THE TRAIN journey was silent, and it didn't help that the advanced train itself was quiet as it traveled quickly. The Captiol's servants showed the main compartment of the train, where a huge wooden dining table took up most of the space, along with a very comfortable looking couch in the corner.

The table was filled with a feast, and Francesca had never seen so much food in one room. She had dreamed about consuming this amount of food: fruit, grape juice, chicken, potatoes, meats, deserts, chocolate fountains.

Despite the heavenly sight in front of them, Finnick, Frankie, and Kipper sat in complete silence. The girl was still trying to recover from crying, unable to speak for a while or else there was a possible chance she'd break down again. Kipper was silent, though that seemed to be a common state for him. Finnick was quiet, too, as he looked around at the familiar surroundings; he was once in Frankie's place— vulnerable, young, endangered.

Finnick decided to stay silent, because he knew that's what he would've wanted if he was in her situation— he once was. He tried to keep that thought in mind, especially when future training days and interviews arrived.

The carriage door automatically slid open, alerting everyone of the entrance of Genevieve O'Connell. She swept into the open space, her eccentric green outfit flowing behind her; the woman informed, "200 miles per hour and you can barely feel a thing! Isn't it marvellous?"

Nobody replied, to Genevieve's surprise. Frankie doubted that Kipper cared about random train facts, when they had just been reaped for a game of death. They were already dead, and the woman was talking about the marvellous train. The only sound that could be heard was Frankie scraping the metal fork on her plate, purposefully, as she stabbed at her food.

Of course, she noticed the silence. Genevieve pursed her lips, "Well, this is all certainly morbid."

"As it should be," Francesca retorted back, looking up at the woman as she slouched on the (rather comfortable) dining chair, "Kipper and I are gonna be dead in a few days, which is definitely morbid. I guess not for the Capitol, though. You all find it entertaining."

Finnick let out a defeated sigh, giving his younger sister a look. He knew that telling Frankie what to do was impossible— she was stubborn, in that sense. Finnick's only other option was to slowly guide Frankie into being trained to say the right things, as he knew it wouldn't take long for his sister to annoy President Snow.

She was already annoying their Escort, which had no consequences, other than an awkward train journey.

"My, my." Genevieve's voice was high and exaggerated, alike all the Capitol's rich accents. She sat down at the wooden table, adjusting her dress so it didn't crease up on her lap. She asked, "Is she always like this, Finnick?"

"Yep." The older boy said dryly, emphasising the 'p' so his lips made a smacking sound. Unbothered, he picked up a few bread rolls from the table, placing them on his plate; his sister had always been opinionated, and Finnick loved that about her.

"Well, I suggest we change that." Genevieve replied in her high-pitched voice and her stupid laugh— Frankie fought the urge to grab the silver knife from beside her and stab it in her ears. Over and over. The woman continued, "With your attitude, Francesca Lou, you'll struggle to get sponsors."

Finnick silently lifted his eyes from his plate, glaring at the woman as he suddenly payed attention. But, before he could speak, his sister had already opened her mouth to protest. Frankie shot back smartly, "That's mostly Nick's job."

Finnick pulled a doubtful face, waving his bread roll around in his hand slightly as he explained, "Uh, not really. I mean, yeah, I persuade people to sponsor you... but, you also have to work with me."

"I can work with you," Frankie agreed, before glancing over at the Escort, "... not with her."

"Well, that's progress. Right, Gen?" Finnick made an attempt of positivity, though Genevieve didn't look impressed. The boy looked at the other Tribute, who sat next to his sister; he pushed a plate of food over to the boy, "Kipper, you should eat. Hey."

The boy snapped back into reality, apologising quickly, "Sorry, uh— I'm not hungry."

"It'll make you feel loads better," Finnick reassured, "It's a while until we arrive at the Capitol. Good to have food in you for when we arrive."

Kipper nodded, before hesitantly taking the plate of food that was offered to him. He was eating so quickly, scoffing down every bite, almost because he hadn't eaten a proper meal in so long. Frankie had to agree, scoffing down endless amounts of food did make her feel better, until the belt on her dress seemed extremely tight. The girl slouched back further into her chair, before glancing at Kipper,

"You worked on the boats, right?" Frankie added, "With our dad."

"Yeah," Kipper nodded, wiping the sides of his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater, "I saw your dad, like, three days every week. We were rarely on the same boat, but— yeah, I knew him."

"Was it nice?" Was all Frankie could think to ask; she found it unfair how a random boy got to spend more time with her father than she did herself. Frankie prompted curiously, "My dad— was he nice?"

"Yeah— I mean, our conversations were mostly small talk. You know?" Kipper replied curiously, his mouth stuffed with food, "Why?"

The girl shrugged slightly, "He loved being at sea." It's a shame he didn't love his children more, was what Frankie wanted to add. But she didn't. She guessed that Kipper was an awkward boy.

"He was a great fisherman. Best I've ever come across, anyway." Kipper complimented kindly; he seemed to realise the shift in Frankie's attitude, almost trying to comfort her with random facts about her own father. He nodded, "Are you any good? At fishing?"

"With a trident, yeah." Frankie answered, "I've never caught fish from a boat before. I don't think I'd be good at it, though."

"I thought the same, though it gets easier the more you do it." Kipper explained, taking a few large sips of his grape juice, "I'm sure you would be great. Hey, maybe I could teach you all the things that your dad taught me."

Frankie let out a scoff, mainly out of jealousy— she didn't know why she cared so much about her dad, because Finnick seemed to let him go much easier. She remarked, "I don't think there's boats in the Training Centre."

"Right," Kipper reeled back his optimism, which made Frankie want to apologise to the boy because she had accidentally pushed him away. He was just trying to make her feel better; Frankie ruined yet another conversation. Kipper added, "Yeah, you're right." He looked at his Mentor, "Do you have any, uh, advice?"

"Okay," Finnick cleared his throat, before explaining, "Today, and the days leading up to the arena, is all about making a good first impression. If they hate you in here, they're gonna hate you out there. Got it? From the moment you step out of this train, you smile, you laugh, you play along."

Francesca pulled a face, "I'm not a piece in the Captiol's g—"

"You are. We all are— whether you like it or not, Lou." Finnick replied strictly, "Your jobs now is to entertain. You play your parts, you do the interviews. Every single Tribute is out for themselves. They want to win, they want to come home. So, you laugh, smile, be likeable."

Frankie frowned, "So, we lie?"

"You lie to stay alive." Finnick corrected, "Gen's right, for once. They won't sponsor a Tribute who's miserable and refuses to play the game. Both of you have to go in there and be the best. Desirable."

Kipper nodded, as if taking mental notes, "What about the other Tributes?"

"Making alliances is good. You have to find some Tributes who you can trust, especially because of the Careers— 1 and 2." Finnick explained knowingly, "Though, no matter how many allies you make, the main trust you have is in each other." He paused, using his forth to gesture between the two of them, "From now, you two are each other's new best friends. Got it? You get to know each other, your strengths, weaknesses, favourite colour— I don't care— but, you have a stronger chance of surviving if you work together."

***

The Capitol was a dazzling spectacle of success and luxury, a contrast to the harsh realities of the districts. Frankie looked around in awe, her heart racing at the sight of towering skyscrapers which had vibrant neon lights that flickered like stars against the blue sky. The streets were lined with extravagant boutiques, their windows displaying the most outrageous fashions that seemed to defy gravity and reason. Everywhere she turned, there were citizens of the Capitol, their hair styled into fantastical shapes and colors, their skin painted in hues that mirrored the vivid landscape of the city.

As she was guided towards the building, Francesca felt a mix of fascination and repulsion. The laughter and chatter of the Capitol's residents echoed around her, a cacophony of joy that felt alien to her ears. She couldn't help but notice the clear divide between their carefree lives and the struggles of those in the districts. The Capitol was a place where beauty and wealth reigned supreme, yet it was built on the backs of those who suffered in silence, far removed from the glittering facade.

In that moment, Frankie understood the power of the Capitol more clearer than she ever had before. It was a world that promised dreams and desires, but beneath its shimmering surface lay a darkness that threatened to engulf everything. And that darkness was Snow. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was a mere spectator in this grand performance, one that was both mesmerizing and deeply unsettling.

She was playing for her life.

"Ow!" Francesca groaned again, her head lifting up from the chair she was laying on to glare at the stylists. The woman in front of her wore a plain white outfit, though her bright pink hair rested on her shoulders. She had huge eyelashes, each strand sprawling out like a spider; Frankie wondered how the woman could see.

"Just one more." The woman nodded optimistically, placing another waxing strip on Frankie's leg. She rubbed it onto her skin, and it felt warm and nice before she ripped it off again, which made Frankie let out another yelp. The woman smiled, "There— all done!"

Frankie sat up, glancing down at her newly waxed legs. She had to admit, the woman was good at her job. Frankie asked curiously, "So, I can go? Where's Nick... Finnick Odair?"

"I'm getting you ready for your stylist." The woman nodded, gently guiding Frankie to lay back down in the chair. She added, untying the girl's hairstyle, "Francesca Lou, I assure you, you will see your brother soon."

"Okay." The girl said, though it sounded more like a question, "I thought you were my stylist?"

"I'm a stylist, yes. But, my job is to get you ready for your stylist, Harlow Roosevelt." The woman explained, as she carefully cut the hairs on Frankie's head. Play the game, Frankie had to remind herself, though the thoughts of grabbing the scissors and cutting the lady's vibrant pink hair seemed to be becoming too strong.

The woman placed down the scissors, before walking towards the blue curtain and sliding it around to cover the room completely. She was alone in a room with a strange lady, who had previously waxed every hair on her sore skin. Frankie sat up cautiously, her brushed blonde hair resting just below her shoulders.

The girl frowned, "Why did you close the curtains?"

"I need to hose you down again, before I bring you to Harlow." The woman reassured, as she fiddled with a large shower-head. She added, "Like before, take off your gown and stand against the wall."

Frankie stood up slowly, hesitating as she removed her only layer of clothing. It was cold— she was shaking, probably from the vulnerability of being completely naked in front of a stranger. Frankie folded her arms across her bare chest, using them as a shield as she stepped back against the wall. The lady turned on the hose, testing the temperature of the water with the palm of her hand, before spraying it towards Frankie.

"Put your hands by your sides," The woman instructed, like she had done before— though, the first time, Frankie refused to take off her gown for a while. She nodded, "It will make the process quicker."

The shower felt nice; Frankie was used to the cold showers in her cabin back home. Though, it was hard to enjoy the experience when she was accompanied by another body. The lady didn't seem to care, though it was her job— Frankie was thankful that she got this stylist, she seemed nicer than the rest.

The pink-haired lady nodded, before turning off the hose. She placed it down, before grabbing a large towel and passing it to the shivering girl. Frankie immediately wrapped it around her, thankful to have something that covered her skin. The towel was fluffy and warm, almost like it had heaters inside of it to speed up the drying process.

"Here," The woman cleared her throat, before passing the girl her blue hospital gown. She instructed, "Put this on. I'll take you to Harlow."

a/n:
frankie's just a baby