Author's Note: So, lucky to be updating today; it's been a loooong day. But here I am, anyway.

So, some of you've expressed an interest in Sid-I mean, Obsidian; sorry, even I can't bear to say his name because it's so weird! XD Anyway, we'll see more of him this chapter... Like, in just a second. XD

"Remember, you're not in a ring full of trembling children anymore. These people are experienced killers, no matter what shape they appear to be in." –Haymitch Abernathy, Catching Fire

Then came the second day in the Training Center.

Vale had fallen into an uneasy sleep the previous night, still haunted by the thought that Kit would have to die in order for her to be able to make it back home to District Twelve. Of course, she realized that her chances of survival were slim in the first place—but Kit was so small, and frankly, not very strong, that his chances were even slimmer.

Just like the day before, Lavinia dropped them off at the training area with a subdued look on her face—looking, now that Vale thought about it, sort of like Vale's own mother had the day she left her oldest daughter at kindergarten for the first time.

When she and Kit had returned to their lodgings the previous night, Lavinia had looked visibly exhausted. Apparently, she had spent nearly all of the time in their absence (aside from a brief lunch break with Damon and Kit's stylist) trying to secure sponsors for them. She hadn't gotten any yet—they were still waiting for their evaluations by the Gamemakers and for their interviews before making any concrete commitments—but she had claimed that plenty of people seemed interested in them. Of course, being Lavinia, she may have been mildly exaggerating for their benefit.

Now, Kit and Vale entered the training area again. Kit joined scrawny Mac from District Three and burly Dornick from Eight at the knife station. Vale, meanwhile, decided to spend some time practicing with blowguns, along with Lexus, a tall, slender thirteen-year-old from District Six who seemed to be perpetually quiet.

Vale was more adept with the blowgun and darts than she had been with the bow and arrows—not that that meant a lot. She and Lexus practiced side by side in silence for some time. Lexus was clearly more skilled than she was, but Vale improved at least marginally in the forty-five minutes or so that she trained.

After deciding that she would take a short break from her tenuous, strenuous practice with the blowgun, Vale resumed what she had done yesterday: watching the other tributes, the way Obsidian did.

Even today, that was precisely what the golden-haired boy was doing. He was propped up with cool nonchalance against one of the walls to Vale's left, his penetrating eyes flickering from tribute to tribute and just… staring. He didn't even try to conceal the fact that that was what he was doing.

He could at least be a little more subtle about it, she thought sullenly. For some reason, the boy with the ridiculous name always made her feel bitter. (Again, she remembered the blonde tribute that had killed Briony. That was probably the reason why.)

At least she tried to be discreet as she glanced about at the other youths in the Training Center. She watched Kit, Dornick, and Mac hurling knives at practice dummies, groaning silently as Kit's knife missed the dummy by inches and buried itself in the wall. Mac's blade struck the dummy's arm, and Dornick's lodged itself in its stomach.

Next, her eyes found the siblings from District Five. Fen was coaching her brother on how to properly shoot a bow—"No, no, Lark, you hold it more like this, see?"—while Amber looked on with an amused, rather blatantly superior smirk.

Achilles was slicing at a rather battered, sorry-looking dummy with a sword, his brown curls flopping into his eyes, while his fellow District Two tribute, Brigid, was savagely swinging at another dummy with a mace. Perl, the small female tribute from Three, was at the camouflage station again, painting a very realistic leaf design on her arm. The edible plants station was occupied by an auburn-haired fourteen-year-old from District Seven, called Cassia.

Vale took a moment to recall from memory a short list of names and pictures of some of the edible plants she had learned, just to make sure. Good.

Then, she took notice again of the two District Eleven tributes. Phlox was practicing setting traps, all of her many braids tied back out of her face with a hair band today. And her male counterpart—the short, skinny, bald boy, who was about fourteen—was just staring off into empty space again, which Vale found odd.

For some time, she found herself watching this boy. But no matter how long or how hard she stared, he didn't even seem to notice. He merely continued staring listlessly at the same insignificant spot on the wall, somewhere between the archery and weightlifting stations, his dark eyes motionless.

What is it with him? Vale wondered, her curiosity piqued.

"He's blind, you know," came a voice just to her right.

She gave a small start—actually, a rather large one; she must have jumped half a foot into the air in surprise, like an alarmed bullfrog, and gave a little startled gasp.

Right beside her, still looking casual and leaning against a wall, was Obsidian. He had managed to sidle up next to her without her noticing, apparently while she had been so intent on watching the boy from District Eleven. Now, he grinned rather smugly, laughing under his breath.

"Sorry," he said. "I thought you would have heard me coming up behind you. My bad."

She didn't think he sounded particularly sorry, but that might have been her natural prejudices against Careers, or against him specifically, talking.

Then, his words sunk in. "What? Blind?"

Obsidian Citrine—ugh, that was such a ridiculous name, it was hard to even think it!—continued to grin and put a finger lightly to his lips. "Do you want him to hear you?" he asked.

"No…" Vale muttered.

"I'd keep my voice down, then." He paused, glancing over at the boy in question. "His name's Blake, from what I've heard. I feel kind of sorry for him. Between his size and his blindness, he'll be killed the second the Games start."

Vale stared at him. She was sure it was plain on her face that she didn't really believe that he felt any sympathy for the blind Blake.

Obsidian crossed his arms, shooting her a rather disarming grin. "Oh, come on, Twelve, you don't believe me?"

It occurred to Vale that she had no idea why he was talking to her. He was her enemy—and a Career. This thought made her add an extra spoonful of spite to her answer: "No, not really."

"I didn't think you did." For some inexplicable reason, Obsidian's bright white smile only grew wider. "But I'm actually being honest. Believe it or not—and probably not—I'm pretty straightforward. I tell the truth, when it's good for me."

When it's good for him, she thought with a hardly smothered scoff.

"And you still don't believe me," he said. He didn't sound surprised. "Oh, well. If only you were more intuitive, you'd know I'm being honest, sparkle girl."

"Sparkle girl?" Vale raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." He gestured to the heart-shaped necklace that Vale still wore around her neck. "It's sparkly. It's pretty."

Vale felt too irritated by the nerve of this Career making fun of her to bother to restrain herself from snapping back pointedly at him. He just irritated her so much. "Yeah, my eyes are pretty, too, One—not that you're looking at them."

"Sorry, I'm like a magpie; my eyes are drawn to shiny things." He continued grinning boyishly as his green gaze returned to her face. "Ah. So they are. They're sparkly, too."

She crossed her arms, flushing despite herself. "Now you're definitely mocking me."

"That I am, Twelve. Glad you picked up on that. Stay smart like that—and you might have some chance once the Games begin."

And he disappeared again, back to his former spot at the wall, grinning to himself in what Vale knew had to be a complacent way. She found that her own teeth were gritted, too, but in a glare, and that her hands were balled into fists.

It was odd. Vale had never been in a single fight in the entirety of her life, and in fact, she had always rather prided herself at being a peacemaker instead. But after this single encounter with this odious Career, she felt ready to jump into a fray.

Is this a good thing or a bad thing?

There was no certain answer to this question. Heaving a silent sigh, Vale's eyes were drawn back to the blind tribute from District Eleven, Blake. Obsidian Citrine had at least been right about one thing: that poor boy wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance in the arena.

"Somewhere in this darkness, there's a light that I can't find. Maybe it's too far away… or maybe I'm just blind..." –Three Doors Down, "When I'm Gone"

Author's Note: So... poor Blake. Reminds me of the crippled kid in Katniss's Games. :(

But on a brighter note: more Obsidian! Sorry, for some reason, I just like writing the guy; he's just funny. Partially because he's weird, and partially because he's so good at ticking the usually subdued Vale off. Which is also fun to write! XD

Anyway, why am I rambling on about what I think about my story? It's you guys' turn now! Hope you enjoyed! :)

~Lily