What. The. Heck. I cannot believe how much of this story I wrote. Seriously, I'm only halfway through sifting through all the crap I wrote.
Anyways, thanks to nchinchilla for reviewing. The reason there was only three is because my story is all OCs, and written by a 14 year old girl. But thanks tons, it made me really happy. So this gaint chapter's for you.
*Hauna wakes us up early in the morning to toast, eggs, and every other breakfast food you could imagine, some that I don't even know the name of. As we eat in relative silence - which I suspect was awkward for Hauna - Katniss walks in, fully dressed with a cup of tea clutched in her hands.
She sits down in the empty chair between me and Rome. "We need to talk about training."
I had forgot in the haze of early morning that our training was starting today. I was nervous - they only weapon I have ever handled was a knife, I have ever once made a trap, and know virtually nothing about camping. I need this training desperately, but I'm sure that I'm doomed to fail.
Katniss spoons some egg onto her plate. "I need to know how you'd like to be trained."
Rome looks up from his toast, which he had been gloomily staring at. "What do you mean?" he asks.
"You can either choose to train together, or separately."
I wonder if Rome can feel my eyes following his every move. I want to be inside his head for once, to see what he thinks of me now, without the feathers and paint and cheering crowd. I half-hope that I've reverted back to old Philly, the girl who played with fire and sat in a corner of the town square alone, listening to birds, using her mother's flute to pipe along to their tunes. The other half of me doesn't know what to think.
All is silent. I'm waiting for Rome to answer, but I also know that he's waiting for me. So I make the only move I can think of - the one that might undo what had happened last night.
"Together," I say. In my peripheral vision, I can see Rome's eyes unwillingly flickering to me for a moment. Then he settles back to staring at his toast.
Katniss seems oddly relived. "Perfect."
"Why?" I ask.
Katniss laughs in a twisted sort of way. "I thought you would've figured it out by now, but I suppose you aren't as manipulative as I was back then." Her eyes gleam with sadness for a moment.
"I know," Rome says quietly as he spreads strawberry jam on the toast.
Katniss smiles, but her eyes remain on me, looking tender. I feel like I child being taught the most trivial life lessons.
"I believe it was President Mason who gave you two your new title last night. Lovebirds."
A shock runs through me as I think of those heated moments after the kiss. Of President Mason's chilling stare.
Katniss continues: "Congratulations. You're the Hunger Games' newest item." Her eyes flicker darkly, expression reminiscent as she stirs her tea.
For the first time all morning, Rome looks at me, really looks at me. And I can't help but stare back.
"Only when you want me to," he says, keeping his gaze on my eyes. "If you ever do."
I nod, then look down at my own plate. Hauna looks utterly confused, but Katniss smiles and touches her fingertips together.
"Good. Training starts in thirty minutes. Everyone will be there, so figure out your strategy fast." She leaves the table, whisking off to her room.
I leave the table too, and Rome gives me a small smile as I pass him, bringing with it a flood of relief. Maybe it really would be like last night had never happened.
When I get to my room, fresh clothes - a thin long sleeved shirt and pants, both black - are already lain out for me. I pull my hair into a tight bun, stuff my pockets with matches and two figurines, then head down the steps.
The Training room is the size of District 12's central square, with wooden floors and a ceiling that is strung with ropes and lined with wooden beams. Several stations are posted on the ground, each with a trainer next to them. I am surprised to see that I am not the first to arrive.
A boy with the face of a rat and long, stringy hair is shooting arrows at a moving target, each time hitting it right between the eyes. In the next station, the little girl from four is bent over a series of complicated looking knots, blond hair curtaining her work.
There is only one other person, one that I had not immediately picked out during The Reaping, though I can't see how I'd missed him.
He is tall and lean, with the build of a slinking cat and brown hair falling in his face. His eyes, perfectly almond-shaped and hazel, were concentrated on a target. He wrinkles his freckled nose as he focuses on a target ten feet away. Something is glinting in his hand, and I give a start when he throws it. Less then a second later, a knife is sticking out of the center of the target, still quivering.
All of them are so good. And what am I? A fourteen year old girl with no training in weapons whatsoever, someone who has never hunted or got into a fist fight in her life. The whole thing makes my head spin, so I sit down next to the one-on-one combat station and take out my pocket knife and an unfinished bird. I begin to whittle its head, feeling slightly more relieved as I slowly and methodically skinned off curling pieces of pine.
The man who os overseeing the combat station is watching me with a curious expression. My fingers falter under his gaze, and I give a quiet gasp as the knife slices the skin on my thumb.
He strides over as I put my thumb in my mouth to stop the bleeding. It comes out bright red, and I feel nauseated as a coppery taste fills my mouth.
"You okay there, little lady?" the man asks, leaning down to look at my thumb. He had a sort of twangy accent, definitely not from The Capitol. I vaguely remember hearing a traveler from District 7 talking like this once.
I nod. "I've had worse." I show him my littlest finger, which has the entire tip sliced off from the time when I was thirteen and being extremely careless with my knife. It has long since scarred over, but sometimes I still think I can feel the piercing pain, and hot, wet blood trickling down my finger.
He fishes around in his pockets for a moment, bringing out a bandage. I accept it silently, winding it around my finger.
"You're the Canary Girl, aren't you?" he asks.
I nod.
"Where's your friend?"
He is referring to Rome, of course. My body races back to last night, but I keep my mind firmly in the present. "He's getting changed," I say. "He should be down in a few minutes."
I search for something else to say. Small talk is not my strongest suit. Besides, my thoughts still linger on Rome. I think of the many fights he has been in. "He's pretty good with a weapons," I blurt out suddenly. Then I flush. I am not sure if I should be telling people about that.
The man laughs, and the booming sound reverberates all through the room. "Speaking of it, you don't look too bad either." He gestures to my plump little Robin, which is now a bit bloodstained, but otherwise intact.
I shake my head. "I've never fought before," I say. "I'll be sure to die in the first five minutes." And with rising dread, I realized that this assumption isn't at all false.
He smiles at me, a bit sadly. "Well, we'll just have to fix that. Come on, I'll help you." He starts to walk, but I remain still. "The name's Badge, by the way."
I trail behind him to the station that the handsome brown-haired boy was just at. Knife throwing. My instinct tells me that this is not a good place to start, but as my hand closes around the knife Badge gives me, a surge of confidence rushes through me.
Badge grabs my arm and pulls it back. "Grasp it loosely, then throw it like you're swinging your arm down. Let go in the middle."
I focus my eyes on the target, but it seems so far away. I tell myself it doesn't matter. It's just one try. So with a deep sigh, I flick the knife.
The knife lands on the wall behind the cardboard cutout of a person, right above it's left elbow. It's sunken in deep though, not even shuddering.
"Was that good?" I ask. Badge smiles.
"Great, for a first try. Don't worry, we'll make a champion out of you soon enough."
"Champion?" snears a voice behind us. I turn to see the girl from District 2. She has straight white blonde hair falling down to her waist, an upturned nose, and swirling blue tattoos and gems spiraling all over her body. She looks to be about my age, despite how drastically different we look. I know at once that she's a Career.
"I highly doubt it," she continues in the same haughty, demeaning voice. She crosses her arms over her skinny chest.
I have had more than enough experience dealing with people like this girl. Brave, the voice in my head whispers. I draw myself up tall and look into her jade green eyes. "Anything is possible in The Games," I say. To let out my frustration, I fling another knife at the target. Hard.
With a twang , it hits it right in the heart, sinking through the entire dummy. As I walk to pull it out, I can just see the girl staring at me with malice. I return with the knife and try to pretend as if she weren't there, taking a few more turns with the knives. They all hit the dummy in various spots.
"I'm Sapphire, by the way," she finally says, her voice less haughty, more surprised. Friendly even. Just because I can throw a stupid knife.
I don't respond.
She stares for a moment, then turns on her heel, blonde hair whipping, and struts away. She mumbles something as she passes me that almost sounds like, "Be prepared to die."
I hit the dummy for a while longer, until all the people are here, and there is a line behind me. I return the knives to Badge.
He shakes his head and hands me the one I had hit the dummy in the heart with. "Practice in your room," he says. "You'll be a pro in no time."
"But we're not allowed to take anything out of the Training Room," I say, but despite my words, my hand closes on the hilt.
He grins and winks. "You're not taking it, are you? Gave it to you myself." A last smile, and he walks away to observe the other tributes.
Most of the weapon stations are full with people, some looking over-confident and gloating as they handle arrows and maces, while others just look desperate to learn anything.
Rome finally enters, and so I follow him to the knot tying station. The man there looks excited to have people.
We tie our basic knots silently. I get the simple ones right, but nothing too complex. Rome grins over at me and holds up a twisted lump of a failed attempt.
"It's called The Knot of the Hopeless," he says.
I grin back and hold up my own. "Mine sorta looks like a turtle, doesn't it?"
We chat over our clumsy knots until the trainer finally shoos us of. Rome goes to the knife throwing station, and I find myself behind the little girl from District 4 at the Disguise Station.
We take a seat facing each other, looking at our arrays of multicolored paints and twigs and nets. I grab the green paint and start to doodle a pattern of leaves on my arm.
She's quiet, only glancing up occasionally and smiling knowingly as she paints herself dirt brown, plunging her hands into the paint and slathering it onto herself, splattering her clothes and hair. She laughs as it gets all over her cheek.
For lack of better thing to say, I say, "Er…hey?"
She grins in a relaxed sort of way. "Right." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Brinna Mathews. And you're Lovebird Girl."
I take it, not caring about the paint that gets on my hand. I wipe it on my other arm. "Philla, actually."
She shrugs. "Whatever you say."
I watch as she pushes her shirt up and over her stick-like shoulders so that the can get the brown under it. Her arms are thin and bony, the color of an untouched snowfall. She looks so small, like her clothes are swallowing her up.
"How old are you?" I ask, more out of curiosity then anything else. She looks no older than ten.
"Twelve." She grimaces. "Don't look it, do I? You're lucky. You have a good body. Canary Boy couldn't keep his hands off you last night." Her eyes glinted, as if she knew she had hit a nerve and enjoyed seeing me squirm.
I flush, and put some green on my cheeks to cover it. "It's not what it looks like," I say, not even realizing how impossibly cliché the phrase is.
She rolls her eyes, which were now shining through a mask of thick brown paint. "Yeah, yeah. Trust me, you'll get all the boys in the game. That can be your tactic," she says, her eyes feverish. "You can seduce them and then kill them in their sleep. That's what I'd do. And I'd call myself the Black Widow and -"
"Seduce?" I can barely contain my laughter.
She nods seriously. "You need a tactic, don't you? I won't tell you mine. It's pretty good, though." She grins devilishly.
The woman running the station comes over and gives a start when she sees Brinna. "And what are you?" she asks, slightly flustered.
Brinna rolls her eyes and gives her an exasperated look. "A log." She clamps her arms to her side and goes rigid, mouth tight. The woman glares and opens her mouth to say something.
I leave them to their argument and walk away, still smiling a bit.
In my mind, I am already compiling an alliance. Rome, of course, Brinna, and me. But that wasn't enough to outnumber the Careers. I think of the boy I saw throwing knives earlier, and my face flushes.
I go through half of the stations, keeping a list of my strengths and weaknesses. Knive throwing is good, and I can practice that in my room with my new knife. I am hopeless at knots and net-weaving. I can camouflage well, and was okay with arrows. I could climb, but not as well as the smaller tributes.
The one thing that got me is the water. It is the one thing I am absolutely terrified of. Whenever Rome or my parents or anyone suggests we go down to the lake on the outskirts of the District, I always make an excuse to hang back. There is laundry that needed folding. I have to do homework.
I wasn't always this afraid of the water. In fact, when I was little I had loved it. I had learned to swim without assistance at three years old, and spent the long, hot days of summer in the lake. I usually went with Rome or my parents, but by six, I was allowed out by myself. I still remember the day I had nearly drowned.
It was chilly that day, though we were still just easing into fall. The leaves on the trees were still green, and the sun still shining.
I had grabbed a ragged dish towel and a bathing suit, scampering barefoot out the back door and toward the lake. I had not bothered to tell my mother or father where I was going. I still curse myself for being so stupid.
For a while, I had just sat on the edge of the lake, dipping in my toes and munching on the bitter crab apples that had fallen from the tree above me. It was a perfect fall day.
As the sun reached the top of its arch in the sky, I had slipped into my suit and splashed in to the water, which was icy cold, yet refreshing. I dunked my head under and let the cold wash over my face.
Wrapped in the folds of the dishrag I had bought was an old coin. It was about the size of one of my eyes, and glinted when it caught the sunlight. On one summer day, Rome had accidentally dropped the coin in the water. We made a game to see who could find it first. I nearly always won, since I was the better swimmer and could hold my breath longer.
I played it by myself, too. I dropped it below my feet, watching it catch the sunlight for a few seconds until it sank deep into the murky water, invisible.
The lake was only about ten feet deep at its most, but finding the coin was a tiring and lengthy process. I searched for it for a few moments, then came up, panting. I dived back in.
The greenish-brown water was too murky to see in after the first couple of feet down, and by the time you get to the bottom all there is is cold and darkness. It didn't matter much at the time though. I squished my hands into the muddy ground below.
I propelled my self forward, going into a reedy part of the water, where the ground was covered in plants. I dove in, pretending I was a fish as I skirted the ground, looking for the coin.
My hand hit against something cold and metal - the coin. With a triumphant smile, I touched my feet to the ground to rocket up.
But as I pushed off, I only went up a few feet. Something slick and slimy was wrapped around my ankle. I bent down and tried to pull at the weed, but it wouldn't come off. I yanked harder, but it only constricted more tightly.
I was starting to need air, my chest tightening. The darkness closed around me, weeds brushing all over my body, each looking like a spiky tentacle.
I screamed but the only sound that came out was a watery wail. I tried desperately to push up to the surface, to escape the darkness. I opened my mouth to breathe, sucking in water.
Just when I was about to give up, the weed snapped, and is shot forward, part of the weed still laced around my ankle. I emerged, coughing and spluttering, from the water.
The only people I had told about this experience were my mother, who demanded to know why I was pale and shivering the rest of the day, and Rome, because he was my best friend and demanded to know why I wouldn't swim anymore.
Ever since then, whenever I look at a lake or ocean, all I can think is the infinite darkness and struggle to breath. All the memories come back with sharp clarity.
The sun is setting through the skylights on the roof, casting an orange glow on the tributes and our playthings. I chuck my knife hard a target, hitting it right in the head, then begin to walk back up to the elevator.
Rome strides up until he's next to me, grimacing and rubbing his forearms.
"Sore?" I ask.
He nods. "They take a lot out of you, don't they? What did you like the most?"
"Knife-throwing." I feel the knife shift in my back pocket, and for the first moment, I feel guilty about taking it from the Training Room.
"I saw you," he said, grinning. "Who would've thought our little Philly could nail someone in the head with a knife?"
I shove him away playfully, for the first moment feeling like we're completely back to normal.
"What'd you like?" I ask.
He considers it for a moment, eyes glazing over. "I was pretty good with the bow. Got it straight in the heart twice in a row."
I silently think about that for a moment. "At least we aren't completely hopeless," I say quietly. My mind flashes back to the girl from 2 with the blonde hair. She didn't think I would stand a chance.
Rome's handed closes around my tentatively around my wrist. "We're one of the best, on the contrary," he says, his gray eyes flickering with a mischief that I'd often seen on his face when we were younger. I roll my eyes.
"Sure, sure," I say. "And I'm going to become president by the time I'm thirty." But there's a smile in my voice that even I can't hide.
We climb onto the elevator and up to the kitchen, where steaming mugs of a creamy soup are already laid out. I slurp mine down hungrily, not bothering to use a spoon. Rome does the same.
Hauna looks wide-eyed at us as she maneuvers her spoon into the mug. I don't care though. She doesn't understand what it's like to be truly hungry. She excuses herself early, looking sick.
Katniss spoons her soup into her mouth daintily. She is dressed in her frayed white robe, her hair still tied back in her severe braid. She looks us over.
"I watched you," she says finally. "A special screening for mentors."
We say nothing, just gulp more soup.
"I think you both have potential," she continues, "but definitely not Cornucopia material."
"Cornucopia?" I ask. I knew what it was, of course, but I didn't have a clue what she meant by "material".
"I don't think you're experienced enough to try to grab anything from the Cornucopia. You have talent, but its only just developing. You're going to have to run for it."
There were two options when you started the Games. One was to battle your chances at the Cornucopia, risking death. But if you came out with supplies, you were much better off than those without.
Option two was to just run like crazy in the opposite direction, and try not to get killed in the process. You're stuck with nothing if you do that, though. I bristled a bit at the finality in which Katniss said this.
"We could take on the Careers," Rome growls, looking a bit angry at being called weak. He flexed his muscles unknowingly, yet still giving off a menacing aura. I didn't doubt him one bit. He was stronger than most of the boys in Twelve.
Katniss flicks her hand in the air, her expression one of annoyance. "That attitude will get you killed," she says with anger in her eyes. "Never assume anything except the worst."
Never assume anything except the worst. The words echo darkly in my mind. Rome dead. Me dead. Leaving our families behind to cope.
I swallow and snap myself out of it. My hands twitch toward my pocket, but I don't draw out my carving tool. I need to learn to survive without it.
Rome seems to have accepted the idea more than me. He nods grimly. "Fine."
Katniss chuckles and shakes her head. "Private session tomorrow. Then Interview," she says as if nothing happened.
"Are our outfits ready?" I ask. I don't think that anything could top off our Chariot costumes.
"Yes," Katniss says. "But that's not the important thing. We need to discuss your tactics, and practice after training tomorrow." She looked at the door, as if checking to make sure no one was hiding behind it. "And just between you and me, I don't think Hauna will be able to handle it. I'll be practicing with you by yourself."
We both nod, and I try to think up a tactic. Over the years, I had seen sweet, timid, strong, sexy, energetic, dark, and so many others that it would take too much time to count. I couldn't think of a single one for me, though.
"Don't fret about it now, though," Katniss says, as if she could read my mind. "For now, take it a step at a time." She's silent, and we take it as our queue to leave.
We start to get up when she says, "But don't take Interviews lightly. They'll be the thing that makes the audience love or hate you."
We wait for more, but her eyes have gone misty as they so often do, and she rocks slowly in her seat. We leave without saying a word. "You're nervous." Rome says. It's not a question. He can always tell.
"I don't know what to do at the interview," I say.
He looks at me thoughtfully, studying me. We continue walking for a minute.
"Just be yourself, Philly," he says finally, just as we reach our rooms. He opens his door. "That'll be enough."
He enters his room, so I do the same. I climb into my bed without taking my clothes off, closing my eyes and burrowing into the overly-plump covers.
I don't think being myself would be hard, but I also didn't think it would be enough at all. I am too boring, too shy. I am not the flying canary girl I had been in my Chariot costume, but a pale ghost of her.
I try not try not to dwell on it, like Katniss said. That would do no good. I just need to focus.
I feel for the knife, still snug in my pocket. I take it out and throw it at the door, where it stuck with a resounding twang. No, I definitely shouldn't be worrying about that.
Besides, the worst is yet to come.