Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
Training Day Three - Part One
Lars Malatic, 36
District 9 Male
"Again?" Hermia remarks, her eyes wandering throughout the whole of the apartment. The first day of training, the place was blue and gold, yesterday it was pink and brown. Today we were treated to a yellow theme. Everything from the sofas to the glass cups. "Heh...I was just getting used to the old scheme."
I grunt, settling onto a dining room chair while glancing at the various Avoxes preparing the table for breakfast. "And me? Well, I feel sorry for these guys having t'lug shit around all night..."
As the telltale giddy chatter of Sindy Wellington could be heard from down the hall, Hermia nudges my shoulder. "Twenty bucks says that the young lady has a flurry over the new look."
Unfortunately for Hermia, I haven't a twenty to give. Her eyes as wide as saucers, Sindy breaths out an airy exclaim when she enters. "Wowee, this is by far the most smashing showcase they've displayed!"
"I agree." Hermia replies dryly, her eyes rolling while taking a sip of coffee served by an Avox. "The yellow really brings out the...'happiness' in here."
Poor Sindy, her heart bigger than her brain, smiles brightly while nodding in agreement. "I agree one hundred percent Ms. Rhodes! I should speak to the ministry to have it kept this way."
"You do that." I hear Hermia say, instead focusing on our mentor Elizabeth, who was less than enthused about the sudden change once again, slipping into the seat next to me.
"It obviously has something to do with the Games." She says, glancing around.
"But what is what I wanna know." I reply. "With how conniving those Gamemakers are, that 'something' could be anything."
"Which is why I want you two to shut off your brains and let me worry about that."Elizabeth nods as if I correctly answered a golden question. "It's day three, the last day. How are you feeling?"
"...Good." I answer with a firm nod. All things considered, I was doing good. Where others were stretching their necks out too far, or outright refusing to play along, I was a grey man, just going through the motions.
Until I absolutely have to stand out, that's how it'll stay.
...
Being a Niner, a city-dweller one at that who barely started high school only to leave, you learn a whole lot about the land to scrape along in an arena before you even get to the ninth grade. So while everyone crowds around the various workstations relating to survival I return back to the weapons portion of the gym, the area where I spent the majority of my time. I dunno, something tells me, I'm gonna wanna know how to use a blade like I use my hand. Two Peacekeepers, a man and woman by the names of Mynarski and Hua, have been showing me the ropes since we've started. After years of evading them and being under their thumb, who knew I'd be on cordial terms with PKs.
Hua leans against a pillar. "Guess who's back."
"Here for one last day of lessons, Malatic?" Asks the male Peacekeeper.
"Yep."
"Are you going for the lone wolf approach, Malatic?" Asks Hua. "I haven't seen you interacting much."
I glance back toward the tables and just as I do this, multiple eyes turn back towards their tasks. My status as a convict still looms over me it seems, and hacking away at gel dummies and fending off two human targets at a time isn't doing me any favors either. "...'Pose so."
"That's alright. I imagine your stint behind bars will only make things easier in that regard."
I shrug, turning as I collect a practice machete from off the wall. Contrary to the solitary lifestyle that comes with drug running, and incarceration at that, I'm the sort who prefers having a collective of others to watch your back. I've seen their curious, lengthy glances. It's only a matter of time before a group pulls the trigger and asks. Turning back to the two trainers, I'm confused to see neither of them in the protective armor used for sparring. Instead they wear cheeky grins. "What's goin' on?"
"I hear you're pretty trusty with a machete, tribute." It's the Head Trainer, Claudia, dressed head to two in protective armor.
Sparing a glance toward the two trainers behind me, I offer a lopsided nod. "I know my way around a blade, yeah."
Striding towards the wall of practice blades, her back towards me, she draws one "So you don't mind if I serve as a final test of sorts?"
"I don't see why not?" I reply nonchalantly, giving Claudia a look over. Tall, brawny, the physical definition of a Two, It'd just be like fighting their female representative, Sarissa. The perfect test if you asked me.
Without a word, we take our place on the sparring floor. I take up a defensive stance as Claudia lazily drags her blade against the floor. Just as it dragged against the floor, I find myself parrying the blow as she quickly slams it toward my head then again towards my neck.
"Lars Malatic, a jailbird from District 9..." Claudia muses from under her visor. "What brings you to my Training Center?"
"An opportunity." I reply, providing strikes of my own. I thrust forward, only for Claudia to sidestep and counter with a diagonal swing. We cancel each other out as I meet her halfway.
As we circle one another, she snorts. "Let me guess, an opportunity to die a free man?"
I knew the meaning behind her quip, but instead of replying verbally I offer a swing toward the thigh as she blocks and then a swing towards the head as she ducks. "Yeah exactly...in fifty years, give or take."
"Besides the likelihood of death, there are no opportunities here, Malatic." Claudia replies casually.
"Heh, tell that to the women!" I quip back. A boot to my armored midsection still winds me, prompting me to stagger back a few feet.
"The opinions of vapid fangirls don't matter." She says with a snake of the head. "The Capitol don't look too kindly on dissenters of any stripe."
I shake my head. "I'm not a dissenter, not anymore."
"That' remains to be seen." She replies gratingly, catching my blade before it tore her shoulder pad. We're locked in now over a battle of leverage. "In my experience, it don't work like that, once a dissident, always a dissident."
I find myself stumbling backwards as the floor below us begins to shake. In squares, the floor begins to elevate at various heights. Where I struggle to regain my footing, Claudia is the master of her domain, using her lower leveled foot to kick me in the groin. I recoil upward, but quickly duck as she swipes forward. The first swipe toward my left arm I block, but my machete tumbles out of my hand when I sloppily block her second attack towards my right.
"A prisoner to a victor..." chuckles the Head Trainer with a shake of the head, "What in Snow's name makes you think you could bead those odds?!"
Just as she makes a plunge toward my protective chest piece, I clasp her blade hand mid-strike. A raised eyebrow seems to be Claudia's way of expressing shock. Before she could react proper, I fling the both of us off the platforms and onto solid ground as the machete tumbles out of her hand. Just as she scrambles to retrieve the lost weapon, I plant a boot on her back, collecting the machete in my free hand.
"I've always been dealt a shitty hand, Miss." I say, removing the boot from off her back and instead extending a hand forward. "What does the Hunger Games change, really?"
Thames Montgolia
District One Male
"That settles it then!" I happily say aloud, smirking as my colleagues glance my way.
From our table, we watch as Head Trainer Claudia accepts Lars' hand while the two exchange nods. Since our meeting on day one – since Reaping Day night, really – I've kept a keen eye out for our 'Jailbird from District 9' as some Games junkies have been calling the stoic man. It's not often Careers recruit outside the One-Two-Four-Snow Island grouping, but when we do, the tribute in question carries the qualities we seek.
Warren seems to agree, rocking against the bench when he says "Him and the other woman would make neat additions to the team."
"I don't trust him, criminal scum." Sarissa remarks gruffly, her arms folded as she posts against a pillar rather than sit at the table like everyone else. "I didn't come all this way to wake up on the morning of day one with a knife in my chest."
"C'mon Sarissa," A raised eyebrow and a scowl from Sarissa is enough to get Warren to raise his hands in false surrender. "He'll need us more than anything."
"Warren's right," I reason, offering the Two female a smile. The smile grows even more as she frowns tentatively. Through her Two elitism, she knows we're right. "An outlier joining a Career pack is paying for the ride in full. Am I right, Solomon?"
I turn toward the Two male, who glances up from his datapad. If it weren't for the HV, I wouldn't know his name because the guy is as quiet as a mouse. We hold each other's gaze for a second as he shrugs when I offer a raised brow, prompting me to frown slightly. Two's are very asocial creatures aren't they?
"Fine, even though numbers make no difference to me." grunts Sarissa as we watch her push off the pillar and walk toward Lars. "If he's a fuckup, you're paying for it with him."
Grinning from ear to ear, I casually stroll by her side. "Okay but I'm warning you, your payment won't come easy...Oh, and I appoint myself head of PR for this year's pack, so if you would allow me to do the talking? Thanks."
When we get to him, the man in question is taking a drink from a fountain. From the corner of his eye he spots us, prompting him to slowly turn around in surprise.
Warren snorts, raising his hands in surrender. "Woah easy buddy, we're not on the clock just yet."
I make sure to step forward, grinning ear to ear as I extend my hand toward him. "We've been watching you...Lars is it?"
"The one and only," Lars replies wearily, glancing down at my hand before tentatively taking and pumping it once. I'm surprised that a man of his background carries himself as decently as he does. "So I've noticed."
"What can we say? For the past day or two, you've been putting on a good show. It's difficult not to watch." "With that being said, I'll cut right to the chase. We think you have the chops, so we thought we would come over and extend a hand of invitation into this year's Career pack."
His face a blank slate, Lars shakes his head once. "Sorry pal, no sale."
Warren frowns, shaking his head as if he didn't hear the first time. "No sale? You don't know a good deal when you see one."
"I'd rather not be that blockhead that you use as an extra body, kinda like the role you currently play, kid." The male from Nine explains gruffly, turning towards me. "I'm sure you understand."
My mood is anything but peachy though I make sure it doesn't show. It comes with years of being a Montgolia during any social dealings gone sour. So instead, I offer a curt nod. Never let your opponents see you break.
"I understand wholeheartedly." I reply with a sharp sigh, glaring toward Warren as he holds his tongue. I extend my hand forward again, to which Lars reciprocates as we pump hands once more. "Good luck. I'm sure you will serve as an exceptionable opponent during the Games."
Lars nods slowly, holding the eyes of Sarissa who looks less than enthused. "...Right."
What follows is an awkward shuffle towards the weapons. While doing this I make sure to hold my gaze toward the other tributes who watched the exchange, relishing as they quickly returned back to their activities.
"That was a surprising conclusion." Quips Solomon, hands casually in his pockets as he deflects my glare towards him.
"I'd prefer to have him further than closer anyway, makes killing him all the better." Sarissa snorts. "I don't know why you fools considered him in the first place."
"It doesn't hurt to try and bolster our numbers. What's wrong with you?" I explain defensively, my mask wearing thin with each of her impulsive outbursts.
"What's wrong with me is that I don't like being embarrassed." She counters. "Who needs more numbers anyway, unless you yourself are feeling insecure?"
"No one asked you to come? And wasn't it you who began walking towards him?" Ignoring her last swipe, I motion to her and her equally dubious district partner. "Don't you two have someone you're considering as well? If you don't approve of my way of handling it, go collect them yourself."
"Are you asking us, or telling us?" Sarissa retorts back harshly. She's leaning against the table now, her face craned toward me while her hands clutch the sides.
"I can't believe you..." I grouse with a sigh.
"Asking, telling...they both mean the same thing." Warren chuckles, laying a hand on her shoulder only for her to swat it off.
"Actually," Solomon adds, his eyes glued back onto the datapad. "'Asking' has more of a polite pejorative to it, while 'telling'..."
"Okay...yeah, I get it." Warren waves him off. "What I'm saying is that we need to relax now. Didn't you tell me that the other day, Solomon? ...Yeah, exactly. We're Careers, we got this in the bag!"
"The use of 'we' has a limited warranty, and it's comin' up soon." Swiping a lock of hair away from her face, Sarissa marches off elsewhere. "I'm goin' for a run."
From his peripherals, Solomon watches her only to put down the datapad and stalk off towards the weapons "I'm going to practice archery...and maybe I can pick up a new friend too."
"Good, you guys do that." Warren says with a thumbs up, his voice wavering between cheer and weariness. He turns back to me now, offering a nod and a smile.
"I'm not sure I had to ever exercise so much patience in my life..." he says with a dry chuckle.
I return the gesture. Patience is a Montgolia virtue. She was right, Sarissa, about the security or lack thereof in regards to this alliance. As much sense as it makes to make like a tree and leave, it would be in all of our interest to stick it out. Mine a lot more than theirs.
Solomon 'Sol' Kohli, 20
District Two Male
Can't say I don't have a lot of leeway.
Hands casually tucked in my pocket, I watch as Sarissa runs the obstacle gauntlet for what was the third time since she declared she would do so. The girls from Three and Ten watch on with awe while the attention-seeker from Twelve does so with envy a distance away with the man from Isla Nieve. Belonging to a different militia unit, I never saw much of Sarissa Levesque. People said she was switched on – most if not all people in District Two are. But I didn't know she was a step above that, a step above the usual prideful air, a step above the usual hardheadedness.
Locating the person in mind, I make my way towards the survival stations. Her...brusque personality, topped with our exceptionally small pack this year makes things easier in terms of unconventional play. Add the stress of the Games on top of that mini scrap and I'll be surprised that the alliance lasts three days, if I'm not already gone by then. I'd imagine having a doctor within our pack would help soothe the friction.
I glance toward the Sixes – both doctors – as the man watches the woman practice with a harpoon gun. A smirk from yours truly is all it takes for the man to quickly return his district partner, who glares at me, back to her task. We thought about them, though in the end we opted not to have two separate alliances operating as one.
I glance over toward the tables where a trainer nurses a sickly looking District 11 female. Sarissa thought her volunteering was akin to suicide. Judging by her mannerisms, she's right, which is a shame. It's not every day a doctor of science is reaped for the Hunger Games.
This leaves me with our person of interest, the District 5 female, who deftly dabbles with various chemicals which could then be used within the arena for a variety of purposes.
"Hello Doctor Suetos." I say, stopping to her side as she cranes over a workbench. I see her eye from her peripheral twitch my way.
"Solomon Kohli, the male representative for District 2..." the doctor drones, her eyes not leaving her work – a singular vial cooking over a Bunsen burner. "I would call you Sol, like your family and friends do, but our current situation doesn't call for such pleasantries."
Slightly surprised, I shift from one foot to the next. "I see you've been keeping tabs on me?"
"In our current situation, it wouldn't hurt to know every single applicable facet about my opponents."
Hands in my pocket, I offer a shrug. "That's fair. If anything, that's an unofficial golden rule right there."
"Mhm." She mutters, adding a drop of one substance into the main vial. She turns off the burner, directing her attention to a Petri dish filled with a pink, fleshy substance that was bleeding in the middle. One drop of the vial substance and the 'flesh' slowly sutured itself together. "Perfect."
"You know why I'm here then," I say, attempting to ignore the display. "There's no need to be opponents...at least for now. Join us, we could use someone with your skill set and you'll have a quick ticket to the top ten without lifting a pinky."
"Thanks but no thanks, Solomon," Dr. Suetos says after a pointed stare and a couple seconds silence. "Patching up one piece of meat is enough for me, but having to worry about four others is a tad too much...especially with how aggressive tributes like yourself tend to play."
"Right..." I reply flatly, pivoting on my heels. I don't bother voicing a goodbye as I make my way over towards the archery section. On the upper floor, Sarissa's eyes lock with mine as she sprints down the track. As soon as I shake my head in the negative, her eyes break contact while she sprints off.
I assume she's remised rather than angry. The quicker she gets to her supposed victory, the better, with or without a pack to aid her there. Given how things are shaping up, we both seem to be in agreement in that regard.
Retrieving a bow from the container, I nod to the trainer who begins to set up some targets for me to shoot. I set my eye on a shooting target twenty feet up while I draw a bow from my quiver, aim, and fire as it sinks right into the bull's-eye. I can't help but smirk, for after days of mundane tribute-watching, it feels nice brush up a little.
I flinch when the shooting target right next to mine is pinned with an arrow, directly into its bull's-eye.
Doubtful, I glance to my right to find the aloof boy from Ten returning the gesture. Ignoring the idiotic chortles of laughter from the watching trainers, I roll my eyes, setting up another shot for a target twenty feet beyond the first. I let the arrow fly, hitting the bull's-eye as he does so too. Ignoring his smirk from my peripherals, I quickly focus on a moving shooting target coming in from the left. My arrow quickly finds its center.
A sharp intake of breath is all I allow myself to show as his arrow knocks mine out completely, prompting the trainers to instigate with howls and laughter. And here I thought Indians shot morphling and stared at walls all day...
What follows is shooting in rapid succession, no targets were safe from my bolts, nor were his. We do this until three central targets remained. With my final three arrows, I load all three vertically and let them fly into the center target. One bolt for the head, one for the torso and one for the stomach. Wordlessly, besides a grin etched on my lips, I step back and watch as the boy from Ten moves forward.
Casually, he tips his bow horizontally and lets the arrows fly, each striking the throats of the three dummies.
The trainers are boisterous now, clapping and hollering as the boy turns my way to deposit his bow, pivot on his heel, and mosey off elsewhere.
And even though we trade smiles while he does this, there was absolutely nothing friendly about the exchange.
Tuesday Suetos, 44
District 5 Female
As the young man from Two saunters off towards the bows, I force myself to return to my work in an attempt to do away with any...lingering doubts. Like he said, joining the Careers is a golden opportunity for any non-Career to solidify their place as a potential winner if they play their cards right.
The urge to reconsider solidifies when I think back to HG 74 where the boy from Three got his neck wrung for his failure to protect the supplies. Numerous Games since then with similar situations begin to flood back to memory.
"It's not a loss Tuesday...your future self will salute you." I mutter to myself.
It's been seen time and time again, the trope of the somewhat useful non-Career being gifted the golden ticket into that year's Career Pack...only to be screwed over when they faced trouble, or the first to be killed off once the rest of the competition bit it. That won't be me. Just because the arena is filled with adults doesn't mean convention will shift dramatically.
And besides, there's no room left for 'human' thought in the Games – 'companionship'. It isn't like back in Five, where I would try to reach out to others, try to feel.
A womanly shape approaches from behind the workbench I occupy. I don't bother glancing up.
"Good day, Doctor." She says to me. The female representing District 12 is an easy voice to register, filled with prim and proper mannerisms so unlike her region she comes from. "You are a tough woman to reason with, however with what I'm propos-"
"-Would still not be good enough to change my mind." I reply flatly. Removing my concoction from the Bunsen, I immediately place it on top of a bloodied forearm I salvaged from a dummy. Like a gum-filled loilipop, the laceration on the forearm was coated in the salve, effectively stifling any blood. Perfect. "As much as I enjoy my enigmas, you young lady are a puzzle I cannot solve."
From my peripherals, I see her shuffle uneasily. "Okay then. Good luck out there, Doctor..."
I roll my eyes as she turns around to leave. I then clean up, glancing around the gymnasium at the various groupings as I do this. I can't help but shake my head. This year more than any other, they're all just setting themselves up for failure.
"Someone must be confident." a trainer says from behind me. "That's the third time you were propositioned, and you shot 'em all down."
"More so apprehension than confidence," I drawl as I begin cleaning up. "In the end, there'll only be one, so why not start from the beginning?"
"Seems fair," he replies with a lopsided nod. "Though I hope you're decent with your hands as you are that brain of yours."
I waggle a finger toward him. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be in the profession that I am."
After thanking him for putting up with me using his portion of the gym for the past day or two, I make my way over to the weapons, which were crowded by tributes eager to squeeze in some knowledge before our private sessions. While the non-Careers attempt to hone some ludicrous blade, I again opt for a 'simple' knife.
I thank the trainer as he wheels me out a torso for me to practice on. I give the knife a twirl in my hands. The knife was 'simple' yes, but it seems that my trade transfers well into a Games setting, as I quickly jut my knife hand toward the right carotid, prompting blood to immediately flow forth. I do this to the thigh, wrist and stomach, all producing the same devastating yet efficient result. The trainers watching me exchange nods of approval with surprised expressions.
Who knew I could undo piles of meat just as well as mending them together...I may not be the best in terms of fighting, but I know what to do, if given the opportunity.
"You're a very thorough person..." says a voice beside me. It's the Twelve man, Kaviraya, working on his ax skills. "I wish I could say the same in this regard...wielding an ax isn't the same as wielding a keyboard..." he continues with a sad chuckle.
I manage a smile. Since he skulked over here yesterday, he's spent some time hacking away at these dummies. "You're coming along nicely, given how much time you've spent here."
"Seven hours, spanning the past two days to be exact." Kaviraya replies. "One can't be too lackadaisical about skills such as these."
I nod. I can respect that. "I agree, Mr. Parathi. What about your partner? You don't have one."
I've noticed his wandering eyes all the way over at the survival stations. Always taking notes with a critical eye, never engaging with the other tributes.
"You don't have anyone either." He points out.
"I feel that my brainpower would be better served if I had myself to worry about..." I reply.
"I agree. The others are far too...gullible. And if not that, suspect. " He says with a firm nod. "This year won't be as simple as the others. You seem to be of the same mind."
"You're not wrong."
"Well...at risk of being the fourth one shot down," he begins with a tentative hand through his dark hair. "I was thinking I would propose a...agreement, with you."
I cock a brow. "You would like an 'agreement' with me, Mr. Parathi? That sounds like synonym for alliance."
"Not so much a full-fledged alliance, but a pact of mutual assistance." He replies. "We don't know what's going to happen once we're in there? If we both happen to make it past the first night, it'd be beneficial to both parties if we had someone we could quickly rely on..."
I smile. "So an alliance then."
"An ad-hoc partnership that can be hastily set up and dissolved when need be." Kaviraya counters with a smirk. A man of word games I see.
"So an 'alliance' in which we can continue to worry about ourselves first and foremost but have a helping hand if need be..." I say. Either one of us – more him than I – could be dead by the first night, or on opposite sides of the arena, so it doesn't matter regardless.
"...Exactly." He nods. "So, I assume that you accept my pact of mutual assistance?"
"I accept your proposal Mr. Parathi."
Maia Clear, 19
District 3 Female
We're coming up on the fourth lap now, Laelia and I. I'm accustomed to people eating my dust, but Laelia and I are tit for tat as we race towards a waiting Claudia. I call for Laelia to jump, while we both cling to the ropes that drop down and dangle over an open flame. We swing, drop, and finish with a stride as Claudia marks our time. If it weren't for the constantly elevating tiles, trap doors and flame pits, I could've been fooled that I wasn't in the Capitol but instead back home at Perthshire where I should be.
Laelia shoots a smile my way, but I don't return it. Doing this gauntlet sapped my love for running completely.
"That was a Capitol hustle, tributes." praises Claudia, glancing at her communicuff. "Eight-fifty is your timing with a kilometer distance. That's near career level."
"What's a career's timing?" Laelia pants as she regains her bearings.
"About sub seven."
"Who's the fastest tribute you've encountered?" I ask.
"Rafaela Novia, I'm sure you know her well. During her private evaluations, we clocked her at sub six, a human pinball if you ask me..." Claudia mutters.
As the Head Trainer turns on her heel and starts off elsewhere, I turn to Laelia who continues to stretch. "You said you did what sport, Laelia?"
"I play as a striker, football...or soccer for you bollios." She replies with an eye roll.
"...'Bollios', what's that?"
"It means white bread or white people," Laelia explains. "I don't know about Three, but they always seem to have something to say about coloureds in Ten. So why not throw something back?" she finishes with a smile.
I barely return it, however. It takes away from our current situation.
I'm firmly reminded of my situation – as if running trap-ridden gauntlet didn't – as we finish changing and reenter the gymnasium proper. The final day of training seems to have everyone in overdrive. Even the Careers – who've spent the last two days glaring down the competition – are showing off their additional years of supposed training. As Laelia continues to walk on, I stop, coming to a realization as I watch older, more adept tributes train away at the various stations.
Do I honestly have a chance when this all begins? I'm essentially a twelve year old in any regular year.
Laelia jostles my shoulder, prompting me to come back to earth. "C'mon Maia, we're losing training time."
"Right..." I nod with a sigh. However I quickly offer resistance to her insistent tugging when I realize where she's taking us. "Where are you taking me?"
"The weapons, duh..." Laelia replies. "We've barely been over here. It'd be nice to know some form of self-defense."
Like exam time, or marching up to the front of class for a presentation, my stomach hardens as I unenthusiastically follow my ally over to the various blades, guns and bows on display. A bald, muscular trainer lumbers over to us with a toothy grin.
"Ladies..." the man purrs, his voice uncharacteristically...light. He must be a Capitol man. "I see you've come over for some crash course training before the private sessions?"
"Yessir, I'll take a spade please." Laelia says.
"Interesting weapon, that one," He replies while handing her the weapon as he turns to me now. "What about you, girlie? What'll it be?"
"Me...erm?" I reply clumsily, glancing once again towards the weapons. I'm convinced that no non-Career district knows how to properly wield any of these weapons. It's only through luck that they manage to live long enough or outright survive. I point towards a knife. "A simple knife please."
That's exactly what I 'need', easy-to-use weapon without any nuance. Even still, as the trainer hands me the blade, the thought of plunging this into another person's chest almost makes me drop the thing entirely.
"That's...quite the shovel, Laelia." I gulp, eyeing the serrated weapon as she lifts it into my vision.
Laelia gives the thing a twirl in her hands. "I know, right? The trainers say it could double as a sword, for swiping and blocking."
The burly trainer wheels out two targets. "Some gel torsos should do the trick. Your...progress should be evident in each hit you deliver. Have at it, ladies."
Not quite ready to 'have at it' I turn my attention to Laelia who prepares to strike her dummy. Raising the spade over her head, she slams it down on top of the dummy, effectively cracking its head open as blood dribbles down onto its 'face'.
"Capitol work, now shuffle to the side and go for the neck," Goads the trainer. "Yes, there you go, now get that spade outta there."
With a grunt, Laelia rips the spade from the neck of the dummy, creating a gaping wound that prompts the dummy's head to hang off to the side like the top of a tuna can.
As the 'blood' pours out onto the floor, I don't know whether to fait or puke or both.
The trainer claps me on the back, prompting me to shuffle forward in surprise. "Alright, let's see you have a try at it."
"Okay...how do I do it?" I ask wearily.
"Adopt a stance, like so...Keep your free hand like this..." he explains, guiding me into position. "Alright, now give it a couple of swipes."
I do what he asks, and swipe the dummy across its chest. I dealt some 'damage', yeah, but no blood was drawn.
"Those were flesh wounds!" the trainer laments. "Here's hoping that your opponent is a real candy ass, which I highly doubt."
"Try again, Maia." Laelia urges. I do just that, swiping at the arms and the torso in general only to do negligible damage. The more I swipe at this dummy, the more I realize the true reality of my situation.
The trainer regards me with confusion as I place the knife in his hands. "Why stop, kid?"
"Thanks for the tips, Sir." I say, turning as I make my way towards the trees." But I think my time will be best served by sticking to what I know..."
If what I do isn't done perfectly, there is absolutely no point in continuing. It's all or nothing.
"If you say so..." I hear him say.
"Maia, you can't just give up like that!" Laelia calls after me, jogging to my side. "We have to look after each other in there and unfortunately that means using weapons."
I abruptly come to a halt, causing Laelia to bump into me. That was also another problem I had...
"...I don't think I can be allies with you anymore." I mumble.
"Huh...but -"
"I don't want to partner with you anymore." I repeat once more, my voice terse. I've tussled with this for days, with the knife situation being the final straw. If anything it was just like school, aiding someone else along just jeopardizes my position. Only having to worry about myself would make things far less complicated. "It's nothing personal, I hope you can understand. I just need to focus on myself, is all. If we see each other, I won't hurt you."
"Oh...okay then," Laelia replies, her eyes swelling up with tears. It takes some fortitude not to join her. "Good luck, Maia. It was nice getting to know you a little bit..."
With that, we quickly split ways. Laelia goes back to the weapons and I to the trees. A quick look around the gym proves that no one is interested in the pair of youngest girls out of the roster. With a sigh, I curl up at the base of a tree.
"What am I going to do?" I lament aloud.
I immediately begin to hear violins and woodwinds. Lo and behold, Vi and Pax appear before me wearing rain slickers and hats as they frolic through flowers.
"What is she going to do?" asks Pax, extending his hand toward the 'rain'. "Are you surprised by the recent developments?"
"Not necessarily." Answers Vi. "Threes always seem to go their own way. The Hunger Games are no exception."
"You two...?" I shake my head. That's what they do, offer advice however weird their delivery of it may be. "I'd prefer to go it alone, but I have no true strategy. Like I said, I don't know what to do..."
Vi laughs, her petite, childish form transforming into a slightly older girl with high cheekbones, blue eyes, freckles and ginger hair tied into two buns. "She thinks she's an anomaly."
"However she isn't the first to be at this point." Pax replies, morphing into an older brown-skinned boy with black-framed glasses as he adjusts them. He then transforms into a young girl with jaw length brown hair.
"She has the brains, obviously." Continues Vi, transforming into a redhead with blue eyes almost covered by bangs - Piper Malveaux of District 5 - and then into a young girl who I immediately recognize as Gwendolyn Faraday.
Pax morphs into Rafaela Novia. "And she most definitely has the prowess to eek it through." He finishes, with her accent, cocky posture and all.
I nod, deciphering the information given to me. "So you're saying if I base my strategy off of similar tributes before me, I'd have a better chance?"
Morphing back into their normal appearances, the two exchange knowing smiles. Pax extends an arm to Vi who gingerly accepts.
"Do you think anything will come of it?"Asks Vi, picking up a tulip as she studies it.
"Given what we know, she would better have her wits about her." Replies Pax. "Besides, do they even want a victor of that stripe?"
"Well, it's not really about what they want. It's about if whether they - the contestants - within themselves have the fortitude to persist despite any hangups." Says Vi.
"What about luck?" asks Pax.
"That too," replies Vi with a smile. "Although something tells me that she has a lot of that. Maybe, a little bit of both."
As they dissipate into nothingness, I already know what needs to be done. I quickly rush over to the tables and swipe up a datapad. Those modules won't read themselves.
