out in the distance, swallowing the silence Paisley certainly wasn't sad to lose.
One.
A barrage of white light burst in through the windows, smothering them with the blindness of an incandescent haze. Whatever bravery that Paisley had possessed on stage seemed to vanish as quickly as her sight. Within seconds, the stark flashes were streaming through the glass like fire. The passenger side swung open, their escort's heels clattering as she hopped down to the pavement.
If it had been up to Paisley, she would have stayed in the car forever. As painful as their journey was, at least she had felt safe in there, but she knew what would happen as soon as she opened up that door. She could already see their faces gawping at her, and her skin was already itching with the phantom feeling of them clawing at her limbs.
Dowlas didn't even flinch.
When the door beside him opened, he hardly moved a muscle, his expression still as sullen and hardened as stone. Aurelia made a gesture of impatience as he climbed out of the car, his long legs bridging the gap with ease. At least a dozen reporters flocked around him before his boots could even touch the ground. Their beady black lenses were invasive, reflecting the light like pupils piercing through his soul. But Dowlas didn't even squint. Even with the hundreds of lights flashing at him — so glaringly that his skin glowed white — his expression remained unshakeably still. And then it dawned on her.
He was the person that they had come here to see.
Not her, with her predictably weak exterior and her less-than-favourable odds. It didn't matter how hard she tried to look brave or to feel indifferent, she was no better than those who walked here every other year — the pathetic lost cause. No, they had come here to see him. The plot twist. It was almost funny to her, because their situations really couldn't be more different. Dowlas Steed wasn't trying to look like a contender at all, because he didn't have to. He was remarkable enough on his own, because he had done what nobody in Eight had ever done before, and that made him heroic.
But up close, he didn't seem like much of a hero. He didn't seem like much of anything, really — apart from hollow, and peculiar, and aloof. Like a book whose pages had all been torn out. Threadbare.
Beside him, Aurelia flicked her feathered hair across one shoulder, flashing the reporters with her million dollar smile. She had laced their two arms together, tugging him towards her like she was making some kind of claim on his success. Taking credit for the brilliance that he clearly didn't even want. Had she even noticed that Paisley hadn't left the car yet? Or maybe it was just that she simply didn't care.
"Hurry up, Daisy", she beckoned beneath her synthetic smile, "Or don't you want your share of the spotlight?"
Daisy? Seriously?
Paisley fought the urge to roll her eyes, knowing that the visible disdain couldn't do much to help her case. She needed to bring back sunshine Paisley — the version of herself that would never cry or talk back or feel fear. The version of herself that buried all of those emotions away behind a self-deceiving grin.
Irritably, she murmured, "Don't worry, you can keep it."
The reporters somehow felt even closer from the ground level, towering in a way that felt almost supernatural. They started walking, pushing in an attempt to manoeuvre through the crowd, and Paisley could still hardly see a thing.
She stiffened, forcing her teeth into another smile. On the stage, it felt easy — putting on a brave face when it was for the sake of her own people. But it was trickier standing in front of people like this. As much as she didn't want them to see her fear, she didn't want to please them either, and all instinct told her to fight back against this game that they were forcing her to play.
She wondered if all the other tributes from Eight had thought about it like this.
A series of images danced around in Paisley's head — all of those before her, who had died less than a minute after the countdown's end. Most of them never had any advantages, or any useful skills that they could claim. Just like her. Had they tried so desperately to change these people's minds? To give themselves a fighting chance? Or had they chosen a route of indifference too?
At least she knew exactly what Parker would do. She would never willingly play into the Capitol, no matter what it cost her — not even if it left her dead. But Paisley had never quite shared her sister's spite.
It felt like forever by the time they finally made it to the train. An onslaught of opulence washed over Paisley as Aurelia led them through the carriage, her senses tussling with one another until she was forced to hold her breath. How magnificently... gaudy. She felt stupid for having glorified Eight's colours all these years — the muted rainbow of their fabrics had nothing on this display.
Her nose was twitching in a way that suggested she had forgotten what real food smelled like — or, considering the way her mouth salivated, perhaps she hadn't ever known. The table had only been half-filled, but there was already more food than she could possibly fathom, and her stomach practically gargled.
As they passed the table, she couldn't help herself, reaching out for a pastry smothered in powdered sugar, but Aurelia appeared behind her and curtly swatted her fingers away.
"What are you doing?", the escort scolded, "Those aren't for you to eat."
Paisley pouted as she shook the pain out of her hand. "Then what are they for?"
"Decoration", Aurelia sneered as though it was obvious, pushing past the two teenagers with one graceful swoop. Pressing two fingers to her temple, she sighed, "Honestly, do they teach you kids anything? It's like taking care of animals. Here, sit down." She stopped in front of two identical taupe chairs, their structures twisted in a way that was already making Paisley's spine stiff. Obediently, they both sat. "Right, well — dinner is served in a couple of hours. Do whatever you want with yourselves until then, just don't bother me. Your rooms are at the end of that hall."
Before either of them could object, Aurelia had already traipsed herself away, choosing a seat at the opposite end of the narrow carriage. Letting out a spiritless yawn, she pulled out a compact and meddled with her lashes.
Paisley sighed. They were moving now — quickly. It wouldn't be long before they passed the district's borders. By the time her attention turned towards the window, the dismal images of Eight were already long behind them. They had faded, the dull and pallid picture dissolving into flimsy streaks of smoke; and then suddenly, it was gone, like it was nothing but a bad dream. Perhaps that was all it ever was.
She pressed her nose against the glass, watching as her breath fogged into a cloud around her lips. With their protrusive towers no longer dominating the skyline, it felt like she was seeing the world for the very first time again. The sky was cerulean, encrusted with glimmering streaks of gold, and the clouds weren't made of soot. They were delicate and white, like handfuls of cotton wool, and they ever so slowly drifted. As the train bulleted across the tracks, everything had woven into one blur of colour. Forestry danced in flaming flocks of green, and the leaves weren't permanently shrivelled by years of pollution.
It was so... strange...
Could she have even imagined it before?
The train pulled into a tunnel, supplanting the scenery with a sea of black. In the darkness, the only source of light came from inside the compartment — the flickering dimness of a hanging chandelier. It was dangling right above their heads, rocking along as they tottered from side to side. Nothing quite as magical as the setting sky, but it did bathe the boy beside her in a subtle yellow glow, the sight pulling the thoughts right back in.
A niggling sense of guilt had been following her since they left the Justice Building, and she couldn't stop thinking about all of the people she was forced to leave behind. She wasn't trying to — she knew it wouldn't do her any good — but she couldn't help it. What if they needed her? Would they survive when the inevitable happened, and they realised she wasn't coming back?
There was this painful powerlessness to it all — the aching feeling of surrendering all control. She hated it. It wasn't fair. She hadn't chosen to be here, and she couldn't fathom why anybody ever would...
The words slipped out before Paisley felt them leave her mouth.
"So... why did you do it?"
She froze immediately, unsure what had compelled her to be so thoughtlessly obtuse. Eyes widening disdainfully, Paisley clasped a hand over her lips. If her mother was here right now, she would scold her for being so impolite. Dowlas slumped further into his seat, arms folded into a firm knot across his chest, but he kept his eyes fixed straight.
"I'm sorry", she murmured, shaking her throbbing head, "That was a totally invasive question. It's just... Since it seems like we're in this thing together, I figured we should probably get to know each other..." She paused, lingering on her final breath, and then offered him her hand. "I'm Paisley. Your name is Dowlas, right?"
Once again, he stayed silent. Not a single word, not even now.
Nothing.
Dropping her hand back into her lap, Paisley's teeth gnawed anxiously on her bottom lip. He clearly didn't want to talk, and she couldn't exactly be surprised by that behaviour. After all, for all that she knew about him, he never really had. But she had to try — didn't she? Even if the conversation was entirely one-sided. She remembered what Meryl had said yesterday, that maybe all he needed was a friend. She couldn't punish him for being alone.
"What you did back there, volunteering for Calico like that", she babbled on, "Well, it took a lot of guts."
He blinked at her — the first interaction he'd managed since they'd left the Square — and let out a toneless grunt. Wordless still, but at least it was a start.
She took it as her sign to go on. "I know the Shaws, and they're really great people. I'm sure they'll be thanking you for the rest of their lives..."
As she spoke, Paisley noticed how the sound of her voice echoed, vibrating along with the plangent humming of the train. Something about the mechanisms of the steel box felt increasingly daunting, an exposing nature that made her words feel naked. Nothing that she said got lost here. Each syllable travelled through the entire room, and it was frightening to speak without the protection of her machines.
"You must seriously be like the bravest person I know—"
The ground beneath them jerked, followed by the shrill sound of wheels slipping around a bend. A flicker of emotion flashed across Dowlas's face, flinching as though he was recoiling at her words. And then turned, his gaze serrated, and looked over her.
"You don't know anything about me."
And there it was — his voice. The same hoarse, expressionless tone he'd used to say his name. Hearing it so brazenly now, it almost felt alarming. But once again, it was his eyes that Paisley found the most intrusive. He lingered for a moment, staring at her as though to make sure he had gotten his point across, and Paisley shivered, feeling a pang of discomfort crawling up her chest. Of course she didn't know him. She felt stupid for even insinuating that she did. It wasn't like they were friends. From this look alone, it was clear to her that they never would be. Dowlas Steed was assembling a wall between them that he intended to keep.
It was no wonder he made people so afraid.
Before she could open her mouth to protest, Dowlas had risen out of his seat, disappearing behind the seal of the automated door. A feeble squeak escaped from Paisley as soon as it shut.
So much for talking.
The sound of a snicker echoed from the opposite end of the carriage. Aurelia shook her head, refusing to lift her gaze as she tinkered with her cat-like nails.
"Good job", she snarked, "Remind me to come to you the next time I need help making friends."
Paisley's back stiffened. "I didn't mean to upset him", she said defensively, "I was only trying to make conversation..."
"Well, you could have been a little more tactful about it, don't you think? Talking as if you know that poor boy and his pain."
For a second, a wave of regret crawled through Paisley, and she thought the escort must have been right to scold her. But then she felt conflicted. His pain? From what she had seen, Aurelia was an idiot — what did she know about Dowlas either? She only cared about him because he looked like the ticket to her success.
"I wasn't trying to suggest that I know him", Paisley mumbled. Her fingers moved anxiously to the fabric deer inside her pocket, "Nobody does."
"Hmm", the escort hummed.
"I just thought he should know what his actions probably meant to the Shaws. That's all. But it doesn't matter. They probably told him that themselves after the Reaping, anyway."
Paisley skirted her attention back towards the window. They had long since left the tunnel now, and the pictorial blurs of colour had returned. Twinkling light refracted from the water like crystals.
"No, they didn't."
"...Excuse me?"
Her head turned steadily, and her bright eyes narrowed. Aurelia's words were so unfeeling that Paisley almost hadn't heard them. What was it that she was trying to say? That the Shaws didn't...
"They didn't tell him anything. They never showed up."
Her heart sank, "What are you talking about? Of course they did. They wouldn't just— You probably just missed them or something."
"Right", Aurelia shook her head, giving Paisley a look that made her stomach churn. "Why do you think he got so touchy when you brought it up? It's because he spent the entire half-hour that people were visiting you, sitting patiently... alone. He didn't have a heap of visitors like you, Daisy. He had no one."
As much as Paisley hated to admit it, everything that Aurelia said made sense. She could hardly be surprised that nobody visited him — he was infamously a ghost, after all — but some part of her had avoided the thought entirely. All of those people that had visited her... She hadn't even considered what Dowlas was doing in all that time.
She suddenly felt a little sick.
Aurelia rose up from her chair, "I'm going to fix my hair. Try to make yourself useful before your mentors appear, would you? A shower might be a good idea — your skin is filthy."
By the time Paisley's mind had registered her insult, the escort was already long gone. She stretched her two arms outward, inspecting the smudges of ink that still defiled her skin. Her hurried wash before the Reaping had hardly made a dent. Both her arms were still smothered with the stuff. The water had made most of the words blur together, but she could still make them out — just barely. Her thumb grazed over the faint image on her left wrist. This one wasn't like the others. It was fresh and new, having only been there for the past day.
She sighed, leaning her head back against the window. How could she even think properly about any of it? With Dowlas's comment and her disappointment in the Shaws, everything just felt so overwhelming. And she was still so exhausted, she had hardly slept a wink last night. Slowly, as the train's movement rocked her mind into paralysis, she closed her eyes.
Yesterday felt like a lifetime ago by now.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
Another hour passed before Paisley's eyes fluttered open.
It wasn't until she heard voices that she realised she had ignored Aurelia's instructions, and somehow drifted off to sleep. The light from the window had faded, welcoming the evening through with the faintest trace of twilight. Above her, the rotten chandelier still flickered.
"You're getting your hopes up, Lang", a deep voice chided from the end of the long compartment, "Just like you do every year. I don't know why you keep doing it to yourself..."
Paisley recognised it instantly.
"You grow to care for them, like they're your own kids, and then when they don't make it, you make yourself ill. I keep thinking it's because you're still new to this, that maybe you'll grow out of it. But I'm worried about you."
It was so distinctive, though... Almost anybody would.
There was a mature quality to it, a familiar undertone that was both rough and assertive. And a strain, too — as though many years of pain had made it withered. It was impossible to tell if it was his madness, or if the poor man's tone simply carried with it the weight of exhaustion. But it wasn't difficult to discern who the voice belonged to. Anybody could have recognised that Woof Rawling had just walked into the carriage.
"Don't patronise me, Woof", a second voice groaned at him. This one was lighter and wispy, like the curved edges of a feather. "I can't believe we've been discussing this for over an hour, and you still can't show an ounce of faith in the matter. It's like you refuse to see reason!"
It must have been Emmeline Lang, the only other victor that their district had ever claimed.
"I refuse to engage in your unhealthy attachment style."
The voices were steadily getting closer, stirring Paisley into action. Propping herself upright, she attempted to scan the room, her nerves twisting when she realised that the seat beside her was still bare. It must have been nearing time for dinner by now, and Dowlas hadn't bothered to come back.
"Oh, save it. You get plenty attached to them, Rawling — you just manage it better than I do. All of that therapy you do, and the deep breaths."
"I do also have plenty of practice."
At that, his fellow victor scoffed. Paisley could see them clearly now. Aurelia clattered along in her heels behind them, still finding more interest in her manicure than anything else. They clearly hadn't noticed anybody else was in the room, or else they surely wouldn't be arguing about things so plainly. Paisley was tempted to chime in, just to alert them of her presence. But who was she to judge? She probably wouldn't want to care too deeply either, if she'd witnessed that many children face ruthless deaths. She admired Emmeline's empathic nature, but perhaps she was being a little naive.
"I'm just saying we could have a different case on our hands this year. I mean, a volunteer? How do we navigat— Oh."
The two victors stopped still in front of her.
"I'm sorry", Emmeline spoke. She was a much younger woman, with gentle features that were framed by jet black hair. "It was so quiet in here, we just assumed nobody had come in yet."
"Yeah... I guess I fell asleep", Paisley managed with a weak smile, rubbing her eyes on the cusp of her sleeve. She had the same crick in her neck that she'd felt in those nights where she accidentally slept at the sewing machine. "Long day."
"Huh. We usually have trouble with kids that can't sleep, so full points for originality", Woof shrugged, sitting himself in the chair that faced her. He attempted to stretch out a hand, and his body started to twitch, almost as if he was having some sort of spasm. He didn't freak out, though. He only cracked the side of his neck, taking in a elongated breath, and then smiled back at her. "Paisley, isn't it? Woof Rawling."
"Yeah, I know", she spoke bluntly, before adding with jest, "I've seen you around."
He chuckled, but her words weren't just a silly quip. She had seen Woof around their district plenty of times, and several of her neighbours had met him before as well. He was known for being active in their community, always helping at the Hive or showing up to group activities. Even as notorious as he was, with the crown that he carried alongside an incurable illness, Woof Rawling had never been the victor who hid. He was quite the local sweetheart.
"Well, it's nice to meet you."
Paisley lifted her gaze up to study him. Most people in Eight found him worthy of swooning, but she had never understood the attraction. Sure, there was a handsomeness to his appearance, if she was to think about it objectively. Early forties, thick brown curls, spotted blue-green eyes. But he wasn't what he used to be. He was much more frail now, and his once bright skin was gaunt and sallow. The veins in his arms had darkened, pulsating to the point that they almost looked black. He was only an echo of the man that he had once been, struggling beneath the remnants of the twenty-year-old poison as it slowly chipped away.
Mostly, he just reminded her of her father. Somebody that she could tell had been considered handsome once, but now, just looked tortured from the inside out.
There was an unsettling vacancy as he looked back at her — a mixture of fleeting lucidity and deep-seated confusion. It was surely a sign that he was studying her, as well. Weighing out her odds from his first impression. But he was struggling to focus, and his hands kept twitching.
"And you must be Emmeline, right? Emmeline Lang?", Paisley turned to the other victor in an attempt to break the silence.
But for everything that Paisley knew about Woof Rawling, with Emmeline Lang, she knew comparably little. Emmeline had won the games ten years ago, during a time when the Fawns were too occupied by their own tragedy to really pay attention. She knew that Emmeline had won — she was old enough to remember all of the shock and the celebration. But some part of her had erased that summer from her mind and blocked the other memories out.
All she did know was what was common knowledge. Things that she picked up from the whisperings between the factory walls.
It was no wonder that the two mentors had their clashes. Woof had grown up a factory slave like everybody else, as poor as Paisley's own family and decently strong from all the labour. He had won the games in a time before career packs, when people were not trained and the odds were stacked more fairly. And he was quite formidable, fighting against both competition and the elements with unwavering determination. A local hero, and a Capitol fan favourite.
Emmeline was different. As soft-hearted as she was, she had grown up richer — one of those rare folk in Eight who lived across the bridge and paid away their levy hours. She had plenty of spirit mixed in with her sweetness, but she was far too sheltered to survive anything, and her win had come as a pleasant surprise. It didn't really make much sense.
As far as Paisley remembered, Emmeline Lang had won from nothing but sheer luck, and somehow lasting until everybody else was dead.
"That's me", the young victor nodded, situating herself in the chair beside Woof. "They'll be serving dinner soon, and that will give Woof and I plenty of time to get to know you both. Speaking of — will Dowlas be along shortly, Aurelia?"
Paisley's stomach dropped.
"Doubt it", her escort called over with an ounce of amusement, "Little Daisy here scared him off."
"I didn't scare him off—", Paisley almost snapped at her, before drawing herself back. "Not intentionally, anyway." She exhaled and turned back to her mentors, who looked painfully confused, "I tried to make conversation, and he wasn't exactly receptive. That's all. But he is Ghost Boy... I should have known better than to probe him."
"Oh, I see!" Emmeline exclaimed, "You two know each other?"
"No, definitely not", Paisley tittered, but her expression straightened when she realised the question had been serious. "I just know of him, like everybody. Don't you?"
It was meant to be rhetorical, but the two victors turned to look at each other, turning back to face her looking slightly puzzled.
Her eyebrows furrowed, "You've never heard the rumours?"
Both victors shook their head, and Paisley found it perplexing. Dowlas was a household face in Eight, even if that infamy came from choosing to stay faceless. Hadn't either of them wondered why his stepping forward had created such a stir? Why people were practically shaking as he passed them by?
"You'll have to forgive us", Woof responded this time, "We're fairly out of the loop these days."
"Right, of course...", her voice trailed off. "Ignore me, it doesn't really matter. I just meant that he's quite the recluse, so I wouldn't expect to get much out of him. I think he prefers to be left alone."
That was an understatement, to say the least.
"Well, he can't stay locked in his room forever", Woof declared, jumping resolutely to his feet. "I'll go and check. Maybe I can talk some sense into him."
Doubtful, but she admired his intent.
As he walked along the carriage, his hands began to twitch again. It was more violent this time, spreading along his arms and further into his upper body. He let out a groan, bringing both hands up to cover his ears just as the door slid open, and then he disappeared behind it before Paisley could see what happened next. Emmeline cleared her throat, crossing one of her legs over the other, but both her and Aurelia seemed otherwise unaffected.
Paisley wriggled around uncomfortably, "...Is he okay?"
"He's... as well as he can be", Emmeline said with a pitiful smile, "His brain is fighting itself, so he's always a little skittish. But his annual treatment is due, so he's less in control than he usually is right now."
"Be thankful — last year he was eating crickets", Aurelia added with less compassion than a wooden spoon, "So unsightly."
Emmeline shot Paisley a look, adjusting her body to properly face her, and she was relieved to see distaste for the shallow escort was something that they shared.
"What she means is that the somewhat unnatural behaviour isn't something he can control", she continued through gritted teeth. "The treatments help keep it at bay for a while, but it worsens every year."
It felt slightly invasive to be receiving this much information, but Woof had always been fairly open about his condition. Surely Emmeline wouldn't be telling her any of this if it wasn't something he wanted to disclose.
"And the doctors in the Capitol", Paisley questioned, "They can't do anything else to stop it? Even though— Even though it came from the arena?"
"No... They wo— can't do anything."
She bit her tongue, but Paisley knew exactly what Emmeline had wanted to say. They won't do anything. Even though they put him in an arena full of poisonous mutts to begin with. Even though he was infected with a poison that they had created. They could do more to help him, they just didn't care to try. Perhaps they even left it there on purpose, to torture him.
Paisley nodded, thinking it best not to ask more questions.
But picking up on her persisting concerns, Emmeline rose from her own seat and took the armchair beside hers, instead. The empty one. To Paisley's eyes, the plush fabric still had a Steed shaped hole burned through the middle.
"There's no need to worry", the mentor said, as if she could read her mind. "That's why I'm here to help you. Penny for your thoughts?"
"I totally messed things up with Dowlas, didn't I?", Paisley fretted, "I just speak without thinking sometimes. If only I hadn't opened my big mouth..."
Emmeline placed a soothing hand on Paisley's shoulder, "Woof will get through to him. He's worked with uncooperative kids like this before."
"Like this? I doubt it..."
There was a moment of hesitancy. "Paisley", Emmeline asked cautiously, "What do you know about him — this Dowlas kid?"
His harsh words echoed in her head again.
You don't know anything about me.
"I don't know", Paisley only shrugged. This time, her anxious fingers reached for the hem of her skirt, "Not much."
"Well, you must know something, or you wouldn't be so surprised that we don't know who he is", Emmeline's eyebrow raised inquisitively, "You called him something else before, didn't you? A nickname."
"Ghost Boy..."
"What was that?"
"I called him Ghost Boy", Paisley said louder, drawing in a long, deep breath. "He lives in the orphanage in Horton Heath. No family or friends, as far as anyone can tell, but nobody knows why. He's the district ghost. That's it. That's all I know."
"I see..."
Silence fell over them as Emmeline tried to process the information. Paisley's eyes stayed downward. She had been fiddling too much, and now the bottom of her skirt was fraying.
"Look, Miss Lang—"
"—Emmeline, please. No need to be so formal."
"Emmeline", she corrected. "Like I said, Dowlas is a ghost. Until today, nobody even knew his name. He's... he's a nobody. And if this journey has taught me anything so far, it's that he'd like to keep it that way. Who are we to try and figure him out?"
"Well, I'm his mentor, so that kind of makes it my job", Emmeline noted, "But you... Well, let me just say this. We've seen all kinds of pairings sitting on this train. Some of them choose friendship, and others hardly talk to one another. But in my experience? Your district partner is the only person who truly understands what you're going through right now. You never know, you might have more in common than you think."
Everything that she was saying made total sense, but some part of Paisley still wasn't sure. It wasn't that easy for her to open up to people — not beyond the surface, anyway. Dowlas wasn't the only one with walls up. She'd spent so many years chasing away her own feelings that it was difficult letting people in.
Within seconds, the irony became so glaring that she almost snorted. Perhaps they did have something in common, after all.
The door to the carriage opened again, but it seemed Woof had returned to them empty handed.
"No luck", he confessed, "Not even with the temptation of a meal, so we'd better just crack on. Give him time to sleep on it, I think. He might be more receptive in the morning."
At the mention of a meal, Paisley's stomach let out an unruly sound. She'd been too distracted to notice, but it had been ravenous since she'd almost snagged that pastry. They all settled around the table, with Aurelia at the head and both victors facing Paisley and the empty chair.
Food arrived in batches. Tray after tray of freshly-baked bread and cheeses, pickled fruits and steaming pots of stew. Along the middle of the table, they had set down sauces and jugs of gravy that made the air smell sweet. One by one, the extravagant dishes started pouring through. Aurelia called them courses, but Paisley had never eaten a meal in more than one segment before. Most people in Eight only had access to basic rations — plain foods like oats and beans and raisins. One of the servers came over, filling her glass up with a fizzy liquid that tasted of ginger. When she sipped it, it gave her a funny feeling, as though the bubbles were tickling her tongue. Every dish that she tried created a similar sensation, with so many flavours that her mouth could hardly comprehend them.
She tried a spoonful of something sharp and peppery, and almost immediately, her throat began to burn.
"Oh, here", Emmeline handed her a glass of water, "It helps."
Neither victor thought it wise to discuss strategy without Dowlas present, so they spent most of the meal asking Paisley personal questions. What section of Eight she was from, what her family were like, whether she had any hobbies or skills she thought worthy of sharing. She didn't feel like exposing the details, but she told them the basics — enough for them to know not to expect much from her, anyway. You couldn't get very far in the arena knowing how to sew. Everything she said came through loaded mouthfuls, and Aurelia had to keep reminding her to 'show a touch of class'. But she didn't care. Her mother had taught her plenty about manners, but a Capitol puppet was the last person that she felt deserved them. She just wanted to eat as much of the food as possible, in case it disappeared.
It backfired. By the time the dessert trays circled around, Paisley could hardly stomach another thing. Her insides felt heavy, like for the first time in her life, she actually felt full.
"No, thank you. If I eat anything else, I'll burst", Paisley smiled at the girl carrying one of the ornate trays. "I might just go to my room, if that's okay? It's been a long day and I'm pretty tired..."
"Yeah, sure thing", Woof nodded, "Do you know where it is?"
She nodded, but as soon as she stood up from her seat, she stopped again. Her eyes latched onto the space beside her, where the chair was still empty and the plate hadn't been touched. She couldn't just go to bed with her full stomach and ignore the fact he must be starved...
"Actually...", she questioned, "Do you think I could take some food to Dowlas's room? I know he didn't feel up to dinner, but he's probably famished. I'd hate for him to miss out."
"Food? In bedrooms?", Aurelia jeered, "What is this, a circus?"
Emmeline blinked slowly and sucked on her teeth, but the expression she gave Paisley looked unsure. "I don't know. They are a little funny about these things..."
"—No. Take it to him", Woof interjected, "I'm sure they can make an exception, just this once." He turned to Emmeline, muttering under his breath, "We've got to coax him out, somehow."
It looked like they were about to start squabbling again, and Aurelia had already lost interest, so Paisley seized her opportunity before they changed their minds. She started filling up the plate. Two bread rolls first — one dusted in flour and the other, dark and seedy. Some roast beef next. Several slices of cheese.
Her life had been a plague of dull rations, and she lived in privilege compared to this kid. He never wandered far, so it was unlikely that he'd ever accepted charity, and he clearly never took advantage of the festive meals at events. That just left what? A life stuck in Horton Heath? She'd be surprised if Dowlas had ever eaten anything that wasn't porridge or stale bread. Frantically, she began spooning on a little of whatever she could fit.
She hoped it might show him her remorse. Grovelling and begging with a side of treats.
"Thanks", she said hurriedly and rushed out of the door.
It was only a short distance to their bedrooms, but it felt twice as long with the threat of her overloaded plate capsizing. When she reached the end of the hallway, two steel doors sat opposite each other. One compartment had clearly been entered already, she could tell from the dusty footprints on the the carpet. Carefully, she set the plate down in front of her.
"Come on, Paisley", she whispered to herself in some pathetic attempt to feign bravery, "You can do it."
There was no telling if he'd even answer.
Temptation overtook her, and she pressed her ear against the doorframe. It was definitely his chamber — she could hear the faintest sounds of movement on the other side. But that only made her feel nervier. Who knew how stubborn he was? He could be starving, but that didn't mean he'd accept her apology.
She could just leave it there. He'd have to come out and find it eventually. Wouldn't he?
No, that would be stupid. It would obviously be cold by then. And besides, she could do it. The Fawns had never raised a quitter.
She sighed, tapping the door a few times.
"Dowlas?", her voice called shakily. "Don't worry, you don't have to answer. I just... I thought you might be hungry, so I've left some food outside your door. Call it a peace offering", she lingered for a few more seconds, hoping he might open the door just to ask her to shut up. When there was still no sign of him, she hesitantly threw in, "Goodnight."
Goodnight?
What was she expecting him to call back? Sweet dreams?
But it was too late to take it back now. She stumbled into her own quarters and waited, resting her head against her knees. For several minutes, there was nothing — only the mellow, mindless buzzing of the train. Then finally, she heard something else cut through the silence. Sluggish footsteps, followed closely by a door opening, and then eventually, the subtle sound of a plate clinking, before it closed itself again.
❛ you got a big heart,
the way you see the
world, it got you this far ❜
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
AUTHOR'S NOTE... oh MY god. you know when you've been stuck in writer's block for that much time, that it feels like you're never going to finish a chapter ever again.
i'm so sorry to everybody that's been waiting for this update, i think it's been over a year now? since the last chapter, i have both finished my degree (???) and moved to an entirely new city (???) which is just crazy, and writing it has definitely been... a process. this god damn train journey, for some reason, has just broken me. i couldn't write it to save my life.
but welcome to our lovely mentors! woof was quite challenging to introduce, and i hope you guys like the way i've interpreted his character. katniss describes him in catching fire as confused and senile, but i thought it would be interesting to attribute that to more than just old age. we have cast the young sexy woof as hugh dancy *swoons*. emmeline is still a bit of a mystery atm, but she's going to reveal more as we get to know her better!
to be honest, i'm still not sure i even like this chapter. the perfectionist in me is definitely still tweaking over it. BUT, i think i just need to get it out there or i fear i am never going to move on. bring down perfectionism!! it is an evil evil curse.
i love you all very much, and i am glad to be back!
lots of love, dani x
Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro