Senator Snow's striking blue eyes genuinely captivated Hazel. They had the depth of the skies over District Seven but lacked their comforting familiarity. He gave her a fleeting smile and then turned his attention back to the activity of the Capitol Train Station. Hazel's focus continued to be drawn to him as he moved with natural authority across the platform. His tall frame and undeniably handsome features made him stand out in the large space of the Capitol Train Station. His pale golden blonde hair shimmered under the station's lights, enhancing his distinguished appearance. Dressed in a rich, impeccable, tailored suit, Snow exuded an air of refined sophistication.
The Capitol Train Station was a marvel of architectural grandeur, a vast expanse that Hazel had never imagined existed. Its high, arching ceilings and the abundant natural light streaming through the massive windows lent the space a majestic atmosphere. The polished surfaces and detailed decorative work added layers of luxury to the station's design, far removed from anything Hazel had seen in her life.
The station was tranquil, devoid of the usual hustle and bustle one might expect. The platform lacked activity besides Snow, Dr. Gaul, the tributes, and a few Peacekeepers.
As Hazel's vision adjusted to the station's bright lights, the other tributes from the twelve districts unloaded from their respective trains. Each train car was sleek and polished, reflecting the sunlight streaming through the massive glass windows of the station. Like her and Silus, the tributes appeared disoriented yet mesmerized by the splendor.
Under Hazel's feet, the marble floors of the Capitol Train Station shone with an impeccable finish, reflecting the grandiosity of the space and the figures moving across it. Each step she took echoed; the surface was so polished that it mirrored the soaring columns that lined the walls. These pillars rose to the ceiling while ornate chandeliers suspended from the high ceilings. Along the designated pathways, plush red carpets unfurled, offering a vivid contrast to the cool, hard marble.
Positioned throughout the station, Peacekeepers maintained a watchful silence. Their uniforms were crisp, the stark white standing out against the backdrop of the station's grandeur. Each one's gaze was alert, scanning the area with practiced scrutiny, their hands resting casually on the weapons secured at their belts. Their presence was a constant reminder of the Capitol's control and the seriousness of the tributes' situation.
As Hazel's gaze wandered, she observed her fellow tributes, each carrying the weight of their districts on their shoulders. A girl from District 4 caught her attention, her long, wavy hair cascading down her back in shades that reminded Hazel of sunlight dancing on ocean waves. She stood with an innate poise, eyes sweeping the assembled group with curiosity.
A younger boy from District Eleven seemed almost lost in the magnitude of the station. His head was shaved, making him appear even more youthful, and his large, innocent, dark eyes took in his surroundings. His movements were tentative, betraying his nervousness, and his eyes flickered around the station, absorbing its lavishness. Occasionally, his gaze would drop to the marble floor, then dart up to the vast ceiling as if trying to comprehend the scale of the world he had been thrust into.
As the tributes huddled together, Dr. Gaul moved to the forefront with her graying, curly hair that framed her face in an almost erratic fashion yet somehow suited the image of a Capitol genius. Her radiant and full smile flashed across her face as she greeted them, her teeth a bright white against the backdrop of the grandiose train station. Despite the warmth in her tone, a discernible chill colored her features.
"Welcome, tributes of the 15th annual Hunger Games," her voice resonating across the cavernous space, "And welcome to the Capitol, the heart of Panem." As Dr. Gaul's eyes surveyed the group, her demeanor exuded a practiced congeniality. "You are all part of a significant and historic change for our nation. This year's Games promise to be unlike any before. You are all in for something exceptional."
A shiver of apprehension ran through Hazel as the implications of Dr. Gaul's words settled in. The Hunger Games, already a spectacle of horror and grandeur, seemed poised to reach new heights—or depths—this year.
Dr. Gaul's enthusiasm seemed to grow as she outlined the next phase of their journey. "You, the tributes, will be escorted on a parade through the city, allowing the citizens of the Capitol to welcome you and start to get to know the stars of this year's Games."
At Dr. Gaul's declaration, Hazel turned to catch Silus's eye. The thought of parading before the Capitol, on display for a society that reveled in their impending struggle for survival, was both surreal and disquieting.
Dr. Gaul's presence on the platform commanded attention, and her gray curls and tailored attire distinguished her as a person of significant intellect and authority. "Before we proceed," she declared, ensuring she had the undivided attention of the gathered tributes, "I'd like to introduce Commander Percival Drayton, the head of security for the Hunger Games." Her gesture towards the tall, dark-haired man added weight to her words. "Our dedicated team of Peacekeepers, under Commander Drayton's leadership, will conduct a brief search of each tribute. This precaution ensures the safety of all involved – to verify that no one is carrying any weapons or items that could cause harm."
Commander Drayton stepped forward; his presence alone silenced murmurs among the tributes. His dark hair contrasted with his deep, observant eyes, which seemed to take in everything. The authority in his stance was unmistakable, and when he spoke, his voice resonated with a depth that matched his formidable appearance. "All tributes, please line up against the far wall for a pat-down," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for debate.
The tributes hesitated only a moment before they began to move. Hazel and Silus found their places in the line, sticking close to one another.
Senator Snow observed the procedure from a distance, his interest apparent yet detached. His sharp and assessing gaze lingered on the tributes, each in turn, as if evaluating them for qualities unseen. Hazel cast her own eyes downward as his blue irises met hers.
Her attention was suddenly diverted by a disturbance unfolding among the District Eight tributes. The scene erupted into chaos as the male tribute, flushed with anger and defiance, refused to cooperate. In a sudden, desperate gesture, he brandished a box cutter, its blade catching the harsh light of the train station. "If you think I'm going to do anything for you willingly, you all have another thing coming. You'll have to drag my lifeless body in there, you murderers!" His voice reverberated off the high ceilings.
The response from the Peacekeepers was immediate. With practiced coordination, they closed in on him, one of them wielding a taser. The activation of the device was marked by a sharp, crackling sound that sliced through the air, a sound all too familiar yet unsettling. The electric charge illuminated the immediate vicinity with a brief, intense light.
The tribute's reaction was visceral as the taser touched his skin. His body jerked, a puppet caught in an unseen tormentor's grip, as the electrical current coursed through him. A pained gasp escaped his lips before he crumpled to the ground, a heap of incapacitated defiance. The box cutter clattered as it slid across the polished marble, coming to rest several feet away.
The Peacekeepers hoisted his still-twitching form up and positioned him against the wall, his limbs dangling.
Commander Drayton addressed the remaining tributes, his tone causing Hazel to shiver like an icy wind swirling through the now-crowded station. "If anyone else has concerns they'd like to express, now's the time. Or you'll get worse than our friend here." His voice reverberated through the spacious train station, now thick with the acrid smell of ozone.
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In the aftermath, the only sounds were the subdued shuffling of the tributes. As they lined up against the wall, an undercurrent of unease threaded through the group, each tribute awaiting the scrutiny of the peacekeepers. Hazel stood beside Silus, digging her nails into her palm as the peacekeepers worked their way down the line.
Hazel's gaze drifted to Ruby, the twelve-year-old girl from District 12. She seemed almost out of place among them. With her slight figure, short dark hair that framed an innocent face, and eyes a stormy grey, Ruby exuded a vulnerability that tugged at Hazel's heartstrings. The sight of her, so small and fragile, reminded her of Sage and the twins.
Hazel's concern shifted as she noticed the tan gauze bandage wrapped around Silus's hand. Alarm bells sounded in her mind, and she edged closer to Silus cautiously, reaching for the fraying edge of the gauze.
"What are you doing?" Silus asked, his voice a low rumble but filled with curiosity. Despite his questioning, he did not resist; his posture relaxed under her touch.
Hazel's motions were deliberate as she unwrapped the bandage around his hand, "You can't show any signs of weakness," her voice low and steady. "If the people of the Capitol see you're injured, they will bet against you." She hoped none of the cameras picked it up during the reaping.
Betting on the Hunger Games had morphed into a macabre pastime, its popularity surging yearly. The very notion of placing bets on the fate of children was appalling, yet this grim fascination ensured the tributes received marginally better care. The heightened interest in the Games translated into more resources for their elaborate staging, a cold comfort amidst the horror.
Hazel worked with practiced care, peeling away the gauze while she used her body to shield the actions from prying eyes. When the gauze was finally off, she slipped it into her pocket and scrutinized Silus's palm. The sight of a deep, angry gash cutting across it made her wince; the surrounding skin was inflamed, while his knuckles bore the evidence of recent trauma—bruised and capped with scabs.
"This is definitely more than a scratch," she murmured, her eyes lifting to meet his. Silus seemed distant, his thoughts elsewhere despite the pain he must be feeling.
"Yeah, I know," he responded, his voice low, a silent admission.
Hazel's concern deepened. "Try to keep your hand closed, or just hold mine during the parade," she suggested quietly, ensuring her voice wouldn't carry. "We can't let the cameras see this."
He gave a short nod, a silent agreement to her plan.
Hazel smiled gently, "I'm your older sister, so it's my job to look out for you." Her tone softened further, "And since we're in this till the end, you might as well spill how you really got this," she added, a hint of teasing in her voice to lighten the grave reality of their situation.
As Silus hovered on the edge of divulging his secret, an authoritative voice barked. "District Seven, face the wall," commanded a peacekeeper, his voice cutting through the tension. The sharp contrast between his dark amber hair and the cold, steely gray of his eyes left no room for disobedience. He exuded a strict sense of authority that demanded immediate compliance.
With a resigned sigh, Silus turned, pressing his hands against the wall. Hazel noticed the slight grimace that crossed his face as the injured palm touched the cool surface. The peacekeeper began his search, his hands moving over Silus's frame. Silus’s shoulders were rigid, but he offered no resistance to the peacekeeper's probing hands. After a moment, the peacekeeper nodded to another before he shifted his attention to Hazel.
She took a deep breath to steady herself, mirroring Silus's posture, her hands flat against the wall. She could feel her heart rate pick up as the peacekeeper's hands started their meticulous journey over her attire. Hazel's muscles tensed when she felt him tug on the blood-stained gauze hidden. He paused, extracting the gauze with a look that mingled surprise with disgust.
Anticipating his concern, Hazel stumbled over her explanation, "I cut myself this morning, but it's stopped bleeding now." Her voice was steady, belying the nervous flutter in her stomach.
The peacekeeper held her gaze for a moment longer, assessing her statement. Eventually, he seemed to accept her explanation, discarding the gauze with a flick of his wrist. Yet, his search didn't end there. Hazel held her breath as his hands resumed their inspection, soon pausing again when they encountered an unexpected shape beneath her shirt.
"What's this?" his finger probed against the subtle bulge beneath Hazel's top. Instinctively, her hand flew to the spot.
"It's just a necklace," she responded, the words spilling out too fast.
The peacekeeper's scrutiny didn't waver. His steel-gray eyes fixed on Hazel. "I need to see it," he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument. You can't expect me to take your word for it. Show it to me."
With a sigh of resignation, Hazel carefully extracted the necklace, the pendant catching the light and casting a kaleidoscope of colors around them. The peacekeeper's expression shifted to one of curiosity mixed with suspicion. "That's quite an unusual piece for someone from District Seven," he observed, skepticism lacing his words.
Hazel's fingers tightened around the pendant as he extended his hand towards the necklace, indicating she should remove it. "Look, it's just a necklace," she protested, her frustration creeping into her voice. "I'm hardly going to use it as a weapon. I promise I'm not planning on strangling anyone with it. You know, outside of myself to escape this whole nightmare."
The unmoved peacekeeper maintained his stoic demeanor, "Remove it now," he insisted, his hand reaching towards Hazel's collar with a clear intention.
Silus intervened, moving to stand beside Hazel. His hand curled around the peacekeeper's arm, "Sir, It's just a necklace, a gift from her father. My sister is not a threat; she just doesn't know when to shut up."
The standoff drew curious glances from the other tributes and peacekeepers alike, and the air was charged with an uneasy sense of anticipation. Hazel's heart pounded in her chest.
The peacekeeper's demeanor hardened, his eyes narrowing, as he ordered Silus, "Step back and remove your hand."
"What seems to be the problem here?" Senator Snow’s presence commanded attention. His voice was calm but carried an underlying authority. Hazel's pulse quickened as she met his eyes.
The peacekeeper who had held Hazel released her. She noticed a tiny smear of blood on his uniform where Silus had grabbed his arm. Let's hope he overlooks that. She took a couple of steps back, Silus moving himself slightly in front of her.
The peacekeeper loudly explained the situation, gesturing towards Hazel's necklace. Snow's sharp and calculating attention shifted from the peacekeeper to Hazel and then Silus. Snow approached smoothly and lightly patted Silus's shoulder, "Easy now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Save that energy for the arena."
He strolled toward Hazel until they were standing toe to toe. Snow's eyes flickered to the necklace, and his fingers grazed the pendant. Hazel held her breath, praying he wouldn’t notice the bulging pulse in her neck. The gemstone caught the light, sparkling under his scrutiny. Senator Snow's finger continued to trace over the gemstone. He lifted his gaze to meet Hazel's, a penetrating look that seemed to see right through her. "Where did you get this?" he inquired.
"My father gave it to me," her mind briefly conjured Heath. It was the only gift she had ever gotten from him, and she was about to lose it the same day.
Snow's expression was contemplative as he observed her. "Hazel Marlowe, correct?" he asked, not seeking confirmation but stating a fact. He glanced briefly at Silus before adding, "Quite the misfortune, being selected alongside your brother."
"Some of us are just blessed, I guess." She said. What am I doing? Not the time, Hazel.
Snow's smile widened, an almost amused glint in his eyes. "Isn't that the truth." He seemed to survey her a little longer before asking, "Tell me, are you close with your father?"
Hazel shifted uncomfortably under his piercing gaze. "Not... particularly.”
He chuckled, a sound that seemed out of place for a Gamemaker, making Hazel flinch. "Neither was I with mine."
"He told me it would protect me," Hazel offered.
"I hope, for your sake, he is right." His smile was charming, disarming even.
Then, with a delicate touch, Snow carefully tucked the necklace back under Hazel's shirt. He held Hazel's gaze, his voice dropping to a quieter tone. "Be careful with it in the future. In the Capitol, beauty such as this can attract unwanted attention."
Snow's stare, as precise and piercing as the winter sky, held Hazel's for a heartbeat longer. He then turned smoothly to the peacekeeper, his command stern, "Let her keep it." The peacekeeper, momentarily caught in the gravity of Snow's directive, reluctantly nodded, the beginnings of a protest fading unspoken from his lips.
"Thank you," Hazel said, a genuine note of gratitude in her voice despite the unease coiling within her.
Senator Snow glanced back at her for a brief moment with a barely perceptible upward twitch of his lips before he turned and strode away.
As Snow withdrew, Silus was quick to return to Hazel's side. His features were etched with a concoction of relief and residual concern.
"Well, that was fun," Silus remarked.
Hazel's response was a half-hearted smile. Her fingertips traced the outline of her necklace, a silent reminder of the encounter's stakes. Her stare lingered on Snow's retreating figure, a man who commanded the winds of fate with terrifying and mesmerizing ease. She realized she had an answer to a question she wished she had never asked: Roses. He smelled like roses.