IX: Training, Day Two.

Micah Rossier, 18
District Eight Male

He's happy for everyone finding their place. No, really.

There's no reason not to be.

Watching people find their place all around him, find their allies, find their people, is rewarding in itself. He starts to hear casual conversation and even laughter float about him, like they're at a party and it's about to end. Everyone's just getting in a few more minutes with their friends before their rides show up.

Penny had been with him at the start of the day, but she's moved on with Lisse again, the two girls drifting as if looking for someone else. Whoever it may be, it's not him.

He knows he can offer something, it just depends on whether or not people are looking for it. And people, typically, are not looking for someone like him. They want bigger, bolder—someone who could enter into a one on one fight and actually stand a chance at winning.

He can't help but think back to home, the mess and chaos of it all. When Leighton would put him in a headlock; she was just about as tall as him him and he could rarely struggle free from her grip. Though it would mean dooming her, he almost wished his sister were here with him. Any of his siblings, really, just so he wouldn't be alone.

If no one is going to change that, he has to for himself.

Regardless of how much or little he builds himself up, Micah knows there is someone out there worth helping. Someone who needs that extra little push to be their best selves—he's more than willing to be that person.

First he makes a slow, wide circle around the gymnasium, and then a second when the mental notes he takes about his first go-around aren't thorough enough. Just as he suspected, almost everyone has someone, and a few of the people who are alone just aren't with their allies at the moment. After one day he didn't expect people to be so decisive. He knows he isn't.

Apparently he doesn't know much else.

What Micah knows, clear as day, is that an ally will help him in the long run regardless of who they are. Any amount of support is meaningful to him.

For just a little bit of weight to be taken off his own shoulders, Micah will do anything.

It's why he makes the decision that he does. There are plenty of people to approach. She, though, was alone all of yesterday, alone by choice but watching everybody curiously, like she felt as if she didn't belong.

She's still alone now, save for the trainer at her side that is carefully going through the contents of a first-aid kit with her, explaining the more complicated elements.

"Oksana, right?" he asks. Her head shoots up lightning fast. "Mind if I sit?"

What will he do if she says no? Micah thinks he was considerate enough, but who knows what Oksana thinks. That is her name. He's sure of it.

"Right," she says quietly. "That's fine."

He slides onto the bench opposite her with a grateful smile. The trainer passes him a similar looking first-aid kit, much more expansive than anything he's laid eyes on before. No wonder explanation is necessary.

"You're Micah, right?" Oksana questions.

"That's me. You're good with names too, I take it?"

She shrugs. "Not really, I mean… I'm not good at much. I just remember the people that look good."

"Good?"

"Nice," she corrects, cheeks flushed. "Sorry."

No harm done, really. At least that's not how he sees it. "I'll take that as a compliment, then." Micah smiles until Oksana looks up once again, so she knows he really means it. "If it helps, I think you're nice too."

"Is that why you came over here?"

"Partly. But, also, I have no idea what any of this is. So what are we doing?"

Luckily, Oksana's been parked at the table long enough that she has some knowledge about basic wrappings and techniques, and most of her hesitation fades away the longer they sit together. She's more than willing to show him every single step—that's a good thing for the future. If one of them were to get injured, the other could help.

If they're together, that is. If he doesn't get left behind or killed first, trapped in some hell that he can't escape…

"Micah?"

"Sorry?" he asks.

"Did I say something wrong?"

As if he even heard her. "No, no, you're fine. Was just… thinking."

She nods. "Me too."

Micah has managed to internalize, but Oksana's gaze turns elsewhere. Across the room, through the thick of things at the sword station, he assumes she's watching her District partner. Alone, still, wielding a long, thin sword that he definitely knows how to use for some strange reason. They both gawk for so long that the Two guy, only feet away from her partner, waves at them.

Micah looks away. "What's his plan, do you know?"

"Not sure. He's got something in mind, some bigger plan, but…"

"But he hasn't told you?" Micah guesses. Oksana isn't pleased by this, he can tell, but she's definitely not the type to pry and frankly, neither is he. If she wanted to tell him more about the situation, she would. Besides, she doesn't need her District partner. It's not an entirely unlikely scenario in a place like this, but Micah doubts he'll come crawling back unless he's desperate.

He's almost in the same situation with Penelope. They like each other, get along well enough, but are they compatible in the long run? Every step she takes stresses him out a great deal; she never stops, never thinks beyond a shadow of a doubt that something could go catastrophically wrong even if it already has.

Maybe Oksana won't win any fights, but that's not what Micah was looking for in the first place.

"Well, if you want someone, you've got them," Micah says suddenly.

Oksana blinks. "Who?"

"Me."

Her expression is downright bewildered; Micah can't tell if she didn't see it coming, or just simply doesn't understand. "Me?" she asks. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"People don't… people don't usually do anything other than leave me alone," she says, something mournful in her voice. "Accidentally or not."

In an oddly visceral way, Micah understands it. He's almost never alone, not properly, with his family or a few choice friends or with customers at one of many jobs, always talking and smiling and listening, never stopping to breathe. But who really reaches out for him? Who has ever stepped up to the plate and taken some of the weight away from him?

No one. The very least he can do is make the feeling distant for Oksana.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, even though it's not his fault. He just has to. "But that's not how I feel. So what do you say?"

Oksana looks up at him, some unknown sadness deep in her eyes. When she smiles, it doesn't quite reach them. Still, it's better than nothing. They can work on that together. All they need is one little bit of light to get through—that'll be more than enough.

Oksana nods. "I think I'd like that very much."

Inara Brea, 16
District Five Female

"Y'know, kid, I'm sure if you smiled more, you'd get more people coming over to you," the trainer says.

Inara scowls. Then smiles. Should she listen?

The man's got a point. A bright smile, however, has never suited her face very well. Demi always said her resting face could kill someone where they stood if she tried hard enough. Inara may very well just have to try that in the Games sometime.

Inara thinks about it some more, and then chooses to ignore his advice. It's probably wrong, anyway.

People usually are.

Besides, it's not like she was alone yesterday. She had some conversations. It doesn't really matter how worthwhile they were. Rex spent the morning following her around and then disappeared after lunch—she had no idea what his end goal was, there, but it kept him from pestering her. Inara felt bad about it for a while until she remembered her own kids—it wasn't going to do her any favors watching someone else's.

She spoke to the girl from Twelve for a while, too, which seemed counterproductive, but Licia could certainly handle her own. Then again, spoke was a generous word. The two of them spent more time in silence working with different types of knives than they did speaking.

Now she was left alone again, and it could be because she wasn't smiling but things weren't often that simple.

Inara, instead, chooses to focus on herself for the day. The others can go about it how they please, but she will be learning things, important things. Ones that may just keep her alive if she pays enough attention. God only knows she's going to need the help with the group she's surrounded by currently.

Being alone is more comforting than she thought it would be. Though there's the distant background noise of weapons clashing and people chattering about, but it's nothing as bad as anything that happened in the home. To be frank, Inara can't remember the last time she was properly alone. In the home you get zero privacy; someone is always in the bathroom with you, whispering in the bed next to you, shoving their way past you to get to breakfast first. Inara is more than used to it, but there's a peace that comes with being alone.

Of all the places to find peace, Inara didn't expect it to be here.

Or, at least, it's peaceful for a while.

She finds herself at the shelter building station; there's not much in the way of a natural environment in Five, and learning it certainly can't bring her any harm. When she arrives there's hardly anyone around—she hears the footsteps behind her clear as day, but she doesn't expect them to get so close.

And she certainly doesn't expect someone to run right into her.

An elbow drives directly into her back and nearly sends her flying onto the table's surface, only her hands stopping her from dragging her face across it and earning a few splinters in response. There's a laugh, an equally loud sigh—Inara whips around to find the laughing one only inches away from her, and the irritated one dragging him back, a scowl on his face.

"Really?" she asks. It comes out harsh, but there's no other way for it to come out.

"Sorry," the older one apologizes. "I've been keeping an eye on him, but—"

"Not a very good one," she interrupts.

"He got away from me."

Right. Likely story. She watches the both of them. Oriol, she thinks, but she can't remember the older one's name. They were together only briefly yesterday, but from what she can recall they've been around each other for the majority of the time today.

Inara can hazard a guess as to why. Oriol is clumsy on his feet, still with an amused grin on his face.

She knows what intoxication looks like when she sees it.

"Is he drunk?" she hisses.

"No," Oriol insists. "Not drunk. I've been drunk before. I can totally handle my liquor."

And why does that sound like such a lie? The older one, from Ten she thinks, sighs again. "He's somewhat coherent. Not as much as me, but he's managing."

Wait, are they both drinking? How the hell?

And, really, what are they doing so efficiently to acquire it that Inara doesn't know about?

"Keep a better eye on your ally," she suggests. "So he doesn't get in anyone else's way."

"We're not allies."

"We're not?" Oriol asks. "Since when? We definitely are."

So it seems. Oriol seems quite convinced of this, even pig-headed. Clearly he still has his wits about him or he wouldn't be so insistent on the matter. She'll give him that much. What an odd pair they make, though. How Ten ended up babysitting him is beyond her, one hand laced tight in the back of Oriol's shirt now that he's pulled him away.

An odd pair indeed.

"I don't suppose you want to help me?" Ten asks.

Inara bites down on her tongue at the immediate no that rises to the front of her mind. What does she get out of saying no? She'll be able to focus on her day, as she said, but she's still alone. But what good does tagging along with two people who aren't even all there do, either? Ten can handle it, clearly, but Oriol? No chance.

"If I help you, it doesn't mean anything," she forces out, taking a deep breath. "Seriously."

"Never said it did. I'm Hosea, by the way."

If she says her name that's it. It's exactly how she went downhill so quick at the orphanage—a few kids crying out her name when they were upset or troubled, looking for comfort, and she had no hope of ever letting them go.

It means nothing, she tells herself. It means nothing at all.

"Fine," she agrees, through almost gritted teeth. "Inara."

"Nice to meet you, Inara," Hosea says. "Or not."

She snorts. Or not. It's definitely that one, she believes. She'll just stick with them for the day and see how it goes—that's all she's required to do, and even that is a stretch. Inara doesn't technically have to do anything at all. But she is, because that's all she knows how to do. She lives and breathes to make sure other people get through the day even when she only wishes for a moment to kick back and relax.

It's just one day. It doesn't have to matter.

But Inara already knows that it does.

Alexa Karamov, 17
District Seven Female

Though she knew deep down inside how things were destined to go, Lex had never wanted to admit it.

Admitting it meant being doomed to it.

Veles was one thing. She had no love spared for him, but they could be beneficial to each other in some ways. So she thought, anyway. He didn't appear to know as much as she would have liked—he seemed jealous of her own skills, if anything, and far too indolent to try and better his own. He just talked, flashed winning smiles, and occasionally made a few tasteful jokes.

At least he knew what he wanted. They shared that goal, if nothing else.

And neither of them, as it would turn out, wanted the Fours.

Problem being the Fours wouldn't leave them alone.

They dispatch to lunch the second day, Lex on Veles' heels though she despises being dwarfed by him, unable to see. Everything she lays on her plate is carefully chosen, almost organized, punctuated by some freakishly green health juice that she knows won't taste very good, but will be worth it in the long run. She has an image to maintain, a body to keep going.

They sit together, in silence. The two of them don't talk much, at least not about anything personal. He's not really worth her time.

Then again, Veles probably thinks the same thing about her. His mistake.

It's all of thirty seconds into her meal when District Four promptly sits down across from them, a downright silly grin on Varrik's face. Despite their matching pointed looks, Devan doesn't even falter under them, staring back just as blankly until she turns to her sandwich and digs in.

Though they seem so obvious, so blatant, the Four's confuse her. They are clearly close, more-so than the rest of the people packed into the room, and seem to have little regard for what people think of them. Yet, as she continues to notice, that isn't the whole truth. Why else do they keep crawling back? Why else do they constantly look to people higher than them the second things go quiet?

"Lovely day, Seven One and Two," Varrik begins. "How has it been?"

Lex knows that she's a pot calling the kettle black here—she doesn't mind them looking. She wouldn't mind having to prove herself to them and show that she's on the superior side of things, that no one can touch her or even hold a candle to what she has. Lex has perfected herself in every single way that a person can, and it must not go unnoticed.

It would be a fun thing to have a little bit of extra competition.

"Well enough," Veles answers. "And you?"

Someone's playing nice today. He's good at that, she's noticed. Veles is pleasant with almost everyone that has spoken to them so far, at least on a surface level. The guy could get along with everyone if he really put some effort into it. She knows that yesterday, given more time, she would have gotten right in the Nine girl's face if she stared any longer when Lex missed the target.

"I'm not dead yet, so I'd say it's going pretty good," Devan says flatly. Varrik snorts. A few people around them look up, surprised by the comment.

Devan, clearly, is unperturbed.

Varrik plucks up a stem of grapes from his plate, waving them back and forth like a pendulum. "Hey, Dev, how many of these do you think I can fit in my mouth? Fifteen? I think I'll try fifteen."

Lex sighs. "You are a hazard to society."

"And a fucking coward," Devan answers, clearly unimpressed. "Do twenty."

They're too much. They are quite literally, too much, and yet she won't just tell them to fuck off. The idea has risen enough times. Instead she just pulls herself further back and watches on like they're an exhibit at the zoo, arms crossed over her chest like that's enough to keep them away.

Varrik starts on the chore of shoving grapes into his mouth. If he makes it to ten, she'll be shocked.

Almost out of nowhere, Veles grabs her around the arm and swivels her off the bench, their heads nearly pressed together. "Don't move," he hisses. "And stop making that face."

"Excuse me?" she asks, yanking her arm out of his grip, only for him to yank her back down just as quick.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

"Stay here," he says under his breath. "Listen. I know neither of us like it, but we can use the two of them."

"As what?"

"As meat shields. Battle fodder. They can be the front line for us and take the brunt of the damage."

No, Lex doesn't like them, not really, but she also doesn't hate them. Objectively there's no reason to. Besides the constant annoyance, like a fly buzzing around her ear, they haven't done anything wrong beyond existing.

Saying that aloud would ruin everything Lex has going for her.

Veles has a point, she knows, but Lex still finds herself bristling at his hand as it returns to her arm, his sudden proximity. He can't just make this decision for the both of them, especially whilst she's sitting right here. Whoever put that stick up his ass really did a good, thorough job of it.

"I've got a plan," Veles murmurs. "We'll have the upper-hand. Don't worry about it."

Oh, no he doesn't.

Lex sits up immediately, back straight as a ruler, shoulders poised. Just like always. "So, Four," she announces. "Are we making this official or not?"

Veles won't like that she's stolen his thunder, but him and his secretive little plan can go to hell for all she cares. He doesn't get all the credit for this. In fact, he doesn't get any of it. Varrik is clearly here for her, and why wouldn't he be? Lex knows that she's worth it; it doesn't matter what little, nagging doubts in the pit of her stomach tell her otherwise.

Suddenly she's not very hungry.

Devan looks up, eyebrows knitted together. "Seriously?" she asks. Varrik's eyes are as wide as saucers, his cheeks dimpled in numerous places from the amount of grapes he's shoved into them while she's been otherwise indisposed.

Lex nods. "Seriously."

And then, almost predictably, Varrik spits all of the grapes out.

It's like they've been shot out of a cannon, at least a dozen of them. They go flying across the table—some bounce into her lap and then onto the floor. Many of them smash into the front of Veles' uniforms. Devan cackles, simultaneously clapping Varrik hard on the back as he chokes and sputters, his eyes watering as he struggles to look up at her. So much disbelief lies in his eyes.

As Lex said—she likes proving people wrong.

A few people up and down the tables are laughing, too. "You are disgusting," the Eleven girl says down the table from them, eyes narrowed almost suspiciously, as if he did it on purpose. For all Lex knows, he did.

But apparently they're together now. So, as much as she loathes it, she's just going to have to get used to it.

Penelope Priestly, 17
District Eight Female

Penny is more comfortable here than she anticipated being.

Chaos is a forte of hers, something she thrives in and belongs in. That's the nature of the circus, at all. There are bright lights and cheering fans, numerous acts and props and things to be thrown together, so many things that can go wrong.

So many things that did go wrong.

The truth of the matter is this: they only have a few more days before things do start going wrong all over again, no ifs ands or buts about it. It's a choice they've all actively made. She may die, yes, but if that happens she's first going to enjoy what little time she has left.

Even picking what station to go to all on her own is enthralling. Lisse is with her, most of the time, but she doesn't try to stop Penny like her father would. Being so busy these past few months, trying to keep her head down and just get through each day, Penny found it difficult to keep friends. Talking to Lisse made her feel whole again, made her feel like she had found someone who cared even if she didn't know any of the intimate details.

Though it's not discussed between them, something is missing. It doesn't mean that either of them aren't good enough for the other, but looking for something more isn't wrong either.

And that's how Marigold comes into the picture.

They don't sit with her at lunch. She's talking to the boy from Five and it seems to be going well enough. Penny knows there's no use interrupting something like that. Sure, Marigold seems like someone she would get along with, and if it works she would love to get to know her, but not everything is meant to be so simple.

Much to her surprise, it's Marigold that trails over to them as soon as lunch is finished, all the way over to the fire-making station. When Penny turns she's alone, a sweet smile on her face, politely asking if they mind having some more company.

Turns out, they don't.

Two hours later, the three of them are still together. Lisse takes off for the obstacle course as soon as Penny is finished with it. The timing is good; Lisse has already talked Marigold's ear off enough.

It's Penny's turn, for once.

"Is that what you expected it to be?" Penny asks, gesturing at the room around them. Marigold waits, humming. In front of them, Lisse heckles the trainer as he berates her on safety while she climbs up the first of the obstacles.

As to be expected.

"I like… feeling like an individual," Marigold states. "That part is nice. That sounds silly, I know, but—"

"It doesn't sound silly at all," she interrupts. "Sorry. But I totally get it. Even though I could be dead in a few days I still feel free. Does that make sense?"

Marigold nods. "I'm glad someone gets it."

For some reason the three of them have ended up together, much of their closeness and kinship almost unspoken. How did three girls like them all end up here, if not because they were looking to escape from something so devastatingly wrong with their lives?

Sure, Lisse might have had her whole life set up, if she would just learn to get along with her parents. Sure, maybe that's much more trivial than Penny's father choosing to gamble her life in front of a circus crowd day in and day out, her mother's blood staining the floor backstage.

Not everyone has to have it so wrong.

"Is everything okay at home?" she asks, looking up. Lisse is stopped in the middle of the course, and judging by the sounds coming from the other side, she's observing two people sword-fighting without care for where she's parked herself.

"Just shy of amazing." Marigold smiles, something almost dreamy to it. "My fiance Roarke, he—"

"Wait, what?" Penny cuts in. "You have a fiance?"

"I know. It's a surprise to most people."

She laughs. "Well, I mean, you're sixteen. Whole life ahead of you and whatnot."

Well, it was ahead of her. Not so much anymore. According to the odds, Marigold will be dead in a few days. She'll have to be if Penny plans on getting out of here and building herself a new life far, far away from her father and the tainted, blood-stained memory of her mother. She doesn't want it to be her that takes Marigold down.

"He's just so good, though," Marigold insists. "Him and his family, they have everything, and my best friend Taryn, she's the mayor's daughter, you see, and I just feel…"

"Feel what?"

"Invisible."

And that's it. A reason for volunteering summed up in one simple word. Penny's head is practically reeling. That's it? How can that be it? She really did have her whole life of her—she was set up to die in her bed at the age of ninety, a loving husband by her side, surrounded by children and grandchildren alike. For all Penny knows, her father would have gotten her killed in the coming months.

Penny shoves everything she wishes to see deep, deep down inside herself. It's like swallowing a sword, really. People only see a little bit of it.

Nobody here has, because the trainers won't let her do it, but that's besides the point.

She just wishes she could speak freely like she wants to without regretting it, without someone looking at her differently for it. She wishes people would have thought this decision through like she did, day in and day out, weighing each and every single catastrophic option.

Instead they just threw their lives away. Their good, well-adjusted lives.

She misses entirely Lisse's descent from the course, but can't escape the arm the younger girl throws around her shoulders. "How'd I do?" she pants. "Awesome, right? I know, I know, you don't have to tell me."

"Awesome," she agrees. Not that she was really watching. Perhaps they really have talked enough for today—it's time for action. "My turn, now."

It's better that way. Penny leaves them both behind, arm in arm, giggling up a storm, as she heads for the course and begins ascending the ladder, rung after rung. It's no different than climbing up to the very top of a tightrope, only now there's no net to catch her. Just the cold, unforgiving floor and the allies who maybe don't get it as much as Penny thought they did.

She just can't understand. Does she even want to?

Penny carefully tucks away the thoughts. There's no time for them now. She's made her bed, and now she's due to lie in it.

But for now, she's going to do what she does best.

Penny is going to put on a show.

I'd say here we have a relatively 'tame' day, so to speak, but I'm really not sure what's considered tame anymore in training for me. At least no one's been punched? That's basically a benchmark for me.

Once again, very static yet massive thank-you to everyone who caught up on reviews or even just continued reviewing in general. Does the fact that I'm nearly at one-hundred reviews after only twelve chapters make me a bit emotional? Absolutely. Pretend you do not see it. But seriously, thank you! Update: today, because I wrote that last night. Yes, I'm crying in the club. Look away.

Until next time.