"Dahlia Blossom. Don't let the name fool you. She's better known as the Black Dahlia. And she didn't earn that nickname by smiling and looking pretty."
"She sure knows how to perform for the camera."
"Because she knows how to play the game. She alwa...
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Crowds had formed outside the train station by the time Magenta and the tributes arrived. Dahlia assumed that Wyatt's farewell had been emotional as he was even more of a wreck when she saw him again. He didn't fare much better with the horde of people gawking at them. Keeping his head down, he let Magenta push him through the congregation and onto the train. Dahlia, meanwhile, had already begun to play the part of a willing volunteer. Smiling at people and greeting them as if she was thrilled to be going, until she was eventually coerced into the locomotive. Her smile instantly melted away as soon as the doors shut and she pushed past Wyatt to get into the carriage.
The sight inside made her sick. The decadence and luxury of the room had her believing she had wandered into the wrong place. They had food laid out on display, brand new couches that looked soft to touch, glistening silverware as far as the eye could see. It looked so pristine... Too pristine. She didn't want to touch anything in case she broke it. Her family couldn't afford the food in this room, never mind any of the furniture.
Dahlia hadn't realised that she was frozen in the doorway until Magenta squeezed past. "I don't know what you're gaping at. They gave us the absolute bare minimum. I mean, the trains in District One have chandeliers. Chandeliers! And they're the closest to the Capitol. I have to make do with silver lampshades." The man rambled on with his complaints of how the train was not up to standards and was in dire need of refurbishment.
"You should stay in my house." Dahlia comments sarcastically as Magenta perches delicately on the edge of a seat. "You can crash on the sofa or bunk up with me and my two sisters." Magenta gasps in horror, placing a hand to his chest as his mouth drops open. "You'd get used to the snoring."
"I certainly will not be staying with you." Magenta proclaims indignantly, waving the two tributes to sit in front of him.
"Especially not if she's dead." Wyatt mutters glumly, nearly collapsing onto the plush sofa.
"I intend to win." Dahlia declares passionately, knowing that she'll fight as hard as she can to get back to her family. "Dying isn't an option."
"That's the spirit, dearie." Magenta grins, reaching across to pat Dahlia's hand.
Wyatt's eyes narrow at the girl. "That's what everyone thinks, until they realise there's no way any of us can survive this. The Careers will win, like they usually do, and the rest of us will end up dead as soon as the countdown is over."
Dahlia glares right back at her District partner. She doesn't care what he thinks. "With an attitude like that, you're already dead. Hope is the only thing we've got so if you don't mind keeping your predictions to yourself, I'd be very appreciative of the silence."
"Looks like we've got our hands full with these two." A new voice states from behind the tributes, making them shoot up from their seat. Alaric Silvers was in his 50s now, and he had lost all faith in his ability to mentor. This year's tributes were the complete opposite of each other and it was already giving him a headache. He longs to take a leaf out of his friend, Haymitch's, book and head straight for the alcohol. Instead, he plops down on the sofa next to Magenta and makes himself at home. Dahlia and Wyatt remained standing, awkwardly staring at the man who was stretched out and relaxed in front of them. "Are you two gonna stand there all day? Because it is quite unnerving."
