Training Center

The Training Center always seemed to metamorphose during the actual Games in Dallas's view. Without the tension of children facing life and death, without the frantic preparations to make tributes ready for cameras and interviews, it was a much quieter place. The entire team (minus tributes) still used it as their base of operations during the Games, of course, but it lost much of its luster without the kids who made these "ceremonies" what they were. Some of the floors already stood vacant – Districts 3, 6, and 7 had no more stake in this year's Games. Their teams could stay on to the end – should their tributes have made alliances before their deaths, they could still fight on for another district's cause – but this early in the event, there was no reason to stick around.

Dallas had plenty of reason, however. District 10 didn't often get tributes who lasted too long – especially recently, with District 1 having cleaned up well in the past decade – but this year had proven a turn for the better. With both Laredo and Sam having made their ways away from the Cornucopia alive – and with Sam having forged some semblance of an alliance – he had work to do.

Cheyenne did too, but she didn't want to acknowledge that.

"Where you goin'?" the victor of the 76th Games lounged about on a couch, television streaming coverage now that night had settled in the arena. Most mentors didn't work much past sunset, what with the Capitol's audiences often gathering in rambunctious parties, except to send down parachutes and track their tributes. Cheyenne had taken the easy way out, setting up an electronic link straight to the Control Center so she could perform minor actions like that without even leaving.

"Gonna go have a chat," Dallas replied, ignoring the cigarette butt that Cheyenne flicked to the floor. "You should really quit those things."

"Nothing else to blow my money on," Cheyenne coughed. "Guess I could try booze. I'll look into that. Who you chatting with?"

Dallas rolled his eyes – who else was actively still involved at night, apart from the Gamesmakers and their staff? "Since we were both paying attention at Control earlier today, our girl picked up an alliance. I'm gonna go see if I can do anything with that."

Cheyenne laughed heartily. "With Haymitch and Rory? Lemme know how that goes. Ask Haymitch if he can send any of his drink this way."

As Dallas turned towards the elevator, Cheyenne added another bit of wisdom. "If you're going to Finnick as well, don't bring Augusta. 'We' were out earlier and this one rich schmuck mentioned Finnick. Her face was hilarious. It was like a poorly drawn squirrel in mismatched pastel colors. Just stupidly funny."

Dallas had strategically planned to hit up District 4's mentor Finnick Odair first; for all he knew, Haymitch Abernathy of District 12 would be in a horrible state of drunkenness. Rory Hawthorne took care of most of District 12's solicitation in years prior, and with his nephew in the games, he'd probably be working in overtime. Haymitch, on the other hand, had plenty of free alcohol to keep him company. Two-to-one odds would probably win the man over, however.

The elevator ran quietly and quickly in the Training Center now. Six quick stops, and District 4's floor opened up into view. It looked exactly the same as the tenth floor – same walls, same colors, same arrangements, everything. The floor was much quieter without someone as loud and boisterous as Cheyenne, however – Finnick's fellow mentor, a plain young woman named Jetty, rarely talked to anybody and kept to herself. She had a habit for leaving during the nights and walking about the Capitol – a trait that she'd inadvertently been able to turn towards sponsorship collection. Dallas figured she'd be out, and with most of the native Capitol people always out and about at nights, Finnick would probably be the only one home.

That proved to be wrong, as a bottle of liquor rolled about on the floor and male voices came from the den. Apparently Haymitch had been sober enough to have the same idea – or at least had figured it out while intoxicated.

"There he is," Haymitch belched as Dallas turned into the main living quarters of the fourth floor, finding Finnick sprawled out on a couch, his bronze hair loose and untidy. "Where have you been, big boy? I thought you'd have kicked back ages ago."

The bottle rolling about the floor had been Haymitch's previous; he had already reloaded with a fresh round of whiskey. For his rampant alcoholism, the man from District 12 hadn't aged too badly; his hair had grown into a dark state of gray and ran all over the place, but his face was still easily recognizable as the victor of the Hunger Games nearly a half century ago. For being in his mid-60s, Haymitch had kept himself in decent shape.

Compared to Finnick, however, both he and Dallas were heavily outclassed. Finnick had ignored aging into his mid-40s, keeping up and maintaining the youthful yet chiseled look that had wealthy Capitol denizens fawning over him. Although Dallas knew he had little sympathy for the strange people who called this place home, the mentor from District 4 had milked suitors every year for all they were worth. The district never seemed to go without at least one contender in the Games every year – partially due to Finnick's unquestioned ability to bring in sponsorship funding and allocate it as needed. For Haymitch and Dallas, he was now a valuable asset.

"Has the princess up there decided to kick the habit yet?" Haymitch rambled on, taking a swig from his bottle of whiskey. "She's gonna die before I do at that rate."

"She'll probably get around to it when you do," Dallas smiled good-naturedly, keenly aware he was the youngest and thus least experienced in the room. That spoke of the combined years of mentoring around – Dallas was in his nineteenth year after winning the 79th Games, yet Finnick and Haymitch had been at this far longer. "I thought I was gonna have to drag you up to this."

"Well, you know what they say about old dogs," Haymitch mused. "They uh…actually I don't know what they say about old dogs."

"I'm glad we're holding everything together so nicely," Dallas chuckled. "Finnick, good to see you – haven't had a chance yet, all the running around. How's things on the homefront?"

Finnick was keenly aware of the game at this point – one tribute of his had joined the Career pack in Cascade, and the other had worked her way into a band of misfits. Neither had the inside track to survival – but Gannet stood a much better chance in her group than Cascade did against the likes of Hadrian. Besides, dealing with Dallas and Haymitch was infinitely more pleasing than having to hash out details with Enobaria of District 2 and Cashmere of District 1, who stayed on as mentors despite having numerous younger victors who could have replaced them. Neither were particularly appealing types.

"Firth's the age where you get concerned about this kind of stuff as a parent," Finnick answered, referencing his only son. "But I guess neither of you need to worry about that. Annie…she's day to day. She doesn't do so well this time of the year."

Before Dallas could let the awkwardness of Finnick's line sink out, Haymitch came in with a save. "Well that's a sunny outlook."

"About as much as your happy disposition," Finnick turned the conversation towards friendlier places. "At least you've got the refreshments. Jetty ordered them all out of here; she's got some sort of death wish against a bottle."

Haymitch laughed and thrust the bottle at Finnick. The three mentors spent the next several minutes dragging on small talk and passing the whiskey about. Dallas didn't favor drink much as well, but in the social situation of boozing the other two veterans of the Games up, he'd have a tactical advantage to work with. Most of the mentors and victors knew each other and considered their relationships friendly; some had gone beyond that, such as with Finnick and his wife and fellow victor, Annie Cresta (although Finnick still regularly got about the Capitol; Dallas had long since suspected Annie knew and approved for the sake of the tributes. She represented the best of the victors' club, even if she wasn't all there in the head.)

However, when it was down to trying to save one tribute or the other, Dallas would do what it took to give himself some leverage, no matter how much he considered these two men friends. Intoxication proved one of the easier methods.

"Had a bit of a close call today," Dallas began to steer the conversation in the necessary direction. "Apart from other things. I thought Cheyenne was going to pick a fight with Johanna Mason in the Control Room earlier. Girl spats."

"Why is Johanna even still here?" Finnick wondered. "She, uh…doesn't really have any business left this year."

"Free food," Haymitch hiccupped. "My best guess. Can't eat trees back in 7. But I guess we all had a little close call today."

The three went silent for a minute, staring at Claidius Templesmith and Constantine Flickerman on the television screen debating something irrelevant. Actually working into what they had to negotiate proved to be tougher than expected.

"How's yours doing, Finnick?" Dallas ventured an inquiry to break the ice.

"Cascade's doing the usual. Hanging with guys from 2 and 1," Finnick offered. "I didn't really like him much coming here and during training…his family's got money compared to most of the people back in 4. Bit snotty. But we're mentors, right; can't really make that kinda call."

"What a nice worry to have; too rich," Haymitch intervened. "Look at me saying that. Ha! Maybe I'll buy a pink-haired dog and go strutting about the streets too. Ya' think cat whiskers would look good?"

"That'd definitely go well here. Maybe you'll start a new trend," Dallas chuckled. "How 'bout your people, Haymitch. How's Rory taking it?"

"He works a bit harder than me," Haymitch eyed the bottle as if it might run away. "But I guess we're not all that different than your situation, huh? Or yours Finnick. At least one half of it."

"Guess so," Finnick confirmed. "Guess that's why we're here."

Dallas had his pitch ready. "That other kid of yours, Cascade…if he's sticking around with Hadrian, how long do you think he's gonna last when they inevitably break up?"

"Probably not too long," Finnick admitted, scratching his head. "But that was easy to see a mile away. He's got nowhere near the kind of size that kid from 2 does. No real brains, so forget about trying to work a decent strategy. There's no way I'm going to go try and talk with Enobaria and Vespasian about their little band, either…neither of them are, say, 'nice.' Enobaria could really use a dentist."

Haymitch guffawed at that diagnosis. "Seriously, who keeps their teeth like that? She's just such a fine human being."

"Well, then it looks like your girl has a bit better odds," Dallas moved on, homing in on the point. "But she's going to need a little help. That goes for mine, and Haymitch's who are…well, together. At this point."

"Pretty sure yours just got bailed out," Haymitch said, taking another drink.

"Pretty sure that was mutual," Dallas responded. "Don't gotta keep score. But right now, if you're one of those Capitol people, it looks like District 1's primed for another sweep like last year. I think we can all agree that has to change."

"I thought you were good at this stuff," Haymitch laughed. "Out there, they say 'oh, Dallas, he's the nice guy. Always listens to my problems. Not like you, Haymitch, you just drink and tell me I look dumb. Where's Rory?' That kind of thing. You're all enthusiastic still. Got that youthful vigor."

"Heh. Well, I can only go so far," Dallas acknowledged, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "But Finnick…you have a bit more pull than Haymitch or I."

Finnick sighed, kicking off a couch pillow. "You know, I get enough of these Capitol people trying to get favors without me actually trying myself. That'd just make it worse."

"Yeah, but think about it," Dallas leaned over, eyes up and moving to capitalize as Finnick's mind still swam around in whiskey. "If we can get our three a little help, maybe they can run with that. They survived that mutt today, that's something. They're not just hanging out in the wind, ready to get killed off. Maybe they just need a chance…maybe that girl of yours, Gannet, she goes home to whoever her family is back in your district. My girl, Sam, seems to like her. Haymitch's guy does too."

"Think you mixed that up," Finnick noted, already sensing Dallas applying the pressure and not seeing an escape route. "It's your kid who's the centerpiece. She's the leader. She's the one not leaving anybody behind."

Finnick let his eyes wander around the room before picking up the pillow and tossing it back on the couch. "Alright. You're not gonna let that go, I'm not really sober, and you're probably right. Annie wouldn't be happy with me not pulling my weight when I had the chance to, anyway. I'll see what I can do."

"Who needs sobriety anyway?" Haymitch belched. "Aw. Now you two are gonna try and make me feel guilty. Fine. I'll make Rory do more work. There, I'm a team player."