Finally, I am finished with volunteering, and will actually have bloody TIME to update. If I haven't updated in a while, check my profile; I regularly keep you guys updated on there. Okay, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Channelling my inner Hannibal Lector at the Damien part at the end.
Keep you in the dark,
You know they all pretend,
Keep you in the dark,
And so it began...
ISABELLA DENNIS, DISTRICT 6
Isabella Dennis is running the Gauntlet. Her fists pump energetically either side of her, her lips curled back in concentration; she moves quickly, in order to avoid tripping. Sweat beads on her forehead, and she lets out a strangled grunt as she bends her knees and soars through the air towards the next landing panel. When her feet make connection with the somewhat slippery metal, she digs her heels into it, and leans backward a little way.
Over the last few days, she's spent almost all of her time on the Gauntlet. Due to her lack of proficiency with weapons, she has decided to embrace her true talent: agility. Well, perhaps she is not as talented as some of the others might claim to be. But so what? Gaining herself a good training score is all that matters and, really, this is the only way that it might be possible.
Spreading her arms out, as she's seen Avien do whilst on this course, she concentrates on what he'd told her. Imagine that you're flying. Shutting her eyes momentarily, an adrenaline-pumped smile appears on her face, and she opens them again as she flies through the air, towards the next podium.
Are they close, her and Avien? She isn't entirely sure. When she'd first seen him, she'd been shocked at his age, for one thing; sixteen years old, him? She'd been readying herself to pity a weak twelve year old, not a potentially dangerous sixteen year old boy.
"Gah!" Isabella's toes connect with the side of the next podium. She hears a crack at the impact, and a bruising pain hits her. Be the bird, be the- Her eyes widen as she falls backwards, and she finds the Gamemakers in her line of sight. A flash of anxiety hits her: they don't seem to be paying any attention to her at all. What they are doing appears… curious.
Eating like gluttons. Talking and laughing with one another; not a one of them is even looking in her direction, unless to shoot a fleeting, rather unamused glance at her. As Isabella falls backwards, the toes of her right foot aching, she watches them. She's interested. So interested, in fact, that she completely forgets she is falling, and her head smacks against the ground.
There are several light chuckles from the Gamemakers lounge as Isabella sits up, rubbing the back of her head. Her head is spinning a little, and she feels stunned, but there is no true damage. Never the less, she childishly checks her own pulse, not fully convinced she hasn't died. If she had died, would the Gamemakers have laughed?
"Probably." She mumbles to herself, before clambering to her feet, and shooting a cheery smile in the direction of the Gamemakers. She skips over to the centre of the room, acting like she hadn't slipped off the Gauntlet, and smiles and nods at them. Those who are looking at her frown, confused by her actions. "Isabella Dennis, District 6." She repeats cheerfully, before letting out a small giggle- possibly due to her head injury- and skipping out of the room.
Once she reaches the waiting room, she staggers, gripping onto the wall with one hand. She hangs her head and, her hand pressing into the wall, breathes deeply. The bruise on the back of her head aches, and her stomach hurts; she feels like she might vomit.
A hand grips her shoulder almost painfully hard, and Isabella glances sideways, eyes watering with pain, to look at the perpetrator. One of the Peacekeepers stands over her, face impassive. "You go out the other way." He says coolly, his tone monotone and almost robotic. Hand still on her shoulder, he tugs half-heartedly, but she does not yield. "Miss, I'll have to insist you come with me."
He tugs again, this time harder, and Isabella lurches. She tries to fight him off feebly, but as he tugs a little harder, she feels a burst of nausea.
"Hey!" A voice breaks into her thoughts. She hears shouting, barely registering it, and it takes her a few moments to register the fact that the hand has removed itself from her shoulder, and she has fallen to the ground. Her face hits the ground, but she barely feels any pain, her vision blurring. She is vaguely aware of something going on behind her, and feels an urge to get up and investigate it, but cannot seem to move.
Eventually, Isabella feels a hand on her shoulder again, and braces herself; however, unlike her expectations, she is pulled gently. When she is back on her feet, albeit still a little shaky, she looks around to find herself uncomfortably close to somebody's chest. A boy's chest, definitely not a girl's chest- unless it was a very flat cheste-Isabella breaks off her thought, barely suppressing another dry giggle.
"You all right, little lady?" She recognises the boy from District 12, who towers over her. He speaks gently and, when she cranes up, she can see a small smile on his face. His stance is relaxed and, although he's rather average, he reminds her of a ginormous stuffed toy. "You look sick."
Isabella shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant, and almost falls over again. She heaves, clutching her stomach, and a few of the other tributes back away warily. The boy from 12 looks like he might back away, his eyes widening in shock, but he stands his ground. Also standing her ground is the girl from District 9. She has her head tilted to one side, her fingers drumming restlessly on her thigh. I feel you, sister.
"Are you going to be sick?" She asks Isabella somewhat unnecessarily. "What did they do to you?"
There are a few mumblings as she says that. The Peacekeepers lining the walls are looking rather tense at this sudden, strange unity; the one who had previously gripped Isabella moves back towards her, grasping his baton. Behind his helmet, his eyes are narrowed.
"Come on. Now."
She complies, leaving a confused community in her wake.
Send in your skeletons,
Sing as their bones come marching in,
Again.
They need you buried deep,
The secrets that you keep are ever ready,
Are you ready?
MASON MAVERICK, DISTRICT 8
As the girl from District 6 leaves the room, the tributes break into discussion. Most of what they say is undirected, although some of it seems to be sent in the vague direction of their respective district partners. The Peacekeepers all remain still, appearing untroubled by this new development, although some of them grip their batons a little more tightly than before, fearing retribution.
Mason's eyes flit around the room, watching carefully. He's interested in the proceedings around him, very interested indeed. Although these tributes do not intrigue him, what they are saying certainly does. Words of defamation; slander, he tells himself. Winning the games is an honour… isn't it?
Truth be told, he's doubted that for a while. Perhaps it is the influence of the commonfolk of District 8- if he had told his parents that he'd been beginning to feel, God forbid, doubt about his certain participation in the Games, they'd quarantine him- but he had been beginning to see the darker side of the Games. And he sees it still.
"…what do you think they did to her?" The girl from 12 is deep in conversation with the girl from 7. How odd. People from different districts conversing? What are they doing? Upon noticing the familiarity with which they speak, the way that they seem to understand each other more than strangers might, he feels a pang of loneliness. As much as he has tried to make alliances, he has been unable to do so.
The Careers? Definite no-no . They appear more troublesome than usual, the District 2 boy and District 4 girl in particular. Although he's considered teaming up with them anyway, they make him feel admittedly nervous… Admittedly in the sense that he can admit it to himself, anyway. He'd never say so to anyone else, even if he got the chance.
Someone is speaking to him, he suddenly registers. He turns his head around towards the boy from District 9, who has his eyebrows raised, as if wanting Mason to answer a question. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" Mason asks, his previously bombastic façade disappearing.
"I was asking," The boy from District 9 says, without a smile. "What you think of what happened with the girl from District 6. Isabella, isn't it?"
Mason pauses, unsure whether he wants to answer the boy or not, but eventually decides that there couldn't possibly be any harm in it. After all, it isn't like this boy poses him a threat. He shrugs good-naturedly. "I'd presume, by the fact that she was clutching the back of her head, that she hit her head…" He realises how pretentious he sounds, and backtracks furiously. "Well, it's a possibility."
"She was on the Gauntlet a lot," the boy from 9 agrees, weighing up his thoughts. He thumbs in the direction of the door, with a half smile. "Also, there was blood all over the back of her head."
"I hope she'll be okay," Someone else cuts in: Mason turns around once more, rather overwhelmed with the sudden social explosion, to see the girl from 9 leaning towards them. She glances towards the door, a compassionate expression on her face. "She looked really hurt."
The boy frowns at her. "What do you care?" He replies. Mason shares in his sentiment; although he is curious as to what precisely happened to the girl from 6, he doesn't particularly mind whether she'll be all right, or otherwise. One less opponent, he supposes.
The girl raises her eyebrows, apparently rather put-out by the other boy's comment. She shoots him a withering look, before replying, "It's not like she's a Career. It's a question of morality, isn't it?" She glances at Mason, and rolls her eyes.
Pursing his lips, Mason looks back at her. "She's just another opponent." Is all he says.
She seems rather irritated by that comment, and glances at the door behind which the District 6 girl disappeared. There is a rather hungering expression in her eyes, and she turns around in search of back-up, but receives none. When she turns back to the boys, she grits her teeth. "Well," She says coolly. "I'll know who to look out for in the Arena, then."
"Oh, I'm not killing anyone," Both Mason and the girl turn to look at the boy, who is looking confused by his treatment. At their questioning stares, he shrugs sheepishly. "I just say it like it is. I just don't feel much compassion for any of you guys, given the circumstances… No offence."
The girl from District 9 makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh, before glancing sideways at Mason. "What about you, then?" She asks, looking him up and down. There is a half smile on her face now, as if put at ease by the boy from 9.
Mason feels a little guilty. Compared to these two, he practically feels psychopathic; he shuffles his feet awkwardly, before deciding what it would be best to do. He nods and smiles widely, trying to ignore the guilt building up inside him. "Yeah. I'm not a killer." Mason speaks with practised confidence, tilting his chin upwards. "In self-defence, but I'd never seek people out."
"Exactly!" The other two look rather relieved by his statement. The three of them fall into a silence, which could be called both comfortable and so intensely uncomfortable that it was making a certain boy squirm in his seat.
Luckily, before the conversation could get anymore dangerous, a Peacekeeper interrupted all of them. "Quiet down! Marcus Delavega, District 7."
The boy from District 7- a tall, rather hulking dark haired boy- is moved through to the next room along, and everyone silences to watch him go. His cheeks flush lightly under the attention and, flanked by Peacekeepers, he disappears from sight.
Mason sighs to himself, and shuts his eyes, tilting his head back.
I'm finished making sense,
Done pleading ignorance,
That whole defence,
Spinning infinity, boy the wheel is spinning me,
It's never ending, never ending,
Same old story...
DAMIEN WELLS, DISTRICT 2
Damien smiles. Doesn't he always? It feels so good to smile at people, especially people he's going to kill. Lure them into a false sense of security, you know? Although that hasn't truly worked, this time round. Perhaps it is the circumstances but people seem to view him as… well… mad. How ridiculous, he tells himself, how slanderous.
He sits cross legged on the ground of the District 2 floor, his eyes wide and alert, and his smile perhaps more lazy than usual. For once, it could even be called somewhat sarcastic, a little challenging. Damien sits directly in the line of the television where, when the District Escort turns it on in a few moments time, the Training Scores will appear.
Thus, he will learn even more about his "opponents".
Observation was key, wasn't it? The other tributes certainly observed him, their glistening eyes wide and meek; like sheep, lining up for slaughter. They were so dreadfully moist, with their pink cheeks and quivering lips, the blood rushing under their skin in delicate veins and arteries. So awfully innocent, with their talks of sparing one another, and coming together as one. So artfully deceitful- some of them, anyway- in the way that they spoke of revolution.
The television switched on and, with it, Damien's grin exploded up a few notches. His facial muscles ached with the pull of it, but he managed to keep it in place; he even bared his teeth. Sadly, nobody seemed to be paying him any heed: they'd all grown tired of his behaviour, even Korina, and were wearying of him in general. Perhaps the initial fear factor had worn off a little.
Pity.
Caesar Flickerman's face appeared on the screen, his cheeks pulled back with years' worth of plastic surgery, his hair and suit a curious shade of blood red. How appropriate! It almost appeared that he had been bleeding to death, his life's blood spilling over his yielding flesh, his mouth agape… Damien pulled himself from an intense daydream in order to pay attention for the first score.
"From District 1, Winner, with a score of 8. Also from District 1, Audrey, with a score of 10"
Damien brought the boy into mind, and narrowed his eyes. Decent score, for a thoroughly decent kid. Interesting. Corrupting Winner was rather amusing; the way that words could manipulate him was intriguing to watch. With each vicious word that spewed from Damien's lips, Winner seemed to wilt. Hmph.
And Audrey? A less interesting and more threatening case. She was less pliable, and more likely to snap due to anger, possibly snapping his neck in the process. A very good score, too; she was certainly deadly, and aloof to boot. Hopefully Exotica will drive her insane. I'll have to watch out for the signs.
"From District 2, Damien, with a score of 9. Korina, with a score of 9."
On the sofa behind him, Korina made a sound of celebration, and was joined by the rest of their entourage. While Damien did not make a sound, a small spark of triumph hit him. Although it wasn't a ten- not that he'd been expecting one of those- it was better than… say… an eight. His smirk was more malicious than ever.
"From District 3, Spectre, with a score of 6. Skylar, with a score of 5."
Not entirely surprising, Damien supposed. Occasionally tributes from District 3 would surprise everyone with their strength, but neither of the offerings from that district had really stood out to him. The boy was shadowed and jumpy, the girl sweet and shy. He mentally crossed them off his list of threats, with a kind of relish.
"From District 4, Rio, with a score of 9. Exotica, with a score of 8."
Not a surprise. As much as Exotica was a braggart, she didn't seem to show much proficiency at actual fighting. Perhaps she had stood and stripped for the Gamemakers, Damien wondered, and his eyes lit up a little. She wasn't a physical threat, but Damien wouldn't want to play her at a game of mental Russian roulette. Exotica did not interest him, in the sense that he understood her quite perfectly. Someone to be knocked off.
Rio? Physically, he was intimidating to Damien, as well as being almost as interesting as Winner. Maybe Rio was even more interesting; there had been less opportunity to torment him, so Damien barely understood the bespectacled boy.
"From District 5, Lukas, with a score of 9. Mim, with a score of 6."
Damien actually raised his eyebrows at that, staring at the rather thuggish face of the boy on the screen. Was he really worthy of a nine? A small frown came onto his face, before it immediately disappeared. Frown? Good gracious! One to watch out for. Probably threw some weights or something similarly vanilla.
And the girl? Didn't stand out much. However, Damien couldn't help- perhaps it was his paranoia from the good score of the male- but scrutinize her. She just seemed too average, it wasn't quite right… He shook his head. Mentally, he crossed Mim Fuze off his list of threats.
"From District 6, Avien, with a score of 7… Isabella, with a score of 4… From District 7, Marcus, with a score of 7… Charlie, with a score of 8… From District 8, Mason, with a score of 8… Aela, with a score of 5… From District 9, Reel, with a score of 6… Finley, with a score of 6… From District 10, Patchouli, with a score of 7… Hiroko, with a score of 6… From District 11, Nickel, with a score of 7… Rose-Mary, with a score of 3… From District 12, Nelson, with a score of 5… Rowan, with a score of 6…"
As the words went on, Damien registered each and every one. Some of the tributes, he crossed off his list of threats. Sometimes, he would deliberate, before choosing; the girl from District 7 took him five minutes to decide, and the boy from 8 took him ten. When he finished, however, he was rather satisfied with his decisions.
The sheep awaited slaughter.
What if I say I'm not like the others?
What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays,
You're the Pretender,
What if I say I will never surrender?