A/N: hey everyone; this is kind of a short chapter, but I thought the stopping point was right. Thank you for all of your encouragement so far! Have some drunken Prometheus as a way of me showing my gratitude (/^-^)/
My hands are shaking.
I've been sitting in the room outside of the training center for hours, waiting for the other tributes to have their turns with the Gamesmakers. At first, I had the company of Artemis and Apollo, but eventually it was their turn. Hebe's, too.
Pan has been silent this entire time. He looks like a scared rabbit, about to be cornered by a hungry fox. At one point I set my hand on his arm gingerly, and he jumps from his seat. "You're going to do fine," I tell him, but it's obvious that he doesn't believe me.
When they call him in, no name, just Male Tribute of Énteka, he stands and almost buckles under his own weight, going into the training center with a bang of the doors closing behind him. I stare at those doors for a bit, simply blinking. Last night Prometheus came into my room again; he told me to do everything I can to impress these people. He's convinced that me getting a high score is the only thing that will make Ares turn his head the other way during the bloodbath, instead going for the weaker children while I have a chance to run away.
A lump forms in my throat.
I haven't really a clue what I'm going to do; I know where the weapon I want sits, but past that, I've got nothing.
"Are you nervous, Kore?"
I turn to my right, little Hestia staring up at me with large, brown eyes and her bouncy curls. We haven't been allowed to speak to one another since that first day in the training center. Hades has kept close watch on her, even though I think he's realized I'm of no threat to his cousin. I won't kill her in the arena; I won't. Still, every time mine and Hestia's path were about to cross, Hades always steered her the other way.
"Yeah," I tell her, swallowing the dryness in my mouth. The insides of my throat feel of sandpaper and my voice is raspy. "Are you?"
She nods, biting her bottom lip and glancing at Hades who, for his part, is looking away as if the conversation between his cousin and I isn't happening. "I'm gonna be the last one; Hades goes before me. I'm gonna try and make a fire, real quick and all. I can make it blow up, if I want."
"Really?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Your cape should have really been alight in the parade, then."
Giggling, Hestia turns once again to Hades. "He's gonna use swords," she says, hiking her thumb at him. And then she sighs. "I can't even hold one."
"Want to know a secret?" I ask, and she nods eagerly. "Neither can I."
This makes her smile go wide, and I can see Hades turn his head to finally look at us out of the corner of his eye. Or rather, look at me. I can't read his expression, but he doesn't seem mad that I'm talking to her. He seems…puzzled. Shrugging, I give him the lightest smile that I can before suddenly the doors to the training center burst open, Pan rushing out crying.
He makes a straight path toward the elevators before I can even ask what's wrong. I wouldn't have time anyways, because the Gamesmakers call for me: Female Tribute of Énteka. Is that what will be on my tombstone when I'm dead?
"You'll do great, Kore," Hestia says.
"You will too, sweetie," I tell her, ruffling her hair. I dare one last glance at Hades, and he gives me a solid nod of his head. A silent good luck my way. I nod back, keeping eye contact with him before I turn on my heel and walk into the training center, trying not to jump when the doors slam closed behind me.
I stride into the middle of the room, where space has been cleared for the Gamesmakers to be able to clearly see the tributes. They're in a booth above me, talking quietly amongst themselves and looking overly bored. Blinking, I take one step towards them and announce my name in a clear, strong voice. Their eyes are on me, but they don't seem impressed.
Sighing, I turn my back to them and move to the weapons wrack, grabbing a scythe from it with a chain attached to the end. We use these back home to cut wheat, the chain mainly to make the scythe easy to carry. But sometimes Plutus and I would mess around with them after we were done in the fields for the day; it was a way to take the edge off of a boring day just to mess around with sharp things. We weren't really the smartest of kids about that kind of thing; too rebellious under the hand of a zealous mother who would have had a heart attack had she seen us.
With a deep breath, I let off a little of the chain in my hands so the scythe nears the floor, and then begin to spin it in a circle, slow at first before making the motion faster and faster. The metals become a blur at my side, and just as it seems dangerously close to cutting my person, I swing the chain forwards with a grunt, letting it run through my hands.
There are dummies across the mat from me. I hook the chain at an angle, slicing through the first one's neck until the head falls off. I land the blade into the chest plate of the second one, pulling it out in an instant and bringing the end of the scythe back into my hand. The Gamesmakers mumble above me, but I'm not done yet.
Not even close.
Spinning my body, I let the scythe fly out again, hooking a dummy and pulling it forwards to the floor. I wrap the chain around my wrist and manage a kick with my foot down onto it, dragging the chain away and bringing the dummy's arm off with a loud rip. Then I take the scythe back again, being showy because now that I've got the feel of it I can. I swing it in an ark on either side of my body, crisscross in the middle, tossing it towards the rafters above my head with a resounding thwack and swinging forwards on the chain, so that I'm able to flip fluidly, landing on the last standing dummy and taking it down, bringing the excess chain in my hand to wrap it around the dummy's throat as if to strangle it, pulling tight.
And then I stand, give one look to the Gamesmakers and bow despite myself. They look…pleased. A small round of claps and I turn to leave the room, but not before I catch a servant come in to take the scythe out of the rafter, but they can't seem to make it budge because the thing is stuck into the wood so strongly. Years of swinging from trees with Plutus have made that happen; we used to see who could make the deepest imprint in the trunks. I won a lot.
When I walk out of the room, Hestia smiles at me. I smile back at her, because I feel good. What I did in there wasn't amazing or anything, but it was good. I'm not stupid; I know it was dangerous and yet I did it without so much as a change of passive expression on my face.
I walk to the elevators with a lazy step, taking one up to Énteka's apartment and facing everyone waiting on the couch eagerly when the doors open, stylists and all. Iris and Nyx bombard me with questions, while Prometheus gives a raise of a brow. How'd you do? he silently asks, and I smirk at him, which eases his obvious anxiety as he settles back on the couch and takes a gulp from a glass of glowing, milky liquid in his hands. Ambrosia, I realize; he's obviously set out to be drunk, then.
"Pan has himself locked in his room," Iris says, waving her posh hand flippantly. "Skittish little child; he doesn't have a chance."
Her words are extra harsh, causing me to glare at her. She doesn't seem to notice though, instead spouting off that she can't wait for the results to air on television after dinner.
The meal itself is quiet. Pan isn't really eating, instead staring down at his plate. Every time I try to talk to him, he doesn't even look up. It makes me feel a bit ineffectual; it's always been my job growing up to make my siblings happy, and not being able to make another child happy kind of sucks. I'm half tempted to start hitting the ambrosia as heavily as Prometheus is.
When dinner is over, the ratings come on television. Everyone crowds around the screen, Prometheus having sat me between him and Nyx. His arm is across my shoulders on the back of the couch. It feels warm and weird and I can see Iris eyeing us suspiciously. At least I know that Prometheus is drunk from the ambrosia and doesn't really know what he's doing. Iris probably just connects it back to the fact the man comes into my room late at night, the door closed for hours at a time. And that since I'm in his constant company, I've started smelling like smoke the way he does.
I don't really care. Let her think what she wants; she'd probably bid me away for a nickel if someone offered, anyways.
Various tributes flash on screen. The male from Énas scores an eight. Ares from Dyo gets a seven. The boy with the lame leg from Tría– name shown to be Hephaestus– surprisingly scores an eight. There are a few other high numbers, Artemis and Apollo both receiving an equal nine. And then comes Énteka's turn. Pan pales as his face comes onto the screen, flashing with a minimal five.
I'm about to turn to him and say it doesn't really mean anything, even though we both know that's not true, but then my picture flashes on screen. Kore Hagne: 10. My eyes go wide; it's the highest score received so far. And before I know what's happening, Prometheus is kissing me on the mouth with a big mwa sound from it. He reeks of the sugary smell of ambrosia and I push him away, patting his shoulder softly and telling him to take it down a notch.
Everyone rolls their eyes at the antic.
Nyx tells me congratulations, as does her partnering stylist, Erebus. Iris hugs me. I look to Pan to tell him good job, just so he can get some recognition, but it's only to find he's glaring at me. I blink, turning away from him and staring at the screen in confusion. Why is he so mad at me? I understand he got a low score, but that isn't my fault…
Hades' picture comes on screen and distracts me for a moment, the lilt of his dark eyes and shadows across his face not doing him justice; he receives an eight. And then little Hestia is shown, and everyone in the room goes silent as her score flashes.
Hestia Prytaneum: 12.
"Holy shit," I say, before I can stop myself.
"Kore, language!" Iris snaps.
"She got a twelve!" I say. "That's amazing!"
"No," says Prometheus, seeming serious even in his drunken state. "It's dangerous. You should know better than to say somethin' like that, Demi."
"Demi?" Iris asks, raising her eyebrow.
"Middle name," I lie easily, and everyone is so busy being shocked over little Hestia's score that they don't question it.
One by one, they announce their amazement. Just as one by one they begin to wind down, telling everyone goodnight and going their respective ways, the stylists to their own apartments in the city, Iris to her bedroom, Pan to his. Until eventually it's just Prometheus and I, and the constant servant girl we've had from day one who stands by at the elevator doors. I like her a lot; she has humorous expressions and knows when to turn her head the other way, acting as if she hasn't heard the almost traitorous words Prometheus and I often speak back and forth. I wish I could know her name, but she has not the tongue to utter it.
"You did good, kid," Prometheus slurs, drawing my attention as he drinks more ambrosia from his cup. I reach out and grab it away from him. "Hey–"
"You've had more than enough. What, you trying to kill your liver instead of your lungs now?"
"Only drinkin' cause I was worried," he says, settling back into the couch sloppily. "But you exceeded expectations."
"Then why was Pan glaring at me?" I ask softly, still stung from the boy's actions.
Prometheus raises an eyebrow archaically. "Isn't it obvious?" he asks, taking out a cigarette and trying but failing to light it. I strike the match for him and he thanks me, taking in a deep breath of smoke before saying, "Not only do you have all the attention from the mentor, but now you're going to get all the sponsors for your republic too. He's finally starting to realize how little of a chance he's got, and how much of one you got."
At the processing of the words, instant guilt hits me. Prometheus is right; with my score all of the looking at our republic sponsors will turn to me. The tribute they'll place bets on to win from my Énteka is me. And poor Pan will be left to his own devices.
"I wonder how that squirt got a twelve though. Mangy looking little thing, ain't she?" Prometheus asks, dashing his cigarette out on the top of the coffee table, leaning back and slipping down the couch.
"She said she was going to make a fire and blow it up," I mumble, causing him to turn and look at me with a disapproving expression.
"You talked to her?"
"Once or twice."
"Kore," Prometheus groans, falling over in his seat now so his head lands next my thigh. "You can't go getting attached to people you're gonna have to kill!"
I swat his hand away as he reaches out to grab my leg and shake it for emphasis. "Stop that! And I'm not attached. It's fine."
It really is fine; I'm okay with dying for her. At least I think I am. And it's not like I really have to contend with her anyways. I'll go my separate way with Artemis and Apollo and more than likely Hebe now too, and Hades will look after Hestia. She isn't my responsibility, and hopefully one of us will be dead before we have to kill each other.
"Sure, sure," Prometheus says, yawning louder than necessary. "Just keep your heart in your chest and not all bloody at other people's feet, kid."
"Yeah," I say, taking in his words and realizing how right they could be. "Okay."