Training at home had prepared him for training in the Capitol; there was little the Centers didn't prepare their potential Victors for. And there was a protocol, an accepted strategy, which worked on screen and in reality in a certain pattern.
Stage 1: Assert yourself as a leader or clear member of the Career alliance.
Well, the word 'Career' was never spoken by a trainer, but it was known as well by the Careers as it was to the outlier districts. It made sense- to the Careers, the Games were just that. Theon certainly believed it to be just that. While it was a brutal lifestyle that he had been entirely re-moulded by his 'father' to present himself through, it was an entirely logical course. The Games brought riches, fame, honour; for those that could make it through seven years of training to become a tribute, it could give them the opportunity to be something better.
While Theon had little interest in fame, the money would give him and his siblings of the street an autonomy he had never had since his true father had died; and the honour of winning might finally permit him to finish what Arya's death had started.
So he started to establish himself as the leader of the Career group. He was first to the weapon rack, appearing casual but using his advantages of height to stride swiftly there before anybody else. He was not thick with muscle but he filled his tall frame with a build to match, and he hefted a large sword in his hand without much need for straining at the weight. He turned, surveying those catching up with him.
Time for stage 2: determining the alliance.
With three Districts holding Training Centers, Theon would expect to be one of six potential Careers. But, as his trainers had so often said, there were always exceptions to the status quo. Sometimes a Seven or a Five would have enough muscular bulk to perform well enough in a group; occasionally, groups could be more concerned with being ruthless than having sheer muscular strength. All forms could turn out in a Game, and Theon was trained in them all.
The Ones were a mixed bag; while Sheen Astara, with a shaved head and a body built to display muscle had become the typical Career to the point of being stereotypical, Glace Gratton was a slim waif of a girl, toned but thin. While her face seemed friendly, a soft, heart-shaped oval, and she looked like she'd have a sweet smile, her eyes were cold to the point of seeming dead, a dull, piercing gaze that observed but did not strike. Theon marked her as a potentially incendiary enigma and moved on.
His fellow tribute, Anna Corinna, was built for fighting. Her hair close-cropped, her shoulders heavy with muscle, her smile betraying an enjoyment of the blood Theon bore. She was the dangerous element in any Career pack; someone who enjoyed killing, rather than accepting it. Theon reckoned he needed to kill her first.
The District Four tributes were odd, to say the least. Ronan Horne seemed less built for muscle than gymnastics; he was fairly short, with legs that bent out slightly and a duck-footed stance, but he moved with the grace of a dancer, a lithe and enigmatic character. Theon was unsure what to make of him, but was certain that he posed little threat to someone determined to win.
As for Emma Kjaergaard; Theon didn't know what to think. She didn't strike him as typical Training Center fare, but her build was distinctly un-feminine, powerful with muscle; she might have resembled the tribute from his own district if not for the carefully kept waves of pale caramel hair that were tied together in a soft ribbon. It gave an impression of femininity, gentleness; it marked her as something not of a Career pack, and Theon felt that he was not the only one who knew it.
So the three Career districts arrived at the weapons rack; but one other arrived amongst them, a '7' on his shoulder, a cocky grin on his face. While Theon had already clearly taken the weapons rack for his own, the etiquette of a Career pack would not be known to an outsider, and the Seven boy took an axe from the rack with a swaggering confidence. Theon could not believe the dishonor of the action; the Seven tributes had burnt their costumes only the day before, in an act that even Careers could see was defiance. And here he was, a rebel walking amongst the killers like nobody had seen what he had done.
The Seven girl, Elizabeth, whipped up behind him like a flash, long chestnut hair waving loosely down her back like the flames she had thrown behind her.
"Chal," she admonished in a terrified hiss. Her eyes flicked towards Theon and the Careers with the menace they rightly created. Theon, at least, could respect a rebel who knew where they were wanted and where they should fear. "Come on."
"In a sec, Lizzie." Chal said with an overbearing lightness to his tone that Theon could not help but despise. "Let the boys have their toys before we go sewing or something."
Theon could not tell whether Chal was being deliberately inciteful or unutterably dense, because around him were four women that could and inevitably would make him pay for that statement. One, however, decided they could not wait until the arena. Anna's shaved head tilted and a bright smile crossed her face.
"Hm? You want to go sewing, big boy?" She sashayed up to Chal, who to his credit began to realise what was about to occur and attempted to raise his axe in defence.
Anna countered by whipping the axe from his hands and swinging it to his neck. Chal stood in horrified silence as the beautifully honed blade hovered by his flesh, pulsing with fragile life.
"Let's have a little sewing lesson, then! First lesson- using the needle!" Anna was yelling, now, and trainers around the room were rushing to break up the suddenly tense and silent room. "First of all- pierce the leather!"
And Theon had seen Anna train before, he had seen her ruthless streak, but she had no idea she would go this far, not before the Games, not yet. But the bloodlust pulsed in her like it pulsed out of Chal's neck as she neatly sliced through his carotid artery.
Trainers were yelling, Elizabeth was screaming; Chal was on the black-tiled floor, conscious, scrabbling on the ground as blood pulsed from his neck. He was gasping in throaty, liquid-filled breaths, his eyes bulging from his head.
Theon believed in many things, but foremost he believed in honour. Killing without the precedent of the Games was without honour, without decency. He knelt in the pools of blood on the floor, applying efficient force to the slice on Chal's neck. An artery was severed, but with force he could prevent him bleeding out before he recieved professional medical attention.
Trainers around him were pulling back Anna, taking hold of her axe, dragging her to the floor. Her smile remained, even as it was stained with the blood pooling on the tiled ground. She was laughing at Theon, the action bubbling up the blood around her and allowing it to run into her mouth. Theon ignored her, ignored the screams and yells- he maintained pressure, spanning his fingers along as much of the wound as he could.
Another set of calloused hands joined him, stemming the flow on what parts of the cut Theon could not reach. He glanced up to see a tribute he barely recognised, Quint from Six, who despite having no involvement in the action that had caused this injury was nevertheless trying to stem it. There was no emotion behind the tribute's skin beyond a determination to hold together Chal's. Between them, they permitted enough bloodflow to keep Chal's brain alive and prevent him from bleeding out- a medical team that should have been more prompt came to relieve them of their duties, two people in white coats and masks who held rapidly reddening gauze over the injury as they wheeled Chal away.
Theon and Quint stood. Their eyes met in the midst of the gore they had surrounded themselves with. Nothing was said. The two turned to leave each other's company in the blood, and nothing was said.
But Theon remembered honour when he saw it.
While there's never an official playbook for dealing with sexists, slicing their carotid arteries with an axe is very low in accepted etiquette. Ladies take note; Anna Corinna is not a role model for dealing with sexism, although when not armed she's probably wild at parties.
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