Chapter 7

"You are all here because each of you was found worthy enough to receive the honour of representing your district in these Games. Each and every one of you has a chance to taste the glory of victory. You each have your various skill sets; bravery, cunning, determination. Yet all of you must know that not one station here is less important than another. Each station brings a different skill available to be added to your repertoire of knowledge; each one brings a higher chance of survival. Ignore nothing, embrace everything." I smirked. She was speaking of the trivia stations; those that no one attended, all instead choosing to participate at the weaponry stations, hoping to intimidate others into alliances. Yet, she was right; no true victor would ignore learning the ways of survival in favour for relying solely on the use of weaponry. They would link together knowledge of natural survival with the ability of how to handle weapons, creating a force so strong fellow tributes would cower before it, submitting. I myself already had amassed the knowledge of survival during the years since my father's death. I would utilise this knowledge to the best of my ability, to ensure my victory, my inevitable victory.

I headed towards the weaponry station with the careers, much to my displeasure. I would have rather we had gone to the agility station first; for if you are unable to run you are unable to fight, plus it would have given us a chance to scout the tributes handling of the weapons without notice. However, I stayed with the careers, unwilling to let them train and amass knowledge I would otherwise not know they gained. Locking eyes with Cato, he mocked bowed my entry through to the station. So, he viewed me as a threat to his leadership. This I could not pass up. In answer I curtsied and waltzed beneath his arm; as I did so, I picked up the nearest weapon. The knives. A weapon I could handle with ease, though not with superiority. I leaned against the frame of the station, willing the careers to choose their weapons; I noticed Clove glaring at me, her weapon of choice must be the knives. In answer I threw them, one by one with deadly accuracy at a single target; each knife pierced the handle of the one preceding it. I sent a smirk to Clove, daring her to challenge my skill, as she made to fight. Coward. She'd backed off; following her gaze I could see a Peacekeeper watching us. I raised an eyebrow. They didn't trust us, and why should they? Most careers would kill off their opponents' right here, before even entering the Games.

The careers forced myself to spend almost all of morning training at the weapons station; Clove, as I suspected, was deadly with the knives, having pinpoint accuracy 100 metres away, splitting the handle in the bulls eye each time. Marvel was skilled with the spear; Cato could handle a sword, no matter its weight, length or size, with intimidating skill, hacking off each limb off the dummies. I could see the younger, weaker tributes shuddering as they watched. I smirked. Nice to see the tributes fear us. It would lead to more exciting hunts for prey, waiting and following as they ran around, blinded and scared, fearful for their lives. They would beg and plead, and yet I would taunt them, give them that glimpse of survival before I crushed it before their eyes. My smirk turned into a malicious smile. Oh, how wonderful their deaths would be. Finally we had Glimmer. Much to my displeasure, she was not a novice with the bow, having handled and shot with the bow with fair decency, yet she was not as skilled as I was. It, the bow, seemed to be her forte; none of the weapons available matched her as did the bow, their temperaments clashed frequently causing her to misplace her aim. Every single one of them took great, obvious pleasure in handling the weapons; not one of them cowered away when another got in a good shot. These careers were skilled and bloodthirsty; however, it was still unknown whether any of them had intelligence and cunning, knowledge of survival to match it with.

Their familiarity with each other was strange. None of the districts knew each other, nor their strengths, yet, this set of careers was well versed in different areas of weaponry, complimenting each other well. As we headed to lunch, I glanced over at Marvel. A smirk was spreading on his face as he laughed at a comment Cato had made demeaning the tributes from the poorer districts. If I had any care for my district, I would have lashed out at him for the comment. Like Mellark. "You think you're so great, 2, well at least my district has a sense of community and propriety. None of us are coldblooded murderers. What can you say for your district?" I turned away, chuckling softly. None are coldblooded murderers? He, a townsman, has no clue to the hardships many of us from the Seam face daily. Most families in the Seam never know when their next meal will be, whether they'll be able to send their children to the school, or whether they will survive another day. Many I suspect would kill for their families without a care in the world, whether that would be animals as I did, or their fellow humans. "Mellark, as much as I despise having to be paired as your district tribute, I will offer you a piece of advice. Shut. The. Hell. Up. And do not embarrass me or the district with your words. Do you realise the damage you're doing to the image of the district?" He flinched. Dismissing him, I turned away in disgust. How weak, how pathetic was he? He flinches at every word I give; he has no respect whatsoever neither for courage nor image, he does not understand what it takes to strive for what you desire. My whole life I've longed to compete in these Games; to put my skills against my fellows who have also trained for it, and to come out on top, showing my skills to be superior, and that I am the only one worthy for the honour and glory that comes with the victory. And Mellark the puppy dog is slowly, oh so slowly, destroying my image, my credibility, my worthiness to compete. Oh, how his death is longed for. He does not deserve to live after what he has done and is doing.

We gathered around the largest table; whilst the weaker tributes were still trembling at the thought of the arena, we were pushing each other around. Cato gave an extra shove, causing Marvel to fall back in mock horror. I chuckled darkly, this display of violence was quite refreshing for it was completed not in detest but in harmony. How interesting it'll be to see each of these tributes turn on each other when there is no one left to hunt. I felt a tug on the edge of my sleeve; I turned, aware that the careers had suddenly gone quiet. It was Female 11, the weak girl who seemed as if she may possess some cunning and silence, yet not enough to truly become a threat. I sneered. "And why does a tribute choose to deign themselves with my presence?" Unlike Mellark, she still stood straight at the sound of my voice. "I was wondering whether I could sit with you and your friends. Thresh has decided that I am unworthy of his company, even if I can hit the target and handle the weapons better than him. I believe his exact words were you'll be dead within the first minute upon entering the arena Rue, get lost." This was new. The weaker tributes, if they survive the bloodbath, usually ally themselves alongside their district, having a deeper bond of trust between the district partners than allies from enemy districts. Cato deemed himself responsible to answer her, "Never would we choose to lower ourselves to accompany weak filth such as yourself. The answer is no." I shot a look at Cato; leaning across to whisper at him "She has more skill with the slingshot, and would be useful as a spy. Keep her alive and be friendly. She's our route to tracking the other tributes whom we are not hunting." Turning to Rue, I replied in a fake voice that we would see on results of the day's training. She nodded and turned away, missing my smirk as I snickered at her back. "Katniss; oh do please carry on toying with her. It's so amusing to watch." Clove sneered at Rue. "She is weak, and so easy to manipulate, its classic." I locked eyes with Female 2. "Why thank you Clove. Glad to know my demeanour is appealing." We snickered. No one truly understood how fun it was to perform power plays upon unsuspecting victims, then watch as they, as it is too late, find out your constant manipulations. It had always seemed as if I was the only one to enjoy these particular forms of power plays, and yet now I have found another in the form of one of my more skilled opponents. This would be amusing once it boiled down to a few. Cato frowned; I believe it was due to the fact I got on so well with Clove. He had already assumed the unofficial title of leader; he surely expected to be the best, the faster, the strongest, the most charismatic. And I must be contesting the latter, with how easily I have got along with his district partner. This was good. Ever since I knew that I would participate in the Hunger Games, I knew I would be a contestant, not just participant, and would rival the skill that the leader possessed, and challenge his ruling; his annoyance meant he was already feeling challenged.

The afternoon training session started the moment lunch ended. Without waiting for the careers, I strolled straight towards the agility station. The whispers of the careers signalled they were following me. Pushing Mellark to the ground, I took my place at the front of the queue where I was joined by Cato. "12, why are you here? The agility station does nothing." "Aside from giving you more of an advantage in a fight or chase, when you can dodge incoming obstacles while your opponent is stuck. In a matter of life or death, agility gives you a higher chance of survival, especially when faced with the prospect of surviving with no weapons. Would you rather you died and brought dishonour to yourself, all due to the lack of knowledge you had on the topic of survival?" Shaking my head, I headed up to the start of the Gauntlet. The assistant looked surprised when I barked for him to start my time; not waiting I jumped up to the first platform, leading onwards to the next. A trainer attempted to swing the pad at me, yet his aim was so clumsy, it was easily avoidable. This pattern kept repeating; I kept making my way through the platforms avoiding the pads; then suddenly I'd reached the final platform. One minute 3. Two seconds behind the fastest time. That was not acceptable. Being victor means being the best; coming second only served to anger myself, especially since the fastest time currently was set by the drunk. Keeping my annoyance hidden, I let no show of my emotions on my face; yet somehow, Cato whispered "You may have come second, but remember. He's not in these Games. You are. Act like it, or you'll be killed personally by myself."

And so this was why the careers had him as the default leader. He may seem gentle, but in the next moment you register he's already planning your death. We're alike in that sense; we both wish to be the best. The victor; we both know that to reach our desires we must do whatever we must. I slipped through the mass of tributes choosing to take their chance at the Gauntlet. As if they could beat my time. If the drunk had the fastest time, beating the average by 40 seconds, he was, as much as I hate to admit it, very good. Appearing behind the careers, I heard them discussing my attitude towards the training. "She's too blaze about the horror of fighting. She wants this, just the same as we do. Why can you not see that she's ready to fight us, and come out on top?" "Clove. Shut up. She's from District 12. No tribute from there survives long, no matter how good they seem. And Katniss is no different. You realize that you're defending a girl whom will be killed within the first day, more than likely inside the bloodbath. 12 have no way to survive, especially when in the arena." So Cato has no wish to recognise my talent? When we arrive in the arena, oh how I would prove him wrong. The conversation grew in heated whispers until I finally found them too tiring; catching Clove's eye I signalled to her to cut the conversation off. "Cato. Marvel. Glimmer. I know how vehemently you are against 12 having any skill, yet do you realize that the very object of our conversation is listening to us?" I smirked.

"Sorry careers. Suppose I'm better than you wish me to be." I snickered. How idiotic were they? This conversation had been continuing for over half an hour, and had very nearly attracted a crowd. None of these careers had any sense of awareness when it came to interactions within their cliché; the weakest tribute with the least skill in handling weaponry could attempt to blindly swing a sword in front of their eyes, and yet not be seen. This was one skill they lacked, and one that I would exploit to the greatest affect; it would eventually lead to their downfall. Turning my back, I walked towards the doors. The careers, with the exception of Clove, had no wish for me to be with them in the Alliance; how annoyed they would be when they find out that I, in the end, was their biggest threat. And by then they would be dead. Though, they were my best shot at gaining weapons, and make survival easier; I could focus more on the actual killing and torture of the other tributes. I smirked.

They were still going to die.