Training, Part Three.
Farren Laboy, 17 years, District Six Female.
The mood for today can only be defined as one thing, and that's uneasy.
Yesterday solidified it. Everyone was nervous, they had every reason to be, but now it's ten times worse.
It's not just the fight that happened. It's the realization that we only have a few hours left, until our scores are decided. The interviews tomorrow. And then after that, it's over. Half of the day is already through - we've got maybe 36 hours until things finally happen.
I'm pretty sure Casper is asleep, sitting against the rack holding the swords, but at least Vance is trying. I'm kind of worried that if I turn around for too long he'll impale himself, but I've also been afraid of that myself since the second we started training.
So at least we're in the same boat.
"Should we wake him up?" Vance asks finally. I half-expect Casper to move, but he doesn't even twitch.
"He's not going to get any sleep tonight. Or the night after that, probably."
"Should tell him to nap during his private session. See how they like that."
Right now, I wouldn't put it past Casper to actually do it. It's not like he's been sleeping anyway, he's got to make up for lost time somehow. I know he doesn't care about the score he gets regardless.
"You know it's gonna be up to us, right?" I ask him. He almost manages to lop the arm off a dummy, only a few loose cords keeping it attached at the shoulder. To be fair, an hour ago it didn't even look like he hit it, so. Baby steps for the both of us.
I think he at least gets it, though. I've been worried about Casper since this whole thing started. About how hard he'll be willing to try or about how he'll handle it all. Half the time he doesn't care and half the time he cares too much. That's why Vance is standing here right now, all because Casper thought it would be better to have someone other than him around.
It's not exactly encouraging.
Is he even going to care, once we get in there?
"Hey," Vance says softly. "Don't worry. We'll figure it out. You really think I'm going to complain about my situation right now? Contrary to popular belief it could still actually be worse."
He's right. One of us could be a loner right now, like some of the people still trickling, mindless and alone, around the room.
Casper may be asleep, but at least we have each other.
"We will figure it out," he repeats. "Maybe not on the sword front, though. You're even worse than I am."
"And to think I was about to say you were doing so much better," I say, laughing, and reach over to shove him in the shoulder. He narrowly avoids stepping on Casper, picking his way over his legs to pull another dummy closer to the two of us. He's laughing just like I am.
It's the truth, though. He is doing a lot better. I give him my own sword to put back on the rack and move for the knives instead. I wasn't doing too bad with them yesterday, according to the trainer, though it's still up for debate if she was giving me pity marks or not.
"I think the worst part is how non-intimidating you look," Vance points out. "You look like you're about to threaten to compliment me to death or something."
"I can be scary."
"Yep. I'm aware. It's not like you told me to envision the sword like a paintbrush two hours ago. Totally scary."
It seems like almost everyone here is scary or intimidating, though. On some level at least. No one's going to believe me if I try it. No point in pretending when everyone will see through the façade anyway.
Besides, it's not like Vance is any scarier, and Casper's asleep, for god's sake. No one's going to reward us for being scary.
It's the pair from Ten creeping around us that almost makes me re-think it. They don't look scared of us, necessarily, but wary. Maybe it's the fact that we're joking and laughing like we're anywhere but where we really are, Casper asleep at our feet like he doesn't have a care in the world. Then again, he doesn't. None that he's shared with me.
Vance has noticed it though, and nods at them. Smiles.
"You're good as long as you don't step on him. That I am not taking the blame for."
The girl laughs, and even the boy who's already proven himself to be quieter smiles, taking a step forward to grab his own sword. Vance has lowered his open weapon and I've followed suit without even realizing it. Appearing as non-threatening to people as possible, because that's not what they deserve.
Maybe that's foolish thinking. I should want to be a stronger, better person right now. The me that exists back in Six won't survive this. I already know that for a fact. The part of me that makes me who I am, that girl who's friends with everyone and who tries her damnedest to make sure that everyone's living their life, is all I've ever known how to be.
The issue is, I don't know how to get rid of that part without losing myself entirely.
Thirty-six hours. Less than that, now.
I can already hear the time, counting down quicker and quicker in my head.
Blair Carnell, 18 years, District Two Male.
"You cannot put me in time-out."
The look on Celia's face is saying she absolutely, one hundred percent can put me in time-out. Dimara's is no better.
I knew the trainers we're going to keep an eye on me, but I didn't think that meant everyone.
I mean, I get it. The stylists will wring my neck if I end up with my face bruised even worse than it already is. But Camden's is worse, even though they managed to fix his nose with whatever they shot him full of, and he started it in the first place, so they should be watching him. Not me. That's all I'm saying.
As if anyone was listening.
"I already have a black eye," Celia points out. "I don't need to get another one pulling your dumb ass out of fights."
"That's rich coming from the person who was the first outside party to get involved. Would you even be sad if you got another black eye?"
"She wouldn't," Rory interrupts, before Celia can even open her mouth. To his credit, I thought he was completely focused on hitting targets and wasn't listening at all. Turns out he can multi-task. Who knew.
"What Celia was so eloquently attempting to say is that we're trying to look out for each other here," Dimara says. "And no one else has went out of their way to be difficult about it."
Everyone here seems to be forgetting that Tavian exists and that he was on Camden's side yesterday, which leaves me to take the brunt of it. And it's not like Rory's about to start a fist fight. I think right now, with how he tried to grab her yesterday, he's afraid to even attempt touching Celia.
"Blair jail," Oeshe says out of nowhere. I scowl.
"You have no idea how not funny that is. Why are you even here again?"
"She's our ally," Dimara reminds me. "Stop being a dick."
Now I've got someone from Eleven, of all places, looking at me like I'm a zoo animal. Just how I wanted my day to start off. She's still miles better than spending my time around Camden.
I don't know how to say out-loud that I can't stop thinking about the things he said. It's not like anyone here would really get it anyway. Oeshe is Dimara's ally, and Celia's, not mine. It's almost easy to forget when we're all talking that two days from now we won't be going into this together at all.
Rory's not even facing us when she says it, but I can tell he's wounded at that. That they wouldn't stick with him but they'd adopt Oeshe out of nowhere.
To be honest, I'm a little put off by it too.
I'd be more put off by it if she wasn't already expressing the same asshole qualities that most of this group seems to have.
"What's up?" Dimara asks. Celia's turned away, probably trying to intentionally or unintentionally mess up Rory's aim. I have no idea where Anya's wandered off to, and Oeshe seems to not really care at all about what she's asking me. All I can see is Camden across the way and that alliance.
"Nothing," I respond.
"Blair."
"My face hurts," I insist. Which isn't a lie, if we're being honest. I think they're with-holding the painkillers as a way to discourage me from doing it again. Lucky for them, it seems to be working.
"Should've thought about that before you broke his nose, then."
She knows that's not it. Everyone knows that's not it. I wouldn't have just punched him for fun; they know he had to have done something to deserve it. But Tavian seems to have kept his mouth shut and I have no idea if Nadir even really heard it or not.
It's not like it matters. Not here.
"Do you think they're going to release us for lunch soon?" I question. I think my eye's a little swollen - no amount of squinting will let me see the clock at the far end of the room.
"What, so you can start a food fight?" Anya asks, appearing to my left. Ah, there she is. As unwilling as ever to let yesterday go, apparently.
"I'll help!" Oeshe offers cheerfully. You know what, I've changed my mind. I think I like her just fine now.
I'm not going to do it again. I could've this morning, before anyone realized. Right now I'm a little tired and half hungry and a lot pissed off, mostly, about how all of this has been going. About the things that came out of Camden's mouth yesterday and how I did nothing but stand there and take it. Like it was my father over ten years ago or Mauro just last month telling me how to do things like he knows any better than I do.
If that's a testament to how my entire life's been up until this moment, then it's no wonder that I'm pissed off.
"Maybe I will start a food fight," I murmur thoughtfully, just to rile them up. Oeshe grins in delight. Rory gives me a look over his shoulder, half panic and half dread. Dimara just sighs and rolls her eyes, and then reaches forward like she's about to whack me in the face. She settles for my shoulder instead when I lean back, as far away from her hand as possible.
I wasn't kidding when I said my face hurt.
I won't let anything else happen, though. Nothing else is going to hurt this bad.
I've promised myself that.
Shirin Azami, 17 years, District Three Male.
I'm wondering if the trainers will have a better reaction time today than yesterday.
If not, and it's the same, I'm wondering how fast I can take a part of Early off before she starts screaming.
I think she'd start wailing like a banshee the second I even got close, just to ruin it. Draw attention to it and nothing gets accomplished.
In the end, though, she wanders off. Maybe she was finally starting to clue into the fact that the longer she stayed the more likely she was to lose a finger or two. Some sort of carefully staged accident, of course, because there's nothing around here sharp enough to sever through bones, fragile though they may be.
I've hardly left the medical training area they've got set up the past three days. There hasn't been any reason to. The trainers stopped trying to get involved after the second hour on the first day. Since then they've hardly paid me any mind, let me do whatever I wanted.
Just how I like it.
It's weird, seeing it like this. They've got diagrams laid out and the contents of first aid kits spread out all along the table. The only things even remotely close to weapons here are medical instruments. Valuable, sure, and certainly plausible to use as a weapon if you were in a nasty situation.
I've never thought about it like that. My parents taught me what we did through first-hand experience, by watching people live and die depending on what we did. What I did.
Even the trainers here don't really understand. I can see it in their eyes - they've never really dealt with the things I have. Never had to. There aren't factory explosions in the Capitol, collapsing buildings. They don't pull shards of metal and shrapnel out of people's ribs and lungs. Heart, if they're unlucky.
They just teach it, and hope that none of the kids here are smart enough to put it together. Aren't smarter than them.
They've quickly come to the realization that their match is here.
Three days spent picking apart dummies and diagrams and wondering if any of this was real to them at all.
I'm several minutes into sewing up a two inch long gash directly between a thumb and forefinger when someone sits down at the table behind me. I don't have to see it to know. Their presence is enough.
Whoever it is, they don't say anything. Judging by the fact that everyone except Early has steered clear of me the past three days, for good reason, I can narrow it down to about five people. The One guy's a no-go, and there's no way the Seven girl would willingly come over here, not unless someone was physically holding her there.
Still only one person there. Not the Twelve girl then, either. They wouldn't trust her with this.
I don't move. Eventually I feel whoever it is get up, but make no move to leave.
I snip the thread and tie off the ends just as the Five girl puts both of her elbows on the table and leans in obnoxiously close. Examining, it seems. She probably has about as much clue as the trainers do as to what she's supposed to be looking for.
"You're good at that, hey?"
Apparently we're just pointing out the obvious.
"Better than most," I inform her. My ego is no worse than hers is, so there's no way she'll take any offense to it. She walks around here like an ice queen more often than not.
"I can tell," she says. "You've been doing this since we started. No weapons?"
Everything I could ever possibly need is on this table. Like I said, maybe these things aren't ideal, not to most people, but they're practically extensions to my own arm. Nothing else is going to work better, if I need it to. My parents didn't teach me how to fight. They taught me this.
This is all I'll ever need.
"No point in using anything else. Are you going to announce your point anytime soon?"
I know what she's here for. And I wondered about it. They know I'm not a fighter, clearly. If she's not just the only one and they've all been watching me, they don't need me to say it to know.
"I'm Isi," she tells me. I notice she doesn't hold out her hand. "And we think you could be of some use to us."
Straight to the point. I can appreciate that. It's not like I was under the impression they wanted to sit around the fire together and sing songs. They're not in this for friends.
I wasn't in this for an alliance, either.
"You know I'm not a fighter," I say, quite obviously. They clearly know my name, no point in that. "I'm not fighting for any of you. Or dying for any of you, for that matter."
"We're not asking you to," she says sweetly, all the grace of a con artist.
"Besides," a voice behind me interrupts. "I'm no longer looking for fighters. We've got plenty of those. I'm looking for survivors."
Camden slams his hands down on the table in front of me, as if to emphasize his point. Not a bad way to do it, if a bit brutish.
Isi's still leaning forward, almost a little too eagerly. If I wasn't staring at the two of them so intently I'd know I'd see the rest of their alliance, watching. Waiting.
Camden smiles. "Are you a survivor, Shirin?"
Dimara Vespoli, 18 years, District One Female.
Lunch, despite all the talk, is a very quiet affair.
Right after this they're lining us all up and taking us to our private sessions. That realization very slowly ripples out across the room, hitting every single person one by one. Some look terrified, others look like nothing at all.
It's a weird spectacle to watch.
Thankfully, it doesn't get any weirder. Blair seems pretty content with his food and isn't acting like he's about to hit Camden in the back of the head with an orange, so that's good. Not that I would be mad about it.
"Are you guys going to tell me to fuck off if I get a bad score?" Oeshe wonders, chewing on her fork. I'm pretty sure Rory's stolen something off her plate, and I just openly watched Blair do it thirty seconds ago. Not that she seems to care. They're not exactly being subtle about it.
"Sure are," I inform her, and on my other side, Celia snorts. Even Anya cracks a smile at that one, though she seems to be doing the same thing I was. Watching everyone else.
"If I do I'll just kill someone really fast to make up for it."
At the next table over, one of the Nine's looks alarmed at her choice of words. Zion's noise of disapproval, somewhere behind us, is audible across the room.
It's no secret here that the Careers are technically outnumbered here. Sure, if something went south I'm sure we'd stick up for each other. Yesterday proved that.
But when it's death instead of getting punched in the crossfire? I'm not so sure.
"Count me in," Celia agrees. "As many as we can in one sweep."
"Amen to that," Blair mutters under his breath, and him and Anya share a look. There's something from a conversation I definitely wasn't privy to.
Apparently not even I can keep track of everything that goes on in this pack of weirdos.
The bell rings to signal the end of our lunch, but the doors to the training center stay firmly shut. Everyone stays in their spot, awkwardly hovering over the benches like they're not sure exactly what they're supposed to do. The Head Trainer steps into the room, with Celia muttering something under her breath the second she sees her, and everyone stops.
"Everyone please line up according to District, male and then female."
The entire room stares nervously for a second before moving to put themselves in a line. The way they're all looking around she might as well have just asked us to do a math problem.
"Great, no pressure or anything," Tavian says as he takes his position closest to the door, ready to be filed into the hallway.
"Remember, don't choke," I add helpfully and he narrows his eyes at me, staying silent. Probably wondering if I'm kidding or not. That's what he gets for allowing Camden to get a hold on him. He's a lost cause now and we all know it. We all have to grow up from the twelve year olds we were walking into the Academy, though.
"This isn't fair," Celia grumbles. "I literally can't even see around you."
"Why do you need to see?" Rory asks, distantly, just as Anya murmurs her own similar sentiments. "We're not going anywhere exciting."
Ah, the perks of having a giant District partner. That's why it's all the more satisfying that if I stretch myself I'm just the slightest bit taller than Tavian.
That quarter of an inch counts, alright?
"Shut it back there, shorties," I say. Celia looks particularly affronted at that, but whatever she was about to say is cut off by Rory's hand over her mouth, and Anya doesn't get a chance at a rebuttal before the Head Trainer opens the door and leads us into the hallway.
It's not a long walk, but it almost feels like it. By the time we get to another set of doors, even heavier and larger than the one leading to the tribute center, it feels like too much time has passed. Tavian doesn't look nervous, not like most of the kids in this line do, but I clap a hand on his shoulder regardless.
"Forget what I said before," I say. "Alliance animosities aside for a second, don't actually choke."
He smiles, and nods. "Yeah. You too."
They don't even let him sit down. They wait until the rest of us take our seats at the benches along the walls and usher him in right in before anyone can get a word in otherwise.
When the doors clang shut behind him and the Peacekeepers take their positions on either side of it, it's almost nerve-wracking.
Almost.
I've spent years readying myself for this. Regardless of what's going on I don't want Tavian to do terribly. Right now there's no one to disappoint, no one to be overly critical of, besides myself. Celia will do fine. Oeshe too. I'm not worried about that stupidly big alliance or the capabilities they think they have. They can try to be scary all they want, it's not going to work on us for a damn second.
Where the walk here felt like it took too long, Tavian seems like he's back in no time at all. He's hard to read, as always, but looks optimistic, smiling slightly, as the doors open and they announce my name over the loudspeakers. It can't have been more than two or three minutes since they took him in, and all of a sudden it's my turn.
It feels different, being on the other side of the doors when they settle back into place, the noise echoing around the room.
It feels right.
For the third time in a row, training scores are up on the blog because there is no way in hell I was writing those.
Also coincidentally realized that I'm going to be across the country when I have to upload the bloodbath, so that should be one hell of an upload and blog edit while on mobile. Let you know how that goes when it happens.
Until next time.