Chapter 4

The Capitol was impressive but it wasn't enough to lift her mood. She'd rather spend a few weeks at home than be shipped off here for her last days to live. She realised just how much she already missed her family. It became infectious, as she had stepped off the train to greet numerous citizens screeching for the destined dead. It sickened her even more than the train had. All the glamour, it was too much for her head. She had wondered why people would use their bodies in such a way to look ridiculous, but then again if she lived there, would she follow the conventional norm?

It felt like an age before they were away from the crowds. And even then in the Remake Centre her stylists were dressed in such a way it almost made her laugh aloud. After being washed of all dirt and hair she felt just a little better about herself, even with enough confidence to stand there naked in front of them. It was an annoyance back home, of being clean. The choice of costume had certainly been interesting too, if a little bulky. She had no doubt it made her feel stupid but was surprised at her stylist's efforts. Once riding the carriages with all the other tributes her immediate reaction once again turned to animosity.

Everyone cheered as they rolled out amongst all the others, not particularly standing out but making an impression. The tribute she was standing with, Rory, was smiling a little while Mickey in front was cheering along with the crowd, even jumping. Clara smirked embarrassingly and Bill turned to look at her with the same sort of smile on her face. Nonetheless she stuck it out, arms crossing challengingly and her face tensing stony at the ceremony. Celebrating innocent death was one thing, but the tributes actually enjoying it - that was tragic.

For the rest of the ride she focused on the other carriages, trying to see who they were, what they were wearing. Her eyes alerted her almost immediately to a grey-haired man standing at the back of the first carriage, covered in jewels. District One. They were always the favourites, and one of the districts she despised the most. The man had unruly silver curls and one look from the banner above her head told her he was probably one of those Careers not to be reckoned with, despite his age. He looked fierce, almost mad, the most ferocious pair of eyebrows she'd ever seen and blue eyes ringed with a burning impatience. She wondered if he was competitive like all his other tributes, if he was confident of winning. Or if he feared death. Although he interested her greatly she couldn't help but feel as though he was a fearless classic example of a Career that hadn't gotten his time. He could be one of the tributes who would ring-lead the Career pack. His appearance seemed that way, certainly. But when he unexpectedly turned round to look at her dead in the eyes she was surprised by the gentility in his eyes, even though his eyebrows counterweighted almost every smile as a smirk. She froze almost immediately, staring into his eyes until he was forced to look away. Snow was starting to speak but she didn't listen to a word of it. All the time she gazed at him, still speculating. Had she made an ally or an enemy?

She couldn't tell whether he was looking at her in return on the way back but steeled herself once again in that time. Already she'd been too curious and too off guard to realise that she'd lost her senses. Already she was sidetracked from the game. She couldn't let herself do that. Stay strong and let no one near you. She had to stick by those rules or stand by with pain. Even though she promised herself she would not allow anyone to affect her head she couldn't resist the smile she gave back to him once inside the Remake Centre. He smirked back, friendly enough. Something within them made her unusually drawn to him, like he was a magnet. Everyone was leaving, but he remained where he was. She looked away, walked off with her other tributes after remembering the promise she had made only moments ago. She didn't look back but could feel his eyes burning into her back.

The next morning was the first day of training, and she listened on uninterestedly over a wonderful breakfast. Servants carried trays in and out every five minutes with different items that Clara could hardly keep up with. She tried to talk to them, but it seemed as if they were unable to, for reasons her escort didn't mention.

Her mind turned once again of the near future, the Games, but also the three days in which all tributes would train together. It would be the time for devising plans in her head and taking note of everyone's strengths and weaknesses. She herself was good with snares and appliances, wondering momentarily if they'd have any sort of electrical weapon. The tributes didn't make her nervous, although something about seeing the silver haired District 1 tribute again set her slightly on edge for no apparent reason. When the four of them were sent down in identical clothing to the large gymnasium she scanned the stations crowded with double the amount of people than usual, almost swarming. There were tributes already practising in small fights with swords, some learning different snares and a line of dummies were being stabbed or shot at by arrow, trident or gun. She blended in, giving everyone a second look as she passed them, loosely basing anyone on their appearance. A few were as young as fifteen but she could notably see the large increase of burly men brutally training with others in combative competition. The women were also a very varied group, some looking almost deadly and some sly. Yet most of all the tributes they were just like her; normal people, most likely fathers and mothers with the exception of a few children. Bubbling anger rose up her throat once again at how sickening it all was. But she dismissed this quickly and settled at where she fiddled with snares, making trap after trap, sometimes instructing another tribute. It was a little ironic, to her. Helping tributes was putting you at an even higher risk than necessary. But when it came to it, none of that would matter. There was only one person in the room that would leave the Capitol alive. Refusing help to someone was fruitless. She looked around her after a few minutes, trying to catch sight of the male One tribute that had invaded her thoughts so ridiculously. It was horrifying, when she realised the pit of her stomach folded in disappointment when she couldn't. Intrigue was one thing but obsession was another. She told herself she wouldn't get sidetracked so quickly. Strategy. Always a strategy. Turning back to plotting and tactics kept her mind off him and she eventually wondered to where guns were perched in holsters. She had never really felt one, used one. The peacekeepers in her district often kept guns in their suits but only rarely were they used. Which was a lot more than other districts, considering that a select few were Capitol favourites. She had no doubt their system was more relaxed.

Handling the small weapon she decided she liked the feel of it in her hand. Not too heavy, not a hindrance like a trident would be or a bow and arrow over your shoulder. Something easy to work with. She targeted the dummies' heart, squinting her eyes and taking a second before releasing. The bullet whistled to the stomach of it, not where she was aiming for but at least a winning shot. She almost felt proud of herself and fired a few more, feeling a lot more comfortable with each hit she made until one landed square in the forehead. She smiled slightly as she lowered her arm. A natural talent then, and already an advancement to what was confusion on her part of performance. At least she could say she could defend herself now. Moving on to the sword fights, she observed a female and male tribute both fighting with large broadswords. Silly, really. She eyes the fencing swords and wondered once again if it was something she'd be good at. Yet once she had picked one up, a guy with dirty blonde hair was facing her, a sword in his own hand. He looked down on her not ferociously, but more friendly than she'd seen other tributes. He had muscled arms but a stick thin build, most likely from one of the poorer districts. Despite this he looked down at her confidently.

'Care for a fight?' He drawled.

She had no idea how or why he'd decided to ask her of all people or if it was random selection but her voice didn't waver.

'I haven't practised with it yet.'

'It's fairly simple,' he cut across, 'you attack, I defend.'

'And you want me to believe that that's all there is too it?'

'Essentially. But of course, I'd only just picked one up an hour ago so who knows.'

She raised her eyebrows at him.

'Seriously?'

'Yeah. What do you say?'

'Fine.'

Something about him she liked, made her agree to a fight she had no idea how to handle. But as he jabbed the pointed end at her she managed to block it. Soon, it was metal on metal clanging nearly effortlessly. The more she did it the more she felt confident with it. A few moves surprised her herself, some parrying she whooped with victory at. Although being as short as she was, she didn't let her guard down, and she was smiling now at the thrill of the fight. It obviously wasn't much, but it was amusing, her opponent starting to grin alongside her. Finally with a swoop of his sword, the tip of it suddenly wavered just a few centimetres from her chin. She laughed, staring up at his blue eyes.

'You win.' She whispered, as his sword lowered and he stepped a fraction closer.

'You were good yourself. First time and all.'

'I guess so. Which district are you from?'

'12.'

'The coal district.'

'Yep. No chance I'll be getting out of here alive.'

'I think we're all telling ourselves the same thing.'

He nodded, smirking a little.

Stop this, she told herself. You're getting too close to people already. Stop.

Obviously her mouth had different things to say.

'What's your name?'

But before she recieved a reply, a foreign sword collided into hers and suddenly she was in combat. She retaliated almost instantly, metal screaming loudly against the other. He had moved like an animal, so fast he was only a blur until her eyes focused on who she was fighting. The owlish face, the ruffled curls...the male One tribute she had been exchanging eye conversations with. He was moving backward as she advanced toward him, an angered expression and an intent of winning clear on her face as his own curled up into that famous smirk. Once again she had been held to knifepoint, grazing lightly over her skin as they stared at each other, hardly breathing. He seemed to be studying her face and she couldn't make herself tear her eyes away from him. Why he had so unexpectedly decided to draw her into combat she had no idea. Was it to catch her attention? To distract her? To show off? To impress her? To match up her ability?

It was him who finally stepped away. For a moment she stood there breathless, frozen, like he had just taken away all the air from her lungs. He gave her that perennial look, one that quietened the burning itch at the back of her throat. She was speechless, for the first time in her life. What had just happened?

'You've picked that up quickly.' He said.

She forced her eyes to unlatch themselves from him, glance quickly over her shoulder to look back at her previous opponent. He looked a little resentful the other tribute had disrupted their conversation with his flourishes. But of course, her attention turned back to the owl glaring at her. She couldn't tell if he was mad, sad or happy.

'I wanted to test you,' he explained carefully, 'see if you really were on your guard.'

'A little dangerous. Only started to use this. I could have hurt you. Could have hurt myself like that.'

'But you didn't,' he said smugly, 'Anyone could do that in the actual Games. But you're always on your guard.'

She crossed her arms in front of her, like he had just offended her.

'I guess it will come in handy, then.' She said stonily.

'I guess it will.' He smiled, turning the hilt in his hand and setting it back down in its place.

She turned away from him, guiltily trudging back to the district 12 boy she had left.

'Who are you?' He called, his tone sounding contrastingly uninterested either way.

'Clara,' she said carelessly, not bothering to turn back to him, 'Clara Oswald.'

She didn't catch his name but smiled to herself as she walked away.

'Clara,' The 12 boy said, 'you okay?'

'Yeah. Sorry, he uh-' she glimpsed behind her but he wasn't there anymore, 'what was your name again?'

He responded with a slight smile but the spark in his eyes had winked out.

'Haymitch.'

'Nice to know you, Haymitch.' She smiled genuinely. It only struck her how much younger he was, especially after seeing the district One tribute. Too young.

'How old are you?'

He laughed dryly. '16.'

'So young. You shouldn't even be here.'

'I've always wondered why they chose to reap adolescents in particular.'

'Because they're cruel. Revoltingly cruel.'

'Yeah they are, aren't they. If you don't mind me asking-'

'How old I am? Considerably older than you. 29.'

'Not too old.'

'Thanks.'

The pause between them became increasingly awkward, but Haymitch managed to save the waning conversation successfully.

'So, are you sticking with the sword?'

'Maybe. I think I prefer the gun.'

'The gun? I didn't think that would be your type of weapon.'

'There's hardly anything that falls under my category, really. District 5, electrical power.'

'Ah. Well, for me I'm partial to the knife. I hunt everything I can with it.'

'I think it will do you well.'

'Maybe.'

Overhead, she spotted him again, throwing a spear at a dummy. Excusing herself from Haymitch's presence she stalked over to him.

'What was that all about?'

He smirked at her before throwing another spear. It hit the target just above the waistline.

'I already told you.' He said, rubbing his hands together.

'Why me?' She asked.

'Why not?' He shrugged, picking up a trident. Clara too holstered her gun, firing a shot to the target.

'You're not making this easy are you?'

'I wasn't under the impression I made anything easy at all.'

'I can believe that.'

'Do you like him?'

'Who, the boy I was fighting? Yeah.'

'Will be a shame. All of this, all these people. Too tragic.'

'There I can agree.'

'I don't think there's even any point of training, especially for me. I'm an old man.'

'Not too old.' She told him.

'I'm gonna die.'

'We're all going to die.'

'No easy way to say it.'

'You've already accepted your fate?'

'I have. One out of forty-eight isn't exactly the best odds.'

'They never are fair odds.'

She shot again in anger, the bullet burying furiously where the nose was supposed to be.

'You have a good shot.'

'Thanks.'

She hardly knew what to do with all the compliments. She'd be flattered to death before the Games had even started.

'You have good aim.'

'I have steady hands. That's all.'

'I guess I should ask you your name.'

'On first name basis with an adversary. Now that's dangerous.'

Clara frowned a little. 'What is it?' She said impatiently.

He paused and threw another spear before answering, and good reason too. She almost spluttered.

'Basil Disco.' He said resentfully, almost too quiet to hear.

'Basil?!'

'Yes, well, it's Bas.'

'I don't need to ask you which district you're from with that name. One always has the most stupidest names in the Games.'

'You knew anyway, I was bedecked in jewellery at the opening ceremony.' He argued.

'You stood out like a sore thumb.'

'I know. The oldest, the weakest, the angriest.'

'Well I agree with the last statement.'

'I am the oldest, Clara.'

She looked around at her surroundings, at all the people. He was probably right. Despite all the varied age gaps she could spot no one with grey hair or ageing features. Somehow it suited him too well, she couldn't imagine him looking younger. They're talk died down as they resumed shooting and spearing and throwing until their arms ached. She didn't see Haymitch for the rest of the day and felt a little sympathetic for him.

After what only seemed half an hour everyone was filing out of the room, and she realised that time had practically flown away from her. The room was emptying, the whole training session had gone by in a flash. She walked out with Bas, her brain thinking over just how complicated it had been made just after one day. Already her independence was failing and although something about Bas intrigued her immensely it wasn't too late to stop their interaction. Yet of course she didn't have the heart to do it.

'I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then. Maybe even for another sword fight.' She started to walk away but his voice reached her once again.

'Actually, have you seen the roof?' He said, leaning closer to her than was necessary, 'I've been poking around here, sneaked out of my apartment before breakfast. It's a nice little spot.'

She deliberated deeply before answering. She was getting closer to these people, people who were supposed to be enemies. She herself was supposed to be self reliant and individualistic.

He looked down at her with a softening of his gaze, a light smirk and his eyes inviting her even more.

'You can see the whole city.' He said.

She decided that having one friend wouldn't necessarily kill her, and she really could use the comfort, since she was away from home, her family. Even if it was from Bas.

'Fine then. A few minutes.'

He smiled and she followed him into the elevator. They both marvelled at the tiny specks of people below them as they shot up to the top floor. She had never experienced anything like it. The rush of her stomach as it rose, the height and craftsmanship. She thought about how Capitol citizens would never truly admire something as glamorous but so mundane in their lives. This, for them, would be nothing but essential.

They enter a dome-shaped room and that opens up to the balcony, and as she walked closer to the edge, her heart thumped faster. It was nearing on nighttime, just after dusk and the Capitol was still buzzing with life. Cars speeding by, lights on all the buildings bright and illuminating the whole city. It really was a breathtaking sight. Bas stood beside her, and for a moment they didn't do anything but stare at the view. She could imagine waking up to this sight every morning and never get tired of it.

'It's painful to see a beautiful city and know you've been sentenced to death.'

His eyes seemed fixed slightly on the mansion, just visible beyond everything. The home of President Snow.

'It is. I just wish this whole thing was fair.'

'I don't think it ever will be.' He said grimly. Clara had to pause to think over the meaning of his words. It was understandable he had lost faith in the system but completely dismissing the idea of a revolutionary change made her think he was completely hopeless.

'I'm not sure. Someday, maybe. Someday a tribute might just get it right.'

He sank low to the ground, legs outstretched, still staring at the cityscape beyond the iron railings. She copied him, but studied his face instead. Something about his face was profoundly more interesting than the view.

'Perhaps. I just don't know what to believe. There'll just be the Games and then nothing. That's it.'

'You might get far.' She reasoned.

'That doesn't matter. Same fate whatever happens.'

Surprising not only him but herself, she found her fingers stretching toward his and lightly squeezing them. He looked at her with nothing shirt of a shocked expression and his infamous eyebrows quirked upward a little.

'Why don't we talk about something else, huh? It would be nice to get this whole Games out of our minds for a few minutes.'

He seemed to calm under her words, though she could feel his fingers were tense under her touch. She withdrew them, never taking her eyes off him.

'Do you have a family?'

'I have a father and a stepmother, a friend called Nina. And I adopted two kids that mean the world to me.'

'Glad to hear someone had a nice life.'

'Why, didn't you?'

'I lost my mother and my father in the war. I was just a child. Raised by my aunt until she died too. The Hunger Games took my girlfriend away at 18. I haven't had anyone since.'

'I'm sorry. I can see why you resent the Games so much, like I do.'

'Why?'

She took a breath. Explaining this to anyone was still painful, and she could hardly believe she was telling a rival tribute, of all people. Yet somehow she trusted him enough.

'The victor from the 27th Hunger Games somehow managed to kill the Head Gamemaker. As punishment the Capitol killed her family. The eldest daughter of that family was my mother.'

His eyes dropped, head bowing respectfully.

'I guess we've all lost someone in our lives.'

'I'd be surprised if anyone of those tributes hadn't.'

'How old are you?'

His tone turned a trifle sharper. 'Why would you wanna know?'

'You said you're parents died in the war, that you were a child. You're older than the Games itself, aren't you?'

He nodded. 'I've lost track of how old I am, to be honest. Fifty-eight I think. Or fifty-seven.'

'Do you remember anything from the war?'

'Not really. I remember my parents deaths. I remember being sheltered in the smallest hut imaginable for over three months. That's it.'

'So your name didn't originate from District One. It spawned the whole lot of eccentric names thereafter.' She teased.

'It's not too bad, is it?' He complained.

'Basil Disco. I don't know, a little too glamorous for me. Clara Oswald is plain and boring, like my district.'

'No, I like your name because of that reason. I hate everything about mine.'

'It also sounds nice in your accent.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'You're in a complimentary mood today.'

'Probably more than I should be.'

'Yeah, it doesn't do too well trying to flatter someone to stop them from killing you.'

'You...you're so much different to the Careers.'

'I was born before the Games, I wasn't raised to be like them. I think they're as foolish as you do. Bloodthirsty and brutal.'

'I thought you would be the same. Aggressive and tough and the ringleader of the Careers pack. Someone not to be reckoned with.'

'Oh, I can be aggressive and tough towards other people Clara, I'm just being nice to you. The Careers in my district are the classic example. That stupid soldier boy Danny and even the fiery redhead. Ashildr is young too but nonetheless feisty. I'm sure she could defeat many opponents.'

'Why are you being nice to me, then?'

He sighed. 'Why do you keep asking me that?'

'Why wouldn't I want to know? I'm the most uninteresting of all the tributes here. I'm honestly nothing special.'

'And yet you showed skill in both swordplay and shooting, how is that not special?' His eyes didn't look away from hers, not even for a fraction of a second. She could feel the intensity of it almost becoming tangible.

'I'll be easy to beat.' She shrugged.

'You have charm and wit too, though. You shouldn't forget those, they could come in handy.'

'How do you know this already, we just met properly a few hours ago and that was you nearly detaching my limbs with your sword.'

'I simply observed you, Clara. You're so much more interesting than you seem.'

His voice became soft, and she could sense the whirlpool of thought his brain was taking him.

'You're kind. I didn't expect it from you.' She whispered.

'I'm kind to those I want to be kind to, Clara. One of them is you.'

He smiled when she did, leaning further against the railing. The wind was whipping at both of their hairs, almost blinding her, and his own curls ruffling wildly.

'I think we should go.'

'Were we even supposed to be here in the first place?' She asked.

'I've actually no idea.'

She laughed as they ran to shelter, marvelling at how forceful the wind was before riding the elevator down to her apartment.

'I'll see you tomorrow.' He said, as she stepped out.

'I'll make sure to surprise you with a sword being shoved in your face.'

He chuckled. 'I'll look forward to it.'

She watched him slowly disappear as the elevator descended to the first level of apartments. The voice in her mind screaming about her promise to stay away from others quietened a little, and for the first time she didn't care.