District 4
That One Girl wasn't cute at all.
She was just plain annoying. That was all.
District Four's Drake Fellington thought she was very, very annoying. Not cute. Definitely not. Just annoying.
And it seemed that she just wouldn't leave him alone.
It started when Drake was just minding his own damn business, focused on learning how to use a sword so that if he were in a fight to the death with another person he could end it as quick as possible. And this stupid little priss from District 1 decides to skip right on over and say "Hi Drake!" in that stupid, squeaky, happy voice of hers. She was just annoying.
Drake just ignored her, resisting the urge to snap.
He had been trying to keep his distaste more inside nowadays, after the shit hit the fan with his little sister and things seemed to descend from there. Nobody noticed that he was trying to be nicer, of course, and nobody cared. People had stopped talking to him a long time ago anyways. Drake hated his parents because they called themselves rebels and then hid in the house and did nothing. Drake's parents already hated him, they hated him and his sister from the second they were born.
Drake was never able to keep his defiance inside, not from the time he knew why he and his sister were both never supposed to exist. He would challenge his parents and ask them why the hell they had kids if they hated them. Why the hell didn't they just abort them both and get it over with.
The truth was that they were cowards. Drake refused to be a coward like them. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to die afraid. He was going to go down fighting. He was going to show them all that he wasn't afraid of anything. He was going to do what it took to win, never looking back, never being concerned for his safety (let alone the safety of others), and prove that there was a reason he was born. He wanted to spite his parents, his sister, and everyone else who had ever talked a negative word about him before.
And this stupid fairy fucking princess in his line of sight wasn't helping with anything.
"This is fun, huh?" she asked in that squeaky voice. Drake was mad that he paid attention to the words. He was always so good at droning people out, why wasn't it working on her?
Drake didn't answer her, though, too engaged in his fight with one of the trainers to do so. He didn't want to talk to her anymore, and yet she was still tailing him. Drake kept training, hoping that she'd go away soon enough. She didn't. And she didn't stop talking either. She was almost as bad as his District partner, who seemed to never run out of energy.
Crickette was two years older than Drake's sister Katalina, but so much more lively. Katalina was a hollow shell, practically a ghost, and she was only 13. Drake was 18, and felt just as hollow, though he had a bit of an idea about who he was. He was a mean person full of spite, he had been taught hatred before love and acted like it. He was mean. He was an outlier. He already knew it about himself, and knew that winning the Games would be easy if he just stayed that way.
Again, Blondie was not helping with that.
Drake had no idea why she'd chosen him. There were plenty of tributes that were nicer, more skilled, and more attractive than him. Not that looks mattered in this. It was a fight to the death. It was just the point. There were plenty of other guys that she could've chosen- and girls, too- and yet here she was, still pestering him.
Drake put the weapon down after an hour or so of hard work with it. He was getting better and better. He just wanted to test something. Maybe Champagne was just interested in swords. Maybe he'd be able to escape her if he went to a different station.
"Where to next then!?" said the cheerful voice behind him, causing him to make a face and glance back. Apparently not.
He shrugged and went to work on how to build a fire. He honestly didn't know how.
Drake was avoiding the one thing he could do: knot-tying. He worked for himself and his sister (and to escape his violent parents for a while) on a tiny fishing boat. He loved the water, and wished he didn't have to spend his time rowing and listening to his stupid coworkers talk.
He hit some flint together while Champagne worked cheerfully beside him. She even whistled a little bit. She was alright, but still it was annoying and distracting and Drake couldn't think when she was doing it.
"Can you cut that out?" he finally asked, irritated.
"Just trying to lighten the mood."
Drake scowled. He was about to ask her why the hell that mattered in a fight to the death, but bit his tongue. That would definitely hurt her feelings. Not that he cared about her stupid feelings. He just didn't want to start a scene. That was all.
They continued training in silence. Drake couldn't focus with the silence, either. It felt like a funeral without Champagne's stupid voice chattering on and on. For once, Drake was annoyed by the silence. He couldn't focus. His eyes kept flicking to the side to watch her and make sure she hadn't passed out or died or anything. He didn't want to start a scene. Finally, it got to a point where he just couldn't take it anymore.
"Fine," he said, scowling.
"Hm?" the girl looked up, and Drake noticed how green her eyes were up close and felt like he might vomit, but in a good way, if that was possible.
"Do your disgusting cheerful thing again," he said, scowling at the flint in his hands that still hadn't ignited.
"What?" she looked confused for a second, but then a little shit grin spread across her face.
"It's not because I like it!" he snapped. He didn't like it. It was just too weird to have her there without it.
"If you say," she said, and sang quietly with more cheerfulness in her voice than before, if that was even possible. Apparently it was. Drake still couldn't make fire.
Champagne, however, got hers to light up.
"Yay!" she said, clapping and giggling happily. Drake puffed out air in annoyance. She was so annoying. And distracting. Drake could've had that fire started immediately if she wasn't there. She was just distracting him. He was Drake Fellington, he could do anything. He didn't need help. He'd just do it when she wasn't there.
Suddenly, Champagne's nose twitched a little bit, and she turned away from Drake and sneezed. It was just like a little puppy sneeze, high-pitched and little.
It was…
It was…
Cute.
The thought, to Drake's horror, came before he could stop it. And once he thought it, he couldn't un-think it. He couldn't deny that he thought it because he just did. Now that word, that stupid four-letter word, was forever tagged to that annoyingly cheerful girl from District 1, and every time he saw her face he would remember that one time that Drake Fellington, the meanest person in District 4, looked at that girl and thought, Cute. He thought it. He didn't even think his 13-year-old sister was cute.
He mindlessly muttered a "Bless you," and went back to trying to make a fire. But if he couldn't focus enough to do it before, he definitely couldn't now. He was too bothered by that stupid thought he'd just had. He was disgusted with himself for thinking it. That's one freebie. No more thoughts like that ever again, he promised himself.
"So… Do you want to travel with me and Platty!?" she asked hopefully.
He glanced up at her. "Platty and I," he corrected her grammar. "Er, Platinum and I."
"You said Platty!" she giggled and looked proud of herself. Drake scowled. She wasn't cute. But that word was floating around in his mind and he couldn't catch it or pin it down. He couldn't change the fact that he thought it. Now it was going to haunt him.
"Shut up," he said. "I don't think so."
"Are you sure?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
She deflated, but stood up. "Alright then. Thanks anyways." She started off quickly in the other direction to find her District partner as they called the tributes in for lunch.
Drake ate lunch alone. He kept on looking around, not letting his eyes linger too long on Champagne. She seemed to recharge quickly, though, and was soon telling jokes and laughing again, but this time with Platinum, not him.
It's for the better, Drake thought, forcing himself to swallow a bite of chicken even though it threatened to come right back up. It's quieter without her here, and less annoying. I like that I don't have her constant attention on me anymore. That's fine by me. That's good. That's fine. He can have her attention, see if I care.
He stared at his food. He didn't look up again until he heard Champagne's loud laugh from the other side of the room, and watched her grab Platinum's arm and snort.
Drake wasn't jealous. He just wanted to punch Platinum in the balls, just because.
No matter what he was and wasn't willing to admit, though, he couldn't take it any longer. He knew what he had to do.
He walked over with his tray and dropped it on the table, in front of the shocked-looking District partners. Drake sat across from them and said something he never thought he'd say in this situation.
"Fine. I'll ally with you guys."
"Wow," Champagne said, "That was a sudden change in heart! Welcome aboard! Wow, Platty, now we're a trio!"
"Don't call me Platty," the District 1 boy said.
"Shut up, I'm only doing this because you're better at making fires than me." That wasn't true and he knew it. Maybe she knew it too.
Drake Fellington was changing: faster than he ever would have imagined: and he knew that he had to stop it before it got too out of hand.
He still had so much to prove, after all, he still had to win.
For the first time since he got there, Drake started to feel unsure.
He had no idea what the future would hold, but he was starting to feel afraid of what would happen if his walls crumbled now of all times.
He vowed to build them up stronger before their feet touched the Arena. Make them so strong that not even a pile of TNT like Champagne could bring them down.
He didn't have a lot of time to do it, but he would.
Anything to survive, right?
.
Crickette was ready to make some allies.
They weren't sure exactly how to approach this, but they knew that nobody else was quite sure either. And their grouchy, mean District partner already had a tribute insisting on allying with him. Crickette was just as friendly as she was, and therefore was determined to find someone that was good at this whole survival thing and ally with them.
Crickette didn't want to push too far out of their age range, so they figured that a good place to start was with the boy from District 2, who was half-heartedly trying to shoot a bow.
"Hello there!" said Crickette. They wondered if he had even tried to comb his hair this morning or if it was just that stubborn about sticking up like that.
"Hello," Elijah said, pulling the bow back again. He still sounded frazzled, and even… A little paranoid?
"I'm Crickette! Who are you?"
"I'm Elijah." He released the arrow, and it flopped to the ground. The trainer held back a laugh and explained that he needed to pull it back more. The boy looked discouraged and just plain sad. Crickette decided to keep on scouting for their options before they committed to allying with such a downer. Crickette needed someone with as much energy as they had, or at least, close to it. Elijah was just going to drag himself down, and Crickette didn't want to go down with him.
They saw Malthe talking with the big scary boy from 12 and were once again struck by the resemblance to their older brother, Angler. The two boys looked different as could be, of course: Malthe was pale as sin with blonde hair, while Angler had tan skin and dark hair: but they acted almost exactly the same. Crickette was reminded of how easily their brother could've been here, and how lucky it was that Angler wasn't picked. This year would be his first and only reaping, as he was 18 and by law, that was the last reaping he had to endure. Crickette was glad that he was safe.
Seeing him as a sobbing mess after they were reaped was the hardest thing Crickette ever had to do, though. Well, the second hardest thing. The first hardest thing was say goodbye to him.
However, Crickette knew that if they gave up, they'd be dead for sure. But, if they kept trying, they had a chance. 15 wasn't that young considering the other tributes. They were fast, and had a lot of energy, and their mind was constantly working. They could do this. They couldn't give up.
Crickette tugged on the white hat they wore, their trademark clothing item, and tightened their ponytail before getting right back to work next to the girl from District 3.
"Hello," they said again, causing Rosalind to look up. Crickette had seen her as they were waiting to be let into the waxing room, where all of their body hair had been painfully removed. Sure, Crickette had been taught how to shave, but never really cared to do it because their hair was light and really they just didn't care. They were 15. Why did it matter?
Rosalind just glanced at them. "Hi," she said quietly. Crickette couldn't forget the howling sobs they heard coming from the room as Rosalind was escorted out by her stylist. But, Crickette knew that this was a hard process, and everyone had their up days and down days. It was worth at least having a chat with her. Crickette couldn't forget how they cried on the train ride to the Capitol. They weren't going to judge solely based off of that.
Rosalind was pretty good at this identification thing. She flipped over cards and studied them, and Crickette decided to let her focus for a little bit. Crickette flipped over some of the cards, but wasn't really committing the information to memory. They were mostly just thinking about what they were going to say next. The fact remained between them that Crickette had seen Rosalind when she was a sobbing mess. It was more than a little awkward.
"Are you actually memorizing all those so fast?" Crickette asked.
Rosalind glanced up. She looked younger than 14, almost like a baby doll. Crickette bit their lip and glanced back at the cards in their hands. This was not a very efficient system.
"Yeah," Rosalind said quietly. "I usually used flash cards to study."
Crickette glanced up at that. This poor girl was already talking about herself in the past tense. Crickette felt the negative energy latching onto them and quickly stood up, knowing that they couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity like this. They had to keep on going.
"I don't really study," Crickette said, as an afterthought. "Guess I shouldn't waste time on something I'll never really get."
"Guess not," Rosalind said, glancing at the weapons sadly. Crickette moved stations.
There was a station devoted to camouflage, and even though that didn't tie into Crickette's strategy, another of their targets was there, so they went anyways. They did their best to listen to what the people were saying and doing, but Crickette didn't care very much. Instead, they tapped Guinness from 9 on the shoulder, who glanced over.
"Hello there," Crickette said.
"Hey," Guinness said, with a hollow smile. His eyes were dead. Crickette deflated slightly. They were starting to wonder if they were the only one that hadn't given up yet.
"I'm Crickette. I was named after a pirate, not a bug. I mean, the pirate shares a name with a bug. But I was named after the pirate, not the bug."
A spark reappears in his brown eyes when he says, "I was named after alcohol!"
"Yeah?" Finally, Crickette thought, Something I can work with.
"Yeah," he says. "So were all my siblings." His expression darkened again at that, and Crickette sighed.
"Are you really giving up already?" they asked.
"No…" he bit his lip. "I just don't want to get too buddy-buddy with anyone. Not after what happened last night."
Crickette didn't know what happened, but they were starting to wonder if maybe it'd just be better to work on their own. They painted for a while, not trying to camouflage as much as they were trying to decide what to think about Guinness. Of the three that Crickette talked to, he seemed the least dead. But he didn't seem intent on having an ally. Crickette sighed as lunch was called. That had been pointless.
They decided to eat alone and formulate a game plan for the rest of the day. Maybe finding the perfect ally would be harder than they thought after all. But, they needed someone to help them survive. Someone that wasn't ready to give up yet. Someone that wasn't dead and hopeless.
Crickette just needed to keep on searching for that person. No matter how many tributes they had to talk to in order to find them.
~.~.
District 5
District 5's Charge Mayer was trying to learn. He was trying not to let his mind wander, but it was so hard. After all, he was just 16, and all this stuff was just being piled onto him. First, the big whopper: he was here, and not home in District 5 with his parents and his siblings, Lattice and Zero.
Then again, part of Charge was glad that he wasn't at home. He hadn't been thinking very straight after being reaped: in fact, the exact opposite of straight, considering he kissed his best friend who was very much not a girl without even thinking.
Charge's stomach did a flip. He still wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe because he wanted a first kiss before he died, and who else to do it than the guy that had everyone after him anyways?
Charge wished he hadn't done it now though. It was haunting Charge, who hadn't had a wink of sleep since this happened.
Charge's parents had visited him first along with his 14-year-old sister Lattice, who was teary-eyed and wouldn't let go of him. After that, in he came. He looked good and Charge wasn't thinking, and it just kind of happened. As soon as it was over, Charge regretted everything. Abel's eyes, an almost metallic gray color, were still wide. He didn't know what to say. He turned and left and they didn't even exchange a single word.
Finally, in came Charge's brother Zero. Charge was full-out sobbing by then, tearily recounting what happened and bursting into more sobs before his story was finished. Zero had always been good with that kind of stuff, he'd had so many partners before that he was able to coax Charge to breathe and bring him out of his panic. Zero was always good with that. He was good with people unlike Charge ever was. He was a year too old to be reaped, lucky him. Charge was mad that he was here, sure, but he was mostly scared. He couldn't do this alone. He wasn't even sure he could do this at all. It had to be some kind of joke, right? It couldn't be real.
He moved his fingers around, trying to tie the stupid knot, but the shocked look in Abel's eyes won't leave his mind. They had been friends for so long. Sure, Charge was pretty jealous of him usually, considering he had so many admirers and went from girlfriend to girlfriend while Charge had no one… But they were friends. They had each other's backs. And now Charge had messed it all up. And now he was going to die, too. Unless some kind of miracle happened.
Charge's knot was sad compared to Duff's. At least Duff's had a chance at accomplishing its goal. The boy from 5's was unrecognizable.
This whole week Charge had been sticking to his District partner Watt Fairbend. Today, he was trying to give them some space, let them get out there and try to learn without Charge breathing down their back. He was struggling without them, though. They were really smart and resourceful, and really kind to Charge. But, Charge and Watt both knew what this was, and they were both afraid for it. They both wanted to get home. And Charge didn't want to handicap Watt. After all, they're promising the entire District of the Victor to get supplies. Charge couldn't bring himself to stand in the way of that. His family could use the extra food.
Charge left his rope and decided to try using a weapon. He was a passive person, but hoped maybe he'd be better at the weapons than he was at knots. He picked up a sword and held it like the instructor told him to. It felt unnatural and odd to him to be using this weapon. He wasn't violent. He didn't want this. But he had no choice.
The trainer gave him some advice, and Charge listened. He tried to make his body move how the man across from him was moving. At first it felt totally unnatural and weird to Charge, but as he spent more time doing it he got more comfortable with the motions.
By the end of the first day, Charge was able to knock over one of the trainers, the plastic blade of his pretend sword pointed at the Capitolite's neck. Charge felt a sense of pride in his chest at being able to win this fight, though he mostly felt disgusted. He quickly put the sword down and found where Watt was sitting with flashcards that had different plants on them. His hands were still shaking a bit as his District partner tried to console him as best as they could. There wasn't much Watt could say to help him out. He tried to take a flash card to console him.
Watt easily flipped through the cards, and Charge could tell that this station had become a bit of a safe place for them. After a while, Charge could see why. It was more like they were studying for a test in school than for a fight to the death. They could pretend they weren't going to have to kill. Charge stayed there, just like Watt, and together the two of them went through the cards once, twice, ten times. They didn't need to stay there, but they did. Neither of the District partners could make themselves get up and face the facts that they were going to have to take lives.
"I saw you working with that sword," Watt said, as the two of them were riding in the elevator together after a long day of training. "You were doing well."
Charge's ears went red. "Oh. Yeah." He'd almost forgotten. Almost.
"I'll probably take a stab at it tomorrow."
Watt had unintentionally made a pun, but neither of them laughed. Neither of them acknowledged it. The truth was that neither of them had the heart.
"I wasn't made to do this," Charge said quietly.
"I know, honey," Watt said. "Neither was I."
"It's easy," Charge said, a lump in his throat. "It's devastatingly easy to learn how to use that weapon."
Watt frowned, giving their District partner a pat on the back. "You don't have to kill. You could just hide away. Wait until the end. That's what I intend to do."
Charge nodded a bit but didn't say anything else. He was too busy trying not to burst into tears.
Their escort tried to get them to talk, but Charge didn't want to eat, and he didn't want to talk, and he didn't want to be here. He wanted to be home, he wanted to take back that stupid kiss, and he wanted life back the way it was before any of this happened.
He felt his District partner's eyes on him as he went. They looked pitiful, and sad.
Charge slammed his door shut angrily as tears started to pour out of his eyes and roll down his cheeks.
.
Watt Fairbend missed District 5.
They never really liked it there, but now they just missed it. They missed their family and friends, they missed the smell in the air, they missed the routine of working every day.
It didn't help that Charge had been sticking them like a lost puppy.
Watt was terrified of being looked up to. They were two years older than Charge, but that didn't mean anything in the long run. The scared boy with reddish brown skin, black hair, and scared brown eyes had ultimately done what Watt still hadn't: learned a weapon. He was braver than Watt, he was braver than he had any idea, and Watt knew that he had a real chance of making it back, a bigger chance than they had.
Watt was the parental friend, and any other time would have been honored to be looked up to by Charge. Just… Not here.
He was afraid, very afraid, and Watt knew that. But Watt was scared too. They were afraid of killing. Afraid of learning weapons. They had been in denial that these young kids, people afraid like Charge, chatty like Crickette and Heidi, optimistic like Guinness, angry like Knut, and everything in between were going to be slaughtered. Watt couldn't do it and they knew it. Charge had to have known too.
Watt didn't realize how much they missed Charge until he was gone. They knew he was trying to branch out, give them some space, avoid growing too close… But Watt was glad when he came over to them. He'd become a security blanket for them, too. Watt knew that he wouldn't stay by them forever, seeing as Charge was planning on going on his own without any allies.
Watt sipped some hot chocolate and talked a little bit about training. They really weren't in the mood, especially not after Charge had run away. They knew that it was best to give him space: getting too close would be dangerous: but Watt's instinct was to take him a blanket and some hot chocolate. It would at least be an excuse to leave. They quickly got a mug and some marshmallows and excused themself.
They knocked on Charge's door. The sobbing paused as the door cracked. Watt could see a brown eye, wide and alarmed, staring at them. "What?" he asked. He sounded pained.
"I brought some hot chocolate."
Charge wiped at his cheeks angrily. Watt knew that it must be hard on him, crying like this.
They'd experienced toxic masculinity before, after their mother had been killed. Everything became different.
Watt's two brothers refused to open up to anyone, and Watt often found holes punched in the wall, or destroyed objects on the ground. Switch, the youngest of them at 15, was the first to break down, and it was an ugly sight. Fuse, the middle child at 17, still hadn't, not until Watt was reaped and was sitting in that sad little room in the Justice Building. The reality that this was a situation of life or death didn't set in until then. Realizing that he could possibly lose his oldest sibling as well as his mother was too much for him if Watt thought Switch's breakdown was ugly, they'd seen nothing yet. Fuse was screaming and sobbing, wiping at his eyes until the skin around them was raw, biting his lip till it bled, almost punching the wall of the Justice Building…
Luckily, Charge appeared to be having more of a Switch-type breakdown, which Watt could handle.
"Want some water?"
"No," Charge said, sounding angry.
"Alright. Want to talk about it?"
Charge blinked, his eyes just becoming watery again. "Why do you care?" he asked.
"Because we're friends." The word came out before Watt could stop it. They regretted it. Charge's eyes widened, and he looked panicked.
"No," he muttered quietly, "No no no… No no… We can't…"
"I'm sorry… Charge… Forget I said anything…"
Charge sobbed. Watt felt a low, heavy cloud of guilt come over them. They'd gone too far.
"Charge…" He was too hysterical to notice or listen to anything Watt said. Carefully, they coaxed him to breathe, in and out, in and out… Watt did get him to calm down, and only felt relieved. The two District partners sat there, on the floor in the dark of Charge's room, and neither of them said anything.
"Sorry," Charge sniffled.
Watt handed him some tissues. "Sorry I pushed you."
There was some more silence between them.
"Before we came here, I kissed my best friend," he said quietly.
"Oh…" Watt didn't know what to say. They weren't expecting Charge to open up to them after what just happened.
"It was stupid," he sniffled. "I don't know what came over me. It seemed right to me at the time. I regret everything now, though." He started to cry again, quietly this time. Watt could tell that he was still trying to hide the fact that he was crying.
"You can make it right with her when you get home," Watt tried, causing Charge to sob again and blow his nose. "You can."
"I wish it were that simple," Charge said miserably. "I don't have a chance of going home. Maybe you do, but I don't."
"Me?" Watt felt surprised. Maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise that he would feel this way. In that moment, though, it was.
"Yeah," Charge said quietly.
"No… I was banking on you making it back."
He blinked at them, quietly, some more tears dotting his cheeks. "No."
"You're the one that used the weapon today, not me. I wasn't brave enough to."
"I'll never actually use it though!" Charge sobbed.
"What makes you think I will?"
Charge just sobbed some more and shrugged. "I just want my family to be fed," he hiccupped quietly. "And my friends."
"I know how that feels," Watt sighed. They knew their family could get along well without them, but grief was a factor that hit like a tidal wave and was unpredictable. Watt couldn't guess how grief would affect their family. Their father. Their brothers. Maybe it'd kick them into action. Maybe they'd shut down. Watt didn't know. They didn't want to have to find out.
"Well, if I'm banking on you and you're banking on me, then who's driving the plane?"
Charge made a real effort to smile. Watt made a real effort to smile back.
"What I'm saying is that I'm banking on me, so you can't give up so easily."
"I'm banking on you too," he said, dabbing at his eyes. "So you can't either."
"Agreed." Watt bit their lip. "So…"
"I think we should separate," Charge said quietly. "If we hide together, we'd be slaughtered together."
Watt was amazed at his courage.
"That's the bravest choice you could make," they said softly. "I think you're right."
Charge swallowed hard and nodded. Watt reached over and brushed some of the bangs out of his eyes. "Get some sleep," they said gently. "I'll see you bright and early tonight."
Charge sniffled and nodded. "Alright. Night. Thanks again."
"Sure thing." Watt stood up, helped Charge up, and was about to walk back to their room when he stopped them.
"Hey… Thanks for the hot chocolate. I really like a lot of marshmallows."
Watt gave a small chuckle as they walked back to their room. They knew he'd be fine.
And if Charge was going to be fine, they would be, too.
That's what they kept telling themself.
~.~.
District 10
Oliver Wilson's only real talent was making people laugh.
Not exactly the best talent to have in a place like this.
Sure, his humor and cheerful disposition has gotten him a bit of a following: namely the little girl form 11 and the chatterbox from 4, but he wished that they wouldn't look up at him with sparkles in their eyes when he spoke.
Oliver avoided the weapons at first. He was really intimidated by them and too afraid to try and learn them. He wished he had balls like Jessie, who went straight to the station for throwing knives and started to learn.
He went into his second day of training feeling more than a little anxious. He knew that he needed to try and be serious today, but Oliver Wilson had never been serious in his life, and he wasn't sure he could start in the drop of a dime like this.
He decided to start easy, sitting at the fire-building station next to the boy from District 8. He had pale skin, sandy hair styled up out of his face, and dark green, almost brown eyes that looked dark and heavy.
After some fruitless effort, Oliver got bored and started to try to build a tower with the sticks. He was getting pretty high up, too, taking some sticks from the surrounding area to add to his bunch. Knut kept trying, though. Oliver jumped a little bit when the 14-year-old threw the sticks down, growling, his face contorted with frustration.
Oliver decided that he should try to lighten the mood before this became disastrous. "Well, looks like now'd be a good time to swing a weapon around," he said, the innocent teasing evident in his tone.
"I don't want to use a weapon," Knut spat back at him. Oliver was hurt when he snapped. It was just a light-hearted joke, why did he have to blow it so out of proportion? The 10 boy stood up sadly and decided it'd be a good time for him to try some weapons.
Oliver went to the spears station, next to Knut's District partner, who seemed just as serious as Knut. Oliver didn't want to be snapped out by anyone else, so he kept his mouth shut as he learned to use his weapon. Duff was already getting deadly with the weapon, and every time he hit the target Oliver wanted to run and hide in the corner. He was kicking himself for not trying this earlier.
Oliver wasn't very good with a spear, but the boys from 1 and 4 were at the swords station, and knives and bows seemed worse than spears. Oliver just stayed put, trying to pay attention and do his best, even though it was hard. Sometimes he'd see Jessie out of the corner of his eye with Rune, or sometimes he'd see some dust floating in the air or something interesting happened behind him that he just couldn't miss. He knew that these were distractions, but he was diverted anyways.
Crickette appeared next to him and started chattering again, which seemed to raise the mood a little bit. Oliver figured that maybe that kid from 8 was just a jerk, after all, he'd kept his middle fingers up high during chariots, and hadn't done anything but swear and scowl since he'd arrived. Oliver didn't let that get him down, and soon he had Crickette and Heidi laughing again, just like before. He knew that these two younger tributes weren't exactly ideal allies considering they were so young. Crickette acted older than their age, though, and wasn't even a little bit afraid of Oliver being an older boy.
Crickette's chatter was distracting, though, and Oliver knew it. Even the instructor was starting to look annoyed as they joked back and forth. Oliver didn't care, though, laughing felt too good to stop. Heidi listened happily, not interjecting as much. Crickette was quickly getting a hold of spear throwing, talking about how their father used to take them and their older brother Angler fishing and sometimes used a spear to get the fish. Oliver listened, interested. He never got to handle animals, he just worked in meat- processing factories, and even something simple like fishing was extremely interesting to him. He drank in every detail with intense interest. He flipped the shaggy dark hair out of his hair and grinned at the younger tribute, who was bouncing on their feet and talking about the feeling of being out on the open sea. Oliver could only imagine it. Before the Games, he'd never even ridden in a car, or a train. Now he was going to ride in a hovercraft. He was trying to see the bright side, things like that. It was getting harder and harder to find any positives as time went, though.
"Alright, try throwing another," the trainer said, looking slightly annoyed at them.
"Oh, right, sorry!" Crickette giggled a little bit, giving another try. Oliver tried after them. He was getting slightly better, he guessed.
The trainer gave both of them some advice, but as soon as he was done talking Crickette continued their story, and Oliver drank in every detail about how the boat rocked on the water and the clouds revealed a sunrise.
"Ahem!" the trainer said loudly, causing Oliver to jump.
"Oh, sorry," he and Crickette said.
Oliver tried to remember what the trainer told him, but he was totally blanking. It wasn't a big deal, though, the guy'd tell him again and then he'd listen. He tried again and was further off of the target from last time. His mind wandered, and he was on a boat in the water, rocking in the slight breeze of a warm District 4 morning. He just wanted to be there, and not here. He didn't care about throwing a spear. He was only here because he knew he had to be. Soon it'd be over and he could say he spent a day at the spear station.
Crickette kept talking, and Oliver kept listening to them, and not the trainer, who was getting more and more frustrated. It seemed a relief to everyone when lunch was called.
Heidi had gone off and sat with the girls from 3 and 12, but Crickette stayed close to Oliver's side when they got lunch. The tribute from 4 was watching him with interested eyes, asking him questions about his home, about his family, school, job, District, everything.
Oliver talked about his best friend Annaleigh, who seemed shy but the second no one was watching became the most mischievous prankster you'd ever see. He recounted the fun they'd had together causing chaos, told a couple of her favorite jokes, which made Crickette giggle like nobody's business. He talked about Lodge and Corrado, his two older brothers, about his father, his mother and step-father, who weren't quite as nice, and about his everyday life. Crickette talked about their brother Angler and his friends, who they spent a lot of time with, and their parents and family and about going out fishing and going to school. Oliver was amazed at how different their stories were, and yet how similar they were in personality.
When they were called back into the Center, Crickette and Oliver exchanged a smile.
There was an unspoken agreement between them to stay together for a while.
.
Jessie Adams couldn't give up.
She twisted the necklace around her neck and knew she couldn't. This necklace wasn't even hers. It was her older sister Isabelle's. Isabelle was waiting for her little sister to come home, and Jessie knew it. After all, Jessie was all Isabelle had left. They'd lost their father to cancer when Jessie was just a little girl. Their mother fought by Isabelle's side in the Dark Days, and died before her eyes.
After that, Isabelle came home and stayed there.
She wasn't the same. She suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and in a second went from the kind, compassionate, brave, protective sister she was to a hollow version of herself. She was afraid to go out, and begged Jessie with teary eyes not to go out every day. She clung to her younger sister all the time. She had nightmares and always woke up screaming. She didn't have a single day of peace. Jessie wanted to help her, but there were so many other bills to pay for them to survive under a roof. She had become responsible for everything so quickly. Not that Jessie wasn't ready or couldn't handle it, but it kind of choked her off from her support system.
Isabelle's best friend Wilder still came around sometimes. Jessie knew he was in love with Isabelle, and that everything he did, everything he coaxed her to do, came out of the same love for her. But at the same time, she knew that Isabelle was afraid of loving him. As much as Jessie wanted him to confess his feelings, they both knew that it would only confuse and scare Isabelle. Jessie respected him for what he did for her. She also appreciated it, because when Wilder was over, he'd tell Isabelle that Jessie was up napping in her room so that Jessie could get out of the house for a while. Wilder felt bad for lying, but did it because he could see how rejuvenated Jessie was after she was able to spend time with Marigold.
Jessie was focused on learning a weapon and focused on her home. She knew that she couldn't afford to die. What would Isabelle do? Jessie didn't want to find out. And, more importantly, she didn't want Wilder to find out either. She didn't want Isabelle to be more hurt than she was. What would losing her last remaining family member do the poor girl's sanity? She was already extremely delicate. Jessie couldn't forget how Isabelle sobbed when Jessie left for the reaping. She thought that if she and Jessie just hid inside nothing could touch them. Jessie knew that wasn't true. Somehow by God's grace, Wilder got her out of the house for the reaping. He had a way of coaxing that Jessie never had.
It seemed like a year ago that Jessie had said goodbye to Marigold, kissed her for the last time, played with her wavy black ponytail, gazed into her brown eyes as Mari told her that she could do this, she had to do this. Jessie thought that she might have been drifting apart from her girlfriend after everything that happened with Isabelle, but it was times spent together like that that reminded her that she'd be lost without her best friend there to listen to her vent and guide the way. Jessie was so grateful for this person… Damn, she had to get back.
Jessie flipped the dark brown braid back behind her shoulder and wiped some of the sweat off of her forehead. She was determined, and her sister and friends knew that if Jessie Adams was really out to do something, she would do it or be damned. Jessie took a deep breath before she aimed another throwing knife. She focused on the words of advice the instructor had given her, and did her best to put them to action. Jessie was an athletic girl, and when she flicked the wrist as the trainer had demonstrated, the knife did as she'd guided it. She smiled a bit, relieved. She had spent an entire day and a half on this, and though she was far from a master, she could hit targets from a reasonable distance. Jessie wasn't entirely sure if, in the real deal, she would be able to do it to a retreating tribute, but Jessie was prepared to use it for self-defense if need be.
Jessie decided to take a break, and noticed Rune pulling a bowstring back with an arrow, shooting at a target, and hitting it on the nose. The girl beamed proudly, before the smile wavered and disappeared, probably at remembering what this was.
"Nice one," Jessie said as she passed.
"Thanks," Rune said quietly. It was almost a grunt.
Jessie decided to spend some time at some of the survival stations, and soon, Rune joined her.
"You didn't look too bad with the knives," Rune said quietly.
"Thanks," Jessie said, trying a smile. Rune just stared at her hands. Jessie could understand that.
"Do you think you'll be able to shoot-"
"This whole starting fires thing is harder than it seems," Rune interrupted her. Her eyes, a dark shade of blue with a tint of violet, were wide and held an expression of pleading in them. Begging Jessie to drop it.
Jessie understood that, too. She wasn't sure she'd want to answer that question either. "It is hard," she said.
Rune released a breath, nervously pulling her light brown ponytail tighter before she got back to work. The two girls trained silently for a while. When Jessie got up to go to the plants and berries station, Rune followed. When Rune got up to go to the camouflage station, Jessie followed. When they called lunch, the two girls sat across from each other. Jessie glanced over to where Oliver chattered and laughed with the 15-year-old from District 4. She noticed Rune glancing at Guinness, who sat across from the boy from 2 but ate silently, staring at his food, Elijah doing the same.
Jessie cleared her throat, trying to think of anything that can be used as a distraction. "So… Are we gonna tackle this together?" she asked quietly. Rune bit her lip, looking nervous. Jessie quickly continued. "I won't be mad if you don't want to. I understand. I was just wondering, because it seemed…"
"No, I want to. I just… Don't want to get too close." She glanced at Guinness, her eyes looking miserable.
"I understand. We don't have to get any closer than this."
Rune tried a small smile, tearing her eyes away from her miserable District partner. "Alright. That sounds good."
Jessie smiled back a bit. "They'd better not underestimate us. Separately we're threats, and together we're a double threat."
Rune swallowed hard. "Double threat. Right."
Jessie knew how she felt. She wasn't sure if either of them could actually kill. She didn't know if they could do it. She was horrified. She didn't know what would happen.
But she knew that sometimes two heads are better than one.
She only hoped her intuition wasn't leading her astray.
A/N: Another long one! But we're three quarters of the way through the pre-Games chapters! Thanks so much to those of you that are still reading, reviews are always appreciated. I hope you're liking the tributes and they're at least somewhat memorable for you.
* Chapter Question: Are there any tributes you want to see interact? Any individual tributes or interactions that you'd like to see more of? I will take this into account next chapter and into the Games, so be honest.
