"Crazy"

A/N: We innit

~I'd say complicated but that's your kind of rhythm

I'd say lost and you'd say love

But you're crazy not to see that you're crazy just like me~

Tristan Bay

Mentor meetings always manage to turn into a spectacle. This one at least has the good fortune of being smaller in scale. Each district only sending one mentor slims down a lot of the potential conflicts, and District One made that even easier by sending Prestige, leaving only two actual Careers in the room. Dewey and Riven may not be my favorite people in the world, but even they're less likely to start a fight than some of their fellow mentors.

Aside from the trio of Careers, only our little group seems to care enough to show up. Dalton being a no-show even in a normal year is unsurprising, and with half of his district moving to the District One floor it's all the more predictable. Nine and Eleven join District Three in not having any representatives, but Mira has made a rare appearance to at least give District Eight a voice. Otherwise, it's all the grumpy old idiots I've come to call my friends. Atlas and Brendon and Kyle, and Caleb's protege: little Audra, who looks less and less little every year.

I'm seated next to an oddly silent Audra, while the boys all fill our table with enough chatter to make up for both of our silences. Kyle is in a sour mood after what happened to poor Thomas at training yesterday, Brendon looks like he's ready to pop an aneurysm dealing with the constant bickering his dramatic pair are filling their floor with, while Atlas looks upset to have tributes who represent the best hopes of an outlier victory. It seems like every year is the same story for him, so it's hard to not blame him for not being overly hopeful about his kid's chances this year.

It isn't hard to pin down the reason for Audra's thoughtful silence. Amara's death hit her harder than most others did, and now she has the awful luck to be mentoring her younger brother and a girl who seems every bit as sweet as Amara was. I don't have too much empathy to spare, though. I'm already in a state of mourning for my duo. Tamika is fierce and bright but ultimately too small to fight back against such a stacked Career pack. And no matter how lovely, thoughtful, interesting, and kind-hearted Vesta may be, I'm not going to trick myself into believing she'll be my first victor. That's a trap I've fallen into too many times already.

Tali seems to appear out of nowhere as she takes her spot at the front of the small conference room. She doesn't have to wait long for attention. The three Careers never started talking, Mira has been hanging by the door the whole time, and a shoulder nudge is enough to get the boys to quiet down.

"Thank you for joining us, I'm glad to see that most of you could make it, and of course understanding as to why Melody isn't returning to mentor for District Nine again this year, as much as that was appreciated last year."

Prestige purses her lips at that but says nothing, and so Tali continues.

"By now all of you know the drill, so I won't waste too much of your time. We have a few things to discuss. Sponsorship information, initial data and observations from training, and special requests will all be discussed in due time, but first I'd like to start with an announcement.

As you all know, we've canceled the block party this year as per your request, though we've been met with some, shall we say, pushback. As a compromise, we'll be hosting a feast and gala the night of the interviews. Consider it a time to wine and dine with potential sponsors and win them over to your cause. In respect of the point of this change, the tributes will not be attending."

"Great," Atlas says with a sigh. "Because the last time we did a gala it went so swimmingly."

"Attendance isn't mandatory, you're free to choose to not attend if you so wish," Tali says nonchalantly. "Moving on, sponsorship will work the same way as years previous. If you'd like further details I'd be more than happy to share them with you after the meeting, but I see no need to bore you all with familiar details. For your viewing pleasure, this is the current odds board that will go out tonight, barring any last-minute changes due to surprising Private Sessions."

With that a screen lights up behind her, all twenty-four kids having their names displayed with a simple number placed beside them and their portrait. I wish I could say it was surprising or hurtful to see Vesta and Tamika near the bottom at nineteenth and twentieth with astronomically low odds. They're even behind Kyle's boy with the broken leg. But the reality of it is they should probably be even lower. It's an open secret the Choice regime would like to avoid another District Twelve victor. I'm as squeaky clean of a victor as they come and even then my victory got a well-renowned Head Gamemaker decapitated. Nobody wants another Mockingjay.

I feel bad for Mira, but can't help but feel curious why this year of all years she's brought herself to seem to care about her tributes when her kids sit at twenty-third and twenty-fourth. Kyler at eighth is the only non-career with odds anywhere approaching hopeful, and it hurts to see that hope reflecting off of Audra's eyes.

The top seven is an amalgamation of Careers that leaves Riven and Dewey bristling and Prestige uncomfortable. Pierre sits up top, only Everly coming close to matching his odds. After that is a tight race between Ainsley, Ariya, Arno, and Ethan in that order, with May bringing up the rear with odds just narrowly better than Kyler's.

"Typical District One favoritism," Riven says, though she seems more amused than annoyed. "Hasn't he spent half of training partying up on the District One floor with the rest of your team?"

Prestige shifts in her seat uncomfortably. "Not half," she says awkwardly. "Maybe a third."

"Maybe the next time Pierre is up on your floor tell him to stop taunting our kids," Brendon grumbles.

I'm not sure if it's possible for somebody to look more uncomfortable than Prestige does right now. I sigh, shaking my head as I lightly nudge Brendon on the shoulder. "Leave the kid alone, I doubt she can put a leash on him."

"Training will also be over momentarily," Tali pipes up cheerily. "As soon as this meeting is over I'll announce the end of training and begin Private Sessions. So if we want to put an end to that behavior, we can hurry through the rest of this meeting, shall we?"

That promise is enticing enough to get everyone to quiet down. Prestige shoots a grateful look my way, and I return it with a slight smile. As far as Careers go, Prestige is one of the good ones. Most of District One is, really. Luxor is intolerable, but the rest aren't too bad. Galavant seems brash, and the boys all aren't too big of fans, but he's a decent enough man. Glory and Prestige are hardly Careers (although it still stings being reminded of Nova and Dakota every time I speak with Glory), while Melody is downright the sweetest woman I've ever met.

"Kyle, we'll talk with you individually about Thomas's situation, otherwise there are no extenuating circumstances that need discussing. All tokens have passed inspection and will be returned to your tributes tomorrow morning. If there are any special requests you would like to make in regards to interviews, the cornucopia, or anything else. Now is the time, otherwise we're done here."

A few mentors shoot their hands up and take turns making their menial requests. Prestige asks for a hook sword and spear and shield at the cornucopia for May and Pierre plus bowie knives for Ariya, and Dewey asks for a Katan for Ainsley. Their requests are a formality, there's no chance the Gamemakers will strip their careers of their best weapons, but Tali at least has the professionalism to say she'll consider it.

Audra is the only other one to make a request, asking for a guitar to be available for Kyler's interview if he chooses to want to use it. Tali agrees to that one instantly. With that it's over, the room instantly draining.

Atlas slows down on his way out enough to tap me on the shoulder and ask if I want to get drinks with the rest of the gang, but I just smile and shake my head.

"You mean you're wondering if I want to go out and watch you three get drunk? I'll pass this time, but I'll see you at the Gala."

He seems pleased enough with that and jogs to go catch up with Brendon and Kyle (whose conversation with Tali is remarkably brief and leaves Kyle looking even more frustrated than before). In a flash, the only ones left in the room are Tali and me.

She gives me a curious look as she taps away at a tablet and makes the odds board disappear. "Is there anything you'd like to discuss, Tristan?"

I suck in a deep breath. This isn't me hoping. It isn't me believing. I'm just doing my due diligence, nothing more. "Yes," I say. "I had a request, actually. One I'd like to keep private."

"Is that so?" She asks, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Consider it a testament to the promise that you'd help us outliers have a better chance this year."

"If it's reasonable, I'll do my best to help," she says tentatively.

"Good," I say. "Well then, what would you think about leaving some dynamite at the cornucopia?"

Ariya Arden

The days have swept by. It's like I'm in the academy in District One again, with everything making sense. I can feel power in my hands, sense it radiating off of me each and every time I walk by an outlier and watch as they shake in fear just laying eyes on me. It's familiar. It's right. It makes me feel like everything is already falling into place, like everything that I lost, that was taken from me, is going to come back.

That I'm going to earn it back. I imagine myself returning home a million times in a million different ways, all in different variations. The triumphant homecoming, that strength singing out as I come home with a trail of red dropping behind me. The return home, an apologetic family begging for forgiveness and apologizing for not seeing, for never seeing. Nefeli is in there too, but my imagination of her is foggier. There's no words or images, just a feeling. That feeling of holding her in my arms. Of being where I belong again. Of knowing it was never anything but real.

There's the spiteful homecoming too, the rage of a week in the arena continuing into my trip home, spewing out as I say all the things that I left bottled inside of me to all the people who left me out to dry. The people who sent me away, shipped me off hoping that it would be the last they'd ever see of Ariya Arden. That troublemaker. That good-for-nothing. That weakling.

Whether it's trumpets and triumph, silence and forgiveness, spite and rage, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that every day that passes I feel more and more myself. Those first days I felt like I was relearning to walk, taking stumbling, unsure steps backward. I still don't feel the same as before, but I can feel myself getting closer. When I hold a weapon in my hands and slash at the dummies, I can almost feel that feeling in my gut again. That tingling sensation, like fingers grasped around a neck underwater, or saltwater on my lips, or a bucket falling.

The arena gets closer and closer and I can only imagine that's where everything will fall back into place again. I have everything else already. May and Pierre beside me fill me with that chaotic energy that makes me feel alive, the power sings all around me, and everything that I've lost is just barely out of the reach of my outstretched fingers.

But still something is missing. Something large and central, right in the middle of who I am. It left me the day that everything slipped through my fingers and it's never come back. I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's as simple as something concrete. District One. Nefeli. That feeling of being on top of the world, all alone. But a nagging piece of me can't stop wondering if it's something more than that. Something less easy to retake a hold of. Something like water, falling between the cracks of my fingers no matter how tightly I try to take hold of it.

But maybe that just means I need to squeeze tighter.

Training is slowly coming to a close. The announcement came over the intercom minutes ago and now everything is being packed away and prepared for the Private Sessions. It's almost surreal to watch. Just as quickly as it's started things are already ending. Two days from now I'll be somewhere far from here, a weapon in my hand, and either everything will finally fall into place or I'll be left feeling more lost than before.

"Ariya," my thoughts are snapped back to the moment I'm in as May nudges me on the shoulder. "You wanna grab lunch while we wait for them to set all this up?"

I smile widely. "Another day of lunch drama? How could I say no?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh, yeah, are we sure we don't want to kick Ainsley out of the pack?"

"You can always stab her in the back at the bloodbath." I dramatically mimic a stabbing motion.

"Don't tempt me," she says dourly, but she isn't able to hide the smile she starts to crack. Sweet kid, tries so hard to pretend to be a big bad tough Career but she's just a little softy. And of course, dumb old Ainsley miss serious is too focused on her last name to see she's just a harmless little kitten. I'll almost feel bad having to kill her in the arena if it comes down to it. It would definitely make Victor's Village a bit awkward at the very least.

"Are you all ready to see the first Twelve in two decades?" Pierre announces triumphantly as we step into the cafeteria. He flexes his muscle from on top of one of the benches, and both May and I crack into laughter.

"So nice of you to hype me up like that Pierre," May coos. "So thoughtful."

Pierre laughs loudly at that. "What do you think, Arden? May gonna get closer to a six or a twelve?"

I tap my fingers and pretend to run through calculations. "I dunno, which is a zero closer to? It's been a while since I took a math class at the academy."

"You're assholes." May laughs. Her laughter quickly cuts off as the rest of the group walks into the cafeteria. "Speaking of which," she mutters.

Pierre knocks her on the shoulder and hushes her, even as he smiles doing so. Guy is weird, hard to get a good pin on him. While May is a sheep in wolf's clothing through and through, Pierre is confusing. I ought to hate him. I probably would if I was back in District One. From the little I knew of him back then, we weren't exactly best friends. He would always remind me of the long list of assholes that are strewn about my life story. Koronai and all the rest.

But he's been weirdly pleasant and fun. He has that same energy, matching May and I blow for blow and never taking any of this too seriously. I get the feeling sometimes though that his chaos and energy isn't the same as mine. May's is this naive idea that this is all a game. Mine is just a love for the fun and energy of the moment, of the power and chaos that comes with all of this. But Pierre's seems darker. It's almost like he only jokes with us because we're just side characters in his story. It's hard to put words to it, but it's unnerving. I can't shake the feeling that one day in the arena the facade will drop and he'll reveal himself as just another asshole trying to rip away the perfection that I've found. Another Vasily Vourdes.

I shake that thought as soon as it surfaces. Now isn't the time to think about him. If that's who Pierre is, then that's all the better. This time I'll make sure that he drowns.

Ainsley and Arno take a seat at the table, and then it's Everly and Ethan right behind them, and just like that the whole Career pack is assembled at full strength. It's almost funny looking around at us. How different all of us are. A big bag of misfits huddled together. Broken losers, insecure try-hards, pathetic weaklings pretending to be strong. And yet you look at us and then look at the rest of the room and you'd think we were gods.

Lunch is quiet for the most part. I'm lost floating around in my thoughts, daydreams of homecomings rocking through the currents of my mind. May and Pierre exchange a few jokes, but May isn't herself. She's quiet, more intense. It's like this switch goes off in her whenever Ainsley and Arno and the rest of them appear. Like she feels this need to be serious and scary and mean. It's almost cute.

Arno and Ethan try to start a few conversations, but nobody cares enough about either of them to respond. It's weird they haven't become friends with each other, I can't figure out why. But every day they always end up on the opposite side of the table from each other. Always separated somehow.

Everly looks comfortable with the silence and Ainsley is deep in thought. Pierre seems more than happy to just kick back and relax. He doesn't have any waiting ahead of him. May heads off for her private session and then he follows after, the rest of the day belonging to him. I get the pleasure of waiting an extra two rounds before my name is called, only Arno and Ainsley to keep me company.

The moments tick by, the clock on the wall loudly clicking with each second. It's no time at all before May Redding is called over the speaker and she heads off, a serious expression etched into her features, her nose turned upright and her walk full of self-importance. She looks uncomfortable though, her hands fiddling at her side as if to click some invisible belt that isn't there. Her hands go up to her ears for a moment, but she quickly brings them down and shakes her head.

Tick, tick, tick.

Pierre Bijou. He stretches and flexes his muscles as he stands and winks at the rest of us. "See you all on the other side," he says, his voice full of all that self-important, self-imposing cockiness and assuredness. I suddenly feel strange for ever having been able to stand him, this intense loathing eating away at my core as I watch him strut away. I try to bury that.

Tick, tick, tick.

Everly Amata. She's already halfway to the door by the time the last syllable of her name rings out. Her fists are balled, her walk more like a march than anything else. She looks like a soldier headed off to war. I can't help but wonder how she stays so rigid all the time, how she doesn't break from all that stiff posturing at the slightest breeze.

Tick, tick, tick.

Ethan Faber. He sucks in a deep breath, wishes all of us luck. Arno and I echo the sentiment half-heartedly, Ainsley just nods her head. He seems unphased, prepared for the unenthusiasm. His head is held high as he walks through the double doors, but it's like his neck muscles are flinching under the weight, struggling to keep his chin up.

Tick, tick, tick.

Ariya Arden. I hardly notice my name being called. Today more than ever it feels like I'm walking on delay, my thoughts following after my body, lagging behind. It's almost as if I can watch myself as I head to the doors, that big boisterous smile I know is on my lips feeling so weirdly sad. Like there's something missing there, something that's never really been there, not really. Something I've been chasing all my life without ever realizing it.

Tick, tick, tick.

I step through the doors.

A/N: And with that training is complete! Next chapter will be the interviews, which will double as a score reveal. Cya tomorrow.