Chapter Seven.

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Georgia Aurello
District Two, 18 Years Old

"Welcome to the training center."

The Head Trainer waved their arm, gesturing for the tributes to gather around the raised platform he was standing on, and Georgia shouldered the girl from District Ten as she pushed her way to the front. She listened intently as the Head Trainer provided an overview of what the next three days would look like for them, culminating in the private sessions, and Georgia tapped her foot, eager to dive right in.

"You are dismissed," the Head Trainer said, and slowly, the tributes dispersed, and Georgia rolled her eyes as most of them aimlessly wandered around the training center, unsure of where to go. For her, there was no time to waste. Georgia had better things to do than stand around, twiddling her thumbs and drooling like the rest of the tributes.

"Make yourself useful," she said, patting Renour on the back and dismissing him with the wave of her hand. Renour gladly obliged, nodding his head and walking in the opposite direction from Georgia. "Stand up straight. Your posture is alarming."

Georgia set her sights on the two tributes from District One, Drachma and Cleo. When she looked past their blonde hair and delicate features, they seemed competent enough. They were already standing at the archery station, Drachma half-listening as Cleo explained the difference between a compound bow and a recurve bow.

"District One," Georgia said curtly, approaching Drachma and Cleo, and Cleo turned around, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulders. How theatrical. "My name's Georgia. That's all you need to know."

"My name's Drachma and this is –"

"Yeah, yeah, got it," Georgia interrupted Drachma. Georgia was not the type to waste her precious time by feigning interest in learning more about Cleo or Drachma. She knew all she needed to know – that they were both volunteers from District One – and she was only interested in solidifying the Career alliance. "Allies, yes or no?"

"Don't you want to know who we are?" Drachma jeered.

"I couldn't care less," Georgia retorted. "The less I know, the better."

Drachma briefly recoiled, and Georgia, bothered by how long this small talk was going on for, looked past them and drowned Drachma's voice out as he continued talking. She looked around the training center, surveying the other tributes, and grumbled at the sight of her District partner, Renour, at the sword station. Georgia watched him as he swung the sword, slashing at its chest, and felt a small hint of respect for him.

Georgia was uninterested in why he was chosen as the volunteer – it made no difference to her, since he was still her competition, after all, and she looked at him the same way she looked at all of the other tributes – but she did respect his ability to wield a weapon. She reconsidered her original perception of him, wondering if she underestimated him. Georgia shook her head.

Don't be stupid. He's despicable like the rest.

"You're drooling," Cleo sneered, her lip quivering, holding back laughter. Georgia snapped out of her trance as she watched Renour and turned to see Drachma and Cleo staring at her. "You do know what they say about people with big feet. I'm curious too."

"That's strike one," Georgia replied, not missing a beat. Cleo was laughing to herself, while Drachma stood there, also itching to wrap the conversation up. "Two more and you're out, Cleo."

"Is that a threat?" Cleo retorted, winking. Georgia's patience was wearing thin.

"Cut the shit," Georgia replied, eying her District partner once again. Cleo embodied virtually everything Georgia despised in a person; she was slim and blonde, namely. "I'm not here to waste my time with immature children."

"That's strike one," Cleo echoed Georgia's words. Cleo was entertained by her banter with Georgia, and if anything, she was offended that Georgia wasn't looking at her when speaking to her. Georgia was the epitome of the crude qualities that appalled Cleo. "Two more and you're out, Georgia."

"We'll see who gets there first," Georgia said, an animated laughter erupting out of her. "Don't forget that in District Two, we actually train. I'm not sure what District One does in the hair salons they call training centers."

"You underestimate the training that daddy's money can buy in One," she replied, playing with the ends of her hair. "Anything for his little girl."

Georgia opened her mouth, and for once, nothing came out. She thought of her father, of her parents' divorce, of watching her life crumble before her eyes. The anger, the frustration, intensified inside of her as she looked at Cleo, running her dainty fingers through her blonde hair.

Georgia was not jealous of her. She's like the rest. They're all the same.

Drachma and Cleo whispered to one another, agreeing that it was time to actually train, rather than engaging in any more back-and-forth with Georgia. They both glanced at Georgia as she stood there, staring at the floor, and as they walked away, Georgia looked up, a tender expression on her face.

Georgia thought of her father. Of the doctor's solemn voice, telling her that her father passed away. She stood there silently, inundated with the same feelings of remorse, of pure sorrow, that she felt after his death. She recalled the feelings of regret for who she was when she was alive, of how she acted, of who she became. But, this wasn't the time nor the place to wallow in self-pity. Georgia knew better than to appear vulnerable, to show any sign of weakness.

This isn't over.

Georgia followed behind them, her arms and legs in a robotic rhythm, and they all circled around Renour. He was wrestling with one of the Capitol trainers, and Georgia snapped out of her daze and hollered at him. Georgia rolled her eyes, appalled at his stance. He was too hunched over, his feet too spread out. She regretted ever thinking that Renour had any redeeming qualities, or skills, to him.

"Fix your fucking posture!"

Marcella Carter
District Twelve, 13 Years Old

"Do you need something?"

From across the training center, Beau snarled at Marcella, and she turned away, tensing up as she felt everyone's eyes on her. She got red in the face, twiddling with the piece of string in her hands. After a few seconds, she looked back up, and Beau returned to stabbing a dummy with a knife. She shivered at the sight of Beau repeatedly stabbing the dummy, slicing and tearing at its plastic skin.

Beau scared her. He made her tick. His off-hand comments, the way he would shame her, she couldn't control herself. She hated the way she acted around him. She knew she got off on the wrong foot with Beau, but as she watched him hacking away at the dummy, she also knew there were no second chances. She made an enemy out of her District partner, all because she couldn't rein in her emotions.

Marcella wasn't ready to pick up a weapon, not like Beau. She didn't think she would ever have to, since she knew there were other ways to survive in the arena. And, if Marcella knew anything, it was how to survive. She had no choice but to learn, to adapt, in District Twelve. She stole food because she had to. She pickpocketed the oblivious – Marcella would've targeted Beau if she saw him walking down the street – because she had to.

Marcella had nothing in District Twelve, but in the Capitol, she had it all; food, clothes, a blanket and a pillow. She had the life she so desperately wanted for her and her three sisters. She imagined what they were doing in that moment, probably sitting outside, listening to her mother and father, bickering and throwing anything they could reach at each other, tightening the band around their arm and flicking the tip of the syringe full of morphling.

In the Capitol, she was away from all that, and although she missed her sisters dearly, she felt relieved to be away from District Twelve. To escape District Twelve. She was living the life that her and her sisters would see on the television. She knew she was at a disadvantage in the Hunger Games; she was frail, not as book-smart, and not as approachable as the rest. But, she thought that if she knew how to survive in District Twelve, she could survive in the arena.

District Twelve made her resilient.

Marcella continued to play with the strings in front of her, mindlessly tying small knots, yanking the ends to make it tight. She did this over and over until she couldn't tie any more knots, her hands dry and raw from the twine. She lifted her head upwards to get a glimpse of Beau, and he was at the spear station now, weighing the spear in his hand. Beau spotted her looking at him again and he glared. She quickly shot her head down and stared at the pieces of string.

Marcella was fascinated by Beau. She was envious of him. Marcella got used to their mentors seemingly disregard Marcella, focusing more so on Beau, but Marcella was accustomed to that type of treatment. Being ignored, being overlooked.

"Hi."

Marcella grabbed another piece of string and tied larger knots this time, working through the sound of a female's voice. She put the string down on the table, rubbed her hands together, and reached for the colorful plastic string, lining up the pieces to form the colors of the rainbow.

"I was talking to you," the girl said, and Marcella turned her head to see the tribute from District Three standing beside her. "Hi."

"Hi," Marcella mumbled in a croaky voice, and she coughed to clear her throat. "Hi."

"I'm Cassia," the girl said, sitting down across from Marcella as she moved the strings around, arranging them from her favorite to least favorite color. Cassia looked over her shoulder, her voice dropping to a soft whisper. "My District partner told me to leave him alone, so here I am. He's kind of mean. What's your partner like?"

"Mean," Marcella replied, letting out a muffled laugh as a smirk crept across her face. It was a foreign feeling; laughing, smiling. "He's kind of mean too."

"Looks like we have a lot in common, then," Cassia said, reaching for the plastic string next to Marcella. They made eye-contact, and after a few awkward seconds, Cassia smiled. "I always wonder why people spend time playing with string during training. What are the chances we'll encounter a situation where we'd have to tie a knot?"

Marcella laughed again. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable as Cassia looked at her. Besides her sisters, no one ever spent this much time with Marcella. People rarely addressed her directly, and never with a friendly tone like Cassia's. Marcella wasn't sure how to act, how to respond to Cassia.

"Yet here we are," Cassia continued, shrugging. "I asked Everett if he wanted to try shooting a bow and arrow with me and I was hit with a resounding no."

"He's not your ally?" The question slipped out of Marcella's mouth. She was thinking it, but didn't mean to vocalize it. She didn't mean to be so direct.

"Definitely not," Cassia replied with a wide smile. "The last thing he wants is to spend time with me in the arena, but that's okay. His loss, your gain."

"My gain?" Marcella questioned. "What does that mean?"

"Seeing the Careers all buddy-buddy is scary," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the Careers, all standing around the District Two boy as he wrestled one of the Capitol trainers. Renour effortlessly scooped the trainer up, slamming him down onto the ground. "And since Everett hates me... "

"Beau hates me too," Marcella interrupted.

"See? We have even more in common," Cassia beamed. "So… what do you say? Allies?"

Marcella nodded. She looked down at her hands, clasping them together, with a faint smile on her face. To Marcella's surprise, she made a new ally, but she saw Cassia as more than that. She saw her as a friend. Her first friend in the Capitol.

She wouldn't feel so alone.

Kit Kaur
District Five, 16 Years Old

Kit knew exactly where she wanted to go.

She bee-lined to the computers nestled in the corner of the room, and her District partner, Gunnar, trailed behind her. She sat down at one of the computers, resting her fingers down on the keyboard, a feeling of nostalgia overwhelming her. She missed her parents, both mechanical engineers, that would sometimes sneak her into the factory to let her explore the equipment. She dreamed that one day, she would grow up to be just like them, sitting at a computer all day, typing away.

All she wanted in life was to follow in her parents footsteps; to receive a high-quality education and be placed in a power plant, exploring new, innovative approaches to generating power for Panem. She was particularly fascinated by dams and the potential for using Panem's natural resources to power households and factories across the nation. It was a challenge that Kit was keen on solving.

For the time being, her dreams were put on hold. She had to first focus on the Hunger Games, which presented its own set of challenges, and in a way, she found it oddly comforting; she always loved a good challenge.

"You have to press start," Gunnar said, pressing the screen for her, and various colors flashed across the screen. "There you go."

On screen, a skeleton of the human body appeared with names of the parts of the body circling it. She pressed her finger on the screen, dragging the word 'arm' to the two arms of the body. The words lit up green, indicating that she was correct, and Kit continued, placing the words 'neck,' 'leg,' and 'foot' in the correct spots. Kit correctly identified all of the parts of the body, and she sat back, a proud smile on her face.

"That was easy," Kit said, playfully patting herself on the back. She grabbed Gunnar's arm and lifted it upwards, pulling at his fingers. "This is your arm and these are your fingers. Do you have any other questions?"

"No," Gunnar replied, shaking his head. He pressed the screen again and a different visualization of the human body appeared. Certain parts of the body were red, like the stomach, the neck, and the face, while other parts of the body were green, like the legs, the feet, and the thighs. "What's this?"

Kit shrugged, focusing on the screen, trying to figure out what the illustration meant. She looked around the room at the other tributes, seeing a few learning how to tie knots, others learning how to shoot an arrow, and others swinging a sword at a dummy. She watched the boy from District Six stab the dummy, impaling the sword into its stomach, and perked up.

"Got it," she said, turning back to the screen. "It's showing us what parts of the body are most sensitive to pain."

"Pain?" Gunnar repeated, glancing at the boy from District Six as he stabbed another sword into the dummy's neck. "That does look painful."

"Exactly," Kit said, pressing her finger on the body's neck on the screen. "It's showing us where the most lethal spots on the body are, like the stomach and neck. This is where we need to aim for if we're trying to kill."

"Oh," Gunnar uttered, both of them falling silent as they stared at the screen. "Good to know, I guess."

Kit took in every detail on the screen, noting that aiming for the chest or head would be more damaging than aiming for the bottom-half of the human body. The thought of stabbing someone made Kit feel uneasy, but it was useful knowledge nonetheless, and that was her goal for training. She wanted to learn as much as possible in the shortest amount of time, and so far, Kit learned something useful.

The boy from District Three, Everett – Kit remembered his straggly, dirty blonde hair and pale face covered in freckles from the reaping – sat down at the computer across from her and Gunnar. She peered over her computer screen, looking down at him.

"Hi," Kit said, extending her hand over the computer. Everett ignored the gesture and continued playing the matching game. "We're from District Five."

"Noted."

Kit retracted her hand, sitting back in her chair, and glanced at Gunnar. Gunnar shrugged, pressing a different lesson on the screen, and Kit continued to stare at Everett.

From the reaping alone, she was drawn to the tributes from District Three and District Six, the Districts centered around technology like District Five. Over the years, Kit saw that in the Games, the tributes from those Districts seemed to be more creative and resourceful. In her mind, it made sense that the tributes from the Districts powered by the brains of their residents would have the smartest, most sharp-witted tributes. She saw herself – a self-proclaimed erudite – in those tributes.

"I learned that, when stabbing someone, I should aim for the heart," Kit said, still staring at Everett. "What did you learn?"

"I'm not going to learn anything if you keep interrupting me," Everett retorted, and Kit ignored his taunt, reassessing how she will go about talking to him. The more he spoke, the more she saw through his hard exterior, the more she wanted to get to know him.

Everett wasn't the type of person Kit thought she would pursue as an ally, not like Gunnar, who checked all those boxes. She believed she could rely on Gunnar, that he was level-headed and well-balanced enough to be a valuable ally. She saw potential in Everett, regardless of his temperament. He was drawn to the computers, just like she was, and based off that alone, he piqued her interest. He was interested in developing a different type of skill-set, one that wasn't centered on brute strength and weapons.

It was a similar strategy to Kit's approach to the Games.

Convincing Everett to be her ally wasn't going to be easy, but Kit was confident that she could do it, that her tactics would work. Kit had never encountered a problem she couldn't solve and this was not going to be her first.

"Whether you like it or not, you will be our ally, Everett."

Author's Note:

I think we can all agree that training is where the fun really begins. So, here's Georgia, Marcella, and Kit. Training Day One will continue in the next chapter, with three POVs (I'll be introducing two new tributes, and I'll be bringing back one we've already heard from… hint: it's a Career).

What do you think of these tributes?

And a random question (I'm an urban planning student and finals have me thinking too much about cities): What's your favorite city you've been to? A city that you want to visit?