Chapter 10: Peers and Pressure
"What are you so antsy about, Perce?" Venatrix asked, shooting a glance at her friend in the desk to her left.
Percy had been restlessly bouncing his knee for the past half hour of class, though Venatrix doubted he'd even noticed.
Her whispered question fell on deaf ears; the bouncing only increased in frequency, evidence that he wasn't as focused on Cadmus's anatomy lecture as much as his seemingly-attentive stare indicated. "Hey," she hissed, lightly nudging his shin with her foot.
"Huh?" Percy glanced at her finally, nerves rolled into his quick expression. "It's Tournament day, Trix," he said, a bit louder than necessary. "What's not to be excited about?"
Excited was one word. As if she could forget about the Selection Tournament and the weight it put on her shoulders, and how the success — or failure — of her performance today would define her immediate future. Secure her position as the female volunteer while also making up for her defeat at the summer mocks? Piece of cake, Venatrix thought sarcastically.
Burying her thoughts, Venatrix almost rolled her eyes at Percy. "Well, duh," she said, pausing to scribble down a bullet point from the projector screen. Agate threw her a look from her seat in front of Percy; Venatrix could see the intricately-drawn anatomical diagram she'd copied into her notebook, far more detailed than necessary for the purpose of the class. "What about it, Percy?"
Her friend shrugged off-handedly, his eyes flicking between her and their instructor. "I'm just curious who they'll pick for the guys, that's all."
A valid concern. Now more than ever, the thought had been on Venatrix's mind as well. She'd asked her father about it more than once this past month, but his answers had always been noncommittal, saying they'd need to wait for the results of the Selection Tournament. Yet another reason today would shape the rest of her life.
The mentors must already have some ideas, she reasoned; they'd been training the kids in her age group for coming on eight years by now. Anyone who wasn't up to par was long gone from the training program. Out of sight, out of mind, for Venatrix as well as the trainers. At least she knew her father well enough to guess that he'd prefer to send in someone well beneath her own skill level, to give her less to worry about in the arena.
Cruel, maybe, but they'd have to be. Venatrix shrugged.
Percy, apparently, hadn't yet worn out the topic. "Well, there's not that many who actually have a chance at the spot. I mean, sure there's a lot of competition, but, like, compared to the guys who aged out last year—"
"Silverhorn." Cadmus's stern voice cut through their conversation from the front of the classroom. "I hope you're talking about the rate of blood flow in the brachial artery."
Titters of amusement rose from the rest of the students as Percy's eyes widened in embarrassment at being caught. "Um… of course, sir," he lied stupidly. Venatrix barely resisted facepalming while Agate turned around in her seat to send him a pitying look.
"Then you won't mind sharing with the class how fast it takes to bleed out from a partially severed brachial artery?" the Victor asked pointedly.
Percy blinked. "Um." He didn't elaborate.
"Five to sixty minutes, depending," Venatrix said, coming to his aid. Percy shot her a grateful look.
Cadmus arched an eyebrow. "I asked Silverhorn."
"Five to sixty minutes."
That earned another round of chuckles from their peers; Cadmus merely shook his head. "Carotid artery?"
"It depends on the cut," Percy evaded.
Cadmus wasn't convinced. "Obviously." He gestured for Percy to continue.
"... Well, if you do it right," Percy said, his eyes turned towards the ceiling as he tried to remember. "Two to twenty minutes? But that's just for one."
The old Victor nodded appreciatively. "And why do we want to partially sever the artery?" he asked, the question directed around the classroom; Percy breathed a sigh of relief when Cadmus removed his sharp gaze.
Venatrix glanced at him, shaking her head as Alystra raised her hand from the other side of the room. Behind her, Coquina listened attentively. "Completely severing the arteries will cause them to go into vasospasm, where they retract into their perivascular sheaths—" this time, Venatrix did roll her eyes— "which can slow or sometimes completely halt the bleeding."
Another approving nod. Once again, Cadmus turned his attention back to where Venatrix and Percy sat. "Is a slit carotid always enough to count an opponent out of the running in the arena?"
"No," Venatrix said definitively.
The thin scar etched across the dark skin of Cadmus's throat, just visible above the edge of his turtleneck, proved that well enough.
The Victor smiled. "Good. I think that's all for today," he said just as the dismissal bell rang. "Best of luck to those participating in the Tournament."
That would be the majority of the class; even Agate, despite her lack of interest in actually volunteering. Of course, she hadn't actually mentioned that to the instructors, though Venatrix suspected they knew well enough not to consider her for the position.
Gathering her notes into her bag, Venatrix scurried out of the classroom, Percy and Agate on her heels, before Coquina could catch up with them from where she sat at the far end of the room. Without needing to discuss, they made their way towards the Fairfax Arena, wrapping their jackets tightly around themselves as they briefly braved the midwinter air. A thick layer of snow lay across the field of open land connecting the large building to the classrooms, courtesy of yesterday's storm. The three of them picked up their pace, jogging steadily past the various sets of goalposts along the edge of the field. No need to worry about getting sweaty; their work was hardly over for the day.
The arena itself stood tall, monstrous even against the imposing stone architecture of the buildings that dotted the Academy grounds. Its thick limestone walls, torn straight from the quarries of Two more than a century ago, were modeled after the Capitol Arena used for the first decade or so of the Hunger Games, though admittedly, the Fairfax Arena — named after Two's (and Panem's) first Victor — wasn't quite as large as its forefather. Thanks to Two's dedication in keeping the building renovated, however, it was able to maintain its primary function, an achievement compared to the footage of the bombed-out Capitol Arena Venatrix remembered seeing from her history classes.
Venatrix couldn't help but feel apprehensive as she approached the building, small and out-of-place compared to the stones built on a Victor's legacy. She'd never thought about it before, but it seemed almost taunting now.
Already, people streamed through the main entrance, everyday citizens invested enough in Two's prospects this year to purchase tickets for the event. While they didn't often take advantage of the behemoth of an arena for everyday training, it played host to the annual physical examinations proctored by the Academy (though those never garnered as much of an audience as the Selection Tournament), as well as other sporting events and the occasional music concert.
Familiar enough with the layout of the building, the three Careers made their way around the building to the side entrance designated for the staff and the stars of the day's event, chatting lightly about their reduced classes (and homework assignments) for the week due to the Victory Tour yesterday and the Tournament.
Once inside, Percy peeled away towards the boys' locker rooms, and Venatrix and Agate followed suit to theirs, moreso to drop off their things than to change clothes. Both usually attended classes in athletic wear, finding no point in changing with extensive training integrated into their daily schedules. They regrouped with Percy in the auxiliary gym located in the basement of the arena, where a handful of other competitors were already loosening their muscles in preparation for the tournament.
Percy exhaled sharply, brushing the bits of blond hair from his face as he swung his arms over his head to stretch out his shoulders. "Whew, you guys ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," Agate snorted, shaking her head.
With a nod, Venatrix indicated for them to start a lap around the gym, kicking into a light jog. They ran a couple of laps, casually increasing their pace until Venatrix felt herself starting to break a sweat. Above them, the low, muffled noises of spectators arriving for the Tournament began to filter in as they presumably grew in number, and Venatrix's heart beat a little faster in anticipation.
"So," Percy started as they clustered into a corner of the gym, claiming it as their stretching spot. "You never answered my question, Trix. Male volunteer. Whatcha thinking?"
Stretching her legs in front of her, Venatrix leaned forward to grab her heel, pulling at the muscle in her hamstring. Don't care as long as it's not you. "Uh, not sure. Tyberius, maybe?"
Percy cocked his head. "Which one?"
"...M?"
He scoffed. "After he tore his ACL back in November? Not likely."
Venatrix glanced at Agate, who shrugged. "Still can't believe they're letting him compete," Agate said offhandedly.
"W then, I guess."
"You Bloodbath'd him in the mocks."
Switching legs, Venatrix frowned. "Did I?"
"You did," Agate confirmed.
"Plus he's dumb as a rock," Percy continued, rolling his eyes. "I had to work with him for that project in Strategy; it was a nightmare."
How could I forget the way he went on for weeks about that, she thought dryly. Venatrix pursed her lips. "What about the other one. Tyberius O.?"
Percy's mouth curved into a frown. "Trix," Agate said pointedly, an awkward grimace crossing her features. "He went in for One-Forty-Nine."
"Oh." Whoops. "I don't know; Lancelot, then?"
That was a bad suggestion. "Lancelot? Really?" Percy's tone was unexpectedly acerbic, and Venatrix's shoulders stiffened in surprise.
"You don't think he's good enough?" she questioned, frowning.
Percy scowled, the expression unfamiliar on his face. "It's not that," he said, glancing around, presumably to make sure Lancelot wasn't in earshot. "You don't think I'm good enough?"
"Percy…"
"What."
Venatrix sighed. "They're not gonna pick you." Her father wouldn't let it happen, even before she'd asked him.
"Why not?" he asked, his tone clipped.
She shifted uncomfortably, bringing her legs into a butterfly stretch. "We're too close," Venatrix said, ignoring the uneasy glance from Agate. "Sorry, but since I'm gonna be the female volunteer—"
A sharp laugh interrupted her. "Wow, overconfident much?"
Venatrix's features twisted into a sneer at Alystra's sudden appearance. She pushed herself to her feet, not wishing to remain beneath her nemesis, disguising her motive by leaning against the mat-covered wall to stretch her quad. Alystra's group of friends stood at her heels, stretching out in their own right, though they kept keen eyes on the confrontation. "Just a fact," Venatrix said blithely.
An irritating smirk crossed Alystra's features, her straight, cropped hair brushing along the line of her jaw. "You know, just because your Mommy and Daddy are on the Selection Committee doesn't mean you deserve the spot."
"No shit. I'd win the spot with or without them." The Tournament, at least, would be her chance to prove that — she hoped.
Alystra rolled her eyes. "Sure. Let me guess: they told you you were special, and you actually believed them? Please." She laughed harshly. "Look how well that worked out for your sister."
The words hardly processed before Venatrix found herself lunging for her, fingers instantly latching around Alystra's jacket. The girl tried to step back, eyes wide, but Venatrix's grip was strong, dragging her inwards, right arm drawn back for a sock in the face. You'll look real pretty for the fucking Tournament without half your teeth.
A sudden grip on her elbow stopped the punch; Venatrix struggled, finding herself unable to finish the job. She let out a growl as Alystra's mouth contorted back to its smirk.
"Save it for the Tournament," Percy's voice hissed in her ear.
With a snarl, she relented, ripping herself from his and Agate's grasp. "I'm gonna fucking kill her," Venatrix spat, shooting daggers towards where Alystra had run off to her friends, placing a good deal of space between themselves and Venatrix. Won't save you for long.
"Cool it, Trix," Agate said, her voice low. "She's just trying to rattle you."
"You think?" Venatrix said bitingly. At Agate's raised brows, she dropped her scowl. "Sorry. It worked, I guess."
Percy shook his head in disgust. "Real fucking shitty thing to say."
"She's got no fucking right," Venatrix said, her hands balled tightly into fists. Forcing herself to stop glaring at Alystra, she scanned the gym, now full of her peers warming up in preparation for their matches. "Should be starting soon, I guess. I can hear the crowd through—" A familiar head of dark curls caught her eye. "Hey. Hey! What the hell are you doing here?"
Iago's head turned towards her shout, an excited grin plastered across his pointed features. He jogged over from where he'd been hiding out by the knife-throwing practice set-up. "What's it look like? I'm competing," he said proudly.
"No the hell you're not," Venatrix growled. How could he be so stupid? Moreover, how could her parents let him—
"Chill, Trix," Iago said, raising his hands defensively. "I'm not actually on the volunteer roster."
Her initial panic receding, Venatrix shared a look of confusion with Percy and Agate, who'd appeared at her heels.
Iago shrugged. "All the guys in your year kinda suck, so they need someone with actual talent to help them decide."
"Hey!"
"Not you, Perce. You're a beast." Iago grinned, clapping the older boy on the shoulder.
"Thanks," Percy said dryly.
Venatrix frowned. "What about the seventeens?"
"There's a couple of them competing, I think…" Iago's voice trailed off as he scanned the auxiliary gym. Venatrix followed his gaze, spotting a handful of boys she didn't recognize from her classes warming up their weapons of choice. "Yeah, there's Arthur and Sanji. Apparently they've got a decent chance at being selected, too."
Percy's eyes narrowed as he watched. "Throwing stars?" he scoffed. "Come on."
"Yeah, have fun with that, Perce," Iago said cheerily. "Arthur's got good aim. Not as good as me, of course; see, he tends a little to the right, there, but—"
A shrill whistle interrupted him, drawing the attention of the trainees. Her father had appeared at the front of the gym, along with those of Two's Victors that hadn't retired as trainers. Eagerly, the eligible competitors gathered around their superiors, only barely holding off from swarming them completely. Oberon held up a hand to halt them, the other gripping a clipboard that no doubt detailed who would be dueling who.
Shifting her weight to her toes, Venatrix craned her neck to sneak a glance at the paper; without missing a beat, Oberon angled the clipboard out of her line of sight, an eyebrow raised in amusement. She sank back to her heels with a huff.
Oberon cleared his throat, addressing the thirty-some trainees. "Eight years," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "Each of you has been training for eight years, give or take a few. They don't call us Careers for nothing." A bout of chuckles rose from the group. Oberon let them settle before he spoke again, his tone serious. "Eight years is a lot more than most people in that arena get. When we're given the honor and the privilege of training, we don't take it lightly."
Next to her, Agate wore a somewhat guilty expression; Venatrix supposed it was due to the fact that she might be the only one here not taking the tournament seriously. As far as Venatrix was concerned, Agate's presence in the competition, like Iago's, had its use, if only to weed out the weaker candidates. She sent her friend a reassuring glance as her father continued his pep talk.
"Today," Oberon said, pausing for effect, "you show me what that means. You show District Two what that means. And come June—" his eyes landed on Venatrix— "two of you will show the Capitol."
A round of excited whoops followed his words, and he smiled, the other mentors behind him exchanging approving glances.
"You have thirty minutes to continue warming up before we present each of you to the district. The entire Selection Committee — not just us — is in attendance, so be on your best behavior," he said sternly, his gaze lingering a little too long on Iago's too-sweet smile. The group nodded in assent.
He went on to explain the mechanics of the competition: the trainees would participate in one-versus-one duels in a double-elimination style tournament, where each competitor was permitted one loss before they were knocked out of the running. The competition was divided by gender, with the girls' duels commencing before the boys', alternating each round. Venatrix listened attentively, though her father had outlined everything to her on previous occasions. She could end up fighting in as little as five or as many as eight duels, depending on if and where in the competition she lost a match.
Venatrix didn't intend to lose any of them.
Oberon continued to detail the guidelines for the tournament, emphasizing that, as with the mock Games, the competitors were not permitted to purposely harm their opponents, as these were tests of pure skill, not cheap shots. Venatrix threw a subtle glance at Coquina at that; the girl's attention was fixed on the Victor, her mouth set in a determined line.
Additionally, the competitors would be equipped with a similar protective armor that they'd used during the mocks (though without the electric currents and tracking capabilities) as well as tags indicating their names and ages. A few of the kids passed glances towards Iago and the two seventeen boys at that; usually, the competition field was composed of solely eighteen year-olds. Venatrix caught Iago's eye, rolling her eyes at his smirk. Kid's gonna get his ass kicked.
Clearing his throat, Oberon turned his gaze to the clipboard in his hands. "First round of duels," he announced. "For the girls: Ambrosia, Agate and Drakos, Alystra."
Venatrix sent Agate a sympathetic grimace, ignoring Alystra's nasty grin. Agate merely shrugged.
"Ellis, Marleen and Hernandez, Olympia. Ishida, Julia and Ivory, Leto." He continued down the line until reaching, "... Pyke, Venatrix and Styx, Poppy."
One of Alystra's friends; Venatrix caught sight of her at Alystra's elbow and shot her a challenging glare. Poppy attempted to return it, but Venatrix could see the apprehension in her eyes.
"And for the boys: Antioch, Lancelot and Bahl, Sanji..."
Feeling a surge of restlessness creep into her muscles, Venatrix turned her attention to her competitors, once again sizing up poor Poppy while her father ran through the list. She couldn't hold back a subtle smirk as the girl subtly shifted closer to Alystra, who gave her an annoyed look. She'd seen Poppy's swordwork; if the pairings hadn't been chosen alphabetically, Venatrix suspected her father would've paired her with someone like Poppy first to weed out the obvious non-selections early.
"Kres, Ilya and Laramie, Arthur. Maragos, Tyberius, and Pyke, Iago. Silverhorn, Perseus and Wyvern, Tyberius." With a ruffle of paper, Oberon tucked the clipboard behind his back, dismissing them with a final word of good luck and earning another wave of cheers from the group.
The Victors disappeared into the hall; not much later, Venatrix could hear the noise echo through the crowd of spectators waiting just overhead as they presumably caught sight of Two's very own celebrities. Again, a shiver of excitement traced itself down her spine.
Rolling out her shoulders, Venatrix dispersed with the rest of her peers to warm up her swordwork, plucking a glinting longsword from the rack of training weapons, Percy and Agate following her lead with a shortsword and a spear respectively. As they ran through a set of close-fighting drills, Iago sauntered over with a sword of his own, trademark stupid grin still smeared across his face. "So, what d'you think would happen if I won?"
"You won't," Venatrix retorted while Percy simultaneously snapped, "Don't."
Iago chuffed. "Ouch."
Rolling her eyes, Venatrix focused on the routine twirling of her sword in her hands; step, strike, adjust, step, across, step, strike again. The movement flowed effortlessly through her muscles, guiding the sword with both precise control and accuracy. Out of the corner of her eye, the others had fallen into similar patterns, smartly staying out of each others' weapon range. After a minute or two, they turned to each other for partner drills. When Percy and Iago wandered off to warm up their respective ranged weapons, Venatrix and Agate slipped into sparring stances for a friendly bout; after a swift exchange of parries, Venatrix's blade found itself at the base of Agate's throat.
"'Makers, I feel rusty," Agate complained, batting the sword away with the shaft of her spear. "Can't wait to get my ass beat by Drakos."
"You could always throw the match," Venatrix said slyly. "See how mad she gets."
She grinned at the withering look Agate shot her. "At least you get an easy one first," Agate huffed. "What's Styx ranked at, sixteenth?"
"Hell if I know."
Venatrix and Agate faced off for a couple more matches as the rest of their warmup time flew by; sooner than she'd expected, the mentors made a reappearance in the auxiliary gym, bringing with them boxes of padded armor for the competitors to wear. Venatrix accepted the set that Dagmara passed her with a nod of thanks, trying to ignore the smell of plastic and bleach as she donned the protective gear, tightening the strap of the padded helmet beneath her chin. At least it's been cleaned recently.
With their gleaming white armor, the Careers marched in step behind the Victors, trailing them up the stairs leading to the main arena. Venatrix could practically feel the eyes of the crowd on her already; Dagmara threw open the double doors, and the noise immediately assaulted her, the spectators in attendance shouting in excitement as they caught a glimpse of the competitors. Head high, Venatrix stepped through the doorway, placed alphabetically between Coquina and Poppy. She allowed a confident expression to dominate her face, masking the nerves beneath, though she didn't wave like Iago and Alystra were doing.
All around her, the heat of the crowd bored down from above, almost claustrophobic, though even that couldn't cancel out the chill of the open-air venue. Fairfax Arena had been designed to hold about forty thousand occupants, as inscribed on the plaque outside the entrance, and if Venatrix had to guess, each one of those seats, the grandstands nearly brushing the cloudless sky, were filled right now, packed with as many people from Two's central town as possible.
If she'd felt small merely standing outside the building, it should've been increased tenfold from the worm's eye view of the arena pit, the nearest row of seats towering at least three meters over her head.
With every eye in the crowd on her now, however, she'd never felt larger.
The pit itself boasted nothing more than a dusty dirt floor, small from the view of the top grandstand, but large enough to be out of breath sprinting from one side to the other; she would know. White paint sprayed into the dirt outlined the guidelines of the sparring floor, manned by referees in puffy jackets and protective armor in case any competitors stepped out of bounds.
Venatrix's gaze turned back upwards to the crowd as the procession of trainees and Victors paused in the middle of the dirt square.
At the foot of the central grandstand overlooking the pit, a long white table stretched across the row, currently seating about half of the Selection Committee. A thick layer of transparent plexiglass had been mounted in front, protecting the judges from any stray arrows, knives, or throwing stars, in Arthur Laramie's case. Of course, anything that far out of range would likely result in an immediate disqualification.
In addition to every one of Two's Victors, the Selection Committee was composed of a number of various District officials, including both the mayor and the Head Peacekeeper. Flint Ainsley sent a reassuring wink her way when Venatrix caught his eye. She supposed she should feel relieved that he was so deep in her father's pocket, but she couldn't forget Alystra's words from earlier so easily.
And there was Oberon himself, appearing at the table of committee members with a microphone in hand, his presence enough to quiet the crowd. Bidding the spectators, competitors, and the rest of the committee welcome, he began by introducing the prospective volunteers by name, age, and gender, indicating each trainee at their turn. The audience responded with vigor — especially the section reserved for the younger and non-competing Academy students, easily spotted thanks to their fanatic display of support complete with streamers and air horns — almost rabid for the display of prowess from their champions.
Every year since Venatrix could remember, she'd been attending the Selection Tournament as a spectator, eagerly awaiting the chance to step onto the mat herself. She'd even gone so far as to sneak Iago into the Academy section once she'd turned twelve, and last year, they'd sat together cheering their little sister on. Funny that Bellara had beaten both her and Iago to it.
"—Venatrix Pyke, eighteen. Female competitor," her father's loud voice boomed over the sound system.
I'm here now. Venatrix raised her hand in a curt wave, saluting the cheering crowd and the Selection Committee.
She wondered if this was how it would feel when she got to the Capitol.
First, however, she'd have to fight her way through her peers. You can do this, she commanded. You have to. It almost sounded like her father's voice.
A/N: Career training, aka the worst-kept secret in Panem jfdhfd.
See, I initially planned on having the majority of this whole Selection Tournament business be a Single chapter, but I think my first mistake was when I started making tournament brackets for the 32 Careers instead of studying for my exams. They. They don't even all have names. Though, the idea of 'Tyberius' being a common name in D2 is infinitely funny to me jhfhjf. (Speaking of names, spot the easter egg name ! c: )
Anyways, since what I thought would be a 4-5k chapter ended up being fucking. Almost 12k, it's being split into three lmao. Bonus though, they're already written ! :D Lmao remember when I said they'd be shorter? Fun times..
Also just as a side note, I am not a medical person, but I did my best with those statistics there (also instead of studying for my exams, rip). This was the best (most-sourced) reference I could find, but if anyone either knows better (like from legit experience) or has a better source, feel free to let me know !
- Nell