POV – Destry Coleman
8:02AM
Knock, knock, knock.
Destry buries her face under the pillow, hoping her efforts will drown out the annoying sound. She cocoons herself in the soft, fluffy and fresh smelling blankets, allowing it's warmth to comfort her.
Knock, knock, knock.
Destry groans. There's no better way to start her day she thinks sarcastically, grouchily slipping out of the sheets. She stomps over to the door and presses the button. The metal door slides open with a hum, and Glaphyra squeaks as she takes a step back, her knuckles nearly knocking on Destry's glowering face instead.
"What do you want?" She asks angrily, tiredly, grumpily.
"My, Destry, did you just get out of bed?" the escort asks stupidly.
Destry squints her eyes disbelievingly, tossing a hand up before shaking her head, "No, I was too busy drinking myself under the covers instead of the table."
"How crass. Even if you're tryi-"
"Just shut up, please, either let me go back to bed or tell me why you're here. I know we don't have anything for today, I checked the schedule," Destry interrupts, visibly and audibly annoyed.
"If you checked the schedule, then you should know that you have preparations with your stylist and mentor at 9," Glaphyra says, her voice rising to an almost shrill squeal.
Destry winces and massages her temples, "why the hell do I even need to do that? This is our break, our respite before you get to watch us die in there, let me have this."
Glaphyra splutters as Destry presses the button to close the door, it shuts on the escorts face. It must have jolted the woman into acting as she quickly starts to bang on the door again. Destry ignores it to slip back into bed.
She's not going to waste her time with stupid preparations. For what? For what purpose does it serve? Other than making it more entertaining or tolerable for the capitol audience that is. Destry is prancing in joy at the idea of becoming their little plaything. How wonderful it would be to give the Capitol exactly everything they want. She's simply tripping over herself to make it happen!
Screw Glaphyra, Screw the Capitol and screw everyone here. She's not changing for them, what they see is what they get. If they don't like it, then too fucking bad. Cry her a river and drown in it.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Keep it up, it's almost starting to make me motivated!" Destry shouts back.
The knocks stop, and Destry allows herself to smirk. She tucks herself back into bed and sighs comfortably at how soft everything is. She never had anything like this back home.
Her thoughts drift to her mom, her face becoming crestfallen. She's all alone now, first her dad 4 years ago to a barn fire, and now her, here, stuck in these games. Her mom barely kept a strong face for her, but now that there's no one left to be strong for? How long will she last? Destry knows, not long. Only way to reunite is to win these games.
Is she even trying to though?
She did check the schedule; she did know she had 'stuff' to do by 9. But, It's preparations on how to make yourself appeal to the average Capitolite. It's stupid, it's pathetic, it's not Destry. She pauses her train of thought to clench her blanket and hide under it.
Is Destry enough for these games? Is she good enough to come home?
She needs to be realistic here. She's not trained, sure she's fit. But can she go head to head with a career? Hell no, she saw some of them train, they weren't even trying and she can tell they'd know how to kill her in at least 12 different ways.
What chance does she have against them? Not only that, there's the insufferable asshole from 1. Not apart of the career pack, but a career, nevertheless. His smug indifference even when in the face of 2's pissy fit was impressive. She'll begrudgingly give him that.
She'd like to think she'd be the same. But that's usually when at school, around other nobodies like her, people who only know how to scarp, pull hair, scratch or bite. He, he knows how to kill. She'd flinch under 2's heated glare, she knows that much. The fact the asshole didn't. It's unnerving.
Then there's 7's huge motherfucker. Holy shit, she doesn't even want to think about him. He's a flee on sight. Thankfully, she'd see him a mile away. Yay for small mercies, she can see her imminent doom from 30 minutes away, she's so grateful!
The guy from 11 pisses her off, acting like a posh bastard. Like she doesn't need to put up with entitled know-it-alls at work enough, know she gets to spend the possible last few days of her life around them in the flipping arena too? He's exactly her type, she's so thankful!
Knock.
"Destry? Are you in there?" Someone asks, their tone is soft even when speaking loudly, so its probably Paulina.
"No, I've already hung myself, this is my ghost talking to you," Destry calls out with a roll of her eye.
Silence for a second then the door slides open. Destry goes into high alert, sitting up and tucking her legs back and under her, ready to spring at any moment. The door can be opened on the other side!?
Of course, it can, she reprimands, that's how she gets in. The real question is, why the hell did Glaphyra leave then?
"Destry…" her mentor says in a disappointed tone.
"Piss off, don't fucking try to guilt-trip me. I don't need your stupid preparations," Destry responds petulantly as she crosses her arms defiantly.
"Will you at least tell me why?"
"Sure, while I'm at it, let me tell you all about my family life on the balcony with some tea too," she answers sarcastically.
Paulina sighs, "I understand."
Destry twitches. No, you fucking don't. Why does everyone think they know me. Stop jumping to conclusions.
"If you do, then leave me alone. I want to sleep in. Where I'm going, I won't get another chance," Destry says, pausing as she ponders it, "well, until the dirt nap that is."
POV – Corolla Beron
10:02AM
She makes sure to never be alone in the room with Karan. Cory's stuck to her mentor like glue, not that Circe even notices sometimes, that woman is beyond spacey. It makes Cory wonder just what Circe went through in the games to be such an empty frame like that.
She knows it has to be bad, the games are intuitively a disaster zone. 24 go in, 1 comes out. Not even full themselves. She's seen some of the mentors in the lobby before heading out to do whatever it is mentors do.
Some look hammered, like the man from 8, others' look like they could blow over, like the mentors from 10. 3's is so skittish and 5's looks cooked out of her mind. The kind of drugs you'd expect from a victor from 6. Yet, all she has is Circe, the ghost of a mentor, speaks in one word, glassy gaze, slow and soft movements. Icarus is just plain annoying, still acts like a kid, he acts the age he was when he won his games, almost like he's never grown out of it.
"Corolla dear, you shouldn't space out when your stylists are talking to you," Karan chides gently, crinkling his eyes as he gives a dazzling smile.
It makes Cory's skin crawl.
"Ah, yes, right. You were saying?" Cory recovers, turning to her stylist.
She hasn't bothered to remember her name, not that she remembers the woman giving one.
"You're very tall, so we don't need to use large heels for you, should make walking easier, I think I have a dress idea for you as well, something that will really pop when contrasting against your skin,"
Cory tilts her head, feeling as if she should get defensive, but not having the slightest idea about what.
"I… right.
"Yes, you're one of the tallest tributes I've worked with in a while. I can get away with longer designs, it's simply wonderful. Please put these heels on, walk around in them," The stylist chatters excitably, seemingly lost in her own world.
Cory obliges the designer and slips the heels on. She'd be surprised at how perfectly it snugs her foot, but then she recalls the brutal few hours before the parade, so she wouldn't be surprised if her stylist knew more about her than she knows about herself.
She starts to walk around the room with practiced ease. It's all about maintaining balance really. She worked in a tavern, mostly to clean yes, but she did wait on occasion when she had to fill in for Electra. Maneuvering and navigating through the sea of drunken people is second nature for her.
"Oh my, you're quite the natural," The woman says as she makes her way out of the room.
Cory allows a smile, happy to be recognized, even if for something so nonsensical as walking.
"Indeed, you'll be stunning in your dress, of that I have no doubt," Karan adds.
"Thank-you," Cory answers impassively, her face thinning at his voice.
"Correct," Circe agrees.
"What angle are we going to go after?" The stylist asks, bringing out a large movable clothing rack.
Cory furrows her brows.
"Interview my dear, for the interview tomorrow."
"Oooh…" She murmurs.
Cory hasn't given it thought, she just half expected the stylists would tell her, isn't that the point of today? To be guided, molded in a shape that will charm the Capitolite hearts?
"I… could just be me?" She says tentatively, her hesitance bleeding into questioning.
"Hmm, well, tell me about yourself then,"
"Huh."
"Yes, sell yourself, what makes you, memorable?"
Cory takes a seat, giving the question some thought. What makes Cory stand above the other 23?
"Well… I'm smart. I, I'm outspoken too- I can be," She corrects when Karan and her stylist give skeptical looks.
Why are they looking at her like that? She's perfectly sociable when she wants to be. It just so happens that maintaining a façade while in the games feels like such a waste of time. She can die at any moment in that arena, why bother with airs. She might as well call it how she sees it.
"Continue, what else? You're smart and outspoken, what about home? What's it like?"
Cory blinks, "it's… it's okay."
"Oh, is there a story there?" Her stylist asks, wiggling her incredibly fake eyelashes.
"What would I even tell you? I have loving uncles who take care of me. My family life's perfect," Cory responds, putting on her best fake smile.
Thing is, she's telling the truth. Uncle Axle does, did so much for her growing up. Her mother died giving birth to her, and her father was killed by peacekeepers not too long after. She barely remembers what he looks like. Whenever she tries, all she can see is a silhouette and shadowed face. His name was Ona, her uncle at least told her that much.
But she's getting sidetracked. After Ona died, she was orphaned. Situations like those are common in 6. Parentless children, orphans make up the majority of children in lower 6.
Thankfully, her uncle saw it as his duty to care for her. Instead of tossing her to the system, he chose to raise her, chose to pick up the cash sink that it is to raise a young child. She'll say it time and time again, she owes everything to her uncle.
But even then, even though she's showered with love, and she knows she is, she still doesn't feel like she truly belongs. She feels like an outsider. The love she receives, it's suffocating. Like she's treated as a guest rather than a family member, they made sure her needs are met before anyone else's.
In their eyes, under her uncles' perspective, Cory can't do wrong. Her uncles never got mad at her, always making sure she's happy before they themselves are. She could tell when they fake it, where else would she have learned such a masterful facade?
She doesn't want that from them, she doesn't- didn't want them to sacrifice everything for her. Is she selfish, to still want something from her uncles despite receiving anything she could ever ask for? Is it weird to want to be reprimanded, to be told no? To be scolded when she steps out of line, or to disciplined when she acts out?
"Corolla dear, are you alright?" the stylist asks.
Cory blinks seemingly waking from her stupor. Thinking of her uncles, thinking of home given her circumstances, doesn't do anything for her mood. But she can't bring herself to talk about it to her creepy escort or oblivious stylist. She's an outsider, from start to finish.
"Of course. I'm perfectly fine."
POV – Mila Carway
2:22PM
Mila delicately makes her way to the table, outstretching her arms for balance. She's never worn heels before, never had the chance. If anything, she's probably gone her life more without shoes on, let alone even think of using heels.
But, Primrose and her stylist insist, so here she is, walking around in these pointy contraptions to get accustomed to it.
Unless she's going for a clumsy angle, she shouldn't trip over herself is what the stylist said. In fact, given the angle she's decided on, she needs to cram rigorous hours in just walking alone, to give off a 'mysterious allure' as her incessant stylist put it.
Mila finally gets to the table and reaches for the chair for support. She quickly sits down stares at the plate full of steaming hearty food. She turns to face the retreating Avox.
They're good she concedes, wordlessly turning to eat her food.
It couldn't have been more than a minute before she notices Judah from the corner of her eye. He sits across from her, and he too, is quickly served by the Avox servants.
"How's your day been?" He asks casually.
Mila shrugs, as she shovels a forkful of food into her mouth.
"Ever the pragmatic conversationalist. How did your alliance with Cyrus go?"
Mila stiffens, her gaze going from the food to her district partner. She stares, her icy grey orbs narrowing dangerously. Judah quickly raises his hands in surrender.
"I meant nothing by it. I'm simply curious, surely you can indulge this one whimsical thought?"
Sure, might as well tell him everything while she's at it.
"We're not allies."
"Oh?" Judah says quickly, too quickly.
As if he's eager, excited by the notion. Mila isn't oblivious. The two of them have been playing the same game, find an 'ally' to do their bidding for them. For Judah, he wants someone to compensate his sickness. Mila on the other hand simply wants to thin down the numbers in a relatively safe manner while securing immediate resources.
Both, however, don't have any intention of being good allies. Maybe that's why they didn't find any. Cyrus, although nice, was surprisingly guarded around her. Mila couldn't understand why, but after seeing the flirty girl talk to others, it's safe to assume she's simply timid around girls in particular.
No clue why. History maybe, but even then that's a jump of logic. All Mila knows is that when she offered the idea of an alliance, Cyrus turned her down gently.
Mila even put her best effort into that performance. A disappointment really. But, she'll manage. She always does, always pull through. This time too, even in the worst possible situation, Mila will come out on top.
"Say, Judah, want to be my ally?" She asks innocently.
He blinks before scoffing. He quickly masks it behind laughter.
"You jest. You'd kill me after all," he reveals easily.
Perhaps the reveal should hold some significance or weight behind it. Discovered so soon, her veiled intentions revealed. But she knows she wasn't subtle about it during reapings. And her district partner is perceptive if nothing else.
"Can't hurt a gal for trying," she allows with a shrug.
He chuckles this time, more genuinely, "I'm enjoying this chatty side of you."
"Don't get too comfortable," she says, a smirk playing at her lips.
"I'd never. Although, if you don't intend to create an alliance with Cyrus, you wouldn't oppose me attempting to?"
Mila shrugs. Good luck with that, she thinks sarcastically. She pauses and gives the idea some more thought, her hand going to her chin and gaze staring into the distance. She blinks before looking over her district partner, starting with his sharp grey eyes, to his angular face. He's handsome, she concedes. Cyrus might actually go for it.
"Well then, I guess I should be on my way. Pleasure speaking to you as always, Mila."
She rolls her eyes but nods towards him. He stands from the table and heads towards the elevator. Mila's focus goes back to her food, but she does absently hear the hum of the elevator doors sliding open and close.
Judah's persistent, she won't deny that. He's constantly talking to her, perfectly content with being the only person to chat at times. In a sense, Mila feels almost comfortable by it. A piece of home. That isn't to say she trusts him, far from it. Judah's sharp, and if he weren't so sick, she'd genuinely fear him.
But, given his sickness, he's as harmless as they come. So, perhaps she's allowing some form of complacency, she doubts it's anything he can capitalize on. Besides, his way of talking is funny, it's entertaining.
"Mila? How's are the heels?"
Mila turns to the voice, seeing her mentor walk down the hall, into the main room.
"I'll be ready for tomorrow," she answers.
Primrose nods, "that's good," she stops by the table, looking over the room, "where's Judah?"
Mila doesn't see the point of lying, so she answers simply, "looking for Cyrus."
"Why?"
"To form an alliance, I believe."
Primrose's expression becomes conflicted, causing Mila to tilt her head. It clicks a second later, Primrose has been pushing for an alliance between Judah and her the most. She's probably not happy seeing her tributes openly disregard her opinion.
Primrose wouldn't understand. Mila doesn't want an ally, not actually. Just someone she can get rid of easily and get away with the resources herself. Judah can't even get resources, what good would an alliance with him even do for her?
Besides, she doesn't want to be the one to kill him. Not anymore at least. She would do it if it came down to the two of them. Something tells her that's not going to happen. However, she doesn't want to be the one responsible for it.
In a sense, Judah's managed to convince her not to kill him. However, that doesn't mean she'd ally with him. He's dead weight no matter how one cuts it. She's better off working on her own than with him. But until she's tossed into the arena, she won't oppose his company, not anymore.
POV – Locust Sequoia
5:47PM
Locust looks at the clock and stands from the sofa. The scores are going to be revealed at 6 and as such, the group is to meet up at that time. To check threats and discuss the bloodbath. Locust doesn't oppose the idea.
The Hunger Games isn't something one can get by through winging it, some manner of planning can go a long way, especially for what can be arguably the most volatile moment of the games. Locust slips into the elevator and presses for his desired floor.
The elevator zooms downwards, and in a matter of seconds, he hears a ding as the door slides open. He looks over the room, counting four heads. He's the last to show up, he realizes belatedly.
"I'm sorry," he says as he steps into district 2's floor.
"Hey there Locust!" Emerald greets excitably.
"You're right on time, don't worry about it," Remy dismisses.
Locust shrugs and makes his way over to the pack. They're all currently sitting at the U-shaped couch. It's big enough to carry all 5 of them, even with Locust's stature. He sits between Remy and Emerald, although saying as such would be misleading. There's plenty of space between all of them really.
Remy reaches for the rectangular device and turns the tv on. It flickers to live and Augustus Flickerman appears in a dazzling diamond suit, sitting at a desk with some papers in hand. His background is entirely black, only further bringing out the man's vibrant red hair and sparkly shiny suit.
Locust ignores it in favour of examining the massive flat-screen TV. He's never been one for materialistic goods, such as TVs. It goes against the necessary pragmatism that comes with taking care of 6 younger siblings. They made their own fun mostly too.
"Chips? I heard the potatoes are imported from 11 and made somewhere here, they taste sooo good," Emerald offers, outstretching her hand.
She's holding a bag ripped at the top. Locust looks at it with a puzzled expression before he shakes his head.
"No, thank-you."
"Alright, but don't be a stranger. Just ask me if you change your mind," she says with a smile.
Locust doesn't get the chance to say anything more, as the anthem starts to play. He looks around him and notices no one stands for it. Remy's drinking from a bottle. Kyra reaching for the bag Emerald's offering and Mischa looks deep in thought, with furrowed brows and a faraway gaze.
The anthem ends and the host begins with the production.
"I'm your host, Augustus Flickerman, and this is the 99th Hunger Games tribute training scores. I know you all are just eager to find, so I'll dive right into District 1!"
From the corner of his eyes, Locust notices Mischa tense, as she holds her hands together. Her almost deep-in-thought look morphs into a hardened expression. Is she anxious?"
"From District 1, Midnight Tyrian, with a score of…" The master of ceremonies pauses.
Locust takes the time to look over his allies. Kyra and Emerald don't appear all that interested and seem to be murmuring something quietly to each other. Remy, on the other hand, has long since abandoned the bottle and clearly holds a murderous gaze for the cocky tribute appearing on the screen.
Midnight's mohawk appears to be almost as iconic as his smug smirk and upwards tilted head as if he's looking down on everyone.
"… 9."
That seems to draw everyone's attention. Remy looks outraged but controls his temper with one deep breath.
"From District 1, Mischa Morrigan has a score of… 10."
"Nice going, Mischa!" Emerald congratulates first.
Kyra simply nods her way, and Locust too, adopts that manner of congratulations. Mischa almost sags into the couch but catches herself. She does allow a smile to faintly reach her lips and whispers a quick thanks.
10 is indeed impressive. Whatever she showed the gamemakers had to be deadly, survival skills won't accomplish that, Locust assumes. Then again, he always expected a career to score exceptionally well.
"From District 2, Remy Cartwright has the score of an 11," Augustus continues.
Remy smirks, and reaches for the bottle on the coffee table, very satisfied with his score.
"Oooh, Remy, that's really good!" Emerald compliments easily.
"I expected nothing less really," he says.
"Kyra Boldar, from district 2, with a score of 9."
Kyra looks conflicted but ultimately decides on smiling with her score. Locust suspects she wants better. She did the worst out of the official careers after all. Emerald congratulates her for the score, which erases any hints of dissatisfaction as she too shyly thanks the tribute from 5.
"District 3, Magnus Flux with a score of 9," Augustus says, his tone rising slightly as he finishes the sentence as if not expecting the score himself.
All sense of mirth leaves the room, and Remy hardens his gaze on the moving portrait. The stoic bald-headed tribute from 3 impassively stares back.
"We aren't going to let him join the ranks. However, keep a lookout for him. If he's armed don't take him 1 on 1," Remy warns.
The others nod in agreement, probably the only time there's a complete consensus.
"From District 3, Tesla Eddison, with a score of, 3."
Bloodbath, Locust concludes simply. Then again, the first few tributes have been so overwhelmingly strong that perhaps it's too soon to label her as such.
"Calder Lynch from District 4, he has a score of 7."
"Wow, I don't think I've seen scores these impressive in a long time, have you?" Emerald says loudly, before addressing the question to Kyra.
The raven-haired girl purses her lips and shakes her head, "closest would be the 91st Games."
"Erik Pineslow's games, yeah you're right! He scored a 9, all the careers averaged a 9, and the girl from 10 got an 11," Emerald recaps sagely.
Kyra nods her head in agreement, which in turn makes Locust quirk an eyebrow. Was Emerald always this knowledgeable about the games? Why would she be? She's not a career. Mischa and Remy seem to take notice of this, but don't say anything as their concentration refocuses back onto the tv.
"Newton Faraday from District 5-"
"Oh, I missed Cyrus' score," Emerald bemoans loudly.
"She got a 6," Mischa supplies quickly, her attention never leaving the tv.
"Thanks!'
"-score of 5."
"I'm next. Heehee, I'm getting a bit nervous," Emerald concedes.
"If you did what I told you, you should be fine," Remy reminds her tiredly.
"Emerald Locke from district 5, with a score of 8."
Emerald does a little dance from her seat and beams brightly. She turns to face Remy with an expectant glance. Locust too turns to face the alliance leader. It was his suggestion to invite her, and she did well enough, Locust feels. Still, if she's out, she's out.
"See," he says exasperatedly, "good enough to stay."
Emerald giggles excitably as she rubs the back of her head, "thanks."
"Anyways, with Calder, Magnus and Midnight, we have some threats so far," Remy starts.
The group peels their gaze off the short native-looking tribute on display in turn to face their leader. He's leaning forward, elbows resting on his legs as he looks over everyone.
"Correct, what are proposing?" Mischa asks.
"Obviously, they're targets, focus them down in pairs."
"Oh? Won't this get in the way of your monumental goal?"
"If you die to them, they get weapons and makes it harder for all of us," He dismisses with an eye roll before turning to face the blonde from 5, "Don't solo any of them, knife throwing is supportive, hitting moving targets is hard as is, but you're too weak to deal with them if they get on top of you."
Emerald nods her head, her friendly round eyes narrowing in seriousness. Locust ponders Remy's words himself, and wonders just how he can help. It doesn't take him long, if only because his quickest solution is probably the simplest.
"I have an idea," Locust says abruptly.
He receives everyone's attention, all of them completely turned away from the dark-skinned girl's score of 6.
"Let's hear it then," Remy says, giving his permission.
"I'll kill whichever one I'm closest to," Locust answers.
POV – Velvet Snijder
6:16PM
"Locust Sequoia from District 7, with a score of 11."
Nylon whistles lowly, "That score surprises a total of zero people."
Velvet grimaces, but nods. Between 1 and 2, boys from 3 and 4, and the girl from 5, they have some really high scores. And now another 11 from Locust. Well, Nylon's right that she suspected him to have a high score, but that only adds to the pile of tributes to worry about.
"Do you think we should still rush the cornucopia?" Sela asks from the opposite corner of the couch.
Velvet invited the pair from 9 to her floor, seeing as the four of them have an alliance. It'll be good to be on the same page, as they'll only have tomorrow to plan. With the scores going on though, it'll be the easiest way to coax Nylon to pay attention.
He wasn't happy thinking about the games when she sprung the alliance on him, but as she guessed, he forgave her easily. He seems more than fine letting her call all of the shots, only adding colour commentary when he wants to.
"I believe we'll need the equipment even more than before," Harvest adds.
Velvet contemplates it for a second before nodding her head, "I agree. We'll need supplies for the four of us. I don't know about you two, but Nylon and I probably won't be able to live off the wild."
Nylon gasps, "are you sleeping on us? How could you."
Sela looks between the two before nodding uneasily, "okay. We shouldn't go for the center though, that's where all of the threats will be."
"Stay away from the trained killers? Now you're talking my language," Nylon comments.
"Velvet Snijder from District 8, with a score of 5."
Everyone turns to face the score, then turns to face Velvet. She grimaces at it. She has an idea of why her score is so low. She took a risk, trapped the entrance, and needed Harvest to trip it. Something she realizes requires sort of sabotaging her ally, but at the time, it felt like the right way to convey her skills.
"Sorry about that, by the way."
"Apology accepted," Harvest answers instantly.
"Wait, what happened?"
"Velvet trapped the entrance, so when Harvest went for his private session he tripped it. He avoided the trap in time though," Sela supplies.
"Wow, Velvet how mischievous of you!" Nylon exclaims.
"Not mischievous enough," She says with a shrug.
"From District 9. Harvest Henderson has a score of 6."
Velvet's eyes travel to her ally. He remains perfectly impassive, betraying nothing on his thoughts or feelings. He scored better than her, and maybe Nylon. She didn't pay attention to his score, too caught up in their conversation.
No one congratulates him though, as a score of 6 doesn't seem like a score any of them feels warrants congratulations.
"Sela Fields from District 9 has a score of 5."
The room is quiet, very quiet. Velvet is kind of glad her mentors or escort isn't here. She doubts they'd say anything that could encourage the group. Anything they would say would be superficial at best, they aren't going into the arena to fight to the death. Two 5s, one 6 and whatever Nylon scored, which can't be all that higher than them.
It's a bleak outcome, and the silence is starting to become suffocating.
"Ohh, uh, who's kicking the bucket first? Money's on me if I'm being honest," Nylon says, breaking the silence.
Velvet snorts and is quite thankful for his intervention, "with that attitude I'm hard-pressed not to bet on you too."
"You wound me, my dear ally," Nylon says in mock pain, a hand going to his chest.
"Not as badly as the others will."
Nylon cackles, "too true!"
"Our scores are shit," Velvet says, changing the topic.
Three pairs of eyes turn to her, not refuting the comment but not particularly liking it. She has their attention though, and that's good enough.
"Our scores are shit, but you know what? Screw it. All scores help with is secure sponsors, we don't need those," Velvet repeats before explaining.
"Sponsors give an adv-"
"That's all they do, give an advantage, if we get gear in the bloodbath, we won't need sponsors, our scores mean people will underestimate us too," Velvet interrupts, turning to face Harvest.
He shrugs but ultimately relents the point.
"Frankly, being underestimated is good for us, we can bait stronger threats into traps and kill them," Velvet reasons.
She wonders if she should be surprised that she can think of killing others so easily. But the scores are a wake-up call. Her position, even with this alliance can be considered bad. Velvet's used to it though.
Her whole life can be considered a bad position, from the moment her mom passed away, to the moment her dad developed agoraphobia. Baize and she have lived their whole lives looking out for one another, putting food on the table and money in their pockets.
Even if it meant taking the money from the pocket of others. She's a survivor through and through. So, getting a subpar score won't deter her, and it'll be a cold day in hell before she lets it distract her allies too. Velvet clears her throat, drawing her allies' attention.
"Here's the plan. We gather whatever resources we can, then meet up away from the cornucopia. Go for whatever is closest then get the hell away. More specifically, go back to your pedestal. The cornucopia faces one direction, so from your pedestal go to the one that directly aligns with the cornucopia's opening. We'll meet up and take it from there. Questions?"
Nylon instantly raises his hand.
"Yep?"
"Yeah, hi, uh, when did you plan this and why wasn't I apart of the meeting?"
Velvet stares in a deadpan, "today and because I didn't want to waste either of our time trying to get you to help. Any other questions?"
"Fair enough," Nylon concedes with a shrug.
Harvest raises his hand too, emulating Nylon.
"Yes, Harvest?"
"Would it not be better to work in pairs?"
"Takes too long to meet up, by then the careers will be hacking away."
"Ah, I understand."
"I have a question," Sela says.
"Raise your hand if you want to speak to the teacher," Nylon chides, pointing an accusing finger at the former blonde.
"Nylon, no speaking," Velvet says, rolling her eyes as he zips his mouth shut and tosses an imaginary key.
Sela shakes her head but obliges Nylon's silly request. It makes Velvet duck her head in defeat, sighing exasperatedly. She does smile at least, happy to see everyone's mood is lifted.
"Yes, Sela?"
"What if only 3 of us show up?"
Velvet frowns, furrowing her brows. That's a heavy question, although an expected one. There's four of them, it'll be ideal if they all survive. But, idealism isn't something to rely on in the arena.
"Then, we wait for 15 seconds, either looking for them or their corpse. Either way, we leave afterward. Is that fair?"
"I think it's for the best, thank-you," Sela agrees, a gentle smile on her face.
"Oh you, you'll make me blush," Velvet says, waving off Sela's gratitude.
"Enough with all of this seriousness though, it's about time we crack open those bottles back there!" Velvet declares.
"A Kevlar impression! I need to see your Kevlar impression," Nylon says, eager at the idea.
Velvet grins, she's hasn't attempted an impression before, but there's no time better than the present.
"I… uh, I don't know if that's a good idea," Sela says hesitantly, her smile falling for a nervous grimace.
Harvest shrugs, "sure."
Sela whirls on her district partner, eyes wide, "Harvest? Why?"
"You only live once?" He supplies confusedly.
Nylon snorts, "did you just yolo her?"
"I think he did, on that note he's drinking first!" Velvet cheers, standing up from the couch.
She stops and turns to face Sela, she leans down closer to the girl and speaks softly, "you don't have to drink with us, we're only going to try it."
A full-blown lie.
"I… no, it's fine. I'll have some too, please."
"Coming right up," Velvet says loudly, spinning on her heels and beelining towards the bar.
Her demure polite side is cute, Velvet thinks. She wants to see her drunk, she realizes mischievously.
POV – Cyrus Waterlily
7:02PM
The program ends, prompting Cyrus to raise her arms and stretch. She sighs in relief as she sags back into the couch.
"So, what do you think?" Coral asks.
Cyrus teeters her hand back and forth, "I think a 6 is pretty good. I guess I'm a bit rusty."
"Rusty how? What did you show the gamemakers?"
"I used a trident, it's been a while, you don't need a trident to fish," She explains with a shrug.
"Trident? Did you use to go to Atlantis?"
"Mhm, I doubt you'd remember me, but we used to be in the same year for a bit."
Coral pales, and Cyrus laughs at her, "aweh, you forgot about me? I'm utterly heartbroken."
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I seriously don't remember you though."
Cyrus brushes it off, "I stuck mostly to myself, the other girls were kind of rude."
"Oh… sorry to hear that,"
"Nah, it's fine. Besides, I never intended to actually volunteer for the games, my reason… well, it's kind of funny actually, but the reason I joined the academy was to learn how to use a spear."
"Oh? That's fine, some other trainees only want to have a basic grasp to protect themselves too."
Cyrus tilts her head, before her eyes light up, "Oooh, no, nothing like that. I wanted to learn how to use a spear to I could better help my pa."
Coral furrows her brows in confusion, so Cyrus decides to explain, "for fishing, he owned a fishing business, I wanted to help. I did some spearfishing on the side."
"Spearfishing?" Her mentor repeats back incredulously.
"Mhm, it takes a lot of practice, hence why I joined Atlantis."
"Huh, you learn something new every day. I guess your dad's proud?"
Cyrus's smile strains and she develops a faraway look, "y-yeah… he definitely was."
Coral pales, "o-oh, I'm so so-"
'No, no, it's fine!" Cyrus shakes her head and quickly stops her mentor's frantic apology, "I just miss him is all. I shouldn't have gotten all mopey about it. I should be the one saying sorry."
Coral frowns, "hell no. Never apologize for thinking about family, especially not to me."
Cyrus blinks numbly at her mentor. Her mouth breaks into a smile as she nods her thanks. Cyrus never had many friends growing up. The girls made fun of her name or didn't like her lack of effort in the academy. The drama that came with it firmly deterred Cyrus from making female friends altogether. Not that she can't be cordial, she just much prefers guy friends. Less drama.
As a result, though, she did end up becoming more boyish, which with her name, only further made girls talk behind her back. Which in turn continued the cycle. The notion makes her chuckle. First her mentor, who's just as old as her really. Then, Mila who seems nice, and even Emerald who's just as friendly. She can't help but think it funny. To think the kindest girls, she met are one's she'll either need to kill or die to.
"You're pretty cool Coral. I think I'd like to have been your friend growing up."
"Yeah? How about after these games we catch up then, make up for lost time?"
Cyrus smiles, "I'd like that. But I do need to win first."
"That's what I'm here for. I know the career mentality inside and out. You got a decent score, know how to work the crowd and can spear fish! Do you know any other survival skills?" Coral asks, a plan formulating.
"Yep, if there's water, I'll be set."
"Perfect. We already went over your interview angle. What about allies? I know Calder's not interested, for whatever stupid reason," her mentor finishes with a grumble.
Cyrus laughs softly, "I can't force him to work with me. I was approached by the girl from 12, but I turned it down. Funnily enough, I was approached by the guy from 12 too, Judah. I don't think the two are working together."
"Okay, thoughts on him?"
"He's friendly and tall. His jawline is nice too," Cyrus supplies.
"As an ally," Coral corrects.
"Yeah, I know," Cyrus says seriously.
She keeps her face straight for a few seconds longer before breaking into laughter, "okay, okay. He's not bad. He sounds very reliable."
"But, do you feel like he can help you? His score was kind of abysmal."
"Yeah, sure," Cyrus reasons.
"Sure?"
"I mean, I don't have any other alliance options at the moment, and you said it's the best choice, right?"
"I suppose, fine. If you want to work with him, then go for it. But, keep on eye out. Always stay vigilant when you're in the arena."
"Yes ma'am," Cyrus says, saluting.
Coral rolls her eyes before deciding to change the topic, "hungry? Let's order something."
"Sure, I could go for food. Lobster tastes so good, can we get that?"
"I don't see why not," Coral says before turning to an Avox.
She puts in the order and the two go to take a seat at the table. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Calder comes marching into the room, his hands buried in his pockets.
"Hey there Calder," Cyrus greets, already knowing the response she'll get.
The ginger tribute flinches and turns to the sound, his eyes in high alert. Once he figures out who greeted him, his face falls back into an apprehensive scowl.
"Hello," he greets curtly.
Cyrus smiles warmly at him and waves anyways, "we're getting lobster right now, want some?"
"No thanks," He says.
Calder doesn't waste any more time and heads into his room. Coral's shaking her head at the ordeal.
"He's such an idiot. He should be working with you."
"It's fine. I think he has an alliance already."
"Calder? Unlikely, he doesn't talk to anyone, hardly speaks to Flo as is," Coral dismisses unbelievingly.
Cyrus knows better. Honestly, if he wants to work with those kids, she's okay with that. Actually, she finds it very sweet. It, at the very least, shows he's not all bad, and that he has a side to him that's kind. Maybe she can talk to him during the games, work something out.
Can't hurt to try.
Author Note: Most scores were shown, but some didn't make it. I have them posted down here though.
Midnight Tyrian: 9 / Mischa Morrigan: 10
Remy Cartwright: 11 / Kyra Boldar: 9
Magnus Flux: 9 / Tesla Eddison: 3
Calder Lynch: 7 / Cyrus Waterlily: 6
Newton Faraday: 5 / Emerald Locke: 8
Vortex Senna: 4 / Corolla Beron: 6
Locust Sequoia: 11 / Hazel Redford: 2
Nylon Hemmings: 5 / Velvet Snijder: 5
Harvest Henderson: 6 / Sela Fields: 5
Cooper Dawson: 3 / Destry Coleman: 6
Harrison Jones: 7 / Adalyn Plumm: 5
Judah Rockefeller: 2 / Mila Carway: 5
I'll explain my score criteria. I put an emphasis on combat and weapon mastery more than survival. Age too plays a factor. I also considered gamemaker fatigue, as they'd likely just want things to be over with roughly around District 7. Which means tributes afterward get lower scores naturally. Additionally, another factor I had when giving these scores was thinking about how each tribute would fair in a 1v1. Those who have higher scores technically should win the fights. That's the thought process. However, these scores aren't the objective set in stone way the story will go. The Hunger Games are volatile, and I plan to capitalize on that. Until the next chapter! We have Interviews next.
On another note, I PMed all of my submitters. I got a few answers back already, so thanks so much for responding! I do want to say that I'm going to assume anyone who doesn't respond isn't reading/on the site anymore though. You still have time to respond, I'm not going to start writing the bloodbath until Interviews are done anyways.
