why am i only capable of updating this story at 1 AM

Anyway, training begins now! Woo hoo! Also, if you still haven't voted in the character poll on my profile, please do! It's very fun and interesting for me to know which characters people actually want to live ahaha

Zippina "Zippy" Sparks, 15
District Five Female

On the elevator ride to the gymnasium, Manny had fidgeted quietly and stared at his feet and doodled on his left arm with a pen he'd taken from their suites. Zippy watched him doodle, as they exited the elevator and found themselves in a short padded corridor with one dead end and locked double doors on the other. The corridor was lined with tributes, some speaking quietly with their district partners, most silent and staring at the doors with sleepy eyes. There was a digital clock over the doors. The time was 8:57.

"The doors will unlock when the time reaches 9:00," said Zippy, poking Manny in the shoulder to get his attention. "It's actually a really simple mechanism. Timed unlocking mechanisms are super important for the Games, on account of fairness. There are some books I read about it, in case you'd be interested."

Manny gazed up at her with huge brown eyes that seemed to be magnified by his glasses. "Cuh-cool," he said. He was blushing again, a blush that darkened his brown cheeks to a color that reminded her of tar.

"You blush a lot, Manny," she said, leaning closer to examine the blush. "You might have some kind of chronic blushing disorder."

Manny squealed and took several steps back, stumbling over his own feet until his back thudded against the far wall. "I duh-duh-duh-don't thuh-think I have thuh-thuh-that," he said, holding both of his hands out in front of him like he was surrendering. She could see sweat glittering on his palms in the fluorescent light from the ceiling strip. His blush had darkened.

"I dunno, Manny," she said, wrinkling her nose. "It's either that or serious social anxiety. And you don't have social anxiety because nobody's ever socially anxious around me." Usually Zippy was the one made to feel anxious, when her classmates giggled and called her a kiss-ass or a nerd or a creep. Nobody's ever afraid of me, she thought, and the thought felt like a brick at the bottom of her stomach. Not that I want them to be. But still. Nobody is.

There was an electronic burst from the doors, which swung open on silent hinges. "Manny!" said Zippy. "C'mon, training's starting!" She waved him away from the wall and slipped into the line of tributes filing in through the doors and into the gymnasium beyond. It was one of the bigger rooms she'd ever seen, almost as big as the ballroom from the night before. The floors and walls were covered in soft blue mats. Throughout the gymnasium were various stations with different signs; some tables, some weapons racks, climbing walls, weights, a wrestling mat, equipment that Zippy hadn't even seen before, so many that the vast gymnasium felt almost cramped. Adults in red athletic gear stood beside each station. Trainers, Zippy thought. We're supposed to work with them.

Standing on a wooden block was a tall man with his arms folded across his chest, watching as the tributes filed into the room. When every tribute seemed to have situated themselves in front of him, he let his arms fall to his sides. "Alright!" he barked. "My name is Loris, and I'm the Head Trainer here today. Welcome to training. Each of these stations is designed to help you brush up on your skills before the Games. There's about an equal mix of survival skill and weapons training stations, so be sure to work on everything before your three days are up. The trainers are here to help you learn and to spar with you. No one is to spar with another tribute. If we see it happening, each tribute involved will be removed from training and will not be allowed to return for its duration. And so help me Capitol, if any of you attempt to harm another tribute during this period, the consequences will be much more severe for you than you'd expect. Remember, the Gamemakers are watching, and they value fairness over everything."

He nodded his bald head. "Alright, explanation over. Get out there and train hard, people." He stepped off the wooden block and waved a hand. "Go on," he said.

So Zippy swiveled her head and scanned the labeled signs on the stations and thought about it. Survival first, she thought, I should definitely learn about finding water in unfamiliar terrain first, since water is the first thing that will kill me if I don't have any. She glanced at Manny to find him shivering uncertainly, glancing at the stations with his eyebrows furrowed, hugging himself around the ribs. He doesn't know where to go, Zippy thought. But I shouldn't butt in. People hate it when I butt in.

But Manny, so far, had been different. He'd always seemed to appreciate her help.

It'll be an experiment, she decided. To see how he reacts if I try to help him out. If he doesn't like the advice, well, I think I can handle that because nobody ever does. But if he does like it… Maybe we could work together. Natalie thinks it's a bad idea, but I don't. I think Manny and I could maybe be a good team.

"Hey Manny," she said, not looking at him, trying to keep her voice casual. "The best station to go to first would definitely be the one about water. You need water to survive and I'll bet you don't know how to find it in most terrains. That's where I'm going first."

Manny raised his eyebrows. "Uh-uh-uh-are you ih-ih-in-vuh-viting me?" he said.

"Yeah!" said Zippy. "I feel like we make a good team. Don't you?"

His smile was so dizzyingly wide she thought in that moment that Manny looked happier than she'd ever felt. "Yuh-yuh-yeah!" he said. "Luh-like…" Then he broke off, frowning again, smile beginning to dim.

"Like allies," Zippy blurted. As soon as she said it, she wanted to close her eyes, to shrivel into a dense little speck. I'm so stupid, she thought. That was too abrupt. He probably doesn't want to ally anyway and why would he? What's so special about me? Everyone hates me. Even Natalie thinks I'm annoying.

She opened her eyes. The smile Manny was sporting now was somehow brighter than the one he'd had before. She could feel it, it was so warm. She felt like she was being bathed in light.

"Allies," said Manny. "Yeah. We can buh-be allies."

She smiled to herself.

"That's settled, then," she said, waving Manny towards the water station. "As allies, we stick together like we have been anyway. I'll show you everything you need to learn. By the end of this training period you're gonna be as smart as I am! It's all about perseverance, Manny. That's what's really important."

Natalie was gonna be mad. She didn't think there was anything redeeming about Manny. And it was true that he didn't really have so many skills, and didn't seem quite as quick on the uptake as Zippy.

But that was okay. He had that smile that made her feel warm and light. And he listened to her without rolling his eyes or walking away or laughing at her.

That's friendship, she thought. I think maybe me and Manny are friends now.

The feeling was so good it was indescribable.

Dante Blackthorn, 18
District Twelve Male

For a while he stood off to one side of the gymnasium and scanned the names of every station. He was not alone in doing so. From across the room he could see Theresa eyeing the stations with narrowed eyes, and several other tributes were doing the same. At the station marked "Water" he saw Zippy gesticulating wildly while a trainer in red jabbed a finger at what looked like a map. Manny sat and stared at Zippy. Dante smiled in spite of himself.

Then there were the Careers, who had drifted together to form a loose circle. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the wall, and watched them. All were well-built, athletic, seemed for the most part unafraid. His upper lip threatened to curl back, but Dante forced it still and toed the blue mat under his feet with the tip of his sneaker. This is what they do, he thought. One and Two and Four. They choose to come here so that they can kill us. And then each other.

He shook his head, pushed away from the wall, and walked between stations to the one marked "Water." The trainer huffed and wiped sweat away from her forehead upon seeing him. "Welcome," she said, motioning for him to sit in one of the plastic chairs set up around her table. "I was just doing my best to explain how to find water in various terrains."

Dante pulled back a chair, which skidded across the surface of the blue mat. He settled into the seat, feeling the legs sinking under his weight. "Hey, Dante!" said Zippy, swiveling in her seat to flash a quick smile in his direction. "You remembered what I said about being on time!"

"Yep," he said. "Hey, Manny."

"Hey," said Manny, raising one hand and wiggling his fingers. His eyes never left the back of Zippy's head.

"Now," said the trainer, smoothing the map in her hands. "What I was doing my best to explain is that water follows gravity. Do you know what gravity is?"

Zippy's hand shot into the air. "It's the force that objects exert on each other," she said. "In our case, the Earth is so much bigger compared to us that the magnitude of its gravitational force is incredibly huge. But actually, we exert force on it too. Every single person and every single thing on the whole planet actually tugs on it in the same way it tugs on us!" Then the manic light seemed to dim in her eyes, and she frowned and slumped back in her seat. "Sorry," she said, "I'm not trying to waste your time or anything, Dante. I know you're here to learn about water. Not gravity."

"It's okay," said Dante. "It's interesting."

Zippy smiled, rocking from side to side in her plastic chair. The warmth he'd felt when they'd met last night suffused his stomach and the back of his throat. She's so smart, he thought to himself. And so eager to please. Poor kid. She wouldn't have been popular back home, I bet.

And then there was Manny, tiny Manny who hadn't once looked at the trainer or the map or anything other than Zippy in the entire time Dante had been sitting with them. He trusts her, thought Dante. Even here. Knowing that they're both contestants in a death match. He's so earnest. It's not safe. They're not safe, not either of them.

"Moving on," said the trainer. "Water flows from high ground to low ground. If you follow the slope of the land around you, you should come across the water in your travels."

"But what if the land has no slope?" said Zippy. "What if we end up on a flat plain, or a desert, or an internal structure?"

"I'll cover all of those," said the trainer, whose eyes had begun to narrow. "When I get to them."

In the end, he sat with Zippy and Manny and the trainer for over an hour. He paid more attention to the tributes than to the trainer. Manny stayed quiet and rapturous. Zippy absorbed everything that the trainer told her and regurgitated it with speed and intensity that startled him. She's very smart, he thought. And she and Manny seem to like me well enough. Zippy's so determined to be useful that in the arena… when it came to it, anyway, I think she'd want to do her best to help me. And Manny would do his best to help her.

Mom, Holly, Rosie, Lilac, I could get home to them. I could get home to my family. The longing was so strong that he had to glance at the ceiling for a moment to keep himself in check.

"Capitol, kid, watch where you're going."

He grimaced, very slightly. That reminded him of home, too. Before the Peacekeepers put a bullet in his father.

He looked down from the ceiling and swiveled in his seat, the trainer still mid-sentence. Behind him, the tall girl with the wild dyed hair from District Four stood glaring at a smaller red-haired boy whose district Dante could not remember. A gleaming silver trident hung from the girl's hand, tines aimed in the boy's direction. "I'm sorry," the boy was saying. "I didn't mean to get in your way."

"You know what would've happened if I'd stuck you with this?" said the girl, glaring. "You would've friggin died, and I'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble. They'd probably rig the Games so I wouldn't win. So cool it with the zipping around and just sit down somewhere."

"Okay," said the boy, nodding, heading for the empty chair next to Dante. "Sorry."

"Maybe you should be more careful with the trident," said Dante.

As the girl turned to him, he got up from the chair and kicked it away with his left foot. She was tall, but he was taller, and he looked down at her and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're all just trying to train," he said. "Cool off."

The trident in her hand was shaking. He watched it bouncing up and down, one of the lights on the ceiling reflecting off the polished shaft and dazzling his eyes. "Hey," she said, "Don't tell me to cool off. I'm trying to train just as much as you." She looked at the trident as if seeing it for the first time. "I- I don't even really know how to use this thing," she said. "I could've killed him. I could've killed him."

Their eyes met. Hers were huge and green and glittering. Then she whipped around and hurried for another station, clutching the trident in a white-knuckled grip.

He watched her for a while. Then he turned to the red-haired boy who had obediently sat in the plastic chair and was now drumming his feet against its base. The boy glanced up at him, smiled crookedly. "Thanks," he said. "That was cool of you."

"Sure," said Dante. His heart had begun to pound at some point during the confrontation. He hadn't noticed. Now it thudded in his ears like the reverberations of approaching war drums. "No problem."

He sat back down. The boy eyed him, and offered a hand. "I'm Ichabod Teff," he said. "District Nine."

"Dante Blackthorn. District Twelve. That's Zippy and Manny," he added, pointing at them. "They're from District Five."

Zippy glanced up upon hearing her name. "Oh," she said. "Hi. You're the guy from Nine, right? Ichabod? I watched your reaping." She looked at him for a moment. "I cried onstage at my reaping too," she said. "So don't worry about not getting any sponsors whatsoever. I bet you still have a chance. A smaller chance, but you still have one."

"Well," said Ichabod. "Thanks."

The chatter continued. Dante leaned back in his chair and glanced at the trainer and her map, but his mind was in Twelve, in the woods. With his family. Setting snares and digging roots. My family, he thought. The chatter around him soothed him, relaxed him. It's like I'm with my family, he thought, seeing District Twelve, seeing the blue of a gym mat. I'll be okay.

Techeela Selyck, 17
District Three Male

"Again," said the trainer, and Techeela hefted the sabre in his right hand and stepped into the fight like it was a dance. Shifting his weight between both feet, arms outstretched, body as low to the ground as he could make it. He watched the trainer, watched as the man eyed him up and down, searching for a weakness. I wonder if this man loves the Hunger Games as much as his peers, Techeela thought, as the trainer lunged forward and swiped out at his shoulder. Or if training with the children who go to die lessens the fun of the Games. He danced to the right, and the blunted edge of the trainer's sabre pierced air. With the man's arm outstretched, it felt natural to Techeela to bring his own sabre up to gently nudge the underside of the man's arm before he could draw it back in.

"If these were the Games," said Techeela, "That probably would've shorn through half your arm."

"Probably," said the trainer, taking a few steps away. "You train back in Three? You seem to know your way around a sabre."

"I fenced," said Techeela, "Before I went to prison. It was a hobby of mine." He crossed over the mat to where the others swords had been hung in a rack and replaced the sabre he was holding. "You were going easy on me, I'm assuming?"

"Oh, yeah," said the trainer. "But I'm still impressed. Skills like that, you could take out half the tributes here, no problem."

Techeela glanced out at the gymnasium. As the morning wore on, the other tributes seemed to be falling into the routine of training. Easy to get your mind off what's coming if you focus really hard, thought Techeela. He could see his district partner Delta dangling off the far wall, clinging to the climbing ropes that were latticed up to the ceiling. The boy he'd met last night at the Opening Party, Ichabod, was hanging around with a small group- the two from Five and an older boy Techeela did not recognize. The Careers were interspersed throughout the gym; one could usually be found at a station with another tribute present. Like they're trying to intimidate us, thought Techeela. Because that's almost certainly what they're trying to do.

"Thank you," he said to the trainer. "I think I'll be taking a break for a while. I'll probably come back before training ends."

"Sure," said the trainer, "When you do we can try working on some more advanced stuff. I can't promise you'll ever be ready to fence a Career, but I can get you close."

Techeela nodded, walked away. From all around him came the murmur of voices, the clang of metal scraping against metal. Where do I go now? he thought. There were the survival stations, which were a gamble; if the arena was a manmade internal structure, as it often was, most survival skills would be obsolete. He could always practice hand to hand combat, which he had tasted often enough back there. His eyes clouded. If anything, he thought, They prepared me well. And he remembered the punches and the kicks and fingers squeezing into his throat until stars exploded behind his eyes. He brushed a hand over his cheekbone. The memory of a dozen knuckles digging into it brought a phantom pain singing to the surface of his skin. That's over and done with, he reminded himself, I'm here now, and this is its own form of prison but at least we're all being civil.

For the time being, anyway.

He blinked. Crossing between stations a few feet ahead of him came his district partner, sweat standing out on the backs of her shoulders. "Delta," he said. She turned around, several strands of her brown curls slicked black with sweat and clinging to the sides of her face.

"Hey," she said, swiveling to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Are you about to ask me a million questions about what training is doing to my mental state?" She leaned back far enough that he heard several pops from her spine. "I'll tell you right off the bat," she said. "It's not doing anything good."

"That's interesting," said Techeela, coming closer. The manacle around his wrist brushed against the back of his hand. The cold bit. "It looks like training is distracting most other people."

"I guess it's distracting," said Delta, glancing around at the rest of the gymnasium. "The Hunger Games is a pretty enormous thing to be distracted from, though. If other people are letting a few trainers distract them from that, then I don't know. I don't know how they could."

She had begun to walk towards a station advertising various knife skills. Techeela fell into step behind her. "I wanted to ask you about last night," he said. "After the Party. I heard you smashing glasses in the kitchen. Why did you do that? Why did you wait until you were alone?"

Delta frowned. "You were spying on me?" she said.

"No," said Techeela. "You were incredibly loud."

She stopped in her place, sneakers squealing against the mat. "Do you have to always be asking me this stuff?" she said. "Can't you figure me out without the questions? I've seen you do it to other people."

"I could," said Techeela. "But it's nice to hear it from you."

She rolled brown eyes. "I already told you that I ended up in prison those times because me and Peacekeepers don't get along. And you managed to wrangle some of my backstory out of me." Her face was focused and intense, like the thick column of light from a floodlight. "Careful, Techeela," she said. "It's dangerous to be invested in other people out here."

"Don't worry about me," said Techeela. "I'm just curious."

"You know what they say about curiosity?" said Delta. "It killed the tribute."

"I think I'll be alright," he said.

She shook her head. "Look," she said. "I'm going to go learn about knives. We can continue this conversation over there if you want." He nodded, and they resumed their walk. Delta was biting her lip.

"What gives?" he said, pointing at the spot where her teeth pressed down into her skin. She sucked her lip out from between her teeth without looking at him.

"I'm thinking," she said. They'd reached the knives station, a table next to a small ring likely put in place for knife fighting demonstrations.

"About what?" said Techeela.

She sat in one of the chairs next to the table. "About what we're going to do in the arena."

He sat next to her. "I'm sure we'll figure it out."

"Maybe." She picked up a knife, let it dangle between a few of her fingers. "I hope so." Then, without warning, she plunged it so far into the table that the hilt brushed up against the wood. "Or we'll die," she said.

Tough, he thought. Cold. Jaded. Angry at authority. But there's good in her. Compassion. Love of children and the weak.

Then he thought, I don't think I can kill her, knowing all that. I don't see how I could.

Maybe she was right. As he reached for a knife, Techeela frowned. Maybe, he thought, Curiosity does kill the tribute, after all.

Roman Ward, 18
District Two Male

In one corner of the gymnasium, four long tables had been set up for lunch. By the time Roman stopped fiddling with a snare that had fallen hopelessly apart in his hands, the rest of his allies had found themselves seats and were chatting as they waited for the Avoxes to bring food their way. Besides the Careers, their table was empty. The rest of the tributes sat themselves at the other three tables, casting hooded glances in the direction of the loudest, most confident table. It's like the Academy all over again, thought Roman, sliding into a place next to Alluvion. He'd always been at the popular, confident table back home too.

"Hey," he said, glancing at the faces in the alliance. His alliance. Across the table, Starla, Jax and Ivelisse were sitting three in a row. Jax was attempting to engage Starla in a conversation, while Ivelisse picked at her fingernails and cast him a quick smile across the table when their eyes met. I'm glad there's no hard feelings about the leadership thing, Roman thought. Ivelisse is a reasonable girl, I guess. I was concerned she wouldn't be.

"Hi," said Ivelisse, waving across the table.

"'Sup?" said Jax.

"Good to see everyone," said Roman. Avoxes had begun to serve their table, and he smiled and thanked the white-uniformed girl who whisked a bowl of creamy soup under his face. "How did training go?"

"Hmm," said Jax, searching the table for a spoon. "Well, I intimidated the living hell out of the girl from Seven. Nobody's ever been so scared by bivouac-making in their life, I think."

"I did pretty much the same as Jax," said Ivelisse, sipping her soup. "Only I targeted the boy from Eight." She grimaced, her straight white teeth glittering. "I told him if I saw him in the arena I'd… oh, it's embarrassing, I don't wanna say!"

"No you literally have to," said Jax. "You can't bring something up and then not say it. That's, like, evil."

"Ugh, fine." She swatted Jax on the forearm. "So needy. Well… I told him I'd cut him crotch to crown." A blush rose to her cheekbones. "That's such a creepy thing to say," she said. "I don't know why I open my mouth sometimes."

"No," said Roman, "It was good! It means he'll think twice before messing with us." He turned to Alluvion. "How'd it go for you?"

"Fine," said Alluvion, tearing into a chunk of brown, warm bread. Roman could smell the butter. "I told the guy from Eleven that if we met up in the arena I'd probably kill him." From anyone other than Alluvion it might have seemed like an idle threat. But from Alluvion, with the hydra sprawling over his cheek, the cold fish-like dead eyes that stared out from his skull, it was probably enough.

Roman turned to Starla. "How did training go? Do you feel better with a trident?"

"A bit," she said, squirming under the collective gaze of the Careers. "I only trained for like, two years back home. So it's hard." Sweat was collecting on her temples. "But I'm working on it," she muttered. "I'll figure it out." When he glanced at her hands, he saw they were bruised, blisters starting to crop up. She's working hard, he thought. That's important. I made the right choice, allowing her in.

Someone came up beside him and sat down.

At first, bizarrely, he thought it was an Avox. The idea that it might be a tribute seemed more far-fetched. Roman swiveled in his seat, stared at the girl who'd swiped his bread from under him and was now tearing chunks off and swallowing them whole. Her skin was the color of beechwood, her build so skinny that he thought idly that he could twist her head off with a single jerk. Her face was covered in old scars and scabs. A patch by her jawbone looked as though it had been bleached white.

"Hi," said the girl. "I'm Clover Forney. District Eleven."

Roman narrowed his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest. "Let me guess," he said. "You want to join." It happened fairly regularly, untrained tributes wanting the advantage the Careers provided. But I'm already being generous enough with Starla, he thought. Unless she's something good, she can walk.

"You got it," said Clover. "I've got a sales pitch and everything."

"Alright," said Roman. "Talk."

Clover had finished with the bread. Her fingers crawled across the table, lighting finally on a butter knife that she began to fiddle with. "It's a short pitch," she said. "I'm smart. More than smart. I'm creative, bold, and confident. I solve problems in ways that most people wouldn't even think of." She blade of the butter knife scraped against the table, squealing until Clover pulled it away. "I know you can't know that I'm as good as I say," she said. "But I can prove it to you."

Roman glanced around the table. Ivelisse and Jax were leaning forward. Starla was staring at the knife in Clover's hand with a pout on her face. Alluvion did not appear to be listening to the conversation at all. "Prove it," he said.

"Sure." She dropped the butter knife and steepled her fingers. "Give me a job," she said. "Anything you want done that you can't figure out how to do yourselves. A job and twenty-four hours. If it's possible, I'll be able to do it."

He brought his hand up to his face. "A job," he said. "You really think you can figure out a solution to anything I throw at you?"

She nodded. "I really do," she said.

Well, thought Roman, She's either suicidally confident or she means what she says. "Why do you want to be in this alliance?" he asked. "If you're so smart you should be fine out there on your own."

"Absolutely not," she said, without a moment's hesitation. "I'm not a fighter. If you came for me in the Bloodbath I'd die before I had a chance to put any plans in motion." She frowned. "I give you wild, creative, interesting ideas. You protect me. It's a win-win."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "You want a job? We can do that." He swiveled in his seat. "Anyone want to see something interesting happen?"

"Turn all the trainers' clothing pink," said Jax. "Replace all the weapons with cleverly-shaped chocolate replicas. Explode the Gamemakers. Explode the other tributes. Explode yourself and come back to life."

Clover reared back slightly, unsmiling, as Roman held up a hand. "You've got something there, Jax," he said.

"So Project Choco-Weaps is a go?" said Jax.

"No," said Roman. "But here's something tough for you, Clover. You want into the Career alliance?" He leaned forward. "Injure another tribute and don't get caught. Head Trainer Loris said it would be suicidal to get caught. So don't." He turned back to his soup. "Your twenty-four hours just started," he said. "Good luck, Clover."

Her brown eyes widened. It was as if they were translucent, and he could see the machinery behind them surging and shuddering to life.

She nodded, got up, and walked away without a word. Roman watched her skinny back for a moment. When he turned back around, his alliance was still staring after her. Jax cleared his throat. "Okay," he said. "I'm not trying to be rude here. Really I'm not. But, I mean. What is up with her face?"

Ivelisse burst out laughing. Starla snorted. Even Alluvion's lips turned up into an almost-smile.

"Think she'll figure something out?" asked Ivelisse.

Starla shook her head. "Nah," she said, scraping the last of the soup from her bowl. "Clover gon' die."

Elliot Sole, 18
District Eight Male

Elliot leaned against the far wall and watched Saege Olyviere swing the scythe again and again. Cutting the dummy's ribs and hips and neck and skull into thin strips of oblivion. As cotton rained down on the mat like thick wet pieces of flesh, Elliot thought, I need him. If I want to ally with anyone in these Games, it's him.

The Careers were, of course, out of the question. Trained killers all of them. There was no way they would respect him for what he was: a street rat with some fights behind him, but nothing like what their Academies had put them through. And he'd rejected his district partner Flax just as quickly. She had clearly mastered the art of disappearing (in truth he hadn't seen her since training began, although he'd kept half an eye out) and while there was often use for someone like that, he couldn't see her lasting very long.

Elliot didn't need someone who would vanish. He needed someone who would intimidate. And so far, his favorite candidate was the boy who was even now cutting into the dummy with enough force to tear out its viscera.

Elliot pushed away from the wall and strolled to the dividing ropes that separated the scythe training dummies from the spears next door. He stopped by the rack of spears, picking one up and hefting it in his hand. The weight was unbelievable. This is not for me, he thought, rolling the shaft along his palm. I couldn't kill someone with this. Except maybe myself. Too hard to use.

He peered at Saege out of the corners of his eyes. Saege was almost as tall as Elliot, muscular where Elliot had always been lean. They had similar complexions; Saege must have been an outlier in Eleven, which tended to produce tributes with darker skin. It was difficult to read his expression as he hacked at the dummy, but there was no immediate weakness. It was a good sign.

Elliot slotted the spear back into its rack. "I don't know how you do it," he said, strolling to the ropes and leaning on them. There was a moment he was unsure they'd hold his weight, but with his forearms balanced on the ropes he felt that he would not fall over. "Your scythe, I mean," he said, nodding at the weapon. "Seems tough."

Saege let the scythe fall to his side. The curved tip flashed past one of his legs. There was sweat running down his broad neck. "It is," he said. "If I hadn't grown up learning how to use this thing I don't think it'd be so easy for me right now." His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed. "I'm Saege Olyviere," he said. "From Eleven."

"Elliot Sole," said Elliot. "District Eight. I don't want to sound like a creep, but I've been watching you for a while."

"Oh," said Saege. "Well. I guess you're about to explain what you mean by that."

"Absolutely." Elliot nodded, grabbed a fistful of rope and shoved it to the ground so he could step over it. Once he was in the scythe area, he thrust out his hand. "I don't want to go it alone in the arena," said Elliot, "And I have a feeling you don't either. What do you say?"

Saege raised his eyebrows, but reached out to shake Elliot's hand. "Honestly," he said, "And I'm not trying to be rude here, but I don't know you at all."

"Good point," said Elliot. "Well. What would you be looking for in an ally, if you wanted one?"

"Loyal," said Saege at once. "A good fighter. Someone who knows how to survive."

"Well," said Elliot, spreading his hands. "Coincidentally, those are the things I'm looking for in an ally too, and they're qualities I have." He smiled. "Were you an orchard worker in District Eleven, Saege?"

"Yep," said Saege. "I hauled equipment and fruit loads, mostly."

"Well," said Elliot, "I had a job too. I ran the most respected youth gang in District Eight."

"Oh," said Saege. "I mean, wow. That's… not something I hear very often." He raised one hand, palm facing Elliot. "I'm not trying to be judgemental!" he said. "Just surprised."

"You're fine," said Elliot. "My point was more that leading a gang taught me all sorts of interesting things. I know how to fight. Not anything sophisticated, but I know how fights work and I've been in a fair few. I know how to steal," and he winked and drew a dirty metal necklace out from his back pocket. "This is your token, right? Nicked it a few hours ago." He tossed it to Saege, who caught it with his free hand and slipped it back into his pocket.

"I didn't even notice it was gone…" he muttered. "Hope you haven't been doing that to anyone else."

"You're lucky number one!" said Elliot. "But in the arena I plan on stealing every single thing I can get my hands on, and sharing those things with whoever's got my back." His gaze softened. "I'm giving you the same pitch I give people I want to start off in my gang, pretty much," he said. "I'm a good leader, I'm fair, and I won't pull anything funny as long as you do the same. We scratch each other's backs. We can get almost to the end like that, I bet." He smiled. "There's a couple days left of training. We could train together, get a feel of each other's styles." The smile widened into a grin. "We could scare the crap out of the Careers. You know one of them told me she was going to saw me in half from my balls to my forehead? Those people are crazy."

Saege winced. "Capitol," he said. "That's awful."

"I know," said Elliot. "And I don't want to go up against them alone. I don't think you want that, either."

The scythe in Saege's hand brushed the mat. "It's a lot to take in," he said.

"Sure," said Elliot. "Most people feel that way."

But Saege nodded. "I'll train with you," he said. "We'll give this a shot." He glanced down at the mat. "You're not wrong," he said. "About the Careers. Alone it's easier for them… to do what they do." He frowned. "Not so easy when there's more than one of us. Not so easy to hunt." The last word was so low Elliot barely caught it. "Besides," he added, "If this doesn't work out we don't need to ally in the arena. No hard feelings."

"Of course," said Elliot.

"But I hope it does," said Saege. "I really do."

They trained together the rest of the day, Saege attempting and failing to teach Elliot the proper way to use a scythe. By the time they headed to the elevators Elliot was sore, sweaty, and smiling more than he had since he'd been reaped.

What he'd needed was someone useful, someone strong and intimidating and trustworthy enough that Elliot would only have to cast the usual amount of glances over his shoulder. Saege was compassionate as he was strong, smart as he was dangerous. He won't betray me, not early at least, because we're too useful to each other before all the Careers are dead, Elliot thought, as he stepped into an empty elevator and pressed the proper button. And by the time the Careers are dead I think the Game will be over, one way or another.

And yet the time for smiling was over. As the elevator whirred and hummed and carried him to his suite, he felt a bone-deep exhaustion chilling into him. This Game will be over soon, he thought. One way or another. His fists clenched. I've got to get back to the others, he thought. They'll fall apart without me.

Elliot would charm, would intimidate, would kill. All of it, as long as he could come home at the end. It was a fair trade.

Don't forget me, District Eight, he thought. I'll be back tearing hell before too long. I swear I will be.

He had to keep thinking it.