An Unlikely Pair

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 11

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At 7:27 a.m. we are definitely early as the Avoxes (poor souls) are still setting up the gigantic place. We are they only non-servants here, I just know it is wrong to come here yet my teammate fearlessly (foolishly) walks right in and looks around. Why am I sticking my neck out for him again? Oh yes, because I'm hoping this rebellious moron can win. I sigh and follow him around. The place is sectioned into weapons training, physical training and survival training. It is further divided into stations that have dinky little plaques labeling them all. Oh and where does the hunter want to go first? Man it is no surprise at all when he beelines for the Archery Station. There are all kinds of bows and arrows displayed thus the nuisance has to paw each one. I pick up one bow for the hell of it, the shape is odd in my hand and the cord is tauter than I expected.

"Mellark," he starts casually but there is a hint of laughter in his fetching grays. "You need to hold it in your other hand and right way up."

I say nothing; just do as he said. Dude this is so much better! My cheeks color a bit; well just how was I supposed to know? It's not like he or Catpiss were stupid enough to take theirs into 12 with them and demonstrate.

He reaches for the arrows, strings it and takes aim. Oh please no! As I open my mouth to plead with him he puts the things down and leads us to another station. The next is the Knives & Daggers Station, we both palm some to get the feel for them. He probably knows how to really use it; I'm just comparing the feel of this superior metal to my skinning knife back home. The other weapons stations (Axes & Picks, Maces & Clubs, Spears & Tridents, Staffs & Halberds, Swords, Slingshots & Slings and 5 other stalls of weird but violent looking things I don't recognize) don't take us long since we aren't familiar with anything yet. In the physical training section I make sure I know where the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station, Weightlifting Station and Wrestling Stations are. The Gauntlet, Ropes Course, Boxing Station, Savate Station (what the hell is that?), Stealth & Tracking Station and 3 others that make up the rest of it don't look nearly so appealing. The survival section is an odd mix of TV screens, nature bits, forest landscapes, supplies and props. The stations are Camouflage, Edible Insects (girly moment of ew), Edible Plants & Useable Plants, Edible Animals (we need to be told?), Navigation, First Aid (isn't that what sponsors are for?), Fire Making (hey! One I know! Thank you father!), Fishing, Hammock Making (who'll have time for that?), Knots, Basket Weaving, Shelters and etc. Since these are the stations that put the hunger in the Hunger Games it's a bit unnerving to see so many of them that I need to learn. On the plus side when I ask Hawthorne about them he seems to have a level of confidence with some of them. This is a happy bit of information and makes his survival look that much more possible to me.

It's 8:08 when we get done looking at everything and the Avoxes finish and leave. The hunter immediately goes back for the Archery station to practice. His first few shots are gut wrenchingly horrible; they miss by a huge margin and pour ice in my veins. "What the fuck Hawthorne! You're supposed to be good!"

"Don't get them in a twist, Panty." He adjusts this stance, "This bow and the arrows are a bit different than back home."

The jackass' next few shots are progressively better until he is getting killing shots on the mannequin every time. Then he starts to show off; calling out body parts before he releases, increasing his distance, popping out of diving rolls to shoot from his knees and having me toss the figure to make it a moving target. This is one aspect of guy-dom I don't like, their proclivity to boast and show off. I think most grow out of it if my brothers are any indication though I'm flabbergasted he hasn't yet. The damn dummy looks like an over used pincushion when he is done. His smug smirk glows like a Capitol light bulb and gets under my skin. 'Well at least there is skill there to display,' I think. 'Now what to do with that?' His ruined model goes to the very back of a corner closet; behind the cleaning products I'd seen the poor Avoxes use. Pragmatically he sets up another mannequin and now the only sign that he practiced are the few punctures in the backboard when he missed (hopefully they'll be over looked).

The hunter then gets mockingly close to the thing, only twelve feet away and motions me over. "Come on and I'll show you Mellark. I'll teach you not to miss from here." He is still insufferably smug but there isn't the usual hardness to his eyes; it clicks that he is just teasing me.

Maybe it would be fun, or at least more exciting than watching him do his thing but we've been here too long. "It's 8:40 Gale, we should go back up and check on Mr. Abernathy."

He nods after a second then grins, "Just one shot Mellark. I'll even let you hold it like this," He stands facing forward not sideways, puts the whole thing in front of him and brings the bowstring and arrow to his sternum, "so when you miss you can blame it on that."

This is the first time I've seen him voluntarily look goofy and, even if it's to tease me, his honest good mood makes me want to go along with him. However I don't get to because at that instant the doors are shoved open by all the Careers entering. We all catch sight of each other and measure each other up. They are just as large as I thought but the unsettling thing about them is the way they, as one, look over Hawthorne, his stance with the bow, the holes in the back wall, summarily dismiss him as competition with their eyes and let bloodlust take over their smirking faces.

It's time to go. The hunter and I know better than to go 6 vs. 2 under these circumstances yet that doesn't mean we like it. He glares and puts the equipment away. I just know he would love to do something to prove them wrong, to show them he is not weak but the odds aren't in our favor. Even if we fought and somehow came out on top, tributes aren't allowed to fight before the arena and there would be no hiding that sort of brawl. They all stroll in and each goes for the nastiest weapon they can get their hands on. It's a show of intimidation; as such my pride burns to the core when we give them a wide birth and leave without word. We just pass the threshold when their loud, jeering laughter starts.

It takes so much self control not to turn around and at least cuss the sick fucks out but if I really want to do something that foolish it can wait until the arena. The elevator ride up is tense and uncomfortable. Neither of us has ever liked to back down and we have a history of fighting against odds that we shouldn't so it is all the more degrading to walk away with our tails between our legs. When we reach our floor I say, "You worked up a sweat; shower and change. I'll check on our mentor."

I leave before he can argue but go straight to Ms. Trinket's room. After a quiet knock she opens and is still on the phone but looks decidedly less peppy than last time. I raise an eyebrow and am delighted when she nods back. I mouth a 'thank you,' dart to his room, and pound vigorously on the door. Then it opens, all my anger at him from this morning comes back and my firsts clench instinctively.

"Now just calm down sweetheart. You don't want to do anything rash." He says as he straightens his onyx silk tie that matches his belt and shoes. It goes good with the three-piece coal black and Seam gray striped suit he is in. Also the fire color handkerchief in his left breast pocket adds a nice touch. It wasn't just Ms. Trinket that got him up this morning. He is well-groomed, sober and even smells of sandalwood; a complete 180 from this morning.

I hiss at him, "Will that be happening every morning and every night? Even once we're in the arena?"

He leans on the doorframe in a near boneless fashion; it's a lying lazy sort of dangerous. "It is a distinct possibility, sweetheart." His tone mild but his words are superior.

This is both utterly outraging and pulse-quiveringly frightening yet he expects me to back down, to not push the issue since he has cleaned up so nice. Maybe I should but I just can't yield twice in a row. I can't hit his face before he meets sponsors, for sure he has his knife and my complexion can't afford a bruise either so I lash out the only way I can; kick him hard in the shin. It takes out his support leg, makes him grab the door handle in order not to fall from his slouched position and gives me a moment to back out of his immediate range.

"Promise me that you will at least not binge drink during the games or I will make my last breath a curse at you and let everyone at home know how you gave up on us in preference to stay in an alcoholic daze." I snarl. "Mayor Undersee cares for me, my family is well liked among the merchants and Gale can turn the Hob against you when he finds out! Home will be much worse for you!"

There is a long pause and he watches me to see if I am serious about this; he must decide it's all just ridiculous and laughs uproariously. There is nothing more to say if that is his answer so I turn to leave. I know I am almost helpless in this situation, it is a bitter pill to swallow but I don't have to stand there and be his amusement. I am just about to turn the corner when my ears catch a strange quiet whistling sound, a second later a knife flies an inch in front of my nose and stakes the wall next to me. It shakes me but this no time for weakness. I glare at the blade, glare at him then pull the thing out and take it with me.

"That's okay, sweetheart I've got more," He calls.

"But now I have one too." I reply. When his chortles echo after me in answer I stop thinking about him. I don't understand him; his first night in the Capitol and he falls apart. He was fine yesterday, so what changed? I sigh. I'll find a way to deal with him tonight.

On my way to my quarters I note something shocking. In the dinning room a brand new breakfast has been put out. What happened to the one from earlier? They didn't just waste it did they? Well they must have or this wouldn't be here. What an overabundance of food! Nobody back in 12, no matter how well off could afford to waste so huge a meal as that.

"Unbelievable isn't it?" Hawthorne voices from behind me but my eyes are still on the quantity of food.

I concur, "Yes, it's just so m-"

"Well don't just stand there, sit and eat breakfast." Our mentor orders and leisurely walks in.

"We already ate and we've already been down to the training stations," my teammate says defiantly.

And his reaction is? A shortening of a single step just before he sits that I only catch because I'm watching him like a hawk. Then again why would he care anyway? I'm sure he will meet sponsors because Ms. Trinket set them up but I doubt he will actually try to convince any.

He loads up his plate, selects some orange juice (oh good) and glances at us once. "So you didn't get found out by the center supervisors or you wouldn't be the ones informing me on what knuckleheads you've been. So what's the damage you've done?"

For a beat I think the younger Seam will report (if solely to antagonize our mentor more) but he just makes an insolent face that gets us nowhere.

"Well, I'm waiting. It couldn't be so bad if you're both still breathing." His tone is joking yet his gaze is not.

I lift a brow at him, it doesn't even get acknowledged. I don't get him! So now he wants to mentor us and pretend our interaction didn't happen while I still hold the blade? I repeat: I don't get him but fine, whatever! If he wants to be a fickle bitch of a mentor, switching from on and off I'll make the 'on' times count. He needs to be supportive of my fellow tribute (whom is too stubborn to help at the moment), so I report everything to him; the stations, our relative impressions of them, the archery practice, the arrival of the sadists and even our humiliating retreat.

Mr. Abernathy chews for a bit and it occurs to me he may have been pulling my leg, that he wasn't listening and there won't be any help at all. Then, "Can't believe you've actually done some good but don't get cocky. Boy, you want the Careers to ignore you, to write you off. The less they watch you the more they underestimate in the arena. See what you can learn from listening to the weapons and physical training instructors rather than doing it in front of the tributes. You're big and look strong, don't act weak but don't show your strengths and especially don't challenge them in those strengths. Think you can do all that boy?" Haymitch actually stares down the hunter until he gets a stiff nod. "And for you sweetheart, it depends on how committed you are to keeping him alive and to how much you don't want to pair with him in the arena."

"I'll do anything to help him but we are staying separate in the games." I glimpse my teammate giving me a 'this isn't over look' and I know there will be words later.

"In that case learn everything you can from the combat and wrestling but hold back how strong you are. You should at least have one surprise to go into the arena with. You need to get through those stations today and tomorrow because you can't be bruised for your interview with Cesar. Needless to say, stay away from the weights. As for the other stations, since you won't kill and won't partner with someone with hunting skills, you need to learn everything you can from the survival stations. The longer you're alive and the more tributes you out live the more sponsors you can get. Aim to be in the last 3 and just try your hardest to get there." He pauses to take out a flask from somewhere and add some white liquid into his juice. Although it's not much it still makes me scowl at him; he goes on as if he didn't just do it in our faces. "Now for both of you, while you're training, check in with each other, show the Gamemakers and other tributes that you're on friendly terms. At lunch eat together and chat, I want you to create gossip and a stir about you now since you won't pair in the arena."

Of course he had to make things harder, yet maybe it won't be so bad? Maybe if I prattle on Hawthorne can fake listen? Would that work? "Is there anything else?"

Suddenly he shoves a mouthful of food in only to chew and talk at the same time. "Yeah. Watch what the other tributes can do, don't form any alliances, wait up here until 9:40 and sit down and eat." He does it again and little bits of food fly out as he does. "Sweetheart you especially need to gain weight now; won't hurt you either boy." It's a disturbing sign of practice that he can still talk so well.

Ms. Trinket walking up with a fierce (though hilarious looking) scowl explains his peculiar behavior. Wow, so mature. None-the-less we follow his instructions though it feels a bit wrong to support this Capitol overindulgence. Our mentor and escort leave not three minutes later, with her apologizing for not taking us down.

We each go to our rooms after, him to do whatever and I to do some hearty stretching (after I hide the knife). I'll need to be limber if I'm going to take some direct instruction in hand-to-hand combat. What will the specialist be like? Will they be reluctant pricks that I'll have to harangue into teaching me like the coaches back home? No, likely not as they annually have to deal with female tributes.

When it's time we meet by the elevator. He says, "I don't want your help. You should focus on just keeping yourself alive, learn whatever you want and we will just distance ourselves," as we enter.

Oh not this now, can't anything go smooth with us? I just say, "We'll discuss it later but for now I'm following Haymitch's orders." It's a neutral look we give each other but I notice a deep unease in him. Is it because of the elder Seam or me?

Robotically we exit and walk to the large still closed doors of the actual training area. There is a young sounding squeak on the other side just before Hawthorne pulls open the door for me like the gentleman he isn't.

It's coming at me fast, level with my face. I have no dimensions on the object, just that it's silver, pointed and the tip is aimed straight for me. On reflex my fist is up to punch the thing hard. Pain explodes in my knuckles as they collide, my muscles strain then my skin ignites as it scraps for a harsh second before it's gone. Behind and above me there is the loud 'THUNK' of something hitting and sinking into a wall. My eyes swoop up to the source and as soon as I see the embedded spear my word narrows. Distantly I hear shouts and screams going on from both sides of the door. I'm vaguely conscious of my teammate calling my name and taking my aching hand to inspect it. Peripherally I know that the doors are around me are wretched open and people are talking to me in frantic voices. However all I am fully aware of is the big male straight in front of me across the huge room with surprise and bloodlust taking over his hazel eyes. He is the Career from District 1.

Part 11 End.

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Side Note: Not double posting yet but still thinking about it, must consult with muse and schedule. Repeat reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors so…