come away to the slaughter → for shanwens (1/2)

[minseokness]

Title: come away to the slaughter
Recipient: shanwens
Pairing(s): minseok-centric, krystal/sehun, implied baekhyun/girl!jongdae (jungda)
Rating: pg13
Warnings: not (yet) beta'd, major spoilers for the hunger games trilogy, distortion of age, genderbending, violence, drugs, suicide mentions, prostitution mentions, major character death
Word count: ~10000
Summary: he doesn't want to be associated in this demented wave of energy. kim minseok does not want to be a tribute - while that is all kim jungda dreams of.


they’re called to the dining hall - dank and crowded - and minseok shifts uneasily.

“tomorrow,” the voice seems to boom inside the room, and minseok swallows when the others roar and cheer, smiles lighting up in their faces. he feels sick, feels like throwing up, feels like running away from this cramped space - but he politely claps, always so proper and mature for his age, forced by everyone to. “tomorrow - as you’ve all known, as you’ve all waited for - you will get to prove your worth. tomorrow is a chance to prove yourself right, that you are strong, that you will prevail.”

whistles and shouts. minseok. minseok not doing that.

“you have been trained for this. you’ve chosen this path, and that path you will choose. it’s time that we, as a district, prove that we are strong. that we are not as weak as the other districts.”

minseok looks at the ground as the people scream - of course, of course - as the people punch the air with their fists, as the older ones supervising them seem to crack away from their demeanor in this demented wave of energy. he doesn’t want to be associated with this. he - he didn’t choose this.

i would never, minseok thinks as he scuffs his worn shoe distractedly, anything to not make him fall in this type of celebration that he doesn’t understand, never choose this -

a clap to silence them, and eyes all looking up - even his own.

a chuckle.

his father looking at him, at them all, as their mayor, with a morbid sense of fondness - as if he’s comforted by the thought that there’s a chance that they would die, would be killed, just like that. but that’s maybe just what minseok’s mind hopefully saying. maybe he just wants to get rid of minseok. maybe, a useless child he is.

he feels an itch to reach for their personal weapons in their drawer, his personal knife in the drawer, a neat and shallow minseok carved on the surface, to defend himself. from what, he doesn’t know.

another clap, a smile.

“tomorrow, my children, is the hunger games!”

the room is quiet when minseok wakes up.

it couldn’t be more than six a.m. the sun isn’t peeking out of the unclosed blinds, and he can still hear junmyeon’s soft snores from the surprisingly thin walls separating their rooms. his fingers come up to his eyes, trying to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes - but minseok yawns and instead settles for being drowsy instead. it’s better. it’s better not having a clear mind.

the sweaty shirt he’s wearing clings onto his back.

the hunger games -

it’s uncomfortable.

thoughts buzz around his head, so, so many of them, and then his mind starts supplying him with the images he wishes to forget imagining - his father with his insides strewn out, an image of a twelve year old jongin shown on television bloodied and battered and not breathing -

he’s safe. we’re safe. he’s still eleven. father’s not a criminal, only the mayor, junmyeon’s not going to die. they’re safe. they’re safe. i’m safe.

minseok’s drumming heartbeat starts to slow down - even though he’s already poised to reach the knife that he smuggled out the facility yesterday, guiltily under the words of the mayor’s permission.

his eyes are awake now.

he hates this feeling.

it’s still half an hour before junmyeon usually wakes up. it’s still an hour until jongin stirs and asks for breakfast, still hours before the reaping starts and hours before they celebrate. he tries to think about that, but no - once these thoughts starts sprouting, it will not continue to stop - even though those words might help minseok to calm down, it’s going to kick in again.

it’s the familiar grunt that wakes minseok up from his doze, and he blinks once when the door creaks.

junmyeon is there with his sleepwear, eyes still drooping, but posture steady. that’s - that’s unexpected, minseok slowly blinks, again. he’s usually pretty - time coordinated.

he’s quiet, eyes staring at the ground, but minseok, instead, stares at him.

“what?”

junmyeon chews on the inside walls of his cheeks, flitting his eyes to minseok. “you know what i’m here for,” his chapped lips move, even though he seems unsure and in disagreement with the words he’s speaking. of course he is. he’s junmyeon, he always sees the flaws in the system, but he will ignore those to survive. “don’t sprout those things about us being used when we head to dad’s meeting for the reaping. not one. especially not around jongin -”

minseok feels incredulous. “he’s eleven. i already knew about the capitol treating us like garbage since i was nine -”

his older brother waves his hand dismissively, fully awake now by minseok’s rebuttal. “he’s doted by dad, but you’re still his favorite brother. i’m no one’s favorite, everyone knows this, minseok. not everyone is you, don’t make this thing about you -”

and he stops, stops before they get into another argument.

junmyeon inhales, slowly, as if he’s pushing down his emotions deep down inside of him.

“just - act like i would do. keep my mouth shut. agree on things you know isn’t right. do those things for your own sake. it’s for the best. mom would agree. mom would agree with the words i’m speaking right now if she was here.”

minseok stares at him, at his twitching hands.

the air is still thick and tense when junmyeon finally takes the silence as his cue to leave - like always, like they have always been since the start, since minseok realizes that no, he doesn’t want to be a pig for slaughter, and no, he’s never going to be mayor and lead his citizens to death. that he’s never going to shut up about the capitol’s cruelty, and that he knows the hunger games is just a tool to remind them that they’re weak.

the districts - they’re all so, so weak.

even in district two, who’s always so favorable to the capitol, with all the weapons they produce from the insides of the mountains.

minseok wants to bite back a laugh.

the world is, as always, strange and cruel.

“you going to volunteer?”

kyunghee sits beside her, still all wide eyes, but her hair in a pretty up-do rather than her usual ponytail. the others are chattering and they’re all in their reaping dress, sent from home - though jungda’s own is still in the back of her shared closet with five other girls, shucked off in exchange for another prettier dress that one of the peacekeeper gave her. she doesn’t understand, she only threatened him for amusement - but a deal’s a deal.

she fakes a look of hurt. “i’m offended,” she scowls at kyunghee, who looks away to their grimy windows - and jungda really doesn’t understand why she’s so upset about her being in the hunger games. “you know me, kyunghee.”

after all, that’s why they’re all here, right?

to be honest, no one can blame minseok for being unnerved by cramped places.

it reminds him of home, of the training facility (that should’ve probably been illegal, but of course, they’re the capitol’s favorites), and of his father closing on him.

the collar is fastened too tight on his neck, but junmyeon insisted. always so prim and proper.

“there will no sorts of protesting in the justice building,” the mayor, his father, had said in their family meeting, that’s more like of a meeting to make sure that district two’s reputation will not be smeared by some idiots in his family that oppose the capitol. idiots like minseok. “everything will go on smoothly, and that’s a fact.”

not so smooth if there’ll be a rabid amount of people volunteering, minseok thinks.

he almost doesn’t notice that he’s already pushed to the line. “hand,” the peacekeeper intones, her gloved hand reached towards his own, and he halfheartedly pushes it to her grasp.

the pain prickles as the blood is drawn out to keep tab of his existence, but he’s used to it.

as his legs take him to the area of the other eighteen year olds, he surveys the crowd outside the boundary of the ropes for his brothers.

thankfully, jongin is still eleven - there’s still another year for him to be safe from the capitol’s clutches. junmyeon has passed the age required for them to enter the games. he has volunteered - multiple times, actually - but he’s always late, always the second, because someone always takes the opportunity first.

of course the mayor isn’t impressed by him. because he didn’t get the ticket that could’ve been the gateway to his death.

he sees jongin being carried by junmyeon to see the crowd, eyes sleepy and lips in a small pout, and minseok - minseok doesn’t want to imagine if it changes. he doesn’t want it to, even in this area. in these times. even when their father is going to force jongin to go to the training facility here, to learn how to kill and how to win the hunger games, following his brothers’ footsteps.

minseok knows that he’s being naïve, but - he can hope, he guesses.

he sees the latest victor in their district, cha hakyeon, talking about something with their escort for this year - the same person for the year that he won the games, with his agility and the arrows he shot straight to people’s deaths. baekhyun, minseok thinks, is the escort’s name.

he notices, as always, that everything about the capitol is so - so strange. his eyes surveys the camera crew that’s situated everywhere, bright and saturated colors contrasting the bleakness of the dresses and suits worn by the potential tributes themselves.

strange, with its weird hairstyles and the weird suits they wear - even though baekhyun seems normal in comparison to the footages of the capitol broadcasted each year, with his maroon suit and tacky wine red-dyed hair.

three taps on the microphone and every eye bolted to the mayor.

the show stealer, as always.

(“why aren’t you like your father?” everyone complains at him. everyone nags and hisses at minseok, curses and scowls like it’s his fault for not wanting to see people getting killed. “why aren’t you like your brothers? why can’t you steal the crowd’s attention just like they do? do you want to die, minseok? do you really want to die for being so silent and so shy and just so unmemorable?”)

his father then reads and reads and reads, tone somehow still not bored.

minseok tunes it out, because he’ll just start repeating it again on his head. he’s heard it over and over again on the days where he couldn’t sleep - lots of nights with him staring at the ceiling, pondering over what’s good and what’s bad - and it ended up to be stuck in his head like a broken tape. always replaying, never ending: the history of panem, the treaty of treason -all in his head and never coming out.

the mayor stops at the end of the document, face still pleasant and unfazed. “and now, i welcome,” he says, smiling slightly. “the district’s latest victor, cha hakyeon!”

there are loud whoops and cheers and minseok feels nauseous.

cha hakyeon steps on the podium, all cheerful smiles and nods, but he can sense an aura of unease surrounding him - as if he wants to get out of the spotlight as quick as possible and just settle on the sides of the stage, just to get this over with. it would be a bit contrasting for his image that he used in the year of his games, minseok thinks - all cocky confidence and sly smiles and fake alliances formed. but maybe that’s just his mind playing tricks on him again.

because the cameras are trained on him, broadcasted to the whole of panem, and maybe that’s a reason. no one wants to look like a threat to the capitol.

the escort gets introduced after that, byun baekhyun spilling out of the mayor’s mouth.

he steps forward to the podium, pose confident. of course he is - he’s a citizen of the capitol. “we hope for this year’s hunger games to be another exciting year,” the escort nods with his words, and minseok wants to scoff - but he never does.

(prim and proper, prim and proper.)

exciting, equalized to gory deaths.

byun baekhyun doesn’t waste time to pick the tributes, plunging his hand to the bowl containing the names for the girls first. there’s no searching, there’s no baiting and winks to the crowd (minseok remembers that district one has an escort like that, taunting and making the crowd restless, and he remembers the feeling of bile rising up his throat while he was watching that particular broadcast).

the escort’s fingers catch a paper, and he picks it up - still sealed and perfect, the name of someone unfortunate written on it.

minseok wants to shut his eyes, because he knows what will happen.

when the name kim taeyeon is spilled out of byun baekhyun’s mouth, when he sees the mentioned girl freeze up and blink her eyes, almost dozens of arms are raised up -

(the screams: i volunteer! i volunteer as tribute! i volunteer as tribute please please please please please pick me please! i can kill everyone without no remorse i can kill them in an instant please pick me! i volunteer please! please! i can bring victory to district two i promise i promise please just let me join please please please!)

- and, as always, a peacekeeper reaches for one, apparently the first one to volunteer, with those loud words bouncing over and over again inside minseok’s head.

when the girl is pulled out from the crowd (accompanied deafening screams and frustrated yelling in response) - almost immediately, minseok’s heart fastens its pace, queasiness setting in his stomach. there’s that urge again - the urge to protect himself, the urge to search for a weapon to slash something - coming coming closing to him trapping himself in its vices.

because it’s her.

the training facility’s most smartest and skilled student, always so lithe and clever with her tricks and her ability to stay guarded. rumors are widespread in the building about her, something about her poisoning her rival student, something about making the peacekeepers sway with her orders - all with innocent looks and seemingly guiltless hands.

“kim jungda,” she curtly answers byun baekhyun’s who are you, a smile curling up in her face - and now, minseok finally sees what they mean by cunning and dangerous.

because the end of her lips curl up like a chesire cat - a character from one of the books that his father kept hidden in his work room, the one that he got from bribing so many capitol officials. the book that he kept, even though it might end in his death and the end of his time as a mayor - because it’s a work of literature from centuries ago, and no one is allowed to have them.

“let us all give a round of applause to kim jungda,” byun baekhyun says, slightly clapping on his own, and the rest of the crowd screams and yells in excitement (the envy simmers down quickly here), skin becoming redder by how much they’re clapping - and somehow, even here, minseok can feel her aura of giddiness.

giddiness.

byun baekhyun moves to the next bowl, and minseok gulps. he always does - in excitement (though rarely), in agreement, in disgust, in fear.

there’s silence, anticipation.

the escort opening the paper with a slight rustle.

“…kim minseok.”

jungda wants to laugh.

he blinks - once, twice, thrice.

his blood seems to pound in his ears - the silence intensifies it - and he knows the reason for that silence, he knows exactly why.

it’s because the name is familiar to everyone - kim minseok, one the mayor’s son, the mayor’s most useless son, the mayor’s son who’s a rebel, of course he’s useless, the one who never smiles - and no one volunteers, only stares at him, who’s frozen, who is not happy for being picked. kim minseok, who no one volunteers for - no one raising their hands, no one shouting the words to be picked.

the worst part is that he knows why, even though he’s not supposed to.

tentative steps, looking at the ground. he fastens up his face then, almost running to the podium - and he sees his father’s face, impassive. as expected. as he always expected.

minseok stands beside kim jungda and sneaks a look - even though his heart is hammering and he feels the urge to flee, to run away, to scream and curse at his father for telling everyone to stay put if his useless son’s name is called out - but he only sees a smile that has been on kim jungda’s face since she announced her name, only sees someone that’s almost as short as him.

he somehow feels cha hakyeon’s gaze on him.

“these are district two’s tributes,” the mayor announces, surprisingly quick to conclude, but he doesn’t look at them both - only to the crowd. his focus is always to the crowd. “may this year’s hunger games remind us again that we should be thankful at the capitol, that we are blessed to have the capitol with us.”

byun baekhyun only repeats the mayor’s words with a slightly different wording, and the tributes are instructed to shake hands.

what’s the use of shaking the hands of someone that will kill you, minseok thinks through the blur that is his head, even though his hands are trembling slightly, shaken up - but their hands meet and his skin jumps at its contact with jungda’s own, cold like frost and tight like binds.

his eyes finally meet hers.

there’s nothing.

the reporter fixes her hair, teal and white mixed seamlessly - though not in this dingy place that is district two. everything is so bland. her report is simple, only a few sentences to say, but everything’s so fussy around here, seriously. no machines and avoxes to serve her, no spray that will right up her hair into its perfect locks, and she sighs.

the director nears her. “we need you now,” he states to her, tone almost too serious to be joking - but then he notices her state, and his face softens up considerably. “well, just give us a heads up when you’re done.”

“it’s okay,” she sighs. her gloved fingers wipes on her lips, the same shade of teal she has in her eyes. “i’m a professional, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

when the camera’s trained on her, she smiles with her canine teeth.

“district two on screen, sunny reporting!” she laughs, but it sounds more like a cackle. “current report of the situation in here, the people of panem: it appears that, sadly, no one is here to visit district two’s most beloved tributes, eighteen year old kim minseok and seventeen year old kim jungda. it’s a shame, don’t you all agree, folks? but no worries - tune in still, everyone, for the capitol’s exclusive scoop of the reaping in district three, after this brief period!”

minseok keeps seeing her smile and it’s so distracting.

even with the hollowness inside his chest.

they’re seated in the train now - district two falling behind them, crawling closer to the capitol by every second. minseok sees the trees being blurred outside the windows by the speed, and it makes him a bit lightheaded.

“so,” their escort says. they four - byun baekhyun, cha hakyeon, kim jungda and him - are seated in those posh couches that he sometimes see being delivered from district one, and it’s a bit quiet. no one’s smiling but jungda, and it’s - a bit strange. “i’m byun baekhyun, your district’s escort. just call me baekhyun.”

the name seems strange on minseok’s tongue. it’s common - so unlikely of the capitol.

“i’m hakyeon,” their mentor introduces himself, and he smiles. away from the cameras that bombarded them all in the train station and the quick ride there, he seems normal, to be honest. “i’m only nineteen this year, so there’s no need to call me with labels. or something.”

minseok grimaces a little when he remembers that hakyeon is fifteen when he won - fifteen when he killed over half the tributes by himself.

“so,” jungda asks, though her playful smile is toned down now, still ever so catlike. “are you going to train us like what they say back in the facility?”

hakyeon and baekhyun’s posture becomes more alert, more serious. maybe they know that she’s being serious about winning the games and not so much about the gifts that will come later, even though it’s masked with a cheeky smile and playful tone.

“well,” hakyeon starts. “for starters, we’re all going to watch the footages of the other tributes once they’re all broadcasted. they told you about this in the facility - about studying who your enemies are, right?”

minseok and jungda both nod, though him a bit apprehensively - it’s supposed to be illegal, but baekhyun, instead, seems to be relieved.

“we’re going to eat first, though!” their escort claps his hands. “i bet you’re all hungry. yeah, don’t worry, the capitol’s food are always a luxury to have. i’d like to remind you to not act like starving savages, though - i’m a bit icked out with that, and i’m sure you both are thought about manners in the facility, right?”

hakyeon laughs, but his laughter seems a bit uncomfortable - but then minseok realizes that it’s joined by jungda’s brilliant and crystal-clear laugh. too clear, in his opinion.

because they are. even though they’re the capitol’s favorites, even though they don’t get rotting food that much - almost everyone is starving, everyone are savages.

minseok remembers. he wants to get out and throw up.

jungda scrutinizes her surrounding carefully.

she’s on the couch, nibbling on some pastry as her appetizer, wanting to examine everything first. the guards, she realizes, are silent. bordering on being frighteningly silent, to be honest. they’re stationed in the corners, eyes staring at nothing, though they fidget at the slightest noise.

hakyeon and baekhyun look close, chuckling and nudging each other as they eat. their escort doesn’t even look like he’s aged past twenty.

like baekhyun said, the food has been brought up first, and no one can deny that it’s delicious. even minseok, her fellow tribute - and she’s sure he has had better food than she has every day - seems to be fascinated with the meal, even though his shoulder is hunched, as if guilty.

minseok looks out of place.

she recalls that sudden urge to laugh at the reaping.

they’ve been briefed, all of them - expect for the mayor’s son himself - that no one should take his place, that no one should volunteer if his name was the one who was called out, or they’d be sentenced treason by the mayor.

it has been there, every year since his sons were in the facility, and she guesses that minseok had the luck this particular day. it’s an honor going to the hunger games to prove your districts’s worth - it’s all in their head, those words, honor - written in their handbook when they first got on the facility, when they left their family to prove their worth.

most of them, except the mayor’s sons. privilege for being powerful, of course.

“jungda?” that’s baekhyun’s seemingly concerned voice, and she extracts her gaze from minseok. she didn’t even notice herself looking at him. “you look lonely, let’s talk?”

she barely realizes that her pastry has been reduced to only crumbs. jungda smiles - and as she expected, in the corner of her eye, she sees minseok staring at him, expression dumbfounded. “of course, “she replies breezily, “for the food.”

she gets out of the couch and sits next to hakyeon, who never fails to smile and be so courteous every time, with him pulling out a chair for her and handing a napkin to her. baekhyun laughs and comments on a plate of something that’s mouthwatering, recommending it to her. while minseok just - just blinks.

even though minseok is right in front of her, she’s never felt so much more distanced from him.

after a few hours of solitude, they’re called into the dining room again.

minseok had difficulty using the shower - the one in his bathroom back at district two was simple, with two taps to decide if you wanted cold or lukewarm water, but this one had about ten - but after a few jabs on the buttons, he finished showering and has stepped out to dress himself, going into the dining room with a simple shirt and trousers that the train provided.

“the broadcasts have been sent,” hakyeon explains as he shuffles the - electronic? - thing, with an ease that amazes minseok.

he has probably been doing this for years, since he was a mere fifteen year old when he won - but minseok never saw something like that. they’re only taught the basics in the facility - no electronics, only basic speeches, only simple what you should and should not do - except for fighting. it’s always advanced and brutal. he has a long scar on the skin of his back, reaching just slightly to the front - an opponent had accidentally given minseok that when he was twelve, inexperienced and scared.

jungda enters the room, door sliding.

“sorry that i’m a bit late,” she apologizes - and to his amazement, flustered, bowing her head a little. hakyeon only waves her over to sit on the couch in front of the television, apparently not minding her tardiness.

but now minseok remembers why jungda’s nervous.

in the facility, every latecomer is subjected to whipping for five minutes straight - it’s habit for her, he guesses, but he’s always punctual, so the thought never really crosses his mind.

(prim and proper, prim and proper.)

jungda sits, cross-legged, and blinks her eyes, posture returning steady.

baekhyun chooses the right time to stumble inside this section of the train, wearing an oddly reflective shirt and too-tight pants that makes minseok cringe (how is his private part breathing, anyway?). “did i miss something?” he chirps, messing up his perfectly brushed hair. the wine red is still tacky.

“nothing at all,” hakyeon answers, and gets up from his position on the floor. “the broadcasts are compiled - we aren’t going to skip district two’s, though.”

minseok swallows. he’ll see himself, being weak - and he doesn’t want anyone to see, especially not himself. it’ll just decrease his confidence - but it’s not as if he had any confidence in the beginning, away.

their escort pulls out a simple notebook and pen that’s so un-capitol-like - so simple, no otherworldly technology or hidden tricks - humming.

“we’re starting from district one,” baekhyun tells as he pops the cap of the pen open with his teeth, words muffled. except for his appearance, he actually seems - god forbid - normal. “i’ve watched glimpses, and it’s not that pretty. just say out loud what you think about them, okay? i’ll record, hakyeon’ll help me.”

the screen flickers awake.

they’re immediately greeted by a hand reaching down to the bowls, perfectly manicured and perfectly cared for. the name for the male victor is called, and surprisingly - no one volunteers, as if it’s a recap from minseok’s situation - but then the tribute walks on stage, his face straight, all tall legs a stick-straight back.

minseok knows - just like that - that the male tribute from district one is not like him at all.

because oh sehun is nothing like minseok, not with his unwavering gaze and a smug aura surrounding him.

“cold,” jungda comments, and baekhyun scribbles on his notebook.

minseok hesitates a bit. “smug,” he mutters, and looks up to the ceiling of the train. he doesn’t like to look at the windows - even if the night has fallen, the rustle of leaves and the silhouette of everything is still lurking beyond the pane, reminding him that they’re on the journey to the capitol. to their possible deaths.

“cold and smug,” hakyeon concludes, but his tone is skeptical. “let’s just hope he has zero skills, so you or the other tributes can take him down quickly.”

get this over with. take down the enemy.

the female tribute’s name is krystal - scratched and beaten up by the ferocious others who volunteered, and minseok realizes what hakyeon meant by not pretty - and unsurprisingly, she has the same description like what oh sehun has. district one is known for their hard-to-break and overconfident tributes, and this year is no exception (“poor jessica, i guess,” baekhyun sighs, and hakyeon mouths mentor, “morphine addiction, and now her younger sister going to the games. well, it’s an honor there, so!”).

the clip fades out - and baekhyun’s slender and too-recognizable fingers come in view.

minseok has the urge to jab the pen his escort is holding into both of his eyes.

the door is opened and junmyeon almost jumps from his seat.

nerves, he thinks miserably.

it’s - “jongin? why are you still awake?” - his little brother with his pajama, eyes sleepy and blinking, his - theirs, it’s been passed from him to minseok, and now, it’s jongin’s turn - teddy bear dragged on the ground. their father is out at the justice building, still celebrating about this year’s tributes. junmyeon’s stomach churns a bit, but he ignores it.

another plain blink. “i don’t want to be alone,” jongin answers, swinging the teddy bear in his grip. “no one’s here to hug me until i sleep.”

minseok, junmyeon realizes bitterly.

“what about me for a change,” he offers, words a bit forced. usually, jongin protests and throws a little tantrum, but he looks at the old clock junmyeon hangs on the wall and closes the door to his room. he’s always light on his footsteps, and today is not an exception - he seems to glide to junmyeon’s bed.

now he’s tucked in the thin blanket, staring expectantly at his older brother.

his room is closer to the festivity, and there are more noises, but jongin doesn’t seem to mind. junmyeon slowly sits on the bed, takes a deep breath, when -

“where’s minseok?”

he glances so fast at jongin, the name triggering an automatic reaction for him - but it’s just jongin sleep talking, strangely already fast asleep in his presence. the teddy bear stares at junmyeon, clutched tightly in jongin’s chest and blanket bunched up around his body.

the bitterness surges up in his body again - because even in jongin’s sleep, even when he is away - all people think of is minseok, minseok, minseok, minseok.

he’s nothing.

baekhyun said something about the train being one of the fastest in the capitol - but minseok still doesn’t understand how he woke him up at seven a.m., lilting something about “we’re arriving in the capitol!”

the words come out too quickly out of his mouth, as if his escort is a friend.

“you didn’t wake me up sooner -” minseok accuses, flustered and groggy, but his feet is already  taking him to dash inside the bathroom, baekhyun’s raucous laughter ringing in his head as minseok tries his best to scrub everything away before the eyes of the capitol feast on him.

his head is still a bit muddled with sleep before the smell of strong coffee hits his senses - it reminds him of his father, the mayor, sipping his coffee before he barks at minseok to train already, useless, you’re useless like this.

he freezes before he remembers that he’s in a train to the capitol, arriving soon.

hakyeon is nowhere to be seen while jungda is looking at him, butter knife held in her hand like it’s a dagger.

baekhyun’s forever cheerful voice snaps him out of it. “you’re finally here!” he says, and somehow, his hair color had changed overnight to a shade of deep plum, contrasting heavily with his white shirt and strange-looking pants. “we’re arriving at the capitol in thirty minutes! have breakfast for now, fresh from the skilled hands of our cooks.”

“it’s lovely,” jungda points out, as if minseok doesn’t know.

they settle down, polite talks and all, eating. baekhyun dramatically tells a story about how he had to endure lots of crappy districts before he got to his current position (“god, i remember district four,” he crinkles his nose, “got my foot poked with a fishing hook. i was scared to death that i’d get an infection!”) - before hakyeon pops up, casually saying that baekhyun is retelling a story he told a hundred times before.

baekhyun bursts out laughing, slapping his strange pants. “ha! the lies you spill, cha hakyeon,” he wipes his eyes, and minseok really tries to not cringe at how over-exaggerated he’s being.

jungda seems to be staring at baekhyun - fondly? amusedly?

hakyeon joins them afterwards, apologizing about his lateness: he upset his digestion yesterday and only had received the consequences this morning. the words he use doesn’t even sound like it belongs to someone born in district two.

minseok’s vision suddenly turns dark and baekhyun audibly gasps in excitement - he knocks the table as he rises up, blinking excitedly. “we’re here!” he says - giddy, like a child being offered candy. “finally! i’ve been so cooped up in this train!”

he doesn’t realize it’s been a -

light floods back, and he doesn’t even realize that jungda has risen up - smiles so, so warmly at the crowd - closing in the windows, waving. and that’s when he sees: the citizens of capitol with their feather boas, fanning themselves with elongated nails clutched on their fans. their cheering and screams are muted by the window, but it doesn’t bother jungda from waving her hands away. doesn’t bother her from laughing and pointing and blowing kisses to the capitol.

the change from her playful smirks to her genuine smiles is too flawless.

minseok is just seated, frozen, shoulders hunched - while jungda basks in all the attention.

hakyeon, seated beside him, seems to notice. the nudge is unexpected, and hakyeon points at jungda, eyes clearly saying - be like her, come on, the crowd needs to love you. she’s now bowing and twirling for the crowd - the people becoming more excited and face pressed on the glass, as if they’re interested in a pet or a good platter of food. baekhyun looks so happy and impressed - he actually looks as if he’d be willing to kill so jungda can win.

swallowing, minseok attempts a tiny wave - but no one notices him in her presence.

no one ever does think minseok is a good thing, actually, and that realization stabs him with a dull knife.

it all feels a blur to her, all the waves and smiles and people screaming her district name.

jungda feels that her stylist has a terribly wrong misconception about district two - the dress is all coarse textured, the color almost too close to baekhyun’s hair and the ruffles seeming to take the shape of a cleanly jagged stone, accompanied with a strange headdress filled with lightweight rocks, apparently symbolizing masonry - when all they do is provide bullets and the weapons provided in the cornucopia, in the bloodbaths.

but instead she smiles, and says an “it’s lovely, thank you”.

after all, she’s here to win, and if that means to sweet talk and lie to everyone, so be it. she’s been trained years for this - jungda will not let the opportunity just slip away past her.

minseok doesn’t even look like he’s trying to win, in her opinion. he doesn’t even try to fidget when the citizens of the capitol got their first real-life glimpse of them, which is a shame - first impressions are the most important, and jungda’s not that sure if he captured the attention of the citizens by just staring at herself attempting to win the hunger games.

but then, minseok’s from district two, so there’s that.

jungda nods with a slight smile when her stylist says it’s time to go. she doesn’t catch her name, it’s something foreign to her, like everything of capitol’s - but that’s okay.

the bottom level of the remake center is crowded, and minseok’s too relieved to see that jungda is already talking to the other tributes - surprisingly, the ones from one, the one that they both thought were cold and smug. krystal’s wounds from the fierce and harsh brawl is all wiped away, now all perfect complexion - dazzling small jewels blinking from her cheeks, stuck there for accessory, while sehun’s hair is dyed lavender, cheekbones highlighted and suit studded with diamonds.

they look like a couple, if you ask him. and it’s kind of ironic, really, because they’ll end up killing each other in the arena. it’s inevitable.

minseok just hopes that jungda already talked to the district four tributes, because -

he bumps to someone wearing a mesh top, ash blond hair spiked up, smoothly cut face and his pants being only underwear covered in scales that glitters because of the light hanging up in the ceiling. there’s no hint of shyness, though - the person only blinks and stares at minseok - no sign of pink tinted in his cheeks and posture steady.

oh, he gulps. great. jungda hasn’t talked to this one, pretty sure of it.

“sorry,” minseok offers, voice tiny. “i was - distracted.”

the scales resemble one owned by fishes (the books back in the mayor’s study room had them, so he knows), and so minseok’s pretty sure this guy is from district four - specialized in fishing. they’re silent for a while before he opens his mouth. “no problem,” district four boy says. “i’m luhan, by the way.”

“minseok,” he replies briefly.

someone barks luhan’s name in the distance and he looks back so hard that minseok would’ve thought he got a whiplash. “sorry for the short meeting,” his voice is somehow louder. “i hope we’ll talk soon.”

when luhan goes away, everyone is staring at minseok - so he scuttles off to jungda’s way.

she notices too soon. “oh! minseok! you’re here!” she chirps out loudly, and minseok feels his cheeks burning up a bit, in humiliation, in embarrassment - what is jungda doing? ridiculing him? - but minseok fakes a mask of calm. he’s good at this. pretending. “i was just talking with sooj - krystal and sehun about you!”

krystal’s laugh sounds so forced. “oh, please, jungda,” she giggles and slaps jungda’s arm softly. “call me soojung! i told you to!”

jungda smiles too sweetly. “krystal’s just fine,” she declines, “we’re not that close yet.”

there’s the first siren signaling the opening ceremony, and they both excuse themselves, sehun stoically nodding and krystal waving brightly at both jungda and minseok. they’re only distanced for a bit, though, because district’s one carriage is right in front of them. the horses carrying district two’s one is the color of a smooth stone, and minseok cringes at the image of what they really do - his father had given him the tour inside the mountains when he was fifteen.

weapons and machine guns being tested on prisoners.

baekhyun’s voice wafts inside his hearing. “finally! i’ve been looking!” he cries out dramatically - his clothes are, unexpectedly, still the same - but unlike when luhan did it, no one bothers to look at him. the reason - minseok thinks - is that because a) it’s noisy, and b) because it’s baekhyun. everyone in the capitol must know he’s a loudmouth. “you guys are too stealthy, you know! one day you’re going to disappear from us!”

jungda laughs so brightly at his joke. “we’re practicing for the arena,” she winks at baekhyun, and he almost slips from the small step to the carriage, apparently tiptoeing.

minseok’s just concerned about one thing. “where’s hakyeon?”

suddenly baekhyun’s stepping off the carriage, clearing his throat. “he’s had some,” he smiles again, but the corners of his mouth are too upturned, too forced. “business to do. he’ll be back for dinner, of course.”

the second siren is blared and baekhyun winks and mouths a good luck.

as the carriage starts to move, their mentor’s posture becomes too rigid for someone that’s called byun baekhyun. and as always, minseok’s mouth is in a thin line, while jungda’s smiling her winning smile - lips curled, chins up, cheekbones highlighted perfectly.

he cards his coarse hair, too-deep-plum colored and the texture reminding him of rough asphalt. baekhyun grimaces at that memory, but he brushes it away and looks at the screen. jungda will be getting sponsors, he thinks fondly - her confident smiles and air kisses has swooned almost everyone in the capitol - while minseok, well.

well, he thinks. better a victor than none.

there’s a loud crash and he knows who it is before he even looks.

“jessica’s going to be fine,” he announces loudly - automatically - with a smile. always a smile, the crowd-stealer him, the clown of the capitol. “she’s probably just not used to the capitol air - and you think, after all this time!”

no one believes it, of course - they all know why, but it’s something they don’t talk about.

baekhyun strides quickly and picks her up, who’s shivering. he steals a look to the screen and sees president yongguk talking, their newly appointed president a few months ago. his voice is too hesitant, still not convincing enough, and baekhyun doesn’t really like it. he almost sounds and looks guilty - but he’s supposed to not be. he leads panem.

jessica gurgles. “what,” she mutters, her high heels almost slipping from her deathly thin feet. “who’s -”

“i’m going to force that spoon inside your mouth if you don’t swallow it,” he threatens brightly, always attempting to lighten up the mood. “so eat and be fitter and don’t let your sister die. that’s what siblings are supposed to do in the districts, right?”

there’s a loud laugh-cough reverberating in the hallway connecting the remake center to the training center, and baekhyun just forces himself to just smile. “i don’t need to do anything,” jessica looks up at him, eye bags dark and lips chapped, the imperfect skin she has barely covered by the capitol’s makeup. “sehun’s here to do that, of course - he loves her so much that he would kill himself so that she can live. too bad that -” baekhyun jams the ‘up’ button for the elevator, avoxes around the lobby only staring quietly at them, looking. “ha! she doesn’t even love him. too bad, right? what if he dies?”

“i don’t need you to share your life story in the districts with me,” baekhyun tries to hoist her up more, but she insists on just sagging to the ground. “and to answer to your question, it’s your responsibility to do so.”

the elevator dings and he almost has to drag her inside.

unspoken agreement between the mentors and escorts, baekhyun wants to roll his eyes. a rotation of who has to take care of jessica. unfortunately, his turn this year.

the weight becomes unbearable and so he lets her sit on the floor - hair messed up and dress crumpled everywhere, her shoes already left off in the lobby. “i can’t,” she mumbles sleazily, and messes up her hair. “don’t care, won’t. where’s my morphine?”

baekhyun stays quiet.

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