Chapter 8: Fixed Trajectories

November, 150 ADD

Avoiding her father had perhaps been a little too easy.

Sure, they'd both apologized to each other (Dagmara would've had their heads otherwise), but it was easier for both Venatrix and Oberon to fall into the monotone of their daily routines with minimal acknowledgement or complaints, maintaining a respectful, tentative distance. Venatrix could tell that he had more to say, but she never gave him the chance, using either schoolwork or training as an excuse. After Bellara's birthday this past October, he'd stopped trying.

It wasn't as if Venatrix weren't busy either; her teachers and trainers (Oberon included) had seemingly collaborated in order to pile the largest possible workload onto her plate, leaving her both physically and mentally drained as the weeks went on. Certainly not the smartest method to butter her up for another heavy conversation.

Thankfully, a break came for Venatrix and the rest of the trainees in the form of the Harvest Festival. While District Two didn't necessarily have a harvest like Nine or Eleven, the holiday was celebrated across the country by its inhabitants. Classes at the Academy had paused for the holiday, giving the students the Friday afternoon off. The mandatory training sessions would be halted as well, though the facilities were always open for the more hardworking Careers.

Agate had dragged Venatrix and Percy straight to the gym after classes got out, though not with the intent to train.

"So, what exactly am I doing with all these spears again?"

"I told you, it's for my sculptures," Agate said cheerfully, relieving Venatrix of about half of the spears. Most of them were broken or damaged in some way: chipped point, splintered shaft. Venatrix suspected the Academy wouldn't be so willing to donate them to Agate's art projects otherwise.

As a prospective stonemason, the Academy offered Agate and a handful of others the opportunity to take advanced stoneworking and marble-sculpting classes. Despite her parents' aspirations for Agate in the volunteer program, they somewhat reluctantly allowed her to indulge in this track; stoneworkers from Two were highly praised across the nation, often commissioned by various Capitolites. Success in this area (and acing the sculpting course) would surely offer Agate more recognition than dying in the Hunger Games; even her parents could see that.

They'd be foolish not to recognize their daughter's talent; Agate had an uncanny ability to replicate a person's likeness in stone, evidenced by the charm she'd given Venatrix for her birthday: a tiny carved figurine of herself, poised to fight with a sword in hand and a confident grin on her face. Venatrix had seen her working on one for Percy for his birthday in January; she'd had to scrap it a couple of times already due to accidentally snapping his tiny bow with her equally-tiny chisel. However, despite her secondary knowledge of the art, Venatrix had no clue what purpose the spears would serve, or the bulky camera equipment that Percy had been designated to carry.

A flash of hesitant movement by the doors to the gym caught Venatrix's attention; she squinted towards the source, letting out a sigh of irritation when she recognized the newcomer. "It's Coquina again," she said aside to Percy.

Percy pursed his lips. Ever since the mock Games, the mousy girl seemed to think that Venatrix and Percy were now her friends, and she'd taken a liking to Agate as well. She'd found the need to follow them around during lunch, tag along during their training. While she usually trained with Percy under Morwenna's keen eye, Venatrix had often found her on the sidelines of her own sessions, watching with round, admiring eyes. Clearly, she recognized that her win at the mock Games had been a stroke of luck, as she'd said to Venatrix many times while fawning over the latter's sword-fighting skills. At this point, though, it was awkward; the girl was eighteen — old enough to stop gawking.

Agate spotted her too, though the tall blonde evidently missed Venatrix's expression of annoyance, waving the petite archer over with a friendly smile. Venatrix and Percy exchanged a glance, though Percy just shrugged, offering Coquina a welcoming greeting when she jogged over.

"Hi guys! What are we doing? Are you guys training?" Coquina asked, bouncing eagerly on the balls of her feet.

Venatrix said nothing, letting Agate talk. "Nah, we're heading over to the studio now." She paused, but when Coquina didn't respond, Agate continued. "You can come with, if you want. Trix might need some help with the spears."

"I don't," Venatrix said curtly.

A look of hesitance crossed Coquina's features. "Oh, uh… I can help you carry your bag?" Her voice raised in pitch at the end, turning the statement to a question.

"It's fine."

Coquina nodded, though she didn't seem to know what to do with herself now. Venatrix almost rolled her eyes. She didn't want to actually offend Coquina though; the girl gave off the impression that she cried easily.

Thankfully Agate broke the awkwardness by calling the group's attention, spurring them towards the studio. The building wasn't too far from the gym, though the brief sojourn outside made Venatrix wish she put gloves on beforehand, the late November air biting at her knuckles gripped around the handful of cumbersome spears. She caught Coquina glancing at her as if she wanted to extend an offer of help again; Venatrix resolutely ignored her. Unperturbed, Coquina turned her attention to Agate, whose eyes practically lit up when she asked about the sculpting project.

They pushed through the studio doors, Agate still babbling about her ideas as she sent a wave of greeting towards the instructor, who pounded away at a chunk of marble with a hammer and chisel. The noise echoed through the room, a large area that used to be one of the training gyms before the facility's renovation. The studio was large enough to serve as a workplace for both students and professionals alike, though aside from the instructor and a handful of half-carved marble blocks, the room was unoccupied.

A large slab of jagged marble sat at the far end of the studio; Venatrix eyed it with a frown. "That one yours?"

"Yup!" Agate said blithely. "It's kind of a shit piece of marble… a bit of leftover from the quarry, but that's part of the idea."

"Interesting…"

With a pep in her step, Agate directed her three participants around the room, instructing Percy to set up the camera. She stood a fair distance from the marble block, holding her hands out in front to mimic a camera aperture. "Yeah, this'll be perfect. You got the camera, Percy?"

"Think so," he huffed, flicking a few switches.

Venatrix peeked over his shoulder; a red light flashed on the corner of the tiny screen, indicating that the camera was on, though he fiddled unsuccessfully with the legs of the tripod stand. "Here," Venatrix said, lifting the instrument so the stand dangled beneath. Percy shot her a grateful smile as he adjusted the legs so they properly balanced the camera.

Giving Agate a thumbs-up, Percy tilted the camera so it captured both Agate and the marble block in its field of view. "I think I know what you're doing, Miss Michaelangelo Ambrosia," he said with a chuckle. "Creating your magnum opus out of a shit piece of marble on purpose?"

"Cute," Agate said with a snort. "But not exactly. This one's gonna be a little more experimental." Jogging over to the camera, she turned it on, waving to her friends to join her in the frame. "Come on, I want you guys all in this, at least for the beginning. You too, Coquina."

Coquina jumped at being directly addressed. She'd been sitting quietly on the sidelines while they set things up; Venatrix had almost forgotten about her again. More than a little uncertain, Coquina made her way over towards them, though when Agate threw an arm over her shoulders, she gave a wide smile.

Shooing her three assistants off-camera, Agate sauntered over to her pile of spears. Plucking one from the lot, she took aim, sending it flying directly towards the marble slab.

A shower of dust and rock shards flew from the marble as the spear glanced off; Venatrix winced at the grating sound. Agate turned to her friends with a grin, picking up another spear. With a grunt of effort, she hurled it at the marble as well, creating another rough dent in the rock.

Percy cracked out a laugh while Coquina flinched at the impact. "That's definitely a new technique," he said cheekily. Agate stuck her tongue out, flipping him a rude gesture. "Oh, are you gonna keep that in the video?"

With an equally-cheeky shrug, Agate reached for another spear, launching it into the sculpture. This one stuck, embedded deep within the solid stone. Carefully, Agate adjusted her stance and throwing angle; the next spear dislodged it, cleaving off a large chunk of marble as it did.

"Did you mean to do that?" Venatrix asked impolitely.

Agate shrugged again. "That's the art of it," she said, her voice taking on an airy, mock-pretentious quality, waving her hand in a flourishing gesture. "I call this one: 'Stress'."

A snort erupted from Venatrix's throat, morphing into a bout of giggles at her friend's erratic spear-throwing and over-the-top gestures. She saw her amusement echoed in Percy's eyes; he adjusted the camera to make sure it captured Agate's movements, the elaborate yet well-practiced twirling of her spear before she hurled it towards the forming statue.

Venatrix sent a sidelong glance towards Coquina; the quiet girl's eyes were fixated on Agate, round and impressionable as they tracked her motions. With a sly grin, she elbowed Percy, jerking her chin towards Coquina. "Look," she mouthed.

Subtly, Percy tilted the camera in Coquina's direction, wearing a mischievous half-smile. "It's kind of cute," he whispered to Venatrix.

She rolled her eyes in amusement as Percy flicked the camera between Agate and Coquina, capturing the latter's lightly-forming blush as Agate unzipped her light jacket, exposing her well-muscled arms. "You look hot," Venatrix called to her friend. Agate turned, flexing her arm with a cocky grin, though she was apparently too far away to notice Coquina's face turning beet-red.

"Do you think she'll be picked to volunteer this year?" Coquina asked, her eyes still locked on Agate and the spear-throwing production, though her voice held some uncertainty at the idea.

"No," Venatrix said stiffly. Coquina turned to look at her, head tilted in curiosity, and Venatrix shrugged. "She'll compete in the tournament, I imagine, but she doesn't really want to volunteer."

Coquina frowned. "Oh. Why not?"

"She just doesn't want to," Venatrix said, trying to keep her tone from turning blatantly snippy.

"She's quite good at her marbleworking," Percy added, gesturing to their friend's artistic display. "Well, when she's not chucking spears at it." He laughed, nudging Venatrix with his shoulder. "Trix, show her what she made you."

Almost reluctantly, Venatrix extracted the marble figurine from where she kept it safely in her bag, passing it to Coquina. "Don't break it."

Coquina nodded sharply, taking the figurine from Venatrix's extended hand. Her light brown eyes lit up in amazement as she examined it closely, flicking between Agate and the tiny Venatrix as if she couldn't believe that the spear-thrower could craft something so delicate. "It's beautiful," she said, her already-quiet voice even more hushed, passing the figure back to Venatrix. "It really looks just like you."

"You think I'm pretty? Well, thanks," Venatrix said blithely, earning an elbow to the shoulder from Percy as Coquina spluttered an awkward response.

"I, uh— what about you two? For the tournament?"

Venatrix and Percy exchanged a disbelieving glance. "Well, duh," she said bluntly. "It's kind of been my goal since I was eight, or so."

Coquina nodded contemplatively. "Me too," she said, though her voice lacked the conviction that Venatrix would've expected from the claim.

However, if Coquina were to prove as much of a threat at the Selection Tournament as she had during the mock Games… Venatrix narrowed her eyes at the girl. It'd be kind of hard to shoot a bow with a broken collarbone, now would it? The conversation had paused there, Coquina turning her gaze back to Agate. That's a last resort, Venatrix argued internally. It's not like she can hide until the last minute in a one-on-one duel. The Selection Tournament was a test of pure skill, the culmination of years of grueling training. There was a reason Coquina preferred underhanded tactics like the ones she used in the mock Games; she'd even admitted as much to Venatrix on previous occasions while complimenting the latter's skill in the matter.

If Venatrix couldn't beat Coquina in a one-on-one fight, she certainly didn't deserve the volunteer spot.

Judging by the previous tone of Coquina's voice, the girl knew it too.

At the hour where they usually would've finished their classes had it not been a holiday, Agate had them pack up the equipment, spears and camera included (though she'd left the mostly-complete sculpture and its surrounding pool of dust to rest for the weekend), stating that she needed to make it home in time to help with tomorrow's harvest dinner and arriving company. Venatrix would need to do the same, though presumably her parents would've already started on the task, using the morning to go out and get the bird.

Percy wished the two girls a happy holiday as they headed out, stating that his parents would be arriving in a couple minutes to pick him up.

"What about you?" Agate asked Coquina, shouldering her bag as she made to leave the centre.

Caught off-guard, Coquina took a minute to respond. "Oh, um. I should probably call my parents to pick me up."

"I'll wait with you," Percy said, and Coquina shot him a grateful smile.

With that, Venatrix and Agate headed out to the parking lot, where Agate's car — well, her parents' car; they often lended it to her in favor of their district-provided Peacekeeper patrol cars — waited out in the chilly air. It took a minute for the vehicle to warm up; Venatrix kept her jacket on for the duration of the short drive. Agate dropped her off just in front of the Pyke manor, the guard at the entrance to the village recognizing the car as she visited often enough. After a quick hug and an exchange of holiday well-wishes, Venatrix pushed open the door to find her family abuzz in the kitchen. "Did you guys get the bird?" she asked, craning her neck to peek at the various dishes being prepared.

"Nope," Iago said, not bothering to turn around from where he stood on a stepladder, his nose buried in the set of cabinets above the oven, the tacky flame-patterned apron he wore fluttering in the steam from a boiling pot on the stove burner. "Dad wanted to wait for you, since I got to shoot it last year."

"Oh." Venatrix had shot it for the Harvest dinner before last; this year was supposed to be Bellara's turn. "Sorry; would've been home sooner if I knew."

Oberon passed the stack of apples he'd been chopping to Dagmara, who hastily picked up the task. "Don't worry, we'll be quick about it," he said with an attempt at a cheerful smile, grabbing the hunting jackets from the coat closet. She could tell by his voice that he'd been thinking along the same lines. "Go get your gear; if we don't get anything today, there's always tomorrow morning."

With a wordless nod, Venatrix headed upstairs, exchanging her school outfit for a more insulated set of clothing. There'd be no avoiding that conversation with her father now.

Leaving Iago and Dagmara to their meal-prepping in the kitchen, she and Oberon headed out into the garage, slipping on their matching camouflage-patterned hunting wear in a semi-awkward silence. The rifle bag sat waiting by the stairs; Oberon rummaged around the garage for their hats, gloves, and turkey calls, shoving them into the bag while Venatrix climbed into the passenger seat of the car. She heard the slam of the trunk shutting before her father joined her, starting the engine and guiding the car out of the garage.

The hunting rifle itself technically wasn't supposed to be in their possession; despite being Victors, her parents were still district citizens, and citizens were not permitted to carry arms. However, her father maintained a fairly close relationship with Head Peacekeeper Flint Ainsley — he'd supposedly gotten the younger man his job back in the day. The gun was on loan from Ainsley specifically for the holiday; it would be returned to its owner soon afterwards.

The drive to the hunting spot was fairly quiet, save for the old music playing softly through the radio. Venatrix recognized the area from previous trips; it wasn't too far from where the mock Games had been held either, though far enough from any popular hiking trails. "You sure we shouldn't wait 'til tomorrow morning?" Venatrix asked, breaking the silence.

Oberon kept his eyes on the dirt road ahead of them, slowing the car to a crawl as they neared the parking markers. "I've been scouting the roosting area around here for the past week or so," he said, bringing the vehicle to a halt. "We might get lucky enough to catch one going back home for the evening." He stepped out of the car, and Venatrix followed, meeting him by the trunk. Taking a couple tubes of camouflage paint from the bag, they applied it to their faces before donning their hats and gloves. Oberon passed her one of the turkey calls, a thin, circular reed that was intended to rest inside the roof of the mouth, pocketing one for himself.

They took a little practice to use correctly — Venatrix remembered when Bellara had first gotten the hang of it; she'd run around the house with Iago making the most obnoxious, hellish bird noises while Venatrix had been attempting to write an essay for school. After screaming for them to shut up, she'd resorted to decking Iago in the jaw so hard he almost choked on the reed. Her parents had grounded her for a month.

Unzipping the main section of the bag, Oberon pulled out the (unloaded) gun, carefully handing it to Venatrix along with a small packet of bullets. Regular Peacekeeper rifles were usually kept sleek and well-polished; however, this one sported a matte black finish to better hide from the birds' keen eyes (they could thank Ainsley for the paint job; he liked to shoot his own harvest birds as well).

Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, Venatrix turned to her father. "What if we don't find anything tomorrow either?"

"Then we head over to the butcher's and pretend like we did," Oberon said with a wry grin.

The others would know almost immediately, but the butcher's selection (or even a frozen Harvest bird all the way from Ten) was better than no bird at all, if worse came to worst.

With a cheery chirp, Oberon locked the car doors, and he and Venatrix headed into the woods, the trees quickly forming a wall of rusty orange that blocked the car from view. She'd expected him to immediately jump headfirst into whatever needed to be said, but he didn't, instead giving her more relevant yet generally meaningless information about the flock of turkeys they'd be hunting. Venatrix nodded along, heeding his words, the tracks he pointed out indicating the presence of their quarry. Eventually, he quieted, and upon choosing a relatively comfortable yet well-concealed area, he lowered himself into a sitting position. Venatrix followed suit, loading her rifle as quietly as she could while Oberon inserted the reed into his mouth, making a few loud turkey clucks.

If she'd been in a humorous mood, Venatrix might've laughed, but their success depended on remaining quiet and still. They did so for at least a good half hour before Oberon had them move, and again after another hour with no success. "You sure about this spot?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

Above them, the sky had started to shift into evening, the shadows lengthening around them. Oberon nodded, briefly removing the reed from his mouth to talk. "Found a roosting tree earlier. Maybe we should get a little closer to it." He indicated a large, thick tree a couple meters away, and they headed towards it, boots crunching slightly on the crisp carpet of fallen leaves cluttering the ground. Venatrix adjusted her grip on the rifle, trying to ignore the numbness in her fingers despite the insulation in her gloves. Cleverly, Oberon had himself and Venatrix position themselves in such a way where their shadows blended into the forest while they sat. Another quick succession of clucks, and the waiting game began again.

This round proved more fruitful: after a solid twenty or so minutes, a light rustling noise reached Venatrix's ears, followed by the inquisitive gobble of a male turkey. They exchanged silent, satisfied grins, and Oberon chuffed a soft purring cluck, mimicking the sound of a turkey hen.

The noise caught the interest of another one of the ugly birds, its wrinkled blue head rearing up from behind its companion's. With the fading light, Venatrix found it difficult to tell, but the second one appeared younger, though still male judging by its tail feathers and protruding beard. Oberon gave another quiet chirp, and the birds slowly wandered towards the two hunters.

Excitement thudded in Venatrix's chest, her trepidation from earlier shifting into a cold focus. They wouldn't be returning empty-handed tonight.

Without moving the rest of her body, Venatrix's fingers shifted around the rifle, her index still just brushing the trigger, eyes locked onto the first bird through the crosshairs. Steadily, the turkey's wandering path crisscrossed ever-closer, edging into range of her rifle. Venatrix exhaled a silent breath, focusing her sights on the bird; she tightened her finger and—

BANG!

The shot echoed through the chilly air, accompanied by the recoil of the gun aching in her shoulder and the startled squawking of the younger turkey as it fled the scene.

Venatrix lowered the rifle, letting out another huff of air which turned into a light laugh as Oberon clapped her firmly on the shoulder, a wide grin stretching his camouflaged features. "Nice one, Trixie; looks like you got 'em right in the head." He stood, not bothering to conceal himself any longer as he made his way over to the dead bird, Venatrix on his heels with her rifle at the ready just in case.

The sharp tang of blood reached her nostrils, biting through the crisp autumn. Even in the evening light, the bird was a gory sight, the bloody matter from the gunshot almost blending with the red flaps of skin around its throat. Judging by the wound, at least, it had died almost instantly.

Dutifully, Venatrix unloaded the extra bullets from the gun. Only a minute ago, the bird had been strutting about with its fellow, making to return to its roost for the night. Slinging the rifle over her shoulder, Venatrix watched as her father lifted the bird by its spindly legs, testing its weight. "Feels like eight-and-a-half, maybe nine kilos? Impressive," he appraised. More than enough for the five — four — of them.

Venatrix felt the sense of pride she'd felt at the kill morph into a budding uneasiness. Birds were one thing. "Is it harder with people?" she asked, almost too quietly.

Her father's expression shifted at her tone. "As long as you don't think about it," he said, turning away from his inspection of the turkey, "no."

"And afterwards?"

He sighed. "It sucks." Replacing the bird on the ground, he knelt down next to it, removing his gloves and tucking them into a pocket. As he spoke, he pulled out a hunting knife, passing Venatrix his wedding ring before beginning the process of gutting the turkey. "Maybe I shouldn't be this honest with you, but I think you already know that it really isn't the glorious thing we make it out to be." He felt along the underbelly of the bird, ripping out a few feathers before driving his knife into the skin.

Venatrix crouched next to him, pulling out a couple of bags for the heart, liver, and gizzard. She didn't bother asking why she needed to volunteer; Callithyia's words still rang in her mind. "Is it worth it?"

"Better than the alternative, in my opinion," Oberon said passively, digging a hand inside the bird to pull out a mass of bloody entrails, discarding them to the side. "But that all depends on you." He paused, fixing Venatrix with a serious expression. "If I'd died in the arena, I never would've met your mother, never would've brought the three of you into this world, however short of a time that might be," he said, sorrow coloring his tone. With a sigh, he moved to adjust his hat, at the last minute remembering the turkey guts covering his hands.

Guilt gnawed at Venatrix's stomach as she watched him extract the bloody heart from the bird, holding it out to her. She took it, placing it into the plastic bag along with the other organs he handed her. "I didn't mean it," she said, briefly meeting his eyes before looking away. "When I said that what happened to Bell was your fault."

Oberon grimaced apologetically, wiping his blood-covered hands on a patch of nearby moss. "Neither did I. It was cruel of me to say, and I regretted it as soon as I spoke." He shook his head, heaving himself to his feet and slinging the turkey over his shoulder. Venatrix followed, cleaning her own hands on the fabric of her pants. "It doesn't change the fact that you were right, and I will just have to live with that."

"Dad—"

"It's alright." He huffed a mirthless laugh. "Well, it's not, but we can't change what happened, and fighting against each other is a waste of time."

Venatrix hummed in agreement, forcing her way around a clump of brambles, the feathers of the bird brushing against her shoulder as they walked. Through the gaps in the trees, she caught flashes of sunlight glinting off metal as they approached the clearing where they'd parked the car.

"We need to focus on getting you out when the time comes," Oberon continued, "and we can't do that if we're at each other's throats all the time." They pushed through the trees, the dying evening light illuminating the vehicle's deep blue hull. Oberon popped open the trunk, packing the bird into an ice-filled cooler for the drive home while Venatrix laid the rifle back in its bag. "Blame is a tricky rabbit hole; it'll keep you up at night," he said, snapping the cooler shut. "But right now, we've got more important things to worry about." He smiled, giving her a reaffirming pat on the shoulder. "You're gonna kick ass in this tournament, honey, I just know it."

Returning the expression of confidence, Venatrix waited for him to unlock the car before sliding into the passenger seat. "When this is over," she said definitely, clicking the seatbelt into its holster, "I'd like a day, just one day, that's not dedicated to these damn Games."

Switching on the engine, Oberon gave a weary laugh. "Don't we all, kiddo."

A/N: Shoutout to all the youtube rednecks for this one... was about halfway through the chapter yesterday when I realized I had no clue how hunting Works aside from the obvious, but. Hopefully I did that justice ffhhg. Super excited to get hunting-related ads for the next two months...

Funnily enough, I also recently was writing about the Harvest Festival in D8 as well... They certainly do things a bit differently over there wheeze.. Speaking of, I've started posting the story about the the 168th Victory Tour ! :D Which, if you haven't read the 168th Games yet, ignore the first part of this paragraph ! :D And if you have, feel free to check it out for the continuation of [REDACTED]'s story after they win ! It's gonna be fun, I promise :3

Anyways, sorry this chapter's so late ;-; Next one will be featuring some Exciting events in the month of January, 151.. the next couple of chapters, actually. I'm not sure how many the Selection Tournament will take up, but. Things will be Fun (:

Although... I did finally get my new exam schedule, and they are set for like the first-ish week of May sooo... No clue what the update schedule is gonna look like around then but I would Love to not fail my program so. ;-; As much as I'd love to ignore my exams and focus on TrV, that would be Absolutely Idiotic, and if you see me posting around then, delete my account wheeze. Anyways. Hope you enjoyed this, and see you (probably) next week !

- Nell