Dean Karafanda, 18.
District 4 Male.
"So, are you nervous about later today?" Chiffon asked, leaning against the training dummy as Dean pulled his spears from the target painted on its chest.
"Nervous? Not exactly, no," Dean replied, shaking his head. "At least, not for me."
"For the kid?"
"Mhm."
"Don't worry about him. If he fucks it up, that's his issue, right? Besides that, if his score is lower, it'll mean he's less likely to be targeted," Chiffon mused. "Just… food for thought I suppose."
"No, no, you're right, actually," Dean said, as they made their way back to the line again. He couldn't explain what it was about Cecil that made him so nervous. On the one hand, Dean wanted to help Cecil, just like he wanted to help Lucien. On the other hand, Dean knew he could only do so much in the Arena, and no matter what he told himself, only one could win.
Dean couldn't just throw a lifetime of hard work and training away for some kid he'd only known for a few days. He couldn't let that happen, not to himself, not to those he loved who were counting on him to come home.
"What's goin' on?" Cecil shouted from the ring nearby, where he was practicing with a hand to hand combat trainer. "Everything alright?"
"Yes, Cecil, everything is fine. There's no need to yell," Dean replied, as he lined up another spear and threw it. The spear sunk into the center of the target's face with a solid thud, the chain that held the dummy up jingling as it swayed with the force of the impact.
"Okay!" Cecil replied, nonchalantly focusing back on the fight.
Steadying his arm, Dean threw another spear. It struck true, hitting the center of the strung up dummy's chest. Dean wouldn't let himself be distracted now. No, he had a goal, and he'd reach that goal no matter what.
"Good throw!" Chiffon laughed, nudging Dean in the ribs.
"Thank you?" Dean blinked a few times at the compliment. He wasn't used to praise - normally he was the one dishing it out to the kids - but he didn't mind it so much. It was nice to be recognized, especially by somebody like Chiffon.
"So what do you want to do for the rest of the morning? We could spar again, if you wanted, or do something else," Chiffon said, listing off the options on his fingers as he talked.
"I think I'm good here. Maybe you should go get some throwing stars and practice with me rather then just cheering me on,"
"Oh yeah, that's a good idea," Chiffon said, as Dean turned to retrieve his weapon. "I'll be right back."
Dean still wasn't sure what exactly to make of the One boy. Chiffon was a solid ally, smart and skilled, and yet he'd chosen Dean over his own District partner, which was odd to Dean. The Capitol always preferred when District pairs stuck together, and that paired with Mystic's skill could've made the pair of Ones a dangerous combo. And yet, here Chiffon was with Dean and Cecil instead. Dean didn't know why, nor did he think he'd get an answer out of Chiffon despite how much the boy liked talking.
But there was no reason not to ask.
As Chiffon returned, a bag of throwing stars slung over his shoulder, Dean asked, "So, why exactly are you still allied with me?"
"Wh- what?" Chiffon stuttered. "What do you mean?"
"Well, you could've stuck with Mystic, right? That makes much more sense than breaking away from somebody from your home." Dean heaved another spear at the target, which landed smack in the middle of its stomach.
"I could've, yes, but she doesn't exactly like me that much," Chiffon shrugged, turning one of the throwing stars over in his hand.
"Why not? You're likeable enough when you're quiet."
"Was that a joke, Dean? I'm shocked. Anyway. For one, I stole the male slot from one of her friends, I think," Chiffon shrugged. "That isn't my problem, though. I was just better than him."
"Oh, I see. Is that it?"
"Mm, maybe. For another, though, my family… well, it isn't exactly the most prestigious, especially not in the training sphere, which probably doesn't help. She likely wasn't expecting to be coming here with me."
"But you're plenty capable, and if you won the spot, that means you must be good at what you do, no? She'd be safer with you then anybody else at your academies,"
"Well, yes, I'm very good at what I do, but that won't stop us from not agreeing, right?" Chiffon sighed, casting his gaze towards the floor. "It'd be nice if things were a little more normal, but we do what we can with what we have."
"That's true, I suppose," Dean nodded, watching as Chiffon landed one, two, three more shurikens in the dummy, one grazing the side of its neck, the foam insides bursting out through the slice in the fabric.
"So, are you gonna just stand there and watch me, or are you gonna train?" Chiffon remarked, not bothering to look up from the task at hand.
"The hell are you two doing?"
Dean looked up to find a grumbling Cecili storming towards him. "Hi, Cecil."
Cecil tossed his batons on the floor with a loud clatter. "I'm bored of fighting the trainers. Will you come train with me?"
"Not right now buddy," Chiffon said, shaking his head. "The big kids are talking."
"Hey! You aren't even that much older than me!" Cecil exclaimed loudly.
"You tell yourself that," Chiffon snorted.
"Stop arguing. Cecil, I'll come train with you in a bit, okay? You can just watch or go to another station until we're done."
Cecil rolled his eyes, turning and walking off to wander the training room, leaving just Dean and Chiffon once again. As he threw spear after spear, Dean couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering back to his ally. Chiffon reminded Dean of the boys he used to play basketball against: annoying, cocky and a little too full of themselves. The One boy seemed to be able to back up his confidence, at least; well-trained and competent, he was a powerful ally to have. Dean was glad to have him, even if it meant putting up with his persistent annoyance.
But the more Dean thought about it, the more he realized that Chiffon, strangely enough, seemed less annoying and more endearing the more time they spent together. When he'd been with Brooke, what felt like a lifetime ago, she'd grated on him until the end. Chiffon was nothing like that. In fact, it was borderline unfair to even compare the two. Dean almost welcomed Chiffon's cockiness now; he could only hope that it wouldn't prove to be his downfall in the end.
Perhaps Dean was just putting up with Chiffon because he was all that Dean had now that the Career Pack had fallen apart. But whatever the reason, Dean was glad that he had Chiffon by his side. even if he'd never let Chiffon know that.
Jasper McCoy, 16.
District 12 Male.
Jasper rubbed his eyes, his eyes burning from the effort of focus. He hadn't slept well that night, tossing and turning until he finally gave up, getting up before the sun could crest over the horizon. As he blinked the dark spots out from his vision, the timer on the sorting screen came into focus, the numbers ticking down. Jasper scrambled to continue sorting the given plants, but just before he could finish, the timer wound down to zero and the screen flashed a painfully bright red.
"Fuck," Jasper muttered, balling his fists up in his lap, nails digging into the palms of his hands. It wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't already gone over this station three times that day, desperately trying to figure out something to do for his private session. But it seemed he was doomed.s He couldn't wield a weapon reliably enough to want to show it off for his session, and now his own mind was failing him miserably when he needed it most.
It seemed Jasper could do nothing but crack under the pressure. And if this got to him, how could he possibly fare in the Games? He'd have to do his best, but would his best be enough? Jasper didn't know.
But he was determined. Determined not to just give up on himself, determined to not just lay down and die. Not when his friends were at home, rooting for him- believing in him like he never could.
Pushing himself off the floor with a sigh, Jasper began moving away from the sorting station, surveying his other options. He'd already gone to several of the survival stations, taking notes as he went, as it was much easier to review things he had written down. Jasper had found himself unable to sleep most nights since arriving in the Capitol, so he at least got some use out of that time by reviewing what he'd learned during the day. While he spent most of his time at the survival based stations, Jasper had attended the hand to hand combat station on the second day, doing his best to stay out of the Careers' way. Although, based on the argument that broke out, they seemed much more occupied with each other then him.
Continuing to wander, Jasper's eyes eventually landed on the hand to hand combat station, where Mor was waiting her turn, leaning against the edge of the ring. She didn't look particularly amused with the situation, but she never seemed to; every time Jasper had spotted her, she'd looked as if she was about ready to punch somebody. She was curious to him, especially after their first interaction on the first day. Since then, Jasper had tried to keep an eye out for her. He didn't think she'd take him as an ally, but even somebody you were borderline friendly with in the Arena could be better than nothing. It seemed like she hadn't made any allies, which didn't particularly surprise Jasper, as Mor was quite… unapproachable from his experience.
"What're you staring at?" Mor growled, her head snapping towards Jasper.
"Oh, um… I'm not staring, I'm sorry," Jasper stuttered, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. He hadn't even realized what exactly he was doing, having delved too deep into his own thoughts.
"If you say so. What do you want?"
"Uh, well, nothing. I was just thinking and walking and I ended up here," Jasper continued, holding his hands up. "I'm sorry if I startled you, really, I am."
"You didn't," Mor sighed. "You're too scrawny for that."
Jasper nodded, turning to walk away. But as he turned his back on the dark haired girl, a hand landed on his shoulder, causing him to jump.
"Would you mind if I uh… joined you on that walk?" Mor asked, as Jasper spun around to meet her eyes.
"Oh, yeah, of course," Jasper nodded, blinking a few times at the shorter girl. He hadn't expected her to take any form of interest in him - in fact it'd seemed like she was actively avoiding him the past few days. But, it wasn't any of Jasper's business, and it shouldn't be his biggest concern considering all the other things on his mind.
"So, you don't have any allies?" Mor asked as they began walking, meandering aimlessly around the various training stations.
"Um… no, not yet. Neither do you, right?"
"Nah." Mor shook her head, pushing her bangs back from her eyes. "How'd you know that though?"
"Well, um, most of the other kids have broken off into groups, and they train together so it makes it pretty obvious who's striking out on their own and who isn't," Jasper said, gesturing to the various groups of tributes scattered around at different stations.
"I guess that's true, yeah," Mor said, following where he pointed.
"I thought you might ally with your District partner, but I guess not. Most people have allies before the end of training, but not everyone. I mean, sometimes people win without allies, since striking out on their own makes it less likely for them to be betrayed, or it just plays to their strengths," Jasper rambled, Mor nodding along as he spoke.
"Yeah, that's a fair assumption, but he's not exactly useful to me," Mor shrugged.
Jasper nodded. "Why are you here talking to me then?"
"Cuz I think you're interesting," Mor shrugged. "Nothing more than that."
"I see."
"Well uh… good luck in there," Mor muttered, sticking her hand out to him.
"You too," Jasper replied, shaking her hand.
Even if he didn't have any allies, it was nice to know there was somebody he was remotely friendly with. It made him feel less alone, in the great big world he'd longed to see for so long.
It was at that moment that Jasper realized how truly small he was.
Carter Feldman, 18.
District 10 Male.
"So, what're ya gonna do for your session?" Carter asked, absentmindedly twirling a piece of pasta around the end of his fork.
"Mm, I'm not sure. I was thinking of painting myself, or something but… I don't know if I can pull it off," Calvin replied, shrugging as he took a sip of his juice.
"You totally could! What're ya talkin' about!? Carter exclaimed, banging his fists on the table.
"I mean, I don't know..." Calvin muttered. "Especially in something like private sessions, it takes a lot to impress the Gamemakers."
"No, no, you don't gotta impress them, you just gotta do your best!" Carter insisted. In his mind, it wasn't like Calvin had to absolutely blow the Gamemakers out of the water; the other boy just had to do his best and that would be enough.
"I guess you're right," Calvin sighed, taking a bite of his pasta.
"Did you just say I'm right? That's gotta be a first, yanno, my sister would never admit when I was right."
"That's ridiculous," Calvin said, covering his mouth with a hand as he smiled. He reminded Carter so much of Buck in so many ways, and yet the two boys were entirely different in the same breath. He was glad they weren't too similar. Carter missed his family enough as it was, so if Calvin was any more similar to his brother, that would've been too much to handle. Carter couldn't afford to associate the two or he'd end up giving his life up for a boy he barely knew; if he wanted to survive, he had to keep them separate somehow.
"Eh, leave me be, I'm just keeping an eye on you," Carter shrugged.
"You don't need to, though."
"I know, but we're allies now, so that's how it's gonna be whether ya like it or not," Carter grinned.
"So what are you gonna do for your private session?" Calvin inquired, deftly shifting the focus off back onto Carter.
"Mm, I'm not so sure yet," Carter shrugged. There were far too many options, and Carter didn't particularly excel at anything. He'd never been the smartest, or the fastest, or the best at anything, just painfully average at most things. But what strength he had from farmwork and his knowledge of the outdoors would hopefully prove useful here.
"You look like you're thinking a little too hard. Don't hurt your brain trying to figure it out," Calvin snorted with a wry smile.
"Shush it," Carter muttered, swiping the second, unopened juice box off Calvin's tray.
"Hey gimme that," Calvin yelped, reaching for the juicebox that Carter now held high above his head.
"Nope, ya gotta say sorry," Carter grinned, watching as the shorter boy attempted to jump and grab it.
"Fine, fine, I'm sorry," Calvin sighed, giving up on his pursuit. Carter nodded, dropping the juicebox onto Calvin's head as he sat down again.
"Ow! Hey!" Calvin muttered.
"That's revenge."
"Unnecessary revenge!"
Carter could only laugh at the boy as Calvin continued eating, now sulking quietly. He was a nice kid, with enough bite and wit to handle himself. But, Carter was still glad they were allies, even if it was just for each other's company. Being alone in that Arena was just about the last thing Carter wanted.
The speakers scattered around the tops of the walls suddenly crackled. "All tributes please bring their trays to the front of the cafeteria, and then proceed to the waiting room."
"Guess it's session time then," Carter said, collecting his things. Calvin did the same, keeping his head down as he organized his tray.
"Hey, look at me, buddy," Carter spoke softly. "You're gonna be alright."
Calvin only nodded, still not meeting Carter's eyes, as they both picked their trays up, making their way towards the front of the room. All of the other tributes were following suit, flooding the front of the cafeteria. Carter kept a hand firmly on Calvin's shoulder, making sure the boy wouldn't get lost in the crush of people. He couldn't afford to lose Calvin, not here, not now.
After returning their things, Carter and Calvin made their way out of the cafeteria and followed the trainers into a small hallway that opened up into a long room.. The walls were a drab, boring concrete grey, and benches stretched the length of the room on the left and right. The only thing breaking up the monotony were the wall sconces scattered at seemingly even intervals around the room. To Carter's dismay, he and Calvin were split up, each ushered along to his spot on the bench. Carter was seated across from the boy from Four; he gave the other boy a small wave, and to his surprise, the boy responded with a wave of his own.
As the rest of the tributes settled into place, a moment of silence fell across the room, broken up by a voice that rang out from somewhere hidden.
"Mystic Hannemann."
Carter knew it would be a long time until his session. All he could do was sit, wait, and plan out what he would show the Gamemakers. He had to use this time wisely, or he might not make it back to his family. They were counting on him, and Carter would do his best not to let them down.
After all, that was the most he could do.
Bo Peep Durlech, 18.
District 10 Female.
"What predicted placement do you think you're gonna get?" Aithne asked, leaning over Ping to grab another handful of popcorn from the bowl in Bo's lap.
"Dunno. I hope it's decent at least," Bo grumbled, squinting at the TV before her. Predicted placements and scores would be revealed soon enough, and despite her talents, Bo couldn't help but be nervous, to the point that she almost didn't want to see what the next hour of TV would hold.
"I wouldn't worry about the placements or the scores too much," Ping mused. "I mean, in years past, those who were predicted to die early somehow managed to win.
"I mean, that's true, but remember that girl from last year? She was predicted first and she won," Aithne replied.
"It's a game for a reason, Aithne," Ping sighed. "It's not always going to go how you think it is. That's why there's so much betting."
"Huh, that's true, I guess," Aithne nodded, reaching for another handful of popcorn. But before she could, Bo moved the bowl out of the way, holding it just out of reach of the younger girl.
"Hey, hey, how about we just get more popcorn," Ping reasoned, pushing herself to her feet. "Look, I'll even volunteer myself to get some."
"I can get behind that," Bo said, turning back to the show at hand. They were doing some sort of interview with one of the Gamemakers, Bo recognized the man as one of the figures who lurked up on the balcony, high over the training center watching them.t
"So, Galvin, what does this year's arena have in store for our tributes?" Quill, the interviewer, asked. He was decked out in an entirely blue and purple suit, dotted with white speckles that swirled around like shining stars. Capitolite fashion was always so perplexing to Bo, but she certainly didn't mind witnessing it first hand.
"You know I can't tell you that," Galvin laughed, leaning back in his seat. "I will say, this one is a little different than usual. Personally, I'm very fond of the mutts."
"Oh yes, your wife is the head of mutt development right?"
"She is, and she's done a fantastic job this year. Or, well she does a fantastic job every year as far as I'm concerned."
"Of course, of course!" Quill exclaimed, shifting forward in his chair. "Now, you promise you can't tell me anything else about the arena? We're dying to know."
"Come on, Quill, you know I can't do that," Galvin laughed. "You'll see in just a few days."
"That we will, yes!" Quill laughed. "Well, thank you for coming on. Galvin McCarthy, head of Arena Development, everybody!"
It would be just a few days before they all stood in the Arena. Only one of them would exit, Bo knew that. And she also knew that it likely wouldn't be her. She still couldn't wrap her mind around Dahlia pulling strings for her to be reaped. Her own step mother had sentenced her to death, and for what? Power? Money? For control of their family's empire? Bo didn't know, and she couldn't bring herself to care, either. She'd sacrificed enough for her family and their business; no matter how much she loved them, she was done with them.
If things went wrong, she'd sacrifice her life for them, and if they didn't, Bo wouldn't let them leech off her. She'd take her brother and leave the family forever.
"Here," Ping said, as she returned to the room, shoving a bowl of popcorn into Aithne's hands.
"Oh, thanks," Aithne grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "I was starting to fall asleep."
"I wouldn't do that. This stuff might be helpful later," Bo mumbled, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. There was plenty Bo could glean from the Capitol's speculation, on the off chance they were actually right.
"I guess, but it's just so mind numbing," Aithne yawned.
"Bo's right, they don't usually reveal anything really helpful but… sometimes predictions are right," Ping nodded, plunking down in the space between the two again.
Bo wasn't sure what to make of her allies. They were almost opposites, Ping's oddly peaceful nature a stark contrast to Aithne's bolder demeanor. But the differences between the two would only serve to protect Bo. If they got into danger, Aithne would most likely launch herself into it, acting as a shield for Bo; if they needed to hunt for some reason, Ping would likely stay back, meaning she would be killed if their camp got attacked. No matter how much Bo didn't want anybody to die, she knew it was inevitable, just like how all of the animals back at the farm would end up dying. But if Bo could keep herself alive just a little bit longer, just a moment could be the difference between winning and second place.
And Bo was going to try her hardest for victory, so she could keep her brother safe from Dahlia's clutches.
Alliances:
District Two Supremacy: Reign, Claudia
Two dads + their hell child: Chiffon, Dean, Cecil.
Gaslight Gatekeep Careergirlboss: Mystic, Tarni.
Ping and her two children (the children are on leashes): Ping, Bo Peep, Aithne.
Three peas in a pod but one of them is incredibly enthusiastic: Pluto, Tallin, Ifer.
They're Just Buddies: Calvin, Carter.
District Simp Solidarity: Verity, Diesel.
The Children: Terra, Olive.
Sad bread and Chicken nugget: Nugua, Alfie.
The various Lone Wolves: Lane, Mor, Jasper.
