Chapter Fifteen.
Private Gamemaker Sessions.
Tayte Vasburg, 18 years old;
Sector Two Male.
He wrapped his hand around Brodus' wrist gently, shifting his fingers ever so deftly down the shaft of the spear. Brodus' shoulders were tense and Tayte was doing his best to support him in a way that didn't come across patronising. He was the ally he knew the least, but he was an ally he wanted to help now and in their dark future.
He wanted to help them all.
"There – if you try to throw it now, and take a deep breath as you shift your shoulders, it'll be easier to aim."
Brodus nodded his head, teeth ground together in concentration.
Tayte, behind his back, crossed his fingers. He had done the same gesture since he'd started the mentoring program back in Two. It was his way of holding out hope for the people he was trying to support.
Brodus' spear whistled in the air and plummeted into the second from middle ring. It was better. Much better.
"Awesome!" Tayte cheered, clapping Brodus on the back as he walked back to their group, smile from ear to ear. "I would recommend showing the Gamemakers something you're more proficient with, but at least now if for whatever reason you only have a spear in the Arena, you'll be able to throw it with better accuracy."
"Thanks, Tayte."
Kasiani laughed. "You're a real life-saver."
"Can you show me too, daddy?" Ryland joked.
Tayte's lips twisted into a cringed-out grin and he swiped a hand through his damp hair. "We're all as good as each other and I think it's important for where we're headed."
It was true. As he looked around the room, there were alliances hanging to each other by a thread, clear tension seeping through every glance and whisper that rippled through. His alliance felt different. A bit like Damali and River who he'd come across on the very first day. They all got along and it was that connection which Tayte was extremely proud of.
He had always been a very sociable, gentle person back in Two, but it had been hard to make everlasting connections because he'd been prone to flitting between different groups. Here – he'd made his group. His team. And it felt better than he'd imagined.
A loud buzzing sound came from the intercom in the far corners of the room. With it, all tributes froze in their place, Tayte looking at his allies as Kasiani gave him an excited thumbs-up. Like Tayte, she was eager to impress. She relished the challenge as much as he did.
"Tributes. Please return to the house. I repeat – please return to the house."
Noise spread throughout as the majority of the twenty-four tributes joined up with their allies, meandering back to the house and through the iron-cast doors. Tayte's heart was in his throat. He couldn't help the nerves that tickled his stomach, butterflies fluttering around and messing with his confidence.
It was the busiest he'd seen the living area. Every couch seat was taken and Ryland quickly jumped into the armchair, knocking off Briel who was sat on the arm of it, right by the side of her sector partner Juliet. She glared daggers in the direction of Ryland and Tayte could see it happening – a repeat of yesterday.
"Ryland, move," Tayte said kindly. "She was sat there first."
"Yeah… on the arm!"
"Doesn't matter."
Tayte led his group away from an irritable Briel who firmly planted herself in the armchair and they stood by the breakfast bar. Peacekeepers were gathered in front of the tributes, intimidating sure, but Tayte had seen enough to not really care about them. Ryland seemed perpetually on edge whenever they got near so he did his best to stand near her and keep watch. He loved her spitfire attitude, but it also worried him. Kasiani could maintain composure. Brodus seemed the definition of something so repressed that it was most likely going to stay down for as long as the Games lasted. Ryland wore her emotions on her sleeve. And he admired the confidence, but it could be detrimental.
Let's hope Briel isn't a screw loose in the head… or anyone else Ryland might have inadvertently pissed off.
"In a matter of minutes, you will be called one by one to demonstrate a range of different skills, or one skill of your choice, in front of the Gamemakers."
The Peacekeeper in front of his posse, the tallest of them all, an actual gun in his holster that Tayte couldn't keep his eyes off of, spoke confidently yet gruffly to the crowd of tributes.
It was silent. The quietest the house had ever been since Tayte had arrived.
For a moment, he actually liked being able to hear his own thoughts.
"Privately, they will each give you a score out of twelve. Due to your living arrangements, there will be another score given by the Capitol audience, rating you on entertainment value, likeability factor, or anything depending on their own personal tastes. Both scores will be added and then divided by two and you will be provided with an overall score. So – I hope you used your time wisely both inside the training facility, and in front of the cameras."
Kasiani lent in front of Tayte and grinned. "Oh we got this. I bet they loved us chatting to them."
It felt like a frog was caught in Tayte's throat. He had no idea why he was so scared – in fact, one of his favourite past-times was talking to people, getting to know them, and just enjoying his life. There was no reason why he shouldn't be liked by the Capitol. But he wanted that good score. He needed the validation that this was the right path for him.
Plus, he wanted to be one of the best tributes here. He relished a challenge, but he himself wanted to be considered a challenge also.
As the Peacekeeper finished his explanation, once again noise ripped through the groups of alliances huddled together. Tayte could barely see above the heads of his competitors. This close together, he realised that each and every one of them was in an alliance. It intimidated him but also excited him. He was part of something that had never been seen or done before. A new type of Games where the Capitol played a different role in what was to come.
Brodus looked nervous, gnawing on his lip. Ryland appeared a tad irritable but Tayte pegged that to nerves she didn't want to confess to having. Kasiani had always been his closest friend since arriving here. She looped her arm in his and sighed, though smiling brightly at Tayte.
"I'm actually scared."
Tayte felt good hearing it come from her. He wasn't alone. "I think everyone is. Look—"
He pointed to Reyan Nalara, who at the sound of the robotic voice calling his name, stood up to leave with a paler face than Tayte had ever seen. Back at home, he'd poked fun with Locke as they'd flipped through a magazine where the Nalaras had been given a double-page spread. Locke had found Reyan cute and Tayte had once gotten jealous, hitting him in the shoulder playfully.
Face to face, Reyan just seemed… nice. And now, he seemed scared.
He could see that there were tributes though, like Reyan's ally Phobos, who were here to actually have fun with what they would have to do. Tayte did not look forward to the actual killing. It was simply a means-to-an-end for what he'd always wanted. An acceptable darkness. People like Phobos appeared as if that was what they actually craved from this experience.
He hated it. It made him angry.
"Thank you for earlier, Tayte."
This time it was Brodus who spoke and Tayte looked over his shoulder, caught by surprise, but nodding all the same. "Don't mention it. As I said, we're all in this together. Helping you helps me. And I'm sure if there's ever anything I need support with that you know, you'd be willing to return the favour."
"Of course."
The inner-District part of Tayte, buried deep within, knew arrogantly that there was nothing Brodus could help him with. But that wasn't part of Tayte that had ever existed so he silenced that thought immediately. He was more than content to support his allies because it would benefit them all once the gong sounded and the Games began.
Svanna was called after Reyan returned to his alliance, sitting down next to Phobos and falling into a deep conversation. It was Tayte's turn in about ten minutes.
The butterflies had multiplied. If he vomited, he knew he'd look stupid, yet he understood nerves to be a good thing. They would keep him grounded. Focused on what he wanted from this.
"You got this," Ryland said, when his name was finally called.
Tayte couldn't muster up a thank you.
Hands by his side, he moved towards the training hall.
I got this.
It was time to prove it had all been worth it.
That here – here was where he was supposed to be.
Manfred Vargas, 18 years old;
Sector Four Male.
In the excited conversation sweeping through the house, Manny sat side by side with his allies.
Reyan and Phobos had both finished their training session and were hurriedly discussing what they'd done and the score they hoped to get. Aurelian was as quiet as ever and Manny was relieved for that. In Aurelian, he'd found someone that reminded him of the person he used to be before his father and girlfriend had mounted expectation upon burden upon ambitious goal on his shoulders.
Aurelian was just… Aurelian
And I wish he could see what was right in front of him.
"You're sticking to swords?" Reyan asked Manny.
He nodded. "Shortsword, rapier, whatever they have really."
Through Reyan's external smile and agreement, Manny could see it clear as day in the narrowing of his eyes, the glint and sparkle of a game-player. He recognised Reyan's ability to cheerfully encourage Aurelian out of his quieter shell, or the way he responded well to Manny's more extroverted persona, and Phobos' intimidating, murderous appearance. The quick switches came through tone and word choice. They came through in such subtle ways, Manny couldn't be irritated at Aurelian for not seeing it.
It took a chameleon to spot a kindred spirit. Manny was so used to being what people wanted of him, he'd lost the ability to be himself. It was like him and Reyan were two sides of the same coin. Both pretending but with different intentions.
And what scared Manny the most about Reyan were those very intentions. Because they did not include Manny surviving the Hunger Games.
Aurelian shifted from where he was sat at the sound of another name being called out. Bex bid her allies a very confident farewell and off she strutted, ready to prove herself. From what he'd garnered from Phobos, they were supposed to be relatively wary of that alliance. Manny was; he was doing his best to remain as cautious about every step he took, every choice he made, and every decision he set upon throughout his time in the Games.
But it was tough. All Manny wanted to do was hurry this charade up, make it into the Arena, and forge his way forwards the way he'd taught himself to. It was hard to make informed decisions when everything seemed crazy.
"What were the Gamemakers like?" Aurelian asked, directing his question at Reyan.
Their "leader" just shrugged his shoulders, as if acknowledging the very people that were manufacturing their game hadn't really crossed his mind. "They just sat there. I suppose they were eager to get to it and it helps that I went first."
Manny, though he felt a deeper connection with Aurelian, though he despised himself for losing the creative soul that loved to paint a canvas in splotches of colour, knew the best way forwards was to keep playing the game the way that he had played his entire life. Although it sickened him and left him feeling as if a pit was growing ever deeper, it was the best way for him to survive.
The best way for him to help both Aurelian and himself. With two victors, he would do everything he could to pull Aurelian through with him. It wasn't his fault he was too honourable for his own good. He just couldn't see the snake hissing in front of them.
"Are you nervous?" Aurelian said, now turning to face Manny.
He shook his head doubtfully. Am I nervous? He was spending so much of his time thinking about the Games to come, that the pieces of the Capitol were more irrelevant than anything else. He didn't know if he cared enough about impressing the viewers home when he was nervous about the decisions he'd have to make to move forwards in the Arena.
He did not like Phobos. He did not trust Reyan. But killing them would not bring him any joy. That wasn't the type of game he wanted to play.
As Reyan began to fall into conversation with Phobos, latching onto their murderous bodyguard, Manny could focus his attention entirely on Aurelian. Without the suffocating nature of being a quartet, when it was just him and Aurelian, a cloud cleared, a weight lifted, and Manny chuckled to himself as Aurelian looked on in confusion.
"What's funny?"
He knew there couldn't be much longer until Bex walked out and it was his turn. He knew he was actually nervous. Anyone in their right mind would be. Stripping back all the lies and masks and facades, Manny was scared to die.
If he wasn't an impressive strength in these Games, then that was the future he had to look forward to.
"Can you believe there's one more day until we go? I know it's not funny but… we've gotten so used to all this," Manny said, gesturing to the buzz and the hubbub of the room around them. He could see Ryland and her frizzy mane chatting away with her allies. He was glad she'd found a group. She wasn't the most tolerable character but he admired her spirit to just be herself. Most of all, he was insanely jealous of that silent strength. "It just feels like we've been here forever. We're all so close to each other, like literally in terms of distance, and yet in a day I have to kill people."
"You speak like you didn't volunteer."
"I know," Manny said, again chuckling, but it was a sad chuckle, shaking his head. "What book was it you were reading last night anyway?"
"Oh… that?"
He'd seen Aurelian curled up on the armchair, close to midnight, lost in a book. It reminded Manny of the library his mother had once had in their house. A giant, floor-to-ceiling marvel that carried worlds of wonder and gateways that allowed Manny to escape the iron thumb that was his existence of living under his father. His mother had loved reading to him. She had loved painting with him. She had nurtured Manny to be anyone he wanted to be and to not give a damn what the world said about his choices.
If only she could see me now. How very disappointed she would be.
Before Aurelian or Manny could continue their conversation, he heard the click-clack of shoes on the ground and saw Bex, a wide grin on her face that clearly stated to everyone she had done exactly what she'd came here to prove.
"Your turn next!" Reyan said, beaming at Manny. "Nervous?"
"Do you want me to be?" Manny said, with just as much enthusiasm as Reyan smothered on thick, both playing a role, and both no doubt aware that they shared a mutual hatred for one another. Reyan because he represented too much of what Manny feared he might one day become, and Manny because he saw right through what Reyan was trying to achieve. At least they were on the same page.
"Of course not. Good luck man!"
"Manfred Vargas. Manfred Vargas."
Some of the other tributes looked over at him and immediately, the alarm went off in his head, landing on the eyes that were staring him out, and he stood up confidently, straightening his shoulders and striding through into the hall. It was instinct by this point. Automatic.
He hoped that once the nightmare was over, a nightmare he'd chosen to be a part of, he could forget what everyone thought he was supposed to be, and just be the son his mother had raised.
With Aurelian, he saw glimpses of that Manny.
But with Reyan and Phobos, he felt himself falling further down the rabbit-hole.
Which side would win out, only time would tell.
Callisto Rius, 18 years old;
Sector Eight Female.
Ok so stand up straight, arms back, hold the spear firmly, fingers grasped… wait where did the trainer say was best? What about my feet? Ugh – I don't – I can't –
Callisto hadn't done terribly, but she knew as they all sat around the television screen awaiting their scores, that she hadn't done the best that people would have expected of her. What she expected of herself.
In a split-second, she immediately went to that place in her mind that tried to convince herself that there was a divine reason why she might not have done as well, or her thoughts tried to pin the blame on an outside force, but in that split-second Callisto did not allow herself to fall into that trap.
For the first time in a long time, Callisto shook with an innate fear that had probably existed her whole life, and it was the fear that she was not good enough to be here.
"I wish they'd get on with it," Svanna drawled.
They'd taken the central couch, a four-seater with Palatine perched on the arm by Syrella's side. Whenever Callisto looked over at him, she felt a niggling feeling of guilt pulling at the edges of the confidence she was trying to exude. She'd been rude to him simply because he was reaped. And part of her still did not see what Syrella saw in him. She knew she was jealous of the fact that Syrella was so effortlessly liked and considered important by her other allies, but Callisto had thought that by acting up the role she thought they wanted from her, she'd be a part of a group of strong-minded, fierce girls.
It was all she'd ever really wanted. And she felt like a laughing stock.
"Impatience isn't a good look," Callisto joked, giggling rather too loudly. Bex grinned and nodded her head. She was ashamed at the glow that spread through her stomach in the wake of her ally's response, forcing the butterflies to flutter away. "How do you think you did girls? And—" she stared over at Palatine, acknowledging him even though it still felt strange to her, like it didn't fit right, "—boy. How do you think you all did?"
I tripped and fell over, she hoped Syrella might say.
I literally couldn't even hold the fucking bow, she prayed Bex might confess.
Oh Callisto, I bet you did SO much better than all of us, her delusions willed Svanna to express.
"Perfect," Bex said casually. "Well maybe not perfect, but pretty damn fantastic."
"That's…" Callisto forced herself through gritted teeth to continue kissing up to her allies, even though they treated her like dog shit, "…amazing. These bitches better watch out for us."
A week ago, Callisto would have looked around the room at all the other tributes and created the image in her head of her besting them. That image would not have been a fantasy – it would have been a blood-stained, crown-achieving inevitability. A part of Callisto allowed herself the blissful obliviousness of falling under her delusions and allowing those images of besting everyone to circle through her mind as the television snapped on.
Those very delusions were what would hold her back, and she knew that, she really did know that, but if she looked around the room and confessed to herself that so many of these tributes scared the absolute fuck out of her… then she had no idea what would become of the Callisto she'd used to protect herself.
A hush fell across the room, replaced by the shit-eating grin of some prissy Capitolite on the screen, glowing orange hair in ringlets down her back and shoulders. She had a stack of cards in her hand and though Callisto wanted her to hurry it up and get to the scores, she also hoped she'd drag out her introduction, or the television would turn off, or something would go wrong.
Anything to delay what was about to happen.
Scores were read out and tributes reacted in a variety of ways. Reyan received the first 11 and whilst some booed, like Bex and Svanna, others clapped him on the back as they'd bought into the whole endearingly positive façade that Callisto could see through. She could see through it because Svanna had told her it existed. She'd have been none the wiser to any of the smarts and strategies going on in this room if her allies weren't better at picking them out.
Svanna, Bex and Syrella fell into discussing their scores. 9, 11 and 8 respectively. Syrella didn't seem too happy with hers and Callisto found momentary satisfaction from that. Eat shit, Tyriage! Bex on the other hand, Callisto felt a thunderous jealousy topple through her, and it was only Palatine's presence that pulled her out from it.
"You might surprise yourself. Maybe the Capitol loved watching you shove insults down everyone's throat?"
Callisto was caught off-guard by Palatine's surprising confidence in saying the truth to Callisto. Though, unlike so many others from back home, he said it with a warm smile and shook his head, laughing quietly.
"I'm kidding," he said. "But not about the Capitol liking you part. I'm sure they did."
"Of course," Callisto said, throwing her hair over her shoulder and forcing herself to show some snippets of the Callisto she needed to be to survive. "I'm sure they loved me."
"It's a good attitude to have. And if they didn't… well it's not like they'll like you less than they like me."
Callisto wanted to say something encouraging but it was just not in her vocabulary. Instead, she nodded her head, and whilst she knew that was nowhere near what someone might need in such a situation, she didn't know how to play nicey-nice or give Palatine a shoulder if he ever needed one.
This was the fucking Hunger Games, anyway.
She needed to stop looking down on him for being reaped, but just by having that status on his shoulders, it put him below so many of the other tributes. Chances dictated he would die anyway. Callisto was here to team up with the strongest bitches because she herself was one too. She had to be. Palatine was a nice kid but he did not fit into that.
There wasn't much he could do for her.
"So, Bex, well done on your score!" Callisto cheered, looking away from Palatine, and feeling that blossom of guilt once more in her chest.
He looked at her for a moment and smiled sadly, before retreating back to his side of the couch, and Callisto realised she was not a strong bitch… she was just a bitch. And she was part of a group made up of horrible people.
"Palatine Linott, with a score of – 6."
Syrella was the first to congratulate him. Bex rolled her eyes. Svanna shrugged her shoulders. Callisto was torn between laughing out loud and going over to him to say that it was alright and it didn't really matter anyway. But they had to matter. That was what they'd been taught to believe – what she had drilled into her mind this entire time.
And it was why she was terrified when Aurelian received an 8 and it was her turn next.
"Callisto Rius, with a score of – 9."
It was more than she could hope for, but even that voice in her head reminded Callisto that Bex had received an 11. That she would never be the best of the best. She was just as ordinary as everyone else.
Amongst the camaraderie of her alliance as they congratulated her, Callisto felt the delusions once more coming to tell her that the scores did not matter, because if they did, she would have scored higher. She allowed them to wash over her and she fell ignorantly into the conversation that swarmed her.
It was a fight ravaging through her and at this point, she had no idea who was going to win.
Either way – Callisto had no idea who she really was.
She was too scared to find out.
So as mentioned in this chapter, training scores were decided by the Gamemakers giving a number out of twelve, and then the Capitol audience rating them out of twelve based on what they saw through the cameras. I then divided it by two to give an average score. It explains why some tributes might have scored higher or lower than you perhaps would have expected.
Anyway – scores don't hold much bearing on anything. I've added them all to the blog!
Up next we get to finally see Valdis, Juliet and Damali and then everyone will have had their second POV. We are so close guyssss!