"Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams;
And you know,
We're on each other's teams."
-Team, Lorde
Angevin Roi, District Eight Male
Awkward.
The one feeling that Syrene had made sure that he lived through after training the previous day: awkward. At dinner, she'd refused food, settling on glaring at him, ready to gouge his eyes out at the first move he made for the door.
He hadn't pinned her as the jealous type.
All Angevin had done was talk to a handful of other tributes, making an alliance with one. He'd played it off as he wanted to make the girl, Onyx, feel special, not like another statistic in their alliance. Polio and Quinn had nodded understandingly, but Syrene saw right through him.
Which was an issue. Angevin did not enjoy being transparent.
Though, as his feet made their way to the elevator, trailed by a rather annoyed Syrene, that was what he felt like. Transparent. Transparent and awkward.
"Play nice!" Polio called sardonically as Syrene's frame just managed to slip through the closing elevator doors, catching on her black combat boots that accompanied her slick, jet black training outfit that matched his. She would look awfully intimidating to outsiders, even some tributes. With the exception of Angevin, of course.
He had her wrapped so very tightly around his finger.
Eventually, she would snap.
But at the moment, she held herself together impressively. Her expression was calm and collected – her usual self, but he knew, he knew, that somewhere inside, she'd love to take a few cracks at him with a knife just about now.
He'd love to return the favor.
"So, who's our new ally?" Syrene murmured, turning away from Angevin as the elevator pushed past District Five's floor, halting for no other tributes.
"Onyx, District Seven," Angevin said smugly. But of course, now, she saw through him – she wouldn't be getting Onyx as an ally any time soon.
She knew that her place in the alliance was a faux; she knew his plans for her were not pleasant, though he doubted she knew them in detail.
Syrene only nodded in response, leaning casually against the handle bar running through the metallic room, full of mirrors. Silence overtook the pair, welcoming Angevin's thoughts to run rampant once more.
He'd thought Syrene would be easier to overwhelm, honestly. From the beginning, he'd seen potential, dangerous potential from within her, but he hadn't expected for her to be so… observant. The last thing he'd expected was for her to actually pick up on his plan.
His plan to abandon her the minute the gang rang out, throw her at some Careers for maiming, perhaps. Throw her while he joined his other allies, temporary, of course, all capable of surviving, benefitting him, but not capable of providing a threat to him. Angevin was never one to believe in District Pride – he loathed District Eight and its inhabitants. Syrene was just another name, just another idiot running amuck in his presence.
For that matter, he wasn't one to believe in pride whatsoever. The thoughts of others pertaining to him were useless. He didn't care if they hated him – their opinions wouldn't shield him from an incoming arrow or a bomb ready to blow.
Only he could.
The ding of the elevator pulled him from his thoughts; Syrene stalked off without a word. Before him, the majority of the tributes stood, only Syrene, himself, and the pair from Ten were left to arrive.
Onyx offered a quiet smile to Angevin as she spotted him from the elevator, a soft, observant smile that hinted that she still had her guard up. She still expected him to turn on her at a moment's notice.
He needed to break that shield.
He shot a careless grin back at her as he assumed his spot, labelled District Eight Male, on the tile floor, surrounded by vast walls, barracks, and podiums filled with weaponry, packed with edible plants.
Angevin longingly eyed the spear section – his choice, but his resolve remained strong; Polio's constant reminders didn't hurt.
Stay away from your expertise.
Angevin had been cynical at first – a little attention from the Gamemakers wouldn't hurt, right? Polio had rolled his eyes as if he'd expected more. He drilled Angevin with the same words for the majority of their talk last evening – attention kills.
He'd laughed then, but after Polio's… mirrored advice compared to his own regarding what to do with Syrene, a threat by all means, Angevin softened up to his advice.
Mediocre wasn't a bad look.
"Welcome back, tributes. Today will be your second of three days in training – your time is running short, children. Do spend it wisely," Evelin, the Head Trainer purred, winking to a boy, the boy from Four, before sauntering off, sure to walk with all the vulgarity she could possibly possess.
Capitolites were odd creatures.
The Careers went off, eager as ever to once again wield their weapons like the gods they'd deceived themselves with, believing they were so powerful.
A bit of modesty could save one. A shame they were all hot-headed mongrels.
"Glad to see you made it past the first night," Angevin threw at Onyx as she approached, arms crossed defensively.
"We're not quite in the Games yet, Roi," Onyx replied, not missing a beat. "What're we doing today? More weapons? Some survival?"
Angevin eyed the girl for but an inconspicuous moment. What could he do to break this girl? What could he do to make her believe him like the fool he'd taken her for?
Twice now, twice he'd underestimated opponents.
The difference between Syrene and Onyx was, he knew how to deal with Onyx.
"How about…" he murmured, gazing around thoughtfully before an idea struck him. Weapons? No, he'd rather not improve her chances of beating him when the time came, the time for her to go. Plants? No, she knew too much as they were, any more training would be useless. His eyes glazed over the History Section, barren of any tributes, where the Gamemakers showcased various previous Games. The current program displayed a white sand beach and tributes flailing to no avail to escape the deep depths of water. Grabbing her hand, he exclaimed cheerfully: "Let's go for a swim!"
Despite her numerous yelps of protest, Angevin dragged Onyx to the nearest instructor, asking jubilantly for the nearest training pool – the woman raised an eyebrow before leading the two off, away from the gym and down a hall before sending her fingers flying, two glass gates swinging open to reveal a large, crystalline pool, filled to the prim with water.
The instructor promptly asked Angevin if he knew how to swim, in which he responded with a thumbs-up.
"If she dies, we'll kill you too, kid," the lady murmured, scratching her nails, her focus anywhere save the two tributes she was supposed to be watching as she made her way back to the training center.
"You're… You're just going to leave us here?" Onyx squeaked; the lady was already out of earshot. Her gaze remained on the closing gates before glaring accusingly at Angevin, who raised his hands in mock surrender as a response. "Why?" she groaned.
"Because," he began, turning and tossing of his shirt, fully aware that Onyx behind him was gawking – hopefully, in awe, as his newest idea needed a bit of school-girl flirting to flood from her, "I'm guessing you don't know how to swim."
"And you do?"
"If you'd been paying attention, sweetheart, I'd said yes to the lady," he responded, turning back to her with a grin. He tried not to congratulate himself for making her blush – and drool slightly.
Score one for Angevin.
Onyx shook herself back into attention before scrunching up her eyebrows. "You're swimming in that?" Without his training shirt, only his silky black pants covered him.
"Would you like me to swim naked?"
Onyx vigorously shook her head, enticing rich laughter to burst from Angevin's throat as she blushed. "No, no, you're fine. Keep your clothes on over there."
"No fun," Angevin hummed, pulling off his shoes, which Onyx mirrored. "Are you swimming in that?" Onyx nodded bashfully; Angevin rolled his eyes in response. "Fine, ready?"
Onyx nodded leisurely as she just managed to unlace her right shoe off, Angevin swooped her up, bridal style, before jumping in, Onyx in tow.
At first, she came up screaming and punching, but within a half hour, the two were laughing, telling stories of home and family, wading in the shallow end of the pool after countless failed attempts of teaching Onyx to manage the most basic of strokes.
"And you just left your dog to fight the Peacekeepers?" Onyx inquired, laughing.
"Yup. And I was just running – I was freaking scared," he replied, chuckling as she burst into fits of laughter.
He didn't even have a dog.
"You're cruel," Onyx said, though her sincere grin said otherwise, shoving him in the shoulder lightly, her arm freezing as it made contact with bare skin.
The girl was shy, so it appeared, and, based on her stories of home, her maid life kept her from ever really having true friends, true relationships.
Which only helped him get to her.
Her rosy cheeks turned away from him as her arm lowered itself from his shoulder, blushing furiously.
Time to shine.
His rougher, bigger hand met hers in the water, a small gasp flitting past her lips as Angevin pushed her back along the pool walls, their noses brushing as he closed in on her, waiting for a response, teasing the younger girl, waiting to see if she'd fall into his charm, his trap as easily as he'd been hoping.
As she lurched forward, her lips meeting his, he grinned.
She'd fallen, indeed.
Naya Elbasser, District Six Female
"Aim a bit higher," the trainer suggested, nudging her elbow. "And keep pressure here. Don't throw willy nilly."
His voice was elusive – not evasive or silky, per se; rather, his voice was dull, smooth. Not inaudible by any means, just boring.
Not that she'd heard a single word that passed his lips.
Her mind was elsewhere, in District Six, eating with her family, in the Train, cursing into her bed, begging for Cable to just shut up, with Azure, discussing tributes, here, there, anywhere, everywhere, and nowhere all at once.
It didn't take a scientist to explain why she frequented migraines so often.
And although his words remained a mystery, she nodded, mumbling in agreement to keep the man from becoming irritated – he was the first good company she'd had in a while, even though he was mute in her ears.
For once, someone wasn't flirting with her, tantalizingly whispering to her when she'd made it crystal clear for Cable to stay miles away. For once, someone wasn't barking orders, furiously sneering and flailing whenever a bump come across the road Argeliba was supposed to be helping her go down,
For once, someone didn't make her want to scream and cry and swing all at once. Refreshing.
She continued to let her knives fly, the trainer applauding here and there as one sank particularly deep into a cotton-stuffed dummy, the substance whirring around the deflated mannequin afterward.
The trainer also continued to speak, his words lost in her mind, flying anywhere but there.
Eventually, the man had enough of being 'ignored', huffing about ignorance and the new age, all lost to Naya, who hadn't noticed his departure.
All she had on her mind was her knives. Her relief, even back at home, where she wasn't dressed up in costumes, where she wasn't training day and night, where she wasn't getting interviewed for an audience.
Where she wasn't going to be killed for the joy of the Capitol.
She found herself in a rhythm, flicking knives left and right as a light lit up each target, ready to be pierced by her blade.
One by one, a knife sank into the head, the neck, the heart, the abdomen of each dummy, cotton spewing out of the newly made punctures dotting the corpses of those who'd never lived. She tried to tell herself that it wouldn't be any different when they were living, breathing.
Screaming for help.
"Stop it," she hissed at herself, never ceasing to send a knife barreling into each alit dummy.
They'll scream, and beg, and you'll do nothing but tear their guts apart.
"No, I won't," she murmured, perfectly conscious of the fact that she was talking to herself. It was easier to argue aloud, to argue with something that she could at least pretend was real, then something she knew that was inside her, something she couldn't beat.
That's adorable – she's willing to die to keep her pathetic innocence.
"I'm not dying, either," Naya seethed, her knife, puncturing the left lung of the dummy, sent with extra force.
Had that been a tribute, they'd be dead on contact.
Then what will you do? A crossroads lies ahead, my dear – die, or watch others die?
Her hand froze in midair, unsure of how to respond to herself – what would she do?
Naya's mind flooded, no response coming out as a bark at her mouth, and before she could form a coherent answer, another voice halted her.
"Why'd you stop?"
Surprised at the cutting tone of the voice, Naya spun on her heels to face the newcomer, half expecting the same trainer, annoyance adding an extra edge that allowed her to notice him, half expecting another intruder of her space, a tribute, a Gamemaker.
Her latter sense was correct. Before her stood Minet Nikelle of District Two, the mini-Career. Not the smallest, no, beating the doll-like boy from District One by a handful of inches though she was four years his senior.
Her mind floundered for a minute at the sight of the girl, a girl trained to kill, but she quickly regained the remnants of her composure and turned away, gingerly laying her left over knives onto the rack.
"Thought I'd leave some dummies for the rest of you."
"How considerate," Minet said, laughing.
Laughing. Not cackling, not barking. Just laughing. Naya flinched at the humane noise that passed the through the inhumane girl.
The Districts abhorred the Careers not solely because of their current victories, but their bloodthirstiness. Minet, before her, showed none of this desire to kill. Her appearance would've easily passed as a regular District Five girl had she not been a dwarf.
Then again, looks can be deceiving.
"I was born with a heart of gold," Naya responded neutrally, unsure whether Minet was going to turn south and become arrogant or continue to be almost human.
"And a wicked aim, apparently," Minet murmured as she surveyed the carnage that lie in Naya's wake. "Where'd you learn to throw like that?"
"Back home," she deadpanned, placing the last knife on its pedestal. "Now did you forget to take your loony pills or what?" Naya added after a silence had just encompassed the two, the metal twangs of knives clicking each other being the only disturbances outside of the other tributes.
"Not all of us have to be rude," Minet returned, not at all offended, "especially not to some wicked competition."
Naya had trouble deciding whether the smile that followed was devious or kindhearted.
"-and if you haven't noticed, the Career Pack is a bit lackluster this year," Minet led, her voice slow, watching Naya keenly as she spoke.
Naya paused, still. She knew the words to follow before they were said, assuming they would flow out of Minet's cautious mouth, inattentive to the exact phrase that spilled out of her lips.
"So… would you like to join us?"
The previous train of thought that Naya had hopped off of when Minet had made her appearance doubled back to her, the same tormenting thoughts assaulting her mind, unsure of her destiny.
To kill or to be killed.
Minet's gaze was perceptive, leaning towards her ever so slightly, watching her as her mind raced to formulate her response.
Slowly, Naya nodded. "Okay, Minet. I'll… I'll join you," she said, reassuring Minet of her belief that Naya would accept.
Now she just had to reassure herself she'd made the right decision.
Racia Everlast, District Twelve Female
She was on her last straw.
Or rather, Calcite was on her last straw.
Not only was he rude and imprudent, he was incapable. Incapable of anything and everything they'd done so far – and that was quite a bit.
It'd been his decision to start with archery the first day – she spent half of her training time with the idiot in the infirmary after he shot himself in the leg – a slight puncture wound still left in his leg.
And yet, Holland was insistent they train together, to present themselves as inseparable, tied together by bonds of friendship, of trust. She said it'd make them stand out. And it did.
As the pair of Coal Mining idiots who hurt themselves with barely sharpened weapons.
"Pass the dagger," Calcite said simply, his eyes glued to the dummy.
As if he'd actually cut something besides his own skin this time.
"A please wouldn't hurt anyone," Racia muttered, twirling a dagger as she flipped it up from the rack and handing it to him. He accepted the knife grudgingly, his eyes still glued to the dummy.
Racia crossed her arms as he swung the blade into the dummy, grazing its surface, the knife deflecting upwards, not sticking into the cotton like the trainer had done in his demonstration minutes ago.
"Second is the best," he hummed to himself as he moved to the next dummy, lodging the knife into the abdomen of the dummy, recoiling at the force the plastic and cotton resting upon a medal pedestal had inflicted back on him.
"Don't worry," Racia said, holding back her grin and a dark bit of laughter, "third time's the charm."
Calcite accepted this after double-checking her, looking for sincerity, and after she'd apparently passed, he nodded, slicing the dummy's hand off and, of course, grazing his own arm with the knife as it continued to swing.
"Gah! Blood!" he screeched, flailing his arm, droplets of blood raining down on Racia, who cringed in disgust.
Her barks of grotesque at her district partner were cut short by the trainer, the one who's shown them how to properly wield daggers, rushing Calcite to the medical station, as this injury was a mere graze and could be handled here.
The arrow, yesterday, had been a different story.
Racia remained at the dagger station, shaking her head as her district partner screeched in pain as the man applied medicine to his barely bleeding wound, socking him right in the chest.
The trainer did not look pleased.
For the sake of not laughing at his idiocy and cowardice, Racia focused herself on the dummies and the dagger, swinging with slightly better results than Calcite had received.
Her first dummy suffered a puncture wound to the neck, where, as the panel, lit up in green lights and approving smiles, above her displayed, the tribute would have either choked on their own blood or died of loss of blood.
How pleasant.
With a slightly weaker stomach, Racia swung again, puncturing the wrist instead. This time, the panel displayed a yellow light and a neutral expression – the tribute may have died from blood loss from their wrist, but with the medication, their life could be preserved.
Racia didn't like these panels.
Nevertheless, she continued to swing, aiming further and further from important organs, smiling as red lights and angry expressions showcased how the tributes would've lived.
It wasn't the desire to die instead of killing others, no, when the time came she'd manage, hopefully, but the thought of blood.
Sticky, metallic, tangy, warm. All over her body, all over the tribute she'd killed.
A shiver ran up her spine at the mere thought.
"Aren't you going to check up on your district partner?" a light voice questioned, a girl, not a Career, approached her, snagging a thin dagger for herself. "This is, what, the third time he's hurt himself?"
"Second, actually," Racia murmured distantly as she continued to scour the girl before her for her district number, which she was purposefully keeping away from her. "He's a big boy; he can take care of himself."
The girl shrugged, turning towards her. "If you say so. Syrene Lovett, District Eight."
Racia rolled through her tape of memories, trying to find something, anything, to stop her here, when no attachments were made, when she could walk away without regretting it.
The name didn't ring any bells, but her district did – Eight was one of the few districts to catch any attention at the Chariot Rides, where they'd been blessed with some creativity from their stylists. She'd noticed the girl glaring at another boy, her district partner, perhaps, but besides that, no red flags were in Racia's sight.
Racia stared at the girl cautiously as the girl rolled her eyes. "C'mon, there's no hurt in a name?" she urged, her face lit with a bit of amusement.
Carefully, Racia continued. "Racia Everlast, Twelve. Calcite's the one that's bleeding," she said, nodding to Calcite, whose wails still met her ears.
Syrene nodded eagerly before continuing. "So allies? I mean my district partner and I are supposedly allies, but…," her voice trailed off as she spun on her heels, finding, yes, the boy she'd been glaring the living daylights out of yesterday.
"-he's got some friends of his own."
"Clearly," Racia deadpanned, "so we're the rebounds?" A new edge accompanied her voice, squinting her eyes in suspicion.
A childish smirk painted itself on Syrene's face as she shook her head deviously.
"Oh, no, not the rebounds," she assured, hand clutching Racia's, who flinched at the touch.
"Revenge, Racia. We're out for revenge, for blood."
Everest Duncan, District One Male
Everest was the only Career to actually accept Naya's admittance.
Minet had assured the others that she wouldn't be of any trouble, that she was capable, but Mizuko, surprisingly, was the one to be skeptical.
Naya, herself, had offered to have a demonstration, but Harleen had refused, grinning. "Oh, no, sweetie, let's wait to see the scores. We'll decide if we'll maim you then." Her usual bit of cackling followed not long after.
Graecus, however, was unreadable past the point that he didn't like Naya.
He, unlike the others, accepted early on that Naya was talented. He had supported Minet when the others had fought with her – Mizuko pointed out that the girl from Five, the one Harleen had been spending a suspiciously large amount of time with, was a stronger physical competitor.
That didn't keep him from glaring at her every moment that he had the chance.
It was inexplicable; he just hated her. Every time she said something wrong, every time she sat too long without commenting, she'd be ridiculed on the spot by all three of her supposed allies.
Minet, of course, had brought her in, and wasn't going to turn against her, per se, but on the other side of the spectrum, she certainly wasn't going to fight her allies, one of which was her last reminder of home, for some girl she'd picked up in training.
Everest was the only one to genuinely talk to the girl.
She wasn't bad, and as the pack travelled through various stations, Naya'd been lending a helping hand every time Everest failed or fell over.
Which was quite often.
It wasn't that he was untalented, no, with some more experience, he'd be as threatening as Graecus or Harleen, but just that.
He needed more time. But now, there was no time to find.
"Ev, pass the spear," Naya murmured nonchalantly, flicking dust off her blunt nails, "a smaller one."
"Sure," he hummed, trotting off and retrieving a spear, his weapon of choice, and handing it to Naya, who frowned as she weighed it mentally in her arms. "Something wrong?"
"Just used to frying smaller fish," Naya replied as she grinned at the younger boy, ruffling up his hair with a chuckle. "I'll adapt."
"Not likely," Graecus huffed from her side, sending his spear flying through the air, pinging the dummy right through the chest, sending the dummy wobbling.
Naya shrugged off his comment and threw her own spear, connecting with the dummy's leg, but not sticking, only brushing off the material. "Better than I expected," she laughed cynically.
Everest heaved his own spear, the projectile launching from his hands and into his respective dummy, piercing the dummy through the chest, earning a nod of approval from the nearby trainer.
"Nice shot," Naya said, her lips pinched upwards into a small smile.
Everest managed to nod away his blush from finally being recognized for his talents – the past few days have just been following Graecus with his tail between his legs. It didn't matter, of course. The arena held no prizes for titles. Only for corpses.
And Everest would not be one.
For a while, the group stood, launching spears, Harleen, for once, participating with the group instead of wandering around deviously.
She hadn't stopped glaring at him since the Chariot Rides.
Whenever he turned, there she'd be, shaking her head in disgust, laughing at every misstep, criticizing him every chance that she had. Perhaps his joy at Naya's admittance wasn't out of the thought of having a true friend, a companion in these Games.
It was because someone else would be the one taking the blows.
Everest shook the dark thoughts out of his head as the head trainer blew the whistle, muttering and motioning for the tributes to stop for lunch.
"Finally," Naya muttered, scratching her head as she tossed her spear on the ground, "I was about to eat you."
Everest laughed, painfully aware of Graecus leading the others away from the pair of them as they journeyed to the cafeteria, where they each grabbed a tray and filled it to the brim with Capitol delicacies.
Those who had the stomach to eat, at least.
"What is this?" Naya wondered aloud, frowning as she picked up a large fruitlike ball, stabbing at it experimentally with her knife. "Please don't tell me it's some kind of rat poison – all the Capitol's crap looks the same."
"Definitely, rat poison for the tributes to eat," Everest remarked, chuckling, as he scooped up various slices of bread and meat before nodding over to the others, Naya following him to rejoin their pack.
"Look who decided to show up," Harleen bit, ripping apart her pink fish, raw.
It fit her to eat a living thing.
Everest had been too lost in his own thought to catch Naya's response as the two took their seats next to Minet, who indifferently watched the two of them, the aura flowing between them.
"Any notes on any tributes?" Graecus said, shattering the awkward silence that began to cover the group – it had quite often in the past few days. Without any mutual bonds gluing them together, it wouldn't take very long for them to break apart.
And without the deep intuition of the Games as the Two tributes had or the experience with the ocean and its inhabitants as the Four tributes had, it was a scary thought, being alone.
Being from the District that produced glimmering rings and fur coats wasn't always rewarding.
"Boy from Eight and the girl from Seven disappeared earlier," Mizuko commented as he kept his head down, swallowing a thick soup without any emotion spreading across his face.
"Where?" Graecus returned, Mizuko only shrugging, without an answer, in response.
"They've recruited the girl from Three," Minet added, nodding over to the growing alliance, of more concern than Rosemarie's was.
He winced at the thought of his district partner, who'd left him without a true partner in this alliance, as the others had. Well, until Naya came along.
The thought of killing her didn't faze him – she'd been nothing but inconsiderate in their time in the Capitol; he'd have no qualms with returning the favor on a larger scale.
In truth, nor did he have reservations with the death of Naya, with the death of anyone in these Games. They were all pawns to him, albeit rather large. He smiled at the thought of Silicus's words, his sole advice to the tribute that'd left him confused with what to do.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Everest smirked into his sandwich, relishing in its juices as they spread across his mouth.
It was a good thing he wasn't too big, then.
Syrene Lovett, District Eight Female
She'd gotten her chance.
With allies, good, reliable allies, at least. Angevin and his skepticism wasn't anything substantial – she highly doubted his allies even trusted him.
She sure didn't.
With some luck, they'd do Syrene the fantastic favor of ridding of the boy, saving her the trouble. District pride was never in her vocabulary as a child. All that mattered to her was getting home… perhaps with her mother in tow. Her mother, the stylist.
Recently bidding a rather tense goodnight to Angevin, Polio, and a confused Quinn, Syrene groaned into her pillow at the thought of her mother, sitting, sowing for the Capitol.
The Capitol, who'd taken her to an arena, where her odds of survival were slim at best.
It was migraine material, pondering where her loyalties lie – with her true blood or her blood at home. Cordelia and the Polluxes all awaited for her return, desperate to have their last daughter, sister, back in their arms.
And opposite of them were her own parents – serving the Capitol like puppies.
She'd always been one for politics, but… supporting her own death in these Games? Unthinkable. And yet… was going against the Capitol turning against her own mother? Her mother, who'd never been there when she was growing up? Who hadn't tucked her in and sang to her when nightmares plagued her day by day? Her mother, who hadn't told her she loved her since she came?
Would that be such a crime?
Once again groaning into her pillow, the migraines came about, as they'd had back in Eight so often. With the aching came thoughts, racing in a riot of color through her mind, pounding between her morals and her beliefs, similar in definition, different in context.
She'd had enough. Enough of the Capitol, enough of the Games, enough of Panem. Why parade them like dolls? What was the point of riding them around like prize horses when they'd all end up dead or mentally unstable?
Why not just shoot them? It'd sure make things a hell of a lot easier on them.
Syrene huffed at the thought – it truly was tempting to just dream of being shot after you've been imprisoned and paraded in the same night. An odd combination.
"Stop complaining," she murmured aloud to herself, chastising herself for already losing faith in herself, in her abilities. She'd managed to scrounge up allies, even if they were allies from Twelve, they were allies nonetheless.
Racia and Calcite. So different, yet so alike to herself and Angevin.
Different, in the sense that they weren't at each other's throats, mentally, at least for now.
Similar in the sense that they hated the living guts out of each other.
No matter their relationship, both of her allies agreed with her well enough. Neither had any true experience with weapons, and in Calcite's case, he hadn't an experience with anything, honestly, but they were allies nonetheless.
Numerically, she could stand face-to-face with Angevin now.
She sneered as the mental image of the idiot flowed through her mind, his sarcastic laugh and his false smile shining proudly as he stepped around the Training Center, ignoring her completely.
She'd thought he'd at least be discrete about abandoning her.
He'd covered it as finding allies, trying to make them feel special with some one on one time, and that suppressed Polio and Quinn from delving deeper, but Syrene had worked with some political and business figures in her day.
And she could see crap any time.
His true intentions remained foggy to her, but all she needed to know was not to trust him. His time to fall would come soon enough – hers would be years, decades from now. Surely.
Shifting uncomfortably in her bed, begging for the elusive sleep to finally take her, take her to anywhere but here, home preferably, Syrene sheltered herself like a child in her blankets, covering herself in various blankets, burying herself where the outside world would never find her.
The thought was comforting.
The thought of freedom, of privacy, even, was reassuring when, in a matter of days, she'd be trapped, the key to escape being killing.
Killing – physically tearing a brain apart, ripping a heart out, snapping a neck. It should bother her, undoubtedly, it should bother any sane person.
And yet, she sat, comfortable not only with death, but death with the blood splattered across her hands. It was unjust, yes, but she was not the one to blame. She hadn't been the one to draw their names or push them to volunteer.
She was just another unwilling participant. Just another victim.
Like hell was she going to cry about it.
And with determination burning in her body, burning in her eyes, burning in her essence, so fierce, so ready to overcome any obstacle, sleep overtook her.
A/N: And there is the last true installment of good ol' Training!
Next chapter will be the Training Scores, where four tributes, a Capitolite, and our favorite Gamemaker will get a POV.
Questions!
Do you support Syrene or Angevin?
Which Career will die first?
Which Alliance is your favorite?
And a general review on my writing and any mistakes is priceless :)
Poll Results:
Question -Which tribute will score the highest training score?
The effect will simply be the winner gaining one point from what I'd planned for them to score.
First Place: Biahniz Delucan with Twelve Votes
Second Place: Minet Nikelle and Mizuko Hali with Nine Votes
Third Place: Graecus Kwan with Eight Votes
Fourth Place: Harleen O'Connell with Five Votes
Fifth Place: Naya Elbasser with Four Votes
Of course the other tributes did get some votes - if you'd like to know where your tribute landed outside of the top six, just PM me and I'll be happy to tell you.
To the person who'd asked, updates are honestly dependent on my schedule - weekly updates are to be expected unless something goes on.
Have a great week! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!