Chapter Fourteen.

Training Day Two.

Huxley Cross, 14 years old;
District Three Male.

Huxley was finding it very hard to mind his own business.

He'd always been on the outside looking in. At home with his loudmouthed, obnoxious, yet loving sister. His stern, matriarchal parent figure. His co-workers. His classmates. Everywhere and everyone.

And now with the tributes, from District One to District Twelve.

But he didn't mind the noise buzzing around him, like busy bees flying between stations, training, working hard. Because he was learning things. Learning who the tributes were as people – what they thought, how they put their minds into action, what they could and couldn't do. What they might be able to do.

It was interesting. As long as he wasn't the centre of anyone's attention, this whole training business didn't seem so bad. Not whilst he kept his head down and tried to forget what it was they were training for, exactly.

As long as those dark, dreadful thoughts stayed well away from the centre of his mind, Huxley found his peace. He found his own little workplace. He found where he thought he belonged.

Although…

He heard Andryn laughing. She was with someone. Huxley didn't know who and he didn't want to barge over and ask. He wasn't like his sister or those curiously ignorant to other people's emotions. She might not like it. And the last thing he wanted to do was upset someone that had only had his best interests at heart.

So he simply listened to her, laughing, cheering herself on when she practiced and accomplished something, and on and on it went. He relished in someone else's excitement whilst he tinkered with certain bits of wires, learned how to make a net with ropes, how to scale the climbing wall without falling and hurting himself.

But the one thing that he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, was his burning desire to find… someone, whether he wanted to mind his own business or not.

His loneliness had done him wonders so far. Had made his life easier, even when he'd felt his cheeks flaming hot with embarrassment, or sometimes wished things would one day go his way when they never did.

This was different though. As hard as it was to visualize actually speaking to someone, he had to, he had to man-up and take the initiative. The more he embraced the joyous sounds of Andryn living her last days of peace, the more Huxley realised that he needed help in the Arena.

Andryn had offered to be with him. And he'd thought about it. He'd kept on thinking about it. And when he'd landed on a no, rather than take the courage to tell her, he'd simply let her get on with her business and find someone else.

He was scared of letting her down. Scared of dragging her chances through the mud if he burdened her with his presence. It wasn't him trying to push himself down and down. Huxley knew what he could do and what he couldn't do.

What he couldn't do was protect Andryn. He didn't deserve someone like her.

And she'll always be a better person than me. Because whenever she looks over and offers me that sad, painful look, she doesn't come over. Not once did Andryn move for Huxley. Because she respected his wishes.

She understood him.

Now he had to find someone else.

As he moved around the training hall, seconds falling into minutes that changed into hours, Huxley kept one ear focused on his surroundings, and one ear on the teachings of the trainers near to him. He enjoyed learning new things. The educational side of school had always been his favourite.

It was sort of like that, only with pointy weapons and the horrible idea of death lingering far away, never quite reaching him, but tapping away at his subconscious, trying to whittle down his sanity piece by piece.

He'd kept it at bay so far. And he continued to do so. Until he heard a soft, polite voice, somewhere to his right. And when his eyes focused on the three of them talking, Huxley immediately put the book down, ignored the plants around his feet, and watched, intrigued.

"Emigdio doesn't bite, I promise," the girl from Nine – Clytie, Huxley believed her name to be – laughed as she smiled down at the small girl from Seven. Petra something. "I might, but only when I'm hungry."

Petra responded with her own rather anxious smile. But still she took a step closer and tried to make herself seem as approachable as possible. It sort of reminded Huxley of himself. Only she was mildly better at it than he was.

"I… I don't mean to be so forward, I just saw you two with the… the…"

"Maces?" Emigdio finished for her.

Why is he looking at her like that? Huxley immediately found himself curious about the boy from Eleven. Or man, he should say. He'd always seemed so cold and distant. Yet with Clytie, and now all of a sudden with Petra, there was something affectionate in his eyes.

With every second, Huxley was starting to think that maybe… maybe…

"Seems like we've got someone else interested in us, 'Mig'," Clytie said, nodding her head in Huxley's direction, grinning.

His cheeks immediately went the brightest shade of crimson. He felt like his entire face was half on fire, half already melted off. Where's the escape plan when I need it… He looked at the ground nervously, then over his shoulder in the other direction.

Strangely, instead of running, or stuttering over a messy apology, Huxley tried to smile back at the friendly faces watching him. Emigdio once again, maybe for the sake of his eager companion, didn't show those hostile eyes he'd shown for other people.

When even he smiled, and then Petra tried too, Huxley stood up and patted his training uniform down, nervously trying to appear somewhat composed. "H-Hi. Hi. I-I didn't mean to…"

"Clytie Torrence, District Nine." Three steps and she was shaking his hand, affectionately up and down, almost too much for Huxley's liking. "That's Emigdio Santiago. And I believe our mature friend to be Petra Peverett. District Seven?"

When she looked over her shoulder, Petra nodded her head, somewhat cautiously.

If I were her, I wouldn't totally be sold either. She'd probably come along hoping for an alliance with two strong, outer-District tributes. And now they were talking to him because he'd stared for too long.

If she was reconsidering, Huxley didn't blame her.

"Are you here for the same reason as me?" Petra asked, softly and politely.

Huxley didn't know whether to nod, say yes, shrug his shoulders meekly, or laugh and say no. But he didn't lie. He didn't do many things, but lying was one-hundred percent something he tried to stay away from.

"Yes. Y-Yes. I mean, if you're here for a-"

"An alliance?" Emigdio said, raising an eyebrow. "All of a sudden we're the popular tributes."

"Maybe it's our dashing looks?" Clytie joked, before blushing.

She hadn't taken a step back yet from Huxley. But he found himself rather liking her presence now that he'd actually spoken something and hadn't choked on his tongue. He nodded at Emigdio and smiled again.

"I didn't mean to step on your toes, Petra. But I… well, there's not a whole lot of a time we have left before things get… well you know…"

"Yeah. I suppose we've got to make the most of our situation," Petra said.

"Exactly," Huxley replied, slowly growing in confidence.

He'd never reach what he had with Andryn. Or ever reach who she was. But as he stepped closer to Emigdio and Petra, side by side with Clytie, he felt like maybe something was coming together, and coming together rather well.

Maybe he could hope. Maybe hope wasn't impossible anymore.

"I guess we should leave it with just us, though. It's probably best our numbers don't grow anymore. Wouldn't want to make ourselves out to be a threat. Not that we're exactly… well… " Emigdio said, smiling warmly.

Huxley looked between them. Three minutes, maybe four, and he'd already been welcomed into a group. They were trusting. Perhaps too trusting. But he needed that. He didn't think he'd cope well with hostility. He didn't think he'd be able to deal with the idea of having to look over his shoulder every two minutes, in case of a knife coming for his back.

And with Emigdio and Clytie, even little Petra, he didn't feel like he had to worry anymore about being the ultimate burden.

Maybe he didn't need to be a fighter. Or the muscle. Or even someone that could take a life for the sake of his new friends.

Maybe all Huxley had to be was who he was, right now, awkwardly shy, yet still enjoying the next few hours laughing merrily with three people he'd just met, but three people who felt like friends.

He was a thinker. And yes he was quiet, yes he didn't believe so much in winning and being able to be the next Victor, but that was alright.

He had a place now.

Although it was in an alliance headed straight for the Hunger Games, it didn't seem so bad.

Theon Devalera, 17 years old;
District Four Male.

"Hello, ladies."

Riena, Diantha and his District partner Romina, looked up in unison, as Theon appeared from behind the rack of throwing knives.

It amused him silently how they each reacted differently; each of his female allies regarding him with something different in their eyes.

Diantha winked, smirking. Romina immediately broke eye contact, somewhat disgusted. And then Riena, somewhere between the two, trying to maintain peace, met his gaze and attempted a rather shaky smile.

Eh. None of them had said piss off. He took that as a step in the right direction.

"What can we do for you, Theon?" Riena asked, politely, yet nervously.

"Oh nothing," Theon traced his finger along the handle of a knife, smiling to himself. "Thought it was about time I got to know my fellow teammates. Uriah and Alston are total butt-buddies, so I thought why not try the girls?"

"Maybe you could train by yourself?" Riena suggested.

Way to make me feel good…

"Is she suddenly in charge?" Theon asked, turning his attention to Diantha. Something about her, the way he could so easily sense she was trying to be someone she wasn't, but with a twinkle in her eye either way, made Theon believe he'd have a chance with her, rather than anyone else.

A chance of at least making a… friend. Or acquaintance. Or something. Friend probably isn't the right word. Theon didn't know how to be close with people. He ended up ruining everything, even when he didn't intentionally mean to.

"Oh, Riena?" Diantha shook her head. "She's clearly on some kind of power trip-"

"I am not!" Riena interrupted, frowning.

"Well, maybe not a power trip. She's a decent girl. But I think she believes she's taken the more responsible role. I think we work better when we each have something to offer. As equals."

"I never said that was a bad idea," Riena whispered.

Romina never met Theon's eye. But she did turn to face Diantha. "In her defence, she never said she was in charge. The idea of us all being equal sounds… great. Refreshing."

"Refreshing?" Theon almost snorted.

"Yes."

His District partner so clearly didn't like him, it was almost cute. Almost. It didn't quite leave him feeling good about himself. Somewhat the opposite. An empty sort of void in his chest where Theon filled it up by doing the complete reverse of what it was he should have been doing. In this sense, it was pissing off a girl that actually seemed quite lovely. Not that I could ever… tell her that…

"Well if we all have equal input, I might suggest you girls get up and move. Thought someone of your talents would have a keen eye and ear for spotting out when someone's eavesdropping," Theon paused; silence rippling through their little get together. "Honestly." He tutted and shook his head. "It's so obvious."

With that out and open in the air, the little kid from Six, short and weak looking, stepped out from behind a target close to them, stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"Worth a shot, eh?"

Theon laughed. The girls clearly didn't look impressed. Embarrassed more like. But Theon didn't feel threatened by someone of his calibre. He actually respected him for having the balls to do something no one else clearly wanted to do.

Spying on the greatest threat in the Games was a good move. He might have learnt something no one else here would be able to find out.

"Run along now kid," Theon said, waving him away with a smile. "Did you not see that coming?"

Romina frowned and started to twirl a knife between her fingers, anything to distract herself from Theon's intense gaze. Diantha and Riena exchanged a look. The girl from Two played it off, shrugging her shoulders with a cheerful, casual laugh.

"Whatever, he's… well he's not exactly going to be much of a hassle in the Arena, is he?"

"Not that anyone's better than us. Or me. But still, it probably isn't the best idea to count out even the smallest kid. He could easily become a right pain in our combined asses." Theon said.

He was beginning to feel like even Diantha's mask was starting to fall to pieces with him nearby. He tried to smile and persevere; fighting through it. Unity in the Pack was important. Even if he wasn't doing a great job at getting them to like him. Still… it wasn't going so brilliantly.

"Any other great advice, O' Wise One?" Diantha joked.

Theon nodded and turned to face the large expanse of the training hall, from the survival stations to the weaponry stations. All of the tributes collected in one place. And yet to the Careers, they were supposed to be nothing but future numbers on a victim poll.

Theon didn't necessarily think of them that way. But it was easier to detach himself from who they were, what they had done previously before this had happened, and what they might have achieved if their lives hadn't been ruined.

It almost reminded him of himself. Only, he'd never known his place. And now here he was, trying to find out. Fitting together the pieces of who he was and failing each and every time. Still, his eyes gazed around the room intently, until he found who he was looking for, and turned back to face his allies with a roll of his eyes.

"Again, rather than mindlessly chatting away like girls, you do realise that he," Theon jabbed a finger in the tribute's direction, "could be a problem somewhere down the line."

"I thought you said everyone was a problem?" Riena stared at Theon, holding her own, standing on her two feet rather proudly for someone he thought had no backbone.

He sighed and lowered his finger. "Yes, but no. Not like him. He volunteered, did he not? And we're supposed to act like that didn't happen. Outer District volunteers are rare. Shouldn't we look into it?"

"Let him do what he likes," Diantha replied.

She seemed far too dismissive for Theon's liking. He wasn't sure when he'd started taking this so seriously – maybe it was the fact he really didn't want to die, that was probably it. And some blasted volunteer from Eight of all places could potentially seriously jeopardize his chances if he didn't find out exactly why he'd offered himself up in the first place.

"Well, fine. When it comes to fuck you over somewhere in the Games, don't say I didn't warn you," Theon tried to lighten up his tone with another laugh, only it sounded more tired and strained than anything else. "I'm only looking out for you girls. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to my friends, would I?"

"I don't know," Romina said, facing him. "Would you?"

He nearly offered her the finger.

For such a meek girl back on the train and Chariot, and for someone who seemed to have so much integrity and respect for other people, there was a serious bee in her bonnet when it came to being around Theon. Sure, it wasn't like he was the nicest guy in the nearby vicinity. But he wasn't a total asshole.

He hadn't slept with her, chucked her, and moved onto her best friend at least. Not that he could anyway. He was here. Her best friend wasn't.

Whatever. He shrugged and refrained from saying anything else to further wind her up.

Diantha linked her arm unexpectedly with his and turned them around, so their backs were facing Riena and Romina, who quickly fell back to training, quiet and focused.

"Look, Theon. Uriah's an asshole. But a nice asshole. He seems a bit too friendly if you get on his good side. And then there's Riena, she means well, she's probably the most mature out of any of us, but she's got a temper when her buttons are pushed in all the wrong places," Diantha had suddenly turned so serious, her voice barely above a whisper. "Romina is quiet, yet her silent sort of strength could prove troublesome down the line. And then Alston, well he just seems like a total tool. But there's something there. Something deadly."

Theon chuckled, anxiously. "Why are you saying all this?"

"Because I know who they are, I know who I am, but I don't know who you are," Diantha frowned. "I hate surprises."

"I'll try not to throw one at you, then."

She removed her arm from his and smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't see any of us becoming friends. But I want to make this work, until it can't any longer. As long as we all play our part, we have a chance of surviving long enough in that Arena."

"I'll do my bit," Theon said. "I promise."

Diantha nodded, turned away, and sat back down, satisfied.

When Theon started to move to another station, by himself, listening to the other tributes laughing, talking, and getting along, he suddenly felt a stab of loneliness, of confusion, of something dark and terrifying in his stomach.

They weren't friends. Diantha had said it. Theon had known it. Romina made it very clear with every look she sent him.

That didn't make it any easier. All his life he'd searched for something. Someone. And no matter how hard he was prepared to try now, it wouldn't be enough.

If he was to win, they would have to die.

The Theon they all saw wouldn't bat an eyelash at the thought. But the Theon on the inside… he was completely and utterly terrified.

He didn't care for them. But he didn't want to see them dead either. He didn't want to hurt them.

I am so fucked.

Barnaby Miller, 13 years old;
District Five Male.

There they are.

There… he is.

Barnaby swallowed nervously. He wasn't enjoying himself, not one bit.

Coming into the Capitol, a city so unimaginably luxurious, so different from anything he'd ever seen, he'd wanted to at least find some way of forgetting the reason he and everyone else were here. He'd wanted to push aside the idea of dying for something easier to handle.

Something that didn't make a thirteen year old want to wet himself.

But now that he was with everyone, he couldn't help but keep staring in their direction. In his direction. Arick Greige. The District Eight volunteer. From his sister's information, some kind of rebel, a potential leader for the war that would soon come.

Barnaby played with his fingers, fidgeting, doing everything but something productive. War. Do I want war? Rebels versus the Capitol? Destruction. Death. He was about to go to a place where he knew the outcome. But for everyone else, living hard lives, awful lives, but people who actually had a life…

Did he want to be with someone that was supposed to be here for the sole reason of creating conflict? He'd led such a peaceful, albeit strained, life so far. All of this thinking was too much for Barnaby to handle. All this autonomy over his own life.

It was so much easier when he had school, work, and that was it. Repetitive, but familiar.

And now he was here.

But I'm not supposed to let him win, anyway… He was a thirteen year old kid. Weedy. Scrawny. Anything but a fighter. Yet his sister thought he was capable of taking down someone like Arick, behind his back, cowardly yet effectively ruining the chances of the Capitol potentially being thwarted for their crimes.

I can't believe I'm seriously considering this. Come on Barnaby, look away, stop picking your fingernails and chewing your thumb like a little baby, and do something… find someone else…

And yet… no… stop walking… He was heading straight for them. District Eight. The loud kid from Seven. Little Barnaby, small, weak Barnaby, in the background Barnaby, was moving for the very people he knew would give him the greatest chance of surviving in the Arena. And yet…

They looked up immediately. He was rather light on his feet, but everything seemed to echo in this room. Even his ragged, panicked breathing.

"Hey there!" The kid from Seven said, stepping in front of Arick and his District partner before they could get a word out. Or Barnaby. "Aren't you a little small for the spears?"

He suddenly realised exactly where they were. And although he felt the obvious signs of annoyance beginning to creep up towards this boy in front of him, Barnaby gulped fearfully. The spears were practically taller than him.

But you're not here for the spears. You're here for a very different, very human-shaped weapon. One that's more capable than any spear you'll find. Get it together Barnaby!

"I-" He wasn't sure if he should come straight out with it, or play it cool. He wasn't even sure how playing it cool would go, so he opted for the former. "I'm not here for the spears. I'm not here to throw anything."

"Then what are you here for?" The prickly girl from Eight spoke up before their mascot could.

Mascot? He wasn't sure when he'd suddenly become so bitter.

"I-" Barnaby tugged at his collar, feeling the heat suddenly affecting him intensely. Zeara's eyes were burrowing into his own, making this even harder. And Travis was smiling a smile that made him want to run away.

But Arick…

He chose to focus on him. Quiet, yet curiously watching the smaller boy in front of their trio.

"I'm here to ask you something."

"Oh?" Arick said, smiling.

"Yeah… I… do you have any more room for… for another…"

"Aw, he wants to be with us!" Travis said, laughing. "How old are you by the way?"

What does it matter? "Thirteen."

"Do we want a thirteen year old with us?" Travis asked, turning to face his allies. "I mean no offence. I'm sure you know stuff. But like… well this isn't… this isn't a game." He laughed. "I mean yeah it's a game. It's called the Hunger Games. But it's not that kind of game."

"And you're better at this kind of game than me, are you? Have you ever played it before?" Barnaby said, bitterly.

Travis paused. Then frowned. Barnaby did the same. Again, he was starting to feel irritation corrupt him from the inside. Maybe the fear was getting to him. Maybe the fact that he was a fish out of water, flopping and floundering on the sand, so out of his depth, made him want to shrink into a little ball and cry.

But rather than cry, he was reacting in other ways. This was one of those ways.

"I'm sold," Zeara said, crossing her arms round her chest with a satisfied smirk. "Anyone who can knock you down a peg or two is A-Okay in my books."

Travis looked on the verge of sulking. When Zeara placed a hand on his shoulder, his cheeks started to brighten with colour once more. But rather than speak, they all seemed to move their eyes in Arick's direction.

He hadn't really done anything.

"I'm sorry. I understand you have an alliance already. And I know from an outside point of view I'm nothing special… I mean even from an inside point of view, my own brain in fact, my own… father… well yeah, I'm not the most…"

"You can join us," Arick said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Huh?" Barnaby and Travis said, at exactly the same time.

They exchanged a look. Barnaby wanted to smile. But he wasn't quite there yet. He wasn't sure he'd ever be there again. Because Arick had just said yes. He had just said he could get into their little alliance.

But that meant that he was on the way to what his sister had advised. And the thought made Barnaby want to cry, over and over. This wasn't how anything was supposed to go.

It's not fair on any of them… but… but I miss my family… my house… my…

"Are you okay?" Arick said, looking down at Barnaby.

He realised he was starting to tear up. He tried to smile shakily, but when that failed, he shook his head.

"Happy tears?" Travis half joked.

"No…" Barnaby mumbled, blinking his eyes. If he cried, Arick might change his mind. And as terrified as he was of his future with these three, the idea of going it alone was ten times worse. "This whole thing. I'm grateful, but I shouldn't have to… none of us should have to… it's not-"

He couldn't finish. He didn't know how to put it into words. From an average life to this, with spears taller than he stood barely a metre away from him, spears that could very well kill him in a few days time.

Any other kid he knew at school his age would have fallen apart by now. He was close to it. If it weren't for Arick and Zeara pulling him forwards, comforting him, he was sure he'd already be there, on the ground, sobbing.

"It's alright," Travis said, behind them, awkwardly. "It's um… yeah it's alright. Apart from the Games, there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Not helping," Zeara snapped.

Barnaby shook his head, wiping his eyes. "No, I need to embrace it. Travis is right. If I don't control myself, then I won't… I won't be a good ally for you."

"I'd rather an ally who understood how to react like someone, anyone should, than an ally who thought this was all going to be okay," Arick spoke, softly. "If it means anything, the fact you're so open, makes me even more convinced that I want you in our team."

Barnaby smiled.

And when they moved away, together, with no one able to see his face, the smile fell and the tears once again nearly threatened to fall free.

Arick was so kind. Too kind. A volunteer. A potential killer. Someone who was supposed to be the leader of a war.

He didn't fit that. He was just a teenager. He was supposed to be something Barnaby didn't see in who he was.

And my sister wants me to kill him… to use him…

Barnaby couldn't.

But even with the four of them getting along, he knew that if he wanted to see his sister, his parents, and anyone he'd ever loved again, he would have to.

This was the only way.

This chapter wasn't going to be out so soon. I did plan on slowing things down because the review count has dropped quite a bit so I wanted to give people time to actually catch up, but yeah I'm too into this story to be able to do that ;/

Hope that's not a problem, I know it's sometimes difficult when the chapters come out too fast!