Chapter 7: "All my friends are heathens, take it slow." -Heathens, Twenty One Pilots

I flop down on the bed, completely exhausted from tonight's events. The parade didn't get over until late, and it took an hour to finally revert back to my normal self, completely jewel and sparkle free.

Even now I can still hear people partying and hollering throughout the streets of Panem. Being your district's sacrifice for the games is proven yet again to be both mentally and physically exhausting, not to mention emotionally exhausting.

I hear a knock on my door and I turn into my pillow and groan. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Finnick says through the door. "Can I come in?" He asks

"Knock yourself out." I reply, and I hear the doorknob turn. Finnick walks in and surveys the state I'm in. "Tired, huh?" He chuckles. Sitting next to me.

"My feet hurt and I've got a headache." I complain. "So yeah, I'm great." I hope Finnick can sense how hard I'm rolling my eyes into my pillow.

"I got something that just might put a pep in your step." He teases me, and I'm curious as to what he's going to say, and I turn my head towards him.

"What?" I question, and Finnick smiles.

"So, during your little parade with the Capitol, guess who Brutus — the mentor from district 2 — spoke to." I sit up and look at him, fully paying attention.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say you."

"Correct. He told me that he would be absolutely tickled to death, if you were to join forces with the careers. And, I gotta say, I think you should do it. What do ya say?" He looks at me, eager for my response.

I groan. "My feet hurt, that's what I have to say. Heels are not the life for me, Finny." Finnick sighs, slightly agitated, and grabs my feet and puts them into his lap, rubbing them. "I don't know," I say. "That boy from Two stares at me like I'm nothing more than a piece of meat."

"That can be used to your advantage. Training starts tomorrow. The games start in 4 days. By that time you could have him wrapped around your finger. Easy."

"What makes you so sure he won't kill me in my sleep the first night in? He's not to be trusted, Finnick." I say, a little more grouchy than I mean to.

"It's not about trust." Finnick explains. "It's about getting home. And to do that you're going to need allies. Why not ride his success to the top, and then kill him while he's weak?" He pushes his thumbs into the arch of my heel and I let out a hiss.

"I don't know," I repeat my earlier statement. "Besides, 4 days isnt a lot to work with for the whole 'having him wrapped around my finger' strategy." I let out a yawn.

"I wouldn't be so sure if that, sweetheart." He says, letting out a chuckle. "I haven't even known you a week and I'm already doing your bidding." He cast his gaze down to my feet in his hands and I let out a laugh. Perhaps I don't give myself enough credit.

Finnick releases my feet and tucks the covers in around me. He leans over and kisses my forehead. "Promise me you'll sleep on it, ok?" I nod my head and he smiles at me, turning off my light and plunging the room into darkness.

FO•CG•FO•CG

The training center is impressive. It could teach you everything you needed to know to survive in the Games. Bow and arrow, camouflage, spear and trident throwing, how to identify herbs, you name it.

Old habits die hard, I guess, and I find myself drawn to the fishing station. Perhaps because it reminds me of home, or perhaps because it was an enjoyable enough activity. I don't know and don't really care to know why it attracted me.

But it wasn't the only thing in the room that attracted me. The boy from 12, although he seemed nice enough, kept to himself. It wasn't a romantical attraction, per se, but something about him intrigued me.

I decided to figure out what exactly that was.

"Hey." I say, walking over to him. "Need some pointers?" I could tell he was struggling with the knife throwing station. Everyone else could see it as well.

He looked up at me, surprised that I, or anyone, talked to him. He quickly put back on the neutral expression he was wearing before.

"Hey." He let out, looking down at the knife in his hand. "I suppose so."

I take the knife from him. "Its all in the wrist. You've got to get a good snap of the wrist, line the knife up with your target," I focus the knife on the human outline ahead of me. "And voila!" I let go of the knife, and it hurts foward, sinking into the heart of the man shaped target.

He picks up a knife beside him and tries to mimic my directions. He takes awhile to line up the shot, but when he does he lets go of the knife. It barely got the shoulder, but at least he hit it.

"See!" I say. "That wasn't so hard. Except in the arena they'll be moving targets, so you won't exactly get all the time in the world to aim." I explain to him with a smile.

Despite my terribly morbid joke he smiles back anyways. "You're Calypso, right?" He asks, and I nod. "I'm Peeta." He holds out his hand to shake, and I put my hand in his, shaking once.

Peeta returns to throwing knives, and I look at the spear throwing station with mild interest, deciding to give it a whirl.

I walk pass the pack of careers and look at the boy from 2 — Cato — 's face. He has his jaw locked, and is glaring at both me and Peeta with his eyes burning.

I wonder if I just killed us both.

There we have it folks! I'm expecting to get to the games in about 2-4 more chapters (4 at the maximum) so do not worry! I'm currently dressing the turkey, that way it'll look delicious when we eat it!

At the rate I'm writing these chapters, I'll be posting about 2 times a week, so hit the "favorite" and "follow" buttons on the story to get all the latest updates :)

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Chapter 8 synopsis:

"Training in the Capitol is reaching its end. Cal is faced with a decision that will not only affect her in the Games, but in her life from that moment onward."