Zea Poales, 18, D9F:
As of right now, I have no allies. I am sure the other tributes think that although I am one of the oldest people in the room, I must be very weak since I have no team.
That's just because they haven't yet seen what I can do. Earlier this morning I was practicing at the survival stations, but nobody really got hooked by my newfound knowledge of animal behavior and traps. Now I stride over to one of the many racks of weapons near the dummy practice area, in hopes of locating some darts. I find them quickly, but they're thin and small, and I see that they're situated near a few blowguns. These are not the heavy metal darts I was looking for, they barely resemble them, actually. I do try them in conjunction with the blowgun, but it feels all wrong, like I'm learning a new weapon entirely.
Hortensia, the Head Trainer, explained that after we returned from lunch, we'd have fifteen minutes to practice while the equipment for the mandatory exercises is being set up. I mess around with the blowgun, even asking the trainer if there are other kinds of darts, but all I get is an "I don't think so, honey. If they're not in the bin, we don't have any. Darts aren't a very popular weapon." I root around for a little longer, with no success, until I hear a whistle blast, the sound of Hortensia summoning us to the center of the room.
"Welcome back, tributes. It's time for your compulsory training exercises. You will complete two each day after lunch, and your job is to do your very best on them. The way this works is that we will be taking half of you to complete the agility course, and the other half to run a mile on the track. Once you are finished with your initial task, you head over to the other station. Now, we are expecting that whichever you do first, your speed and endurance will be lower in the second task. There is no need to feel embarrassed if you get tired and have to stop midway through. We all have things we are good at and things we are not. The next two days' exercises will be less physically taxing, so it might help to remember that tomorrow will be much easier. The reason for this is so your muscles will have time to recover before the Hunger Games actually commence."
"Why does it matter? I'll win, sore muscles or not." Hortensia glowers fiercely, trying to determine which of the Careers it was that whispered the interruption. Judging by the voice, it had to have been one of the boys, and her gaze shifts between Oscar, Rafe, and Trey. After a few seconds of failing to identify the culprit, she takes a deep breath and continues.
"We want you to be in tip-top physical condition when you enter the arena, and the Gamemakers need to be aware of your limitations so that they can provide you the most optimal experience they possibly can. These tests may also enable you to fix your weaknesses. If you just assume you'll be a fast runner and you're not, you'll know to devote some training time to that. Now I'm going to split you up into your groups. Ladies, I need you to make your way to the running track upstairs. Gentlemen, I need you to instead gather over there near the agility course. I'll be sending trainers by shortly to give you further instructions. Do not touch anything until you are told to do so." She gives a stern look to each of us in turn, before whirling around towards the elevator. "You're dismissed," she calls behind her shoulder. "Now hurry up and get where you're going!"
All of us girls dutifully obey her, climbing up the thin staircase and gathering near the wide track. A trainer who introduces herself as Elza comes over to us and gestures to a large illuminated electronic board. "This sign is blank as of the moment," she says. "While you are running, it will display how much time has passed. Anything over fourteen minutes is considered extremely slow. You want to aim for eight or nine minutes. Since there are twelve of you and only six lanes, there will be two heats. Once the first heat is entirely finished, I will allow the second heat to go. I will each assign you a lane, and you must stay in that lane at all times. You're running one mile, which is two laps around this track. I will write down your time when you finished. Is there anything I've forgotten? Oh, yeah. The Gamemakers are coming in to watch you and take notes." This is a surprise, and surely enough, a platoon of Gamemakers suddenly streams through the door, walking at a sharp clip behind a woman in a ceremonial purple coat.
Hortensia walks alongside her. This must be the Head Gamemaker. She's ordered her subordinates to station themselves at different points along the agility course, but she and Hortensia climb the stairs. I'm near the back of the cluster of tributes, practically on the landing, and she passes so close to me that I'm near enough to smell her citrusy perfume and feel the hem of her dress skim the side of my boot. She stands beside Hortensia, conversing quietly with her, until Hortensia finally speaks. "Tributes in the first heat are as follows: Thys Kurono in Lane One. Elle Callas in Lane Two. Eliza Maddox in Lane Three. Emily Parker in Lane Four. Zea Poales in Lane Five. Amiee Smith in Lane Six. If your name was called, please stand just behind your line here."
I do as she says. I'm not particularly good at running, but I'm not bad at it either. I think I have decent endurance, but it doesn't really matter whether I think I'm fast or not because the clock is putting me to the test and it's indifferent to my feelings. Whatever my skill level is, I'm about to find out. When Hortensia blows the starting whistle, a range of strategies emerge. A couple girls rocket forward right away, then fall back. The other four of us start off slower. I'm betting that I'll get tired as I run, and I'm right. I look over at the hologram, which is now displaying the running time in gold numbers. 2:14, it tells me. I'm already drooping a little, and sweating from the exertion. Have I really only been running for two minutes? I'm obviously not as fit as I hoped. I speed up a little, and fall in the middle of the pack.
Elle, the Eight girl, is leading the charge. Eliza, the only Career of the bunch, is close behind her. Amiee is also ahead of me. There's a longer distance between me and Emily, who's falling behind, and Thys, at nearly six feet tall and burly, is panting hard but still in last place. I round a third corner, and I can feel myself slowing down a little. 3:45, the clock reads. I need to get a move on. I speed up despite the growing stitch in my side, and am rewarded when I complete my first lap at only 4:32.
My fatigue grows, and I pay the price for ignoring the soreness as my gut seems to clamp down on itself. I try to think of happy visions of first place, but when I'm bored and in pain, it's easy to get distracted from my goal. Amiee begins to slip noticeably, losing chunks of ground. It's easy to tell that she's built for speed, not endurance. As my stomach cramps up once more, I mentally kick myself for gorging on desserts at lunch. I ate too much of the rich food, and I knew it too, but I didn't think it would be this bad. I was obviously wrong. I look up at the clock. 7:15, I got lost in my thoughts and inadvertently slowed down. Eliza suddenly musters up some strength and propels herself ahead of Elle, and I tell myself to follow her example.
I notice the Head Gamemaker talking to Hortensia and pointing in my direction, and I try to force my legs to move faster. I'm exhausted, but I tell myself that I only have half a lap left to go, and if I can make it in under ten minutes, I get to have a break. I pass Amiee when she falters again. Elle has slowed way down, and I spot Eliza crossing the finish line. Thirty more seconds pass, and Elle finishes too. I'm the frontrunner of those of us left on the track, and I run forty paces before daring to look at the clock again. 9:27. There's no chance of getting a truly good time now, but I still can make it in my target. Willing myself onward, it seems so easy to stop and walk off the track right now, but I've gone this far and I'm not going to throw away my shot. 9:44. I can't squander my remaining time, so even though my side twists painfully everytime I launch myself forward another step, I half-dash, half stumble forward, making it just under the wire at 9:56.
My momentum carries me farther than I thought it would and I nearly smack into the guardrail near the stairs, but a set of hands catches me, and suddenly I'm staring up at the pale, scowling face of the District Three girl. "Thanks," I gasp, breath still mostly gone due to the running.
"Are you alright? I think you'd better sit down." I try to catch Hortensia's eye, and she nods. Apparently I'm free to go, so I let the girl guide me carefully over to a bench that's pushed up near a wall, gratefully slumping against it. "Hi," she says. "I'm Pola. You're Zea, right? District Nine?"
"I am. Whoa, that mile was a lot harder than I was anticipating. My energy ran out faster than I thought it would!"
"Noted. I'll keep that in mind for when my heat goes." She's quiet for a moment, and I begin to realize why her mannerisms might be described as robotic. A couple of the outer district kids were gossiping about her earlier, that she's too quiet and stupid to be of a real threat, but that's obviously not true. Even just by talking to her for a few seconds, it's easy to tell by her expression that Pola has a keen mind for observation. Just because she doesn't blurt out her thoughts every two seconds doesn't mean she's dumb. In fact, I'd be willing to bet almost anything that she's the cleverest person in the room. The question is, am I willing to bet my life on it? That's still under consideration. "So," she says, "I've made an ally. Have you?"
"Not yet. Who's yours?"
"My district partner, Soren. He doesn't have the best reputation, and I already know he'll contribute absolutely nothing of use, but I couldn't just leave him to die." I could. I don't want to ally with a deadweight, but it occurs to me that having an expendable person around to sacrifice to the Careers or mutts or who'll snatch up the first share of food and stuff it in his mouth, unknowingly being the test of whether those were the right berries after all? I'd happily make use of him as a meat shield.
I'm not the sneaky type, I operate strictly in double crosses, unscrupulous bribery, and intimidation tactics. I don't do a whole lot of spying and thieving, but not for the first time, I'm thankful for my size. Being skinny and below five feet might result in some occasional mocking, but it's an excellent way to deceive people into thinking that I'm less capable than I actually am. I prefer blatant brutality whenever possible, and my new plans for Soren fit perfectly within my scope of knowledge, and allying with him and Pola sounds like a great choice for me. "Pola, I think I should go downstairs now, and you'll be up in a few minutes. Do you want to talk later?"
"Sure." I head to the ground floor, legs finally steady, and wait by the agility course. Most of the boys have already gone and are now drifting upstairs, Soren included. I wonder what Pola will tell him about me, but I can worry about that later. I shift my attention towards the actual path it takes. The most difficult section appears to involve several rubber-coated sandbags that are operated on a timer, swinging across a long beam, so that us tributes might get swept off of it. No instructions are being provided, so I ask Radley to explain the rules to me. Even if he's allied with Jenna, I think I can trust him to be honest with me.
He informs me cheerfully that all we need to do is try to make it to the finish line without being knocked off course. We're allowed to take as long as we want, which I'm definitely happy about. I also learn that he hasn't yet gone. All of the boys I see fail in this, although a select few make it quite far, Radley included. He's a lot more flexible than I expected for being so tall and muscular. I see one of the sandbags catch him across the chest, and he's whacked off the beam into the red zone.
I'm the first girl in line, so it's my turn once the last boy finishes. The trainer reiterates what Radley just described, and I'm instantly faced with the seriousness of what's before me. Now that I'm actually on it, the course looks much more daunting than it did when I was on the sidelines. I successfully jump from platform to platform, swing on a rope, and crawl through a tube before stopping in my tracks. The next segment includes two thin parallel boards for me to run on. They're each suspended by a set of chains, and there's nothing I can hold to keep myself steady. I guess this is why it's called the agility course. The only way to overcome this is to have good balance and run across quickly. The distance is too far to jump, and I can't prepare, so I make a mad dash for the other side and hope that the Gamemakers aren't paying attention, and that the whole thing works out in my favor.
It doesn't. I wipe out two steps in when my foot misses the board and tumble down onto the soft, cushioned landing pad below. It irritates me that Radley lasted longer than I did, but I try not to be jealous. I'm sure there won't be any wacky obstacles like that in the arena. Once I'm finished and the trainer dismisses me, I head over to the knife throwing area. There was a scuffle over here earlier because three outlier kids wanted to use throwing knives, but there were only four throwing areas, and one of them suggested that if one of the Careers left, everybody could get a turn. That didn't go over well with the Careers, and there was a shouting match, followed by all six Careers scaring off the kid who'd made the suggestion and telling them to come back later once one of the areas opened up again. I wish I saw what tribute it was, but I didn't.
Only one of the areas is occupied. The person using it is Oscar, the boy from District One. Only three people have been released so far, considering the second girl was just released after falling off the agility course, and the first heat of boys is still running their mile, so Oscar must be an excellent runner if he's already done. He's still got sweat dripping down his face from the exertion, and is just choosing his knives. I'm hesitant to approach him, but I have to get my knives too, so it's unavoidable. However, he's blocking the entire rack, so I have to either tell him to screw off (a bad move,) muscle past him (an even worse move,) or ask him nicely to get out of the way (smarter, but might not work.) I take my chances with the third. "Excuse me," I say sweetly.
"Yeah?"
"Would you mind scooting a little to the left? I want to have some knives also, and I was hoping you'd share."
"How'd you finish so quickly?" he asks.
"Huh?"
"How'd you do the exercises so quickly?"
"I was in the first group of runners and I just got in line first for the agility thing. What about you?"
"I have a six minute mile." He says it so nonchalantly that I'm surprised. I felt like my body was breaking down after ten minutes, and yet he doesn't even need to rest after doing it in four minutes fewer than me? "It's actually pretty easy, you know. I noticed Eliza finished first in your group."
"And what of it?"
"Careers are just better than outliers. When it comes to pretty much anything, but especially in running."
"Maybe you've just had private training."
"Yeah, or maybe we're just superior. Look, do you want to get some knives or not?" I realize that he's moved aside and been waiting for me. He snickers when I look confused at what to pick. "Do you need me to find somebody to help you?" I refuse to even glance up, let alone reply to him. "Come on, I'm being serious. You're not going to understand better if you don't get someone to teach you." I study the knives more intently, but I can't figure out which are the ones I need to use. Still, I don't give in. He's sure to mock me more if I give in now. "Wow, your shoes must be really interesting for you to keep staring at them like that."
I think about saying something sassy, but I hold myself back. He's just being an arrogant Career, taunting me, because that's what tributes from District One are supposed to do when they encounter tributes from District Nine. "I can locate a trainer on my own if I want one," I say with as much grace as I can. "But of course I do not need one, for I am simply considering the array of tools at my disposal." I know I can't be properly haughty, but I'm doing all I can to reclaim some of my dignity after he bruised my pride. Since there's no way I can ask a trainer for help now, I just pick the longest, lightest knives I see.
That was why I came over here, after all to find the weapons that my experience will align most with. I was hoping Oscar would turn away and do his own thing but he stangs back, arms crossed over his chest, a cocky smirk on his face. "Oh yeah? Prove it, Nine." There's no backtracking now. I select the most dart-like knife from the handful I've gathered and grip it loosely by the underside of the blade. I get my bearings and position myself so that I'm perpendicular to the target, ignoring his dubious mutterings of "That's not how you hold it," and "Your stance is all wrong," as I take a deep breath and launch the knife, and would you look at that?
It sails straight through the air and embeds itself in the innermost ring of the target.
Pola Velek, 15, D3F:
Trying to have a discussion with Soren is like trying to have a discussion with a wall. His mentor recommended that he try a little of everything in training, so his solution was sulking on a bench in the corner and doing absolutely nothing except making scoffing noises at the people who come to use the water fountain that's a few feet away. "Soren," I begin, for what feels like the umpteenth time, "Wouldn't you like to at least like to learn a weapon? Don't you want to defend yourself in the arena?"
"Shut up and leave me alone," he replies. "I'm perfectly fine as I am. Just because I'm your ally doesn't mean I need to do what you say, so quit bossing me so much and learn one yourself if you're that concerned about it." I'm once again reminded that Soren is a terrible person to align myself with, but this is the burden of emotion. I try to avoid it, but sometimes it creeps up and latches onto me, usually at the worst of times. This is of course one of those times.
How am I supposed to tell him that I've invited Zea into our alliance? She and I hit it off during the mandatory training exercises, (I didn't do great at either of them,) and then she was practicing some seriously good knife throwing up until a few minutes ago. We agreed that she would be a good addition to the alliance, but I have yet to inform Soren about that. "So," I start again, "I've found us a new ally."
"Alright. Who is it?"
"Zea Poales from District Nine." I think he grunts in dissatisfaction, but he doesn't start to protest loudly, so I don't think he has any issues with it. I move on quickly, before he can raise any objections. "She's going to come over here in just a moment. If you would refrain from insulting her, that would be really helpful."
"Nah, I don't think so. I'll insult her as much or as little as I want." Soren's been very lacking in motivation today. He jumped off the ability course at the first opportunity and walked his mile, so I don't think he's even putting effort in. He slouches, curling in on himself, and methodically whacks his head against the wall. I spot Zea walking quickly towards us, ponytail swishing.
"Hi," she says. "You must be Soren!" Considering my warning about him, I'm surprised she's actually trying to interact with him. Then again, I've been trying to interact with him all day long, so perhaps she's just coming from the same place as me.
"Hi."
"So, Soren, would you mind telling me a little bit about what your role is in this alliance?" she asks brightly.
"This is a very interesting wall." I unironically look at the wall, and to my surprise, I discover something intriguing.
"It really is! Look right here!"
"Pola, I wasn't being serious, I was avoiding her question," Soren groans.
"Oh, I know that. But it's an interesting wall just the same. See that speck in the middle of the textured pattern? There's something strange about it. Will somebody try to get me a magnifying glass? From what I can tell, it looks very much like something electronic. But why would there be something electronic that's so secret it has to be miniscule and hidden in a wall?" The answer comes to me just after Zea gets up from the bench to follow my orders. "Nevermind," I say, waving her back. "I don't need that after all. I have a sneaking suspicion that this dot here is actually a camera."
"Who would put a camera here?"
"You're lying. Let me see it." The two answers come at once, Soren elbowing me out of the way to look at it more closely. He presses his eye up to the camera (whoever's monitoring the feed has clearly been tipped off that we know about it, they're probably getting a closeup of his pupil right now) and squints at it before pulling back. "Nope, that's definitely a camera. I suspected it all along." Despite both Zea and I both being aware that this is just plain false, we let it go.
"Who would put a camera here?" Zea repeats. "And why?"
"Yeah, why?" Soren echoes.
"Well, who has access to this room? It's clearly the Gamemakers. The whole not watching us thing is so we don't get nervous or trick them by pretending we're weaker than we actually are. That way they'll know who's trying to fool them in their private session. Also, they'll have a measure of our strengths and weaknesses. Come on, did anybody actually buy that nonsense Hortensia gave us about them giving us a comfortable arena experience? It's so they know how fast we can escape their mutts and things."
"I would have assumed it was the gamblers," Zea puts in. "I worked in a pub back home, and people bet on things all the time, usually dart games. I used to compete in them, that's why I can throw knives so well. Anyways, different people, amateurs and regulars both, would play, and if you knew the history of the competitors, you could make a better bet."
"That would also make sense, but it's more likely to be the Gamemakers. Besides, if there's one camera we've found, there are dozens that are still undetected. I think the Gamemakers are having a pretty good laugh about us right now. I'm guessing that these cameras also pick up audio, so they're probably hearing everything we're saying. Soren, could you confirm for me whether or not there are microphones around here too?"
Soren's reputation in District Three was mainly ruined because of a crime he committed using computers. He's always had a good eye for electronics, whether using them for good or ill, (mostly ill) which is probably why he obediently turns around and examines the pattern on the wall in search of any accompanying listening devices.
"Found one."
"Um, Pola?" Zea cuts in. "You know the private training rooms?"
"Yeah."
"Well, one of the Careers, Oscar, was being really arrogant and snobby when I was near him at the knife range. Listen to what he's saying."
We fall silent. "Yeah, I think I'm going to head over to one of those private booths," he's telling Eliza, the Two girl who's throwing knives near him. "My mentor's full of crap, so I want to get some advice for my scored session with the Gamemakers." The second he excuses himself, he heads over in the direction of the rooms.
"He was pretty bothered that I was doing well with the knives. I want to know what he's doing in there. What if he's finding a way to retaliate against me?" A plan comes to me almost instantly.
"Sorry Gamemakers," I say with a little laugh to the spot where the microphone is, "But I've got to borrow this. Now Zea, I need you to grab me some knives, and Soren, go raid the technology station. I think I have an idea." Once I have my supplies in hand, I begin giving orders to my allies. First, I grab the knife and use it to cut out a chunk of the wall, covering up the hole with a dab of paint from the nearby camouflage station, and dig out the microphone. There was a tiny hole it was recording through, but it's as big as a thumb, with a soft foamy exterior. Wires from it trail into the wall. Putting on a pair of thick rubber gloves, I slice through them with the knife and pass the whole setup off to Zea, instructing her to strip away an inch of the rubber coating on the wires. I let Soren reconnect the snipped ends to a long spool of wire that we run along the baseboard, tucking it next to the hairline gap at the bottom of the now-closed soundproof door. Our end of the wire leads to a small preconstructed speaker that we huddle around at the far end of the room. Everybody is too wrapped up in their own training to notice us messing around with our new device.
The whole thing takes only a few minutes to accomplish. Programming is more Soren's thing, but even he knows how to do a simple project like this, and I went to the most prestigious school in District Three. I had to set up complicated circuits while being timed since I was young. Oscar's conversation has already started, but he just seems to be explaining his problem, which as we all suspected, was not about his private session. "I need to learn about poisons," he's explaining to the trainer. The three of us exchange a look. Poisons? I've never heard of a Career who used poisons. "I have to find some way to deal with my district partner," he continues. "She's found a way to get control of me, and I want out. There's no way I can beat her in a fight, but if I can just slip something in her food or whatever–well, could that work?"
Livi?" Soren whispers in surprise, followed by us all looking up to make sure Livi herself didn't hear us. "Last night it seemed like he really liked her. What changed?'"
"He's pretending," Zea says gravely. "I...well, I know a few things about pretending, and I never would have suspected him. I was even talking to him earlier, and I didn't doubt for a second that he was getting along with her." She gives a frustrated sigh. "I should have been paying better attention. But here's the cardinal rule of manipulation: the whole thing falls apart if the victim knows that they're being conned. We have the upper hand now, and we cannot afford to give up our advantage. Understand?" She looks to Soren, who nods respectfully, apparently recognizing that this is important. "If the Careers come for us, we've got an unexpected bombshell to drop on Miss Livi Carnelian herself, the little bombshell. But that advantage dries up the second word of it gets out. The trick here is to keep it nice and quiet until the moment presents itself."
"Is that really a good idea?" I ask, a little skeptically. "It would be much easier to defeat Oscar in a fight than Livi, so wouldn't it be a good thing for us if he poisoned her?"
"Well," Zea answers patiently, "The time to use this is if the Careers are chasing us, or we're in a standoff with them. We say that Oscar has been planning on poisoning Livi, and suggest that she search his pack for the poison in question. Now shush, I think the trainer is talking." Through the microphone, the voice of the trainer comes through clearly.
"So you could use all manner of natural poisons," he says, "Including foxglove, nightlock berries, snakeroot, or oleander. I'll explain to you what those look like." There's a shuffling of pages, the sound of a book opening and being slid across a table, and then the trainer continues, "And you could talk to your mentor about sponsoring you a poison, but your best bet is probably hemlock."
"I know hemlock," Zea says quietly. "I don't know many plants, but everybody in Nine knows hemlock. It grows all over, and it's got the prettiest flowers, so all the parents have to teach their kids when they're really young that that's not a plant they can touch. I'll show you what it looks like if we see any in the arena."
It sounds a little bit like how District Three parents teach their children that they can't put things in power sockets or touch exposed wires. The perils are different depending on the district, but there's always something that toddlers have to be kept away from.
"Okay," Oscar is saying as the trainer tells him that hemlock can be found in wet areas along with its sister plant the water hemlock, but how it shows up everywhere from meadows to forests to deserts.
"That's why it's the best option when you're looking for a poison," the trainer says. "It's pretty distinctive, all of its parts are deadly when ingested, and it can crop up in almost any arena imaginable." Once Oscar mentions that he's almost finished, Soren makes a mad dash to collect all the parts of our system before they can be discovered, retrieving them quickly and hustling Zea and I over to the technology station so we don't look out of place. Looking back, we probably should've stayed here the whole time. It was awfully conspicuous to be all leaning in over an electronic device so far away from the place we got the materials.
"So," Zea says, "I think we need to be very cautious about this information. The plan is that if the Careers find us during the Hunger Games, we speak to Livi directly and tell her that Oscar has been planning on poisoning her with hemlock, but we recently saw him receiving a sponsor gift when he was supposedly using the bathroom. Then we advise her to go through his supplies right now before he gets a chance to use it. Even if she doesn't make him turn his things over right then and there, an argument will start, or they'll get off track and turn around to discuss. If they stay stoic, we explain exactly what we just did. I'm betting Oscar will express some surprise. Nobody can stay that cool under pressure."
"Alright, solid plan," Soren says. "Now what do we do? I vote nothing. Actually, hang on a second…" A devious glint develops in his eye and I shake my head, because I know this means nothing good. Hey Hortensia!" he yells. "Hortensia! Can I call you Hor?" Hor, I think. Whore. He's figured out a way to call the Head Trainer a whore. What could possibly go wrong with insulting the person who probably has the Gamemakers on speed dial? He's been harassing her all day long, and I've already gotten to witness him grind her patience down to its very last shreds."Hor! Hortensia! Come here!" She notices him right away, sighing even more deeply than I did earlier, closing her eyes for a long moment and tucking a green braid back behind her ear. She walks over, athletic shoes squeaking on the ground, before looking down at him sitting on the floor and shaking her head.
"You may not call me Hor, Soren, but I'm happy to be of assistance. What can I help you with?"
"Well Hortensia, I was getting so bored, and I was just wondering if you'll let me go up to the District Three suite? I could really use a nap, and it's not as though there's anything to do here anyways."
"Soren," she says in an exasperated tone. "Oh, Soren."
"What?"
"Soren, what am I going to do with you?" She massages her temples for a second. "Look, as much as I'd love to get you out of here, you need to remain in the Training Center until five thirty, which won't be for another three hours. Would you be interested in visiting a station? Any station at all?"
"No," Soren says stubbornly. Honestly, Hortensia's displaying some amazing self-control for someone only a little older than Zea, especially because Soren is deliberately trying to provoke her. If he were trying to bother me like that, I would've slapped some sense into him long ago. Still, that would be bad for the alliance, so the best I can do is shoot Hortensia a sympathetic look.
"Soren, is there anything I can do for you to make you even a little happier? Actually, wait a minute, are these your allies?"
"Yeah. What are you, blind?"
"Pola, Zea, is there anything I can do for you?" Hortensia asks. Zea answers for both of us.
"Oh, no thank you. We're just fine at the moment."
"Alright. Well, if none of you need my help, I'm going to return to my other duties. Good luck with your training!" Soren gets up and trails off after her like a dog in search of table scraps, and Zea and I get to work making a plan, dividing up survival skills between the two of us. As Zea heads over to practice gathering water and I learn how to distinguish between edible and toxic plants, two thoughts rattle around my head. The first concerns Oscar's plot to poison Livi, and its presence ensures that I take special care while sorting the hemlock into the correct category. The second keeps bumping up to the forefront of my mind though, and it refuses to leave even though Soren doesn't deserve to die, and besides, he proved himself to be of use when we were building our little spy machine earlier.
This alliance would be so much easier without him.
Soya Orlando, 14, D11F:
Going solo is working well for me so far, but my concern regarding the Careers is definitely growing. As the six of them practice with their weapons, doing fancy tricks and showing off, Trey in particular seems to be sizing up the competition. I am no great fan of the Capitol or those who support it, but I can't really blame Trey for seizing the opportunity to get ahead. If I were older and bulkier, I might have done the same thing. However, I am not older and bulkier. I am fourteen, short, and malnourished.
That's one reason I'm beginning to worry about why Trey is eyeing me. He seems to be paying particularly close attention to watching the younger tributes, probably because we'll be easiest for a non-Career Career like him to kill. I can't fault him for finding the easiest targets, but I do know that I need to make it off his kill list. He's got a toughness that I can respect, but I don't want to end up on the wrong end of his dagger. He doesn't seem like the merciful type, so I doubt I'll be able to smooth talk my way out of being stabbed, and although I'll probably be able to evade him, if he does get his hands on me, I'm probably as good as dead.
I can see why a weak-looking person like me seems like a good choice right now. Even if I prove that I'm stronger than I look, he won't give up. He'll just enlist one of his fellow Careers to provide some backup. The solution here isn't to prove my ability in hopes that I'll manage to intimidate him enough to convince him to leave me alone. The trick is to divert his attention elsewhere. Trey seems smart, but he also seems lazy, like he wants to get at the low-hanging fruit first then choose a harder goal if he has to later. That strategy worked for plenty of people in the orchards of District Eleven, but some of the fruit that was out of the way was largely ignored. That's what I want. I want Trey to overlook me in favor of a more accessible piece of fruit.
The reason I think my plan will work is because Trey isn't particularly interested in any one tribute, besides his district partner, who he seems to have a grudge against. He's been swearing under his breath whenever she's even sort of near him, and although he definitely wants to kill her, he doesn't have a true preference for who his next victim is. It's shaping up to be me as of right now, but that can be changed. What I need to do is provide him with a more accessible target, someone as weak as I am that I can trick him into hating. If he has two easy kills he's choosing between and he has a personal score to settle with one of them, it's easy to see which one he'll pick.
I limber up my fingers by methodically striking a flint to begin a fire at my station, arranging the small twigs and scraps in a pyramid as I begin to flesh out the steps of my plan. My first order of business is choosing an appropriate patsy. I decide on Damon, the boy from District Seven. There's nothing in particular that makes him particularly suited for this, but he accidentally stepped on my foot earlier, and that seems as good a reason as any. I also outline my specific goal, which is to divert Trey's attention from me by placing it on someone else.
The drawback is that if I get spotted, I'll be in a much worse position, but I doubt that'll happen. I've only been caught a few times in my years of stealing, and never for anything big like the gold locket I sold to Audreyana on Reaping Day. No, just the occasional eagle-eyed merchant when I got sloppy. The first time was for flour, the second for dried beans, the third for lard. The marks from my most recent whipping still feel hot on my back as I think about it, although the pain and swelling has long disappeared.
Those were the days when my family was living thin and I had to provide for them even if it was risky. Those were the days when Devon and I went without food so that Sefiani could eat enough. Those were the days when I was so stick-thin that I couldn't pretend to be a rich town girl getting things for supper, which was always my default cover story. I couldn't get necklaces to sell either, because a filthy street rat gets the Peacekeepers called on them if they're seen mingling with the rich. Now there's very little danger of that, both because I'm not in District Eleven anymore and because I have enough time to plan.
My next choice to make is exactly how I'm going to subtly notify Trey of Damon's existence. My eyes alight on the silver bracelet around Damon's wrist, and the first part of my plan begins to come together. I know that my own token is special to me. It's the only reminder I have of home, but earlier I overheard him telling his new allies, the pair from Five, that his mom gave it to him and it used to belong to his dad, who himself died in the Hunger Games. His token carries an extra dose of sentimental value, and I have a feeling that he'll go to great lengths to recover it if it's found to be missing.
Damon doesn't appear to be a very sneaky person. He's smart enough to not demand anything from a Career, even one originally from an outer district, so my theory is that if he sees his bracelet in someone else's possession, he'll ask politely if he can have it back. Trey, on the other hand, upon discovering that he's holding an item worth a lot to someone, will keep it and leverage it for something rather than denying he took it. Why would he feel the need to defend his actions to a boy so incompetend he can't even pick up an axe right?
I'm tempted to go over and lift the bracelet right now, but I have to go about this properly, so I don't. Instead I think about where I need to place the bracelet for it to have the highest chance of causing conflict. I quickly determine that it should be on Trey's person for maximum effect. A pocket would be ideal for making Damon believe Trey took it, but the jewelry would be tough to spot from within it.
I reach down and feel the inside of my own pocket, fingers catching on something. I twist around and see that there's a miniature pocket within it, the fabric used to create it forming a flap that could flip up just an inch or so. Putting the finishing touches on my scheme, I call for a trainer and ask him to show me the instructions for gathering kindling again so I can read over them. He comes back almost immediately with a thick stack of papers. I take the binder clip from it and practice clipping in onto the flap using my own back pocket as a test. I get used to doing it seamlessly, and I'm finally ready to make my move. I tip the binder clip into my hip pocket so I can reach for it inconspicuously, and begin examining some swords near the area where Damon is still trying and failing to get the hang of using an axe. He's wasted three-fourths of the day by now, but is still too dull to know when to give up and do something else.
As he hangs up his axe and considers a slightly heavier one, I see his arm hanging at his side, brushing against the rack and the material of his pants, and when I feel like the coast is clear and it's desensitized enough, I reach out and touch it, grasping it as carefully as an expert surgeon performing a delicate operation. The bracelet is a little loose, since it was given to him by his dad, who was presumably about full grown, and whose wrist was larger than Damon's is now. I ease it off slowly, tucking it completely into my pocket, as I purposely bump into him a little so it doesn't look like I'm lurking if he suddenly notices me. "Oh, I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to hit you. Say, which one of these axes would you say is the best?"
I carry out a quick conversation before drifting back to where I was along the path of the practice area. Trey is resting on a bench, chest heaving, after an intense sparring session with a trainer. Since the pants are high waisted, he's not sitting on the pockets, which I use to my advantage as I creep up behind him, carefully reach in and attach the binder clip to the flap, and then hook the bracelet on the prongs. I glide away quickly and unnoticed, migrating to the insect identification station to watch everything play out.
It's several minutes before Damon reaches for his bracelet and realizes it's not there. He's borderline frantic as his eyes track each tribute individually, and I see his face fall when he sees it hanging out of Trey's pocket. It takes him a couple of minutes to build up enough confidence to make his approach. By now, Trey has crossed behind him on his way to the water fountain, so Damon has no reason to believe I was the one who took his bracelet. "Excuse me," he says to Trey, "But I believe you might maybe have something that's mine."
"Really?" Trey drawls lazily. "Enlighten me. What do I have that you say belongs to you?"
"My token."
"What sort of token is it?"
"The exact sort of token that's sticking out of your pocket."
"Oh, so it is," Trey says mildly. "And what about it?"
"I'd like it back, if you don't mind."
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I do mind. It's an awfully pretty bracelet. I might just have to keep it."
"I'm serious. Please, I want it back. Why did you take it from me?"
"You're not getting it back, Seven." Trey's voice lilts up, raising to a slightly higher pitch. I know it's a warning, but Damon doesn't.
"Give it back to me right now." Damon's voice is clipped, like he's just a few seconds from screaming.
"Why so bossy? Surely you have more important things to do than worry about simple ornaments?" Trey feels around in his back pocket and runs his fingers over the bracelet fondly. "It's very vain to worry so much about your appearance, young Damon. Didn't your father ever tell you that? After all, to be vain is to be selfish, and that's not very moral of you. No, I think I'd better hold onto it for safekeeping." Trey's taunting is terribly effective, and Damon finally breaks into a yell.
"I said give me back my bracelet!" This catches Hortensia's attention. She was busy resolving a minor dispute between two tributes arguing over the same quiver of arrows, but now she rushes over, the boy from District Three tagging along with her.
"What is the meaning of this?" she asks sternly. "What exactly is going on? Why are you shouting in my gym?"
"Sorry for shouting in your gym, ma'am," Damon says. "He stole my token and wouldn't give it back to me."
"I was just messing with him!" protests Trey. "And it's probably not even his anyway. Seriously dude, lighten up!" Hortensia's solution is to take the bracelet away and separate the boys, stepping into the elevator.
"I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm just going to verify who the owner of the token is, and whichever one of you decided to lie to me is going to be sorry." She returns after a very short time period, frowning, with a tall, brawny Peacekeeper at her side. "Damon, here's your bracelet back. I'm sorry you had to go through that much of an ordeal. On the other hand, Trey, you clearly can't be trusted to make good choices on your own, so you'll be getting a Peacekeeper guard of your own. Your escort asked for one to protect your district partner, now you'll have one watching your every move to make sure you don't pull a stunt like this again."
"But that's not fair-"
"Who's the Head Trainer here, you or me?"
"You."
"That's right. What I say goes. Both of you may return to your training, and Trey, I suggest you watch yourself."
Just before the Peacekeeper guides him away, I see him glare vehemently at Damon with the most disgusted expression, hissing something along the lines of "I'm going to get you!" My plan worked better than I ever dreamed it would. I assumed it would create some tension, but Trey being burdened by a cumbersome chaperone after Damon told Hortensia what happened? It's absolutely perfect. Now every time Trey catches a glimpse of his new companion, Damon is sure to be at the forefront of his mind, and all thoughts of me have almost invariably disappeared.
When I feel it's safe to head into the open again, I make my way to the selection of weapons that are laid out on racks. I know a little bit about knives, but not enough to make much of a difference, so I've set my mind on a more unconventional weapon. Thinking back to my life in District Eleven and how I stole Damon's token, I'm once again reminded of when the Peacekeepers caught and whipped me. Would a whip work? There's a whole section for miscellaneous weapons, and I'm happy to discover that includes a table of different whips. They're really more for torture than killing, so I call the trainer over. "Do you have more kinds?" I ask. "I'm looking for something a little deadlier."
He finds a new whip for me. It's not quite as long as the others, but it is thicker, and swivelling blades are woven intermittently into the leather. The trainer teaches me how to properly hold it and then has me practice striking out with it against a dummy. I discover that the way it curls makes it a great way to trip an opponent, or even a large group of opponents, and it's much easier to subdue them when they're on the ground.
I learn how to snap it too, creating a satisfying crack that echoes through the room and puts all eyes on me. I play it smart, pretending it was just a fluke, and pretend that I'm unsuccessfully trying to replicate it. It takes a few 'failed' attempts to get the Careers to turn away and go back to what they were doing. One of the younger kids comes over and asks me for an alliance. I turn her down, not unkindly, but she's going to have to die if I am to return home as a Victor. I am loyal to my family first, and I want my siblings to eat.
I know there's a lot of danger ahead of me, and I of course don't want to be killed, but I'm willing to throw away my morals for the sake of winning. As I continue to practice with my new whip, winding it around a dummy's chest, using it to disarm a heavily padded trainer, aiming for specific parts of the body, I decide on a strategy for my private session. It might put me in the Careers' minds as someone to take out, but my goal is to score as high as possible. My main plan for when I'm in the arena is to hide from other tributes and steal their supplies, so the threat that comes with being targeted by them isn't nearly as great. I'm a younger kid from an outer district, and staying in the shadows won't get me sponsors. I need a score of, perhaps, a seven to pull in some sponsors, and that is just what I intend to do.
It's a risk I have to take. All I can hope is that Trey and his fellow Careers will be distracted enough by Damon to leave me alone.
Emboldened, I crack my whip again and watch it coil around the dummy's neck, strangling it.
Hey y'all,
I'm so excited to have the second chapter of training out! I have another poll up on my profile regarding score predictions. This chapter certainly involved some sneaky behavior on the part of the tributes, and I'd be super curious to know if your opinion on anybody has changed. If you have any questions or concerns, please send me a PM and I'll be happy to address them. In other news, I'll have the next chapter out on Monday!
– LC :)