POV – Magnus Flux
8:03AM
Magnus steps out of the shower, his eyes instantly falling onto his made bed. More importantly, the track uniform neatly folded on his sheets. It's a light gray with the inside part of the limbs being black. The tertiary designs are neon green, as is the same colour as the three on the left breast.
He slips it on, knowing it's what he's supposed to wear for the training. OnRush gave him a small rundown of what to expect for years now. That kind of information is hard to forget. He exits the room to the sight of Valla and his mentor talking quietly to one another. They don't notice him so he doesn't greet them.
Instead, he sits down beside them and starts eating from the plate. For some reason, food is always served beforehand. The Avox are quite proficient it seems, the food is nutritious as well, a healthy diet.
"O-oh, Magnus I didn't notice you there," His mentor, Lectro says, sounding a bit spooked.
"It's of no concern, when do we head to the training facility?" Magnus brushes it off.
"Ah, 8:30! I heard it's a wonderful facility that teaches so much," Valla adds.
Lectro looks as if he's seen a ghost, his sunken face looking even more sickly.
From what Magnus can recall, he won his games out of sheer luck. One kill on a 12-year-old in the bloodbaths, another kill strangling a sleeping tribute and his final by surviving the arena's sinking into the ground.
Not a very good showing overall. Lectro isn't a combatant, he was a sneak. Both strategies hold merit, but Magnus is built for combat. His mentor has little to offer him. Besides, Rotemn gave him explicit instructions not to associate with Lectro or Tesla.
The former would ruin their work, the latter would ruin his.
Speaking of, Tesla makes her way into the main room now, wearing the same tracksuit as him. It's made to fit her though, so he's given the impression that each tracksuit is made individually catered towards the specific tribute.
"Hello," she greets tiredly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes still.
Valla squeals, claiming she looks adorable in that. Lectro winces and massages his head, hangover? Peculiar, Magnus would not have guessed him a drunk. Then again, Valla can become quite loud when she shrieks like that.
"Eat you two, we're heading downstairs after that."
Magnus nods and continues eating, ignoring the conversation that follows. He hears snippets from time to time. Sounds like Lectro is explaining what to expect in there. Tesla seems very receptive, he notices. Magnus finishes, thrusting the plate slightly forward.
"Am I free to go now? Or must I wait for you to accompany me?" He asks after dabbing a napkin to his mouth.
"Your manners are so impeccable," Valla chimes in.
"Er, I… sure, you can go to the lobby, ground floor. All the tributes need to gather there anyways."
"Thank you," He answers, standing from the table.
He bows his head slightly before making his way to the elevator. The trip down is uneventful, no one is in the elevator with him. When the doors slide open, he finally steps out and makes his way to the lobby.
The chandelier brightly lights up the room. The windows only seem to be on the first floor anyway, so natural light requires the compensation. Regardless, from where he stands, he notices a few others have already gathered.
Some sit at the few sofas, others lean against pillars, and the rest awkwardly loiter in the middle of the marble floor.
Their tracksuits are similar to his. Gray body, blackish undersides on the limbs. The main difference being their accents are of different colours.
10's is white. 1's red, 2's yellow, so on and so forth. It seems they're colour coded.
He, not wanting to interact with anyone makes his way to a lone pillar and decides to lean against it, much like the boy from 2 is doing. He closes his eyes and runs through his plan for the day.
Or lack thereof. He plans to lay low, not to bring much attention to himself. Survival skills do that best, he'll try to learn about the wilderness. From what he recalls, hints of the arena tend to be present during the training sessions.
Edible plants can give away the region the arena's based off. Or, a lack of edible plants can give away the general state. One won't learn about edible plants only to be thrown into a winter wasteland. Those games, as old as they are had a horrible showing.
A lapse of judgement the Capitol rectified from then on out. They don't shy away from environmental deaths, or survival ones as Raleed puts it. But, they don't want 14 of the 24 to freeze to death because they were taught how to start a fire with wood and or which berries are poisonous.
Magnus opens his eyes, satisfied with the plan. Not only for today, but every day. He intends to fall off the radar, to not even warrant a second glance from those around him. During the private sessions is when he will truly show his talents. Impressing those that matter is something he firmly remembers being imprinted on him.
"Good, that's everyone, gather please," Someone says.
In the silence of the lobby, it travels, echoes even. Magnus steps from the pillar and makes his way to the man surrounded by peacekeepers.
"I'll save introductions for when we're there, for now. Please follow me."
The man turns and heads back towards the receptionist. Magnus didn't understand her purpose the first time he entered this building, although admittedly he didn't step into the lobby during said time. Then again, he didn't know what purpose a residence needs a lobby for.
Until now it seems. The woman types away on her keyboard, and then suddenly to the side of her, the walls part. Magnus quirks an eyebrow as he sees an entrance form. The tributes buzz around him, shifting in place, mumbling to themselves. He doesn't know why though.
Either way, the man makes a waving gesture and marches in with his entourage of peacekeepers. Magnus and a few others follow instantly.
Whereas the lobby appears graceful with the chandelier, red velvet couches, and marble floor. This new room looks practical and streamlined. Steel barren walls and steel flooring. They walk down the hallway for a few seconds before it opens outwards, expanding into a large facility. Magnus allows his eyes to wander. Stations seem to line the walls, with a- what he assumes is an expert in the respective field. To the right, elevated a bit is a small carved out lounge area.
Where the gamemakers watch them, he concludes easily. To the far left, an obstacle course and in the center, a platform with racks of weaponry. He knows where to avoid.
"Attention please, My name is Tullius, I am the Head Trainer here," Tullius introduces.
Tullius looks bland. He has short-cropped hair and a small shadow. He looks fit, his muscles showing through his silver tracksuit. In conclusion, he's unmemorable, at least when comparing to the standard Capitolite.
"I know you'll like to gravitate towards the weapons over there but trust me when I tell you that you're more likely to die at the hands of nature than another tribute. These stations will prepare you as best as they can. You'll have two full days here, and one-half day before you will present what you've learned to Head Gamemaker Levenezque. You will be scored on how well you perform. You will break for lunch at noon. If you look behind you, to the right, you'll see a door, enter there where we will present food to you. You are not allowed to leave until the day is considered over at 8. Dismissed," Tullius finishes with a clap of his hands.
The peacekeepers peel off him and head towards the entrance, to prevent any runners. Tullius himself turns his back to them and heads towards the weapon rack. The only place that didn't have an expert by it, Magnus quickly realizes.
The tributes spill into the facility, hesitating for a bit. Not Magnus, he stands tall and determined, he knows exactly where he wants to go, and where he wants to avoid.
POV – Velvet Snijder
9:01AM
Velvet stays back and watches as the tributes slowly advance on the stations nervously. Others, with immense confidence. The careers practically beelined to the combat station. Unsurprising, almost cliché in its predictability.
Still, she decided avoiding them might be for the best. She turned, trying to find her district partner. For whatever reason, he isn't around. It puzzles Velvet, but she doesn't ponder it too much. Despite getting along quite well, they haven't talked about the games seriously.
For good reason too, whenever one broaches the topic, the other immediately falls into humour to mask their nervousness. And naturally, given how both Nylon and she are comedic geniuses, they manage to distract each other perfectly every time.
She sighs ruefully at the thought. She can always talk to him during lunch, she decides. No distractions too, she would like to form an alliance with him. The two get along well, have similar personalities too, or at the very least similar interests. Basically, he's easy to work with who tends to indulge her penchant for comedy at inappropriate times.
His pranks can translate into good traps too. He probably has a talent that no one else in this arena will have, well, besides her that is. But if the two work together, they might be able to even the odds against stronger tributes.
She nods to herself, an alliance with him will benefit her greatly, him too. She doubts he'll say no. He seems like a laidback guy, who doesn't mind listening to others. So long as he's given his fair share to talk your ear off that is.
Velvet chuckles to herself. With that in mind, she starts to walk around the facility. She wants to scout it out first before deciding on any particular station. She also wants to work at stations that don't have people present. To keep her skills as secret as possible.
The facility is large, but it's also just a single room, with a few columns here and there for stability. It doesn't take her long to look over each station. She does find Nylon working at the bug identification station where it seems they work with live critters.
The thought makes her shiver a bit. She'd much rather work at the trap station. It's empty too, which she finds both surprising but fortunate. Everyone else loses she concludes.
"Hello, I'd like to learn from this station," Velvet introduces as she walks into the station's space.
Something she notices from her earlier scouting is that the flooring changes from stainless steel to wood, or dirt or a different form of flooring altogether depending on the station's topic. It also serves a dual purpose of showing the space in which the station consists of.
The grassy texture feels unique and almost real as she steps towards the young woman in a lab coat.
"Ah certainly. This station specializes in trap making, for small game, but also for those willing to learn how to use traps to catch… bigger prey," the woman finishes ominously.
Velvet rolls her eyes but nods anyway. Doesn't take a genius to tell what the bigger prey entails, no need to euphemize it. The expert gives her a small rundown on using wires and ropes, and how to mask them in foliage. It's pretty interesting stuff, and Velvet finds herself comparing it to pranks on more than one occasion.
Her time at the station goes by in a blur. She learns how to mask tripwire, and how to even create pitfalls. The latter of the two being as physically intensive as one would imagine. Although, she finds that masking tripwires comes almost naturally to her.
Deception and misdirection isn't a foreign concept to her. When she and Maize did pranks, most of the time she'd be the distraction. A dangerous position as getting caught or found out would get her burned, but it was the position she was most adept at.
"Hello, Velvet," someone greets.
It snaps Velvet from her focus, causing her to peel her gaze from the small snare she's working on to turn and look behind her. Sela from 9 is standing just outside of the station zone with a brown-haired boy.
Probably the tribute from 9 she reasons as she stands from her seated position. She outstretches a hand towards the stranger.
"Velvet Snijder, nice to meet you," She introduces with a smile.
"Likewise, my name is Harvest Henderson," The boy responds mechanically.
Velvet nods her head in acknowledgment before turning to look at Sela expectantly. The girl from 9 notices and clears her throat.
"We wanted to talk to you about a possible alliance," Sela explains in a hushed tone.
Velvet nods slowly, her eyes instinctively flicking to the other tributes in the room. Thankfully, none were nearby, maybe trap making isn't a highly valued skill? Either way, she's thankful for it.
If word got out about an alliance, the careers would focus them down. Which, would defeat the purpose of an alliance to begin with as it's mostly there for security and safety in numbers. It's mostly why there's never been a large alliance of non-career districts.
The last one was made firmly into an example. Apparently, the victor of those games managed to kill the majority of the alliance themselves before turning on their own alliance. The games ended quickly, one of the quickest due to the sheer amount of fighting in the first two days.
Information like that is kind of unforgettable, but the names do elude her. The point is, be careful on how and when talking about alliances.
Still, the offer is tempting despite her worries. But before accepting, she'd want to see if Nylon would like to join her first. His assistance, she believes will help her even the odds against bigger threats.
"Feels like I'm being interviewed," She allows after glancing at the two staring tributes.
Sela laughs softly but doesn't refute the statement whereas Harvest quirks a confused eyebrow. At least one of them gets it, Velvet thinks.
"Anyways, I'm going to need to think on it. Don't worry though, I'll get back to you soon. Actually, come to my floor tonight, we can discuss more freely then," Velvet says in a spur of the moment decision.
On the not so unlikely off-chance Nylon manages to divert her attempt of a serious conversation during lunch, then Velvet will at least have a contingency to make sure he can't run later tonight. A prank of sorts. But one way or another, they will have a serious talk for once.
POV – Judah Rockefeller
12:08PM
Judah enters the room last, intentionally. He finds this is the best way to properly gauge his fellow tributes. To examine them in a social setting.
The room itself is as nondescript as everything else in this section of the building. Steel walls, flooring and the tables themselves even appear the same. To the side of the room, there seems to be a long table of sorts connecting to the wall, it has a wide array of foods on display. They look just as good as the food served on the train, and on his floor. Delicious no doubt, a morbid final meal he concludes. His hand subconsciously wants to feel across his scar, but he catches himself.
He knows he looks sickly, so it'd be in his best interest to not relay to the world what makes him as such. After catching his near slip, he heads over to the row of food. He takes his time in front of it, appearing to be mesmerized by the quantity.
No one would think it suspicious for a tribute from 12 to be amazed by food. A part of him really does feel impressed by the quantity before him. But, he uses this time to scan over the tables. There's a career table, having the four tributes. Avoid them, any attention will just likely get him targeted or killed.
A lot of the other tributes no doubt feel the same. It's as if there's a barrier preventing anyone from getting too close to their table. No one sits by their table, leaving all of the adjacent ones vacant. Well, almost entirely.
There, a hulking colossus of a tribute sits to the table beside the careers. A move Judah suspects come less from bravado and more from assurance. He eats slowly, and appears uninterested by the stares coming from the remaining tributes and careers. As if he's in his own world as he contently eats at some bread. His dark green 7 lets Judah know where the man hails from.
Another threat he should avoid, if only because trickery would hardly matter when the man before could merely punch him into oblivion. Judah makes his way to the end of the row, and turns, allowing himself to see the tables he passed on his first inspection.
He makes sure to put some soup in a bowl, and places it in his plate, to at least appear like he's invested in the food. Soup's always been good on his body too, assuming it's not too heavy on meats. Although, that's hardly a concern for someone from 12, his family no less.
But that's enough self-deprecation, he muses. He continues his observations. The majority of the tributes seem to sit with their partners, a few exceptions of course. 4 sit separate from each other, the same with 7, 10, and 3. Obviously, 12 will soon join that tally. He notices Mila actually speaking to the girl from 4.
It's almost jarring to see, and he nearly drops his tray. But, he masks his shock by inching closer to the large fish dish and almost grabbing at it. It's not the best recovery, but it'll manage. He's more surprised by Mila's initiative more than anything.
She's rather recluse, didn't speak much during the train rides nor the parade. She would speak when spoken to, but never initiates. She always has a calculative look to her eyes, as if examining one's worth. Someone Judah knows better than to form an alliance with. She reminds him of himself. And if she is, he knows she'd betray him the moment he refuses to go into the bloodbath.
Not only would the alliance be pointless, but he'd also actively be assisting his to be killer. Completely asinine, he'd only have himself to blame. Although, the fact she can have a different face to her mask is a bit alarming.
He wonders if he should warn the girl but decides that would just put a target on his back. If Mila deems him a non-threat, that's even one less person to worry about. It doesn't stop him from being a bit surprised at least. She certainly knows how to play the game.
He needs to do the same. He has options. The boy from 3, girl from 10 or boy from 4, all look far stronger than himself. Now, the problem with trying to form an alliance with an apparent power discrepancy is that one ends up holding all the cards. Dependency is a cruel mistress, one that forces even the strongest of minds to crumple.
He needs to find a way to change the perception. He is weak, his physical stature is not the focus. Instead, he needs to appear confident despite his glaring weakness. To show a strong face that makes one question where his confidence stems from, and most importantly wish to acquire the source for themselves. Doing so in the Hunger Games will undoubtedly be challenging.
However, simply because his predicament seems bleak, it doesn't give him permission to resign so soon. Exploiting others comes naturally to him. There just happens to be more permanent stacks at hand.
He grabs some salad and decides on one of the potentials. He marches over confidently, a smart look in his eyes as he plops his tray onto the table.
"Hello there, friend. My name is Judah Rockefeller. May I be so bold as to ask yours?" He asks with a smooth smile.
POV – Destry Coleman
1:06PM
She pretends to listen to the explanation given to her by the man in the lab coat, but, to be honest, her intention was never to learn how to create a fishhook from some sticks.
What she really wants to do is observe. To gauge the skills of her possible threats. It just so happens the fishing station happens to be the closest one to the combat station. The careers practically monopolize it.
Well, most of them, the guy from 1 just sits by the entrance, a far too serene smile on his face that frankly pisses her off. She's just so happy that he seems okay with being here, completely ecstatic to see things work out for him.
Golly gees, she should just go introduce herself to such a wonderful looking guy!
Fucker. Damn, he looks so weak too with how small he is. Why'd that shrimp even volunteer? Why does he always look like a smug bastard anyways? She'd love to punch his face in.
His gaze finds hers and she freezes. His smile goes from serene to feral, and then he runs a thumb across his neck before winking.
It infuriates her, and she finds herself instinctively rising to her feet.
"Fish like salmon are sensitive to shadows given one of their most common predators like the eagle swoops in to hunt them, as such- oh, is something wrong, miss?" The expert interrupts himself to look at Destry.
She rips her glare off the boy from one to look at the man with a slight frown. He for his part does seem concerned, if only because he'd lose the only person who seemingly listens to his fishing lectures. Deciding that going over to fight one of the few people who probably could kill her is beyond stupid, so she instead grumbles to herself.
"Sorry, got distracted, please, continue," she eventually says, taking a seat again.
She quickly ignores him and goes back to observing the rest of the careers.
Girl from 1 doesn't even seem all that good. No other way around it, she doesn't do anything flashy, but nothing about her screams 'terrorizing career'. It immediately puts Destry on edge, what if she, like the boy from 1 is simply hiding her skills.
She grits her teeth, Just her impeccable luck that her wonderful time here in the Games is marred by sneaky careers. What are the odds?! At the very least 2 don't seem to care. The girl wields her spear like an absolute demon. And the boy uses weird knives like an extension of his fist, they're shredding through the dummies faster than they can be replaced.
Destry is beyond happy to see such talented people in her games, she sure got lucky! She can pick between being speared like a fish, or stabbed by multiple punches, she's practically jumping in joy.
She stands again, and quickly thanks the man for his time. The expert smiles warmly at her, she fights back the tremendous desire to roll her eyes out of their sockets.
She instead makes her way towards another station, now to assess the rest of the tributes. She wants to keep a low profile. She's clearly doing such a fantastic job of that if the douche from 1 is anything to go by.
Still, in an ideal situation, she'd learn about the tributes and manage to keep people from noticing her. Such a shame 'ideal' went off to brutally die. Didn't even invite her either, how unfortunate.
She steps into the fire making station. There's a pair of tributes here, 11 by their number and baby blue colour palette. She still doesn't know what thought process the Capitol went through to come up with three different blues to use as colours for the districts, but she finds it ineffective as much as it's annoying to look at.
She doesn't like white either, hard to clean usually and her instincts are screaming at her not to sit at the dirt floor in the off chance she dirties the tracksuit. She fights those instincts realizing she doesn't need to do this shithole any favours.
The two are talking quietly, but she can still make out their conversation. She listens in on them as she prepares her campsite, placing some stones in a circle as she starts to work on a log.
"After this where should we go?" The girl asks.
Destry raises an eyebrow as she continues going through the motions. So they're allies, or just feel comfortable together? Probably the former, when are people ever truly comfortable together, especially in a setting like this?
"Weaponry," the boy says with a finality that even causes Destry to pause.
"Think that's smart? Pretty sure the careers are hogging it," the girl answers again.
Destry nods at the assessment. They could always ask nicely, sure that'd work splendidly for them.
"The likelihood that they ever stop using the station is slim at best. It'd be better we learn something than be plagued by indecisiveness and fear."
Destry furrows her brows. Is that how he talks, sounds like some posh smug bastard if you're asking her.
"Well, in that case, I'm going to go to the archery range instead. I'm pretty confident on a spear anyways," the girl says offhandedly.
Destry finally focuses on her own camp as she almost kindles a flame, smoke wisping near the top of the log.
Her heart clenches and her eyes widen. She freezes her actions, her gaze lingering on the smoke. Her skin starts to crawl, and she feels her anxiety spiking before she finally snuffs the small embers. She starts to breathe again, and she instantly wonders when she stopped.
Still, her throat feels tight, and she shakily stands from the station. Is she a fucking idiot? Did she really think trying to start fires when she's scared of them is a smart idea? No obviously not, Destry is many things, asshole, poor, petty, but forward thinker?
She's too busy trying to observe others she nearly willingly gave herself a panic attack. The proof speaks for itself; she thinks deprecatorily.
"Are you alright, miss?" The boy asks.
Destry snaps from her musings and turns to look at him.
"Perfectly peachy, can't you tell?"
"Ah yes, your manic gaze sold the image perfectly," the girl comments offhandedly.
The boy stares at his partner disappointedly which in turn prompts an apology from her.
"Sorry…" she looks almost sheepish as she rubs the back of her head.
"Okay. Right, well, this was a wonderful talk, let's do it again some time, or never," Destry says after the silence goes from awkward to uncomfortable.
She stands from the station and pats down her pants before spinning on her heels. She's already a few steps away when she hears the boy ask her a question.
"Why were you eavesdropping on us?"
Destry instinctively bites her thumb in frustration, she turns around and looks the boy in the eyes.
"I don't need to tell you shi-"
"Wait!" The boy interrupts hurriedly, two hands up in a placating gesture of surrender.
Destry snaps her mouth shut and her eyes narrows, but she does wait.
"I just want to say you can simply talk to us, we would have been happy to oblige any questions you may have," he finishes diplomatically.
Destry snorts and rolls her eyes, "sure, what's your weaknesses? What makes you an easy kill? Let's hear the details since you're so damn obliging."
POV – Emerald Locke
4:09PM
Emi has long since separated from her district partner. Newt's a nice guy, but he stays at the same station for way too long. She didn't mind doing the edible plants or bug identification for a while, but he's been there since lunch!
If she wants to get to every station, she can't afford to waste time. Once she's at least been to every single one once, then she can go back to others. Probably the survival ones more than say the combat station.
To be honest, she isn't sure she wants to go to that one with the careers there. She doubts they'd be willing to share.
Thankfully, she doesn't believe she'll use any of the weapons on those racks. If she can have any say in it, she'd use throwing knives. She's no expert, but she believes she's good enough at least.
She's been working with them for nearly half a decade. A skill like that is extremely hard to become good at, but besides her painting hobby, she doesn't really have other activities to do. Especially not after Sal died.
To this day, his death still haunts her. A painful memory that plagues her in her sleep. It's one of the main reasons as to why she likes to paint. To get her mind off the horrifying imagery and replace it with some imagery of her own.
At least, she finds that painting serves her greatly, camouflage comes naturally to her. Almost second-nature even. She made her arm look like bark and compared it to the sample the expert gave her. She thanked the woman with a bright smile before she went on to the next station.
That's mostly her pattern at least. Now, she finds herself before the range. She notices a tribute or two here, but they're far too focused trying to use the bow to pay her any mind.
She goes to the counter, where a trainer stands watch. She sees a few bows and knives; she naturally hovers towards the weapons. She stares at them in wonderment. She won't lie that they look very pretty.
She's used to using whatever she could get a hold of, the old rusty worn blades she has at home pale in comparison to the slick silver knives. She grabs one gingerly and feels its weight. It's not something she's used to; however, it feels very balanced. She starts tossing it idly into the air, making the trainer tense nervously.
She considers it more of a party trick, although it's not one she willingly shows people. Peacekeepers would probably punish her for using knives in a dangerous manner. Well, dangerous to them. She feels just as comfortable with a knife in her hand as she does with a brush. After catching a few more tosses, she ends up collecting a half dozen more and makes her way to the short end of the range, where the targets are roughly around 12-15 feet away.
She's going to spend as much time here as every other station, but that doesn't mean she'll undermine its importance. She needs to get used to the weights, assuming that the weapons they work with will end up being the weapons in the cornucopia.
With a steadying breath, she tosses the first blade. For it to miss by a thin margin. She pouts and goes into her second toss. Slightly better, but it clips the edge of the human-shaped target, falling harmlessly to the ground.
Her aim's off, it's straying far too much to the side. She quickly readjusts her position and tosses another. More success, but only getting the inside of the limb. It sticks to the target at least so she knows power and form aren't her problems.
She starts subconsciously twirling the knife in her hand, playing with it as she takes a short break. The trainer spots her eventually, comes over and gives her some tips and advice. It helps refresh her memory at least as It sounds similar to the stuff Sal's dad taught her.
She nods and smiles at the trainer, who ends up going to another tribute. She turns back to the target. The weight of the knives, although balanced is simply stuff she's not used to. Her aim is overcompensating, something she's needed to do when using heavier unbalanced stuff like broken scissors, nails or even rusty kitchen knives.
Inherently, this isn't a hard problem to fix, just a habit she needs to break, or instinct she needs to go against.
She tosses another blade, it sticks in the stomach region. A bit late on its rotation, having its hilt pointing upwards. She smiles triumphantly, fist-pumping at her success. She just needs to tweak out the rough edges.
She continues tossing a few more knives. Her aim steadily improving, although, in reality, it's safer to say her aim is steadily adjusting. Consistency and accuracy were always her strengths, with power being her main drawback.
She'd continue the cycle of tossing knives and waiting for the period where tributes can go grab their weapons. It's almost relaxing doing something she's so familiar with within an otherwise unfamiliar setting. Tossing knives remain the same no matter where one goes.
"You, what's your name?" A gruff voice growls.
It catches Emi off guard and she barely manages to keep hold of the knife she's trying to toss. She turns and stares at the large man before her, her green eyes going wide for a second. Then they go to his dark green 7 and widen even further.
This man's a tribute!? He's huge!
"Uh, hey there. I'm Emerald, but people call me Emi," She says eventually, realizing the tribute was waiting for her.
"I see. You've tossed knives long?" He asks, putting down a big crossbow.
Large weapon for a large guy, it suits him, Emi thinks randomly.
"Yep, for half a decade now," She answers truthfully.
Lying didn't even occur to her, to begin with. His icy blue eyes go from her face to her chest, and she almost feels exasperated before realizing he's probably just looking at her number, her district.
"I see. That's all then," He says slowly, nodding his head towards her before turning to leave.
Emi quirks an eyebrow as she watches the tribute retreat. Odd guy, pretty distant too, but he's not that intimidating once you talk to him.
He looks nothing like he did during reapings too! His beard from before is almost entirely gone, shaved down to an almost shadow and the face tattoos disappeared too. The Capitol technology is very impressive to simply remove ink like that, she thinks.
Still, from what she can tell from the man, he's not exactly extroverted, like herself. So, she doesn't know why he'd approach her like that. She shakes her head, no point thinking too hard about it. She still has more stations to go too.
POV – Mischa Morrigan
9:27PM
Mischa allows herself to frown slightly as she sits at the bar in their residence flat. Obviously, she's not drinking, but she opts to sit on the stool rather than take out a chair from the table. She doesn't plan to stay too long anyway. The reason is that the alliance is having a meeting of sorts.
She won't deny being a bit anxious in wanting to head out already. Especially since this time, it'll only be her from 1 going.
Midnight's not in the alliance.
And it's not because he was kicked out, but because he never opted to join in the first place. When he decided to reveal that snippet of news, surprise was the imminent reaction.
Followed by anger and frustration. Opal even managed to look infuriated, which as far as Mischa is concerned, isn't an emotion familiar for the woman so keen on disturbing other's plans. How ironic that the woman so hellbent on surprising others dislikes being surprised the most.
Mischa shakes her head and looks at the clock again. Confirming it's the right time, she slips off from the stool and heads over to the elevator. She presses two on the module and takes a step back. The emptiness of the elevator only serves to remind her that she's truly going in alone.
She wonders if that's a bad thing. Midnight is truly insufferable. Out of his own volition, he pushes others away, like a wild animal unfamiliar with kindness. Not that she particularly offered him any, but even diplomacy seems to agitate him.
He's not very reasonable, but he's also the only person from home that will be in the arena. So, despite herself, she can't deny she's a bit disappointed to see he wants nothing to do with the alliance. However, the more pressing reason is that this also puts her in a precarious position. A clear power discrepancy going into this alliance. An obvious target to turn on.
She wonders if remaining in this alliance is even the best course of action at all. But leaving would force the alliance to dissolve altogether. Again, she wonders if that's a bad thing.
She doesn't have time to think about it any longer with the doors of 2 sliding open. She notices Kyra sitting at the couch, facing the elevator. The girl spots her immediately and narrows her eyes suspiciously. Not a good sign, Mischa realizes.
Remy seems to have a bottle in his hand, as he sits at the bar, much the same way Mischa did.
"ah, the ever-reliable lovebirds from 1 are here are the- where's Midnight?" Remy asks, his tone going from charming and jovial to cold in a blink of an eye.
Mischa's throat feels tight, but she presses on, masking her uncertainty with confidence.
"He won't be joining us," She says as she takes a seat at one of the couches herself.
"Yeah? Why won't he?" Remy questions, following her to the couch as well.
Mischa hesitates, wondering what the best thing would be to say. The truth obviously, but how to tell it without painting her in a bad light. That's the tricky part, she's going to look bad through association. Even when not in the room, Midnight still seems capable of being a nuisance.
"He… he has decided that he will not be joining the alliance," she says eventually, deciding that trying to save face will only come off as superficial at best.
She deserves to be here and deserves to be treated with respect. If they push her away, they won't have an alliance, and that will embolden the other tributes. She's the sole piece keeping the alliance together. Any other tribute won't have the same effect, not being trained as she was.
"Really now?" Remy says, his tone sounding dangerous and dare she say, unhinged.
Kyra merely scoffs, which is the most Mischa has heard from the girl willingly. Every other time it's because she's spoken to. She's not under the delusion that Kyra and she can be friends, but civil would have been nice. But, for whatever reason, Kyra seems to dislike her from the start. A rivalry that Mischa feels will only cause those from 2 to turn on her sooner.
Mischa nods her head, answering Remy's rhetorical question, if only because he appears to want an answer anyways.
"You know that means we have to kill him yeah, target the bastard? You won't shy away just because you two are friends, right?"
Mischa stares at him with the same deadpan expression she reserves for those being thoroughly insufferable.
"I don't have any qualms with hunting him down first if that's what you really want to know," She says.
It's the truth. Her allegiance goes to herself before anyone else. And It's not like he's endeared himself to her in any way either. His folly, his stupidity will be his undoing, and she could care less about it.
Remy stares at her suspiciously, "that better be the case, he's the bastard we're going after first. You see him in the bloodbath, kill him, the others are secondary."
Mischa fights the desire to roll her eyes and somehow manages to nod. It doesn't matter where, power struggles will always happen, and she'll find herself in the center of it.
The elevator opens again, which immediately catches Mischa by surprise. Did Midnight have a change of heart? It would be too late, unfortunately, 2 doesn't appear to be the forgiving type. It does make them predictable and easy to work with. Don't slight them, don't die to them. A very simple formula.
Mischa shakes away her musings and turns to face the elevator.
A large man steps onto the floor, his posture straight, and having a casual confidence to him that is evident, but does not try to stand out, like Remy or Midnight. Self-assurance without the bravado.
"If it isn't the big guy from 7, was wondering if you'd show up," Remy says jokingly, seemingly forgetting about previous news.
Their familiarity does cause Mischa to worry though. The boy from 7 was always going to be a threat, to have him on the alliance however secures the alliance's authority over the games, no other alliance could possibly oppose them. Even if Midnight attempts to create one, something she doubts he will do anyways.
Midnight doesn't play nice with others, Mischa thinks wryly.
"The two of you don't know him, he's Locust from 7. He'll be joining our alliance," Remy introduces simply, offering his bottle.
Locust grabs it as he nods his thanks, he takes a swig before handing it back.
"I thought there would be four of you," He says evenly.
Remy scowls, "yeah, well dipshit from 1 doesn't fancy our alliance. Kill him off by the way, if you get the chance."
Locust nods, which Mischa finds to be a bit unsettling. An outlier tribute shouldn't be so readily willing to kill, that's a trained skill. Even some careers find it disturbing, herself included. She didn't join these games for the love of the sport, but because it was the lesser of two evils. Well, evils to her at least.
"If I find someone to replace him, will you accept?" Locust says.
Remy stops mid swig, and slowly lowers the bottle, "got someone in mind, big guy?"
Locust nods in response, "girl from 5."
Mischa immediately runs through the reapings. A blonde girl comes to mind, nothing about her stands out though. She looked a bit thin too, what can she offer? Remy clearly thinks the same, a skeptical brow raise being his only acknowledgment of Locust's remark.
"She's an experienced knife thrower, good supportive role and easily disposable if necessary," He explains, monotonously.
It makes Mischa tense; his calculative almost callous analysis surprises her. She half expected the large man from 7 to be all brawn and no brain. This side of him worries Mischa a bit. She knows she won't win in a straight fight of strength. She'd have to outthink him. But if his intelligence is greater than estimated, that'd be a horrible time to find out, to say the least.
"Introduce me tomorrow then. I want to see for myself before deciding anything," Remy says.
Locust nods again. Yet another thing that makes Mischa worry. The fact that Remy made himself the de facto leader of the alliance in the span of a day, the fact he seemingly has the backing of the biggest tribute of the games, the fact Remy and he get along surprisingly well for just meeting each other. She turns to look at Kyra, and for once, she feels like the two of them are on the same wavelength. This alliance is looking fractured on conception and fills her with trepidation.
AN: First half of Capitol chapters are done! 4 more to go before we get to the games! Internet went out yesterday, so I got a bit delayed. Chapters keep getting bigger and bigger, not intentional though. So I apologize if it's getting rather large. I can try toning it down a bit. Anyways, see you all next chapter!