All of the good will and optimism Sam had built up through the chariot parade disappeared almost immediately at the start of training.
Breakfast on the first day in the Capitol had started amiably enough as Sam and Laredo adapted to their new environment, with its high-tech rooms and appliances. All assortments of food and clothing, whatever either of the tributes could possibly desire or imagine, came waited on hand and foot courtesy of two red-suited Avox attendants. Sam wanted to ask the mysterious servants questions, but her head told her otherwise – their complete lack of interaction and ability to smoothly slip into the background almost unnoticed left an unnerving knot in her head. Clearly, they were supposed to be ignored – and Sam figured she'd be wise to adhere to this unwritten rule.
"I don't care what you're good at right now," Dallas had spoken at breakfast to the two tributes; a meal that, as was expected, came attended by only one mentor. "Learn something new. You're not in front of a crowd except for the other tributes, and they all have to die, right? So do what you can to improve your odds. Sam, you're good at ropes and such, so learn a weapon to give you some punch. Laredo, you're strong, so figure out something mental, like camouflage or building a shelter. Become well-rounded so that nothing tossed your way in the arena catches you unprepared."
Upon changing into red-and-black jumpsuits adorned with patches reading "10" and taking the elevator down to the training center floor, however, Sam knew they were at once outclassed. Well, at least she was outclassed. In the tight uniform, Royal's silky complexion came across as far more lethal and dangerous – the District 1 girl smugly stood with hips askew beside the similarly-dangerous Fresco. Of course, they were Careers – of course they'd be deadly. No real surprise there – and Hadrian, near the two of them, embodied every bit of the muscle that he'd shown from the chariot ride. This close, his mere presence alone - coupled with an expression somewhere between amusement and boredom - intimidated Sam into a grudging respect of what he looked capable of.
Oddly enough in Sam's perspective, Laredo had the build to hold his own. Compared to most of the other male tributes, he carried as much or more bulk than all but the three Career boys. Clearly, he'd have no trouble in physical situations once inside the arena, although Sam hoped that after the cannon fired for the beginning of the Games, she'd never see him again. Killing your own district partner would not be looked kindly upon back in District 10, and the alternative – teaming up with him – was unthinkable. Sam privately doubted he even knew how to find his left foot, and his attitude towards her since the Reaping had not helped the standing between them.
As the head trainer – an unenthusiastic-looking man named Sulla sporting fire-red hair and a bland, flat voice – spoke of basic instructions, Sam let her eyes continue to wander over the tributes, settling on the girl from District 4 – Gannet, that had been her name. She'd been the one from a Career district to have no volunteer step up for her – and looked just the part of a confused, scared kid of only fourteen, failed by a system in a district that should have fixed this situation. As bad as it was in District 10, Sam figured, a kid like her likely would be far worse off if thrown into the Games – with no training and little heed paid in years past, figuring a Career would step forth. Her small stature and diminutive green eyes further downplayed her cause when standing alongside the smug and sturdy boy from 4.
Sam decided she wanted to meet her.
"-and no fighting between any of you," Sulla concluded his spiel as Sam snapped back to the matter at hand. "You can kill each other off as many times as you want inside the arena. Good luck."
Snap off the bat, the five Careers immediately dove for the weapons stations like wolves. As Sam stared around at the different areas to learn, Royal had already picked up a spear. Like a trained gladiator, she hefted it in a single hand and hurled it towards one of the throwing station's target dummies without waiting for the instructor on hand to speak. No reason to – a dead-on hit straight through the gut.
So she's smart and deadly, Sam thought. Be careful. A headshot may have been the more glamorous thing to show off with – as Hadrian keenly showed, hacking and decapitating several dummies with a long sword – but Royal smartly hit the largest target while still maintaining deadly accuracy and effectiveness. That combination of thinking and physical prowess already stood Sam's hairs on her neck on edge.
Laredo had heeded Dallas's advice, quickly making a beeline for the edible insects station – a surprise, given that Sam figured he'd move to something physical to show off his brawn. Gannet had moved towards knot-tying – a disappointment, as rope-work was Sam's best skill and something she had no desire to show off in at the expense of learning new material. She'd have to find time to talk to the quiet District 4 tribute later.
Go learn a weapon that the Careers aren't all over. Learn something, brainless.
Sam settled in at the archery station, manned only so far by the nondescript girl from District 5 and the station instructor. To her dismay, shootings arrows turned out to be a bad choice – Sam showed no real aptitude for the trait. After a half-hour of learning how to shoot and launching wayward projectiles that spat horrifically out of bounds, Sam figured she'd heard and learned enough (or not enough.)
"Try exhaling when you shoot."
The rich male voice snapped Sam out of her shooting stance, forcing her to look about. Leaning on a wall nearby stood the boy from 12 – the one who had his eye on her in the Remake Center before the parade, the one Constantine had gotten excited about. What did he want from her?
"I'm sorry?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
"When you breath out, it steadies the bow," the boy from 12 replied, picking up a bow off the holding rack and nocking an arrow. "See, watch how I do it."
He effortlessly snapped the bow straight, exhaling softly and letting his shoulders relax. With a snap, the arrow launched forth from the released bowstring like a rocket – zipping through the air and slamming dead-set into the chest target of the closest target. Perfect accuracy, perfect shot.
"You try it," the boy said, setting the bow down. "It gets easier."
"It's not my thing," Sam shook her head. What did this guy want? "Do they teach you to do that in District 12?"
The boy from 12 laughed. "No, not much use shooting coal. It turns into peals when you compress it, though."
"No it doesn't," Sam scoffed, looking at him like he was an idiot. "Those come from things in the ocean."
"Okay, so you're smart. Guess I can't fool you," the boy from 12 shrugged. "Did they teach you that in 10?"
Sam wanted to get to the bottom of this, fast. She assumed she'd be learning things, not being chatted up by some random guy she'd likely never see beyond his kill picture in the sky of the arena. Didn't he have better things to do – like, oh, figure out survival techniques? And where was his district partner, the girl from 12 – shouldn't they be staying together?
You don't seem too keen on staying with Laredo…
Sam drummed up some nerve and stared at him in his gray eyes. "Look, is…there something you're looking for?"
"Can't just talk?" the boy from 12 leaned back. "You're the only one being social today, what with those Careers swinging off to each other over at swords and everyone else looking like they're running from a mouse. I'm Storm, by the way. Storm Hawthorne."
"Sam. I'm not exactly thrilled by everyone's impending death either, if that's what you mean."
"Pleased to meet you too, Sam. Couldn't help but notice your costume yesterday…did you think that up and tell your stylists?"
"I don't design clothes," Sam replied bluntly, feeling frustrated with Storm's attempts at conversation.
"Okay, but you still haven't answered my question," Storm smiled, missing the not-so-subtle hints. "What do you do in District 10? I mean, apparently everyone kills each other with swords in District 2 and throws spears at passersby in 1. We've figured you don't do archery, so…"
"We throw trash at pigs," Sam answered smartly, although she'd figured out a dangerous side to Storm – he wasn't at all wasting his time, and she'd played right into his trap. He's trying to figure out my strengths…prepare himself for the arena. He's a bright one; let's end this now.
"You're district partner's over on that rope course," Sam nodded towards the District 12 girl, who she'd just noticed and paid attention to for the first time. Nothing to write home about – same sort of olive skin and dark hair as Storm, a little taller and considerably slimmer than Sam herself. Being from a poor district – the poorest – she'd likely never had appropriate meals that someone with relatively decent wealth, such as Sam's family, could afford. "Why don't you go join her?"
"She's kinda…slow," Storm winced. "Not my type. But that's a good idea; why don't you come join me? It'll set us right up for the rope course that'll undoubtedly be in the arena."
Manipulative stalker, Sam thought. She wouldn't let herself be played that easily by his mind games. "Think I'll go do something productive, actually. But have fun."
Without waiting for a reply, Sam marched away, fuming. What right did he have interrupting all that she had to figure out in the next three days? And Storm acting like it was some sort of meet-and-greet…everyone but one person was going to die!
Then again, maybe he's on to something with this chatter…figuring out people's weaknesses isn't a bad idea.
Sam slipped over to the snare station, idly held down only by the girl from District 8 – the hysterical one from the Reaping, Kevlar. From afar, the girl was clearly struggling to accomplish much of anything – 8's history had shown a recent trend of abject failure in the Games, and making textiles in smog-choked fabric likely didn't do much towards shaking Career tributes.
"Hey," Sam moseyed up to the snare station as the instructor took notice of her.
"Hi," Kevlar responded meekly. She clearly lacked confidence – her work showed shoddiness and lack of expertise, and the knots she tried to apply on a snare horribly came apart at the slightest touch.
Sam, on the other hand, found a station where she could thrive. The instructor seemed genuinely pleased at having a pupil who understood basic rope work, and quickly had Sam making basic to moderately-challenging traps out of pieces representing bent saplings, rocks, and other natural obstacles. It was like solving a puzzle – figuring the best way to apply maximum force to a snare without making it seem overtly obvious. Sam smiled in her work – this sort of tactical approach suited her talents and smarts greatly.
"How do you do that?" Kevlar looked over after twenty minutes, as Sam notched another trap and the instructor crowed in assent. "You make it look easy."
This girl from 8 presented no real hazard, unlike Storm – she clearly had no real shot of winning, and her lack of confidence meant she likely didn't even see the advantages of learning another tribute's abilities. Sam figured it wouldn't hurt to share a little with her – the chance it'd come back to bite her in the butt in the arena were minimal. Playing the odds was in her favor here.
"I'm good at knots," Sam lifted her eyes in time to see Laredo smash the head off a dummy with a polearm. Where did he figure this stuff out back home? "Once you figure those out, the rest isn't too hard. Want me to help you?"
Sam played the trump card – and watched it backfire completely. "No, no," Kevlar shied away. "I'll get it…just need a little time."
So much for trying to play friends with that one.
Three hours into training came lunch in the gym's dining hall, as Sam tried to avoid Storm from seeking her out. She figured she'd put enough of a dent into his ego to dissuade him – at least for the day. Besides, she'd been meaning to talk to Gannet, and hadn't found a time to do so yet. Dallas had hinted slightly at forming alliances, referencing the Careers and their ability to do so – which had by no means diminished this year, as the three boys and two girls quickly formed around a table with raucous laughter and loud voices. Gannet had more than just the curiosity factor working for Sam – the girl had lived in a Career district, which could prove strategic knowledge against the dominant heavyweights. It was a smart move to at least try to see if she was receptive to friendly overtures.
Sam loaded up a conservative lunch from the various trays – thinking ahead and picking energy-laced proteins and carbs for the rest of the training day – and found Gannet by herself at a table, like most of the non-Career tributes. Although instinct in Sam told her to ignore the girl and eat quickly – she'd kept her head down back in District 10, and her shy nature had dominated during school years – she forced the feeling back down into her stomach. Now's not the time to look like a crybaby. C'mon.
"Is…anybody sitting here?" Sam motioned hesitantly at the table with a nod.
Gannet looked up, and Sam immediately realized she needed to change tactics – the girl's green eyes puffed up with red and a trickle of tears floated down onto her cheeks. The girl sniffed and rubbed her skin before responding: "No…"
Although Gannet, at fourteen, was only a year younger than Sam, the girl from 4 looked far too young to be in the arena. A stable life in a wealthier district kept her from maturing too fast and growing up too quickly – things that may have contributed to a better childhood, but would absolutely rear up like a dragon in the arena. No wonder the Careers didn't want her – she had arrived abjectly terrified.
"I'm Sam. District 10," Sam ventured, taking things as slow as possible. "You're Gannet, right?"
"Yeah," the girl from 4 replied. "I know what you're probably thinking. I should be sitting with them."
She nodded her head at the Career table, where the girl from 2 kept everyone entertained by imitating someone falling off the rope course. Arrogant snot, Sam thought. Laredo should have joined them – he'd fit right in.
"Not really," Sam re-assured her. "Just 'cuz you're from District 4 doesn't mean you have to eat with them. They look like idiots."
Gannet allowed herself a quiet laugh, a soft, tinkling thing. "Cascade didn't even look at me on the train ride in. I don't think I've said more than two things to him. I don't even know if the others know I'm from District 4."
"Is that the boy from your district?" Sam asked, looking to keep her talking. "So he's a jerk?"
"Basically," Gannet affirmed.
Sam took a liking to the young girl already – probably not sound in a survivalist sense, but Gannet really had nothing to hope for in here. At least Laredo kept to himself, despite being thick-headed and lacking any form of tact – Cascade over at the Career table laughed at the jokes of the five tributes with a sneering, grotesque smile. She found him positively revolting – how horrible it must have been to come in with him.
"He'll probably start crying once he runs out of water," Sam joked, trying to keep Gannet's spirits up. She figured she'd found the makings of an early alliance – after all, if she had any hope of getting out of the arena in one piece, she'd need more than simple brainpower and some good knots to do it. Certainly she'd need more than just herself. "Did you know him before…before you came here?"
"I worked on fishing with my family. I heard his father's in administration or something," Gannet stared over at the Careers. "I never talked to him."
"Well, maybe a giant fish will eat him," Sam smiled. "You can take care of that, and he'll only be able to stand there and get swallowed."
Gannet laughed, and Sam felt a surge of pride. If she accomplished nothing else today, she'd managed to strike off on the right foot with another tribute – and that could be far more valuable than shooting arrows or slicing dummies up once she launched into the arena.
Maybe she wasn't so hopeless after all.