Chapter Twenty-Four.
Private Gamemaker Sessions.
Albie Mathison, 18 years old;
District Three Female.
She yawned deeply, stirring the porridge oats in her bowl.
Albie felt exhausted. The past three days had finally caught up with her, the momentous whirlwind that she'd gone through so far. It had been a lot. She'd tried to cram in as many different stations as possible because Albie felt completely unprepared for this, but at the same time, she'd tried to build a closer bond with her two allies.
Naturally, she felt closer to Armina, but there was something about Shual she saw more of a contender in. It upset her almost that the person she felt closest with was actually the person she thought was the weakest of their group. The whole mindset she was trying to have here in the Capitol left her feeling angry at herself.
A door opened from somewhere at the side and a loud grumble reverberated through into the dining room. Albie, as if by instinct, rolled her eyes at the aggressive stomping that finally revealed itself to belong to Nikos. He was most definitely not a morning person. Albie wasn't sure he was much of an anything person.
"Good morning," Albie forced herself to say, maintaining at least some level of politeness with her District partner. "Have a good sleep?"
Nikos stared at her then pointed to his eyes. They were shot red and puffy. She wanted to laugh but contained herself enough to just stare back at him as he sat down, tugging at his neck where the training outfit hugged tightly.
Albie hated the way it seemed to vacuum seal her entire body. It left her feeling imperfect and part of her couldn't beat out the voice of her mother telling her that those imperfections were the only thing letting her down. She still felt totally overwhelmed by everything that training had shown her – if anything it had just demonstrated to her how little she actually knew of the things that mattered most if you were a tribute in the Hunger Games.
So much for the years of learning she'd thought was so precious to her back in Three.
"You've got five minutes," Shiloh, Albie's mentor said, entering the room. "So quickly eat your breakfast."
Three was lucky and had enough Victors for the two of them to have their own mentor. Albie liked Shiloh – she was a reminder that it was actually possible for someone from Three to make it home alive. Nikos didn't like his mentor but then again, she didn't like him so it was a mutual distaste for one another.
"Are you ready for today, Nikos?" Albie asked.
"Hm?" he looked at her, biting into a bit of toast. "I guess – I'll do my best, I suppose."
"Those sponsors will be looking out for your scores," Shiloh said. "Do your best to use whatever you learnt over the past three days."
Albie nodded, her stomach flipping nervously. As the five minutes finally ran out, Nikos stomped over to the elevator and Albie did her best to rid her mind of the anxious thoughts running through. She wanted to impress – she really did. Part of her hated the idea that she still needed that stamp of approval, part of her wanted to continue breaking out the mold she'd been set into, but she couldn't.
The cost might mean her death, and she'd do anything to make it out of this alive.
"Albie."
As she stood up, she turned back at the serious voice of her mentor and stared at Shiloh whose face had creased up.
"Everything ok?"
Shiloh shook her head. "Are you sure you can't take him with you?" She gestured over to an impatient Nikos. "You might stand a better chance with him by your side."
Albie had been over this so many times already with her mentor. She shook her head adamantly and tried a placating smile. "He's too much of a loose cannon, Shiloh. He'll only hold me back."
"But he's strong."
"And sometimes strength doesn't make up for a lack of control," Albie said firmly. "I have my alliance and I'm very happy with them. I'll see you later."
She strode over to the elevator, ignoring Shiloh's sigh and Nikos' curious stare as the doors closed around them and they stood in silence, descending to the Training Hall.
As the doors opened to reveal two benches either side of the corridor, she heard Nikos clear his throat and before she stepped out, she looked at him.
He didn't quite meet her eyes. "Good luck, I guess."
Albie nodded, smiling. "You too."
Nikos didn't glance at any of the other waiting tributes as he marched on over to where District Three were supposed to be seated. Albie on the other hand could see that most tributes had ignored the designated area for their district and were sitting near allies, speaking in hushed tones and staring up at Albie as she walked past them.
Shual and Armina were already together. They smiled at her as she took a seat next to Shual.
"Nervous?" Armina asked.
Albie felt butterflies in her stomach and nodded. "I feel sick," she confessed. "And I don't like it."
"At least the side-effects of those damn berries have gone. Could you imagine me being midway demonstrating something and suddenly needing the toilet?" Armina giggled. "Have we decided what scores we are aiming for?"
"Something average – in the middle," Shual said quickly. "There's no point pretending we will get anything that great but we did our best to learn some stuff together, right?"
He knew that he had spent less time with the two of them but Albie appreciated the fact that didn't seem to faze him. He was trying his best to find his feet with the two girls and Albie enjoyed the thought processes that he brought to their little group.
The three of them continued to whisper to one another as names were called out over the intercom. Linnea. Chancellor. Neviya. Roarke.
When she heard her name, every ounce of strength that Albie had tried to cover herself with seemed to shed and for a moment she thought she might have thrown up. Armina put her hand over Albie's, Shual gave her an encouraging smile, and for their sakes as well as her own, she stood up shakily and nodded to herself.
"I'll see you later," she said.
They both wished her luck and as she passed Nikos, he gave her a smile that actually seemed genuine. She smiled back and briskly walked into the room, patting down a crease that was in her training uniform, determined to look perfect for the Gamemakers.
She heard her mother's voice in her head as she stood in front of them, and something, some small part of the Mathison family that had prided itself on their position in society, forced her to face the Gamemakers with a polite, respectful smile as she nodded at the central woman in front of them all.
"Thank you for seeing me," Albie said. "I hope you enjoy what I have to show."
Let's get this over with.
Destan Moreau, 18 years old;
District Four Male.
He looked at all of the tributes around him and realised none of them could meet his gaze. On the outside, he wore a smile, cocky some might call it, but on the inside he couldn't subdue the nerves that rattled his bones and chilled his blood.
With Linnea and Neviya now gone, Britta had returned to her seat next to him, adamantly staring at anything but Destan. He felt uncomfortable – not just about today and ensuring he got a good score for both his own chances but the image he was trying to project, but about everything that had gone on so far.
He had been taught how to wear the image of many different people. He had been more buoyant and cheerful on the first day around everyone but Chancellor, and around him he had been quieter and less dramatic. Now all those images were blurring into one and he realised that all he seemed to be currently doing was strutting about the place trying to exert the dominance he could feel slipping through his fingers.
He'd done what he did because he knew he was like Roarke and every non-Career tribute in this entire Games. He was frightened of Chancellor. But rather than allow that fear to manifest into anything, he'd distracted himself from it and tried to put himself on a pedestal above the rest.
Control his own fear by switching things up. Flipping the entire Games on their head.
He didn't feel in control anymore. He didn't feel confident. He didn't feel anything but a frightening sense of reality that had stung as much as Neviya's fist.
"Um," he found his voice and was surprised at how disconnected it felt, how unsure of itself it sounded. "Britta?"
She didn't respond to his voice. Didn't so much as flinch or anything.
"Britta?"
He didn't want to annoy her. Away from their allies, away from Chancellor especially, he found himself growing exhausted with everything. He just wanted to talk.
"Please, Britta," he said.
"If you're about to comment on how tight your outfit is, then I don't want to hear it," Britta said, not meeting his gaze. "I said what I said because I thought we were allies and it was playful. Now you're just a dick. So excuse yourself from this conversation if you don't mind."
"Hand on heart, I'm not here to start shit. I just wanted to ask you something."
He could see Britta looking at him now out the corner of her eye. She sighed – dramatically, of course – and turned her face to look at him. "What could you possibly want to ask?"
The rest of the tributes were focused on their own conversations. It made Destan feel a bit more comfortable in asking what he was about to ask. Maybe he was growing tired of the image he was trying to project but he still knew it was important the others feared him somewhat. He needed that if he was going to get anywhere in the Games.
"Why did you do what you did? About Chancellor, I mean."
Britta's eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean why did I do it? I did what had to be done – you're out there swaggering around like a fucking peacock with its feathers up trying to scare us and everyone else. Well it isn't going to go like that."
"I only act the way I act because-" Destan paused, he wasn't about to confess to being scared, "-because of Chancellor."
"You are the one that tore our alliance apart. I don't need you to sit here and try and make me pity you. We could have joined together and taken him out and gotten along just fine for as long as it possibly could have lasted." Britta's voice wasn't loud, but it was harsh. It bit into Destan and left him sinking into his chair. "Now back the fuck off and don't talk to me. We're done."
Britta Somerset.
When her name rang out, she stood up and marched off without even looking back at Destan. In her absence, the girl from Five – Harley? Henley? – stared at Destan. He glared in return and sneered, lounging back in his chair.
Maybe I did royally fuck things up, but it is what it is. No going back.
He thought about the fact that Chancellor was still the strongest one here, no doubt about to be reflected in the scores, and he had to remain content with the fact that he was his ally. Now was the time for him to demonstrate his strength – no more words, no more theatrics, no more twisting things to his advantage. It was the one thing he actually was the most nervous about. Ironic in a sense that using a weapon was what gave him the most anxiety. Not because he had any qualms about hurting or killing, but because he doubted his actual skill compared to everyone else.
He was scared of getting a low score. He was scared of being shown up.
He was scared of being seen as the true Destan Moreau.
Ten or so minutes later, Destan's name was called out and he confidently marched into the room, surveying his surroundings and standing in the central spot, gazing over at the Gamemakers. He was the last Career – the last real show for them.
They all looked at him and he cleared his throat, subduing the nerves under the suave cockiness he'd tried to show during training.
"Destan Moreau," he said. "And what a pleasure it is to be here."
Ugh, he thought. Kiss ass.
With his back turned to the Gamemakers, he closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and opened them again. He did as much as he could – he threw spears that connected with their target, he threw knives and used a sword to completely obliterate a few dummies.
Though it wasn't perfect, he still knew that he could do a lot more than everyone else bar the Careers. Although he knew that he'd pale in comparison to what Chancellor could do, that didn't really matter. He had to try and find solace in the fact that maybe he was weaker than his ally, but he was still stronger than the majority.
Anything to make him feel confident again.
When the bell rang for him to stop, Destan returned to the centre of the room.
He looked at the Head Gamemaker as she stared back at him and Destan couldn't help himself. He heard himself speaking before he could stop.
"I promise you a good show in the Games," he said, beaming at them all. "My District partner and the girls from One and Two, even the boy from Two, they're way too chipper and happy-go-lucky. They don't have what it takes. I thought switching things around and instilling a little drama might make things a bit more entertaining for you, and for the Capitol. So that's what I've done. I look forward to showing you what I can do in the Arena."
He felt himself shaking as he left and entered the elevator again. Hopefully it had been enough to at least match Britta and the girls. He couldn't be below them. He couldn't have Chancellor see him as a weak link.
His image meant everything to Destan.
He'd do anything to keep it up.
Castor Velboa, 17 years old;
District Eight Male.
Castor gave Maisley a thumbs-up as she stood up.
"Wish me luck," she said, leaning sideways to where Carys and Ponche sat in their designated seats. "See you guys later."
"Break a leg!" Castor chimed after her, to which she laughed merrily and disappeared into the Training Hall.
Castor peered forwards around Iva who sat next to him. His eyes settled on his other two allies and they looked over at him. Ponche had a worrisome look on his face, fear in his eyes. Carys on the other hand tried to smile back at Castor but it was a feeble attempt, her lip shaking and then settling into a more disgruntled look that he'd come to familiarise himself with.
He gestured with his hands to the empty seat next to him, then pointed at the two of them.
Ponche shook his head. Bless him, Castor thought. He'd tried his best to be as encouraging of an ally as he possibly could with Ponche, but it was only slowly breaking his walls down. Carys on the other hand shrugged her shoulders and moved over to the seat vacant next to Castor and fell into it.
"She alright?" Carys asked.
"Who Maisley?" Castor said to which Carys nodded in response. "Yeah – just a bit nervous. Aren't we all?"
"She's a fighter. I'm sure she'll do just fine. She wrangled in me in somehow."
"To which I'm glad she did," Castor said earnestly.
It was true. Ponche was a good lad but he was no skilled warrior. In fact, if anything he seemed to have gotten less competent as the days went by. Maisley had a lot going for her – she hadn't fooled Castor in the slightest. Her silver tongue was a useful asset but it wasn't exactly great in the face of a charging bull, spear raised to skewer him.
Carys although lacking technique, seemed reasonably able on her feet. Castor had tried his best too. Out of their alliance, they were definitely the "muscle." He inwardly laughed at the thought.
Carys sighed deeply and rested her chin in her hands. "Do you reckon if I took a huge dump on the floor they'll appreciate my courage?" She laughed and awkwardly pulled at the fabric round her leg. "I have no idea what I'm going to do in there. I want to impress them but the other half of me hates the fact that I'm clinging to a silly number."
Castor hummed in agreement. At the end of the day, he could skip around all heartily and do his best to put on a brave, happy front but he was bummed about the entire situation. Scared, if anything. Maisley's confession yesterday had only whipped up his fear even further until it seemed threatening to his resolve.
Maisley had a good head on her shoulders, though. It felt strange looking at the youngest competitor this year, someone he genuinely liked and wanted to look after, and feel a slight unease about them. Not in the sense that he didn't trust her, but she had been thinking in the right mindset right from the very beginning.
Castor hadn't, not really. Maybe I need to start, he thought, looking at Carys continue to pull at her knee and flinch as the material snapped back. Maisley can't be the only one who sees this situation for what it is.
"Why do you reckon he doesn't want to sit with us?" Carys said, gesturing towards Ponche.
Castor was snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at their other ally, too preoccupied in his own mind to notice them looking. Castor felt a twinge of sadness in his heart at the sight of him. "I guess he's just scared," Castor answered honestly. "Aren't we all?"
It didn't seem like Carys to be the type to confess to that sort of emotion, but she nodded her head miserably and leant back in her chair, resting her head against the wall. "Two days left."
Castor's heart pounded suddenly and harshly. "Two days."
Fuck.
Time seemed to flash by and he barely noticed that his name had been called when Carys jolted upright, nudging him in the arm. He looked at her and then saw Ponche gaze over, offering a small smile that he could muster up as an act of encouragement.
"I guess it's me," Castor said, standing up. Okay, breathe. "Go and see if he's alright. He might need the company."
Carys nodded and offered him good luck as he left, striding into the room, lathering on as much false confidence as he could muster up for the Gamemakers. As he took his place in the centre of the room, he could see how disinterested they looked on his arrival, but he tried his best not to let that dissuade him from his desire to try and do something that could be construed as impressive.
He needed somewhat of a good score. For his alliance. For me.
"Nice to meet you all," he said with a smile and a nod. "I'm Castor and I'm from-"
"Yes yes," the Head Gamemaker interrupted harshly, waving her hand. "Proceed."
Well fuck you too, he thought, turning on the spot feeling slightly offended. Castor saw a trainer standing off to the side, near a mat on the floor.
He swiftly walked on over and smiled at the man. "Are we allowed to use you guys to demonstrate some stuff on?"
He ignored how weird that question sounded and politely smiled as the man nodded and readied himself on the mat, arms up, feet separated apart. With the first swipe of his hand, the man quickly brought his own hands up to block it and proceeded to push himself forwards, bringing his foot out.
Castor was doing better at being as observant as he could in these fights, not just in what was going on around him. He dodged the attempt and knocked the man's arm away, side-swiping his hand and hitting the man in the shoulder with his fist.
Castor had no idea how he looked right now. It was how it continued for the next eight or so minutes. He managed to bring the man to the ground, he was then taken down quite quickly, and it seemed an even split by the time the bell tolled.
He was panting, completely out of breath as he returned to the centre and bowed his head. "A pleasure doing business with you," he said, chuckling to himself as he left promptly.
Castor hoped for the best but didn't want to be too optimistic.
As long as they had an average score, he could deal with that. Carys had a good point about all this kiss-assery for a simple number. It didn't sit right in his stomach, but if Maisley could see this for what it was and be willing to swallow pride for the sake of survival, then Castor had to do the exact same thing.
At the end of the day, he was in it for himself. He would protect his alliance for however long it could last but he wanted to be the best of them all, he wanted to be the one to make it the furthest.
He wanted to win.
Ponche Garland, 17 years old;
District Eleven Male.
If Ponche could have one wish, it would be to restart training, go back three days and try again.
Only if he could do that, he'd focus a lot more on actually bettering himself and not being so caught up in the alliance with Castor, Maisley and Carys.
He had nothing against them all, not even Maisley really, but he couldn't help but feel like he'd let himself down in front of the Gamemakers. It wasn't as if he believed that Maisley, nor Castor, nor Carys were unbelievably strong at what they could do, but he wanted to be able to hold his own in their alliance.
He wanted to be seen.
"Oh my lord it's starting!"
Ponche looked up at the chirpy voice of Xylonius, their frilly Escort who was decked out in plush purple feathers. He patted Sheridan on her knee and if looks could kill, Xylonius would be the first casualty of this year's Games. Ponche tried to smile back at him but he gave up as he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He was tired. Nervous. Worried. Scared. Ponche just wanted everything to go back to normal.
"Xylo', it's been on for the last fifteen minutes," Cyphas, Ponche's mentor chuckled. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, I don't give a damn about the rest of them. I want to see the real stars of the show. My gorgeous District Eleven."
"Go us," Sheridan said, rolling her eyes and winking at Ponche.
He wanted to smirk back but couldn't bring himself to as Sheridan's face flashed on the screen followed by a small bit of commentary and a 6 that circled her grumpy looking face. "Could have taken a better picture," Sheridan said sarcastically, though when Ponche looked over she seemed quite content with her score and she relaxed into the silk cushions.
Xylonius exploded into raucous applause as Ponche gave her a polite nod of his head as his own face appeared on the television screen.
He had seen Maisley receive the lowest score so far, with Castor next and then Carys. Ponche hoped he could do just as well as at least Castor. He enjoyed their company as much as he knew he could show it better. And Sheridan with a 6! It was impressive.
Two seconds later, and the 5 revolved around Ponche's face as he continued staring at the screen as it morphed into the shape of Altia Wright's head. Sheridan congratulated him as did Cyphas. Xylionus was a dim man but he gave him a well-done all the same. He was surrounded by praise but Ponche couldn't tell exactly how he felt.
Good? Bad? Disinterested?
He had tied with Castor and that made him feel at least somewhat pleased. It meant he wasn't the weakest and wasn't the strongest either. He floated somewhere in the middle. But part of Ponche was also tired of that – the stagnancy that came with being viewed as normal. He neither shone for being abysmal nor stood out for being above average. Ponche's score reflected how he had always felt: simply there.
"I'm gonna go and sit by the window," Ponche quickly said, interrupting Xylonius' flapping about as he pointed at Damon's head that was now on the screen.
He moved before anyone else could say anything and quickly took a comfortable seat on the bench fitted into the far wall, where a huge open window exposed the beauty of the Capitol bathed under starlight. For all his distaste for this city and what they meant for people like Ponche and where he came from, he could not deny the fact it was a stunning place.
The noise behind him simply became background as he nestled his chin into his knees and wrapped the throw that was draped over the back of the bench.
Maisley, Castor and Carys. He still didn't trust the littlest of his allies but he didn't dislike her either. He knew she was simply doing what had to be done for where they were. Castor, on the other hand, epitomised everything he had always wanted to be and yet had never pushed himself to become. And then there was their newest ally – he had no idea what to think of Carys, but she was a spitfire and had proved herself today.
He had simply coasted by.
Is that how the Capitol will view me? Nothing but floating through – someone not to place their bets on?
He felt the sadness in his gut and tried to fight it down when footsteps interrupted his thoughts.
"Care for some company?"
When Ponche looked over his shoulder, he saw Sheridan looking at him. She was another one with a fiery attitude but they had known each other long enough, been forced into such a fast-paced situation, that Ponche knew Sheridan was slowly allowing herself to open up around him. He was glad he had someone like Sheridan with him.
"Of course," Ponche said, shuffling to the left to give room for Sheridan to sit.
"I know what it's like wanting to be left alone," Sheridan said. "Makes me feel a bit invasive if anything. But I can't listen to him anymore and a part of me doesn't want to bury myself under my duvet and go to sleep either."
Ponche nodded his head. He wasn't sure what to say really. He was glad for the company but had no words that would come to mind.
Of all the people he could have been with, he knew Sheridan would understand that. In fact, she didn't say anything for the next five minutes and the silence was comforting, not awkward. The noise that filled the gaps came from their mentors and Escort discussing the scores and the Capitolites below living their lives for all its deluded luxury.
"A five isn't bad," Sheridan finally said. "Don't let it get you down."
It wasn't bad. Ponche knew that. He wasn't going to let himself be hung up by a number when really they meant nothing. Someone with a 6 or a 7 could go down just as fast at the beginning of the Games. He knew, in the chaos that the start created, luck played a huge part.
Being in the right or wrong place could mean the difference between life or death.
"I know," Ponche replied. "Congratulations on your six, though. You must be proud."
Sheridan shrugged her shoulders. "Don't care what they think about me, really. They aren't who's important."
"Suppose you're right."
Ponche found himself yawning and stretched his arms out, leaning back against the window and meeting Sheridan's gaze.
"Two days," he continued. "Can you believe it?"
"Two days," Sheridan copied, shaking her head. "It's insane."
Ponche and Sheridan had nothing left to say to each other as time continued to slip on by, counting down their hours until the Games. She left him to go to bed after another ten minutes of sitting by the window and soon after, Ponche himself yawned again and left the room.
Sleep was really the only escape he could find and he knew when the Games started, sleep would become something near impossible to experience again properly.
He would make the most of this tiny sense of normalcy. The only thing that could still feel normal for the short time left.
The 5 he received fell to the back of his mind as his consciousness slipped away and Ponche relaxed into the only place he could leave this dark reality.
As midnight struck, it marked the moment where they had one more day left.
One more sleep.
And for some – their last sleep.
Wrote this all yesterday but since I'm such a lovely person I waited until today to update :)
The UK announces next week how schools are going to be reopening... ffs.
All training scores are on the blog. I cannot put myself through having POVs dedicated to just sat on a sofa listening to 24 scores being read. It does no benefit to these tributes and I feel bad for whoever gets that POV. So yeah – go check the blog for the scores!
Little format change, instead of two chapters for interviews I will be doing one, which means the POVs for Interviews Pt 2 will now go to launch. That means there's only two more Capitol chapters left!
Vote on the poll if you haven't already. Thanks guys!