I do not own the Hunger Games. The tributes belong to their respective submitters.

Training Day Two

Birch Styler, District Ten Male

The girl from District Eleven lingers at the periphery of the fighting mat, careful to conceal the fact that she hasn't let me leave her sight since they let us into the training room this morning. But my powers of observation far surpass hers.

There are many important things I learned during my time in prison: how to bribe a guard, how to survive a fight, how to defend myself from drunk guards, how to avoid becoming someone's bitch. Above all, though, I learned how to read people. Their posture, the way they speak, their hands, their mouth, their face, and especially their eyes. Every little movement conveys a vast library of information, and from what I can tell, Selene actually does want to become my ally. And, even after a day of deliberation, I can't actually think of a reason to deny her. She's strong, she's smart, she knows her way around a trench knife, and as far as I can tell, which is pretty far, she doesn't have any ulterior motives for wanting to form an alliance.

The same cannot be said for me.

I duck to avoid the trainer's incoming fist, and return fire with a well-placed kick to the sternum. The burly man staggers back, clutching at his ribcage, and lets out a gasp of pain. A few seconds pass, and he rights himself, dragging his hand across his dripping brow, and I can tell he's tired of my assaults.

"I think I'm done for today," I say.

He nods eagerly, his beady eyes unusually wide. "Good, good. I think you need some rest, anyways."

I'm not the one who needs rest, but I let him believe his own lie.

As I step off of the blue mat, I glance at Selene and raise my eyebrows, indicating that I want to speak with her. Her eyes genuinely light up at my unspoken request.

She crosses her arms and looks up at me with an expectant gaze. "Have you given my suggestion any thought?"

I square my shoulders, ignoring her question. "Why do you want to be my ally?"

"Like I said, you seem capable-"

"Cut the crap. Give me a real reason, not some fluffy stock answer."

For a few seconds she is completely silent, her normally amiable eyes now severe and searching. She sighs. "Because you remind me of the people in District Eleven, the ones who have gone through hell and back, but chose to make themselves stronger rather than crack under the pressure. Because you're powerful, and even though you have all of these badass, dangerous vibes around you, you're still respectful towards the other tributes." She smiles when she sees the corner of my mouth twitch in embarrassment. "Yeah, I saw you let the District Six girl go ahead of you in the line for the ranged weapons station, even after you'd been waiting there for ten minutes. I know there's a gentleman in there somewhere."

Shifting my weight in discomfort, I mumble something about how I didn't want to use the ranged weapons anyways.

I didn't think anyone had seen me.

"And besides," she says, a sly grin creeping up her face. "I've always liked bad boys."

This last reason catches me off-guard. Does it even qualify as a reason? It sounds more like… I don't even know what. Infatuation?

Either way, I can use that to my advantage. It gives me power over her, no matter how provisional.

"Is that so?" I ask, keeping my tone noncommittal, even though I've already decided to ally with her. I allow myself a small smile. "Well, Eleven, I can't imagine why I would say 'no'. So I guess we're allies."

Her dark brown eyes widen with surprise. "R…really?"

I shrug. "Yeah, why not? I've got nothing to lose."

Another few seconds of silence pass between us. "So…" she begins, obviously unsure what to talk about. Maybe she was expecting to argue her case a lot more than she actually had to. "Ah, what skills, exactly, do you think we have to know before going into the arena?"

I look around the room and shrug. "Shelter-making, food-finding, medical know-how. That kind of stuff. I mean, we already have the fighting and self-defense covered, you and I. So I think, if anything, we should focus on general survival skills rather than fighting. But it's up to you what you want to learn."

Selene cocks her head to the side and furrows her brow. "Maybe… maybe we could each learn a different set of skills, then teach the other what we've learned once training is over."

Maybe allying with her was a good idea, after all. "Now there's an idea."

Nodding, she says, "I'll start with the first aid station, if that's alright with you."

"Fine by me." I incline my head, and she crosses to the other side of the training room, where I see the first aid director greet her with a pleasant smile.

Excellent. I now have an ally. An innocent, malleable, useful ally.

Relly Jay, District Six Female

I line up my sights with the target. Last time I missed by two feet. This time, though, I will hit the bulls-eye.

Pulling back the slingshot, I feel the stretchy fabric go taut between my fingers and steady my hands, slowly breathing out, like what I've seen the District Two guy do before he throws his knives at the wall. I need to aim as best as possible. Being able to properly use a weapon is the only chance I have at winning, and a slingshot is a great place to start.

I release the rock, and it goes soaring through the air. Unfortunately, I aimed a little too low, and it strikes the third ring from the center. At least it's an improvement, though.

"I'm getting better," I say triumphantly, placing my hands on my hips. "Getting better all the time."

Beside me, Alder slowly bobs his head up and down, but I get the feeling that he nods more out of pity than anything. "That's great, Relly."

He's always so cold.

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. "I'd like to see you do better."

"That's a false argument," he deadpans. "I can use poisons, properly administer medical assistance, and, in the most extreme of circumstances, wield a dagger. I don't need to use a slingshot."

My shoulders slump. "You're too literal, Alder."

"I'm not literal, I'm realistic. And anyways, it's better than suffering from a chronic rose-colored view of the world." His gaze shifts between me and the bulls-eye, his eyes uncaring. "At least I see things for how they are."

"No, you don't," I respond. Alder's pessimism is beginning to annoy me. I've tried to be as nice as I can, because I know he needs it, but I am really getting tired of his attitude, or lack thereof. I can't say for certain when the confrontational tone enters my voice, but it does all the same. "You're just jaded. Either that, or you don't care."

As I speak, something about his demeanor changes. His distant eyes suddenly come into focus, sharp and icy, and I take an involuntary step back.

"Is that so?" he asks, voice low and controlled.

My lips quiver with held-back words. I don't want to make him mad, but I want to speak my mind. "As far as I can tell, yes." I replace the slingshot on the weapons rack and turn back to face him, annoyance tingling at the base of my ribcage. "You mope around all day, you do your best to make everyone else around you feel bad, and whenever you speak, your words are depressing. So yes, I think you're jaded and uncaring." I pause, taking a deep breath. "And you're selfish, too."

For a moment his eyes widen, and something ghosts across his face. It almost looks like regret. But just as quickly, the emotion is gone, and he looks out across the room with a blank stare. "You're right," he says. The sheer emptiness in his voice makes me feel guilty for calling him out. He looks down at the floor and heaves a deep sigh. "I'm going over to the medicine table." More quietly, he adds, "Holler if you need me."

I watch him leave, feeling a vague sort of pity for my supposed ally. He's intelligent, he's surprisingly fast, and he knows a lot about medicine, but he's a serious wet blanket if I ever saw one. Deeper, though, I can sense something else in him, too, as if he's sorry for the way he acts but doesn't care enough to apologize.

Alder is an enigma.

An annoying, depressing enigma.

But he's my ally, so I have to support him, no matter how difficult that will be.

Zeno Atticus, District Three Male

The black marker squeaks incessantly as the bug-eyed woman from the Newtonian mechanics station scrawls a couple of equations on the whiteboard. I'm unfamiliar with most of them, since I only took algebra and chemistry in school, not physics. But I am perfectly capable of learning.

"This," she mumbles, pointing to the simplest string of letters, "is Newton's second law. Force is equivalent to mass multiplied by acceleration. For example," she says, drawing a tiny diagram of a rock falling to the ground, "let's say we have a five kilogram rock, accelerating towards the Earth at a constant ten meters per second squared. That means that the Earth is pulling on the rock with fifty Newtons of force. Does that make sense?"

The District Four male and I both nod, and I fold my arms on the smooth wooden counter. I answer, "Yes. Acceleration and mass are both proportional to force."

"Correct." She erases the board clean, and writes down a single word: torque. "Tell me everything you know about that word."

Shrugging, I twiddle my thumbs and look down. "To my knowledge, torque is the force that causes something to rotate. Right?"

"Correct again." With a wry grin, she adds, "You are a smart one, aren't you?" She draws another diagram on the board, this time of a teeter-totter. Both sides are supposed to be equally balanced, so the seesaw remains in equilibrium. "Now, can you tell me why the board is balanced, why it doesn't sink on one side or the other?"

This time, the District Four male answers. "Isn't it because, on either side of the pivot, there are equal forces pushing down on the board?"

"Pulling down on the board, actually," she says. "But you are correct, at least on a basic level. Good job mentioning the pivot point, by the way. I was just getting to that." She points to the fulcrum, and with an overenthusiastic smile, says, "This is the most important part. This determines everything about weight distribution, angular acceleration, rotational momentum…" Upon seeing our blank stares, she clarifies with, "Basically, the pivot point dictates how fast the circle will spin."

I nod slowly.

Beside me, the District Four male rests his chin on his fist and drums his fingers against the smooth countertop in rhythm, his eyes drooping just enough to convey utter boredom. "How, exactly, will this help us in the arena?"

The lady pauses. Setting down the black marker, her bony shoulders rise with an uncertain shrug, though her lips twitch with a knowing smile. "My dear, the training stations are merely here to help prepare you for whatever may lie in the arena. There is no guarantee that what you learn here will lead to your salvation, although I'd love if that were the case." She raises her arms with excitement. "After all, physics is exciting!"

Her arms fall back to her sides, and she looks around the room, searching for someone. I don't think she finds them, because, more guardedly she adds, "But if I were you, boy, I'd spend my time here." Her thin lips pull back into another calculating smile, but even as the District Four male pesters her, demanding that she explain herself, she does not answer. She instead returns her attention to the board, and continues her explanation of torque and force and momentum.

Though I find the subject fascinating, the lady tends to repeat herself a lot, mostly for the benefit of the District Four male, though her thought process seems little half-baked at times. Either way, my thoughts wander of their own accord, and I think of many things, ranging from home, to school, to my family, even to what kind of contraptions and vehicles they have in the Capitol. With all of their wealth, I'm sure they have some pretty cool things. Then again, considering how often they squander their money on ridiculous clothing, pretentious artwork, and expensive foods and alcohol, they probably don't.

My eyes wander over to the fighting mat, where I catch a glimpse of the District Twelve and District Eight males. The younger, dark-haired boy gives me a bright smile and a quick wave, whilst the older blonde boy merely raises his hand in acknowledgement. Tentatively, I wave back to them.

I wonder…?

According to the past sixty-three Hunger Games, there is a ninety-two percent chance of one or more trio alliances forming during training. Maybe… maybe I could join them? They seem friendly enough.

But before I get the chance to greet them, Rumor walks up alongside me and places her hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Zeno. Learn anything interesting?"

I nod. "Yes, I learned a couple of things."

She gives me a smile, so bright that it borders on disingenuous, and drags me over to another station, away from the District Eight and District Twelve boys. Even though I would much rather be with them, my fear of Rumor prevents me from leaving her side. I don't want to alienate her, but I also don't want to stay with her, because, well, she isn't very nice and she's rather manipulative.

I need to find a solution to this problem. Fast.

Waverly Capri, District Four Female

"No," Stellar says, taking a sip of water as a bead of sweat drips down the side of her smooth face. "I've never seen a dolphin before. What are they like?"

I lift the trident up, feeling the smooth metal handle press against my fingers, and I heft the weapon above my shoulder, setting my sights on the red bulls-eye at the center of the circles. Taking a step forward, I let the projectile fly, and the middle prong sinks deep into the red dot. My years and years of training are reaffirmed.

"Eh," I say, rubbing my hands together. "They aren't much. One of the past victors, a weird guy named Niploblu, managed to train his own dolphin to do tricks, and I've seen the thing up close. They're ugly, noisy, and slimy - it was a total waste of my time. They are smart, though, I'll give them that. But their intelligence is outweighed by their inability to ever do anything useful, like stay quiet for more than five seconds." I walk to the haystack and yank the trident out of the target, relishing the fact that I managed to bury the prongs up to the base of the fork. It proves that there's a lot of force behind my throw.

Stellar leans back against the wall, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Well, I'd still like to see one."

Grinning, I reply, "I'm sure you would. That doesn't mean it would be worth it, though."

Shrugging, she concedes the point. "True, true. But maybe I'd like dolphins more than you do." She steals a glance at Nemo, who has seated himself over at the 'Newtonian mechanics' station. "Does Nemo like dolphins?"

I shrug, trying to convey as much disinterest and dislike as possible. "Don't know, don't care. If he likes dolphins, that just gives me another reason to hate them."

Stellar scoffs. "Give me a break. Why do you hate him so much, anyways? What did he ever do to you?"

"None of your business," I quip. "He's an insolent jerk. That's all you need to know."

"Uh huh." She holds up her curled fingers and inspects her nails. "Whatever."

She doesn't know Nemo. She doesn't know what he said. She wasn't there.

I don't know. Maybe I'm overreacting. But he overreacted just as much as I did, so it's at least half his fault, if not more. Either way, the issue isn't something I'll direct my efforts towards resolving. District partner or not, he's obviously more trouble than he's worth.

"Oh, look," Stellar mutters, drawing my attention. I follow her line of vision to Necali and Erizelda, talking to each other over at the weapons rack. She laughs, and he smiles in turn. "The two little lovebirds are at it again."

Stellar hates Erizelda because she has, more or less, usurped Stellar's role as Necali's district partner, so I can totally understand Stellar's reason for disliking the girl. As for me, I hate Erizelda because she's annoying, manipulative, and constantly seeking attention from the rest of the Careers, particularly Necali. And I just can't bring myself to respect the idea of a romance in the arena. I mean, how stupid can they be? At least one of them is going to end up dead. Preferably both.

Talk about doomed love.

"Let them be," I reply, careful to keep my voice low. "If they're going to let their hormones distract them, thus ruining their own chances at victory, I'm not going to stop them. It makes our job that much easier." I look at Stellar, and she simply shakes her head. She knows that I'm right.

"Yeah, well," she says, crossing her arms. "Our glorious leader shouldn't have such an easily-exploited weakness."

"Who says he's our leader?" I ask, leveling the trident with the target. On the count of one, two, three, I release the projectile, and it strikes the hay bale slightly off-center. So close. "He's just a useful idiot who thinks he's our leader. You've watched Games of the past, haven't you?" I pull the trident from the target in one fluid motion, imagining that the hay is some tribute's chest. "The leader of the Careers rarely ever wins, unless they're both incredibly intelligent and incredibly strong. It seems that Necali only has strength going for him, so he either won't foresee the inevitable in-arena coup or he won't know how to repair the cracks once they start forming in the Pack. And there are surely a couple of other things that might cause his downfall, but you get my drift." I walk up close to Stellar and lean in close. "The only power that Necali has is that which we give him. Nothing more, nothing less. I only let him play president because I'd rather have the target on his back, not mine. The leader rarely ever makes it out alive."

Stellar's eyes widen, and she gives me a sidelong stare. "Why are you telling me this?"

I step away, shrugging. "Because you're intelligent," I say, appealing to her silly ego. "And I know that you understand where I'm coming from."

She looks down. "Yeah, well. I guess you're right."

"Of course I am," I say, flashing her a cold smile. "I need to be if I expect to win."

Trance Berrill, District One Male

I stare at the rope, dumbfounded by the intricate knot. "I'm supposed to untie this?"

The guy across the counter nods unsympathetically. "Yup. Start from the outside, and work your way in. You need to understand how to destroy something in order to build it again."

"That's a destructive philosophy," I say, setting to work on the tightly wound ball. The scraggly, wiry material scratches my skin, but I dig my fingernails under the coils, meticulously tearing the web apart, piece by piece.

"It may be destructive," he replies, "but it's the truth. Learn to deal with it."

Raising my eyebrows, I keep working at the knot. "Okay."

It takes another two minutes, but I finally manage to get the rope untangled.

The man gives my work a cursory glance, then nods. "Alright. First, I'll teach you how to make the timber knot. It's probably the easiest knot in existence, truth be told, but it's effective and it's reliable, so long as tension is maintained. Here," he says, picking up another piece of rope. "Let me show you."

He messes around with it, tying it in loops, and even though I do my best to pay attention, my concentration is broken when Necali shouts my name across the room. I turn to see him waving at me, gesturing that I join him.

"Oh, I have to go," I say, standing up from the table.

"But your lesson has only just begun!" the man complains, holding up the half-finished knot, his face scrunched up into a pitiable expression of betrayal. Weirdo.

Over my shoulder, I say, "I'll probably be back later, don't worry."

My words don't seem to comfort or reassure him, but he doesn't say anything further.

I catch up with Necali, and I see that he's called over all of the other Careers, as well. And Erizelda. She isn't really a Career, but Necali seems to have taken a particular liking to her. I don't really dislike her, so I think she's a perfectly fine addition to the Pack, but I can tell that the District Two and District Four girls are less than pleased to have her on board. I wonder why?

Out of habit, I start playing with my pink stone necklace, moving the pendant around the knobby chain, making little bumpy sounds.

"Alright," Necali says, spinning his knife around by the loop of the handle, "we have to start forming our bloodbath strategy. And we have to plan for multiple contingencies, since, well, these are the Hunger Games and shit happens." He looks directly at me, green eyes piercing. I try to pinpoint the moment in which he became our de facto leader, but I cannot. Was it when we first met, right off the train? When he rounded up the alliance yesterday? Or was it when he called all of us over, no more than a minute ago? I can't really tell. "So, what sort of useful non-combat-related skills have we learned in the past two days? Once training is over for today, I thought we'd be able to teach each other what we've learned." He gives me a shark-toothed smile. "After all, we each need to contribute to the alliance if we expect to dominate the arena."

I think he got that idea from the District Eleven girl. I heard her talking with her ally about trading skills after training, but I can't be sure. Maybe he came up with the idea on his own.

Before I can answer, Stellar says, "I perfected my back flip today." She flicks her hair over her shoulder, a smug grin on her face.

"Great," Necali deadpans. "How does that help the team?"

"I don't know," she answers, miffed by his unenthusiastic response. "It makes us look cooler, I guess."

He rolls his eyes. "Right. Anyone else?"

"I learned about Newtonian mechanics," the guy from District Four responds. "Not entirely sure how that'll help in the arena, but I figured I'd give it a shot."

"Good," Necali says. "Considering how specialized that is, though, we'll just defer to you if we need to use it in the arena. We can't waste our time learning about such a complex topic when it might not even apply to the Game. After all, Gamemakers are known for setting up red herrings during training."

"Yeah," District Four says, shrugging. "Fair enough. I also spent some time at the plant identification station, if that helps any."

"So did I," Stellar pipes up.

Necali nods. "Good. We'll discuss what you guys learned after dinner."

"I worked at the trap making station," Waverly quickly interjects, not willing to be outdone by her district partner. "I learned a lot about nooses and bear traps, and a little bit about nets and pitfalls. And I practiced at the fauna station, so I learned about dangerous animals, too."

"Alright. Erizelda?"

The pretty girl gives him a winning smile and places her hand close to his. If he notices her body language, he doesn't let on. "Foraging, shelter building, and stealth."

"Excellent. How about you, Alpha?"

The girl from District One looks up with a cutting glare and crosses her arms. She hates the rest of the Careers, too, not just me, but she puts up with us because she said she wants to be around the 'violent crowd'. "Fire. I worked with the fire." She says nothing further, and everyone looks around awkwardly, not entirely sure how to respond.

"Oookay. Trance?"

I stop messing around with my necklace and narrow my eyes, thinking. "I worked on camouflage yesterday…"

"We know this-"

"Paint eater," Stellar mutters.

"And I learned about poison today," I continue, unhindered by her words. I was just curious about the paint, anyways. "I was going to learn about knots, but then you called me over. Are those useful non-combat-related skills?"

"Absolutely, Trance." Necali smiles knowingly and looks around the group, meeting each of our gazes, probably to make sure that we all feel included. "Okay, then. Everyone resume your business, and we'll discuss plans and skills after dinner. Sound good?"

Everyone mumbles a quick 'yes', and all of us go our separate ways. None of us exactly enjoy each other's company, but the whole concept of the Pack forces us to work alongside the other Careers. And Erizelda.

Otherwise there would be no alliance.

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!