An actual chapter this time!


Rachel Larson- District Eleven female

The ruffles and cinches of my dress stretched across my skin as I tried to sit down. I huffed in frustration and pushed down at the chair until the seams threatened to break.

"Slow down," Hlenn said. "You're going to rip it."

"I should be wearing something else," I said. I managed to awkwardly sit on the corner of the chair.

"This is what's in style now. This is what the Capitolites want to see," Hlenn said.

I stared down at the maze of forks and spoons at the setting in front of me. "Which one is this again?" I asked, holding up the smallest fork.

"The dessert fork. And you start from the outside in," Hlenn reminded me.

Oh, pardon me. What did it matter? What did any of this matter? I wanted to be respectful to Hlenn- she won and all- but this was such a waste of energy. What a useless, worthless life these people led.

"When you speak, strive for a 'continental' accent," Hlenn said. "Widen your vowels and clip the ends of your sentences."

"Look-" I held myself back. "I know you're the expert, but this just doesn't seem important."

"This is what the Capitol wants," Hlenn repeated.

"Well, they're a bunch of stupid children," I said. "I'm sorry, but it's true."

"Yes, they are," Hlenn said. Her voice went quiet. "Do you think you'll win by your own skills? None of us did. The stupid children decide. So I gave them what they wanted and you should, too."

I hadn't thought of it that way. Most Tributes didn't, which was why most Tributes didn't win. Hlenn wasn't a watered-down people-pleaser. Hlenn was the survivor I wanted to be. I was ashamed I'd thought my respect of her was charitable. My respect was deserved. I shifted on the seat and arranged my dress more carefully. I wouldn't want it to get ripped.


Rigel Aspen- District Seven male

Plip.

A drop of water spread on the bottom of the water bottle. On top if it I'd balanced another bottle, mouth to mouth. The bottom half of the top bottle was layered with mulch, clay, leaves, and sand. The top half contained water. Drop by drop, the dirty water seeped through the layers and came out clean, or at least cleaner, in the bottom bottle.

I made water, I thought, with some of the pleased pride I sometimes saw when a neighborhood mama cat nursed her kittens. I squatted by my bottle and looked at the still surface of the water. In another few hours I might have a whole half-bottle.

The throwing axe station was just asking for trouble. I didn't need to remind people that Seven was the only outlying District known for its weapons skills. Or that I was a big, burly guy. With my build I'd used the heavy two-handed axes more than the single-hand hatchets, but that was a skill to save for later. For the training days I was thinking more along the lines of snares and shelter-making.

I sensed the Careers coming before I saw them. It was the absence that preceded them- the quiet and stillness of a forest when a predator came through. I turned around and stood as they approached, hoping they'd pass by.

"You're a pretty big guy," Sagar said in the tone of someone graciously extending a compliment to someone nearly but not quite his equal.

"Thanks," I said, since there wasn't really any other way to respond. No one really knows how to accept a compliment.

"We've decided you have what it takes to join us. Interested?" Cyrene said.

A double-edged sword if there ever was one. Join and you're not a target to anyone else, just to your allies. Don't join and you have an enemy you're far away from. Join and you have an enemy sleeping next to you every night. Don't join and you get stabbed in the face. Join and you get stabbed in the back. The deadliest thing that can happen to any pre-Games Tribute is to get asked to join the Careers.

I looked from one Career to another. Cyrene looked like the kind that wouldn't unnecessarily kill me. Andromeda looked friendly. Medusa wasn't paying attention to me. Sagar was obviously the peacock of the group. Percy looked normal.

Then I locked eyes with Lyon. None of the Careers had entered my mind past their obvious existence and danger. Lyon seemed like he'd seen me before. There was an exultant expectation in his expression. It was the look of a bully who finally got his target away from where anyone could see them. It chilled me to my core.

"No thanks," I said. I immediately regretted the bluntness and worked to soften it. "I'm just going it alone. A lot of the past Victors have been loners."


Katrina Moonshadow- District Seven female

No allies for me. I knew my own plan and my own strengths and I didn't want anyone else going their own way. I'd just hone my own skills and take care of myself.

This should be great for me, I thought as I shouldered the crossbow. It was the closest thing to a firearm there could be in the Arena. I hadn't fired the air rifle in years, after a crackdown following some anti-Capitol sentiment in Seven, but it's like riding a bike. I maneuvered the bow in the pocket of my shoulder in what felt like a familiar movement.

I pulled the trigger. The arrow barely skimmed the side of the target.

Rats. Well, gotta get back in practice. I fired again. The arrow hit almost the same spot. At least I was consistent.

I squinted down the bow to get a clear sight picture of my target. I slowly eased off on the trigger until it gently released. The arrow hit slightly closer to the middle of the target but far higher than my first two shots.

Firing a crossbow was more awkward than firing a rifle. It was less neatly shaped and it weighed unevenly. I thought it was just a matter of practicing and getting a feel for it, but thirty arrows later, I hadn't made any real progress. But thirty arrows wasn't much when it came to marksmanship, so I carried on.

Two hours later, I admitted it. I set the crossbow down and moved on to another station.

Archery. Okay, I thought. Maybe this is my thing.

It wasn't. And neither were throwing stars or spears. I didn't want to admit it, but if I kept on like this, I didn't have a chance in the Games. I wasn't good at weapons. That was just the truth. All that buildup about my father and the advantages I got from him, and it didn't matter. But the one thing that definitely won the Games was adaptability. So I swallowed my pride and turned to the less flashy but coldly pragmatic survival skills.