Before we get into the POVs, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry that the wait for this was so long, my writing was temporarily diverted to another story for Anya's (glimmerglint's) Victor Exchange, an event that was super fun and took place on the Hunger Games SYOT Discord Forum, where it was basically like SYOT meets one-shot victor fic meets Secret Santa. Go check out some of the stories if you haven't already, and the same goes for getting on the forum. It is a super fun and lively place with an awesome community!
Here is a link: /channels/710111880932360234/856702794043621376
With that out of the way, let's get into the story.
Carroll Heinback, 16, District Six Male
In the morning, the view of the Capitol from our floor is oddly serene. The hustle and bustle has not yet commenced at this early hour of the day, and only the earliest of risers stroll along the street, subdued in grogginess. It's easy to forget, when I see them, what horrible people so many of them are. Many of their outfits aren't too far off from what I wore to work every day.
A still, untouched quiet has settled over the place with no one but the avoxes to accompany me as of the current hour. It feels relaxing, yet somewhat consternating, reminding me of those gloomy white halls and room after room after room of sick patient, where all of them sat so depressed and melancholy, almost waiting to die. A lot of them did eventually.
That was the main reason that they needed somebody like me, or somebody like Carmichael at the hospital, just to help keep the morale high. Give the kids inspiration, will to live, because Panem knows nothing else would in a place like Six. Without happiness, there was nothing else left to fight for. It was so infuriating to see some of them give up and stop fighting to stay alive, to see them relinquish themselves to death, snap their own fluids, or sit resignedly in their sick beds as the heart rate monitor beeped with dangerous rapidity. Why would they let all that life had to offer go, just quit without making any sort of effort?
In a way, it's very similar to the plight I'm facing right now. I don't want to see my competitors give up, because some of them already have, or at least seem on the verge of it. I know that seems counterproductive, and yet I can't get past it. I can't stop visualizing the other twenty-three as more patients inside the ward, as people I need to help.
I know that I'm not cut out for this, and if it comes down to it, I don't think, in the bottom of my heart, that I'll be able to bring the knife down if I have to at some point. I know I'm a good person, and I don't want to forfeit that purity that all twenty-four of us have as of now, except for maybe Imperia, the Nine girl, but I am not just going to roll over and let death come to me. That would be giving up. I guess I'll just cross that road when I get to it, because I need to see my family again, and I can't give up because of that. I help all of those poor sick people survive. I'm worried about some of them, scared that if I die, they might lose the will to live themselves. I just hope that Carmichael is doing enough by himself.
I'm not going to stop fighting, because I have to win for them. In the meantime, I might as well brighten up the lives of everybody else in the short time that we all have left. It seems to be working with Keeley, and she has already changed so much since we met on the train. She really has come of out of her shell and become so openminded, and it feels so good to be breaking down barriers. She has no idea how much she is aiding me now, to fill that gaping void of someone in need, somebody to guide and to cheer up and to care for. That's my own way of coping, and I've known that since I first stepped foot in that hospital after Hardy died. I found my place, my own outlet of mourning.
At that thought, the door to a bedroom opens, and Keeley steps out, looking dazed in her sleepiness.
"Good morning," I say to her. "Want anything for breakfast?" I ask, gesturing to the lavish buffet behind us.
"Sure. Oh, and good morning too."
"Anything you want?" I ask as she plops down into a chair, still in her silk pajamas.
"Just go crazy with it, dude, but no meat aside from the eggs. Don't forget the eggs."
"You sure you don't want to try the sizzlin' bacon?"
"Yes. Meat is gross. That, and it's kind of disturbing to think that it was once alive."
"If you say so."
I finish compiling an elaborate breakfast full of exotic, vibrant looking fruits that we haven't had the chance to try yet and drop it down in front of her.
"There you go, your highness," I say in a pretentious butler voice before bowing to her. She smiles.
"There it is," I say, grinning in return.
"Shut up," she says sarcastically, but she doesn't wipe the smile off of her face like she has done in most of the short span of time I've known her. That's encouraging. It's the kind of thing that makes sprucing up the lives of others, amusing them, enlivening them so gratifying. I want to make everyone smile the way that I do. I'd love to see Keeley win if I don't make it out alive. I guess that wouldn't be possible though.
"Where's Honda?" I ask, peering towards her closed bedroom door. "She's normally the first one up."
"I think she had a late night out getting sponsors for us. She wasn't back when I checked out."
Keeley looks out, still most likely ashamed of what she said to her two nights ago. It was uncalled for, yes, but that is what happens when your raw emotions take ahold of you, and Keeley is also only thirteen, and in a death match. It's excusable, but also heartening to see her walls cracking that way compared that first day on the train when she stormed off coldly and rudely.
I'm not going to bring up the incident to Keeley when it is evident she still feels guilty. That's good enough for me, and Honda too. She isn't perfect, nobody is, but she is obviously still trying her hardest despite having been mentoring for forty-something years and having only one deadbeat to show for it, which I find admirable. She isn't a quitter, and she's tried to keep the mood light in times of despair. I find myself in her.
"How late did you stay up last night?" I ask curiously. I checked out at ten o'clock.
"You don't want to know. I couldn't go to sleep. I think it was after one in the morning."
I sigh, exasperated.
"I know what you're about to say, that I should be getting more sleep because I'll be a better learner and be in more shape and blah, blah, blah, blah. Just spare me the talking to, I know it already."
"Don't get all pissy on me," I say jocularly, pinching her. "You know I wasn't attempting to start a fight or anything, just trying to help."
"Sorry," she says. "I'll get to bed earlier tonight. I need to be ready to practice for the interviews."
"You're right. Speaking of practice, what are you planning on doing for your private session?"
She tenses up, thinking about what lies ahead in only a few hours. "Probably just take a run on the agility course and the stealth course and then work on the knives with the dummies. I've got the cool spinny moves that the trainer did do, so I look better than I actually am."
"That's cool," I comment, jittering slightly as I wonder what I'll do. I honestly haven't given it much thought. I've mainly been at the survival stations while Keeley practiced with the daggers. As much as I tried to bring myself to do it, I couldn't touch those weapons. I know deep down I'll either have to face that fear or die knowing that I failed, and I know which one I'm leaning towards already. It's not that tough of a decision. "I'll probably just demonstrate all the survival stuff they taught us. You'll probably score higher, the Gamemakers tend to go more for that kind of stuff."
"It's not going to reflect how strong you actually are, so don't worry about it," Keeley says, encouraging and yet blunt. That is something I like about her, the bluntness. If I'm being truthful with myself, sometimes I exaggerate a patient's chances of survival just to give them some extra drive. The change is refreshing, and the words are comforting.
"You're right." I take the last few bites of the solitary waffle on my plate, having lost his numerous companions. I slump back in my chair and sip my iced tea, stuffed, and pat my belly. It feels like I've just gained ten pounds, but the delectable treat and the ecstasy that follows is worth it every time.
"How many of those things have you eaten since you got Reaped," Keeley asks, smiling.
"Too many to count and a little more," I answer, smiling contentedly. "I'm not done yet."
"Save it for tomorrow morning," Keeley says as she starts to pick delicately at her eggs.
"I guess that means I'm done, then. I can wait for you if you want, but I was hoping to get an early start on training today to learn some new stuff and brush up on everything else."
"Go right on ahead," Keeley says coolly. "I'm still going to get my shower, and my hair won't braid itself."
"Okay then, I guess I'll head down," I say as I head towards the elevator. I turn back at the last second. "Tell Honda good morning for me if she wakes up while you're up here."
"Will do."
I press the elevator button for down, and not long after the door opens. The boy from Eleven is already in the compartment. I step in quickly, press the close button, and smile at him.
He doesn't look so cheery himself. His face is shaped into a frown of a scowl, and the one time he does come close to catching my eye, it is more of a glower or glare than anything else. He backs himself up into a corner, distancing himself from me while at the same time possibly trying to make himself appear menacing.
I know that I should stay away from this boy, especially in a competition where there is a substantial chance that any friendship that I make could lead to my demise, but I can't help myself. There's something curious about him, the way that his mood constantly seems to shift between fear and anger. The least that I could do is try and give him some brightness to last him until his probable end.
"You need to smile more. It won't do you any good not to. The opposite, really. It's not like we've been launched into the arena yet. Plus, it requires less facial muscles than frowning," I say, finishing with my signature line, the one I recite to anyone I see stuck in melancholy. I do realize that I sound like a bit of an idiot, but I've learned to try and put myself out there for the sake of others, since it could go a long way.
He doesn't react.
"Carroll Heinback, District Six," I say, opting for a different approach as I extend my hand outwards for him to shake.
Instead, he slaps it away.
"Fuck off," he says abrasively. "Don't come at me with that sunshine and rainbows shit. You're the one who needs to learn a lesson. Chickens and wimps don't win the Hunger Games."
I retract my hand, taken aback by what he just said. "Sorry. Just trying to be friendly."
However rude the boy was, he is correct. The realization hits me again, and I gulp as I can feel myself paling, the blood draining from my face. I'm probably going to have to kill someone if I want to escape this, and in the process compromise all that I hold dear. I don't know if I could do that, if I'm strong enough to do that. I don't know if I want to do that.
"Sorry! Did I say something?"
I look over at the kid quizzically and find someone completely transformed staring back at me apologetically. The boy's face has gone reddened, and he is jumpier than I have ever seen him or anyone that I can remember.
"Huh? What do you mean, 'did you say something'?"
"I just—I'm really, really sorry."
"Um… It's fine." I look at him, very confused. It's probably just the stress of the Hunger Games getting to him, changing him, giving him mood swings, but I can't suppress the suspicion that there is something deeper. My memory flashes back to the psychology class that I was taking just to get closer to Petra. It was actually quite interesting. Mrs. Burkes had listed some of the disorders: Schizophrenia, anxiety, bipolar depression, DID… That one stands out in particular.
I can't resist the urge to ask him, because if I'm right, maybe I could help him in the same way that I've helped so many of the poor sick children I visit.
"What's your name?" I ask him, breaking the awkward silence as the elevator comes to a halt.
"Aleyn. Aleyn Garsow," he stutters out. "What's yours?"
That almost confirms my suspicions. He could have not been paying attention, but it doesn't look like it.
"Carroll Heinback," I tell him. "I already gave you my name, Aleyn."
"Oh," he says awkwardly, stepping out of the elevator and appearing like he wants to be anywhere but here, stuck in such an embarrassing situation. "Sorry," he adds meekly.
"Aleyn, do you have DID?"
The question sits in the air as we both stop in the lobby, no other tributes around. Aleyn looks anxious, uncomprehending.
"What's that?"
"Dissociative Identity Disorder. It's when you have more than one distinct personality inside your head. It's normally a coping method for trauma."
He takes a second to ponder it, still red in the face.
"How did you know?"
"I took a class on psychology. Plus, I'm just good at diagnosing people."
"Oh. I think you're right. Is it curable?"
"Sorry. I don't think it is."
"Oh. Well then, I guess there's no point in trying to fight it. Trying to win at all."
"Don't say that!" I say. "That's completely counterproductive to everything. You have to try to win, you can't just give up! Don't be a quitter. There are so many amazing things to cherish in life, why just give up on it?"
"It… it just sure doesn't feel like there are a lot of things to cherish."
"Cherish it all, the good and the bad. Maybe if you win, you could get treatment for it."
Aleyn takes a second to work it out in his mind, to accept the fact that he does have a problem and knows now what it is. At least that must be comforting in itself. I want so bad to make an impact on him, to make an impact on everyone. I want to see him shine. That's much better than seeing him give up, lay in wait for death as a mercy. Death wouldn't be a mercy for him, it never is for anyone. I've seen it firsthand.
"Okay. I will."
"Good!" I say, beaming at him. "Now come on," I demand, grabbing his arm. "I've seen you at the survival stations the past few days. You haven't been trying your best. You can brush up with me."
"If you say so," Aleyn says hesitantly, walking into the almost empty training center with me. "But I don't want to come with you in the arena. It's too dangerous. What if I flip, like I just did?"
"We'll jump that hurdle when we get to it. Now come on and have some fun. Put in some effort," I say, pulling him to the shelter building station.
I'm making progress, and progress is enough. I don't want to jump that hurdle of being in the arena either, so why not just have fun and help others while I still can?
Tessa Oakhart, 12, District Seven Female
Things have slowed to a crawl on the third day of training. I sit silently at the knot-tying station, working on perfecting them. It's coming quite easily, given my hands are quick and nimble, and, consequentially, is a bit boring. Rowan is over at the axe station, which doesn't exactly suit my skillset. We figured that he would do the more physical things while I focused on survival, which is clever, but could as I pointed out, be detrimental in the long run if one of dies. He brushed it off.
The past few days spent with him have been, as ironic as it sounds, some of the best of my life. The constant thievery and deception back in Seven got repetitive despite the crazy atmosphere of it all, and I don't miss it. I do miss Remy and Minnie back home. They were the only ones who were ever there for me after I had nowhere else to go. Rowan suffices as an excellent replacement, though. Scratch that. He's more than a replacement. He's a friend.
I can't leave out Ann either, because without her I would have ended up on the streets panhandling most likely. She was my ticket to a good life by Seven standards. That's how she put it. I don't care what Remy said, she saved me from a much harder life, and that's good enough for me. I don't disregard what he thinks about her-that she's conniving and manipulative—but I strongly disagree. I'm smart for a twelve-year-old, smarter than most of the adults I've run into, and I think I can always get a pretty good read on people, and because of that, I know that ninety-nine out of one-hundred are innately humane and trustworthy.
Despite that, I don't plan on contradicting Rowan anytime soon, even if I do think that he is wrong about Nerissa. What we have is working, and he's the closest thing I've had to a brother since TJ died five years ago. It's disturbing to think that he and Rowan have even slept in the same bed, that we have ridden the same elevator, probably frequented some of the same stations. That makes me cling to Rowan even further, because even if I did survive alone, I want his presence, and if not him then someone else.
I couldn't take being by myself out there, stranded, nobody to talk to. The same way it was after I found Mommy and Daddy, hopeless, though if I'm being honest with myself it was like that for months and months after TJ left. I still don't blame them for the way they reacted, nor for the way that they loved him, because they were family, and they loved me too.
I don't remember much of it, but this feeling that I get when I'm around Rowan is like that. It's distinct, memorable, and whenever I think about it or experience, my heart seems to warm. That's why I'm willing to split from the rest of the alliance, because I want to chase that feeling. I don't see the problem with fraternizing with them, however, or trying to incorporate more tributes into the alliance. If not that, then get into their good graces. You never know when a friend could come in handy in the arena.
Everything around me seems so tantalizing, and I don't see any use in learning much more, since that would be delving in the realm of unnecessariness. Talking to other tributes would be fun, and I'm not going to let the failure with Coleus from yesterday damped my spirits.
"I think I've learned enough, thank you," I say to the trainer in what I hope is a polite manner before standing up and walking off.
"Thank you for visiting, miss!" the older woman chirps.
The training center, while big and imposing, seems so full of fun opportunities. I try to reign in that childish naïveté still running within me, but it's hard, hard not to forget where I am and go around having fun and ignoring the private sessions hours and the daunting mountain that comes after it. The stealth course, ropes course, agility course, and swimming pool all catch my eye. I see Nerissa and Raihan standing in wait over at the stealth course. It would be fun to catch up with the group, and I need to brush up on it, since I intend to run it during my private session. Thieving is finally paying off in a way different that monetary stability.
"Hi! Mind if I join in?" I ask, approaching Nerissa from behind as Raihan starts the course, edging along the wall of the first plexiglass room while he feet daintily prance across sparse empty areas of dirt floor uncrowded by crinkly fallen leaves from unseen trees. He isn't off to too good of a start.
"No, not at all, not at all," Nerissa says, turning to me and smiling. "I was just thinking about you. You know, it really isn't the same without the original seven of us, but… well, we make it work."
"I'm glad to hear that," say, smiling. I don't want to have to get into why we left again. "I'm sorry again, we just think we'll be able to think and fare better just the two of us. I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, it was unbearable to watch."
"We'll overcome it," Nerissa says, her smile unwavering and slight tearful resolve clouding her eyes. "Death isn't going to take us into its grasp just yet."
"That's the way to think."
Already I feel more comfortable than I did only seconds ago when I was by myself. Nerissa's energy is so welcoming and enthralling. In a way, this girly chat reminds me of Minnie back home, my best friend.
"It was so brave of you to stand up to that girl like that," I say to her.
I'm strategically complementing her, trying to make up for deserting, but the words are sincere. I'm eternally grateful that the careers never hit me and Rowan. Memories flood my mind of Sycamore on the training and more incidents since then, seeing the betting and odds on the television, watching as I'm always ranked somewhere in the twenties. I don't want to shrink away anymore, and yet it is so easy and comforting to have Rowan there to tell me that none of it matters every time, to stand in front of me, to fight on my behalf against Sycamore and the rest of them. At this point, I don't know how I could survive without him in the arena by my side.
"Thanks," Nerissa says, grinning ear to ear, and I wonder how Rowan could distrust somebody like her. I know the world just as well as he does, I've been making my own money for longer than he has. I'm not just some stupid kid, and I'm certain Nerissa is good. Everybody is good unless they are turned bad, just look at the brainwashed girl from Nine. That's why so many people kept on falling for the act and mysteriously losing their wallets.
"I did it!"
Raihan celebrates at the end of the course. Above him is a screen that displays "70%" on it. Bolt and Sierra congratulate him with high fives while Tabitha hangs back, her typical meek self.
"My turn now," Nerissa says, before stepping into the dry leaf room. She makes excellent work of avoiding the crinkly fallen leaves, taking her time. Watching her face, she seems weirdly… fascinated by them? More like intrigued. Maybe she's just having fun and has never seen leaves like that before in a place like Three. She makes quick work of it all, and with a good time too.
"Come on, Tessa, your turn!" Raihan yells from across the course.
I wave to him to signal that I've heard before starting. The first part with the leaves is relatively easy, but further on, when artificial trees and bushes appear and robotic mannikins with laser eyes walk through the plexiglass enclosure. One of the comes nearer me as I skip behind a bush and hide, and I feel a crinkle beneath my left palm. A leaf has been smashed, and with it erupts a loud sound. I hop from hole to hole avoiding the fake tribute before reaching the end. From there it is easy work.
My time displayed is 3:04 seconds, a minute faster than Nerissa's, and the score is 93 percent. I'd say that is impressive for a little girl, even one that steals things for a living.
"Dude, that was incredible," Bolt says, high fiving me with his normal ear-to-ear grin.
"Thanks," I say, slapping his open hand with gusto.
"Where've you been, Tessa?" Sierra asks, smiling.
"Does this mean that you're coming back?" Raihan asks excitedly, and I go pink in the face, flustered from all of the questions and awkward, because no, I don't intend to come back into the alliance.
"No, sorry," I answer, shaking my head. "I just wanted to come over and hang out and try my luck on the course."
"Tessa! I didn't know where you went off to." Rowan runs up from behind us, sweaty and panting heavily.
"Sorry," I call out as slows to a halt. "I just wanted to come and hang out over here, I was bored."
The rest of the alliance greets Rowan, but with him tension comes in the air, from a source I can't detect despite its palpability.
"How's axe training going?" Sierra asks, clearly glad to see Rowan and still quizzical as to why we left.
"Good. I've been doing it for years, so there isn't much else to learn. I still don't see why you wouldn't just want to come over and watch me if you were bored, Tessa. Maybe take some notes."
It takes me a second to realize that Rowan is being sarcastic, the way that he always is, keeping that same jovially cocky air to him.
"I was just wanting to check up on you. I'm going back to the axe training station. If you want to come, do it at your own risk, and beware of swinging axes. That goes for all of you by the way."
"No thanks," Nerissa says, still smiling ever so brightly. "I was wanting to try out training with the spears. I'm still a bit klutzy with it, but I was going to get Sierra to help me. Tabitha, are you coming with us?"
Tabitha shrinks back at the five pairs of eyes suddenly directed at her and mutters out the barely discerning word, "Sure."
"I want to go back to the camouflage station," Raihan says. "Bolt, do you wanna come?"
"Totally," Bolt responds, fist bumping Raihan. "No offense Rowan, but that sounds way more fun than axes. Weapons aren't really my thing, anyway."
We all pair off, and just like that I'm back with Rowan again.
"Sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to tear you away from that. "You should go back over there with them if you want, maybe try camouflage with Bolt and Raihan."
"I would rather stay with you," I say honestly.
"Okay then. And thanks."
We lapse into silence as we walk, passing by the careers training rigorously in the sparring section. Just seeing them scares me, makes me want to inch closer to Rowan as some sort of form of protection. I know that is wrong, because I'm supposed to being able to defend myself and not be a lag on him, which he assures me that I'm not, but I'm still quite obviously reliant on him to defend me. The truth, deep down I know, is that I'm horrified for what lies ahead in just a few days, and I know that I'm weak, that I have practically no chance at all of survival. I'm not giving up, and yet, at the same time, I feel like the only way to win is to hide behind other people.
I know that I can't hide behind other people forever, though. I'm no dummy. At some point, one of us is going to have to betray each other, or my layers, or layer, currently, of protection are ripped away to leave me exposed. I've never felt like that in so long before, I've always had a house to live in, someone older and wiser than me to guide me, first TJ, then Remy and Ann, and now Rowan.
"What are you going to do while I train?" Rowan asks, disturbing my inner turmoil. "Just take in the excellence?"
"I don't know…" Our conversation peters back down into nothingness. A comfortable sort of nothingness, or at least as comfortable as it could be where we are.
That's why I love Rowan so much. I feel at ease with him, like I have a big brother and new best friend at the same time. He takes all of the fear away. I know that this is transient, and I hate myself for just wanting to stay weak and fragile. I want to be able to defend Rowan too. The hard part is actually mustering up the courage to actually commit to it, because I know there is no chance in hell that a 70 pound twelve-year-old could take on someone as fearsome and fierce as any of those careers. I just want to do it, because I'm sick of being weak and using my cuteness, my cleverness, and my deception to get around.
"Actually, I was thinking maybe I would train with one of the knives. The station is right beside where you are."
"Oh, that's great! You're still the brains and I'm the brawn, though, cause there is no way I could do as good as you on that memory test even if I practiced for the entire day." Rowan looks genuinely surprised and impressed, but I feel that cautious tremble in his hand as he places it on my shoulder. "You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure," I say, laughing from his complement of a joke but still nervous myself.
We split as we reach our stations and step up. There are myriad knives of every kind at the station, so many it looks like four times as many tributes as there are could all fight one at the same time and there would be many to spare. Some could be confused with swords; others are as tiny as the pocketknife Minnie's dad told her to carry. I pick up one of the smallest ones. It feels frustratingly heavy in my hands, but I refuse to go down in size any further, because by that point it would be completely ineffective.
"Welcome to the knife station!" one of the trainers greets enthusiastically as the other three stand back and smile with the same energy. "What would you like to learn?"
"Just how to fight," I answer. "Be proficient."
"That you will. I have a feeling Valencia would be the best fit for you because of the knife you chose. Smart decision for your build."
"Thanks," I say as a tiny woman with olive green skin and rippling muscles steps up to shake my hand.
The work is arduous and exerting, and after only a few minutes I can feel my right arm aching in soreness. Valencia tells me that my footwork and stances are good and that I can make up for size with speed the same way that she did, but I still feel incompetent. Whenever I drive my blade into the skin of a dummy, it only seeks an inch deep or so, and the blood only faintly oozes out. The lethal artery models are too thin and deep for me to reach. The discouraging feel of it all is compounded by Rowan near me, smiling and giving thumbs up, but the dummy beside him bearing lacerations so deep that the bones must be touched by his axe.
"Keep pushing," Valencia tells me over and over again, and I do for what seems like hours and hours, but in reality is most likely thirty or forty-five minutes.
And then, all of a sudden, the lunch gong rings, and just like that training is over. Crap.
"You did quite well," Valencia tells me. "It was a pleasure to meet you. Good luck with your private session, and in the arena, too!"
"Thank you," I force out before speed-walking to Rowan.
I feel like an idiot, having just made a fool of myself in front of the other tributes, the trainers, and the Gamemakers, watching imperiously from above. That helped, but minimally, and I don't know if it would do much good against a vast majority of my competition. The only ones it would do good against are tributes that I'm friendly with. I devoted an hour that could be spent brushing up on survival, or stealth, or agility, to training with a weapon, when that would help absolutely no one. I might as well stay behind Rowan for all of the combat.
"What's wrong?" Rowan asks concernedly, stopping me with his hand as I intercept him. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm okay, I just think I made myself look like a doofus."
"No, you didn't you did excellent, I was watching you. I'm not even being sarcastic this time!"
I can feel myself slipping as my face gets hot and my voice becomes warbly. "If you say so."
"Come here," he says, pulling me into his side. "It's alright, none of it matters."
That feeling of having someone to accompany me, a good friend, a shoulder to cry on, is so intoxicating, and I don't know how I'll be able to live without it if Rowan dies before me. I was being foolish earlier. I stand no chance at all in a fight. I need Rowan to survive both mentally and physically. I can't live without him either way.
Aquatico Espovera, 16, District Four Male
"Stop dancing around and give it to me, full force!" Turquesa takes a provoking jab at the air six inches to my left with her blunted spear, smiling yet obviously frustrated. "You can't just keep dodging forever!"
"How do you know that that's what I intend to do?" I ask tauntingly, laughing as my bare feet spring off of one platform and onto another three feet. That way I still have the high ground.
"Can you at least let me get some good practice in instead of embarrassing me in front of our competition?" she requests, this time in a hushed whisper-grunt.
"Sorry," I say, immediately feeling guilty as I'm suddenly conscious of the possibility of our five biggest nemeses watching us right now. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. You shouldn't let yourself—" I hop up to avoid a swipe at my legs "—be embarrassed by it though. I don't."
That's pretty much how I've lived all sixteen years of my life, and it seems to be working for me. It's something Milo taught me: Take life as it comes to you. Move along with it like a raft on the ocean without any paddles. Keep on riding and laughing the whole way. There is no use in getting worked up. Of-course, I'm going to take the paddles in this situation and not let myself get swept to my death.
Some people aren't that way, though, and Turquesa is one of them. It's one of the reasons that we blend together so well, and when I see her, I can't help but picture Mya standing there, platinum blonde hair instead of black and skin so beautifully kissed by the sun. I can't help myself from getting lovesick here, from craving the sandy beaches and days spent singing and dancing and the way the wind swept my hair, and Marlon's and Mya's.
"Well you're you, and cool, and carefree," she says, beginning to tire.
"You're leaving out totally awesome," I say, leaping down from my platform to balance my blunted spear tip an inch from her throat. "And better than you at sparring," I add, an exaggerated and smug grin on my face.
"Oh, shut up," she says, before rapidly shoving her spear into my chest and laying her foot lightly on it once I'm on the ground. "Are you sure?" she asks, snorting, with a humble yet triumphant grin on her face. She extends her arm, asking, "Need a hand?"
"Thanks," I say as she pulls me up. "Up for a rematch? Maybe this time I can prove my dominance for good."
"No, I just wanted to brush up on it before the private sessions. It isn't fun to me. You know that, right? Not all of us have had fun experiences with fighting."
"I get it, I get it," I say, not pushing for it any further and still feeling guilty about showing up Turquesa up until the end in such an annoying and lopsided manner. I was just trying to mess around, and she knows that, and I don't see any need for apologies in regular life anyway. Those things just add so much stress to having fun with people, charming them, making them laugh and enjoy themselves.
"What about the agility course?" I propose, catching that our glorious opportunity as the station is unoccupied.
"No, I'm looking for something more productive?"
"What?"
"I haven't decided yet, but we—especially you—have run that thing so many times, you've probably left permanent footprint indentions on it by now."
Turquesa is completely right, but that doesn't stop me from asking again. It's fun and exhilarating, even though I know doing it again wouldn't be productive.
"How about we head on over there anyway while you decide?"
"You can if you want to, but I think I'll go back over to the foraging station. I want to learn some survival skills, don't you? It seems like we haven't gotten enough."
"Nah, chica, I think I'll tag along."
"Good lord, just kill me now," she moans, laughter crackling her voice as she looks up to the dark ceiling of the training center. "You do know how awkward those Spanish words sound, right?"
"The kids back in Four didn't seem to think so," I rebuke, flashing her a wink. I can't help myself.
"I sure hope so for your sake," she says, putting an arm on my shoulder as she shakes her head, chuckling.
"Thanks. And how many boys do you have back home?" I ask, fully expecting the playful slap she gives me after retracting her arm from my shoulder. Her face is pink.
The humor is rather cutting, I know, but that's just my style. Turquesa doesn't seem too bothered by it. Quite the contrary, actually, as seen in the way she giggles and takes my shoulders, trying to force her hand over my mouth. I fight back but let her have her way to satisfy her while remaining inconspicuous to the other twenty-two. It's been wonderful, seeing her open up like this. When we first met, she was cold and serious, and look at her now.
After she relinquishes her hold, I open my mouth to speak, but she clamps her hand over it again.
"Don't even ask about the agility course again."
After she lets go, I respond: "I wasn't going to. Just trying to see if you were actually planning on using the stuff you learn in your private session. Are you? You know the Gamemakers aren't all too impressed by all of that stuff."
"Yes, I do, but scores don't matter. Survival skills matter."
"Scores get you sponsors."
"I don't want their money. I can suffice by myself."
"Well I guess I won't be sharing all of the feasts that I get with you, then," I say jokingly with the inflated smugness I always use to signify sarcasm of that kind.
In all seriousness, Turquesa does have a point, at least about the scores don't matter part. All I'm planning on doing is having some fun on the agility course and doing a little bit of gymnastics, maybe fooling around with a trainer on the sparring arenas. What matters is how you interact with the crowd, and that is what I'm best at. It will help when I inevitably get a score of eight, hopefully, since that is what I'm aiming for. It'll only make me all the more memorable, but I don't want to show up Turquesa in that regard, at least score wise. She may just hold a vendetta against the careers—not saying I don't—but this rivalry is bound to make us headliners going in, and I'm taking all of the sponsor money I can.
Turquesa doesn't respond, conflicted, as we reach the foraging station and sit down, ready for our assessments. The trainer is absent, probably taking a coffee break or in the bathroom, so Turquesa takes a tablet and presses the 'on' button to start a quiz. We can talk freely without risk of judgement.
"Look, Turquesa, you aren't really planning on not eating any sponsor food in the arena, are you? Because if you are using that logic, then you wouldn't eat any food they provide at the cornucopia, any animals they have in the arena that we kill, or drink any water provided, and you would die. Do you really want that?"
"No, of-course I don't want that!" she says in an angry murmur. "I just—I just don't want to give in to them, okay. I've been doing that my whole life, and for once I just want to stick it to them. They've been in the power position for my whole life. If I go out, I want to go out taking a stand for what I believe in rather than playing their game."
"So do I, but there are better ways of beating them. If you play their game and win, you can do anything, and they won't touch you. You're a victor. There're rumors of a rebel faction back in Four. They probably have them everywhere. Think about that."
"I don't want to play their game, though. Even if it means I die. I don't want to lose myself."
That's something to think on, because I don't want to lose myself either. The same thought has been haunting me every night, as much as I want to quell it. Thoughts of becoming like Pearl, my mentor: Drained of everything involving glee or any other emotions, only physically present, not mentally. I don't want to let go of those lively, jubilating days on the beach, of the fun and the adventure, of the man that my fathers made me into. It's a thought I don't want to face.
"Me either. But we still have to try."
"You don't get it. I'm me, and that's enough. I'm at peace."
"No, you aren't, Turquesa, I can tell that just from looking at you. You want to wreak havoc and give all of them retribution, shove your victory up their faces. Do it."
Silence ensues, and Turquesa goes back to taking her quiz for a minute. I start one of my own, only begin to breeze through it. I've done it before.
"Fine. You're right. But why are you trying to encourage me? When it comes down to it, we're opponents."
"Because we're a team for now, and if I die, I want you to win and stick it to them for me. I don't want to lose myself to it all either and caring about my friends is so much of who I am."
Turquesa looks up at me from her quiz and smiles, and that is who she really is. I don't want her to lose it either, especially not her defiance. "Thanks," she says.
She clicks the final few answers of her quiz before sending it in to get ninety-seven percent correct.
"First A I've ever gotten in my life," she jokes. "Maybe it's because I wasn't trying to fail."
I turn mine in a few moments later, and I get an A too. "Ditto," I say, and I don't know about her, but I am being serious.
"This doesn't seem to be helping much," I mention to Turquesa.
"I know. But I don't want to go to the agility course with you, I want to do something productive."
"Your loss, señorita," I say, hopping up.
"Sometimes, you make me want to shoot you," Turquesa says, rolling her eyes affably.
Instinctively, I look over to the shooting range, currently occupied by girl from Eight, and an idea forms in my head. Her arrows hit the target far more often than they don't.
"Turquesa?"
"Yeah?" She looks up at me, confused as to why I am not sprinting to the still miraculously vacant agility course.
"You say you want to do something productive, right?"
"That's right."
"Well what are you thinking?" She fails to give an answer in ten seconds as she ponders the question, so I continue. "What do you think of that girl over there," I ask as I point to Mystic, "as a third? And before you ask, not in a sexual way."
"You want to add a third?" she asks, reluctant to the idea.
"Think about it. Have you seen anyone else in this crop of tributes who despises the careers as much as we do? Well, mainly Imperia, but still. Plus, I've been watching her. She's good with a bow, and both of us use close range weapons, and there is always strength in numbers. Plus, she's really popular after her chariot costume."
"But… Do you really want to ruin the dynamic we have going right now?" she asks. "We're strong enough by ourselves. I don't want to have to introduce myself to a third person."
"You should stop being so antisocial. Think of this as a sort of self-improvement exercise. If that's your only reason, I'm going over to talk to her."
"I'm fine with the way that I am, and no, it is not my only reason. She's also small."
"She's only malnourished, dude," I say putting extra emphasis on the new nickname instead of chica or señorita. "She's as tall as you, and I'm only five seven, but I look even shorter barefoot, which is worth not wearing shoes." I point down to my tan and calloused feet. Turquesa wastes no time coming up with a different argument.
"Well, she's also a girl."
"Really?!" I exclaim in mock surprise, putting a hand to my mouth. "All this time I thought that you were the District One female! Sorry, my mistake."
She stands up, disgruntled and uncomfortable, her hands folded together as she hunches in on herself. "All girls want to do is talk about boys and be mean to each other. They wuss out when faced with anything fun or dangerous. Just look at Champagne."
"Don't be so prejudiced and antisocial," I tell her. "It'll help you in the long run, and maybe One girls are like that, but Four girls are pretty fucking awesome. Eight girls may be the same."
"Okay, fine, I'll give her a try," Turquesa agrees begrudgingly.
"Good, and thanks for taking one for the team—or, well, me—you won't regret it, I hope.
"Your welcome," she responds as we make our way over to her.
Fifteen feet from her, she turns to look at us angrily for a fraction of a second, her newest are still notched in her bow, her mouth poised as if to say something derogatory. It disappears quickly.
"Sorry," she says. "I thought you guys were her." She nods her head, disgusted, to the District Nine female, lifting weights with her allies. "What do you want here? Just trying to practice?"
"No," I say, taking the lead as Turquesa stands behind me, in my element once again and ready to lay on the charm thick. "We wanted to propose an alliance."
She nods wordlessly, and I can see a flicker of inspiration in her face. Her lithe and skinny frame leans towards me on her long legs, intrigued, and I get the impression of a small, feline predator for a second. There is a fight behind her that I can sense merely from being in her presence.
"If we combined forces," I go on, "the three of us could all have a better chance at victory. Plus, we'd be stronger if we took on the careers, especially three on one or two. We may even be able to take down Nero's favorite herself."
Mystic breaks out into a smile, and all of a sudden if feel that same fire that I feel radiating off of her is coursing through my blood. I like this girl, and one look back tells me that Turquesa does too.
"And we'd try to take her down?" she asks.
"Yes, but not at first, we should let her wear herself out a bit. Hold your horses."
"I can hold 'em for as long as I want. I got nothing to lose, so let's do it." She extends a hand forward. "Mystic Archeron."
"Aquatico Espovera."
"Turquesa Miracelest."
Turquesa and I lock eyes as she and Mystic shake, and a mutual anxious excitement is reflected back at me. This will be the next big adventure. I know it may seem dumb to target the strongest tribute in the arena, but I want to stay true to myself, I won't let people like her get to me. I'm going to die on my own terms, doing something noble, rather than running from death. That is, if I die, which I don't intend. I am willing to play this game and play it hard.
"What should we do first?" I ask Mystic.
"I haven't tried the agility course yet."
Tabitha Declan, 13, District Twelve Female
The gongs rings, loud and ominous, sending tremors through my body. I instinctually clamp my hands to my ears, scared, and shrink into myself even further. I must be the only one who notices how much it sounds like a death bell. Nerissa seems even cheered up by the noise. The other four only seem mildly annoyed by it. Thankfully, none of them take notice.
"I guess we're done with training," Sierra says, melancholy, stepping hastily to the buffet line already forming.
"Good! That means we can finally eat!" Bolt runs excitedly to the line, only assembled by the boy from Four, girl from One, and the girl from Eight, who seems to be their new ally, all of the loners except the Ten girl, and the Fives.
The food looks utterly delicious, somehow more delicious than any I've seen so far in the Capitol. I want to run to it, to stuff my face like there is no tomorrow, which isn't that far from the truth. It looks so magnificent all assembled that way, and my nerves only bolster my hunger. I have nothing to lose now. I'm skin and bones and am probably the weakest tribute of all. I might as well pleasure myself while I still have the chance.
The Capitol is truly majestic, it's the best place on Earth. The fashion is wonderful, and I could spend all day every day looking at those beautiful women with the flowing long dresses and meticulously constructed gorgeous hair in all of those pretty colors, those dashing men who seem to go to be true and make my heart flutter every time I see them. The beautiful art displayed on every street. The enchanting movies aired twenty-four seven that they let me stay up all night watching. I just want to lose myself in it while I still have the chance.
I flit to the canteen and hurry to the front, hunched over, to get sandwiched in between Sierra to my left and Nerissa to my right. The food further on looks enticing, and I can feel salivation in my mouth. I crave it now, that thrill of excess, because I'd never it in my life and I love it. I just want to be happy before it all is over. I feel guilty, and I know what Tristan and Dulcie would say back home if heard these thoughts, what my alliance would say. I don't want to let them down, but there's just no chance I can win.
"What are you guys doing for your private sessions?" Bolt asks, leaning onto the tray aisle to be visible from behind Sierra, who is mountainous compared to him.
A pang of anxiety hits me like the gong that rung a minute ago. I just want to be done with get it over with, but at the same time cower away, hide, escape it. There's no point in trying too hard anyway, the highest the predicted placements have had me is twenty-two, but most of the time it is twenty-three or dead last. I just want it all to be over, this day and everything, so I can see Mommy and Daddy again.
Sierra and Nerissa start at the same time.
"Oops, sorry," Sierra says apologetically.
"No, my bad," says Nerissa politely. "You go first."
"Oh, thanks! But anyway, I was thinking I'd go in using the scythe, and then swap to knives, and then have a wrestling match against an intermediate-level trainer."
"That's a lot," Raihan says, impressed.
"You'll do great, probably the best out of all of us, if I'm being honest," Nerissa says, her smile becoming self-deprecating and bittersweet.
"Thanks," Sierra says, puffing out her chest a little more. She looks empowered now, and I envy her, even though she has been so nice to me and inclusive and she's the one who roped me into the whole alliance, because she is beautiful in her own way, and she is strong, she is smart, and she is confident. I am none of those things. She'll fight until the end, but I can't ever find it in myself to do more than just try to survive. Sometimes not even that. "You don't have to say that though, and don't sell yourself short."
"Or me!" Bolt chimes in, and everyone around me laughs, but I just can't get sucked into the conversation, can't find it in myself to laugh, only stare at the food and wallow in my own sadness while I try to block it out and focus on wait awaits me in minutes and on my floor.
"I'm planning on throwing knives and using them first, then the climbing wall, and then the agility course. I'm just mad I didn't have more time to learn, because if not, I might not make as big a splash. We might not make as big a splash. If we had just had another day, or even the rest of this one…" She white-knuckles her tray angrily, her face going even paler than it is already in her anger, and for a moment her bubbly happy-go-luckiness fades away into something much darker. It's scary. "It was just supposed to be perfect."
"It may still be," Raihan says, perturbed as he timidly putting a hand on her arm to comfort her from her other side. "Don't get yourself down in the dumps. Like you said, we'll win, no matter what."
Nerissa shakes, her head, and that manic look quickly disappears in favor of her classic grin and confident amiability. "Sorry," she says, flustered. "I just went a bit overboard there for a second."
"That's ok, we all get like that sometimes," Bolt says, returning her smile. "I'm thinking I'll probably just run some laps and stuff, then do the memory test. What about you two?"
He nods at me and Raihan in turn, and I gulp nervously, because I have no idea what I'll do. It doesn't even matter, I'm good at nothing, bad at everything. Is there even any point in trying?
"Hmm…" Raihan says, pondering jitterily what to say. "Maybe… uh, I haven't really thought about it, you go first, Tabitha."
I feel everyone's eyes on me, and I don't know what to say. I instinctively look down, shying away because I'm scared of this attention, back in the orphanage it only meant a punishment was coming. I didn't want to rock the boat there, and I don't here either, just keep my head down. But now I must answer, and I have no idea what to do so with.
I clear my throat. "Uhhh… Probably just do an edible plant test and start a fire. Maybe try the stealth course."
"That's a good plan! You should totally do that. I know you'll do great." Sierra claps a heavy yet comforting hand on my too small shoulder, and I feel a weak warmness trying to pervade me, but I know deep down that it is only false compliments. How could she possess such an outlandish amount of optimism that she believes that I will do great? Is her definition of greatness a four, because I doubt that I'll even achieve that? I want airplane, or Daddy's jacket, why did they have to take it away from me?
But I don't say any of that. All that I can force out is "Thank you," in a timid squeak.
"Any time," she says.
"Now can I go?!" Raihan says excitedly from the end of our line. Without waiting, he starts. "I was thinking I would go to the shelter building station first, then the edible plant station, and then have fun with the camouflage paint."
"It's not going to help you. We'll still hunt you down and kill you like that." The girl from Nine makes a quick slicing motion across her throat, a sadistic leer on her face as she starts up again, her booming voice echoing along the black walls of the training center and my head. "But maybe if you move up in the line some, we'll have mercy. If not… well, you may be going even sooner than you're supposed to."
I duck down, terrified of this evil boulder of a girl, and pick up my tray, quivering and ready to move. Nerissa does, too, prepared to leave gracefully and with her dignity. I don't want to start a fight, I just want to live, but it doesn't look like I can have even that. I'm scared, I just want to avoid conflict. I hate the loud noises and the anguished yelling, and I don't understand why everything can't just be peaceful?
But Sierra and Raihan don't move, even when Bolt eventually gives in and scutters off towards us at the back of the line.
"You really think that we're going to fall for that bullshit?" Sierra scoffs, angrily stepping forward defensively. "Wait your turn."
"It's not bullshit, it's the truth. You're only shortening the time you have left before I rip you to shreds with my whip." The girl mirrors Sierra, stepping forward menacingly. Both of them have vast amounts of muscle, and Imperia only has a few inches on Sierra. She doesn't back down, holding her head high and her chin pointed up defiantly. Behind her, her allies all stand stoic and intimidating. Raihan has gone pale, stuck in between two mountains of women who both look like they could easily kill him if they wanted to, maybe even with their bare hands.
"You, Ten," the girl from Nine calls out as she zeroes in on Raihan. "What do you think? You really want to be an idiot and get yourself killed even sooner? There are so many ways I could do it, you know. I could right now if I wanted to, and in so many different ways, too. You should know that even if you did move, I could still kill you, that every second you live in that arena is just another bit of mercy from me, just like the mercy of the Capitol that you ingrates reject! You'll pay for that!" Saliva flies from her face as her taunts gain volume and her words get more and more sinister.
I'm scared. It's horrible. I just want to run away and hide in some sort of closet or something, just escape it all. Why can't they just give in, give up, because they stand no chance of winning this fight? The conflict always seems to be present, everywhere I go, and I have no chance of escaping it unless I go in one of the ways that this bully girl details.
Sierra holds her tongue, looking furious and standing her ground. Raihan, shaking with fear, looks like he wants to say something. He takes a shaky step towards the girl, but that only makes him appear shorter compared to her. He seems to be at a loss for words in the presence of someone so fearsome. He shrinks back. "Y-y-you…y—"
The girl cuts him off. "Want to say something, do you? Come on, spit it out."
He stands there, wordless, in a terrified awe.
"Spit it out!"
I can feel myself quiver even more with her bellow. I clench the counter, both to ground myself and to prevent myself from running away. I don't know why I don't just flee, lock myself in a room somewhere by myself where nobody can hurt me and I can pretend like none of this exists, but I don't. Something in me grounds me feet to the marble floor like magnets despite all of my shaking.
Raihan squeaks out a whimper and runs over to the three of us, trying to hold in tears.
"That's what I thought!"
Raihan isn't crying. Even in his weakness he is trying to stand strong. Not strong, because he could never be strong, but proud and untouched. I don't understand it. But then I feel a wet, tickling sensation on my cheek, and I realize that I am crying. I am crying because I am terrified, and resigned, and nervous, and agonized, and longing for it all to finish. The girl sees it.
"Oh, is baby going to cry?" she asks mockingly, rejoicing in it smugly. "Poor little baby id going to die, isn't she, die weak and alone."
She looks me in the eyes, hers grey and mine grey, but in hers I see nothing but a triumphant evil.
"Don't talk to her like that! Don't talk to any of us like that!" Sierra looks ready to kill her right now, over me. I want to tell her that it isn't worth it, to just give in and accept it, and if she is going to fight, then doing over someone better. "You ugly bitch, you walk around here acting like you own the place! Well I'll tell you something, only one of us is leaving that arena, and it won't be you, because I'll try as hard as I can to destroy you! And then your family and the glorious Capitol will forget your sacrifice, forget that you ever existed!"
The girl lets out an unintelligible battle-cry of a scream, and the boy from One and girl from Four have to restrain her as the Peacekeeper's rush nearer. They have been absent this whole time, just sitting and taking it all in. Do they enjoy this: Watching children destined to die because of the people they worship fight amongst themselves meaninglessly? It's horrible, I can't stand it.
My empty tray drops to the floor with a clang as the stampede of tributes behind the careers rush to get their food. The lunch break must already be a third of the way through. I'm not hungry, I've lost my appetite. She's right, I'm going to die. I run away, and I can feel her eyes on my back, smirking. I look back and can't distinguish her behind the blurry tears clouding my vision.
I don't want them to see that. Not anybody. I just want to go away and cry.
I find the girl's bathroom after a long while of running and rush inside, finding the nearest stall and slamming the door shut before locking it and sitting on the toilet. Then I let it all out.
A few minutes later, I hear heavy footsteps rushing into the bathroom. I see large feet and dark legs.
"Tabitha?" Sierra calls out.
"What?" I can barely muster that out, just like everything I say nowadays.
"Come on. Don't let that girl get you down. You've got to stand your ground, fight back, and rise up." She leans against the stall door. "Come on, let me in, I won't tell anybody."
I reach up and grab the handle, unlocking the door. Sierra steps in and crouches down to my height.
"Listen," she says, putting her hands on my arms. "It's fine to get a little sad once in a while, especially when you're where we are, but don't let her see it. You've got to fight the power, Tabitha. Be strong. Don't let them see that they've hurt you."
I understand what she's saying, but it's hard to articulate to her that… I just don't want to fight. I want everyone to be friends. "I can't do that," I tell her. "It's too hard. I don't want to fight the way that you do. I don't have it in me. I just want to be happy. Why can't everyone be happy?"
"I have no idea, Tabitha. Nobody does. But you have to want to win to win, and I know that you do."
I don't know if she's right or not, not about the wanting to win to win part, but about if I actually do.
"Come on, Tabitha. I know you have people back home who love you and want to see you again. You can't give up; you've got to brave the storm."
I see Tristan in my mind, probably sitting in the yard right now with Dulcie. They're both sad, praying that I do good. I want to do it for them, but I just feel so jaded. I can't leave Tristan alone, but he won't be alone because he has Dulcie. Neither of them would ever give up on me or themselves. All of a sudden, I'm bawling again, because I know that I'm weak and I hate myself for it.
Sierra pulls me in, and I cry into her broad shoulder for what feels like an eternity.
"How do you do it?" I ask once I recover, pushing myself away from her. "Be strong?"
"You just… have to keep on reminding yourself that it will all be okay. Keep on thinking of the good things in life until you push yourself through."
I nod and stand up. I'm done crying. For now, at least. I don't know if I have it in me to be strong and resilient, but I want to, for Sierra, and for Tristan and Dulcie, and for Mommy and Daddy up above. If they believe I can, then maybe they're right. If I just close my eyes, focus on all the good things, and tell myself that it will all be okay, then maybe it will. The task ahead is scary, and I know that I can't be as brave as Sierra or any of the others. I'll embrace it and take it as it comes. It's not as important not to be strong as it is not to be weak.
"I'm ready. Thank you, Sierra."
"Any time," she says, standing up with difficulty in the cramped stall before going to the sink and washing her hands. "Now let's hurry, because lunchtime is almost up, and you know what's coming next."
Let me get out of the way that this is the LONGEST chapter in this story's entirety by over two-thousand words! Just let that sink in. I'm sorry if you don't like reading these, because they really are fun to write and concrete evidence of my writing getting better, so I really enjoy them. I'm sorry for those who had tributes with earlier POVs in this block since they aren't featured as much, I promise my length will find its sweet spot eventually and hopefully keep on climbing, and they'll get better coverage in the next block.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as always! Carroll made a new friend, Tessa tried her luck at a different station, the anti-career alliance gained a new member, and Tabitha decided to be more like her allies. Leave all of your thoughts in the review section please, I really love hearing your feedback so put in the extra minute, or five, or ten, the longer the better. Thanks also to juud108 for providing me with my 75th review, that's a big milestone, and also for answering the check-in. Go back to chapters 19 or 20 to see the question and PM me the answer if you haven't.
Questions:
Were you surprised about any tribute interactions here, and were there any that stood out?
Who ran the stealth course before Nerissa?
If you haven't already, please vote in my poll, up on my profile, on who your favorite tributes are. After next chapter it will be replaced with two more pertaining to the bloodbath. Then, we get the private sessions as told by Viola, and then our fourth and final POV block before the Games begin with interludes along the way from Odysseus and Celestinius. Nest chapter should be out in one to two weeks, because I'm planning on devoting some time to catching up on reviews before starting back writing this, and my school start date is fast approaching.
Until next time, and always remember that you are awesome!
-Mills