Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games, Percy Jackson and the Olympians or Heroes of Olympus. They belong to their respective owners: Suzanne Collins and Rick Riordan.
Chapter Twenty-One
Dahlia snaps awake, gasping. It takes her a long time to calm down, to slow her breathing and rapid pulse. Finally, she manages it and sits up.
The weight of everything that happened last night comes crashing down on her again, and she's tempted to just go back to sleep. But she can't. Especially since just as she has this thought, she hears Toni's heels clicking on the floor outside. Then a fist slams into the door three times, making the door shake.
"Come on, Dahlia," Toni's voice calls, her voice more subdued than usual. Dahlia can't help but notice that she finally has her name right.
"Coming," she calls, jumping out of bed. She pulls on the outfit waiting for her, runs a brush through her hair, and dashes outside.
Toni steps back when she comes out, and manages a smile.
Then, without a word, she turns and walks away. Dahlia follows hesitantly.
She sits down next to Adair and stares at her plate. It has food on it, which means that either someone filled it for her, or there's no buffet breakfast today. She glances toward the counter and decides against the second option. So who filled her plate, then? She glances over at Adair, who meets her eyes for a few seconds, then looks back down.
Dahlia hopes it was him, or Seeder. Or Toni. Or basically anyone who's not Chaff, because if it was him, he probably spiked it with some alcohol, just for the heck of it. She eyes the plate warily.
Adair glances over at her again and cracks a grin. "What's wrong?"
"Who filled this plate?"
"Seeder. Why?"
Dahlia let out a relieved breath. "No reason."
She carefully picks up her fork. Toni sits down on the other side of the table with a full plate. Next to her is Chaff and next to him is Seeder. Tarquin comes in and plops down one seat away from Dahlia, and Decia reluctantly sits in between the two of them.
The mood at the table is a little more somber.
Chaff looks sober for once. He leans forward and puts his...hand on the table, while the hand-less arm hangs next to him.
"We need to talk," he says. He meets Adair's eyes, then Dahlia's.
Adair and Dahlia put their forks down at the same moment.
"Ok," Adair says. "What's up?"
Dahlia glances at him. His expression seems to say that he's pretty sure where this conversation is going, just like Dahlia is. She thinks of her conversation with Mica last night, and how he said they didn't have much time left. And she suddenly realizes that she only has two more days till she has to go into the arena.
She supposes she probably knew that already, but she's been trying to ignore it and just enjoy what little time she has left. And the events of last night and the night before last have effectively distracted her.
She looks back at Chaff.
"You two are going into the Games in two days," he says. He winces slightly. "Today is the individual training sessions. Make sure they notice you." He looks at Adair. "You said you did pretty good at archery." He looks at Dahlia quizzically. "You...well, you can just do whatever, I guess. Do what you think is best."
Plants. That's Dahlia's first thought. But that won't leave much of an impression in the Gamemakers, she's sure. And she's sure that Trek would just love to see her again. If he's even there... He might not be. She's not sure. It's not like she's ever been able to watch the individual training sessions. They're one of the few parts of the Hunger Games that's private.
For all the talk of the survival stations being more important than the weapons, she knows that everyone usually bets on tributes with one of two things (or if they have both, then they're pretty much set): beauty and strength. If it isn't immediately obvious that you have one (or both) of these two things, then chances are you won't get many sponsors. Which is maybe why the survival skills are important. The majority of tributes are malnourished, so of course they don't look particularly strong. That's part of the reason why Careers win most years. They get their hands on all the food they can, they have been trained for this since they were born, and they look strong.
That's also the reason why the younger kids- twelve, thirteen, even Dahlia's own age, fourteen, sometimes- are usually dismissed as being real contenders. They just don't look like they can do much.
Some old saying pricks at the back of her mind. Something she and Diamond had laughed over one time. "Don't judge a book by its cover." Yeah, that's it. Too bad no one ever listens to that. Dahlia doubts that people listened to it a hundred years ago either, or even a thousand.
Dahlia frowns slightly. Which would be best for her? She did good on the knife-throwing station before, but she's pretty sure that was beginner's luck. Unfortunately, it's all she can think of.
Chaff's still talking. Dahlia tunes back in before she misses too much.
"...be going toward the end. Only District Twelve will be after you two."
Dahlia nods along with Adair, pretending like she knows what he's talking about. She thinks she does, but still.
Chaff pauses, and Seeder takes that opportunity to cut in. "Try to do as good as you possibly can. Get their attention. Be creative. You'll need it."
Chaff nods. "Yeah," he grunts.
The mentors look ready to say more, but just then Toni looks at the clock. "Time!" she yelps. "We need to go now."
So Dahlia and Adair are forced to grab a handful of food from their plates and follow her out. They eat it as quickly as they can.
They rush into the waiting room after everyone else is already there and receive a lot of stares and a few snickers. They ignore these and go sit down.
The trainer gives instructions, and the names start being called soon.
"Castle Limerick."
Dahlia almost laughs out loud. That's his last name? Thanks to Diamond and Chiron, she knows a lot of words, and she knows that anything having to do with the word "humorous" doesn't match Castle. At all.
But she manages not to laugh. She manages to keep a straight face. She doesn't want him to kill her before her time, of course.
He gets up, sends a withering glare out to everyone in the room (probably just because he can), and heads into the training room.
And so the wait begins. Name after name is called, and it slowly inches closer and closer to District Eleven. Very, very slowly.
Dahlia is glad she's from Eleven, though, and not Twelve. The wait is even longer for them. She's not sure she'd be able to stand it. Heck, she's not sure she'll be able to stand this.
She drums her fingers on the table impatiently, trying to think of some kind of plan for her training session. All around her, people are talking in soft, nervous voices. She can't make out the words, but it fills the air with a nervous hum.
She watches the people leaving, the doors opening and closing, and finds herself thinking about camp again, and Diamond and Mica's plan. She still can't decide whether she wants them to go through with it, but she figures her opinion doesn't matter. If Diamond thinks up a perfect plan in time, then they're going to try it. Dahlia is sure of that.
She tries to focus back on the matter at hand when a hand touches her shoulder. She jumps, startled, and glances over. It's Adair.
"What is it?" she asks, ignoring the slight smirk on his face. He slips his hand off her shoulder.
"Are you ok?"
"Fine," Dahlia mutters. She glances toward the doors again. Someone- the girl from Four- is getting up and heading for the doors, which are slowly opening.
"You sure?"
"Yeah." She pauses. "Are you ok?"
The amusement in his eyes slips away and reveals his terror. He masks it quickly, but it doesn't escape Dahlia's notice.
"I'm terrified," he says, keeping his voice carefully light. Dahlia thinks she hears a slight tremor in it.
"It'll be ok," she says softly.
He looks at her, unconvinced. "Ok."
Dahlia gives him a weak smile. Then they lapse into silence again.
The wait seems like forever. Person after person leaves. They don't come back.
"Adair Labelle."
Dahlia looks up at him as he gets up. He glances down at her nervously, and she gives him a reassuring smile. He doesn't smile back, just looks away and walks toward the doors. They open slowly, he steps through them, and they swallow him up like the mouth of an enormous monster.
Dahlia exchanges a nervous look with the District Twelve kids (the only ones still in the room with her, of course), then turns back to the doors.
It feels like hours before her name is called, though of course she knows it's probably only about thirty minutes.
She gets up carefully, feeling the Twelve kids' eyes on her. She moves toward the doors, back straight, face devoid of emotion. As she passes through the doorway, a shiver goes through her, and she suddenly wonders if maybe these doors really are some giant monster's mouth. She has the urge to turn around and dart for the opposite exit, just so she can get away from all this. But she doesn't. She just stands even straighter, takes a deep breath, and forces herself to keep going.
The doors close behind her, and she's standing in the training room. The Gamemakers are off to one side. She takes a moment to study them. Most aren't even looking at her, though two of them glance over when the door closes. One of those two looks away immediately, but the other keeps his eyes trained on Dahlia.
He makes her uncomfortable. She takes a deep breath and heads for the knife-throwing station as if she has an idea of what she's doing, which she doesn't.
Just before she picks up a knife, a voice echoes across the room, making her jump and whirl.
"State your name."
She frowns. They don't know. Oh well. She takes a deep breath.
"Dahlia Okelley," she calls back. "From C- District Eleven."
She almost said "Camp Half-Blood." Careful, Dahlia. She can't let the homesickness get to her.
The man nods. A few of the other Gamemakers are watching now, making her feel even more awkward. She spins back around on her heel, ignoring them as best she can, and picks up a knife.
This is going to fail, and she's going to get a three on training. These are the kinds of thoughts running through her head as she aims.
Sure, she's been practicing, and besides edible plants, this is probably her best station, but still.
She tosses and can't hold in her gasp when the knife slams into the bull's-eye. Wait, what? How'd that happen?
A single clap echoes from the Gamemakers' station. She glances their way, and finds only two or three of them are watching her. The rest are occupied by whatever food is on their plates. Speaking of, she hasn't had lunch yet...but she can't think of that right now. She grabs another knife off the table and turns toward a different target.
This one doesn't hit the bull's-eye, but right next to it. About half an inch to the right and it'd be dead on. Dahlia stares at it. Then a slow grin appears on her face. She grabs another knife and throws it. Bull's-eye. She nearly laughs, but then remembers that she's not alone. She grabs another knife, whirls, and throws. Bull's-eye again.
After a while of this, the booming voice makes her jump again. "Thank you. You may leave."
Dahlia nods, a little disappointed. She sets her knife down, then gathers the ones from the targets, puts them back, and leaves.
That was fun. It's the first thing she thinks as she walks down the hall, toward the elevator.
A/N: And that's a wrap. Hope you liked it. See you guys next time.