Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
Training Day Two

Veradisia Annora Smith, 19
District 12 Female

"How goes training, Vera?" asks Francine. "I would've asked yesterday, but I've been so bogged down with sponsors. They say that so many sponsors are the norm, but with Twelve's case, anything more than one is too much to bear!"

Glancing up from my porridge, I focus my eyes on our despondent mentor, Ainsely. Her eyes bulging with fear as she takes a skittish bite of her apple. To my left, my district partner Kaviraya absentmindedly slathers jam onto his toast. My heart yearns for him.

"Training goes well...surprisingly." I reply brightly. I reach for the bowl of brown sugar, only to be startled as an Avox quickly does it for me. I tell her one spoon is good enough. "I guess because of the 'newness' of it all, I didn't garner unnecessary attention...Erm...Did they do overnight maintenance or something?"

They must've made some changes...all the furniture in the room last night was predominantly white, which contrasts with the orange wallpaper. Most of the furniture now was brown – wood. Even Kaviraya glances around, sharing my confusion.

"I suppose they did." Francine answers, her eyes squinting as she too notices the change. "Although personally I preferred the white décor as it is much more modern and chic."

I nod. "Right..."

"What of the Careers?" Francine asks.

"Besides a few leers...nothing." I reply. Although something tells me I will have their full attention soon enough. Reaching for the apple juice, I gently stop the Avox who makes a move to help me. This garners a peculiar stare from Francine, which prompts me to inwardly smirk.

"...That's good. Thank the Gods this isn't a regular year, they would be very cross with you." Francine chimes, turning to Ainsely when she says, "Isn't that good Ainsley?"

My mentor's mud brown eyes still as they land on me. "Don't try it."

Patting my lips with a napkin, I inquire, "Don't try what?"

"Ains, did you take your happy pills this morning...?"

"Don't try it. Whatever you're planning, don't try it. You have to take into account lives other than your own now."

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about Ainsely, honestly." I reply with a shake of the head.

"I'm sorry guys. Ainsley was never a morning person." Francine coos softly, placing her hands around a stubborn Ainsely who fails to shrug her off. "You two go keep on keeping on, while we monitor your sponsors!"

"Don't be sorry!" I call out, watching as Francine coaxes Ainsely into a room. Our mentor should be the one that's sorry, sorry that she's lost the will to persist.

...

After spending nearly all of yesterday with the rapier and knives, I've decided to try my hand in trapping...with less than stellar results.

"Does trapping really matter in comparison to the basics?" said Aspen during one of our many prep sessions. "Just look at the recent Games. All that matters is food, a decent weapon and a good head on your shoulders."

That might be true, my friend, but it doesn't hurt to be a jack of all trades, especially in the Hunger Games. You never know what skills one needs in their desperate hour.

"I think you're doing it wrong."

"I'm sorry?" I reply confusingly, glancing upward and gasping at the woman who joins me on her knees.

"You're doing it wrong." Alana freaking Oskoii repeats to me as she inches forward, replacing my rope with a cord of sorts. I can't help but gawk like an idiot.

"I prefer something like a bungee cord." She says. "It gives the trap that extra oomph-" Using a knife, she releases the trap – an axe attached to cord in a 'crevice – as the axe spins horizontally and deeply lodges itself into the leg of the dummy set up in-between.

The Alana Oskoii just helped me set a trap! If I could see myself, there would be stars in my eyes.

"Thank you, thank you so much." I say, pumping her hand with mine.

I receive a warm smile in return. "No problem, though I imagine something else is making you more excited?"

"Yes, of course! I'm Vera Smith, District 12. I just wanted to let you know that you're a hero to me and women across the nation."

"So I'm told, so I'm told...although I'm hearing similar rumblings about you, missy."

"I too am aware, although my newfound attention is nothing compared to yours." I gush, removing a stray strand of white hair from my vision. "I wish that our meeting could've taken place in a better setting...How are you feeling?"

Alana Oskoii, 56
District 8 Female

This young lady gushing over me brings back some clarity, which is wonderful given all this drama and uncertainty as of current. For the first time in days, I find myself with a genuine smile on my lips, not the forced grin I find myself plastering on for the press or District Eight's team.

As pleasant as it is, it's still not enough to dull the overall situation we find ourselves in. My smile falters, and I sigh deeply.

"Things could be better Vera, far, far better..." I answer bitterly. "Why me, hm? Just as things were starting to take off, I get reaped-"

"Selected."

"What?"

"You were selected, let's not be coy." Says Vera, a light chuckle in her tone as she rises to her feet and looms over me, her awestruck features seem to be replaced with a steely mask. "Like lightning in a bottle, women across the nation flock to your book like they did Marcia Quimby's erotica. Except this time, you offered us a chance to think instead engage of mindless pleasure..." Vera's face grows hot, smirking when she murmurs, "Not that we don't need that sometimes...but given our current state, it's something they can ill afford."

"I'm not sure if I follow..." I reply wearily, not liking what I'm hearing at all. "I-I was reaped. I guess I was unlucky, terribly unlucky."

Vera shakes her head. "Think about it, Ms. Oskoii. Think about the overall themes you wanted represented. Besides anomalies like President DeWynter or...Marceline Devereaux, when have you ever seen women like you and me in power or doing our own thing?"

I take a chance now to glance around the gymnasium. We are gaining a couple of eyes here and there, most noticeably the Head Gamemaker, Pearlana Singh, and her pals up in their private balcony. I can bet Snow's last rose that we're being listened to, which only prompts me to jostle my head in halfhearted agreement.

"Exactly. Thankfully my situation was different, but like you, I'd also be married off so I can pop out children for the 'betterment' of our nation. I could chatter about this until the end of the world but..." Vera takes a deep breath, and then exhales. "Ms. Oskoii. I am planning on undertaking a strenuous task and I need your help..."

"What 'strenuous task'...?" I ask her.

With a quick, yet weary glance around, she moves toward my ear and explains in detail her 'task'. As she goes on and on, I can't help but let out a dismissive scoff. Many if not all of my generation have learned to never, ever look at optimism the same again.

After what went down, we are permanently 'glass half empty' people, and for good reason.

"Ms. Oskoii?" Vera calls, jostling my shoulder. "I'd love your thoughts on the matter?"

"You're nuts." I tell her finally, as the two of us rise to our feet. "You don't understand...I'm from District 8, we know up close and personal what defeat tastes like. If you try something, you don't know-"

"No, I don't know." Vera interjects, nodding. "But looking around, something tells me it wouldn't hurt to try. Strike when the iron is hot, so to speak."

"Why do you trust me with this information?" I ask her.

She clutches my hands in hers, a heartfelt smile on her lips when she says, "Ms Oskoii, like it or not, you've added colour to the drab world in which Panem's women exist. Ask yourself, why you? And besides...I wouldn't want to be the one responsible for killing off Panem's hottest author?"

Releasing my hands, she directs her vision toward the weights, where some of the males congregate.

"I have some others I wanted to proposition." She says while her eyes still focused on the males. "I want you to genuinely consider what I just said to you. I would really appreciate someone like you by my side. Take it easy."

And with that, she's gone, leaving a very confused me behind. Obviously my reaping was just that – a reaping. I was just unlucky. If I were targeted, they wouldn't allow me to speak to lawyers and Ayn, right? What 'dangerous' ideas did I present? Since when is promoting the free will of women problematic? It's just one book at the end of the day...

Is one book centered on one supposed 'problematic' message enough to land me here?

Warren Holt, 19
District 4 Male

I push off from the pillar I was lounging on, placing a gentle hand on Ms. Oskoii's shoulder who regards me with a startled expression.

"I wouldn't follow in her footsteps miss." I tell her, patting her shoulder. Shooting her a wink, I say, "'Misery loves company', so they say."

Casually, I trail the path which our crafty District 12 female made toward the weights. All nonchalant-like I take position on a rowing machine, watching as she casually takes up a spot near, but not right next to, the other black sheep this year – Ricardo Marcenas of Snow Island. Besides the occasional glance, the two said nothing. As she began to exercise, the older Snow Island male began to take interest.

"For a young lady, you surely know how to carry yourself." He marveled with a smile.

"Thank you. I have the mines to thank for my nominal skills at weightlifting." Twelve replies with a smile. As I begin to gently row, I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Ricardo Marcenas, Snow Island. Your volunteering was surprising, yet...touching at the same time."

"Veradisia Annora Smith – but please call me Vera – charmed to meet you." She replies with a toothy grin. "I've heard a little about you already, Captain."

"Is that so?"

"There are a lot of emigrants living in Twelve. They bring with them interesting stories that make your heart warm with nostalgia for a place one hasn't even graced."

A sly smile spreads on his lips. "Snow Island is filled with stories, mi amigo."

"I've been anticipating your meeting me." Ricardo says after a moment's silence.

"Is that so? I guess the passing glances were big enough of a hint."

"I'm curious as to why you wanted to speak with me."

"Well, Captain. I am planning on undertaking a strenuous task and I need your help..." Vera begins, just as she did with Ms. Oskoii. "And judging by your...demeanor...these past couple of days, you would serve as amazing help in seeing this task through."

"Is that so...?" Ricardo muses with a cocked eyebrow, "Please Miss, explain further..."

All pretenses are immediately dropped as the two begin conversing in hushed tones. Just as Ricardo grins widely and nods, I plop myself down on the seat of the closest weight machine.

"Well, well, well...would you look at this," I gib, shooting each of them an overly sweet smile. "Day two of training and conspiracies are already afoot!"

"Excuse me, I-?"

"Oh please, cut the crap Twelve." I interject with a dismissive wave. "Boy...I don't know what is up with you Twelvers sometimes. Must be something in the water..."

"Erm, listen kid..."

"I don't wanna hear it muscles. I'm onto your little...operation you got going on here." I snip, wagging a finger to the both of them. "I'm just letting you two know that it'll be nipped at the bud as soon as the gong goes off-"

The gargantuan *thud* that results from a weight hitting the ground is enough for me, and other tributes to spin toward the Seven male, Chris, the ignorant oaf, who makes no show of apology. Surely, there are other ways of getting people's attention...I don't put it past him for him to know.

"Listen Four." He says, "I think I speak for everyone in the area when I say that I'm trying to train here. So, if you could keep your prattling to yourself?"

"Listen...Chris – I love that name by the way, so unique – my matter here doesn't concern you."

"Well it does me," bellows a female Peacekeeper, beside her another female trainer. "Is there a problem, tribute?"

"No ma'am, none at all." I reply sweetly, my smile quickly melting into a scowl as I regard Vera and muscles over her shoulder. "I was just putting some of my competition on notice, is all?"

"Yeah, well leave it until the interviews or better yet, the Games themselves." She mutters with an annoyed glower.

I send a playful salute her way. "Of course ma'am, that was exactly what I was saying before they decided to act out."

With a bored expression on her mug, she says, "Right...go on about your day, then."

Pivoting on my heels, I make my way towards the rest of the pack, who has taken up temporary residence at the camping section. Solomon and Sarissa surprisingly take to this area well, painting their faces with an intricate camouflage.

"Those people have no idea who they're up against, really and truly." I report, halting mid stride as I jut a thumb to where I was prior. "You guys should've been there..."

Upon seeing me however, the three of them regard me with icy glares. What's their deal? "What?"

Solomon taps Thames, who moves to join Sarissa, switching places with him at the bench. "You ought to curb that enthusiasm of yours." He says.

"Huh...?" I splutter confusingly with squinted eyes. "What do you mean 'curb my enthusiasm'? We're Careers. If you ask me, we're on top of the world."

Solomon shakes his head. "I don't know if you've noticed Holt, but this isn't like other years. We're dealing with adults, desperate yet determined ones at that. All it takes from them is one moment of clarity to screw up our chances."

I find myself sparing a glance toward the other side of the room. As I do this, numerous heads return back to the activities they were tending to.

"And besides..." he continues, a rare smile emerging from his lips. "You have us to deal with too."

Chris Samera, 36
District 7 Male

I cast one last glance toward the kid from Four before sighing deeply. After all these years, I still don't know how they manage to warp these kids so easily. Although something tells me he'll get his reality check just like the rest of us will.

"Thank you."

"Excuse me?" I say, turning around to meet the deep blue eyes of the Twelve girl. She's an odd little thing, with ghostly white skin and equally as white hair. Yet despite her quirks, she stands toe-to-toe with me. I guess being a volunteer from Twelve of all places, you'd have to have the 'balls' to carry yourself the way you do.

She extends a hand forward, grinning warmly. "Thank you for your intervention Mister..."

"Erm...Chris," I reply hesitantly, thinking about how in a couple of days, I could have my hands around her throat or vice versa. I quickly shut out the thought. Until that time comes I'm retaining my humanity. "Chris Samara. And it's no problem...I was just thinking about how they can go around all willy-nilly as if twenty-five of us won't be alive by the end of this."

"That's one hundred years of conditioning for you." She quips with a wink. "I'm Vera. If you're interested I could share with you my proposition?"

I'm quick to shake my head. I've heard many a story about persons who carry her type of determination...it's best to stay away and watch the fireworks from afar. "I'm fine, thank you. Good luck out there."

If she's disappointed, she makes no show of it as she nods once and maintains her grin. "That's quite okay, Mr. Samara. I wish you luck as well."

Placing the weight back on its stand, I find myself scanning the gym in its entirety. If there's one thing she's right about, it's making alliances. Something tells me you'd want someone real close to you this time around. There are plenty of tributes to choose from, but who? I quickly make my decision, striding toward the wilderness survival section to meet him. It's here where he ponders over something on his arm.

I tap his shoulder. "Hey there Eight, how are ya?"

"Huh? Oh, um..." The District 8 Male, Russett, is quick to shroud a bracelet with the words "Daddy" spelt out, into his sleeve.

"Up, bup bup, you wear that bracelet proudly, District 8." I goad, gently clapping him on the shoulder. "How old is she? I'm Chris by the way."

"Russett, Russett Gilmour. She's uh...three." he replies with a sad smile.

"Get outta here, mines four now." I reply, sighing while taking a seat next to him. "Yep...they're all about the arts and crafts now. Maybe the girls more than the boys, all mine wants to do is get out there."

He nods, his eyes never leaving the bracelet on his hand. "These are pivotal years for them."

"Yeah..." I exhale, visions of a hyperactive Patrick running up and down the house playing through my head. "Pretty important years for sure..."

After a minutes silence, I go ahead and come out with it.

"Listen, Russett..." I begin, running a hand through my hair. "I was wondering if you wanted to partner up with me. You seemed pretty interesting, so I thought I'd come over and introduce..."

"I don't think I'm up for it, this whole alliance thing." He replies. "Something tells me things are going to be ugly this year. How the hell are we supposed to go back to our lives and face the families of the fallen? I'd rather keep my distance."

I nod. "I understand where you're comin' from wholeheartedly. I'm still grapplin' with that myself."

I'm surprised to see him extending a hand forward. "Thanks for coming to see me regardless. Whatever happens out there, I mean no ill will."

"Likewise."

Rising to his feet, he starts toward the weapons. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to go work on some weapons again. Here's hoping there are plenty of rations in the arena, because this city kid can't tell an apple from a cherry."

"Yup, good luck." I say, my tone deflated. At least he has his head screwed on straight. If he and I are basically cut from the same cloth, how relatable am I to everyone else in here? Mothers, fathers and brothers tossed into this mess...

"Hola?"

"Say what now?" perplexed, I glance upward to find myself staring at Snow Island's female tribute. Typical to that part of Panem, she too despite her age, seem to carry a natural attractiveness to them.

"Hola!" she greets again, pumping my arm before I could even collect a thought. "I'm Donna, but you call me Ludra. What's your name?"

"I'm Chris, nice to meet you."

"That's nice. You're from Seven, si?"

I point to the armband bearing our seal. "Yep, a Sevener I am."

"You know anything about food?" she asks.

"I've been camping here and there...but I bet you could show me a thing or two more?" I reply playfully, twisting my hand in a so-so motion.

"If you don't mind me accompanying you?" she says in an equally as playful tone, her smile bright.

"Of course not," I say, smiling as I gesture towards the various meats, plants and spices laid across the table "Please, lead the way."

Kaviraya Parathi
District 12 Male

"Good work tribute," the trainer says, nodding as he reviews my work. The rucksack at my feet, prior to my intervention, was a mess to behold. A good ten minutes was all that was needed to get the pack neatly organized with plenty of room to spare.

"Thank you." I tell him, collecting the rucksack and securing it around my shoulders. It was comfortable surprisingly. "I guess my skills in the office have weight in the Games after all."

"I suppose they do." he says, nodding in agreement. "You assemble a tent well, your plant identification is passable and your other bushcraft would make for a comfortable time depending on the arena. However...I think it is about time you head over to the weaponry."

"Th-the weapons?" I blabber, my head craning over to the other end of the room. The District 1 male, Thames, armed with a katana, immediately goes to work on a gel dummy when his trainer gives the signal. With gentle maneuvering of his hands, each of the dummy's limbs including its head tumble to the floor in a bloody pulp. Amazed, the trainer makes a sign of approval as Thames offers a playful bow.

I'm on the other side of the gymnasium entirely yet the clanging and chatter of the tributes and trainers over there are already starting to give me a migraine. Surely we can train at night right, better than sharing the space with these people.

"Yes tribute, the weapons." The trainer replies dryly, as if he's heard reactions like mines a million times before. "I am telling you from now, things will get a million times more difficult. Unless you have the luck of Finch Emerson or Piper Malveaux, you are going to need to be proficient with a weapon."

"I see..." I say aloud, sighing as I lick my lips and discard the rucksack. "If you would excuse me, I have some weapons to get acquainted with."

My lips pursed and my hands bunched at my sides, I march over towards the wall of weaponry while being greeted by a burly trainer.

"So you have finally decided to play with the real toys." He chides in his Capitol accent. His effimate voice doesn't match well with his physique. "Chose a weapon, any weapon, and we will have you decently prepared depending on the effort you put in."

Slowly my eyes scan the entirety of the wide wall, gliding over the knives, swords, spears and maces mounted on it, squinting as a scythe shines in the light. Towards the other end of the wall are various guns as well.

"You have a vast display here..." I say with a hesitant chuckle.

His muscles bunched around his folded arms, he snorts. "Tell me about it. Some are factory made, while others are sourced from various tribes we come in contact with. In some places, guns are a priceless commodity, so they get real medieval-like. Uncivilized yeah, but one has to do what they have to to survive...like you will be doing!"

"Of course..." I reply fretfully, hissing as he claps me on the back with a hearty chuckle.

"So, what's that weapon of choice of yours?"

I point a tentative finger toward a hatchet which happened to be at the centre of the wall. A black handle and a "B" shaped blade, it looked easy enough to use...

The trainer nods, seemingly agreeing with my choice. "Great choice tribute, it has been quite a while since I've seen one like that in use..."

He motions for me to follow, and I do, watching as he wheels out a gel torso and places it in front of me. In his hand is a hatchet identical to mine.

"Alright, I've think you and I have watched enough Games in our lives for you to give a single downward chop." Using his axe, he traces a circle over the left side of the torso. "Chop toward the chest preferably, right over the heart."

"Right over the heart you say..." I repeat and with a roll of my shoulders, I do as he asks and slam my hatchet into the dummy's chest. Although, getting the hatchet out of its chest proved harder. Its blood began to pool out the wound and with each desperate tug, more blood poured out.

"Imagine if there were multiple threats, like in a bloodbath. You would be dead with your target." The trainer comments as he marches over and easily tugs my hatchet out. His eyes not leaving mine, he quickly slams the hatchet back into the dummies chest and retracts it just as fast, prompting blood to splatter on the both of us.

Where I revile in the stuff soiling my face and uniform, he makes no move to clean himself.

"We are not dealing with a full blown axe here. It is a hatchet. Your blows should be quick – in and out – got it?"

"Excuse me if I'm not wholly accustomed to maiming other people." I mutter, clearing my face of the 'blood'. The past few days have been a blurr. I'm working on autopilot here. How does one leap off the pedestal with the intent to kill another human being so quickly? Why hasn't the nation turned upside-down quicker? Why me, why am I here? Out of all the people in our Snowforsaken district they could've chosen.

"Word of advice tribute, get out of your own head and do what is required." The trainer scowls. "Rarely if ever do basketcases leave the arena alive."

"It's not like I have much to live for anyway."

"Bullshit, I've heard your story on the news. You work for the local government, no? You even got a cushy promotion too, which means you're stellar at what you do."

"Yeah..."

"Would you not rather be there than here?" he asks.

"Of course-"

"Then do what you need to do here, so you can go back there and live in peace. Put that brain of yours to work." He juts a finger behind him. "She's quite the propellerhead too, but at least she knows what's at stake."

Peering over his shoulder, I watch as the woman from District 5 uses a knife with terrifying effectiveness, painting the whole of the dummy's midsection she was practicing on red with blood.

I gently caress the hatchet in my hand as the trainer presses it there. He has a point. It's all about self-preservation after all. And if I won't attempt to do it, then who will? If only it were as easy as he makes it out to be.

Emmanuel Cade 22
District 10 Male

"Mmm..." mews Laelia, nodding as she hands the flask back to me. "Your tea is maravilloso. Who knew berries would enhance the flavor so much."

"It was my mother who introduced me to this concoction. Apparently when she was with me, this was her water substitute for a couple of months."

"Is that so? What a nice craving to have. If someone had a cup of this in the arena every day, they'd float through without a care in the world. Like who cares about food shortage or man-eating muttations when you have a cup of this stuff."

"Well, if my normal early mornings are any indication, I'd imagine I would fair pretty well, depending on the conditions." I tell her, earning a hum of approval from my younger district partner.

"How are you finding things?" I ask her.

With a frown, Laelia shrugs. "I'm just taking it as it goes I guess. At least I have an ally to help me out - hey, Maia! Are you okay?"

The girl from District 3 barely glances away from the vintage Games footage she watches as she waves Laelia off dismissively. Whereas I quirk a brow with concern, Laelia smiles as if nothing was amiss. "She seems...distant." I say pointedly.

Obviously, given the circumstances we find ourselves in. If anything, she's already ahead of the Game.

"She's pretty cool. She's really big on the survival aspect. As for me, I'm pretty set on this cool combat shovel I found. Here's hoping they add it in the arena."

"What about when the Games actually start. Do you have a plan?"

"I don't know, does anyone?" Laelia replies with a grumble." Maia has me and I have her, we'll protect each other. What about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you." Laelia shoots back with a twinge of playfulness. "What's your plan? Ever since we began, all you've done is sulk on this tree for two days."

"I was taught that before a hunter makes his move, he should observe his target." I reply, my eyes not leaving the entirety of the gymnasium.

"Oh yeah, tell me something about the other tributes that we don't know from the news."

"Very well..." I nod off toward the plant identification station, as the Eleven female sorts plants on screen without skipping a beat. "She hasn't touched a weapon since we've got here. Although if the arena were a giant garden, she'd have us all beat. She's definitely a brain of sorts."

I point toward the Careers, who casually lounge at tables and chat among themselves. "Obviously, they're prepared as they can be. They may've aged out of the reaping pool, but they kept at it." I then focus my hand toward the Four male. "He's the youngest, no different than an eighteen year old. His braggadocious attitude is amplified because he knows he has it made. Take the older Careers away from the equation, however..."

I nod and point towards the Twelve girl, who while continuing to train with a sword, offers skittish glances toward the table of the older tributes. "She's definitely the black sheep this year. Truth be told, I wish her well in all her endeavors."

"What 'endeavors' are those?" Laelia asks with a smile.

I return her smile. "She's from District 12, probably nothing good."

"And what about me, what's your read on me?" she inquires, her eyes not leaving me.

Offering my district partner a pensive glance, I finally say "You, well you're like most if not all people who find themselves in the Games, an innocent bystander trying to make their way through."

And with that the lunch bell sounds, prompting all training to cease as groups of tributes slowly make their way toward the cafeteria. I casually drop to the floor, slowly rising to my feet on bent knees while Laelia prefers a more cautious approach as she slides down the base of the trunk. Her ally, Maia, is already making her away over.

"You can partner up with us, you know." She says, while we begin walking. "It's a Quarter Quell, the more noticeable you are, the better."

Hands in my pockets, I shrug. Truth be told, I would prefer that she wasn't here with me now, instead off with her newfound ally continuing on with her training elsewhere. It was the 'district partner' effect topped off with the fact that she was a nice girl who cares less about my prickly exterior, why she was here right now. She reminded me of Damaris, dutiful to me even when I wanted her gone at times. It's all the more reason I wish she'd go. I would function a lot better if I didn't have her wellbeing on my conscious.

Zahira Kazimirova, 36
District 6 Female

"A couple days in, I still can't believe I'm here." Taking off my cat eye glasses, I turn to Theilian. "This is real right?"

My district partner sighs. "Unfortunately...let's just eat and get back into it."

The cafeteria was the bipolar opposite of the brutalist, concrete pavilion that was the gymnasium. Like that weird 'VR Room', the cafeteria was divided from the rest of the gym by wide panel glass. Inside was a lavish dining room made out of stone and walnut wood. After selecting our just as lavish food, we settle into a booth.

"You don't mind if I join you two, right?" she asks with a beaming smile.

"Yeah, a little bit." I mutter, sipping my drink. Thankfully we're sitting at the far end of the room, away from most prying eyes. If not, we'd be another target. On the holo she's the talk of the town. Her volunteering seems so straightforward, yet so sketchy at the same time. Any tribute with sense has learned to avoid Twelve like the plague.

"Zahira, be nice." Theilian chides. "This is a learning experience for everyone involved. How are we supposed to make connections if we block people out?"

"How are we supposed to kill them if we connect with too many of them?" I retort back.

Veradisia's face is a blank slate, her eyes darting to and fro before settling on Thelian's. "I saw your reaping the other day. I can't say I saw any prior reaping in which a tribute acted so valiantly...well, maybe one."

"What can I say?" Theilian replies with a shrug and soft smile. "Most of my life has been in service to my district. I didn't want things to devolve anymore than they should have."

"Perhaps if you two joined me, maybe we could amplify that service." It takes a split second for her to hesitantly add "So everyone could be proud of you?"

"Sounds like code to me." I challenge. "No thanks, he's not interested in whatever you're peddling."

If she's peeved by my quip she makes no show of it, her lips a thin line as she turns toward Thelian. "You not so much, but I assume Mr. Caldron can think for himself?"

Thelian looks to me, but my steel gaze is enough for him to turn back and frown. "Zahira and I have a thing going on so unfortunately, no..."

"Hmph, that's rather unfortunate." Veradisia replies, her face blank as she gathers her plate and rises to her feet. "Good luck out there, really and truly."

Besides the strained looks Thelian and I exchange, the rest of our lunch is silent.

...

"The Seven guy, the boy from Five..." Thelian drabbles on. "You can't just push away every potential alliance, Zahira."

"Of course I can!" I snort, sliding to the next page of plant identification on the datapad in my hand. "I'm not getting screwed over because I opened my heart to some stranger who owes me squat."

"It's the Hunger Games, trial and error are a big part of it." He says tiredly.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." I bite back with an airy guffaw. Like I said, I owe these people nothing, just as they owe me nothing."

A ragged sigh escapes from his lips. "I-"

Thelian is interrupted by a loud sound...a scratching sound? Just as I glance up, Vi, decked out in winter gear and skates performs a pirouette mid-air, landing as if she were on ice. But there was no fucking ice!

"I for one enjoy this, don't you my dear colleague?" asks Vi.

Skating after her, Pax casually sips a hot beverage. "Easy for you to say...it's not like we can feel it!"

Glancing around the gym, I adjust my eyeglasses. "It's red today..."

Thelian turns to me. "Sorry?"

"It's red today, the gym." I say pointing to the lights and accents. "Yesterday it was all blue. Our apartment changed up too..."

"Heh...those two are always up to something." He answers with a small shake of the head. "How about we focus on something we can actually control, like allies?"

I place the datapad back in its charging bank, crossing my arms. "...Fine."

"Lovely." Thelian approves, gesturing his arms to the entirety of the gym. "Who do you think we should proposition?"

Scanning the entirety of the room, my eyes focus on one of the two people that have caught my eye. "I see someone."

Ever since the reaping recaps, Tuesday Suetos was one of the only names that stuck with me, besides Twelve of course. There was constant talk about there being an abundance of doctors this time around. Sure, we might all practice different trades, but to not take up the opportunity and unite would be stupid.

"Tuesday Suetos?" I ask while glancing down at the gurney she lays on.

"I am she." She answers without skipping a beat, never taking her eyes off the task at hand. She's wearing a 'flesh apron' of sorts. Armed with medical utensils in either hand, she's deftly at work nursing a deep gash on her 'stomach'. She's earned the intrigue of numerous trainers, including the Careers who watch on a few feet away.

It's best to make this quick. "You know who I am, right?"

"Of course, you're Doctor Zahira Kazimirova - a general practitioner." She replies, gesturing towards Thelian. "And your friend is a psychiatrist."

I shift my weight from one foot to the next. Respect has always been a high virtue in my family – a cultural thing passed down from generation to generation. The way she continues about her work without casting us a single glance since we approached her and that robotic tone of hers screams disrespect.

Then again, it's not like we're owed anything.

Thelian notices my response to her...bluntness, putting a gentle hand on my chest as he pushes past and steps forward. "So you know why we're here, right? Imagine the headlines – "An alliance of doctors taking on the arena together". We'd be the most talked about thing, which wouldn't hurt."

"On the contrary, I imagine it would hurt quite a lot."

"How so?"

A sharp sigh escapes my lips. "Oh brother...why do I even bother?"

"As nice as your proposal may be, I believe it's best to take the gray man approach this year. I will consider your proposal, but as much as I enjoy my job, I prefer mending meat back together in the confines of my operating room, not a Hunger Games arena." She gestures to the apron she wears. "Taking care of one hunk of meat is plenty enough, as you can see."

What? Is she hearing herself talk?

"Erm...okay...?" Thelian tentatively replies with a scratch of his head. Without a care, I begin to tug my district partner away. It's not like Suetos cared, as she continued to focus on her task. "Well, if you wanna solidify things, just give us a shout!"

"She's an interesting character." he says with a chuckle when we fall out of an earshot. "Should we go talk to the other one, or...?"

I cast a glance toward the other tribute in mind. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "No. we'll worry about it tomorrow."

"Well, here's hoping they're more open to it."

Having enough for one day, I simply shrug. "Honestly, I don't care either way. Two is more than enough."

Looking around the gym, most of the districts are already divided in terms of one partner leaving for another group. As long as Thelian and I are together, the higher the chance of one of us making it through. Any extras are just a plus.