I've been trying to finish the OC arena so I can focus more on this story after, but I got some inspiration so here's almost everyone left.
Elias Cuthrow, District Eleven male (18)
"I was going to volunteer anyway, you know. Really I'm just pissed they stole my thunder by reaping me," I said to Isabella as we headed for the training room.
"Weird, but you do you," she said.
I didn't care for her dismissive attitude. "I'm no stranger to violence," I said mysteriously, daring her to ask me about it.
"Sorry to hear that," she said.
"Just make sure not to cross me," I said, not really threatening but a little peeved by her nonchalance.
"I don't want to cross anyone. It's bad enough fighting when I have to fight," Isabella said. We reached the training room and she scuttled to the opposite end to be farther away from me.
Maybe I was being a little too cutting, I admitted to myself. Psychological warfare went a long way in my profession but so did subtlety. And the weird thing was, I really did like making friends. Back home, where most people had no idea about the criminal underground in the District's underbelly, I could interact with most people like just another average guy. Here, where everyone knew we all wanted to kill each other, it was harder to be normal. Then again, just because everyone knew we were here to win didn't mean anyone knew I'd been doing this for years. They thought my small but present muscles were just from normal outdoor work.
So how do I want to play this? I scanned the room and took in everyone else. The careers weren't bothering to hide their training, since they knew the cat was long out of the bag. Some of us, like Romeo and Anjou, were showing off everything they had and seemed to be daring anyone to come challenge them. Others, like Wren and Mike, seemed to be keeping their heads down and just trying to learn some things. Most of the younger Tributes were trying to stay out of the careers' sight.
Might as well go for it. I don't need to learn anything anyway. I'd do a little dabbling at the water station so I wouldn't dehydrate to death but otherwise I wanted to find something new to try. I wandered around the stations until the exotic weapons station caught my eye. I slipped on a bladed glove and smiled at how menacing it felt. Little knives at the tip of each finger could be dipped in poison and I'd be like a wolverine and a snake all at once. Just let anyone get near me when I'm wearing this, I crowed to myself.
But how to get them near me? Image was everything in my line of work. I knew guys so big and scarred anyone knew they meant business at a single glance. I also knew assassins who looked like skin and bones and walked right up to their target because they thought they were about to kill him. Finally I decided on something in the middle. I picked out the highest-level sparring partner, one I'd just seen Majesty beat, and challenged him.
Just because I was experienced didn't mean I could beat anyone. The sparring partner was good too, and he was trained specifically for this, while my skills were more widespread. All the same, I could have at least fought to a draw without too much difficulty, especially since we weren't allowed to really hurt each other. But I didn't want to win. I wanted to increase my odds. So I pulled my punches and reacted just a little too slowly, letting the assistant knock me down and get some good hits in. Each time I went down I was slow to get up, like I was getting tired or confused. I didn't roll with the punches, resulting in bruising and then a little blood. To anyone watching it looked like I was overconfident and didn't know when to quit. Really I knew exactly when to quit. I just wasn't anywhere near that point. Let the more hesitant careers see how much pain I could take and decide whether I was worth all the trouble. The bolder careers could take me on, wagering that they could wear me down or let me get myself killed. When we found me in the arena they'd see how I really fought.
Galvan Fabre, District Five male (18)
The Games were like any other competition, and I loved competition. Sure, this one would kill me if I didn't win, but it didn't do any good to think about that. Take it seriously, yes, but don't get overwhelmed and panic.
The weapons stations looked like so much fun. I wanted to spend all day wandering back and forth between them, but I knew it wasn't the best strategy. Boring as it was, I needed to be able to survive. I was going to need food and I doubted I could learn to hunt or trap well enough in a week- though I did intent to try both those stations anyway. Plants couldn't run away from me, so that seemed like a good starting point.
Lamb's quarter, the plaque next to the plant read. Note the gently lobed leaves and waxy white sheen. The seeds, also edible, are shiny and black. All parts are edible and this plant is very common in temperate regions.
I picked off a leaf and rolled it between two fingers. It felt slightly soft and almost furry. I popped it in my mouth and got a surprisingly un-bitter spinach-like taste. That much I would remember. It was always easier to remember things I did than things I read.
All right, lamb's quarter. Remember the... I tried to pull up the words in my head and blanked. I sighed in frustration when I realized I'd done it again. I wanted to like reading more than I actually did. Somehow I had this problem where I'd be reading and then notice I wasn't really reading, just kind of running my eyes over the words. I'd have to go back and read the whole thing again and it just really ate up my patience.
Lamb's Quarter, I read again. I got to the end of the card and groaned. Gone again. Once more I went to the start. This time I read each word individually and painfully slowly. Gentle lobes. Waxy white sheen. I powered up the matching program and looked at the grid of plant pictures that covered the wall. I knew I was looking for a lobed one so I skimmed over the non-lobed pictures. Wait, was that lobed or not? I checked again and then started clicking off non-matching pictures. At the end I was still left with more than twenty possible plants. Alright. Lamb's quarter. Gently lobed leaves and...
Dammit.
Okay you know what, I'm just gonna memorize like three of the most common plants. I can remember three plants eventually and if I get them from three different biomes I'll be pretty much covered. I set to work again, reviewing cards over and over. Behind me, tributes bustled about. Scrambling with weapons. Calling to friends across the room. Clacking supplies and random things.
If everyone could just be QUIET for a minute... I took a breath. Lamb's quarter. Has lobes. Waxy. Tastes like spinach.
Good enough. I ran across the room, slipped off my shoes and jumped in the pool.
Wren Humboldt, District Five female (17)
No one needed to know I was fast. Always good to have an ace in the hole, right? And my ace was that when someone tried to kill me I would simply keep moving out of killing range. Can't kill me if you can't catch me. But if the careers found out about my running they'd probably just kill me right at the bloodbath before I could run away, so best keep that card close to my chest.
If I wasn't going to train at the running station, logic dictated I would have to train somewhere else. I didn't pass third grade without learning a few things. As much as I didn't think I could really fight anyone who would try to fight me, it couldn't hurt to learn a weapon. Well, I guess it really could. In fact that was kind of the point.
The weapons station included all sorts of weapons both mundane and exotic. There were shortswords and longswords and mediumswords. There were battle axes and throwing axes. Some of them were so complicated I wasn't even sure how to use them. If I had years of training I was sure they'd be very spectacular. I had a week, so I was here for the crash course.
"What's a good weapon if you know absolutely nothing about weapons? Like nothing at all?" I asked the attendant.
He pointed toward a rack of clubs. "Might I suggest: the heavy stick."
"Thanks, sounds about right," I said. I picked out a mace studded with little spikes. I felt mean picking it because I thought it would look cooler hitting someone. "Is there really any... style or anything?" I asked the attendant.
He shrugged. "Point and bash."
I hefted the mace and locked metaphorical eyes with a mannequin. I aimed, feeling a little silly- what, was the mannequin gonna move?- and swung. The mace hit the mannequin's torso with a loud puff and the mannequin swung back and forth on its stand.
Yeah, that seemed like it would hurt. Maybe even kill someone. I knew guts could be fragile when they were damaged. That was why they were hidden inside. At the same time, I wasn't sure if any of this really meant anything. I'd shown I could hit something with a stick, but could I really? I'd never deliberately hurt someone past biting my mother once when I was two years old and didn't want to take a nap (and she just looooooved telling that story). It felt weird enough just hitting a mannequin. I had no idea if I could look at a real person and swing something heavy enough to kill them with the intent to do just that. I liked to take life with some humor but... that was heavy stuff. That wasn't funny.
But it doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't matter if you want to hurt people. Someone else already made that choice for you. The Capitol by sending you here and the careers by joining them. If I didn't kill them, they would kill me. This wasn't about who decided to kill and who decided not do. This was about who decided to survive or to die.
The mace lay heavily in my hand. What a thing to carry, and what a thing to do. No one knows how they'll react in an emergency until it happens. For most of us it never does. We never know if we would have been a superhuman or a helpless mess. I'd never thought about it, but it was a blessing to never find out. Not everyone had that luxury. But here I was, still by all measures a kid, and I was expected to make that discovery.
Good god... four days ago I was frosting donuts. Today I was trying to kill.