I hate being wrong, I really do. I mean, what wants to be wrong? Especially if you being wrong hurts someone else?
Well, as it turns out, Eli Leone is not an inverted creep. He's the friendliest person on this stinking train.
"So you want to be an artist?" I ask him.
"I wanted to be an artist, yes."
"Well, I can see we're not trying to be optimistic."
"I'm just rational," he replies. I understand that completely. In fact, I totally respect that.
"It's nice to see we're on the same page," I say to him. He nods solemnly. His solemness reminds me of the reality: I'm going to have to kill him or be killed by him. Or we'l both just die. Awesome.
"I'm kind of glad it was me that was chosen, since I don't have anyone back home to miss me. It's comforting that atleast less pain will be caused," he says. This is terrible. He's nice AND humble. I can't make a friendship with him, or I'll never be able to do what I have to.
"Yeah, I'm glad you were chosen too. I nominated you," I say with venom, hoping the comment will stick. Sure enough, his eyes fill with hurt.
"I'm not suprised, but I'm trying to be nice to you. You could atleast have the decency to return the favor."
"Not my style," I say, stalking off to my bedroom. I know that was harsh, and I would never mean any of it. However, I figure ripping off the band aid is easier than peeling it off slowly. Pushing this into the back of my mind, I sit on the plush bed and try to figure out how I'm going to survive.
I'm not really good at anything in particular...or am I?
I've never shot and arrow in my life, and I definitely wouldn't be any good at throwing spears. I'm not particularly strong either, so hands on combat will be no good.
Oh wait, there is one thing I can do.
Sword fighting.
I've long forgotten this talent of mine, but I remember I used to be good. I learned from...my brother. I don't really like talking about him because his death was painful, but he did teach me a valuable thing or two before the mines exploded.
He always thought it was important to survive. My family has always been lucky enough to never need to illegally hunt or get tessarae. This is because my dad's best friend became a winner of the hunger games about twenty five years ago, and he gives us an ample supply of whatever we need. My dad and him aren't as close anymore because he chose to embrace a more Capitol lifestyle, but we still accept his help.
Anyways, back to my brother. He used to hunt in the woods for sport on Sundays, and he'd bring me along. Hollis, that's his name, was an excellent huntsman. He tried to teach me his skills, but they just wouldn't stick. He tried every advanced weapon we had access to, but nothing worked until he brought out the sword.
"It's so primitive, and I've never been any good with it. But I suppose it's worth a shot, and it's your last chance to prove your worth runt," he said to me. I hated his nickname for me, but at the same time I liked it because it was the only way he showed affection to me. As he handed me the sword, I could feel myself become strong. I won't go into detail about him training me with it, because I truly trained myself. It came naturally, and was the only thing that did for me.
Ok, so getting a sword will be my best bet. I don't have to worry about food so much, as long as there's ample fruits and plants in the arena. My brother wasn't only a great huntsman but also an intelligent gatherer. This, fortunately, stuck in my brain.
"Auden, time for dinner," a voice said. It seemed to be coming from some kind of intercom, and I didn't like the fact there was no person talking to me face to face. However, I suppose the Capitol has all sort of these fancy things, and I don't want to appear to be weak because I'm afraid the intercom is a trap. That'd make me look really stupid.
"How nice of you to join us!" a man I didn't recognize at first said.
"Uhm, thanks..."
"I'm Harpon Legazee, you're mentor," he said, motioning for me to sit next to him. Of course he's Harpon Legazee, how silly of me not to recognize him. First the intercom, now this. I feel adaquately dumb.
"Dinner is served!" A jolly looking chef said as Avox people walked in with trays. I tried to smile at the one who gave me my dinner, but she looked away promptly.
"So, let's get down to business. What are your talents?" Harpon asks us.
"I'm good with a sword," I tell him, trying to put my best foot forward. He nods approvingly.
"That might definitely come in handy. So Eli, what's your talent?"
"I'm an artist," he simply stated. I almost laugh, but then I remember we're not going to be friends.
"Anything else you can do?" Harpon asks him, barely winking an eye at the joking remark Eli made. Harpon is all business, good to know.
"Well...not that I know of," Eli says, grabbing a roll from the basket. I follow suit, realizing how hungry I am.
"Well...I'm sure you'll be good at something. Training will start tomorrow right after the train stops at the Capitol, which will probably be around noon. So enjoy the ride," Harpon says, abruptly leaving the table and taking a sandwich with him.
"Ok then, that's odd," Eli remarks. I ignore him, and he notices. I can tell because his slight smiles turns into a frown.
"Well, I think I'll be leaving too," I say, grabbing a couple more rolls and walking back to my room to eat them. Better to distance myself from the begining. After about ten minutes of eating by myself sitting in bed, I hear a knock on my door.
"Uh...hello?" I ask, not expecting a visitor.
"Auden, can I come in?" Eli asks from behind the door.
"Nope," I reply. He decides to come in anyways.
"Before you accuse me of being hard of hearing, I simply decided to ignore your request," he says, coming in and sitting on the end of my bed. I put on my best mean face.
"My mother taught me that it's rude to ignore people when they're speaking to you."
"You had no problem ignoring me at dinner," he says. Oh crap.
"Well...I..."
"Look, I don't know why you're acting this way, but you need to stop. It's really marshing my mellow."
"Marshing your mellow?"
"Ugh, look. I'm going to sit here until you apologize and I refuse to leave until you do so," he says, crossing his arms. I do the same, feeling especially stubborn at this sudden outburst.
"You'll be waiting until you grow a beard, so I suggest you give up," I say, but I don't get a response. Fine, if he wants to play that game, I'll play just as hard. After staring at him for about twenty silent minutes, I find myself dozing off.
