Training Day 1: Afternoon
Scout Trinian
District 4 Male, 13
They keep feeding us, here in the Capitol, and I can't help but remember a story my mom used to tell me when I was a small kid. About an evil witch feeding a girl and her brother with delicious sweets until she could stuff them into an oven and eat them up.
They fought back and put her in the oven, though. They won by outsmarting the witch, and I wish I had my mom here to tell me how to do that, with all the weird-looking adults that flutter around us. No matter how much Mags tried to console me, I feel trapped in this place, with no way out.
I thought I liked the Capitol before.
I thought all they did was bring good to the world and that the rebels were wrong to try and fight them. That's what they showed on television, at the very least, and my mom never really contradicted it. I don't feel so sure about it now, with the stress of this entire situation threatening to overpower me.
The woman with the short hair and the strict appearance comes to the front and I see everyone's heads snap as she raises her voice.
"Tributes, lunch has come to an end, so I would ask for you to vacate the tables, and head to the training hall," she says, while folding her arms across her chest, her arm muscles almost rippling. Instinctively, I hug myself, trying to disappear before her piercing gaze.
"Before we start, I have a few simple rules that will ensure that the upcoming few days will roll as smoothly as possible."
"Rule number one, don't harm any of the other tributes. Save all of that for the Games. Tribute fighting is strictly prohibited throughout the course of your Capitol stay, and appropriate punishment will be enforced if anyone breaks this rule," she smirks, and I struggle to understand how anyone could find this funny. She's definitely one of the bad ones, like the witch in the story. I'm sure of it.
"Rule number two, respect training hours. That means no one is allowed to sneak in here to get extra training in before the Games start," the woman says, and I see one of the scary boys at the front table sag in his seat a little bit. The tall curly-haired girl imperceptibly rolls her eyes at this display of rebellion.
"Rule number three…" she pauses, and I can feel everyone stop breathing. "Have fun," she concludes slyly and licks her teeth for emphasis.
I still feel so lost, but I see everyone stand up, as some tired-looking men and women swiftly come in to clean up the mess we left. Tables start being folded in front of me, and tributes start trickling out of the room into the training hall as I just stare.
This commotion stresses me out even more, and I instinctively bring up my arms to where Trinity would be nestled whenever I would feel out of place or worried about one thing or another. Instead, I hug thin air… another reminder of how alone I am.
I file out after the blond girl that looks around my age.
Mags told me there's three days of this training ordeal, and as I enter the huge room with the cold metal walls and sharp-looking metal weapons hanging from racks, my mouth falls open. The four tributes from Districts 1 and 2 immediately head for the swords.
Another wave of nausea threatens to overtake me, as the other tributes slowly but surely leave some of us stragglers behind, and reluctantly pick an area to focus on.
I don't think I can handle this for three days.
Orla is right behind the Careers, even though I can tell the irritation that comes off in waves from the four trained tributes. Mags doesn't seem to particularly like Orla either. Every time I tried to talk to her, she always kept insulting me or ignoring me, so I guess the dislike is warranted.
I don't know why Orla thinks she has the right to do that…
I may be younger, and I have no one here to stand up for me, to that kind of abuse. And I hate to admit how much her utter disregard for my wellbeing has affected me over the past day. I cried a lot because of it, but I couldn't tell anyone because I don't want people thinking I'm weak. Not even Mags.
Well, if she wants to go suck up to those people who came here on purpose, I'm not going to be the one to stop her. I guess she came here on purpose too, and I don't know how she's going to get herself out of her own mess.
But if it's not my district partner, I still need to get to know someone… anyone. My mom told me to make friends, and I repeat that like a mantra in my head as I survey all the other kids. I know for a fact that I'm not going the same route as Orla. No one, except for the trio of boys that are currently busy at the large table with books, seems to be too approachable.
The girl, the little blond one who somehow appears even smaller than I do, is sitting all alone at the knot-tying area, and instinctively my feet start hitting the ground as I move in her direction.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" I ask her hesitantly, my voice hoarse from disuse. Mags talked to me a lot, last night, but I was so scared that I could only squeeze out a couple of words. And I was so worried about being late today, that I fled our floor right after breakfast, before she could ask me any overly personal questions.
"No, I don't," the girl sighs sadly, and beckons me a little bit.
"How old are you?" I prompt her, as she doesn't attempt to start any conversation beyond a few worried glances my way.
"Just turned thirteen last week, how about you?" she asks back, focusing her eyes on the knot.
I grab a piece of string and whistle at the pamphlet in front of her.
"Hah! Same here. Thirteen! I'm thirteen, I mean," I answer, blushing when the words come tumbling out. This feels so awkward, but thankfully, the girl doesn't spare me a glance as she finishes her knot.
"I'm sorry, I'm usually a lot better at this. I'm just upset by this whole thing, you know," she waves around, and I nod thoughtfully.
"Kinda sucks," I agree unenthusiastically, and she scoffs.
"Yeah, kinda. Only, you know, a matter of life and death here," she rolls her eyes and I feel like I've offended her, so I shrink back, picking up a particularly large instructional pamphlet and burying my nose in it. When that doesn't work, I kind-of feel like fleeing.
"I'll go now," I inform her, and her eyes flash towards me like lightning.
"No, you … I didn't mean that in a mean way, I don't want you to go. I just didn't really have anyone to talk to about this properly, and I'm taking out my anger for no reason. I'm doing better than yesterday, but I'm still pissed off," she admits, with a little sad laugh.
I cross my legs, a little more at ease. I realize I don't even know her name yet. A shout from the fighting area permeates the air and momentarily takes me out of the moment.
"I'm Mona, from District 9," she introduces herself, as though reading my mind and bringing me back to the conversation. Her little arm extends towards me and I shake it, feeling extremely goofy.
"I'm Scout," I answer back meekly.
"I'm just so mad, you know. At least you ended up with a good mentor… I've got … Momo. He's sweet, but he's not really all that great to give advice," she keeps talking as we start doing knots together. I see her hands momentarily leave the little strings and nervously run across her intricate braid. I want to tell her it looks nice, but I'm worried she'll think I'm weirder than I already feel.
"Yeah, Mags is pretty great," I say instead, feeling out the words in my mouth. Mona lets my useless statement slide as though she hasn't even heard, her mind clearly focused on something else entirely.
"You know, totally no pressure, but if you want, we can go and try mess with those guys out there."
She points at the trio of boys flipping through the books intently while discussing something of utmost importance, from the way they keep on nodding at each other.
Her voice takes on a conspiratorial edge and she shuffles closer to whisper into my ear. I can feel some of the little stray blond hairs tickle my face.
"I've been thinking about it," she giggles, and stops momentarily, "what if we tried to, you know, steal one of those books at the station, before they really get a good sense of what's out there?"
When I don't react, she keeps elaborating her plan.
"I mean, I don't want to run that risk if they were the Careers, but they seem decently harmless. And my district partner is pretty clueless, despite him trying to appear as though he knows everything. I don't think he'd do anything to hurt me, either way."
I frown, but let her finish.
"It's not just to mess with them," Mona backtracks, trying to make the plan appealing to me. "I also think that if we stole it, you know, if we got away with taking one of the important books, we'd have info no one else does. We'd keep it to ourselves."
"We'd get caught though, there's cameras everywhere," I interject, trying to come up with a way to dissuade Mona from getting into trouble. "They'd ask us to put it back."
Mona puffs her cheeks.
"You'd think, right? But trust me, there's some sketchy stuff going on right under the Gamemakers' noses, people sneaking around, and they're doing nothing about it," she retorts, sparing a quick but accusatory glance at Geoff that I can't help but fixate on.
She doesn't elaborate, but I have a feeling this isn't the bottom of what she knows. I don't want to push her to explain though. I'm not sure I want to get involved in whatever is happening.
Taking action, helping Mona… it would not only secure me a friend amongst these strangers, but it would also potentially yield information that might give me an advantage over everyone here.
I know deep down in my heart that Alex would immediately agree to this.
They live for this kind of shenanigans, and my heart aches even considering how Mona might have a friend just like them back home, game to participate in whatever little idea she concocts in her head.
But that's not me.
"I'm sorry, Mona, you seem really cool, but I think I'll focus on training," I say, casting my eyes down in embarrassment, because I know I'm being a coward.
I don't want to see her crestfallen expression, but my eyes can't help but flicker up and catch it all the same.
"Oh, that's okay I guess," she says, a little lost.
"You're doing great progress with the knots though," I say, kind-of helplessly.
She simply nods, looking back at the boys and then back at me, as I stand up, feeling worse and worse by the minute.
I wave at her, trying to convey that even though I don't want to participate in whatever she's planning to do, I don't want her to have any ill feelings towards me.
I felt like we were getting along just fine… I just really don't want to get into any trouble. My mom said making friends is important, but laying low and not attracting the attention of the really scary tributes is just as crucial, if I want to last. And pretty much everyone is bigger and scarier than I am.
Mona waves back, and actually musters up a smile, without any reproach. I don't know if it's genuine, but it looks like it is.
"It's okay Scout, I'll see you around then."
At the very least, it doesn't look like I blew my chance to ally with her, if ever I finally decide on something. Somehow, that makes me feel loads better.
I don't know if I want to ally with Mona yet, but now there's at least one person here that doesn't hate me and want to automatically kill me, once the Games start. It might be the smallest tribute here, apart from me, but that's a start.
I definitely can work my way upwards, from here.
Morgana Foster
District 7 Female, 18
I walk into the middle of a complete and utter shitshow.
It's not like I ever really had a choice. I made up my mind a long time ago, and changing paths now sounds exactly like suicide. And let's be real, I was never the kind of person to change my mind easily. As my feet hit the ground, I relish in the idea that all these years have led up to this exact moment.
But the fact still stands that it feels like a missed opportunity, when I walk up confidently to the Careers and Orla fucking Ferraris is already standing in their midst.
There she is right now, apparently annoying the shit out of an already-fuming Ambrox, who is translating his fury by aggressively stroking an overly large sword he is trying to test out.
Normally I'd comment on men and their sensitive egos that are so easily shattered by an imposing female… but Orla is really something else. I wouldn't even call her imposing. She just lacks any sort of common sense, coupled with the unwavering knowledge that she is the fucking queen in this bitch.
I saw what she did during lunchtime, and needless to say, I was less than impressed.
However, I have to admit, there was some good that came from it. As I was chewing on my third goddamn double-stuffed sandwich, about to grind my teeth to dust out of sheer stress and frustration I thought of something that really put this entire situation into perspective.
I'd be a hell-of a better option than Orla, so why the fuck wouldn't they accept me?
Like, what kind of competition is there even, between a bimbo talking out of her ass, who can barely even throw a punch let alone dissect someone with a sword, if her volunteering is anything to go by and me, fucking Morgana Foster, who has kicked more ass than a Peacekeeper from District 11?
Maybe the pep-talk was a bit much, but it's doing miracles for my self-esteem and that's all I need right now.
And as I'm walking up to people I desperately need to secure an alliance with, I know exactly what I must do.
There's no talking my way into this.
I need to show them what I can do, and that I'm worth it.
I swiftly grab a spear off the rack, and in one single fluid motion, as I've practiced countless times in Sunhdit's basement, I hit the bullseye situated twenty feet away.
The twang of the spear silences Ambrox from District 1, who was in the middle of saying some joke that Cira already started politely laughing at.
Holy fuck, I did it. All four Careers stare at my god-fucking-lucky shot I didn't think I was going to pull off from the first try, and I do my best to not look too impressed with myself. Orla is busy cleaning her cuticles to really notice anything going on around her.
"Are you still extending invitations for an alliance?" I ask playfully, almost adding a wink before stopping myself, because that would be fucking overkill. I'm practically vibrating from the inside with nervous energy, but I contain it all by crossing my arms across my chest.
Ambrox imperceptibly narrows his eyes, as Seeva gives me the biggest shit-eating grin in the whole universe.
"What have you got to show for yourself… Seven, is it?" Ambrox asks. His accent reeks of District 1, and I wonder if he's playing it up for the rest of us. It could come off as quite intimidating.
I've practiced my answer for this question though, so it rolls off the tongue really easily.
"I'm Morgana from District 7. I've trained since I was six, I know swords, hatchets, knives. I've got a preference for short-range combat, but if y'all need a spear-thrower, I'm your girl too," I respond, jerking my head towards the spear lodged into the target for emphasis.
I could also mention my plants-knowledge, and my limited but essential medical expertise, but I reason that if they actually want me on their side, those revelations can come later.
"She's got the build of a fighter," Seeva remarks coolly, but I can see from the twinkle in her eye that she's been sold on the idea of me joining the alliance a long time ago.
Surprisingly, Ambrox, who I thought was going to require the most convincing, acquiesces almost instantly.
"You seem like someone serious," he momentarily glares at Orla, who, from what I gathered, will not take No for an answer. "You can train with us, and if you really are good enough once the scores come out, welcome to the team," he adds, giving me two thumbs up that I reciprocate out of excitement.
"Sounds like a plan!" I reply almost too quickly. No one seems to mind the eagerness and excitement that betrays me, and just like that, I am no longer on the outside looking in. It's happening!
As I'm internally still reeling from the success of not turning every trained killer in this alliance against me, Seeva claps me on the back.
"Glad someone finally decided to talk to us," she remarks smiling, as the others head closer to the fighting mats. "We don't bite you know, you could have avoided having to show off with that spear throw over there, which was hella impressive, by the way, but still. I woulda vouched for you."
"Yeah I was kinda shitting bricks," I admit to her, cursing myself immediately for opening up. But Seeva has been nothing but nice to me regardless of what District I'm from, and trust is something that's built. So, I reason that a tiny bit of vulnerability won't hurt with her.
"You shouldn't have," she assures me, while glancing conspiratorially in Orla's direction as the dark-haired girl struggles to lift a particularly heavy-looking claymore sword.
"Honestly, I should have. If it wasn't for her, I'm sure District 1 over there woulda given me a harder time," I respond. "Compared to her, I look as competent as you guys though, so it's chill."
"Are you not, though? Unless you rep-ed yourself too hard there, you have as much training as we do," Seeva muses, passing a short shiny sword from hand to hand, testing its balance. My knee-jerk reaction is to immediately take offense, get my guard up, but I take a deep breath instead. I just have to prove myself, and I know she's still sizing me up. She's still one of them, I have to remind myself. She might seem nice, but we're not automatically friends, even if we did bond quickly. I'm going to be one of them soon, too.
"I did, I was just… I don't know, you guys seemed really exclusive –" I start, but am interrupted by a clattering noise and a frustrated shout. In a way, I'm grateful because I hadn't planned the conversation that far ahead.
Ambrox is towering over Orla as she stares directly into his face, anger barely concealed on her features. A sword lies discarded by their side.
"I'm done with her shit," Ambrox says calmly, but his features are anything but composed.
"You can't tell me what to do, I'm allowed to be here as much as you," Orla retorts, as though she's a fucking five-year old child. The petulance makes my lips curl back in disapproval.
Normally I'd say something.
I hate brats like her, but I can't step out of line because I'm not part of this alliance yet. She's also the reason why I'm not the automatic outsider here, and I silently thank this self-absorbed and abhorrently entitled human being that is currently staring down a Career. That takes some serious stupidity or courage, depending on who you ask.
"First off, yeah he is, and second, why the fuck are you causing more trouble now? We're literally here to train, we're allowing you to tag along, - " Luther raises his voice, coming to Ambrox's defense. Cira stands with her arms hugging her waist, obviously wishing to be anywhere but involved in this fight.
"You're not allowing me anything, I'm doing what I WANT-"
"You're not in this alliance!" Ambrox shouts, losing his cool.
"Guys, let's all calm down," Seeva starts, but is interrupted by Orla sticking her head underneath her arm and screaming.
"YES, I AM, and YOU can't stop me."
"Honestly, fuck this," Ambrox storms off, and I'm stuck deciding to stay with Seeva with an obviously distraught and pissed-off Orla, or following Luther who starts after Ambrox.
As I said before, I landed in the middle of a fucking shitshow.
I sigh and head towards Ambrox, as Seeva shakes her head at Orla.
"Um yeah, no, I'm not in unless this dick-wad is out," I overhear Ambrox murmur, as he pinches the bridge of his nose as though this entire situation is giving him a massive headache.
It probably is, considering I couldn't stop hearing Orla droning on and on for the entire time I was working up the courage to come talk to the Careers. It was exhausting to me, and I can't imagine it was particularly pleasant for Ambrox either.
Is he being melodramatic? Yeah.
Is it kind-of warranted? I have to hand it to him, he lasted longer than I would have, so I definitely have some sympathy for the guy.
"Hey man," I start, genuinely sympathetic, but Ambrox cuts me off too.
"You better not start being that fucking annoying or I swear to god," he seethes at me, and I put my hands up in defense.
"I'm sorry, I know she sucks, I am just here to help. I genuinely want to help," I reiterate, for emphasis, and Ambrox takes a deep breath.
"How about we just train here, and let Seeva deal with her for now. You can always kick off anyone you want the alliance, but it's only Day 1… so if you want to hear out my opinion, I'd say you'd save yourself a lot of trouble by dealing with her later. Reap the benefits of training now, you know, kick off dumbasses later," I say, trying to simultaneously appeal to his logical side, as well as the part of him that clearly yearns to be the leader of this Career pack. I want to make it clear right off the bat that he's in charge, as far as I'm concerned.
It might sound manipulative, and it is, but putting myself in contrast with Orla is the best thing I've got going for me right now, and I'd be a fucking loser if I didn't take advantage of that.
I don't know how, but Ambrox actually deflates a little, and Luther gives him a pat on the back that would appear condescending if it came from anyone but Luther.
"You're right, fuck, you've been here for 3 fucking catastrophic minutes, but you're right," Ambrox says, passing a hand down his face, and laughing a little bit. He shakes his head for emphasis, and his features take on a handsome expression. It's almost scary, if I hadn't studied the way they do this, albeit in a slightly more ratchet way.
It goes unspoken between us that we both don't trust each other, that while he fully has the capacity to kick Orla off the Career pack, he has the same power to that with me. At this point, I'm just praying that whatever annoying shit Orla does overshadows any potential missteps I will make. Maybe horrible conceited brats are actually a blessing in disguise, for some of us.
"Let's go fight, eh? We can challenge the trainers. That's what I was excited to try out," Luther ventures, and I nod enthusiastically, riding this god-knows-what-the-fuck-it-is wave of acceptance from the two Career boys in front of me.
Playing mom and dealing with who's right and who's wrong… that was never my forte.
Just now, I did alright, though, and that's all that counts. Seeva seems to be doing great fulfilling that role, as I spare a glance her way. Both Cira and Orla seem to be engrossed in some conversation with her, and I see her nod at me imperceptibly. Situation diffused, I mouth back at her, and she smiles.
"Yeah let's go fight. Maybe then the asshole will actually have some sense knocked into her head that she should stay away from us," Ambrox says, picking up a blunt weapon.
While I'm not the best with my words, what I am good at, it's fighting. And as Ambrox calls down three trainers to attack the three of us simultaneously, a grin appears on my face.
I twirl out of the way of an impending attack and cross swords with one of the large trainers, who grunts at the force of our weapons striking together.
I hear the steps of the other trainers, and the beautiful silence accompanying the movement of my two allies.
Well… not allies yet, one part of my brain argues as I duck, and swing with force at another trainer's head. I feel impact and jump back quickly as a human body hits the floor with a thud.
Both Ambrox and Luther give me a mirroring look of appraisal as they push back the two other trainers.
Not allies yet, but it's coming, and I'll make it happen.
This, I enjoy.
Roizer Loudon
District 6 Male, 14
It's been exactly one hour and thirty-six minutes, and I've been walking aimlessly around the training complex, trying to make up my mind on what I should settle on.
It really doesn't help that the metallic and cold walls of the complex remind me so awfully of the bunker I was stuck in for the first few years of my life.
It's debilitatingly demoralizing, and I just wish I could be back in my room, drawing the tributes instead of facing them head on. I've always been more comfortable living in my own head than whatever this is supposed to be.
But that's not how life goes, around here.
As I'm walking around, I see the other tributes interacting, and I mentally try to create a storyboard I can add to my sketchbook. I've got it in my hand right now, hidden under my comfy sweater, and I'm tempted to take it out right now and start drawing right away. It's become a coping mechanism of sorts, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that it's the only thing that kept me from losing it last night.
But for the time being, I convince myself to continue surveying the tributes.
Some stick together, like the pair from Five.
The only reason why I remember them so well is because of how odd and distinct they look.
The girl seems decidedly unhappy and a little bit twitchy, but doesn't leave her partner's side. They keep whispering and mostly keep to themselves even as the boy from Twelve approaches their station, minding his own business. They both have strange eyes, so their entire page that I sketched out yesterday is filled with cosmic and otherworldly doodles.
I steer clear of the Careers, inching my way closer to the mats on the far end of the training hall. No one so much as looks my way.
After the exploding but brief argument between the One boy and the Four girl, the Careers separated into two groups, and a majority of the noise is coming from the ones fighting with the trainers. The Seven girl joined them previously, and she was fighting with the ferocity and grace of a trained tribute, which scares me even more.
How many of my competitors know exactly what they're doing?
To my great relief, most tributes hardly make a sound, keeping their head low and tinkering with some thing or another. On one hand, it's a blessing since I don't feel like jumping out of my own skin at every noise. On the other hand, my constant fidgeting and subdued squeaking is bound to attract unwanted attention, and it's stressing me out.
I hate being like this, so easily scared, so easily prompted to having these noise outbursts.
Suddenly a weird and crushing emotion that I haven't felt in years floods my entire body. Honestly, I feel like an outsider. Everyone is preoccupied with something, their hands or minds busy and I'm just some kind of ghost, surveying them, taking in every detail of their movements and interactions without ever interfering.
The Games haven't even started, and I feel half-dead already.
I hear a clatter, and everyone turns their head in the direction of the Eight girl who is staring at the hatchet she just dropped in frustration.
"Again," she practically spits in the direction of the trainer and wipes off the sweat off her brow.
She doesn't seem to care in the slightest that people like me are staring and renews her efforts with an admirable intensity. I wish I had the courage to get into training like she does, but I'm just too self-conscious.
I just wish they provided some sort of closed setting for us to train in, so I could be closed off from the others. From their potential judgement if I screwed up.
It's so weird, coming from me, since I've always been afraid of enclosed spaces ever since my childhood. But in this unfamiliar place, I just want to curl in a ball with my sketchbook, and disappear from view.
The district Three girl is practicing a parkour route that has been outlined for her on a huge screen in front of the runway. She bobs and weaves, dancing out of the way of obstacles coming her way with amazing grace, and summersaults at the very end.
She was one of the kids I didn't draw.
I think she intimidated me a little too much, from the way she volunteered, and then from the way she held herself at the Chariots. But as she does a little victory dance after finishing the parkour with a near-perfect score, I see the human side of her.
My fingers itch to take out my sketchbook and draw all that frizzy crazy hair and make her into something larger than life… immortalize this moment when she's smiling all to herself.
But I can't, because this isn't what normal people do.
So, I just let me free hand twitch restlessly at my side.
I turn to leave, and trip over someone's foot, going splattering on the floor, my sketchbook flying out of my sweater onto the cold mats ahead of me.
"So-sorry," I stammer, frantically trying to gather my sketchbook while pushing myself back.
The other kid reels back, and I see that his face has a mortified expression plastered on it.
"No, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I just didn't see you and you turned around so fast," he blurts out, extending a hand to help me up. That's perhaps the kindest gesture anyone has extended to me during my entire stay at the Capitol.
So much so that the jarring difference from the usual scorn and lack of concern actually makes me want to cry.
I stutter again, lifting myself up without his help. "No no, it's quite… my fault."
I whistle, to release the tension building up in my head from the stress of it all, and look back at the kid. If I remember correctly, this is the small boy from District 4.
The kid doesn't respond anything, going from one foot to the other, and stroking his left arm with his right. He looks so odd, right then and there, that I have to cock my head a little to the side to inspect him a bit better.
He looks more stressed out than I feel.
"Hey, it's … alright," I say slowly, trying to enunciate properly to not scare the kid away. He seems really nice. Around my age, too.
I realize I'm really tired, seeing as I haven't slept all night, since when I try to remember the small replayed version of his reaping, his name and age are a big blur.
I squint, trying to remember.
"I'm sorry if I scared you," the boy says, handing me my sketchbook. He looks really distraught, so I try to comfort him instead.
"You didn't, thanks for this, really," I wave sketchbook at him.
"What's your name," the boy asks, peering curiously at the sketchbook. I almost hide it from view before deciding against it.
"I'm Roizer from District 6, how about you?"
"I'm Scout."
Oh yes. He's thirteen, from District 4. I remember feeling awful for him, because he was reaped alongside a volunteer girl who didn't seem too nice. He's kind of in the same situation as I am, clearly, since he's wandering around the training facility with no clear objective in mind.
"Nice to meet you Scout!" I answer and smile because it's nice to finally have some contact with a real human being.
Not Daisy, not our escort, and not the people who can't speak but instead keep staring at me with their piercing eyes as though I am some sort of freak. Scout seems to be a genuinely nice kid my age, and I cling to that desperately.
"What's in your book, there?" Scout asks, and I frown.
"It's personal stuff," I answer, my fingers snapping together and twitching restlessly at my side.
"What kind? I mean, is it like a diary or something?" Scout ventures, and I laugh a little.
"No, it's …uh," I struggle to explain. But then, I go out on a limb and flip the book open since an image is worth a thousand words.
Scout's eyes widen, and he honest-to-god starts grinning as I flip through the pages.
"That's wicked!" he exclaims as I show him Roy and the Moon City I was able to complete yesterday during my feverishly inspired night.
"That's what I like to do, when I'm … stressed, you know," I elaborate.
"Hey, keep on being stressed dude, you're really great!" he exclaims, and then stumbles on his words apologizing. "I didn't mean it that way, I just meant you've got really cool ideas in there!"
I laugh quietly. "Don't worry, I don't know if you're saying that just to be nice or not, but thanks."
Scout shakes his head awkwardly, laughing along with me. The truth is I genuinely don't know if he likes the drawings, or if he's simply relieved, he has someone to talk to. But either way, I can't complain since finding a companion in him, even if it's just for today, has singlehandedly uplifted my spirits.
We don't spend much time talking, since we are both introverts and we're both dealing with issues on our own. But even sitting in silence with another friendly entity near me does wonders to my mindset.
Even as the sun sets and the clock rings, indicating the end of training, we sit together, me sketching and him reading through a guidebook on orienteering, whatever that means.
Suddenly, the speaker comes to life, and both of our heads quickly snap to the origin of the sound.
"Tributes, your first day of training is officially over. Please put down your tools, weapons or any material that belongs in this room, and head to your sleeping quarters," a voice resonates across the speakers in the training facility. I associate the voice to the commandeering woman that has been with us since early lunch, but there is no sign of her right now.
I guess she was too lazy to come see us in person.
I venture a look at Scout, and see him staring intently at the little girl from Nine. She sees him staring, and shakes her head, grinning a little bit.
I think her name is Mona but with the worsening headache that threatens to split my head open, I don't really remember.
"I expect to see you all on time early in the morning tomorrow. Your second day of training starts at 9AM sharp and I wouldn't waste my time, if I were you," she adds ominously, and the speaker goes silent.
"Long day huh," Scout asks as we both head to the exit together.
"Yeah," I sigh, rubbing at my head. "I think I just need some sleep."
"You do that. I'll see you tomorrow though, eh?" Scout asks hopefully, his eyes gleaming from fatigue. He doesn't look nearly as terrified and sad as when I fell over his legs.
I whistle, and nod. "Absolutely. Count me in."
To come to think of it, minus the headache, I don't think I look as terrified and sad either.
As we part ways and press the "6" button to get to my floor on the elevator, I am relieved that Scout doesn't think I'm weird. So many people have spent a couple of hours with me, only to realize how utterly unimpressive or strange my tics can get.
But Scout didn't seem to mind.
In fact, it looked like he enjoyed my company as much as I did his. I smile as I enter the common area of District 6's floor. Even Melchior can't dampen my mood.
It's nice to not feel so much like a ghost, anymore.
Cira Dupont
District 1 Female, 18
As I plop onto the couch in the lounge, I let out a sigh of relief.
It feels like only a month ago, my life was set on a track I knew it would never deviate from. Imogen was set to go to the Games, I was set to wait for her as she came back. That feels like a distant echo of a memory, now.
For the past month, it's like my brain has been wrapped up in some sort of impenetrable fog. I've been training harder than ever, but I still feel out of place, because I don't want to be here.
It's my duty though, and I couldn't refuse.
Not after what I did.
It still doesn't feel right after so many people clawed and fought their way to be here, and all I want to do is get back to Cotty, give him kisses on his little nose.
This whole situation… it still strikes me as incredibly sad.
At this point, I don't even have the energy to rage in righteous anger. The pain of the knowledge that my life has been turned upside down and that I am living what my best friend dreamed of while she rots in an unmarked grave of trainee casualties… it gets unbearable some days. I don't understand why someone would be as cruel as to write my story this way, but that's the way things go.
I lived and I breathed and I loved.
Now all that is left is the sweat and tears put into the last month's training, and the hatred that never lets go of my heart, not even for a second.
I see the way Ambrox looks at me, as though I'm a bomb that is ready to explode. In a way, I'm grateful because he seems to care, at least for the time being. But it's not like he won't kill me, if given the chance.
That is what's horrifying.
No matter how much I trained, I can't reconcile this with the fact that I never wanted anything to do with these Games.
And here, in this plush room, I feel this disparity between what I wanted so desperately for myself and what ended up happening. It's as suffocating as the dust that came up from the mats Jasmyn ground my face into as we fought. When she was operating on a week-timeline to bring out the monster out of me, when for other trainees it took months.
"So, what did you think of our first day?" Ambrox asks as he sits gracefully next to me. I remove my socks and curl my toes into his leg.
I try to replace the gloominess that has descended upon me, after keeping up a façade the entire day.
"It was… eventful?" I venture, and he snorts.
"Right, Orla is so much more of a pain in the ass than I expected, god fucking damn it," he mutters under his breath while laughing.
"Yeah, she's going to be difficult," I answer smiling, but my heart isn't in it.
I think Ambrox can tell I'm really tired because he pats my feet affectionately.
"You know you can go sleep right? I'll deal with whatever questions Jasmyn might have myself," he says. He's been nothing but kind to me, even though I know I'm not the ideal person to be with, in the Games.
"Nah, it's okay, we're in this together. Especially with all these weirdos running around," I answer and as if on cue, Jasmyn exits her room.
"- Thanks that would be fantastic, I will set up a meeting as soon as it is convenient for you. Thank you, goodnight," Jasmyn purrs into the wireless phone before turning it off.
"Mind telling me what the hell was the mess, today?" she asks coldly, her tone a complete 180 from what she had been using seconds prior.
"Unexpected circumstances," Ambrox enunciates at her, and Jasmyn scoffs.
"The Games are an unexpected circumstance. You have to deal with it with grace and composure. But no, I turn around for one second and the next I see you screaming at another tribute. A tribute that you were too spineless to reject from your alliance, might I add," Jasmyn explains.
"I did. She just doesn't leave," Ambrox whines exasperatedly, but Jasmyn has had enough.
"I don't care what she does, you need to handle yourself properly and not lose your shit this early on in the game. And Cira, man the hell up," Jasmyn snaps, turning to me. "I'd say put a leash on your dog, but you're clearly unable to keep up yourself."
"We are District 1. We are the pride of this country and you have to act accordingly," Jasmyn says softer, with something akin to pride in her voice. I internally yearn it that it was genuine, that this pride was directed at us, but I know that's how she gets us.
It goes unspoken between us that everything would have been easier if Imogen was here. I know Jasmyn preferred her over me. Hell, I preferred her over me. She was so much more into this than I was. But I'm what Jasmyn's stuck with now.
I try to keep my face even, instead, just like Ambrox.
"It won't happen again, Jasmyn," Ambrox yields, but I see a flash of anger in his eyes.
"Good," Jasmyn backs off, and pulls out the customary compliment, after every reprimand. Jasmyn might seem unpredictable to some, but when you get to know her, she's like clockwork.
"You did a great job with the Twos. I'm glad you chose for them to approach you. They seem like the type who like to make that decision on their own and forcing yourselves onto them would have felt like a misstep."
"I think we can trust Seeva to keep the alliance together. She seems well-intentioned, and I don't see them betraying us early-on," I remark, trying to be useful.
"Yeah, I agree but we always need to keep our guard up," Ambrox counters thoughtfully. "Luther's… a character. Seems fun though."
Jasmyn nods.
Luther is one of the more dramatic Careers that have come out of District 2 recently, but she's already shared with us that she thinks this is to our advantage. And he does seem nice, if not a little bit on the psychopath spectrum.
"How do you feel about Morgana?" Jasmyn prompts, and I know this is the last point of discussion. I just wish to go to bed, to lie down, and move on to the next day.
"She seems fine. More Career-like than some," Ambrox says, biting his lip.
I know he means this about Orla, but Jasmyn's eyes momentarily turn to me, and I put my head down, as though I don't notice.
I know I don't belong here, and it hurts that she confirms this at every step of the way.
"I do approve of her addition to the team, by the way. I think she will balance out whatever bullshit District 4 stirs up. And she seems very motivated to prove herself to you guys, so use that to your utmost advantage," Jasmyn adds, putting her hands on her knees and getting ready to get up.
"Get a good night's rest, we're getting up early tomorrow for a quick briefing before your training starts again."
"Goodnight Jasmyn," we both say in synchrony, and she smirks as she heads back to her room. Where Vintage is probably waiting for her, but was too unbothered to come give us any advice whatsoever.
"Alright, I'm heading out too," I say tiredly, and yawn.
"Same here, goodnight Cira, see you tomorrow!" Ambrox says, patting me on the back and walking towards his room.
He smiles from the door and waves at me, and finally disappearing as he closes the door behind him.
I go back, and do pretty much the same, my brain feeling like lead. Even two weeks ago, I would have shut this door and broken-down sobbing on the floor.
Now, there's only numbness, with tiny simmers of rage underneath. Who knows if they're ever going to be enough to let me survive long enough to honor Imogen's memory?
I go to sleep with a heavy heart, because I can't shake off this utter feeling of helplessness.
Notes: Thanks for being so patient, the end of the semester was intense, but ya girl survived it, WHEW! It's been a long time, but I'm giving you this (hopefully) lovely 7.5k+ chapter that propels the plot forward to compensate. This note is short and sweet because I wrote this entire mosnter in one day and my fingers ache. Please let me know what you think!
Peace and love.