*Waves sheepishly*
Hey, everyone. Sorry for the long delay in updates. There was a lot of personal drama going on and I didn't have a whole lot of time to write.
Thank you for all of your amazing support. If I haven't responded to your reviews, I am deeply sorry. It's not that I don't love you guys.
The Mutant Games
Chapter 4: The Ruler and the Killer
The sun seemed to rise earlier in the Capitol then it ever did in District 12. Then again, Charles reflected as he made his way down to the dining room of the penthouse, he had always slept better at home then he did here.
Feeling more exhausted than he had ever in his life, Charles took a seat at the elaborate dining table across from Katherine. Effie, Haymitch, and the stylists were surprisingly absent, but the young telepath wasn't about to complain.
Katherine smiled tiredly at him as he reached for a piece of yellow, crescent-shaped fruit.
His confusion at the weird looking fruit must of shown, for Katherine laughed slightly.
"I think it's called a banana," she offered as Charles inspected it carefully. "Portia told me they're grown in District 4."
Charles was about to reply when Effie and Haymitch entered the room. Effie was dressed in vivid purple, with a matching lilac wig, while Haymitch wore the same sweatpants and torn tank top he had been in yesterday.
"Good," Effie said, looking at them approvingly. "You found your clothes."
In truth, it hadn't exactly been difficult. The black pants and collared shirt with 12 embroidered in red on the sleeves had been laid out at the foot of Charles' bed with a note that read wear this.
Haymitch picked up a small tea pot and poured the brown, steaming contents into a cup, before sitting down at the far end of the table. Even from four chairs down, Charles could still smell the slightly bitter aroma drifting from the cup.
"Today, you begin training," the older man said.
With thoughts of President Shaw's true identity buzzing around Charles' head late into the night prior, he hadn't even had time to think about what today would bring.
His stomach immediately dropped into his feet as Haymitch continued.
"Now, usually, this is where the Career tributes show off their massive skill set," he said, leaning forward and propping his arms on the table. "I want you to do the opposite."
He turned to Charles. "I understand you're decent with a bow."
Charles cast a swift glance at Katherine, who blushed ever so slightly, before shrugging with one shoulder.
"I'm all right," he allowed.
Haymitch grunted, clearly disbelieving.
"Look, I'm not going to turn you in to the Peacekeepers for illegally hunting," he said. "I am trying to work out a plan that will keep you alive. And that means not showing any of the other mutants your true skill set until the Games begin, which for you, Xavier, means the bow. They're going to have some mighty nice equipment, but I want you to stay away from it."
"But what about the exhibition at the end of the week?" Katherine wanted to know. "How are we supposed to be able to get a decent score if we don't practice?"
At the end of training, the mutant tributes were called in one by one to show off their particular skill set. The higher the score, the more talented the mutant was. It was supposed to be a clear indication of how the Games were going to play out—who the strongest contestants were and who had the best chance of surviving—and so the sponsors could put their bids behind the best tribute. In reality, what usually ended up happening was that the tributes with the highest scores were killed off first.
Still, Katherine had a point. If they weren't allowed to practice, then they would fail rather spectacularly in the exhibition.
Not that Charles was all that concerned—he had been shooting a bow since he was six. If he couldn't do it without a week's worth of practice, then he needed to get a new skill set.
Haymitch narrowed his eyes at Katherine.
"Practice something else," he growled. "Or better yet, don't listen to me, show off to all of the other mutants what you can do, and then give them a distinct advantage over you once the Games begin."
His sarcasm bled off him in such powerful waves that Charles was almost sick over it. The telepath was forced to physically distance himself from Haymitch, which wasn't easy to do, given the fact that they were all still at breakfast.
Effie made a breathy comment about politeness, which Charles ignored as he took a spot against the wall.
Haymitch watched him with a predatory gaze, but Katherine merely ignored him.
Charles crossed his arms.
"Anything else we need to know?" he asked, his words clipped. He didn't really appreciate being the center of attention like this.
The older man studied Charles for a few more seconds, before shaking his head.
"Try to learn something new," he advised. "You never know what might be useful in the arena."
The Training Center was a large, spacious room filled with all sorts of equipment. Everything, from weights to wrestling mats to a beautiful archery stand, was set up around the room.
The tributes obviously weren't allowed to duel with each other—there would be enough time for that in the actual Games—but there were plenty of officials standing around to offer suitable partners and coaches.
Charles stood in the entrance way, taking it all in, and trying to replace the barriers in his mind against the rest of the room. It wasn't working as well as it usually did—too much emotional stress, combined with the shocking turn of events last night, left him raw and open.
Giving up, the young telepath lowered his barriers completely, deciding to take advantage of his momentary disorientation to figure out what all of the other tributes were capable of.
The Careers were easy to find, being a mess of teleportation, super-strength, and adaptability that made them very dangerous when combined with the lethal training they received from a very young age. While training for the Games was technically illegal, the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 all did it anyway.
There was one mind in the Careers, however, that stood out from the rest. It was a beacon of light and intelligence, standing out against a rather dull canvas of brute strength and fear. It was surprising, along with the other mutant's ability to manipulate metal. That was a rather unheard of ability, almost as uncommon as telepathy.
Charles longed to spend more time in the other mutant's mind—it was a beautiful array of colors and emotions, some more powerful than he had ever experienced—but he didn't want to risk the other mutant finding him out. So with great reluctance, he pulled out and once more broadened his search.
He would later realize he never did figure out which District the metal wielder was from, nor which tribute it was.
There was one other surprise waiting for the mutant as he scanned through the multitude of minds. Her mind was completely different than those around her, drawing Charles' attention almost immediately.
She was human. In a field of mutants, vastly more powerful than she could ever be.
Dumbfounded, Charles stared openly at the girl from District 5. She was tall for a girl, a few inches taller than Charles, with shoulder-length brunette hair and hard brown eyes.
Her eyes met Charles', and he didn't need to be a telepath to feel the cold hatred pouring off her in waves.
Charles yanked out of her mind, feeling immediately off balance. Before the young telepath had the chance to catch his bearings, Katherine was tugging him toward the survival station. Charles allowed her to lead him, mostly because he was still in a state of shock.
What was a human doing in the Games?
It was unheard of. Never, in nearly three quarters of a century, had there been a human in the Games.
Charles barely had time to mull it over as he and Katherine arrived at their first station. He was then forced to shove it to the back of his mind to focus.
The survival station was simple, offering information about dozens of plants, both poisonous and otherwise. Having lived off the land since he was a kid, Charles knew the majority of them, impressing both the instructor and Katherine.
"Where did you learn all of that?" Katherine wanted to know.
Charles shrugged.
"Through necessity, I guess," he replied. "I had to find things to eat beyond just what I caught in the forest."
He was going to say more, but the general mood of her thoughts hit him then. She was jealous. Jealous of the fact that he knew more about surviving in a situation such as the Games, jealous that he had had an opportunity to do so, while she hadn't.
It was surprising, to say the least. Charles had never thought of himself as very fortunate. Lucky, maybe, to have found a family in Hank and Alex, but not so much that he lost his parents and the home he had once. He had always had to fight for what he wanted, had never been given anything at all.
And Katherine was jealous? Because she had the easier life-perhaps not easy, but definitely a lot simpler than Charles'-where she was almost guaranteed to have a full belly every night, and she didn't have to worry about what she was eating would potentially poison everyone she cared about. She was given a warm place to sleep at night, somewhere safe and unquestionably hers.
They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Katherine didn't want to talk and Charles was too surprised to try to bring her out of it.
The two District Twelve tributes left the survival station and walked over to the camouflage station. Here, Charles learned, with some surprise, that Katherine could paint herself to look like her surroundings.
"My mother made me frost the cakes," she admitted. "If they weren't perfect, then I would have to do them over and over again until they were."
Charles thought back to the times when he passed the baker's window and admired the cakes, of all the times Hank had begged for one. It was surprising to learn that Katherine had created those masterpieces.
"It's impressive," Charles told her, with a little-too-big smile. He was still feeling out-of-sorts about what had been on her mind earlier.
Katherine blushed as she finished decorating her arm to look like a very realistic tree branch.
It was definitely a sort of ability that would be useful in the arena, but Charles knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn't be one he mastered. His art skills left a lot to be desired.
Still, the station did a lot toward improving Katherine's mood, as did the praise Charles and the instructor both kept giving her. A couple of failed attempts to do anything similar to camouflage from Charles helped as well.
By the time they moved on to their next station-rock climbing-Katherine was back to her usual, bouncy self.
(0)
A few hours later found Charles sitting with Katherine in the mess for lunch. Once more, the food was more lavish than anything Charles had ever had, but he had no appetite. There were too many unanswered questions floating around in his mind, questions that were dangerous to know the answers to.
He glanced around the mess hall, absently fiddling with his fork. Charles was unsurprised to find all of the Careers crowded around one large table, their plates overflowing with food. It looked as though that particular alliance had already begun. The other tributes, however, were spread across the rest of the cafeteria, sitting either by themselves, or with their District mate. None of them were really talking.
Charles' gaze rested on a tiny girl with 11 on her sleeves sitting by herself in the far corner of the cafeteria. From his mind sweep earlier, he knew that she was a telekinetic, with limited telepathic abilities as well.
He had not, however, realized just how young she was. She looked barely six, let alone old enough to compete in the Games.
She was so small, with light brown hair that was pulled back into a messy braid, and huge blue eyes that reminded Charles all too much of Hank.
The girl sensed Charles' stare and looked up, her eyes locking on to the older boy's. A soft smile spread across Charles' face before he could stop it, and she smiled shyly in response.
Something broke inside of Charles at that moment. She reminded him so much of his brother, the one he had come here to protect, that it physically hurt him to find her here. How could no one have volunteered for her?
Katherine was speaking to him, asking him if he was all right, but Charles barely heard her. He looked back at his food, feeling sick.
This was barbaric. All of it. It was one thing for a bunch of older mutants to be thrown together and be expected to murder each other. It was entirely another to throw twelve-year-olds into that mix. How could anyone want to harm something that innocent?
Somewhere nearby, a buzzer was sounding, signaling the end of the lunch hour.
Charles stood up and filed out of the mess behind Katherine, barely able to contain his seething anger. On some level, he knew he would never be able to change this, that this had happened every year for the past seventy-four, and would happen for centuries more. But that did little to soothe his hatred for the Capitol.
Katherine seemed to sense his change in mood, for she didn't say anything for the rest of the afternoon. A part of Charles felt bad over that, but it was miniscule compared to the rest of his rage.
He threw every bit of energy he had into learning the skills the Capitol deemed important for the Games for the rest of the afternoon, finding that it was enough of a distraction to keep his mind away from dangerous territories.
The buzzer for the end of the first training rang some time later, and Charles tiredly followed Katherine back to the penthouse. He threw himself down on his bed, too tired to eat dinner, and fell asleep almost immediately.
(0)
The next day went more or less the same way, save for one exception.
Charles and Katherine were at their third station of the morning, when Katherine gently tapped Charles' shoulder.
"You have a follower," she said with a smile, pointing.
The little girl from 11 was standing a few yards away, staring openly at Charles with a look of awe on her face. When she caught him staring, she quickly looked away.
Charles smiled, despite himself.
"She's cute," he allowed.
Katherine stared at him with a little too much understanding in her eyes. Charles looked away and back to the knot he was supposed to be tying, uncomfortable from the scrutinizing stare. She shouldn't have been able to read him so clearly.
(0)
The rest of the morning, the girl from 11 shadowed them. Charles found that he didn't mind so much, having been used to Hank following him through the forest dawn till dusk.
At lunch, she ventured to sit at the same table, only a few seats down. Charles wanted to offer her the chance to sit with them, but stopped himself. He couldn't make friends with her, no matter how much she reminded him of Hank. That was dangerous, and there was no happy ending to that story.
With that unhappy thought, Charles returned to the Training Center with Katherine and once more threw himself into the stations with angered passion and collapsed into a dreamless sleep later that night.
(0)
The girl from 11 followed them around for the rest of the training time, never daring to get any closer than a few feet.
(0)
The last day of training arrived, and with it, the exhibition. Later that evening, after the scores had been posted, there would be a series of interviews as well, hosted by Caesar Flickerman, which would introduce the tributes to the viewers.
Charles found he was looking forward to the exhibition, if only because it meant he had the chance to shoot a bow and arrow. Having gone almost an entire week without it, he was beginning to miss the simplicity of it.
He woke early, which was becoming a rather annoying habit of his, and ate a subdued breakfast with Katherine and Effie. Haymitch and the prep team members were nowhere in sight. Charles thought it better not to ask.
Effie escorted them down to the Training Center, leading them to a small side room.
"You'll wait here until you're called," she instructed, before promptly leaving.
A handful of other tributes were already in the room. Among them were the girl from 11 and the human from 5. Charles had to force himself not to stare openly at the both of them.
The rest of the tributes eventually joined them, before disappearing one at a time through the doors to the Training Center. A part of Charles knew that he should probably be taking this time to glean information about the other mutants' specific abilities outside of their mutations, but he was far too nervous to risk diving into another's mind.
Both all too soon and far too long later, it was Charles' turn. By then, it was only him left in the small room. All of the other tributes had already gone, and hadn't returned.
"Charles Xavier. District 12."
A soft, automated voice spoke seconds before the doors open.
Charles took a deep breath to calm himself before walking into the Training Center.
Instantly, the Gamemakers' thoughts and moods crashed over him, threatening to tear apart his carefully constructed shields. Charles gritted his teeth and quickly reinforced them, but not before he picked up on the boredom pouring off the Gamemakers in waves. Clearly, they were sick of being here.
The young telepath thought that unfair—it wasn't as though he wanted to be here, either, and they didn't stand the distinct possibility of dying.
He shoved that thought out of his head, instead focusing on the archery stand. It was a few feet away and it took all of Charles' self-control not to race over to it.
The feel of the bow was different than he was used to, which made sense. This was a Capitol manufactured bow, made with top of the line materials, while Charles' was constructed out of whatever sticks and twine he had been able to get a hold of.
He lifted it, drawing the string back lightly, surprised by how tense it was.
Taking a deep breath, Charles picked up one of the dozens of multicolored arrows and walked over to the shooting range. There was a human target set up, about ten yards away.
He took aim and let loose the first arrow.
To his embarrassed surprise, the arrow went well to the left of the target, not coming anywhere close.
There was laughter from the Gamemakers, making Charles burn red with shame.
He stalked back over to the archery stand and picked up a handful of arrows, before storming back over to the shooting range.
Charles fired arrow after arrow, letting his anger and embarrassment fuel his shooting.
He made ten perfect kill shots—five in the head and five in the heart.
Raucous laughter sounded from above, alerting Charles to the fact that none of the Gamemakers had noticed his shooting.
Hurt, he turned to look at the Gamemakers, and was stunned when he saw them all gathered around a dead pig, joking about what it looked like.
Outrage flooded the young telepath's veins, erasing all sense of rational thought. He lifted the bow, took aim, and fired.
The arrow struck home, dead center, in the apple in the pig's mouth.
The Gamemakers fell silent, all staring at Charles with a mixture of fear and alarm.
Charles didn't say a word as he dropped the bow, turned around, and stormed out.