"I'm in a blue haze." - Haze by Amber Run
A Song of Snakes and Rats - The 41st Annual Hunger Games
Training Days
Female Tribute from District Eight, Zenna Vicary
"I was thinking of doing some hand to hand combat," says Rahni. She brushes back a strand of dark hair. "Want to join?"
"I'd prefer to watch," says Tassia flatly.
"Oh," Rahni says. She looks at me. "Zenna?"
I smile. "I'm down. Let's go."
We walk over to the hand to hand combat station, Rahni taking the lead. As we walk over to the station, I wonder if that's why I don't fully trust her. She's too ready to take the lead. Too eager it seems to act like Yorik's second in command. Maybe I don't trust her because I wouldn't trust myself in a leadership position. Because you're weak. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. No, I quickly replace the thought, quickly swipe away a memory of myself on the school playground, pigtails getting yanked. A red ribbon flutters to the ground and I hear myself crying. But then I'm thinking about who I am now, how the moment that red ribbon fell to the dirt, getting trampled, I changed. I think about my fists, how I'm clenching them. I pop my knuckles, attempting to pull myself out of the memories as we get to the combat station. But I'm there now, thinking, remembering. I see the boy slamming me down. I watch the ribbon crumple. He's stepping on it. Then I'm feeling numb. Like the color gray between black and white. And then I feel everything red; everything seems bright. Maybe it was the sun. Maybe it was just my eyes fixating on the color of the ribbon, I don't know. But I'm swinging, fist connecting to the side of his face, and a tooth hits me on the nose. Blood follows the tooth, and I swing again, connecting with the same cheek, the same spot. He screams. But all I see is his foot trampling the ribbon more, deeper into the dirt. Something in me snaps. My fists do the rest.
"Zenna." Rahni says. "Want to go first?"
"Sure," I say. The combat instructor steps up, smiling. He looks me up and down, like so many others would do in District 8 if they hadn't met the "Spider" yet. I laugh at the name. I thought it was funny, really. And it sort of gave me confidence, too, since I've felt more fly most of my life than spider.
"Let's start on your stance," he says.
"Okay," I say. I put my arms out down low and away from my face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rahni smirk. She doesn't think I know how to fight and let's keep it that way. Best not to show every strength right now, anyway, especially when I know some of us are getting pegged already as pawns or expendables in this alliance. And seeing how Yorik approached Denim, Sesame, and Proteus first. Not to mention, how he keeps talking to them over the girls, I can tell that it's becoming pretty obvious who Yorik thinks are going to be his core allies. Of course, like any man he's thinking Strength instead of Skill. A real shame.
"You're going to want to guard your face?" says the trainer.
"Oh," I laugh. I adjust my hands up to my face, not exactly like I would in a real fight back in Eight. And then I exhale, almost automatic. "Like this."
"Better," he says cheeringly.
It's in that moment that I want to kick back his knee before slamming my own knee into his chin. From the way he moves back and forth, I can tell he's never really fought. Not like we've had to in the streets. Not like you do when you're fighting for shoes or flakes of dried cheese and bread.
He bounces to the left. "Keep moving," he says.
I know. Why do you think they call me the Spider? "Okay." I move from side to side, slowing my steps, careful not to look too athletic. All it takes if for Rahni to consider me a threat and she can easily try to backstab me before the alliance has to dissolve naturally.
I'd rather her think me weak, anyway. You are weak, though, says the voice. The inner critic, I've named it. I shake it away, but I feel nauseous now. My stomach rolls, tightens, wants to force the breakfast back up, but I'm determined to keep it down. If I can keep down smoked rat (one of my mother's go to when we didn't have enough coin for bread) I tell myself I can keep down anything.
"Good," the trainer says. "Now, strike. With your left."
I'm stronger with my right.
"Okay," I say. I swing out the left. He dodges it with ease. I think of how Denim almost got knocked out by him yesterday and want to laugh. Of course, Denim would underestimate the trainer. I'm tempted to do the same. But I don't. I keep watching him move. I study his feet, noticing how he tends to lead with his right.
He suddenly takes another swing at me and I duck. I know it catches him off guard because he's pulling backwards, attempting to get out of my range. But I can't help myself, I uppercut him in the ribs, knocking him back. He gasps. And then I remember where I am, that I'm not supposed to be showcasing my fighting. I have to seem weak, but the very word makes me sweat. Makes me want to clench my teeth down on the inside of my cheek.
But I can do this, I tell myself. I can seem weak. Unnoticeable.
And so, I mess up. I do what someone who is unskilled, frightened, not confident in combat would do. No, I do what the old me would do before I swung. I let him be the predator. I let myself be the fly. And I fall into his web, stepping back, instead of stepping in. I give him back his reach. And he takes advantage, swinging. And I let down my hands, telling myself I need to end this, that I need to give back the spotlight to Rahni.
And when the hit comes, I'm absorbing it, embracing it, letting my teeth rattle and a tear slip down my eye. I crash to the floor, loosing my balance. The trainer is on me in seconds, asking if I'm okay, if I feel dizzy.
"I'm fine," I say. Something I said a lot when my parents asked why dirt stained my clothes or I was missing my shoes. That'd stolen my shoes. The little punks, I remember. Yeah, because you were weak and a coward and let them.
No, because I was afraid. But I'm not anymore.
"Zenna," says Rahni. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I say. "Just need a moment."
"Why'd you step back?" asks Tassia suddenly. I forgot she's so observant.
"She panicked," says the trainer. "It's only natural sometimes. The flight or fight within us kicks in."
I look up to see Tassia studying me, eyes squinted. She reminds me of on an old cat in District 8 named Whiskers. They named him that oddly after discovering he didn't have any whiskers. Somehow, they'd all fallen off. He was an ugly thing, missing half his tail. But smart. He knew how to corner the rats and even some of the smaller kids who were scared of him.
The way she looks at me now, waiting, reminds me of the time I watched Whiskers corner a rat. He'd been hiding behind a crate, waiting for the rat to come out of the wall hole. And when it did, he waited, patiently, until it came to the trash. Until it started to munch on the apples and cheese. And I swear, I thought then that Whiskers even let it eat its belly full, to have something of a last meal, before he pounced on it, killing it.
I come back to reality, telling myself I'm not a rat. And when I look back over to the trainer, I ask. "Can I have some ice?" He frowns, but I play into it more. "For my head, please. I feel dizzy."
The trainer walks away, leaving me alone with Rahni and Tassia.
"Should we meet back up with the boys?" Rahni suggests. She looks over at me, turns back over to Yorik, who seems to be holding some meeting with Sesame, Proteus, and Denim. District Ten isn't a part of it. I glance around the room, searching, and find them over at the edible plant section. Completely oblivious.
"After you get your ice, of course," Rahni continues.
"You don't have to wait," I say. I don't care to be pitied. Besides, I've taken a harder hit than what the trainer gave me. The ice is more for the show, for the downplaying.
"Okay," Rahni says. She dismisses herself, walking over to the where Yorik and the other boys are standing. If Yorik is the king, I think. Rahni is his queen.
"You didn't panic," Tassia says. "Did you?"
I touch at my head. "I did."
"You know how to fight," she says. "I watched your footing." She moves closer. I don't meet her eyes. "You evaded his moves. Except that one." I look up at her then. "You wanted to get hit, didn't you?"
"Don't say anything," I say. "Please."
Tassia smiles. "I won't." I look over her shoulder, noticing that the trainer is coming back across the room.
"Thanks," I say.
"Glad to see someone else is playing the long game," she says.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"Oh, come on," she says. "This little anti-career alliance will be over day two."
The trainer comes in, hands me the ball of ice, and I apply it to my forehead. Instantly, the coolness overwhelms me, rattling my teeth.
"Why do you say that?"
"Too many mouths," she says. "Not enough ears."
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Everyone wants to lead," she says. "Watch."
"But Yorik," I say. Right now, it seems he's doing the majority of the leading and speaking.
"Yorik isn't the only one calling the shots," Tassia says. "He's just the loudest in the room." She turns her head. "There's also District Seven. Proteus talks to Ten. A lot." I hadn't really thought that a big deal, but I guess it could mean something, if it came down to us and Ten and Seven. They'd more likely align, taking Denim and me out. "And you're naive if you think Sesame is going to take orders from a Career."
I'm not naive. I lost that the moment I spent more time in the streets than I did at home. I lost that when I witnessed a kid get beaten near death by peacekeepers for only stealing two apples. I lost my innocence when I learned that bloodshed brought coin and gifts and some sense of comfortability. I just guess I didn't think the Games were like the streets. For some reason, I thought this was it. No inner gears working behind the aisle ways. But as I'm watching our little alliance, taking in what Tassia is saying, I notice how Proteus looks around for Ten. I notice how Sesame crosses his arms every time Yorik moves close to him. I notice how Ratni is still watching me, waiting.
Every one here has a game inside of these Games. And at any point, just like on the streets, I can become someone's pawn, someone's casualty just because . . .
I need to remember that. I need to make sure I'm aware that everyone is an enemy here.
Tassia walks away, and I make a note of how much we're all probably underestimating this girl because of her statue and average appearance. Easily, she seems to have us all pegged. And if there's something I've learned from fighting is that once you get your opponent pegged, it's all the more easier to take them down.
That remembered, I have to make sure, no one, especially Tassia has me pegged.
Female Tribute from District Ten, Alys Tarwyck
"Alys." I look up at Blair. He's no longer fidgeting with the poisonous bright green berries. I have no idea why anyone would risk eating one of those. They just look sinister to me. But the trainer says someone, a tribute from District 8, ate one a few years ago and died.
"Yeah," I say.
"I think they're meeting without us."
I turn around, taking in the sight of our allies, who are all clustering around without us. It reminds me of District Ten. Specifically, of the board and who met up without me, behind closed doors, thinking they could keep things secret. I'd smiled when I saw them the next day. I'd laughed at one of them when they told a joke about a three tit cow. But I'd known they were trying to persuade the peacekeepers to take my parent's company from me. My parents, their graves still fresh, would have rolled over if they'd seen what their "friends" were trying to do to their daughter. And to think, they thought my aunt, Nadine, would be the one who would try such a move. . .
I'd learned quickly then that no one was to be trusted with the books of the company. Except myself. Which was hard because I hadn't much knowledge of how to run a butchery, much less keep up with the house. But somehow, I did it, along side my grandmother and cousin, Rosalie. Somehow, with their help I survived. I kept the coin flowing. I didn't lose the company. I learned. I grew. I maintained. Even expanded. And I made friends with the peacekeepers the board thought would be the ones to bring me down.
I smile, softly, telling myself I'll do the same here. If I can survive losing my entire family, I can survive losing alliance members, I can survive the Hunger Games. There's so much more than strength and numbers in this game, anyhow. It's mental, too.
"They probably signaled for us," I say, lying. In business, you lie to keep people happy, unworried, unafraid. My father taught me that. He said lying sometimes was the blanket used to keep people asleep at night. I apply that same motto with Blair. I'm lying to save him. I'm lying to keep him brave. At least that's what I tell myself as I walk over to the rest of the group.
"Alys. Blair," Yorik says, smiling. I know his smile, though. The political type. But I smile back, even though I want to laugh.
"Sorry, we got caught up with the bugs." I wrinkle my nose, like they'd expect a girl to. And I don't know how, but I know that Proteus eyes are on me. When I turn, I see him. He smiles and the part of me that died when my parents did feels bad. Says I'm cruel for twirling my hair and looking down, as if blushing. But like I did to keep the company, I tell her to shut up. And she does.
My grandmother would tell me to keep listening to that girl, though. She'd tell me not to lose my compassion and gentleness and morality. It's why she's my mentor. But even she, can't keep that girl around, not when so much of life has ruined her.
"It's cool," says Proteus.
"We were just talking Bloodbath," says Yorik. "The guys." He gestures to Denim, Sesame, and Proteus. "Think it might be best for us to go in, rush the Careers first."
"I don't think that's smart," says Rahni. "Besides, who said we needed you to protect us?"
I laugh, which causes Rahni and Zenna to look over at me. I expect Zenna to speak up next.
"We just thought the bigger of us would go in first," says Yorik. "Like protectors."
Or pawns, I think,
It wouldn't be dumb to send in the boys first. I mean, they are the competition and unlike Rahni, I'm not going to lie, I probably couldn't take any of them down in hand to hand combat. I mean, besides Blair, Tassia, and Zenna, I'm the smallest one here.
"Yeah, no," says Rahni. "We're all capable. No need for protectors."
"Got it," says Yorik.
Seems we have trouble in the castle.
"I agree," says Zenna. "Let's form a more strategic plan."
"Awesome," says Sesame. "I didn't want to play Hero anyway."
Tassia, his district partner, laughs. Rahni rolls her eyes.
"Anyone have suggestions?" Yorik says.
"I think we should take the Cornucopia," says Denim. "But," he pauses. "Be smart about it."
"What do you have in mind?" asks Yorik.
"We target Careers only," says Denim. "Maybe even spread the word to other tributes. Tell them we aren't going to kill them. Just the Careers."
"You think they'll believe us?" Rahni asks.
"I'd believe you," says Blair.
"I would, too," I say. "Plus, if we tell them we're only targeting the Careers at the bloodbath, maybe they'd help."
"Then what?" asks Sesame. "What do we do when One and Two are dead?"
There's silence. Blair shuffles next to me, scooting closer. It's obvious what we do. We cannibalize the group. My heart pounds a little at that thought, of killing those around me, who I've heard laugh, smile, talk some about their home lives. But then I tell myself there's no kindness here. Not when every one has a knife.
Sesame laughs after no one speaks. "And I thought we'd sit around, singing, holding hands."
Yorik just looks at him, unamused. "Once One and Two are dead, we'll split."
I'm certain that no one will split. The killing will happen right there, right then. I feel Blair's hand brush mine, so I look down. It's strange, but I feel like I'm my grandmother in this relationship. Like, I'm his mentor or something, because he's always there, always watching, much like how I did those first few months after my parents died. My grandmother was my anchor then, not hope.
"So," Rahni says. She looks over at Denim. "Should we start your plan? Tell the other tributes we aren't targeting them at the bloodbath. Just the Careers."
"I think we should vote," says Tassia.
"I agree," says Proteus. "Votes make it fair."
"Okay," Rahni says. "Vote by show of hands. Yes, to Denim's plan."
District 8 raise their hands first, followed by Rahni. Proteus looks over to Rahni, briefly, before shooting up his own. I look over to Blair, who has his hand raised. When I look back to Proteus, he smiles, and I make the note then that I'm going to have to stay on Seven's good side. No division. He could keep me alive longer.
So, I raise my hand.
Rahni counts. One, two, three, four, five, six. "That's majority," she says. District 9 and Yorik are the only ones who didn't raise their hands.
No one says anything, but deep down, I know this is the first crack among us.
Female from District Five, Fransiska Lunde
Veridian shrugs at me, before walking out of the snare station. He gives up too easily, I think. I roll my eyes, wanting to say something belittling, like I've seen rats show more cognitive skills than he's giving in this station. But I don't. I'm working on my attitude—well, I say working, more like molding. I'm molding it right now to be a better fit for this relationship we're establishing.
The trainer grins at me when I look back up—the pretentious imbecile. I turn back to the wire, focusing. The thread needs to form a loop. Simple. I move it around in my fingers, weaving, threading, following the movements of the trainer.
And when I form the snare exactly like he did, I'm impressed. It'll catch a rabbit, or who knows, maybe a tribute.
"Fast learner," says the trainer.
I smirk. "Correction. The fastest."
A laugh comes from behind me. I turn around to see the boy from District Nine, grinning ear to ear. I'm tempted to snarl, but since I'm all bark at the moment and limited bite, I decide to be polite.
"Is something funny?" I ask.
"I'm the fastest," he repeats, shaking his head. "Wow. And I thought I had an ego."
"Confidence isn't a crime," I say.
"Maybe not in District Five," he says. He walks over to the station, picks up my snare and holds it. "District Nine's a different story."
"You were punished for having confidence?" I ask, intrigued. Rarely, do we get intel about the lives of people in other districts. For example, I only know the function of each of the twelve and that's really that. Say, Coal, Fish, Technology, Agriculture. No specifics.
"I was punished for everything," he says. He puts down the snare, frowning. "Especially for these looks." He smirks. "Their killer, right?"
I roll my eyes. "Are you attempting to flirt with me?" I give him a look I might give a child. A really stupid one. "Really? I could kill you."
"Well, I was," he says. "Now, I'm sort of scared."
"Good." I smirk. He should be scared. The idiot.
"Well," says Sesame. "I think I'm going to go."
"Best thing I've heard all day," I say. I look back at the snare, making sure he doesn't get the satisfaction of me watching him strut away. It's only when I look back up do I see him talking to the boy from District 7, the one who was barely clothed and wrestling. He's definitely the largest in the room. Something, probably fear, climbs up my throat and I have the urge to swallow. My tongue feels dry, like the top of an old school desk. But I can't swallow, can't seem to force the fear down. I feel nervous, watching them, weighing their odds against my own. Sure, I'm confident. But I'm also smaller and that's a weakness, not a strength in combat, in battling those two titans out in the Cornucopia. It makes me consider not going in for the supplies right off the gate. I could circle back, go in after the Careers have taken out all the early kills.
"Hey." I look back up from the snare. How long have I been staring at my hands? It's the guy from District 7. Naked boy.
"Yeah," I say.
"Sorry, about Sesame," he says. "He was supposed to relay a message."
"What was that?" I ask. "That he has abs. No, wait. That his biceps are huge."
Seven shakes his head. "That we're only targeting Careers on the first day."
Interesting. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to contain the smile. This may be what I need.
"Who are we?" I ask. I try to widen my eyes, all doe like. Of course, I know who he's referring, too. The boy from Four, plus the pairs from 7, 8, 9, and 10. They've made it pretty obvious their aligned. Eating together. Laughing loudly. It's strange seeing them behave more like Careers than the Careers themselves, who haven't really worked as a group from what I've observed.
He smiles. "Don't worry about it." He goes to turn away, thinking he has the upper hand.
It dawns on me for a second, of what I could do. I could tell the Careers what they're planning. The little alliance of misfits. Then the Careers and the Misfits could fight it out, taking each other down. It might hurt my odds, though, getting involved. Besides, I'm sure they'd want to kill me if I came out like a rat. There's usually a huge amount of hate for anyone who works with the Careers. But isn't this my game to play? And you don't become queen by playing like a pawn?
"What was that about?" I look up to Veridian standing there.
"They're having a birthday party," I say. My snare seems good enough. It could easily entangle up a tribute. Maybe I should plant some around the Cornucopia and see what I can catch, although who knows if they'll even have snares.
"You're ridiculous," he says. He stares at me. "We're supposed to be allies."
"We are allies," I say. "But we're also competition." He squints at me. "Sorry, but you're a fool if you think I'm telling you everything."
"And you're a fool if you think I'm heading into an alliance with someone I can't trust," he spits. "This is over. Good luck."
"I don't need luck," I spit back. Veridian doesn't turn back. He just keeps walking, storming away. With each step, I feel a little less confident about my decision not to tell him. Was it really worth it? In losing my only ally? I watch as Veridian gets approached by the girl from District Seven. I know she's telling him the same thing the boy from her district told me. After she's left, Veridian looks back at me, smirks, then nods his head, tipping me farewell.
Again, that thing—fear—climbs up my throat. I look around the room, taking in the misfit alliance, the girl from District One decapitating a dummy with an axe, the pair from Six working on knife throwing, and realize I am the only one alone.
It shouldn't bother me. Not really. Since I'm used to being alone. But then I think that's more loneliness than being alone that I felt, because I was never really alone. There were people around. They just didn't know me. Didn't see me, despite staring right into my eyes. But here, standing in this room, with the snare in my hand, I am not just lonely. I am alone.
I have no one. Absolutely no one, I realize.
And for the first time since I've been reaped, I feel worried. I feel afraid. I feel rather small and stupid.
Male Tribute from District One, Chime Chaminade
"What are they doing?" asks Rowena. I'm surprised she's been watching, been doing something other than laughing and giggling away with Nascha.
We watch as the little "Anti-Career" alliance walks around the room, stopping and talking with other tributes, who after the conversation turn and look to us—the Careers. My eyes stare in on Yorik, the bastard, as he walks away from the tremblings toads from District 3.
"Something is off," says Nascha.
"You don't say," I say. She glares at me. "Whatever gave you that idea? The fish?" District 4 will be the downfall of us. With Yorik damning us all to hell with his alliance and Nascha being, well, extremely useless. Her and Rowena, I thought, would be some sort of backbone for this alliance. But they've taken to being the head and the mouth.
"What should we do?" asks Nile. He looks at Nascha, our leader.
"Cut the head of the snake," she says. And without so much of another word, she starts out towards Yorik.
"Oh, this is going to be good." Claps Avanelle. I watch as she practically skips after Nascha. I know I should be above it all—the District 4 drama specifically—but I allow myself to walk over. Nile and Rowena follow—the little zombies.
Nascha steps up to Yorik, who has the nerve to bring his little army to our line. I skim them. Taking in the kid. The girl with the round face and high cheek bones. The pair from District 7 who admittingly could be trouble. Nine doesn't make me feel better. It only makes me angry that they have so many guys who are larger than me. Plus, their girls look strong. Stronger than Avanelle, the idiot who was rejected from the Academy, yet still volunteered just to piss on our repute.
God, we're screwed. No, they're screwed. I'll have to rely on sponsors. Which I don't mind. Money moves mountains so I've learned.
"Nascha," says Yorik. He glances over at me. "Chime." I have to take a deep breath. I can't afford to lash out at him again, not with the warning I got from the Peacekeeper. But if only I could just pummel his face in. For screwing us over. For outwitting us and drafting all the competition to be in his alliance. For the little remarks he makes when he thinks no one is listening. It's like he knows our buttons. Knows just where to heat the pot to get it to boil.
"Let's be civil," says Nascha. He nods. Of course, she'd say something like that. "What's with the whispering?"
"What whispering?" asks the girl from District Seven.
"No one was talking to you." Spits Avanelle.
"Get your dog," says Sesame.
Avanelle steps up and Rowena has the sense to grab her.
"Who you calling dog, Sesame Street?"
"Ouch," Sesame frowns. He glances down at her. "Where's the axe? Too heavy?"
"Yorik," Nascha says.
"Sesame," Yorik says.
"Sesame, what?" Sesame says.
"Relax," Denim says.
"You, relax," Sesame says.
"You're going to regret this," says Avanelle.
"Regret what?" Sesame says. His district partner grabs him, pulling him back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Peacekeepers moving in. Party over. Not surprised given Avanelle sure has a way of bringing out the worst in everyone.
"Calling me a dog," she says.
"Oh, am I?" Sesame taunts.
"Yes," she says. Then she steps closer. "I'm going to cut out your tongue." She moves even closer. "Then, you'll wish you kept your mouth shut." She turns and walks away. Rowena follows, acting like some parent or guardian, which isn't a bad idea since Avanelle is a lose cannon.
"Yorik, you don't want to do this," says Nascha.
"But I'm already doing it," he says. He looks at Nile and I and has the audacity to seem shy, like he's some naive brat. I glare back, all while picturing send a knife through his gut.
Then, all of a sudden, Yorik is looking back up. The shyness transforms to pure strength. He straightens. "Mark my words," he says. "None of you are coming home this year."
"We'll see about that," Nascha says without missing a beat. Cooly, she turns away, but I notice the sweat on her neck forming slightly. Nile turns away, too, following her. Like, I said. He and Rowena seem to function like zombies, unable to really say anything or do anything on their own. It all seems mechanic with District 2.
"Mush, mush," Yorik says, smiling.
District 9 laughs at the remark, while the rest of them have the sense to be silent.
Come the arena, I'm killing him, I decide. I don't care what it does for the future of the alliance with One and Four. He's dead. First on my list to get a knife to the gut. Then it's District 9, Sesame Street.
Somehow, I manage to walk away. I do my best to catch up with Nascha and Nile, who have settled over near the archery station.
"I'm worried." I hear Nascha whisper to Nile.
"Don't be," Nile says.
Nascha turns to him, serious. "We might be the hunted this year." She looks back at me. "There's nine to our five."
"But we're us," I say. I pick up my pace, drowning all uncertainty and fear or frustration with the Chaminade confidence. "We're trained. Don't forget that."
"They're desperate," says Nascha. She glares at me. "You have no idea what that does to someone."
I squint at her. "Don't assume you know me, Fish Bait."
"Silver spoon," she says. She steps forward. We're almost nose to nose. "Money. Arrogance. Misogyny." She raises an eyebrow.
"I like women," I say.
"Of course, you do," she says. "But do you respect them."
"I do when they follow the rules," I say. I glance over at Avanelle. "If this is about her-"
"It's not." Nascha says. "It's about you. How you walk around. How you look at us. Girls, specifically."
I smirk. "I look at all of you like that." She really thinks she has the power. I concentrate on not rolling my eyes, on playing the diplomatic part that Blest insist we play, instead of losing my temper, instead of challenging her for leadership. "You're nothing special." Ugh, I can't help myself. It slips before my mind get reel it in.
"Let's take a walk," Nile suggests. I think he's talking to me, but he looks at Nascha and she nods.
They leave me to myself. I should be annoyed, but I've dealt with loneliness so long it's no longer abnormal to me. Nothing to be annoyed at.
"They're planning to kill you all," says a voice behind me.
I turn around to see the girl from District Five standing there. She takes a step back, like a snake coiling up, distancing itself before it strikes.
Seems I'm the prey then. I think of the small street rat I saw once in the town square. It was nibbling on bread or cookie crumbs. I was a kid then, watching it eat, and I remember having the thought of asking my parents if I could have it. If I keep keep a pet rat in my room. I even thought of a name for it. Mr. Cheese Chaminaide.
But I never said anything. Chaminaides don't have rats. That's for the impoverished.
"They approached you?" I ask, coming back to my senses.
"Of course," she says.
"And," I say. "Are you going to stick a knife in my back?"
"Probably," she says. "But not on the bloodbath. Which is when they plan to do it."
Yorik and his little alliance seriously think they can kill us. And at the bloodbath. Really? District 4 really has developed balls this year. Interesting.
"What do you want?" I ask. Because I know people like her. They don't give information for free. They don't do favors. Every smile. Every hint. Every word has a price. A lesson I learned young.
"I want in the pack," she says.
I laugh. "Seriously?"
"Yes," she says. "I want in."
"Why?"
"Because the odds aren't in my favor working alone anymore."
"Chime." I turn around to find Avanelle. "It's time. Training is over."
Avanelle eyes the girl from District 5.
"Your name?" I ask.
"Fransiska." Hmm, I think. Not what I expected. Part of me wants to stick with calling her Five. I give her a glance over. She seems strong enough. Perhaps I can turn a profit with her. Use her to advance myself in these Games. For some inner alliance like Blest did with that boy, Talcott.
"Well, welcome to the pack," I say, deciding I will use her. I'll do some little inner alliance even if it isn't original.
"Excuse me," Avanelle says. I turn to her. "You don't have that authority."
"I don't need that authority," I say. I turn back to Fransiska. "See you tomorrow, teammate."
Then I'm turning away, leaving both women in my wake.
Male Tribute from District Four, Yorik Questor
I step out of the elevator, leaving behind Rahni and Proteus. In the hallway stands Yor, my Pop Pop, as mother referred to him when she was in a blue haze. She called it that when I was a child. "I'm just in a blue haze, Yorkie," she'd say to me, smiling. Then she'd dance, spinning around singing, only to crash into what I thought were blankets. When I turned twelve, I found out they were just shirts. Oversized shirts from all her many guests. Seemed they didn't always dress before they left.
"We need to talk," Yor says.
"Not now, Yor," I say. I refuse to call him anything but his name. Since it isn't like he's been a grandfather to me anyhow.
"Yes, now," he says sternly. But I keep walking past him, taking the hallway that leads into the dining room. Cresla Wang and Nascha are the only ones there. Both sit patiently waiting for the course to begin.
"So we're on the same page?" asks Cresla. She gestures for me to sit. "Good. Glad to see you've come around."
I have a seat. Where's our escort? I wonder briefly. Usually she's here by now with her provocative wear and extensive amount of curls. People used to say that my mother had long hair like that. It was before the blue haze, though. And with the vomiting, I think she got tired of holding it. Tired of it being in the way. So she's bald. Head shaved. When I was young, I wanted to shave my hair, too. Even asked if I could, but mom said she liked my hair.
"But your hair is beautiful, Yorkie," she said.
"Your hair was beautiful," I'd said.
"My hair wasn't me," she said. And that was the end of the conversation. I left the curls for her.
"Yorik," my grandfather's voice enters the room.
"I'm not interested in what you have to say," I say.
"So, we're not on the same page," says Cresla. "What a surprise."
"Yorik." I look at Yor. His eyes are yellowish, strained. Something in me says not to push him, not to tease his heart into collapsing again. But then a memory, so sharp, so bright, comes back to me. Of eating only flour and water for days at time. Of getting food from neighbors or strange men, only to throw it up because my stomach couldn't handle anything thick, anything besides white, pasty grain with a threading of seaweed.
"Yorik," Cresla cuts him off. "We're done with the Games."
"Games?" I ask.
"You and the Outliers," she says. "Your little alliance."
"You mean large," I say.
"I mean it isn't wise making us your enemy," she says.
"Who is us?" I ask.
"District Four," she says. She cocks her head. "You really think we'll accept you back." She laughs. "Really? A bastard son that led outliers to slaughter his own?" She looks over at Nascha as if to say she's a part of me. As if there should be some district loyalty.
"I don't really care for acceptance," I say. I look over to Nascha. "She knows where we stand."
"This doesn't have to end like this," says Nascha. She looks at me. The self control is inspiring. It wasn't a fluke that she managed to take the leadership spot this year in the Career Alliance. "One of us should come home."
"One of us will," I say. I stand up from the table. I'll eat in my room tonight, I decide. "But it wont' be on the backs of the Careers."
"You really think you can win," says Cresla. "With the outliers." She laughs again. "Oh, this is sad."
"Yorik." I turn to look at my grandfather, my mentor, my Pop Pop. "Please, listen."
"To what?" I say, aggravated. I notice the sweat forming above my lip. I feel the dryness on my tongue and want to reach for the glass of water in front of me. "You. Her." I look at Cresla. "You don't care about me."
"That's not true. You're my grandson."
"No," I say. "I'm not."
"My daughter," he begins.
"Died," I say. I think of my mother. Bald. Lost in a blue haze. Mumbling and squeezing my cheeks during her goodbyes.
"Let him go," Cresla says. "His grave is dug."
I look at her. She glares back at me. Then I turn away, walking down the hallway, passing Avoxes carrying trays of food. I tell them in my passing to bring food to my room.
Inside my room, I strip off my clothes and head straight for the shower. There, I allow myself to cry, allow the water to mix with the tears so that my body doesn't really know the difference. Only there do I cry. Only underneath all the water does my body allow itself to break, to weep, to go into my childhood and the loneliness that came with it. In the parenting. In the pain. In the hate I have for the Questor name. In the isolation I feel from District Four.
I think about how no one volunteered for me. All because of my surname. I think about how I've never trained for the Games. Never had the time to do anything but care for my mother. A part of me feels relieved now, not having to check her pulse every night, waiting for the day when I don't feel it. And I cry more at that thought, because deep down I'm selfish for thanking the Games from taking me away from a different kind of hell. A blue haze kind of hell.
There is a light knocking at the door before it opens. I don't bother with covering myself up. I don't bother with leaving the shower, either. If it's an Avox, they'll come and go, placing the tray on my bed before exiting the room. But then the door does not close and I hear the footsteps of tiles on the floor.
"Yorik," I look up. In front of me is Shelly, a recent victor. He smiles at me. Its similar to kind of smile the baker gave when my mother and I went into his shop. He never gave us anything free but that smile. As if he thought it was enough.
Pity is never enough. Pity doesn't fill the pit in your stomach.
I pull my legs to my stomach, covering myself up. "Yes."
"Your grandfather," he says. "He's had another heart attack."
"And," I say. Tears come but I know the shower water hides them. I look down, away from Shelly. The water swirls down the drain, slowly, and I feel freezing despite the heat from the water. I feel like I'm frozen. Stuck. Watching him fall out of his seat again. I feel colder. No, closed off. Removed. As if his death could be the needle that finally punctures my skin, causing me to bleed. To prevent that I tell myself I am stone. I tell myself that I am bastard. I tell myself that I am anger and hate and all things alone.
I tell myself that I am not family. That I am Yorik only.
"He's dead," Shelly says. "I'm sorry, Yorik."
But it doesn't work this time. I feel the prick, the pain.
Male Tribute from District Three, Kian Fawkes
Allegra and I sit on the couch. An old hunger games plays in the background. Allegra had the idea that we should watch the Games of our competition's mentors, and I'd agreed, not wanting to rock the boat, although I would have been fine with the silence. Truthfully, I think I would have been okay with her going to bed.
"Kian, look," Allegra says. "The bugs."
Indigo bugs fly through the air, fluttering and soaring after two tributes, a boy and girl. From their built and muscle density, I know they're the two remaining tributes from District 2, Medusa and Maverick.
"They're gaining on them!" she says. The camera zooms in on the boy, who is falling behind the girl. The insects gain speed. There's a cut to their stingers. Than it's back to the boy, where the insects are on him, injecting him with their poison. He jerks. Blue rashes cover his skin, matching his icy eyes. Then he screams and I know I'll dream of that noise tonight. But the girl doesn't stop. Doesn't scream back. She keeps moving, keeps running, and I wonder if that's the moment she knew she would be victor. When someone she knew shouted her named, begged her to save him, and she saved only herself.
"Medusa!" the boy shouts one last time before one of the insects flies down his throat.
After the canon, the camera's cut to the remaining tributes. The boy from District 9 sharpening his spear. The girl from District 3 wrapping up a wound. There's only three of them left, and it doesn't take long for the boy to kill the girl from Three, only for him to die in the showdown against Medusa.
"I hope Yorik kills them," Allegra says. I don't say anything in return, but I agree. I don't want a Career to go home this year. Not after one returned last year. Not after they almost always win the Games.
"What do you think?" Allegra asks.
"About what?" I ask. I think back to the bugs I looked over on the table. I think about the ants in last years games. I think about the insects on the screen. I don't know why I think so much about insects in this moment verses all the emotions swarming around in my head. There's fear and nervousness. There's curiosity as to what trials I'll have to face in the upcoming Games. And then there's dread. Dread for it all as it approaches so quickly.
"Their plan?" Allegra asks. "We never discussed it."
"Should we?" I ask. I don't really know what to say about their plan. I'm more focused about getting in and out of the bloodbath before the two largest alliances start killing each other off.
"I think so," she says.
"Okay," I say. "I think we should avoid them all."
"Agreed," she says. "So in and out."
"In and out," I say.
Allegra stands up, moves over to the television, crouches. "Should we watch another?" She pulls out a Tape. "Here's Yor Questor and Cresla Wang, District Four."
"Do you think they'll send insects after us?" I ask. It's a random question, but I'm thinking about the insect section still and the plant section. Why do so many tributes not bother with them? Yet, in almost every game I've noticed there's been a common pattern of plants and insects either functioning as a weapon to kill the tributes.
"I don't know," Allegra says. "Honest, I've been more focused on the tributes. Not the gamemakers."
"I think we should focus on both," I say. It's strange to be so forward. It's strange to toss around my ideas to someone other than my own mind. Back home, there was Ace, too, who called us friends. He called me his Best Friend, actually. But I wouldn't say he was my best friend. Is it weird to call myself my own best friend? I wonder. Because I'd rather think to myself than speak to Ace. He was only someone I found similarities with anyhow. Both our parents are divorced. He hated them, too, somewhat. We both felt alone. Isolated in the District. I think that might have brought us together. But the difference was where he hated the isolated, I adapted to it. Preferring to be alone. To tinker with holograms or voice manipulators. I'd like to put a voice box on one of the stray animals lingering around. My parents probably wouldn't even notice if I brought in a cat or dog. They'd notice if it started talking, of course. If I somehow programmed it where when it barked a human's voice recording played. It wouldn't be the dog speaking, but more so just the dog's bark manipulated into something it hard. Me talking. My mother and father shouting. Ace spitting out profanities.
"Kian." Allegra is in front of me, waving. "Hello."
"Yes," I say, confused.
"There you are," she says. She smiles. "You were in some sort of haze."
"Just thinking," I say.
"Oh," she says. Allegra likes to talk, I realize. And deep down, I think she wishes I would talk more, but that's not me. So, to deal with the silence she's taken to some sort of parent or protector over me, I think. With how she was there with District 5 and District 12. How she school than with her tongue. I smirk at the way she spoke to Veridian. It was impressive.
"About home?" Allegra asks.
"Yes," I say.
"Do you miss it?" she asks.
"I miss being comfortable," I say.
"I miss my parents," she says. "And my friends. And toasted bread." She laughs. "I know that's weird. But my mom made it so crunchy. And I miss that. That crunch."
"I miss my bed," I say.
She laughs. "Your bed? That's it?"
"And my pillow," I say. I haven't slept as soundly here as I did at home surprisingly.
"Do you miss your parents?" she asks.
"Sometimes," I say. I think I miss their presence, but not the fighting and arguing and pain that came with their constant hostility. "But I like the quiet here."
"Was home not quiet?" she asks.
I laugh this time. "No, not at all."
"Too much talking?" she asks, smirking.
Too much shouting I want to say, but I don't necessarily know if I'm ready to relay that information to Allegra. We're only allies after all, even if I do like her better than Ace, the one person I confided in about my parent's divorce and my on and off encounters with darkness and heaviness and just loneliness. Ace never really said anything comforting. Just "That sucks. Want a lit?" So maybe that's why I told him what I did. He only ever offered a cigar, not reassurance. . .
"Yeah, I guess" I say. Then Allegra slides in video for Cresla Wang before walking slowly back to the couch.
A/N: I'm back. Yeah, I know, I know, I know, I know, I'm the worst. But this story sort of hit the back burner for me because of life, but I'm determined to finish it like I did my first. I know this chapter dealt mostly with the Careers vs Anti-Careers so bear with me.
So these are our last six POVs. All of the tributes have been heard from. I'm going to do something different. Drop in the comments the six tributes you want to hear from most and those six will have POVs. next chapter.
Alliances:
Careers + Fransiska
Allegra and Kian
District 6
Anti-Careers (Yorik, District 7, District 8, District 9, and District 10)
Lucas and Dasenia
McAfee and Jeriah
Veridian