XVIII. Treacherous Intentions
Thou shouldst not wonder more, if well I judge,
At thine ascent, than at a rivulet
From some high mount descending to the lowland.
Haymitch Abernathy. 18.
Victor of The 50th Hunger Games.
Tw: Depiction of drug use and addiction.
Silence has gotten rare for him after the past few days, so Haymitch has grown to relish in it and appreciate it more than he ever did in Twelve. Silence was typical there, because there were times when he didn't know what to say to Noel and the other boy didn't know what to say to him either. So instead of talking, they'd just sit in comfort without making a sound, and that was typically after a big fight or something, though they'd eventually make up for it within a few hours.
But now he's alone, not really by choice since Noel forbade him from accompanying him to training, and of course Vancouver wanted nothing to do with him since she doesn't have money for him, still Haymitch tries his best to embrace the solitude, because really there's nothing else he can do. He's just stuck, alone with his feelings he's so desperately tried to stow away because heavens-forbid Haymitch Abernathy acknowledge his role in this fucked-up mess of a life he's lived.
Sure, the Capitol had a role in it all but it was him who angered them, and him who pretended he didn't do a thing wrong even as the bodies of his family fell to the ground. It's almost pathetic, how all of this comes back to a fucking forcefield that Haymitch threw an axe at. He wasn't really thinking when he let his weapon ricochet into the girl from One's head, he just saw an opportunity to survive and he took it. That was the whole point of the Games, was it not? Surviving by whatever means necessary, but it seems that exposing the slightest of flaws in the Games mechanics isn't exactly "necessary."
Snow let the rumors fly, "Haymitch Abernathy was trying to break out of the arena," and he couldn't do a thing to correct them even though all he really wanted was to go home. He wanted to go back to his family, but they're all dead because of him. He wanted to go back to Noel, but he's nearly dead because of him and it doesn't matter because he despises Haymitch now. People continue to suffer because of his actions, and at times Haymitch wonders why they haven't taken the easy way out and shot him dead, lord knows he wouldn't hate that, but instead they choose to kill him from the inside, because how dare their perfect little Quell Victor be found dead. He's there show pony now, whether he likes it or not.
He played his own role in his self-destruction though, washing away his sorrows with liquor and nose candy when he could've just talked to Noel who was practically begging for him to open up, but he was too stubborn, too prideful in the fact he's supposed to be his boyfriend's keeper and not the other way around that he let himself slip all but six feet under, his lover stomping on his metaphorical grave. Worst part is, Haymitch even enjoyed some of it. He lived for the drug-induced hysteria where his grey skies became bubblegum clouds, and the way the world around him would turn to stars he could practically touch. And the warm bubbling sensation that filled his stomach with every shot of gin was almost better that the butterflies in his chest whenever Noel kissed him.
But that's his fault. He should have never let himself be in the mindset that a bottle of delirium and temporary bliss is better than the touch of another, and he damns his own mind to adapting that way. He damns Vancouver Easton for seeing him fall and selling him wings with the promise that he'd fly when she knew all along he'd get too close to the sun and crash and burn. And he knows that if this were in Twelve, she'd see him mangled on the ground with bruises on his soul, and she'd sell him some new drug, some new "cure" to his unfixable dilemma that would only stomp on his shattered glass. And then she'd call herself a savior when he experienced his fifteen minutes of felicity, so he'd just buy more from her. The worst part? The euphoria he'd get with her poison in his veins would almost certainly outweigh the pain in his bones as he crumbles yet again.
The other worst part? If Noel dies he's heartbroken, but if Vancouver's gone as well, he's left with nothing but leftovers to cope.
Remnants of twenty-minutes ago still tingle on the edges of his nostril and lay in sparsities on the table next to his couch when Haymitch hears a firm knock at the door. He gets up onto his feet, the details of Twelve's apartment blurring and shaking together, slight nausea in his core with every step. He asks, through surely slurred words, "Who's here?" and his face gets warm before he receives an answer.
It's a cheery yet deep male voice that replies, "It's me, Ludo!" and Haymitch can't help but dread whatever conversation's now ahead of him, "I wanted to talk to you about something." He's never had any ill will for the man, in fact if anything Haymitch has always been so jealous of the way Ludovicus Jornmark was loved almost as much as he was hated, and their few conversations have been amicable yet not extremely friendly, but it's a relationship Haymitch doesn't exactly mind. There's no need for him to get closer to anyone anyway, he'll just destroy them the same way he did everyone else.
"Alright, come on in," he twists the handle and opens the door to see the latest victor standing tall, his hair slicked to the side and a disheveled grin on his face. Haymitch leads Ludo to the chair across from his sofa, grabbing him by the sleeve of his maroon tracksuit so he doesn't fall onto the ground and make a fool of himself. He slouches against the velveteen cushioning and sighs, "What'd you want to discuss?"
"I'll just cut to the chase since you seem rather busy," Ludo hardly pays attention to Haymitch's tripping, his chin resting on his hands clenched in a fist and an expression on his face that says he's fighting his own demons, "What do you know about the girl you're mentoring?"
"Vancouver?" Just a slight reference to her is enough to bring excitement to Haymitch's mind. She's despicable as a person, a total brat who definitely hates his guts, yet at the same time she's brought him stronger delights than anyone he's ever known, "What do you want to know about her?"
"You've always struck me as the honest type, Haymitch," Ludo says and it's the sort of compliment Haymitch wasn't expecting but still enjoys hearing, "Tell me, would you be concerned if Vancouver was allying with one of your Tributes?"
Concerned? Well Haymitch would definitely be frightened at the thought of Vancouver Easton forming an "alliance," as that would imply a situation that's mutually beneficial and anyone who knows her knows everything she does is to some extent, for herself. Or "for District Twelve," as she always says and Haymitch is baffled by why she has so much pride for a literal shit hole."
"She's very resourceful," he nods and watches as one of Ludo's brows raises and his eyes begin to squint together, "Intelligent too, and actually a pretty decent fighter."
What he's saying is technically true, he was there that one time Vancouver castrated somebody and stuffed his remains in a garden gnome, and that certainly counts as "fighting," even if her "opponent" wasn't really given the opportunity to put up a good fight.
Ludo's silent for a moment and Haymitch's mind nearly wanders into the heavens before he asks, "Would you be afraid of her betraying anybody?"
Definitely. Whatever Vancouver's intentions are by allying with at least one Career, they're not very good ones. Vancouver Easton's bad side is a place worse than the deepest pits of hell, and Haymitch reckons whoever it is she's got under her thumb is in for utter monstrosity.
But at the same time, if Haymitch tells this to Ludo. If he tells him that Vancouver's a domineering fiend who'll knock anybody dead without a moments notice, then Ludo thanks him for his honesty and gets the entire Pack to hunt her down and kill her in the bloodbath. If Haymitch tells him that Vancouver's quite lovely and she'll make a great addition to any alliance, she's capable of outliving them all and taking the crown.
He's accepted the fact that Noel was doomed from the start, but if Vancouver's sitting next to him on the train ride back to Twelve, he knows he can follow her home to a pocketful of salvation and once he gets a whiff it'll be like Noel never left. He hates that he needs her to this degree, and he hates that he's got no choice but to blame her for his own stupidity, but he somehow hates the idea of being without her magic even more.
As much as Haymitch Abernathy enjoys the silence, he only likes it when there's promise that it's temporary and noise is soon to come. Without Vancouver, he's left void of anything to look forwards to, even if it's just a substance designed to slowly kill him as he begs for more.
Without Vancouver, he's truthfully alone.
Which is why he tells Ludo, "No, I wouldn't worry about a thing. If anything, she's a bit gullible."
And so, his fate is sealed, ending another life in favor of his selfishness. His fate is sealed, protecting himself when all he has is remnants of nothing and promises of a living dream.
Hedy Lovelace. 16.
District Three Female.
Everything is going to plan and Hedy has Verdigris Ahane-Voclain wrapped around her finger. Not that it was hard, of course. The kid's rather defensive, rather blunt, yes, but it's just so clear that all they ever wanted was somebody who could support them and be a listening ear, and that's a role Hedy Lovelace is more than willing to play in order to get what she wants.
Which is to win, obviously. She's not particularly pleased that she's been sent here, not because she doesn't think she can win (she can), but because good lord is it so inconvenient being sent to the Capitol for two weeks in the middle of midterms at summer school. Hedy should be taking a calculus test right now, she should be excelling at a calculus test but instead her grandiose clothing and fancy jewelry have been replaced by a drab tracksuit and she's got to do something or else she'll look like an idiot just standing there and complaining.
Maybe she's a bit too prideful in her abilities, but the winning the Games comes down to being strong enough and being smart enough, and she's definitely got that second part down pat. As former, she's killed before and she only somewhat regrets it, which bodes well for Hedy. Sure, her father was quite inebriated when she took the bottle to his head, which certainly made things easier for her, but overall, she's not the strongest.
Which is where Verdigris comes in. Throughout her observations of them, Hedy's noticed that they're not exactly the most stable individual she's met. But it's not necessarily a bad thing, because if anybody messes with the two of them, surely their flight or fight instincts will kick in, and they'll always choose fight. And that means any good opponent would go for them instead of calm, cool, and collective Hedy who surely wouldn't be able to pose a real threat. So what if she killed her father, she was so tortured, so abused, hell I'd do the same if I were in her shoes, is what they'll think if her, and so brave too, just so so brave…
As for the smarts aspect of the Games, please. Has it ever been a question of whether or not Hedy's a fucking genius?
"I've come back with some notes for you," she's standing against a wall by the plants station when Verdigris runs towards her with the notebook Hedy gave them. "You're not going to believe what I just learned!"
She's managed to give Verdigris a purpose besides eventual meat shield too. Yesterday she'd told them that she thinks they could ward of an enemy by themself, and with Hedy handling any potential medicinal issues, it would be wise if the two of them were to split up and note down anything they can on the other Tributes that'll help them in the arena. Admittedly, Hedy hasn't done much of her own note-taking, too busy researching traps and what not, but Verdigris has definitely done their job well.
"Oh, do tell," Hedy raises an eyebrow.
Filled with excitement, Verdigris flips through the pages and says, "You know the boy from Ten? The one everybody was so afraid of because he's killed a bunch of people?" Hedy simply nods and they continue, "He's actually a big ol' softie. Which is why he's allying with that Eight girl. He wants to protect her or some shit, as if she's his younger sister or something."
"So he's a family man then?" Hedy grimaces, her words light and feathery, "I'd imagine he doesn't like being away from his family. What does the Eight girl think of him?"
Verdigris nods, "She seems rather reluctant to listen to his advice, even though I must say everything he's saying is true. He seems like a good person in fact, and I can't really fault him for killing those people considering he said he did it after they hurt his sister?"
So they think killing's alright provided there's a good reason for it, Hedy muses, the gears beginning to turn in her head already. "Do you think that maybe we could get Eight to leave him in the arena eventually? I imagine she'll use him to survive the bloodbath if she has any brains in her head."
"Why would we want her to leave?" They ask, their voice filled with a bit of confusion.
Hedy sighs, "Because we want to win, obviously." It's become increasingly clear to her that even if Verdigris is the more capricious of the pair, they're not nearly as cutthroat as her. They're for sure not necessarily willing to play dirty, and that could certainly pose some problems down the line. She notices the callousness in her voice and corrects herself, "Apologies if that sounded too harsh, I just thought the purpose here was more apparent."
"I just don't think we have to be so brutal about it, and mislead her or anything," they lean on the side of the wall with their arms crossed. As gregarious as Verdigris can be at times, Hedy has noticed that their aggression seems to be more towards themself and their life than other people, at least other innocent people. "And don't worry, you're not harsh, just assertive."
Hedy doesn't really see a problem in her idea, and perhaps that makes Verdigris a better person than her, but at the same time, good people don't win the Games, so who's really in the right here?
She looks them up and down and giggles a little, to which they ask, "What?" in a meek voice.
"You crack me up, that's all," Hedy shrugs, and Verdigris' face blushes a tad, which is really embarrassing honestly, "I just thought that you'd be more eager to win too. You were telling me you were worried about your father and your stepfather, weren't you?"
"Yes yes, you're right," they give in, standing tall and steady like a little soldier, "and I know you want to win too, so as your ally I should be more willing to help you."
She almost feels bad for them, emphasis on almost. Hedy doesn't think Verdigris quite trusts her yet, but at the same time they're kind enough to genuinely wish goodwill on her. Maybe Hedy's a bit like her father if she's so eager to take advantage of someone, but as happy as she is that the fool's dead, he probably would've done just swell in the Hunger Games —Oh hell! What am I thinking? Good lord, Hedy… you can't just up and become the guy. What the fuck's your problem… But I'm not him. I'm not him.
"Now I feel bad for pressuring you," Hedy gives an admission of lies. "That wasn't very cool of me, especially when I feel bad for somewhat pressuring you to tell me about your step-father. It's just that ever since my father passed, as long ago as it was, I've felt so alone and—"
Verdigris cuts her off, "You're fine, Hedy. I know you have a lot that you want to win for too, and there's no need to apologize for trying to relate to me regarding something that's so clearly had a heavy impact on your life. If anything, I should be apologizing because I made you feel like a bad person."
It's almost pathetic how easy it is to make them come undone, especially when the poor kid has no idea what they're getting into. They never even asked Hedy how her father died, they just took it as it is when she told them it was related to alcohol. Guess it just goes to show just how much they care about their family, not that she could ever relate. Besides, the whole idea of family's just a lie abusers tell you so you give into them. Hedy's always been too smart to submit to such a thing.
Her voice softens once more, "I told you, there's no need to apologize."
Panicking, Verdigris continues to flip through their notes when they realize, "I think I've already told you everything else I've learned. I really need to do better, I'm sorry… I'm so, so sorry…" They continue to panic, their breaths growing heavier, "I swore I learned more, I'm sorry, I'm just the worst aren't I?"
Hedy bites her lips, wonderful. She's been observing what it is that makes them tick, and she's learned it's anything that'll leave them feeling emotionally disjointed, which is when she can comfort her, which she does now by placing her hands on Verdigris' shoulders and pulling them closer to her chest, "You're not the worst. You're a lovely human being, I promise. You're important, and you're going to do great in the Games, no matter what anybody says about it. I believe in you."
It's exactly what Verdigris needs to hear.
A shame it's all lies.
Mozi Hongqi. 18.
District Six Female.
She's a fucking fool, isn't she?
No scratch that, reverse it, Mozi is not a fucking fool, she knows exactly what she's doing. And what she's doing is taking two street-rat clowns and turning them into her pawns for the week before she throws them to the wolves when the time's right. By the way, it's her. She's the wolf. Well actually, if Mozi was to be likened to any animal it would be a tigress, that's much more regal than a mere wolf, but that's besides the point.
The point is, Mozi solicited these two, Judas and Malin with every intention on betraying them, but now, as Malin tries to juggle knives and screams (or at least tries to) when one nearly falls on their foot, she doesn't think she can.
"Hey discostick," she snarls at them, still unsure what lead to that nickname spawning in her brain, "You trying to lose three toes to match your fingers?"
Malin walks closer to her so they can mouth, "I fucking adore symmetry."
"How queer of you," Mozi laughs a bit more than she should be laughing, because damnit why the hell is she actually attached to somebody who isn't Rangani?
Right. Her. That's who Mozi's supposed to be concerned for, her darling girlfriend who helped her rise to the top, allowed her to become the empress of Six's sewer slums in the span of two years. That's who matters in all of this, not this manic pixie dream bitch and mediocre attempt at a sexy lumberjack.
Yet Judas too has grown on her. Not that Mozi ever didn't think fondly of him, she really just found it pathetic that he was eyeing them throughout the first day of training like a lost puppy, to which Malin mouthed, "It's so hard being so popular and so hot."
He's currently setting a fire and doing so quite well, furry in his eyes as the flames continue to flicker and mount, embers nearly grazing his nose. She begins to worry, even though Mozi really shouldn't be worrying for somebody besides herself, so she approaches him and scoffs, "Aren't you afraid you're going to set yourself on fire?"
Judas stands up and rubs the back of his head, "No, not particularly, but thanks for asking."
The flames rise up to his waist though he doesn't step all that close to it, but it's concerning nevertheless, so again Mozi scolds him, "No seriously, put it out. I think you're going to literally set yourself and others around you including me on fire."
But Judas is still unbothered, running his hand on top of the fire without touching it, "I don't need fire to know I'm hot, Mozi."
She bites her lip, "Neither do I, so put it out."
It's only when an ember hits Judas' hand and he flinches that he realizes maybe setting a giant campfire in the training center wasn't a great idea, so he reaches for the bucket of water besides it and douses the fire until it's extinguished, "I don't know what you mean. There was never a fire here."
"I can't stand you," Mozi rolls her eyes but there's a rare smile on her face.
Judas retorts, "Then kneel."
They walk back to Malin who's been guarding Mozi's briefcase, and surprisingly so, they've been a good little thief and haven't even looked inside it, which is great since if they did they'd probably fucking shit themself. But then again, if anyone in this group is into that, it would be them. She'd kept it in her room in Six's apartment for the past three days since arriving at the Capitol, but with private sessions approaching today, the briefcase's contents would prove to be important.
She wraps her fingers around the breifcase's handle and smirks, "I bet you want to know what's inside this, don't you?"
It's something Mozi's had for two years, taking it around with her wherever she goes just in case. Because she could get caught, there's always the risk that she gets caught with it and then she's locked up and sent to prison, or worse, back to Xunzi. And that's a fate worse that incarnation, hell going back home is a fate worse than death. As fickle as she was to run away and never look back, Mozi's frighteningly aware that it could all come crashing and burning in an instant, which is why she always took the briefcase with her. And then it's in the Capitol with her now because she doesn't need Rangani being burdened with it, and when the Gamemakers see it in a few hours, what's the worst they could do? It's not like they can kill her when she's already come so close to possibly dying.
But Mozi Hongqi doesn't want to die. Hell, she refuses to die. Death's just a bug she'll crush with her heel 'till it's a clump of yellow pulp on the concrete. She's already done so much, already come so far and she's not about to let somebody, something as minuscule as the Hunger Games try and challenge her. Try and challenge her, and the life with Rangani she has waiting on the other side. There's fortunes a plenty awaiting for her, if only she was able to claim them.
And for once, it's her own heart (one she didn't even know she had) that's getting in the way.
Malin taps Mozi and mouths, "So are you going to tell us, or what?" snapping her out of her brief moment of introspection.
"Right, right," she looks around to make sure nobody with high authority's in her general vicinity before unlatching the metal clasp securing the briefcase and letting the front fall against the floor facing towards her. "Just out of curiosity, would either of you two consider yourself particularly squeamish?" The two of them not their heads as to indicate a negative response, "Right on then!"
Mozi turns around the briefcase to reveal Kadenza's corpse, in horrible condition after two years but nevertheless recognizable as human, or at least formally human. But it's still pretty good all these considered, even if its skin's faded to a turgid shade of beige, wrinkled and falling from the bones where it was once held taught. Most importantly, its chest is in perfect condition.
"Right, so what the actual fuck is that?" A face of disgust resides on Judas' face as he touches the corpse's fail finger only to shrivel with fear, "I'm annoying for starting a fire but you literally brought a dead person here?"
Malin shrugs and moves their lips to mime, "Yeah, I think that's exactly what she's saying." They open the cadaver's mouth as though they're looking for a tongue, but in the process they drool on its legs.
"—You stop that," Mozi swats them away from it, "Do you really fucking think somebody who died two years ago would still have a functioning tongue that would magically work if I attached it to your mouth?"
They mouth, "Well actually, I typically don't think at all," then rub their hand with two fingers against their chin, "Do you think fingers would work better?"
She puts her face in her hands, "You want me to cut off fingers from a corpse and attach them to your little stubs?"
Malin nods, and Judas asks the question that really should've been asked at the beginning, "Why aren't we worried that Mozi literally has a corpse, and that probably means she's killed somebody?"
"Please, as if your little wildfire didn't kill anybody," she snarls.
Judas sighs, his hand on his cheek, "Okay well fair enough. Did we just all kill somebody here?"
"Well, I wasn't in prison for being so painstakingly hot," Malin mouths with a wicked grin on their face, "It was mainly for robbery, and being an incorrigible little shit to the Peacekeepers…. Oh, and I did kill somebody, but it was an accident, I swear!"
"Sure it was," he says and Malin just laughs, "Good lord, were all awful people, aren't we?"
Mozi nods, but deep inside she wonders if she's even being truthful. Yes, killing somebody, especially an innocent and then just stuffing the body in a briefcase for two years is objectively a bad thing, but really Mozi wasn't given any other choice. Kadenza was so close to ruining her, and she couldn't have that because that would just render her broke, unhappy, or both, and the whole idea of running away was rooted in the fact Mozi Hongqi never wanted to be miserable again.
"I suppose so," she gets another look at the corpse, still so fragile and starving and still a deep incision on her throat and behind her thigh, "Now Malin, were you serious about me sewing fingers on you?"
They smile, so Mozi moves forwards and says, "Well then go find a pair of scissors, and Judas get some needle and some thread. I suppose it's time for an impromptu operation."
Maybe Mozi'll regret doing something to help a person that'll eventually be her foe, but at the same time, she knows the best way to string somebody along is to make it seem like she cares about them.
And maybe she actually does.
Liana Taylor. 41.
Head Gamemaker.
Minerva sits still on her desk, her head looking out through the window as Liana paces the office, her pencil tapping against her chin. She kneels down to the her level and grins, "You think they'll be here soon?"
Obviously, Minerva doesn't answer since she's a cat, but she offers a subtle meow, and that's enough to leave Liana satisfied. It's gotten exhaustive by now, making last minute tweaks to the arena, checking in with the mutt designers to ensure they're doing their job (they are, thank goodness), and it's all just a weak attempt at avoiding public appearances. The interview with Caesar was enough for the year, especially after the opinion section a newspaper declared her to be a "sociopath," for displaying more confidence than usual that night. Besides, sociopaths are typically characterized by a lack of confidence, not that I'd expect a crummy journalist to know that. They're right about her being anti-social though, yet they publish this shit and wonder why?
It's overwhelming, much like the swarm of people who enter the room without even knocking first, which is just rude of them, honestly. There's maybe fifteen of them, though she's never bothered counting, and all of them with the intention to "help her" run the Games so they can be as good as possible or whatever, though if there's one thing Liana Taylor's never needed it's "help." And by nature, she doesn't particularly trust most of them. With a moderately large sample size, it would be reasonable to assume that at least one of them despises her and is only here with the intent to watch her like a hawk and report every last word she says to a tabloid. When she was given the opportunity to hire her own staff, she screened them to the best of her ability, but humanity has never been known for its immense honesty.
But if she has to trust one of them wholeheartedly, it would be Plutarch Heavensbee who sits at the chair next to Liana's and smiles, "I imagine this is a big day for you? No longer taking notes for Clemensia and Lysistrata but getting to take manners into your own hands?"
"Believe me, I'm thrilled," she doesn't lie. Of course, he's much more cheery than Liana is, seemingly already well adjusted to the reality of her predecessors passing, but he also hasn't been forced to think about it every waking moment due to accusations he caused it. At least he never believed it was Liana who killed them, but rather the stairs like Coriolanus had claimed. It's almost hilarious to her how easily people fall victim to his bullshit, genuinely laughable.
She takes a seat next to him and he slides a notebook over the table and in front of her. The rest of the Gamemakers seem comfortable taking their own notes on a tablets, but Liana's always been more old fashioned in that regard, though maybe she should get a tablet. If said treacherous Gamemaker was in this room, surely they'd claim Liana doesn't use a tablet because she's writing things that could declare her guilty of treason and such things could easily be hacked if they were written electronically. And thus, she changes her mind out of paranoia and asks, "Actually, could you get me a tablet? It's better for the environment."
Plutarch doesn't question her, lifting a silver metallic device and a long white stylus from beside him and places it in front of her. She presses the button on the side and opens the note taking application. She leans over to him and whispers, "I think we can send the first Tribute in."
He's become a de-facto assistant to her over the months, which is why he's able to correct her without shame and say, "You should probably address the rest of the team."
Liana nods and turns her spinning chair backwards announcing, "Alright, if you have anything to say about the Tributes, please leave it until the end, for now it'll just be Plutarch and I discussing after each session, but do feel free to take any notes."
She earns a mutual stern nod from the team and then spins back to face the window overlooking the demonstration room, this time speaking louder to Plutarch, "Let's send the first Tribute in."
Lethia Aphelion from District One's the first to enter her room, a sly yet determined smile on her face. She stands in the center of the room and curtseys before introducing herself. Liana wants to say "We know," because they do since it's written out in front of them, but that would be rude, so she refrains and fakes a smile instead.
She notices a black protective wrapping on one of Lethia's hands, so she makes note of that quickly, waiting for her to begin the demonstration.
It starts with her requesting to spar a trainer, but instead of fighting with a sword as Liana's grown to expect, she's equipped with a staff. She likes what she sees, as admittedly traditional weapons have gotten stale over the years, this should be good, really good.
But it isn't.
Lethia's staff collides with the trainer's several times before she reacts to a strike with what seems to be a great deal of pain, and then drops the weapon and holds her wrapped hand to her chest. Tears begin to flood in her eyes as she softly whimpers, then tries to crouch down and grab the staff again, but she drops it immediately and grunts, "Shit!"
Her tears worsen but she tries to push through, walking to the plant identification station and attempting to complete the matching game, but she slams her injured hand onto the table a bit too hard, and that just makes her cry once again.
The trainer asks her, "Are you okay?" but Lethia's left shell-shocked so she just covers her face and runs off to the door in which she came from.
As soon as she's out of sight, Plutarch whispers, "Well she tried her best, I could tell she's actually quite good when she's not in pain. Her first strikes were impactful and she did good at the plants until her little mess-up."
"You make a fair point," Liana admits, though she's not quite convinced she should give her a high score regardless, "But she's clearly injured and I don't think that'll help her much in the Games."
He nods in agreement, "Fair enough."
Already, Liana can tell the energy Icarus St. Augustine exudes is different in comparison to his District partner. His head's held high and confidence is practically dripping off him. "I assume you know who I am," he professes whilst walking over to pick up a spear. But instead of fighting with the weapon, he places its tip on the ground and uses it to lean.
Liana writes that he's not doing anything, but she quickly eats her words when Icarus announces, "I'd like to have a little chat with you Gamemakers."
She sighs in spite of the fact she's trying to sound and appear optimistic today before turning on her microphone and saying, "You can tell us whatever you want!"
"Right on then," Icarus smirks, one of his hands on his hips, "First off, I'd like to apologize for Lethia's private session. I didn't see it, but I can assume she messed up her hand?"
"I don't think I can disclose that," but Liana's smile reveals that she's confirming Icarus' suspicion. "Go on."
"Well I'll have you know, I've been observing my competition over the past few days, and I've made some interesting conclusions," his smile is extremely cocky and overconfident but at the very least it suits him, "I'll start with the kids from Two then. The girl, well she's a mess. Did you know she wasn't even selected by the Academy to volunteer? How embarrassing! She drugged the girl who was supposed to be here, and Endellion's not even good enough to justify such a thing. The boy's equally messy. His brain's all jumbled and maybe he'd be good if he wasn't so nervous. I'm embarrassed for him."
Liana reverently writes down what he's saying, even if she's given no choice but to question his every word.
"The boy from three's a bit of a weakling, helping the scrawny kid from Nine. I wouldn't be too worried about him, the girl on the other hand? She's trying to manipulate the girl from Five and I sort of doubt how successful she's going to be," Icarus continues, "Atlantis, she's fine I suppose. Definitely slightly sick in the head, but smart too. It's Calsin who's the real mess. I've never seen somebody so angry for virtually no reason. Maybe he's just constipated, but I'd think we can afford laxatives here."
He begins to walk around the room throwing the spear at a target which he hits perfectly before resuming, "Girl from Five also has anger issues. I saw her punching a bag and sort of screaming, like good lord I think the training room should take a collective dose of drugs to calm down. Also, District Six is a mess. Girl carries around a briefcase like some sicko with a power complex and the boy literally doesn't have three of his fingers. I bet it was from picking his nose too much."
Again, Liana takes notes on his little speech, "For some reason they're allied with the boy from Seven, and he's a bit dim-witted himself. I saw him take off his shirt earlier today as if this is Panem's Next Top Model, and not the Hunger Games. I'll admit, he's attractive, but still."
"And the girl from Eight? Again with the anger issues. No clue why she's allied with the boy from Ten. He's literally a serial killer; I imagine you guys can't morally let him win," Icarus picks up another spear and once more hits a target perfectly in the center, "I heard the girl from Nine killed the mayor, which really is irresponsible of her by the way. The boy's got some sort of trauma, which is really a shame since judging by how sickly he looks, he's likely about to get a whole lot more."
"I should probably warn you about the Twelves as well," he returns to the center of the room, this time with two spears in his hands, "The boy's a lost little puppy, walking around and definitely having wet dreams about Haymitch. I get that they're dating or whatever, but if he's going to pick a Victor to act so desperate over, Ludovicus is right there. Girl's trying to get with Lethia and Beowulf, by the way. I'm sure she'll succeed, they're not exactly the brightest."
And with that, he throws both spears at two separate targets, his aim perfect yet again. Icarus doesn't even face the Gamemakers again, instead laughing and saying, "Thanks for letting me share!" before stepping out of the room.
As soon as Liana's done writing her notes, she asks Plutarch, "Well what do you think?"
"He's a bit like you when you were younger, just more outspoken," he laughs, "I guess we'll have to see how right he is."
He makes a good point, but regardless Liana can't deny how impressed she was.
Endellion Dubois from Two trips on her untied shoelace and falls on her face as she walks into the room, so she's clearly already off to a poor start. Minerva opens her mouth before lying down on the table and closing her eyes. Clearly, she doesn't want to see what's sure to be a disaster, and to be frank, after a not so strong start, Liana can see why.
But I've got to be optimistic, she muses, maybe it'll get better.
Unfortunately, it does not get better.
She saunters to the weapons, hobbling as if she's hungover, and Liana's immediately reminded why she's never bothered to indulge in alcohol all that much. Besides, how'd Endellion even get that. It's not her problem though.
Much like how it isn't Liana's problem when Endellion fumbles at the weapons rack, a spear nearly falling over on her head when she tries to remove it. She laughs at herself, and Plutarch awkwardly joins her before she jousts the weapon at a target. On the positive, it does make an impact, but on the negative, it's about as far from the center as humanly possible.
But at least Endellion feels pleased with herself, though Liana could never admit to being pleased with anything short of perfection. It gets worse when she clasps her hands inwards and buckles her knees, whimpering, "Good lord, I really need to pee," loud enough that everyone in the Gamemakers' room can hear her, though only a few laugh; Liana isn't one of them.
She watches as Endellion once again hardly makes impact with the target before saying, "I'm sorry, but I really have to pee, so I'm just going to have to go now. Again, I'm so sorry."
Liana gets the feeling that Endellion isn't actually sorry for the functions of her bladder, but she gives her the benefit of the doubt and writes down Possibly suffers from polyuria, or is just irresponsible, and hands her tablet to Plutarch.
"I think she's just irresponsible," he chuckles, "I guess the girls from Two really did peak with Cyra last year."
"They really did," Liana nods.
Endellion's partner Beowulf Haleot seems just as nervous as she was, though Liana assumes he isn't going to talk about his urine since he actually seems to take himself seriously. He stands in the center of the room, his hands shaking as he politely bows to the office window.
He cocks his head to the right where a trainer's standing obediently and asks, "Care for a spar?" to which the trainer nods, so Beowulf runs to the weapons rack and choses two broadswords. He hands one to the trainer and steps three meters away from him, "Here we go!"
Though again, he's clearly nervous, he does fairly well. He's got a childlike innocence to him that's a bit adorable, if not unexpected from a boy from Two. But Liana certainly doesn't dislike it, even if she doesn't quite see the stardom oozing off his skin the same way it did for Ludovicus last year.
Beowulf spars well, his swordsmanship intricate yet refined, and it's clear he's spent good time honing this craft of his. While he's a bit rigid, he still manages to dislodge the other sword from the trainer's hands and push him onto the ground. His face turns red as he grabs the trainer by the hand and pulls him up, proclaiming, "That was a great fight. Thank you so much!" in a bit of a monotone.
He walks over to the trapping station next and successfully assembles a lasso from a mere strand of wire, swinging it around his head and planting it on a goalpost in front of him. Beowulf smiles at his own success and then returns to the center of the room, bowing once more which is when he says, "Thank you for having me. I wish you all the best of luck today."
When he's out of the room, Liana whispers, "Is he not the cutest thing you've ever seen?"
"Oh for sure," Plutarch nods, "He's probably a nervous wreck but he seems to know what he's doing."
Compared to Endellion, that's just the bare minimum.
Perhaps the person Liana's most excited to see is Hedy Lovelace of District Three, and that's totally not due to the inherit supremacy of girls from Three on the younger side with red hair, of course not. And luckily, Hedy wastes no time before grabbing one of the dummies off the wall and a couple of small knives.
Liana smirks, I can tell where this is going. And she's right, because Hedy makes her way to the poison station and picks up a mock vial of clostridium botulinum, and if there was an inner sadist inside Liana, she'd be laughing like an idiot right now.
Hedy knocks the dummy to the ground but then ignores it, carefully unscrewing the lid for the solution meant to mimic a deadly nerve agent and carefully coating the blade. She waits around thirty seconds for the "poison" to dry and then throws it at the dummy, the knife making a slight dent into the foam material.
"As you may have noticed, I just coated my knife with a undeadly replication of the substance known as clostridium botulinum," she faces the Gamemakers and announces with a devious smirk on her face. "As some of you may know, the substance is typically found in botox injections, but that's a very concentrated dose, unlike what I just used."
A few of the Gamemakers nod, and Liana assumes it's because half their skin is made of botox at this point.
"You also may know that clostridium botulinum is extremely deadly if it enters the body intravenously, as opposed to intramuscularly when used for medicinal purposes," Hedy explains, still beaming with pride, "Well I'll have you know, that as subtle as I was with my throw, I purposely aimed for the area around the aorta, the body's largest artery, and if this was a real person and I'd just used real botulinum, they'd be dead by now. Their muscles would slowly relax until they're unable to walk, so if the poison didn't kill them, I'd easily be able to stab them again."
"She's right," Liana mumbles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I really should've done that during my session."
"So that's that!" Hedy pivots on the ball of her left foot to exit the room, "That's how you kill somebody without even flinching!"
"Okay, but I'm obsessed with her," Liana says to Plutarch as soon as Hedy leaves, "That was glorious."
Per usual, Plutarch humbles her, "All she did was stab somebody with poison. We don't know if she can do anything else."
But Liana doesn't need to know much more to decide Hedy's on the road to a long run in the Games.
After a slightly below average display of talent (or lack thereof) by Three's Claude Neumann, Liana's hopeful Atlantis Seasbane'll make up for the boredom she had to suffer through, and to think it came from somebody from her own home District as well… embarrassing.
Atlantis doesn't bother waiting for Liana or anybody else to tell her to begin, no it's clear she marches to the beat of her own drum, which she doesn't mind, by the way. She walks over to the weapons rack and examines each of the blades, like she's looking for the sharpest one before she settles on a cutlass. Atlantis smirks at the sword, and then walks to the center of the room and asks, "Can I please see one of the avoxes?"
Confused, Plutarch taps Liana on the shoulder, "What do you think she needs one for?"
"No clue, but I'm intrigued," she replies in a whisper, then speaks louder so that the avoxes in the back of the room can hear her, "Caterham, you appease her!"
But perhaps appease isn't the right word for it, because what Atlantis does next isn't exactly kind, though really it would be shocking if a girl from Four was nice in the slightest. She instructs the male avox to stay put in the center of the room, dropping her sword to the ground and putting her hands on her hips as she struts to the ropes hanging on the wall, draping them over her arms and returning.
"Dear lord, is she going to lynch it?" Plutarch mutters but in reality what Atlantis does is somehow worse.
Using one of the ropes, she ties the avox's hands behind its back with a tight knot, and then another rope goes around its feet, rendering the thing unable to move. Atlantis knocks it to the ground and laughs when its head hits the linoleum floor and it begins to squirm. She puts her foot on its stomach and scoffs, "Won't you stay still?"
The avox doesn't listen so Atlantis presses her foot harder, laughing, "You know, I could gag you right now, but that wouldn't make sense considering you can't even talk."
She glances down at the sword and smirks, lifting up the blade and holding it over the avox's head, "I bet you're so afraid now, aren't you? I bet you're so sacred of me, a teenage girl. Fuckin' pathetic."
Liana overhears a Gamemaker whisper, "What kind of fucked up foreplay is this?" which earns a chuckle from her, since she's fairly positive that's what just about everybody is thinking. Yet Liana doesn't intervene, because even though she has an idea of where this is going, she's fairly curious if Atlantis will actually do it.
The avox continues to flop like a fish on the ground, and it seems like Atlantis has no other choice but to step on one of its kneecaps with her sturdy and thick leather boots until a cracking noise emits. "I'll break your other one too if you don't quit moving," she says as the avox's movements seize. Liana begins to think that maybe it's irresponsible of her to let all of this continue, but really it's just a minuscule avox she's harming, and it can always be replaced, good lord, what's gotten into me…
"You know, I bet you wish you could yell at me right now," Atlantis beckons the thing with her sword spinning in her right hand. "Too bad you already fucked up any chance at speaking again, fucking idiot."
She takes a deep breath then does what Atlantis assumed she was going to do, slashing the avox's throat with her blade and then watching it bleed with twisted satisfaction. The avox begins to twitch and cough because of the wound, so Atlantis inserts her sword into its mouth twisting the blade and cutting up its lip, "I bet that'll teach you to not be so much of a fuckup."
Atlantis flicks her blade at the top of its face, knocking out one of its eyes which she holds in her hand, the bloodied sphere glossy yet delicate whilst the avox continues to groan. She leans down at the mess she's made of the avox's mouth and carefully places the eyeball inside, "I hope you still have teeth because it would really be a shame if you choked." She laughs again as the avox coughs before finally slumping over in defeat.
Maybe Liana really should've stopped that, but it was admittedly fascinating, and she hates that she holds such an opinion. Atlantis dips her hands in the pool of blood around the avox's neck, and drags her fingers from her eyes down to her chin to create crimson stains on her skin.
She flashes a wicked grin at the Gamemakers' window then turns around and leaves, and when Liana looks around at her colleagues, they're just as shocked as she is.
For a minute, nobody says a word, instead watching as a female avox drags the corpse away and another cleans the mess Atlantis' left on the ground. Eventually, it's Plutarch who speaks first, and he says, "Well at least we know she's comfortable with killing people."
"I bet she'll kill more," Liana nods, and remembers her partnership with Icarus St. Augustine. It's clear she's identified the arena's biggest threats.
Calsin Verrillo enters next, and he seems frustrated, which is probably fair since he just saw Atlantis covered in blood and now he needs to think of something that can possibly live up to that. In fact, the first thing Calsin says is, "I'm sorry that my District partner is a fucking freak," and then he scoffs, "I know, she's fucking awful."
But really, Liana didn't find Atlantis freakish or awful, instead she found the girl entertaining in a twisted way, scientifically speaking.
The boy continues his angry tirade by grabbing a longsword and a dummy, proceeding to prop the dummy upwards before announcing, "Pretend this dummy is Atlantis Seasbane!"
Liana slightly snickers then proceeds to watch Calsin strike at the dummy from the left side with enough force that the fabric tears, and then he strikes from the top, again with agression and anger that seems unsurmountable. A feral scream escapes his lips as he hits the dummy from side to side, spewing curse words as the dummy slowly falls apart, reduced to threads from his wrath.
He huffs and puffs, skin red as blood and sweat dripping off his face like it's a centrifuge before examining his work and letting a crooked smile loose, "But if it was Atlantis…" he continues to deeply exhale, "It would be way worse than this."
Well, Icarus was certainly right on the anger thing, Liana notes down, somewhat flabbergasted by his rage.
Calsin continues to rip the dummy into shreds, screaming with glee as he pulls apart the fabric with his hands before finally standing up and saying, "When it's her or me, I hope you make the right choice."
He's long gone before Plutarch rolls his eyes and remarks, "A bit of a drama queen. Even if he's a talented one."
Liana smiles, "Predict him for third place, I want to see if it can blow up worse when Atlantis scores better."
The girl from Five, Verdigris Ahane-Voclain (what a mouthful) seems quite nervous when she enters the room, though also frustrated since her brow's furrowed and she's dragged a punching bag to the center with her.
"I'd just like to take a minute to announce that I actually fucking hate it here," she says, arms crossed and her face unamused, "It's not any of your faults, I'm sure you Gamemakers are all lovely, but good lord was this me being reaped thing awfully timed."
She begins ranting whilst she violently strikes at the punching bag, "Really? I just found out my step-father is an alcoholic, and before I could even cope with it, I just had to be sent to die." Verdigris kicks the punching bag too, "And I fucking hate alcohol and drugs because my mom used it when she prostituted my dad."
Liana almost feels bad for how angry she is, emphasis on almost, "My mom is such a bitch, and she is never up to any good, and I actually fucking hate her even though I hardly remember her," she takes several deep breaths and continues, "Not because she's dead or anything, but because my dad and I fucking ran from her."
The ranting continues whilst Verdigris' actions against the punching bag just increase in brutality, along with her words, so she's practically screaming by the time she's done, and eventually she's even left an entire hole in the punching bag, stuffing pouring out of the rip she's made, "I'm sorry for that, but I'm not fucking sorry for how pissed off I am."
She knocks the punching bag to the ground and admires her work, "Not bad for a bitch with no talent." Yet Verdigris leaves just as frustrated as she was when she arrived.
"Teenagers these days," Liana rolls her eyes at Plutarch, "At least she seemed to have valid reasons for her rage."
He nods, "And she sure can punch."
Mozi Honqi from District Six enters the room with a twirl and a smile, "It's so lovely to see everybody today!"
Liana's immediately perplexed by her because she's noticed a large briefcase in her arms, and she's somewhat bewildered at how Mozi was allowed to bring such a thing into her private session, but she can really use some entertainment after Five's Nikolai Solomon was a complete snooze.
Mozi sets the briefcase on the ground and announces, "I've prepared a special demonstration for you folk, and I trust that you're going to love it." She squats to unhook the metal buckle, the lid facing towards the back of the room and not the Gamemakers when it opens which feels intentional. Mozi reaches inside, and Liana swears she sees hands and legs or something, but no, it can't be that. Oh good lord, it is, she muses as Mozi rises with a mangled corpse slumped over her arms, which she carefully sets on the ground in front of her.
The entire office is filled with a frenzied panic that somehow outmatches their ambiance during Atlantis' murderous moment, profanities spewing and concern eminent. Plutarch leans to Liana and asks her, "How the hell did she get that?"
But obviously, Liana doesn't have an answer so instead she silences the others and says, "Let me see where this goes."
Meanwhile, Mozi's paid no attention to their fanfare, instead retrieving an array of tools, most importantly the all too familiar to Liana scalpel. She stands over the corpse and declares, "This is my best friend Kadenza, who died doing what she loved, which was being a prostitute. She always dreamed of traveling to the Capitol and being used for science, so I promised her that one day I would make her dream a reality." She presses her lips on the corpse's head ever so slightly, "Kadenza, this private session is for you."
What comes next is beautiful, if not a disaster. Mozi cuts a vertical line down the cadaver using her knife with immaculate precision, moving to her scissors so she can cut horizontal by the top of the chest and the bottom of the pelvis. Once she's done, she spreads open the two flaps she's created and uses pins to fasten them to the foam mat beneath her, leaving the body's ribcage and organs fully exposed.
"What the hell…" Plutarch stutters, and Liana can't tell if it's in disgust, shock, or amusement, but she's still interested in watching herself.
Mozi beams, "As you can all surely see, I've just successfully revealed my dearest Kadenza's internal organs. The ones she loved so much, yet could never use to their full potential, a tragedy if you ask me." With a wicked grin, she grabs the scalpel and begins extracting organs, snapping the ribs first before holding up the heart and saying, "Kadenza's heart was so important to me. She really loved so many people with it." Next is the lungs, which Mozi describes as, "not the best part of Kadenza since she was always smoking, but every last bit of her is important to me."
Liana glances behind her to see a Gamemaker who appears nauseous, grumbling, "Please stop her," but her own morbid fascination prevents her from it.
"This is Kadenza's uterus. It's really a miracle there isn't a fetus in this thing because she was never big on using protection during sex. She claimed love-making was more intimate and real without the guarding shield of a condom," Mozi holds up the uterus with a slight tear in her eye, "Even when Kadenza was wrong, she was always so poetic."
She continues to let her emotions overthrow as she slowly desecrates the corpse, "I just wish she was here to cheer me on throughout this all. She was such a great person, and now she's dead."
Before Mozi can continue her work, her eyes locking with the corpse's skull, a Gamemaker cries out, "I've had enough of this, please get her out of this," before leaning over on his table and puking.
Liana can't even do a thing to stop him because a Peacekeeper's already sprung from the side of the door and wrapped his arms around Mozi's wrists, a second officer grabbing her legs. She yells, "I wasn't finished yet," but it doesn't seem to matter as she gets dragged across the floor, "Kadenza, I'm so sorry."
Her next scream is wordless as she's ushered out of the door which loudly shuts. Liana sighs, then looks to make sure the vomit in the office is being taken care of, which it is. An avox begins to clean up the cadaver Mozi's left, almost as if this whole thing never happened.
Liana mutters to Plutarch, "I'd be a hypocrite if I marked her off for dissecting something, that's all I'll say."
Five minutes that shouldn't have passed do anyways before Malin Mardari opens the door and gallops to the center of the room. Liana's expecting some sort of an apology or at least an acknowledgement that he's late from him, but she doesn't get one.
Instead, Malin sits on the ground and stares at the office, a smile on his face even though nobody in the room knows what the fuck he's doing.
"He's the one who volunteered because he's stupid," Liana recalls out loud, "I defiantly see the stupid part."The
Malin continues to stare for another minute before standing up and shaking his head from side to side. He furrows his brow and raises his middle finger before cocking his head in a dramatic fashion and leaving.
"Right, so we're just going to pretend that didn't happen," Plutarch sighs.
Sedona Baylor from Seven leaves much to be desired, but Liana has higher hopes for her District partner Judas, who enters the room with an unmistakable swagger, nearly resembling that of Icarus' if not more cocky. Once he's in the center of the room, he snaps his fingers twice, "Can somebody get me a hatchet up in here?"
Liana sighs, "He can literally get one himself," but an avox has already taken care of that for him, Way to not teach him a lesson.
He pulls at the bottom hem of his shirt, Liana mumbling, "Oh lord," before he lifts it up over his head with a devious grin.
With his shirt removed, Judas holds his hatchet with pride and begins swinging it at one of the pillars of wood at the side of the room, his body swaying as if he's trying to do some sort of a dance in the process, but regardless, Liana isn't amused.
She watches him strip down to his boxers with a blank expression on her face, annoyed as he continues his dance, this time whist lighting a fire pit in the center of the room. He glances up and notices the collective looks of disgust on the Gamemakers' faces and scoffs, "I'd think you guys would know how to appreciate talent."
He puts back on his pants and nods his head, "I'm too hot to be dealing with this bullshit."
Silence from the Gamemakers once more so Judas says, "I'm too obsessed with myself? And you're not? Tragic." He puts back on his shirt and struts out the room, "I'm sorry for your poor taste."
"Well at the very least, he did pretty good with the hatchet and the fire starting," Liana remarks, Plutarch nodding in agreement, "And maybe sponsors will like that attitude of his?"
"Judas? Having an attitude? I have no clue what you mean!" and then the two of them laugh.
The young Ascot Vionet from District Eight is a welcome change of pace in comparison to Judas and his aggression, as she seems rather humble, even if there's a bitter expression sealed onto her face. Really, it's hard for Liana to blame her when she's thirteen years old and competing in a death match. She understands the frustration, she was only fifteen for a week before she was whisked to the Capitol, but then again that was actually a blessing in disguise for Liana.
Ascot requests a trainer to fight with her in a polite tone, and of course the Gamemakers are happy to oblige with said request. Liana feels like she doesn't really need to worry about this little girl killing one the same way Atlantis did with the avox. And if for some reason Ascot did have murder on her little mind, it wound't be too hard for one of them to incapacitate her.
What Liana doesn't expect is how good Ascot is. She doesn't use a weapon, instead using her fists and feet to spar with the sworded trainer, and she's able to hold her own, even if her huffing and puffing grows heavier with each strike. Liana whispers loud enough that everyone can hear her, "I can't believe she's thirteen and better than the girl from Two," and that remark garners laughter from the authors.
Ascot continues to fight with pride and confidence, the anger on her face looking less like spirit and more like passion, when finally she knocks the trainer to the ground and bows at her feet, "Thank you for the good fight."
"It was my pleasure," the trainer stands up whilst Ascot grabs her hand and she gives Ascot a high five which she rolls her eyes at.
"You really think she could go far?" Plutarch asks as soon as it's certain the girl is gone.
Liana scratches the side of her head, "No clue, but compared to some of these other outliers, she might."
Liana's heard gossip that Fennella Farro's a troublemaker, but a first impression tells her that the rumors aren't true. And Liana can't really bring herself to believe rumors anyway. She seems relatively harmless though certainly determined, and those are the sort of Tributes who either die early on and make everybody sad, or last surprisingly long and perhaps pull off a victory. Liana wonders which of those tropes Fennella will be, considering her unsavory reputation.
Fennella grabs ahold of a baseball bat and practices swings in the center of the room. Liana's never been one to understand sports, but she hopes that what Fennella is doing is good, because if she's going to make a fool of herself in the center of the room, she might as well do a nice job.
It's easier for Liana to understand once Fennella picks up a basket of baseballs and begins throwing them in the air, swinging at them with her bat, and successfully hitting the targets on the wall. Liana decides she appreciates what she's doing, because it's an interesting mix of displaying strength and accuracy, and both of those things are fairly important.
Next, Fennella walks to the trapping booth and uses rope to assemble a netted trap, nodding at her handiwork before using canvas sheets and sticks on the ground to create a temporary shelter. She fills a bucket with water and dumps it over the makeshift structure, showcasing how the inside doesn't get wet. At long last, Fennella says, "Hopefully I've proven to you that I'm not what people say I am. Hopefully you think I can survive.
Her exit is subtle and Liana finds herself already missing her once she's gone. There was something inmistakably humbling about watching Fennella's session, and Liana appreciates her normalcy and consistency.
"She seems nice," she reflects out loud.
Plutarch nods, "Very true, I really liked her."
Bud Bancroft, Fennella's partner is simply adorable, no doubt about it. But then again, the Hunger Games isn't a contest about cuteness, and as a bonafide adolescent despiser, Liana can't be won over all that easily. Though Bud's innocence and charm shines through his somewhat broken expression, and his aura of mystery excites Liana for reasons she doesn't have the words in her throat to explain.
His charisma continues when he says to the room, "I hope that I can do a good job for you all today," with desperation in his voice before grabbing a garroting wire and tying it around a pole. Bud smiles, "My friend Claude taught me how to do this."
Carefully, he tightens the rope, a strained look on his face when he messes up and falls on his bum against the ground, "I'm sorry about that."
He tries to loop the rope once more, doing better this time which pleases him. Satisfied, Bud journeys to attempt to start a fire, rubbing sticks together vigorously and pouring a small cup of oil. But as the embers begin to flicker and grow, a look of concern arises on Bud's face, and soon he's shaking and his eyes are growing wider and wider and he drops the sticks on the ground in horror.
Liana asks through the microphone, "What's wrong?" but Bud doesn't respond to her. Instead, he lets out a scream and douses his fire in water, sighing in relief once it's been extinguished, though that doesn't do a thing to quench the tears gushing from his eyes.
His eyes flick up towards the Gamemakers and he nods his head, "I remembered something I shouldn't have, I need to go," and like the wind, he's gone.
With worry, Liana says, "He was doing so well at first, I hope he's alright."
Plutarch sighs, "Some of these kids really don't deserve the Games, you know?"
But Liana doesn't.
When Simeon Coello enters the room, Plutarch leans over to Liana and whispers, "He's the mass murderer, make sure he doesn't try anything."
"I remember," Liana replies to him and then speaks up for the staff in the room, "Keep an eye on him please, and feel free to leave the room for this session if you're afraid."
Simeon shakes off their commentary, seemingly annoyed but he doesn't let it deter him from his session, which is something Liana admires. Compared to the unhinged nature that Atlantis and Mozi possessed, Simeon seems relatively calm, which is a bit surprising given his reputation.
He lifts up some of the heaviest weights in the center of the room with gritted teeth and slight groans escaping his lips. Liana doesn't really think he's struggling or anything, but rather extremely focused and dedicated to his craft, which she appreciates. He's definitely one of the strongest Tributes Liana's seen this year, or at least on the outside it's clear he has enough brute strength to make him deadly. And she knows too that Simeon Coello can be deadly, because he already has back home in Ten, though at the same time, the boy she's currently looking at seems as far from murderous as possible.
Simeon reaches for a bow and a quiver of arrows, facing a target as he fired them one by one with excellent aim, which Liana figures is from the whole mass shooting thing, but she doesn't want to write that down or say it to anybody. He ties knots together in a complicated fashion before returning to the center of the room and nodding his head down.
Liana wants to apologize for mistreating him before he leaves, but she knows it will just lead to her own controversy, which scares her honestly more than it should.
"I think he'd do well if he didn't have that awful reputation," she admits to Plutarch with a rare somber tone.
Liana's relieved as the sessions reach District Twelve, as it's been an exhausting day and she still has arena plans to finalize and scores to debate and discuss before she can even think of resting. She wishes she could just pass out instead of watching the last two demonstrations, but Vancouver Easton does not give her such a luxury.
She doesn't mind of course, because Vancouver's monologue as she disassembles a set of dummies is quite informative, "If you want somebody to bleed to death as quickly as possible, I recommend a swift strike to the jugular." She then points to the dummy and demonstrates with ease, "Really, any major blood vessel could do the trick though. An attack on the aorta could have somebody dead in a matter of minutes."
It's information Liana already knows, but she doesn't mind hearing it again, especially from the mouth of somebody from Twelve of all places. And everything Vancouver's saying is accurate as well, which only sweetens the deal.
Yet it goes sour when Vancouver asks, "Could I please spar with an avox instead of a trainer?"
"Nice try, but I'm not going through that again," Plutarch speaks quickly through the microphone, "I trust that a trainer will be sufficient for whatever you need."
"But it was so amusing last time…" Liana whispers in reference to Atlantis earlier.
Plutarch sighs, "But it's too late in the day to clean that up all over again," and he's right.
Vancouver proceeds to face off against the trainer, quite skilled with the sword in her hand, which she's dipped in paint as Liana noticed. She leaves marks all over the trainer's suit by the time the fight is finished, and she's won, she announces, "The spots I just hit? Those were all the major veins I mentions earlier."
Impressed, Liana smiles and sends her on her merry way, collapsing into her chair at the thought of only one more Tribute remaining, "I will say, I do think she's good."
It's remarkable how quickly Liana leaps up from her seat once Noel Alighieri's session is concluded, "That really was quite the day, wasn't it?"
"Truly," Plutarch stands up and stretches his arms, twisting his torso from side to side, "I can't believe we have to do this year after year and almost nobody gives a damn."
With a smile, Liana nods whilst tucking her tablet under her arm, "The whole predicting placement thing is nice or whatever, but we hardly get it right, as determined as I always am. That'll be fun to work out later. I'll see you later."
"Alright, I'll see you in the discussion room in a bit," he waves farewell and Liana's left alone for once. She looks out the window at the training room, her training room, a personal palace of chaos that she's just seen go up in entropy, and she can't help but smile.
It's moments like these where it fully sinks in for Liana. She was once just like those Tributes she just saw, meek and nervous about what's to come with their lives and in the Games, but now she's better than them all, now she's been elevated to the puppeteer for their unfortunate and deadly show.
She presses a button on the table which turns off the lights in the room, giggling as the avoxes struggle to find a place to stand admits the darkness and prepares to leave.
But first, she taps at the ground in front of Minerva who feel asleep around District Two and says, "C'mon Minnie-V, let's go," with a cheery voice.
But the cat doesn't wake up. It doesn't move at all.
Crista Cray. 43.
Victor of The 27th Hunger Games.
Tw: Reference to suicide.
Exhausted. Aggravated. Distressed.
All are words that could describe Crista's emotions as she sits upright against the back of a leather chair in District Four's apartment, already dreading the results from today's private sessions. It's not that she's at all worried that her Tributes aren't going to score well, she has faith that at the very least, but in a game of numbers, one's bound to be higher than the other and whether it's Atlantis or Calsin that comes out on top, the other's going to explode. And Crista's going to be forced to sit through it all, play mediator in their petty fighting whilst Caspian looks at her with disgust and Cressida looks through a film magazine at the kitchen table with slight unamusement. She'll later ask her mother, "Why were the two of them so upset?" and all Crista will be able to do is respond by saying she simply doesn't know.
Despite the fact she's been stricken by a myriad of tragedy at such a young age, Crista's determined to keep some semblance of her daughter's innocence, which means she shan't mention the Collective to her, even if she's at the age where she'd surely be fascinated by it, not mature enough to see its horrors without removing the rose-tinted glasses permanently embedded in her flesh.
There's undeniable tension in the room, Caspian sitting across from Crista in a chair identical to hers whilst Calsin and Atlantis sit as far apart from one another as physically possible on the sofa. She pities them both, though in separate ways. Calsin because of the obvious, the fact he was unfairly made into a sacrifice and swept away from the life he'd grown to love. But then also, there's this anger and compulsiveness to him that masks a heart of gold, and it's a shame he's been forced to hide any semblance of kindness and joy he could possess, anger layered thick onto his conscious. Atlantis is her own dilemma, so clearly bitter at the world she's been brought in, a tortured soul peaking through her eyelids, yet at the same time she's so unaware and she doesn't even know it. Crista hates how she idolizes Shane Odeen, and what she hates more is the fact she can't even blame Atlantis. She doesn't know his true intentions, how all he wants to do is weld her into a mold she's hardly built for, and she wishes there was a correct way to tell the poor girl that her past six years have been nothing but a false promise.
Caesar Flickerman's face flicks to life on the screen in front of Crista and the rest, his hair painted a shade of gold that contrasts nicely against the extravagant backdrop behind him, "Alright, citizens of Panem, I'll keep things brief tonight since Snow knows how much talking I'll do at tomorrow's interviews," she looks to see Calsin and Atlantis rolling their eyes in unison. It's funny that as unalike as they are, they can somehow bond on the unnecessary pompous nature of the Games, "As you know, all twenty-four Tributes did their very best for our lovely panel of Gamemakers, and they have scored them on a scale of one to twelve, as well as provided some expert predicted placements for all you betters out there!"
He announces the scores for District One, "Lethia Aphelion, predicted eighth with a score of seven and Icarus St. Augustine, predicted second with a score of ten!" though neither Calsin nor Atlantis seem to react, save for Icarus' score making Atlantis slightly smile.
District Two and Three go by uneventful, Calsin laughing when his friend Endellion scores a four and is predicted to place seventeenth," because everybody knows that what really matters to that room is the upcoming announcement.
Caesar waits for the audience's response to Three before announcing the fateful news, "Atlantis Seasbane, our predicted victor with a score of ten and Calsin Verrillo, predicted third with a score of nine."
And just like that, the room falls to hysteria. It's Calsin who makes the first snide remark, throwing a pillow at Atlantis' lap and saying, "The fuck did you even do to get a ten and be told you're the winner?"
"I killed someone," she shrugs, unassuming and smug.
That makes Crista chuckle a bit, but she quickly returns to her composed posture, as to not give the impression that she's enjoying their arguing because she isn't. That, and she has to pay attention to the scores even if they're not, Girl from Six predicted fifth? Interesting…
"Please," Calsin sneers, a hand on his hip, "There's no need for you to pull a Madelyn in the Capitol."
Atlantis rolls her eyes, "Why would I lie about that? I didn't kill Madelyn, she did it all by herself."
"Because of your words?" he tries to punch her but she blocks it with her hand and lets him squirm.
She casually brushes him off, "Really? You're blaming somebody else for suicide. People killing themselves is their own fuckin' decision."
Noticing that Atlantis seems to be genuinely hurt, Caspian butts in, "For the love of Snow, could the two of you please stop fighting."
Crista's spent quite a bit of time with Calsin over the week and it's led her to believe that he didn't really want to argue with Atlantis, he just felt threatened, which is explainable. He's actually expressed to Crista that he slightly cares for Atlantis, even if he shouldn't, and he thinks it's fucked that she was screwed over by the Collective, even if it was in a different way that he was. Of course, those moments of genuine sentiment would quickly be backtracked by, "Not that I mean it, she's a fucking bitch!"
Ignoring Caspian, Calsin of course, continues, "You just say that because you don't want to acknowledge the fact there's blood on your hands Atlantis. You've gone off the fucking deep end, you wench!"
Crista swears that something changes in her eyes, like there's a demon awakening inside her because the phlegmatic disposition she once had is completely shattered when she screams, "You're really the one calling me a wench, Calsin? It's not my fucking fault I'm like this, but you wouldn't; know because really you don't know shit! Allying with a fucking idiot? Do you even want to win these fucking Games that your parents sold their souls for you to be in?"
"Please, not right now," Caspian grabs onto her and tries to calm her down, but it doesn't work.
"Atlantis, it's okay," Crista attempts next but she's met by a wordless scream, "You deserved your placement, I promise."
"I don't deserve shit and you all know it," she crosses her arms and pouts on the ground, "Quit pretending I do."
"Y-y-you—" Calsin begins to stutter, hands shaking like he knows he's about to say something he's going to regret, "You're right Atlantis. The only reason you're here is because Shane thinks you resemble his past messiah and he wants you to replace her. He doesn't give a damn about anything you're actually doing, he just cares that you depend on him and—"
"Shane is so proud of you," Caspian cuts him off and smiles as if nothing bad is happening, "And I am too!"
"Wait—" Atlantis begins to rationalize what's happening, "You mean that I'm a—"
"False god," Calsin bites his lip and laughs, "And I'm supposed to be your—"
"District partner!" Caspian knocks him to the ground, "Atlantis dear, do have a chat with me when you can. It seems I've got some explaining to do."
Making sure nobody's going to interrupt her, Crista finally speaks, "Actually I'd prefer you talk to me instead. Calsin, you can join us if you promise to not say anything sardonic."
"I don't want to talk to anybody here!" Atlantis announces, and she stands up and struts to her room before slamming the door shut, and the next thing audible is incomprehensible screams.
"Well we sure fucked that up, now didn't we team?" Calsin breaks the awkward silence with a laugh, but nobody replies to him. Crista looks Caspian in the eyes, the two of them shellshocked, "Right, then I'll just go back to my room too."
Crista hears Calsin's door close before saying, "Look what you did to her."
"I didn't do anything," Caspian shrugs, "It was your little sacrificial friend who screwed up, I've never done a thing wrong!"
"You enabled her into becoming a monster," she says through gritted teeth, horrified at the very man she's looking at.
"It's not my fault Shane could sense Lotus in her blood," Caspian moves out of the way, clearly noticing that Crista was about to strike at him, "We were just training her to play the role. Her parents both scapegoated her during their divorce and it was pretty easy to get her on our side, even if she doesn't know to what extent yet. She feels indebted to us, or at least she did until that piece of shit—"
"He's looking out for her," Crista cuts him off and begins to head to her own room, "If you actually gave a shit about her, you would too."
When she's finally in her bed, she collapses into her pillows and lets out a fickle scream. She doesn't even notice Cressida in the corner, who asks, "What's wrong?"
"I miss mommy, that's all," she replies, covering her face as tears begin to flood. If Sapphira were here, she'd know exactly what to say and she'd let Crista lay beside her until all her problems disappeared. For a moment, it would even seem like they were actually gone.
But that's not her life anymore and it'll never be her life. Gone are the times where she could rely on Lana, rely on Sapphira for security, she's forced to be her own support now. She's forced to stand up for herself as Four combusts and her soul does too because by lord it's the only think Crista can do.
The first thing she needs to do is set her home free of the Collective's deranged tyranny, and she won't stop until she sees Caspian and Shane dead on the floor.
Well… that was lengthy as fuck. I literally do not know what hit me or how this chapter became so long, but actually yes I do it was my dumb decision to include private sessions, training day 3 (which is on the same day) and minor score revealing in the same chapter, but I actually enjoyed the way I formatted private sessions, so at least I have that going for me. Originally, Haymitch wasn't going to have a POV but then I was eating dumplings and it came to me. I'm so fucking cool, what can I say. Anyways, if you care about the rest of the scores ummm…. acommondefense . weebly status-check and they will be there xx. Thank you so much for reading what will so help me god be the longest chapter of this fic and I guess let me know what your favorite parts were? I don't know what the fuck why is this chapter so long its not my dick? SIX CHAPTERS AFTER THIS TILL THE BLOODBATH? WHAT?
FUCK THIS SHIT IM OUT,
LINDS GAHHH