And we run

My oh-so-sexy knees

Coira and Grayling teach us how to wield a sword. I get it after a few tries, but Apollo does it perfectly the first time. When I ask him if he already knew how, he's silent. 

I drop the matter. If Apollo was trained in weapons in the past doesn't matter--it will in the arena, in the inevitable circumstance I have to fight against him, but for now it doesn't. I will have plenty of time to watch my opponents, scanning them for weaknesses. Apollo, like everyone, has his very own Achilles heel, I just haven't found it yet. 

I swipe off a dummy's head, zoning out to the point I'm not even listening to Coira anymore. I only listen when she grabs the hilt of my sword, pulling it out of my hand and replacing it on the wall. 

I'm slightly annoyed, more for the disruption to my zoning-out than the removal of my weapon.

"The train will stop soon," Coira says, no emotion in her voice. The sky outside the windows is painted orange and purple with sunset, and I watch it, just for a moment, wondering if it will look the same inside the Games, or if I will die before ever finding that out. 

Coira tells us to return to our train cars and change into fancy clothes. I'm told there's some nice dress or something in the closet. I'm also told taking a shower would be good, but I don't have the energy and know I'll just spend all my time staring into space anyways. Contemplating life; contemplating the choices I have made. 

The dress in my closet is blue, to represent District Four. Sheer green fabric shows off my oh-so-sexy knees, sparkling in the light. I have to admit it's pretty, but it's also really not my style. 

Looking in the mirror hanging on my wall, I brush out my hair and scrape excess mascara off my eyelids. I look fine--might even say pretty. That's good. I want to look pretty when I'm presented to a public audience. I want them to like me so they'll send me food in the arena and I can survive. 

The train slows. An Avox knocks on my door. I yell at her to come in and she does, then points out to the hallway. I assume this means the train is stopped and I have to get off now. 

I follow her out. She stands next to the door where I entered the train, her arms stretched towards the exit, a smile painted across her face. Without a tongue, she looks unnatural. With no context I don't think I could tell what was wrong, just a lingering feeling. It creeps me out. 

Outside, crowds cheer too loud for my ears, sensitized by the silence of my car on the train. Ahead of me Apollo basks in the fame. He's got his full smile out, and is waving to cameras, blowing kisses. 

"I'm back, Capitol!" he shouts condescendingly, and the crowd goes wild. 

I decide how to play this. I'll act all prim and pretty; the unfortunate daughter of a previous victor. Once the games start, I'll disappear, hide up in a tree or cave somewhere until everyone else is dead. I won't kill anyone, but maybe I'll have a chance of survival. 

I won't make any alliances. I can't trust people; in the games they are all guilty and murderous, no matter what type of person they are. We are all here to win, and to win you must kill. 

Unless. Unless that's wrong. I hope it's wrong, I really do.

I put on a pretty face, and blow a kiss to the crowd. The response is cheers, which is good. They're not as loud as Apollo's, which isn't good. 

I walk down the steps. People, Capitol people, are restrained by a simple fence barrier. Peacekeepers stand every ten feet, waiting for someone to move past the fence; waiting for someone to prosecute, though because they're Capitol, it's not like they'd get much more than a slap on the back of the hand, anyway. 

Apollo is high-fiving people ahead of me, so I decide it's allowed and a good idea to interact with the people, too. 

They don't even look like people, though. I smile at one girl, grasp her hand, and she collapses into her friend's arms. Her skin is a pink so bright she looks almost sunburnt, yet she makes it look good with choppy brown hair cut short and natural green eyes. The natural part of her doesn't outweigh the unnatural, which is something you really don't see often in Capitol people. 

A car is waiting for us at the end of the of the line. Ten feet away from it, someone leaps out of the crowd towards me. She is Capitol, swirling orange tattoos painted across her face and hair to match. She locks onto my arm and begins to pull me towards the crowd. 

Peacekeepers surge towards me--first one, then two, then all of them. Apollo is already in the car; I don't think he even knows what's going on. 

They drag the girl off of me. She is knocked to her knees, a gun held to her head. 

I try to yell to the peacekeepers that she doesn't need to die; that I don't want her to. They can't hear me. I can't even hear myself. 

But they don't kill her, of course they don't, because she is Capitol, and why would they? The peacekeepers drag her away, gun still pointed to her head, into another truck where she will most likely be detained, probably just overnight. The girl stares at me, smile bloodied. 

I look away, breathing hard. Two peacekeepers grab me by the elbows and take me to the car, gently at first, harder when I try to stay. Eventually I am inside, and they are gone. 

I shake in the entryway. A peacekeeper is yelling something, and fires a shot into the air, as a warning I doubt anyone would like to heed. The car doors slam shut, and I am encased in a metal box with four other people I don't like. 

There are no windows in the car. Apollo doesn't know what happened. He hammers me with questions--Why was I late? Why did peacekeepers drag me in, did I tell them I can walk just fine?

I collapse onto a seat. "I don't want to talk about it," I say, and the words reverberate throughout the small room, a sort of finality about them. Apollo gives up. 

I sit on one side of the car, processing. Everyone else is on the other. Coira moves towards me, her expression concerned. 

"You're going to have to talk about it in the interviews," she says. Her voice is quiet enough the others can't hear, and I'm thankful for it. 

"I know," I say. My voice is strained. 

"They wouldn't have killed her whatever she'd done, Daphne, don't worry about that. The peacekeepers don't kill their own type of citizens. She'll get a warning, and she'll be fine. Just be careful what you talk about in interviews--they won't be happy with you if you try to make it anyone in the Capitol's fault. Say you got too close, and they'll be forgiving. They will also ask you about your reaction to the fanfare, so prepare that. There will have been cameras, and they will have recorded you--so don't lie."

I nod, already exhausted. 

Coira glances over to the other side. Prometheus and Apollo are staring, quite conspicuously. At least Apollo tries to look away. Prometheus just smiles.

"We'll talk more later," she says, and I assume this 'later' will be during training. It's an abrupt end to the conversation, and Coira walks away, hand on the wall to stabilize herself. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, wishing I could just fall asleep now and wake up home. 

I want this all to be over--one way or another.