"Two Victors!" Wells exclaimed for the seventh time as they exited the lift. Or was it the eighth? Clarke couldn't remember. "But that's amazing! We could do it Clarke, we could win, go home!" Wells's face looked so sweet that she smiled back at him, taking both his hands in hers.
"Yes," She smiled, "We could go home," She omitted her darker thoughts. He was right, the chance for two victors was incredible, and a chance she was going to cling onto with both hands. When the President had first announced it, there had been disbelief, and then an overwhelming surge of joy as she imagined seeing her mother again, imagined both of them getting to return home.
But then she had looked around, past Wells's shining face, and seen the other tributes in their celebration as well. Just because there would be two victors, it didn't mean it would be her and Wells. The other tributes were still better than them, and there was still a disarmingly large probability that they would die. But Wells looked so happy; Clarke kept those thoughts to herself.
"Yes, it's a wonderful opportunity, but it doesn't mean you can be slacking. You still need to work hard, those people still want to kill you, so no slacking," Wells's face dropped as Diana cut in coldly, breaking his heart so Clarke didn't have to. She felt an odd surge of gratitude for her mentor.
"I just meant," Wells began.
"I know what you meant, and you're right, but it's not an excuse to stop working, unless you fancy dying. You've got training tomorrow and I want to speak to you before you go, so I suggest you get a goodnight's sleep," Diana interrupted him as she pushed open the door to their accommodation. "Clarke, your room is third on the left, Wells, yours is first on the right,"
Their quarters were just as grand as the train cabin had been, with thick carpets that muffled footsteps, harsh electric lights and absurdly coloured furniture, but Clarke had no interest in admiring it, deciding instead to follow her mentor's advice, and retire to bed.
She said goodnight politely to Diana and Gloss and clasped Wells's hand before entering her room and revelling in the comfort of a closed door. Clarke exhaled loudly with her back against the smooth surface of the door, letting her eyes flutter closed for a moment before twisting the lock and examining the space that would be entirely hers for the next four days.
A manic giggle escaped her lips and she clapped her hand over her mouth tight. Four days. That was all she had left, four days before she was thrown into an arena where twenty two children would try to kill her. It was absurd, and absolutely terrifying. The sort of terrifying that sent Clarke sliding down the door into a heap on her soft blue carpet, her head in her hands and great sobs ripping their way through her throat, burning and choking on their way out.
Get up, a part of her was screaming, but it was drowned by her tears. And Clarke knew it was better to break down now, in the safety and privacy of her room than in the games, where losing even one moment could mean death. Her death.
Clarke whimpered into her palms. Who was she fooling? She wasn't brave! She wasn't a career, she wasn't even kind. She was a selfish, scared little girl. Her body wracked with sobs that hunched her over and the cut glass of her dress dug painfully into her skin. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand as she stood tentatively, crossing to a mirror on the far side of the room.
For the parade her stylist had clothed her in a dress that was truly magnificent. It clung tight to her waist and breasts, flowing at her hips until it reached the floor in a floaty swirl of fabric. Despite its loose hem though, the dress was the heaviest item of clothing Clarke was ever like to put on, for glued and sewn onto every inch of it was a multitude of gem stones in blues and reds and greens, every colour Clarke could imagine. When she had put it on, Clarke had felt beautiful. But now she just felt a wreck, another product of the Capitol. They were already taking her life, in that dress she was letting them take away who she was. She tore it roughly from her body, slicing her palms on the points of jewels in her haste to get it off and scratching the balls of her feet when she stepped out of it.
Clarke screamed in rage, kicking the thing away from her, but it only hurt her toes. Even the underwear they had put her in was tight and uncomfortable, full of wire to push up her breasts or lace that scratched at her skin, so she tore that off too.
She felt better when she was naked, but her face was still streaked with makeup so she crossed the floor to her bathroom, and stepped into the shower. Clarke had never had a shower before, at least not one like that. In One, they had washed in baths, tiny buckets if you were poor and big marble affairs if you were rich. Clarke had fallen somewhere in the middle thanks to her mother's profession and she had enjoyed their bathtub ever since she was young. She liked to put her head under and feel the hot water untangle her hair. They had no shower heads though, and the multitude of knobs and dials confused Clarke, making her shriek when the water came out ice cold. Finally, she found a jet that was the ideal temperature and lathered herself in a sweet smelling soap, washing her face clean and running her fingers through her golden curls.
When she was done, she didn't look as pretty, but she looked like her. The steady stream of the shower had calmed her, washing away bad feelings as it washed away the powder on her skin. She dressed herself in a robe made of fluffy white towelling material and sighed as she scooped up the mess she had made. At least no one saw me, she thought, though she knew that there must be a camera hidden in the room somewhere. The thought made her uneasy and she pulled the bath robe a little tighter around her body.
She found a loose top and trousers to swap her robe for and glancing around the corners of the ceiling, searching for hidden cameras, she exchanged the towel for the clothing before pulling back the thick white duvet and crawling into bed. The bed was much larger than her bed at home; she could have slept with her body along the width of the bed and still had enough room. As it was, she curled up right in the centre with her head nestled between two pillows and the duvet up over her shoulder. Her damp hair pressed against her cheek sending drips into her eyes where they mingled with the salt of her tears.
The first time she had cried it had been a frenzied, angry thing with great sobs that had doubled her over and turned her face a hideous blotchy red. But curled in a bed too big for her, her eyes adjusting to the dark, her crying was quiet and sad. The sort of crying that eases you into sleep, and it did.
When Clarke woke, it was to a loud rap on the door.
"Get up Clarke; you've got training in half an hour!" The voice was muffled by the door but Diana's sharp tone was easily recognised. Clarke groaned and buried her face in the pillow. She washed and dressed quickly into a pair of tight fitting trousers and a dark green t-shirt. She braided back her hair wet, the curls would be out of control later, but she didn't have the room to care.
In the dining room, Clarke found both mentors and Wells already sat at a dark, hard-wood table laden with a feast of Capitol delicacies. Gloss was talking to Wells over plates laden with bright orange fruits and meat in a thick sauce. Diana glared at Clarke with raised brows while she drummed on the table with her fingertips in an overt gesture of impatience.
"Sorry," Clarke mumbled as she dragged a chair across the floor and sat down beside Wells. His dark eyes flitted to her briefly before he was drawn back into the discussion with his mentor.
"Eat, Clarke, you won't be getting many more hearty meals," Diana exhaled and gestured to the food in front of her. Clarke made a face at her rudeness but did as she said. She's right, she thought as she piled a plate high with bizarre foods she'd never tasted before, once I'm in the games I'll be living on weeds best case scenario. She ate greedily after that thought, taking as much as she could handle. Diana waited until she was finished to offer her a stemmed glass of cloudy green juice.
"Its apple," She smiled slightly at Clarke's sceptical expression. "So, it's the first day of training today, I want you to learn to use a weapon. You can choose which; they'll have all sorts, bows, spears, knives, swords. You're fairly small, so you should stay away from the heavy ones. Have a go at all of them if you like, but pick one and make that your speciality. By the end of today I want you to be an expert at using it." Diana rattled off instructions and Clarke nodded. It was a lot to ask, for Clarke to master a weapon in one day, but they didn't have much time. It was a difficult task, but a necessary one.
"What about the other tributes?" Clarke sucked her juice through a straw as she stared at Diana.
"Make friends. Don't make that face, you need allies. The two of you can't make it alone. You're careers, so your best bets are two and four, get to know them, convince them to work with you. Find out what they're good at, and what their weaknesses are. There will come a time when you have to break the alliance, and you need to be ready for it."
"And the others? Do we focus on the careers? Or make the rounds?" Clarke pushed her glass away from her and tucked a golden lock behind her ear, her mind set on the day ahead. The night before she had been repelled by the idea of the careers, terrified of becoming one, but in the light of day, it was clear that was the best path forward. Clarke was a smart girl and she wasn't ready to die just yet.
"Find out as much as you can about the others; find out who's dangerous and who's not. But don't ignore the weak ones at first glance, a few years ago a girl played that game very well, pretending she was weak and killing viciously later on," Diana smiled slightly, cocking her head. "You know, you remind me of my daughter, Clarke," The woman's stern facade dropped for a moment, revealing a mother's warmth. "Glimmer. You look a little like her, I'm sure she'll be rooting for you once the games start."
Clarke chewed on her lip. She didn't care if she resembled Diana's daughter, she just hoped the girl never had to suffer the games. Diana glanced at the watch on her wrist, a rose-gold adornment that reflected light around the room.
"It's time for you two to go," she stood up, shaking Clarke's hand, "Good luck,"
The elevator ride passed in an uncomfortable silence until the doors opened onto the basement training area and Clarke finally turned to speak to Wells. Whatever words of comfort she had planned were lost when she saw his face. His lips were pressed tight together, his hands were trembling at his sides and his dark skin looked almost grey.
"Wells," She snapped, "Don't look so scared," His head twisted to look at her, his features contorted with hurt.
"I'm trying," He moaned pitifully.
"Well, try harder. These people want to kill us, Wells! Don't make yourself look like such an easy target," A small voice in the back of her mind told Clarke that she was being unfair. He's your friend, it screamed, he came for you! He did this for you! But she knew she was right, the other tributes were going to kill him straight away if they thought they could. Besides, I never asked for this, I never asked him to volunteer. Clarke held her tongue as they made their way into the training area.
Once inside, she swallowed a lump in her throat. Most of the other tributes were already there, looking just as menacing as she remembered. Two were stood like great hulking monsters, a boy with greasy hair from Seven shot her a nasty smirk as she walked in, and the tall boy from Twelve was there, watching her entrance. His dark eyes narrowed at the sight of her, and Clarke thought she might wither beneath his stare. He was stood next to his tiny companion, looking as if he would gladly kill every one of them in defence of her. Clarke wanted more than anything to avoid his gaze, but she made herself meet it instead as she offered him a polite smile. Let him try to scare me. I haven't done anything to him, she felt her lips pull up in a wider smirk, not yet. He wouldn't dare attack her with the tributes from Two by her side.
After a few moments, a tall Capitol woman with curled black hair and olive-toned skin began directing them through their training; instructing them on obligatory tasks and advising them on where best to spend their time and Twelve was still staring. Stubborn arsehole, Clarke wanted to growl but instead she sighed and focused on the instructor. Idiot, now he'll think he's won! That in itself was a stupid thought, the only competition Clarke had against Twelve was the competition for her life.
When the woman finished talking, the tributes dispersed in all directions and Clarke watched Twelve cast her one last dark glance before shuffling his protégée to a camouflage station. Clarke looked up at Wells, who she was pleased to see had regained some colour. She felt bad for snapping at him, but she wouldn't take it back, not here, with all those watching eyes.
"Weapons or friends first?" She asked him, tucking her hair behind her ears the way she always did when she needed to concentrate. Wells looked over her shoulder before he looked at her face.
"Looks like we might find those things in the same place," Clarke followed his eyes and saw the tributes from Two and Four already standing by the weapons sector. The girl from two was laughing whilst she swung a heavy object around. Clarke swallowed a groan, she didn't want to have to ally with any of them, but she did want to stay alive, and it seemed like allying with the careers was the way to do so.
"Hi," They looked up at Clarke's curt greeting and awkward wave. "I'm Clarke," She held out her hand with a smile whilst they looked on blankly. The boy from four was the first to reply, his blue eyes twinkling as he grinned at her. Clarke blinked at his beauty; he's bound to get tons of sponsors.
"I'm Atom," He took her hand firmly and winked at her. Beside her, Wells coughed. Atom's eyes flickered between the pair and he dropped Clarke's hand. "This is Anna," He gestured to the girl from his district with the thin nose and long, red hair. Anna didn't offer her hand to either of them. "And this," He waved at the District Two tributes, "Is June, and Russell," Clarke was extremely glad that they didn't shake her hand. She didn't think she'd have any bones left if they did.
"This is Wells," She pushed him forward slightly, and he nodded to the group. "So," The flesh of her lip was itching to be chewed, "Where should we start?"
When Clarke collapsed into her bed that night her muscles were aching, but she had been successful in her training. She had tried out several weapons, eventually deciding that a knife was the most useful to her and she had made allies, if not friends.
Atom, she genuinely liked, he was sweet and funny and he flirted with her whilst they trained which sent Wells bright red. Anna was nice enough, for an ally. She was quick with a knife and knew how to make nets out of almost anything. Russell's weapon of choice was a large spiked mace that he could swing with surprising accuracy, but he was equally as lethal with his fists. June was as sour of personality as she was of face, and she made Clarke's hair stand up in fear. They were formidable enemies all of them, even Atom, who could throw a spear at great distances. Clarke supposed she would rather fight with them than against them.
The careers haunted her thoughts as she drifted into dreams but at least this time she didn't have to cry herself to sleep.