IX

Weariness is rapidly replaced by apprehension as I stand with Effie at the elevators. We are going to meet the other Tributes in person for the the first time today; I'll be meeting my potential murderers face-to-face. It would be a scary notion for anyone, I'm sure. Katniss shows up looking cool and calm on the outside but her nail-biting gives the impression that she is about as anxious as I am. She growls and stubbornly crosses her arms. I'm no more fond of the elevator today as I was yesterday; in fact I can't decide which I hate more: plummeting downwards or rocketing upwards. The elevator is so swift I feel like the floor has dropped out from under my feet and my stomach is in my throat. I grab onto the handrail while biting the inside of my cheek; I briefly consider asking Effie if I can take the stairs next time.
It's well before ten but we're the last ones to arrive in the lower levels where our training will take place. The other Tributes are all standing around in a loose group, wearily testing and establishing personal boundaries. A few of them, they look like Careers, stand closer together though even they don't look friendly towards one another. Most of the Tributes stand silent looking like they want to melt into the floor. Others are more boisterous, some exude an arrogance that grates on my nerves. I pay attention to those who are making it hard to ignore them; their overconfidence might very well be their undoing. There's one boy that's standing in the middle of the Career pack, I think his name is Cato, who is drawing as much attantion as he can; currently he's flexing his biceps for whichever girls he can attract to watch. He laughs too loudly, trying to prove to himself that he isn't just as scared as the rest of us. I shake my head and take in the rest of the Tributes; I'm not disappointed, there are a number of very strong looking individuals in the group, many I have to look out for. I'm startled once again by the shadow of a girl standing tucked next to the tree of a man. Both have a square of cloth pinned to their shirts that determine they're from District 11. I have to supress a smile - the cloth spreads from shoulder to shoulder on her, and is miniturized by his back. I almost do a double-take, but no, I'm sure the cloths are the same size.
I figure I fit in somewhere in the middle of the pack. I'm neither overly tall nor short, nor too stocky or lean. It's obvious by looking around you can tell who grew up disadvantaged. Some of them look like they've never had enough to eat in their lives, at least before they got on that train. Most Tributes stand around looking dumbfounded, as if they still haven't gotten over the shock of hearing their name called out.
I look around the gigantic room and take stock. The space seems to be divided into different groupings - weapons stations are grouped in one area; there is another with heavily padded mats that remind me of wrestling practice; and the other seems to be dedicated towards wilderness survival. Throughout the room there are different physical challenge and obstacle courses as well. All in all, it looks like an oversized deadly playground.
We gather around in a circle as the head trainer, Atala, introduces herself and immediately takes command. She's a tall handsome woman that you could not ignore; I'd imagine there'd be hell to pay if you did. She runs through the rules and a comprehensive list of training stations which each have an expert or two on hand to consult and ask any questions we may have. She explains that there will be mandatory group training courses after lunch today and tomorrow that will focus on some basic combat and survival skills, but other than that we are free to visit any area we would like as per our mentors' instructions. Atala makes it very clear that there is to be no confrontation between Tributes, that there are volunteers at each station with whom to practice with.
With that we are released. The loudmouthed Tributes take off to the weapons stations right away, handling them as if they're extensions of their own bodies. Most of the others head over to the weapons and combat stations as well either out of herd instinct or they truly believe that three days might be enough time to master a weapon well enough to make a difference. The experts at those stations are swarmed right away. I bounce on the balls of my feet ready to follow Katniss wherever she takes off to, but she stands there looking a bit befuddled.
I gently nudge her arm which makes her nearly jump out of her skin in fright. "Where would you like to start?" I ask.
She regains her composure quickly, replying, "suppose we tie some knots." It's not a suggestion that's up for debate.
"Right you are," I say as I fall into step beside her. Her choice is just fine with me. All I really know about knots is how to tie my laces which doesn't really help put food in my stomach.
The instructor, Triquet, starts off with the basics and gets very excited when she realizes one of us actually knows what they're doing beyond tying a bow. Katniss' hands nimbly manipulate the thin rope into a snare, the delight on Triquet's face is evident. My fingers seem too thick to be able to work with the wire that has a mind of its own. I more or less end up with a rat's nest in my hands; I'm lucky that I haven't tied my own hands together. Katniss lets out an exhasperated sigh and guides my hands through the motions with her own. Her touch is electric. I surprise myself by learning relatively quickly - of course it helps when you're trying to impress your teacher. In no time at all, I'm able to consistently produce a decent snare and have mastered a trap that Triquet shows us. I consider it all time very wisely spent.
The reason we choose the camoflage station next is largely due to my pleading suggestion. There is an array of mediums from synthetic paints to muds grasses and berries laid out on various tables. I mix up a medley of colours and textures and start painting my arm. I have a vision in my mind, my hands seem to do my bidding without direction, bringing life to the art I'm creating. I rotate my arm this way and that, blending colours and adding texture just so. The instructor comes by throughout the short process and admires my work, but I've blocked her words out as noise, giving my thoughts full reign. Satisfied, I hold my arm out to study the effect. I've transformed my lower arm into a forest floor littered in moss vines and leaves. The painted shadows lend the mind to think of sunlight streaming through tree branches and foliage. Katniss admires my work as the instructor gushes praise.
"I do the cakes," I say by way of explanation as I reach for a towel.
She looks back to me and says distractedly, "the cakes? What cakes?"
I blush, wishing I hadn't said anything at all. Her attention was directed elsewhere, I didn't need to explain myself. "At home. The iced ones, for the bakery."
She grabs my arm before I start to clean it off, studying my work more closely. I had not picked this design accidentally; I thought I could bring a piece of her true home back to her, if only momentarily and rudimentarily. She drops my arm looking decidedly agitated. I've misjudged her again.
"It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death," she scoffs.
I don't know what I've done wrong, so I switch tactics to try to laugh it off instead. "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you'll find in the arena." I squint one eye and bring my hands up as if seeing a vision before me, painting a picture in the air with my hands. "Say it's actually a giant cake-"
"Say we move on," she interrupts, but her eyes betray the smile she's trying to fight off in spite of herself.
We spend some time at different stations before we're all called in for lunch which is served down in the training area to the whole group. There isn't much talking going on, certainly not between Katniss and me. After a fairly silent and awkward lunch we bump around a few more stations then are called in for our first group training session, which is mandatory for all of us to attend. These group sessions are centered around skill sets that are deemed too important for any one of us to ignore should we happen to miss the stations on our own. Luck truly isn't on my side; I groan inwardly as I recognize the wrestling mats we are gathering around. While we wait for our instructor we all stand loosely grouped looking like weary cattle in a feedlot. A girl across the mat from me keeps blinking strangely, I find myself wondering if it's a nervous tic. She's a slight thing with wild red hair. She seems to not be able to stand still, constantly rocking her weight from side to side and drumming her fingers on her leg. I've seen her at some of the stations - she'd be impossible to ignore with hair that would stand out in any crowd - she's very quick on the uptake and seems a whiz at anything electronic. As skinny as she is though I'd be surprised if she could lift more than a loaf of bread without straining.
The hand-to-hand combat instructor, Thane, takes his place in the center of the group. He wastes no time with pleasantries, jumping right into explaining and demonstrating basic techniques. I pay close attention as he incorporates techniques from different disciplines beyond what I already know. We pair up with Capitol volunteers to practice as he guides us as a group through first basic then more complex maneuvers. We are then on our own to practice as he wanders around the room to coach us individually. I lose myself in the motions, easily melding the different techniques with my own. Though I hold back my strength and slow down my motions I can't help but notice that my sparring partner is having a very difficult time keeping up with me. I pause, breathing hard. Out of my peripheral vision I see that most of the other teams have stopped to gawk at me. I back off even more and even let my partner get in a few soft blows. I imperceptively twist and back away from the impact so it doesn't actually hurt at all. Mercifully Thane notices the pause in activity and bellows for the others to get back to work. I dismiss my partner and head over to a punching bag instead.
Thane comes over to me and circles me like a hawk. He corrects my stance ever so slightly to give me more power and stands back to observe for a second. As I throw a wide uppercut followed switly by a powerful hook with the other hand, he warns me to keep tension in my abs while jabbing a finger into my stomach pointedly. I'm momentarily embarrassed at making such a rookie mistake, and throw a solid punch out of frustration my fist hitting the bag with a solid thump, causing the chains to rattle.
I settle the bag with one hand and suck in air. He asks in a low voice, "you aren't even trying, are you?"
"No," I admit quietly.
"Good. Don't," he says, inclining his head to the Gamemakers' viewing area. I fight the urge to look up. "Save it for them. There won't be anyone to spar with which is unfortunate, you'll have to stick to the bag."
He gives me a few low-key exercises to work on as well as some pointers for my exhibition, and I thank him. He gives me a single nod of approval before moving on.
Dinner is quiet as everyone is so drained from the day, even Effie bids us goodnight early. I'm exhausted from the busy day and fall almost immediately into a welcomingly dreamless sleep.
The next morning flies by as we visit different stations, following Haymitch's orders. To my dismay, Katniss seems to be getting more and more annoyed with my presence instead of warming up to me. I'm reminded of Haymitch's instructions to appear friendly so when we gather for lunch I strike up quiet conversation with her instead of allowing her to ignore me and brood. Yesterday I'd noticed the different shapes, textures and colours to the small loaves of bread at each table. It's a lame attempt at conversation, but it's the only thing I can come up with considering our circumstances. I dump the bowl of rolls on our table and my suspicions are confirmed, each one is distinctly representative of each District. Remembering what my father has taught me through the years, I point out the differences in the composition of each roll. I talk whether she wants to hear me or not, so she has to either listen to me or get up and walk away. I'm sure she remembers her promise to Haymitch as well, so she wisely decides to stay put and pay attention to my rambling, or at least pretend to. I talk quietly so only she can hear, and I notice that some of the others casting suspicious glances our way.
I throw the rolls back into the basket and declare, "so there you have it!"
"You certainly know a lot," she says looking bored to tears. I don't blame her.
"Only about bread," I say. We've caught Cato's attention, so I lean closer to her and say, "okay now laugh as if I've said something funny."
Our laughter doesn't sound as forced as I'd feared, and we attract the attention of most of the room. We ignore their stares.
I smile easily at her and say, "all right, I'll keep smiling pleasantly as you talk." I can't remember ever having to coach someone to keep up a conversation, my personality usually encourages people to over-share, particularly when I don't want them to.
She looks worn but plays along. "Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?"
"No, but it sounds fascinating," I say, leaning forwards on my elbows giving her my individed attention. Of course I haven't heard this story. We hadn't spoken before landing together in this death match. The irony being that I would have given almost anything to talk to her in any other circumstance. Unlike her when I was speaking, I don't have to pretend to be enthralled by our conversation. As she tells her tale I almost forget about the frigid chill that emanates from her. It truly is a fascinating story. With how quickly she replies to my queries I don't doubt for a moment that it isn't entirely true. I end up duly impressed; not many men, much less teenaged girls, would try to challenge a full grown bear over a beehive.
We are called back to training for our second group session, which consists of basic survival skills such as water purification, fire starting, and even a segment on edible plants. Katniss excels at the latter, flying through the instructor's test with near complete accuracy. Based on my results, I'd've been dead three times over. Even after spending an inordinate time studying, I still fail rather miserably. The instructor advises me to either stick to food from the Cornucopia, meat, or be positive beyond a shadow of a doubt about a plant before I stick it in my mouth. She gives me a few pointers before casting me a worried glance and wishing me good luck. I glower at Katniss who looks extremely smug.
We move on to the weapons station and decide to take a lesson on spear throwing. This, I'm halfway decent at. While my aim could be better, I have the strength to be able to really stick a spear in a dummy from a respectable distance. After some work, I can hit the target fairly consistently.
I catch movement off to my side and see a poof of black hair behind a piller. I'd noticed the little girl at other stations as well but had written it off as coincidence. It's now blindingly obvious that she's been following us. I've caught her looking at Katniss a few times, her eyes full of wonder and admiring.
I lean on my spear, butt-down, and stretch closer to Katniss. "I think we have a shadow," I whisper. I've seen how Katniss looks at the little girl as well. Katniss launches her spear then stands back and finds the girl who has come out a little from her hiding spot. Her expression immediately softens. "I think her name is Rue," I offer. Katniss bites her lip, emotion written all over her face - anger and hurt. I know what she's thinking. While Rue's skin is much darker, she bears an uncanny resemblance to Prim. I think back to the urgency in her voice as she screamed for her sister at the Reaping. I know she's comparing this little girl to her sister, if you know her it's impossible not to.
Rue is easily the smallest one here, even the next smallest girl has at least six inches and thirty pounds on the sliver of a girl, at the very least. My thoughts turn dark, I wonder how long she'll actually last in the arena. My heart breaks that I can't protect her too.
"What are we going to do about it?" Katniss says punitively.
Her tone takes me by surprise. "Nothing to do," I say defensively. "Just making conversation."
She throws her last spear and stalks off to another station without a word. Against my better judgement, I motion for Rue to join us. Rue turns out to be a very clever little girl worth many times her weight in gold. She's resourceful, agile and extremely strong for her size. She can wield a slingshot better than anyone else here, and can climb like a squirrel. The rare time she speaks she's so quiet that I have to lean in to hear her. As a goup we are quiet through the afternoon, only speaking up to guide one another through various tasks. We don't speak of home, or the future. In a big-brotherly way, I grow very fond of Rue very quickly. I have to remind myself of who I am here to protect, that only one person gets out of the arena alive. If I could somehow make it so they both could leave, I would, even if it meant laying down my life twice over, I would do it. I taste bile at the back of my throat. I wish with every fiber of my being that it was different, but it isn't and here we are. I do the best I can considering the circumstances: I will show her kindness and compassion. She smiles up at me, and my heart shatters into a thousand pieces.
We head back up to the twelfth floor for dinner. I'm so exhausted and emotionally drained I can barely keep awake through the meal; I shovel food down robotically. The fine Capitol food is tasteless to me now, I practically have to gag it down. Haymitch and Effie want to know every detail of every moment of our day, and I want nothing more than to forget. Forget everything that is making my heart heavy, forget that in less than a few days I'll likely be dead. It's all I can do to keep from tearing both their heads off. I plaster a smile on my face and answer their questions, trying to appear grateful for their help. I take on the brunt of the endless stream of questions while Katniss fumes silently beside me. Thankfully we are dismissed before either of us explode.
Katniss and I walk dumbly back to our rooms. Without thinking I grumble, "someone should get Haymitch a drink."
She sputters and almost laughs, then stops herself. She appears tired, worn to the bone. Looking away from me she quietly says, "don't. Don't let's pretend when there's no one around."
It feels like an unexpected punch to the gut. I'm not the one that has to pretend, I want to say but instead I manage to get out, "all right, Katniss."
Her walls solidly up, she disappears into her room without another word.