Chapter Eleven.
w w w. breaktheicehg. blogspot. c o m
Denali Felder
District Eight, 16 Years Old
Denali leaned against the weapon rack on the wall, running her finger along the shaft of an arrow, the warmth from her fingertip leaving a streak on the cold metal. She watched Beau struggling to nock an arrow on the bow, cursing under his breath, and her eyes darted from him to the Careers who were only a few feet away from them, fixated on Georgia from District Two.
Denali was restless all night, tossing and turning, wrapping the sheets around her ears so she wouldn't have to listen to Alden whine to an Avox anymore. She stared out the window of her bedroom in their apartment, admiring the twinkling lights on the rooftops across the city. She thought about what Georgia might do to her, how her chances of surviving past day one in the arena were significantly reduced by the incident that happened the day before.
Denali had to do something about the fact that she was at risk of… dying, she shuddered. She played out several scenarios in her head, from Georgia killing Beau in the bloodbath, which would not be good for her, to Renour killing Georgia in the bloodbath, which would be good for her. Both were realistic outcomes and Denali had to figure out a way to make sure the former didn't happen.
Beau couldn't die early on. He was too useful to her. She wasn't entirely sure when exactly she would be ready for him to die. She had the rest of their time together planned out, from the bloodbath to the top ten remaining tributes to the feast to the finale. But, despite the anxiety and worries creeping up in the back of mind, Denali had a plan. It was a game, after all, and she would play it better than everyone else.
"I have an idea," Denali said, grabbing an arrow off of the rack and handing it to Beau.
"Hm?" Beau uttered, his hands shaking as he attempted to lay the arrow on the bowstring. The arrow slipped off the string, dropping to the ground, and Beau stomped his foot on it. "What a stupid weapon. Does anyone actually use this?"
"Let's ask Renour to join us," Denali continued, ignoring Beau, focusing on her thoughts. On her idea. She was staring at the District Two male as he trained alone at the sword station. Beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead as he forcefully swung the sword side-to-side.
"What?" Beau replied, cocking his head. "Why would we do that?"
"We've made an enemy out of Georgia, and so has Renour," Denali explained. "Georgia is trained, so she can easily kill us both."
Beau opened his mouth to speak.
"And before you say anything, no, being the son of a victor won't protect you in the arena," Denali said, interrupting him.
"That's not what I was going to say," Beau mumbled. "What does any of that have to do with Renour? He probably wants us dead too."
"Maybe, but he's also trained, and he's also alone now," Denali replied. "The Career pack might go after him, so in a way, we're both defenseless against Georgia. We could use him, and he could use."
"Allying with a Career would be a good look for us," Beau said, his facial expression contorting as he considered Denali's proposal. He was focused on what that would look like to the Capitol, to sponsors, to his mother and her fellow District Twelve victors, but Denali wasn't concerned about whether or not Beau saw it the same way as her. "Won't that make us more of a target, though?"
"The Careers already want to kill you," Denali replied in the least offensive tone she could muster up, but really, she meant it. Allying with him was a risk, as he was the victor of a son, and she figured the Careers would want to kill him solely for that reason. They were vain like that. "All you talk about is that you're the son of a victor. You're stealing their limelight."
"You're right," Beau said, smirking. "The Capitol loves me. They love you too."
"They'd love us even more if we partnered with the estranged Career."
Beau nodded and tossed the bow to his side, turning away as the Capitol trainer rushed over to pick it up and place it back on the rack. He gestured for Denali to follow him as he walked away, and as she followed him, she smiled. The pieces to her grand idea were falling into place; she knew all she had to do was feed into Beau's image, of speaking to what their alliance would look like to Panem, rather than how Renour would actually be useful to them.
Renour was sparring with a Capitol trainer, their swords clanging as they collided, and Renour took a step back and lowered his arm when he saw Beau and Denali approach him. Denali was surprised to see such a friendly expression on Renour's face.
"How's Georgia?" Denali asked, taking the initiative in the situation as Beau stood to her side. "I'd lock your door at night if I were you."
"She didn't say a word to me all night," Renour said, laughing. "As expected, she's full of shit."
"You're not scared of her?" Denali asked genuinely. Denali was intimidated by her, while Beau was too far up his own ass to realize how much of a threat Georgia was.
"Not really," Renour replied, and Denali cocked her head. "She's all bark but no bite."
"But is that a risk you're willing to take?" Denali asked, a conniving smile on her face. Hook.
"I have no choice," Renour replied, shrugging.
"Maybe you do." Line.
"And what might that be?"
"Since we're all on her shit-list," Denali replied, the smile on her unwavering. Beau stood there silently, nodding along as Denali spoke. "Why don't we all band together?"
And sinker.
Cleo Halston
District One, 18 Years Old
"What are they doing?"
"Who?" Caspian replied, stretching out his arms, cracking his neck side-to-side. Cleo looked at him, her nose scrunched at Capsian's theatrics, as if he was sore from training, or really, the lack thereof. He had done shit-all since they arrived in the Capitol.
"Beau and his side-piece," Cleo replied. "They're with Renour."
"They could be talking about anything," Caspian offered. "Maybe about how cute you look today."
"Cute is an insult," Cleo retorted. "Little girls are cute. Dogs are cute. Dresses are cute. I am not cute."
"Got it. You're not cute."
"Don't say it like that," Cleo replied, flustered. "I am cute. Ugh, Caspian. That doesn't matter!"
"Okay," he said. "Why do you care so much about them, anyway?"
No, no, no.
"No, no, no," she let out frantically, her voice shaking. "They're shaking hands. Shit, shit, shit."
Cleo was watching her strategy, her alliance, her chances of winning, her victory, fall apart. Nothing was going according to her expectations, to her plans. This is not what Cleo wanted; everything was wrong. The empire she was building in the Capitol – or thought she was building, as Cleo lacked a sense of self-awareness – was crumbling before her eyes.
"Cleo–"
"Be quiet," Cleo snapped, tapping her foot on the floor, staring at Renour and his newfound allies. "This is not good."
"It's not that big of a big deal."
"Open your eyes and look around you," Cleo quipped. "Nereida doesn't give a fuck about any of us. Drachma's only snuggling up with Georgia to spite me. And now we officially lost Renour. What does that leave us with?"
"You and me?" Caspian said, his response too matter-of-factly. Cleo rolled her eyes. Usually, Cleo could force a giggle out to appease Caspian, but in that moment, she couldn't, and, as she looked at him, Cleo reconsidered how useful Caspian was. She appreciated his compliments, his endless attention, but was that it? She wanted to scream at him, at her allies, at everyone around her. Cleo was prepared to cause a scene – to throw a fit, really, as she would when she wouldn't get her way, stomping her foot and crossing her arms over her chest when daddy said she couldn't get the car that the Arquette family a few houses down had – as her emotions ran high.
"Yippee," Cleo moaned. "A douchebag and a bimbo."
"A strong douchebag and a smart bimbo," Caspian clarified, placing his hand on her shoulder, gripping it lightly. The touch of his grimy hands, his skeevy fingers, sent a chill down her spine. "If anything happens, you know I'd be there to protect you."
"Ew," Cleo sneered, jerking her shoulder away, looking Caspian up-and-down. "I don't need you to protect me."
At a different station in the training center, Cleo spotted Nereida also watching the interaction occur. They locked eyes and Cleo waved her over, and at first, Nereida didn't respond with any movement, and Cleo waved her hand again with more force, as if Nereida had no choice. Caspian went back to whatever he was doing – it was a dreadful attempt at dealing any type of damage to the dummy, resembling Cleo poking an overcooked, tasteless piece of meat the Halston's private chef would serve her – and Nereida shuffled her feet closer to Cleo, both of them now staring at Renour, Beau, and Denali from across the training center.
Cleo rolled her eyes at the toothy smile on Denali's face, the dimples on her cheeks looking like craters. It resembled the smile on a cheap baby doll Cleo used to have as a child; naturally, she disposed of it, replacing it with a more expensive one that looked like a real baby. Cleo presumed Denali and that cheap baby, besides having similar physical characteristics, would have similar fates – in the trash where they belong.
"Georgia's not going to be happy about whatever's going on over there," Nereida whispered, pointing at them. "She's going to be really, really mad."
"Mad at who?" Cleo replied, the volume of her voice not matching Nereida's. Cleo didn't care who overheard her. "It's her fault he ditched us."
"What do you think we should do?" Nereida asked. Cleo was flustered, angry at Renour, angry at Georgia, angry at every other tribute in that training center. Things were not working out for her, not like in District One. Everything was handed to her on a silver platter in One, and in the Capitol, she had to think for herself. Fend for herself. It was unheard of.
"Why don't you do something for once, Nereida? And what about you, Caspian?" Cleo snapped. "Why is it my responsibility?"
"No one said that," Caspian replied. "You just seem hell-bent on dealing with Georgia, so what do you expect from us? Are we only here to do the dirty work?"
She wanted to say yes. Yes, yes, yes. She wished Nereida and Caspian weren't so deadbeat.
"No," Cleo mumbled. Really, she didn't know what she wanted to happen with Georgia. She wanted her gone, of course, but would that solve her issues? If she targeted Georgia in the bloodbath, she'd put her own life at risk, and in doing so, let the other tributes slip away. As much as Cleo despised the girl, there was value in keeping her alive.
"That's what it looks like," Nereida retorted. "And we will not be the ones to die over whatever rivalry you conjured up in your head."
Cleo glared at her. "Get away from me."
They both nodded and sheepishly retreated to the water fountain. Cleo almost felt bad about the way she treated them; she needed them, even if she didn't want to admit it. Cleo knew that Georgia was the real threat out of their alliance. That Caspian was a wild card, that his allegiance could go either way. That Drachma would do the exact opposite of what Cleo told him to do. And for Nereida, Cleo was unsure what her role in any of this was.
It was back to the drawing board.
One way or another, Cleo Halston always got her way.
The Hunger Games would be no different.
Amias Yarrow
District Eleven, 17 Years Old
"Have you heard from Ten today?"
"No," Amias replied. He wanted to say more on the topic – to pick Cara's brain, to get a better idea of where she stood on their potential alliance – but he kept it short and to-the-point. "Have you?"
"Nope," she said. "But, I thought it over."
Amias was on the edge of his seat. Seeing the majority of the other tributes already in alliances – the Careers, the new alliance with the boy from Two that happened after the incident the day before, the tech-District alliance, the pair from Nine, the girls from Three and Twelve – worried Amias. He wondered if him and Cara were doing something wrong, as if they were somehow lagging behind the other tributes. Amias wanted more allies, and he was hoping Cara would, too. He had a laundry list of reasons why they should ally with the pair from District Ten that he was more than ready to rattle off.
"We can ally with them," she said, and Amias sighed in relief. "If they're still interested, that is."
Amias swiftly stood up from the table they were sitting at, swiping away the leaves and branches scattered in front of him, and brushed off his pants. The District Ten tributes, Donegan and Rhea, were standing side-by-side, backs turned to Amias and Cara, playing around with a big screen hanging on the wall. There were twelve tiles on the screen, each with a different image of a biome.
"But," she said, grabbing Amias' hand before he could walk away. "We have to be careful."
Amias nodded.
"And remember what Cailen said," she continued. "District partners come first."
Amias nodded again, and then he was off, walking over to the training station Rhea and Donegan were at. He watched Rhea tap her finger on one of the tiles, and the image of a desert expanded, and boxes with text popped up around it. Amias stared at the natural elements of the biome as he walked closer, taking in the sand dunes, the rocky soil, and the cacti.
"Hi, District Ten," Amias said eagerly. "How's training going?"
"Good," Rhea chirped, tapping on the screen again and it returned to the twelve tiles. "You?"
"Good," Amias echoed. "What about you, Donegan?"
"Good," Donegan repeated.
"Good," Amias said again. Apparently, training was good for everyone; that's good, Amias thought. The conversation was awkward, but Amias wasn't sure if they were too distracted by training or if they changed their minds about the alliance. He was hoping it was the former. "Cara and I talked it over and we wanted to see if you were still interested in an alliance."
Rhea perked up, looking over her shoulder, her long, brown hair draping down her back. "Yes!"
"Alright," Donegan replied, not as enthusiastically as Rhea. "Let's go chat with Cara, then."
Rhea scurried towards Cara, walking with a quicker pace than Amias and Donegan. Amias was delighted to see Rhea so elated by their alliance. The two boys strolled across the training center together, and Donegan leaned in closer to Amias.
"Between you and me," Donegan whispered, looking around him to make sure no one was in their vicinity. "I'm only doing this for Rhea's peace of mind."
"Allying with us?" Amias questioned, taken back by Donegan's bluntness.
"Well, no," Donegan replied. "I meant including her."
"What's wrong with her?"
"She's deadweight," Donegan deadpanned, and Amias winced. "I'm anticipating she won't make it past the bloodbath. I see this alliance as only between you, me, and Cara."
Amias didn't know how to respond; if he wanted to respond at all, that is. He didn't like how crass he was being towards his own District partner.
Amias typically respected others' ideas, even when they differed from his own, but in this case, he wasn't sure if he respected Donegan at all. Donegan's words were harsh, as was his behavior towards Rhea, but Amias wondered if he had the right approach to the Games. Donegan didn't blindly ally with his District partner, and although he was hesitant at first, was he only doing it to keep Rhea quiet? To give her a false sense of hope that she could win the Games? To increase his own chances of survival while he was at it, too?
Amias looked at Cara. He genuinely liked her – he found comfort in the reserved aura to her, her general presence easing his transition into the Capitol and the Hunger Games – but was he not supposed to? He locked eyes with her as she sat on the ground across from Rhea at the fire making station, and she smirked at him, and then went back to stuffing the fire pit in the middle of them with leaves and paper.
Amias looked away, his head rattled with conflicting thoughts. Should he feel such disdain, such indifference, towards her like Donegan felt about Rhea? Or should he lean into forming a deeper bond with his District partner, like his mentors recommended? He believed in loyalty, in trust, in genuineness. Amias and Cara were told that District partners come first. But, clearly, District partners didn't come first to Donegan, and Amias wasn't sure who was right in this situation. He wasn't sure if either of them were right at all; shouldn't he come first? Not his allies or his District partner?
He wanted to survive. He wanted to win.
And that meant everyone else had to die.
Orion Adarna
District Seven, 16 Years Old
Orion approached his District partner, Ciana, as she surveyed her options for axes on the rack. She reached for a lightweight one with a small handle and head. She gripped the throat of the handle, her fingers wrapping around it tightly, and turned her shoulder away from Orion. She faced the target a few feet down from her, getting into position with some distance between her feet, and wound up her arm, releasing it.
It completely missed, with the blade hitting the target at the wrong angle, and it dropped to the floor, and Ciana shrugged, reaching for another axe.
"What have you been up to?" Orion asked, and she looked up at him.
"Training," she said, waving her hand, gesturing at the tributes and training center around them. "Just like everyone else."
"Learn any cool tricks?"
"If you mean skills," she replied. "Then, sure. I've been spending a lot of time with axes."
How cliche. A tribute from the lumber District using an axe. Orion smirked at the image of Ciana running through a forested arena, scaling the trunk of a large tree, axe secured between her teeth, prepared to slain any tribute or muttation that came her way.
"Are you ready to kill someone yet?" Orion asked, and Ciana was visibly unamused, an offended expression on her face. "Right. Sorry. Not something to joke about."
The awkward silence that followed distressed Orion.
"Have you met anyone interesting?" He asked; personally, he liked the girl from District Three, Cassia. They had a brief encounter the day before, but she was swept away by the girl from Twelve. Orion wasn't offended; it was those fleeting moments of entertainment he found himself looking forward, despite how superficial they were. It was those moments that reminded Orion that his competitors were all teenagers, just like him. They all had normal – to varying degrees, whatever 'normal' meant – lives back in their Districts. It helped him process the circumstances he was thrown into.
"No," she deadpanned. "Everyone only talks to me to ask why I volunteered, as if it's any of their business. As if anyone has any of them have a right to know."
The tone in her voice sounded different. It didn't sound like the Ciana that Orion saw at the reaping, the one he met on the train rides when they left District Seven.
"So, is that it?" Orion questioned. "You're taking on the arena alone?"
"As of right now, yes," Ciana replied, and her open-ended response led Orion to believe she could be convinced otherwise. "What about you?"
"Same," Orion replied, his voice shaking as he prepared to ask his follow up question. "Unless…"
"Unless?"
"I want to ally with you," he stammered out, and he felt odd. He always struggled with being direct, with saying exactly what he wanted. "If you want, that is. Sponsors love District partner allies, and you can use an axe, and so can I, I think…"
"Okay," she replied, and Orion was grateful she interrupted him, since he was rambling.
"Okay?" He repeated. "Okay. Cool. Okay."
Ciana nodded, followed by another few seconds of that dreadful awkward silence.
"What should we do to solidify it?" Orion asked, cracking a smile. "Handshake? Fist bump?"
"Neither," Ciana replied, smiling, and it was nice to see her let loose for a moment. To not seem so pent-up, so besides herself. "I don't know where your hands have been."
Orion was shocked. Was that a joke? From the quiet, meek Ciana? Unheard of.
"Dare I say… a smooch?" Orion joked back, and he knew by the look on her face he took it too far, and recoiled. It was a joke, of course, but maybe Ciana didn't find the same things funny as Orion did. Maybe she lived a completely different life in District Seven than he did, too. "Kidding. Sorry. So, we're allies. Cool."
"Cool," she echoed, and approached the weapon rack near them. She grabbed one of the smaller axes off of the rack, tilting it in her hands, loosely swiping at the air to feel it out.
Orion watched her swing at the dummy, barely grazing the thin layer of fabric on the outside of it, and as she swung her arm upwards, the blade dug into its abdomen, tearing a whole. Clearly, she was taking training more seriously than him. She did volunteer, after all, so maybe that's why she was taking this whole ordeal more seriously than him.
Why did you volunteer? He wanted to ask, nearly blurting it out, but he resisted the urge to. He already made the mistake of asking once, and apparently, most of the other tributes did too, so he swallowed his words. A small part of him was hoping she would tell him eventually.
Orion's time in the Capitol made his curiosity even more intense; he wanted to know everything. He wanted to know how the President rose to power. What the Gamemakers did when they went home at night, if they went home at all. At night, he would stare out his window, sitting with their mentors in complete silence, peering off of their balcony out onto the streets of the Capitol, and he wanted to know why District Five didn't rebel – again, that is, it's been not once, but twice before – and cut off the Capitol's energy supply. Why District Six so willingly produces the trains and cars that move the Capitol citizens around the city.
Orion couldn't even take a seat in a wooden piece of furniture anymore without thinking about District Seven's role in contributing to the Capitol's extravagance. In feeding into their power. District Seven was complacent, right? He wanted to know why the Hunger Games were a thing at all anymore. After one hundred and twenty years, he wondered if the rebels, if the Districts, learned their lesson. The abuse, the killing, the bloodshed, the violence… it all seemed so unnecessary.
Orion wanted to change the way the Capitol treated the Districts, their oppressive and manipulative tactics. He wanted to dismantle the system that forced his parents to work hours in unsafe conditions. He felt empowered at the thought, although he knew it wasn't possible; what could a sixteen-year-old boy from District Seven do in a country built on everything he hated?
If only I was a victor, he thought. Maybe then I would be able to change things.
He smirked, evoking a perplexed look on Ciana's face, and for the first time in a while, he felt like himself. Those thoughts – of rebellion, of meddling with the Capitol, of going against the status quo – made him feel like himself again.
The rebellious teenager from District Seven.
Soon to be the rebellious victor.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
Author's Note:
Training Day Three! Not much to say. Some more alliances, some shifting alliances.
Now that you've met all of the tributes, new question: Has your opinion changed on any of these tributes? Any predictions on what might happen in the next few chapters?
Also, I'm almost done with Suzanne Collins' new book… it is interesting. Has anyone else read it? PM me if you did! We can share opinions. No spoilers on here, but… yeah. It's kinda' weird.