vanity moved like a woman on a mission. as soon as her door unlocked, vanity was headed straight for the bar car, a smile on her lips and a sway in her hips. there was no need for her to say goodbye to her beloved district — after all, in only a few short weeks, she'd be back here, a victory crown placed delicately on her head and wearing a beautiful gown that was sure to be the envy of the district.
no, what vanity needed to do was assess the competition — surely district one hadn't been the only district clever enough to realize that this year they didn't have to risk sending in some unprepared, underfed child. this year, they could send in the best of the best, and vanity wanted to know who, exactly, she was up against. sure, some of the outer districts had probably failed to put two and two together, but there were enough districts that she knew that some of them had to have sent someone worth competing against.
she takes a seat at the bar, on one of the fine leather stools. she waves a hand, ordering a tonic with ice and lime. it was the perfect drink to make it appear as though she was drinking alcohol, while surreptitiously keeping all of her wits about her, and the only one who would be the wiser was the bartender, and, well — it wasn't as though an avox could tell on her, now could they?
Valor was happy to be speeding away from District One — away from the version of himself he wanted to cauterize like an open wound.
Further and farther with every passing moment, his thoughts racing like wheels on the train tracks. He didn't mind the locked door, trapped in a room with a bed dressed in silk sheets and hand-painted flowers on the walls. There were worse prisons, like a two-story home or a prestigious academy. Halls loud with the static speech of lesser, inferior people and the rejoiced name of his worthless little sister.
'Vanity, Vanity, Vanity.' The people of his district chanted it like a mantra of their own arrogance, but Valor could see it for what it truly was. Stupidity. Recklessness. His own mother and father loved her most, coddling her like some porcelain doll. Who could blame him for wanting to push her off a high shelf? In pieces, he couldn't help but wonder if his sister and the whole wide world would finally see her for the small, insignificant thing she truly was.
Quick to take his first steps, to speak his first word, the brightest student of his class since his very first year of schooling and the most natural talent in his martial training. These were the building blocks of Valor Prime. In his mind, he was being punished for excelling too quickly. When you sprint to the very front of the race as soon as the gun fires, the only two possibilities are to win — or to watch as everyone else catches up to you and leaves you in the dust. Vanity had always been charismatic, someone that people wanted to root for and befriend, but Valor would never see the purpose in false niceties. His tongue was forged from steel, a weapon always aimed for the kill. He was blunt about his superiority, quick to shove away anyone he viewed as beneath himself, and so he was trapped in a permanent No Man's Land that no one but himself could enter. He decorated the gates in barbed wire for the added touch.
Once he was finally free to roam the train carts and survey the competition, he naturally followed the same path his sister took and scoffed when he found her lounging languidly at the bar, her classic combo of tonic and lime in hand. Valor rolled his eyes, not bothering to hide his disappointment. "A cheap trick for a cheap girl," he said as if the train itself was the arena, like they were simply strangers pitted in a fight for the death and not flesh and blood.
"There's just nothing surprising about you, is there?"
