August wasn’t all that sure what the Capitol wanted her to do upon her arrival on the train, so she sat in her district’s common area and stared out the window, her hands folded in her lap. After some time spent watching the fields pass by until the terrain was unrecognizable, she built up the courage to explore the rest of the train.
A few cars down, a door was left partially ajar. August peered in and found what appeared to be a bar, occupied by another tribute and an avox. She watched the stranger sat on one of the stools as she hesitantly entered the room. “Hi there,” she offered after a few silent moments, waving her hand in front of herself once and laughing nervously. “Have you been on the train long?”
She’d been in this position many times before -- perhaps more times than her fragmented memory would allow her to recall. She’d often sat alone, inebriated on some substance or another, pondering the inevitability of her demise. Dahlia knew she’d die early, but had never even entertained the possibility of her current circumstances.
The silence between her and her new avox friend was broken my the entrance of another -- a fellow tribute from what the girl from Six could surmise.
“Salutations,” she responded, raising her glass to the girl. “I was born here, darling. Seventh of June, right here in this car.” A grin, followed by a swig of her drink. “Dahlia Sol. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”
