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 12

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The center's staff takes me (Hawthorne too because he refuses to stay behind) to a medical room three halls over. They put my limb, up to my elbow, in the mouth of some weird machine and seconds later a picture of all the bones in it are on a screen. The bones in the picture flinch when I flinch and relax when I relax; it's the most amazing thing I've ever seen. A doctor there zooms in the image here and there, with special attention to my knuckles but deems me fine and made of strong stuff. The doctor then puts some strong smelling concoction on it, bandages me up, orders me to keep the cream on the rest of the day and shoos us out the door.

When we finally get into the center's gym we're the called into a semi-circle to wait for the tributes from 3 and 8 to come so we can start. I can feel many eyes on me and my hand; particularly a nasty pair of hazel orbs as District 1's male tribute stands closer than strictly necessary in this gathering. A slow burning anger is building in me, it seems I've caught his interest and now he is trying to intimidate me. This isn't like earlier, it's just him that is trying and it's an empty threat in front of all the staff but the arrogant fuck still wants to rattle me just by being close. Well screw him! After the last district squeaks in, barely on time, and the head trainer gives her speech I march over to the Spears & Tridents Station. All the careers note this but I don't care! Turning tail to them once was enough; they may take this as false bravo or just stupidity yet it doesn't matter. I couldn't stand myself if I backed down from one a-hole just being near me.

At first I'm far from incredible at spear throwing, which kind of shocks me. Normally my aim is freaking perfect; hell I killed mice and rats with pebbles back home as an odd job. It was easy, get a hand full of pebbles, either lay food in the open or flush them out and aim to cave in their skulls. Baseball and dodge-ball were even easier. However the spear is such a long object it takes me a while to manage the proportions (it's not like we throw long sticks around in 12). Even with an instructor's help I'm still not so hot with it and I look worse than I am. It's because Mr. Abernathy said to hold back my strength so I'm not throwing far or sinking the weapon deep into the dummy.

"Feeling better now?" asks Hawthorne, who magically seems to appear next to me, halberd in hand.

My cheeks color slightly, am I that obvious? "Only some, it'd be nice to return the favor."

He shakes his head, "Can't do that now that the Gamemakers are here." He discretely points with his weapon over his shoulder to a balcony above full of Capitol asswipes. "How's your hand?"

His voice is so unusually soft with that question that I realize that he isn't following our mentor's orders but is genuinely concerned for me. This makes me happy for some reason. "It's been fine since the doc put that weird cream on. It still smells though."

"So no problems?"

"None," I confirm. There doesn't seem anything more to say because he is still against our orders thus I announce, "I'm going to the combat guy now" and do so.

There are three men running the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station and each is as big as the biggest tribute, the male from 2. I take the free one and after he introduces himself as Arnold Anton, go at him with everything I've got. Oh he is so good! For ten divine minutes he lets me come at him however I want and he is completely on the defensive. I don't hit him much, majority of my punches and my kicks being blocked, caught or redirected. Yet the best is his telling me what I need to fix with every miss. I've never had such good, clear teaching; I'm positively ecstatic! For the next electrifying ten minutes he switches up and is fully on the offensive. Holy burnt bagels; if he wasn't holding back and just tapping me with his palm I'd be in serious pain now. I block and divert some of his hits if they come to me at traditional angels but the obscure ones or the feints get right through my defense. Still with every breach he makes he then instructs me on what to do better for next time and how to spot which attack is which. In the ten minutes after that we just go at each other, neither speaking a word with smiles stretched wide on our faces. In this back and forth some of my hard earned flexibility is paying off, allowing me to switch from attack to defense and back easily. Finally he sweeps my legs out from under me and I land on my side.

"Ready to learn some specifics now?" Mr. Anton asks with a beatific grin.

I have no idea what he means but I nod. Right now I'm about willing to do anything this man wants just to keep fighting. That was the most exhilarating spar of my life and though it is a nuisance keeping my strength in check I don't want it to end. However what he has me do now is anomalous. He puts me in different stances and adjusts my posture, arm positioning and footing, a bit like Ms. Trinket did with my standing. Bend your knee like this, tuck you arm in more, instep pointing this way, keep this shoulder back. Then he has me go through all my basic attacks, blocks and counter attacks to do more of these little adjustments. Rotate your wrist like this, straighten your elbow like that, pivot on this part of your foot, chamber your kicks back to here and angle your hips this way. He teaches me some new moves and has me repeat them a few times slowly then a few times fast. Finally he has me do combos with his corrections in place and I understand! These little things give me more stability, force and speed plus everything eases into each other so smoothly.

It's all so surreal. No one teaches you how to fight in 12 because the peacekeepers don't allow it. You have to learn on your own of sorts. You learn fighting by fighting, by getting beat up and by learning from your mistakes with either your peers or your older siblings. Hawthorne is amazing because he is a great fighter and completely self-taught. I'm lucky because I have tough older brothers who are decent fighters and willing to spar. No one teaches like this back home and no one can because no one is this good there.

We go back to fighting but this time he is throwing in reminders to use my corrected moves. I admit it is very hard to hold back my strength, fend him off and try to beat him while remembering to use his tips. It takes lots of reminders from him, both verbally and physically (particularly hard taps) for me to incorporate his teachings naturally into my fighting but I'm getting there. We keep going, each smiling jubilantly and delighted every time something comes to me automatically. In the back of my mind I know time is passing but I'm too euphoric to feel it, then the sound of a buzzer going off permeates the gym and Mr. Anton calls the session to an end. It is only then that I realize it's 1:30 (lunch time), I've spent 3 hours doing nothing but fighting and though I'm much improved, I'm winded as all get out and hungry enough to eat a horse. The last fact is something my stomach wishes to proclaim in a deafening belly growl. He blinks in stunned shock but my mood is still so joyous I just laugh instead of feeling embarrassed.

A snort from somewhere to the left of me turns my focus in time to catch the hunter roll his eyes. Yeah he can fake disinterest all he wants but I know he's jealous. Unnervingly his is not the only attention I have, the Careers are watching me again and most of the tributes. Whatever my fighting level is to them, I've just proven I have stamina, which may be just as bad or worse. Two large side doors open, the smell of Capitol food wafts in and the staff herd us into a cafeteria like setup.

Hawthorne looks like he is about to separate from me, rebelling against Mr. Abernathy and my wishes but a simple, "Let me tell you what the specialist taught me" and he is hooked. We load up our trays, going from cart to cart when I see two younger tributes hesitantly walking away with meager portion on their plates. A scan shows the most of the rest are the same; he seems to notice too, but we find a table near the back of the room and don't comment on this.

My face flushes with excitement in just relaying every word and action of my session to him. At first it comes out jumbled but then he begins inquiring specific questions and they help me ingrain every thing in my mind. The fight was easy enough to describe but when I get to the paces Mr. Anton put me through it's hard to define, particularly because my teammate won't let me demonstrate or use any hand motions to help explain. His reason is that he doesn't want the other tributes (read Careers) to know what we are talking about. I see his point entirely but I dislike that it dampens my fun. Then I tell him he should snag Mr. Anton anyway, just to learn the specifics as well. He looks at me and I know this is going against our mentor but I explain, "We've both had times when we hit wrong and had sprains or strains after. If you go through the basics with Mr. Anton he can teach out how to avoid it. We can't afford a sprain or strain in the arena Gale."

He thinks this through for a bit and responds, "But he'll expect me to fight won't he and I still don't want the Careers to see that. Even if he doesn't won't it look suspicious if I don't."

We break to refill our plates, under the eyes of all the competition. It means we do not give up, we intend to fight and I'm a happy to see some of the other tributes find some guts to get second helpings, especially a tiny girl that couldn't be more than 69 pounds. I tell him about the rest of my fight and he tells me about his time with the halberd, the throwing knives, daggers and fire making. Then he tells me what he's gleaned from the others; the District 11 male can easily throw 100 pounds on-target and for a fair distance, the District 4s know their knots but the female favors the trident and the male the halberd, the District 2s favor the sword & axe for the guy and knives for the girl and the District 1s, well the girl likes the bow but she's lousy and I knew how much he like that damn spear. What is the most disturbing to hear is that my little attempt at the spears just got me further attention from him (D1m) and my fighting picked up attention from the massive tribute male from 2. That ultimately takes my happy blush from my face and for one crazy second the urge to look over my shoulder and confirm is gripping.

Promptly as lunch finishes the D1m, D2m and D2f storm the Hand-to-Hand Combat Station and the pushy girl gets poor Mr. Anton. I don't know if this is a challenge or not, I don't want to back down if it is but it's not smart to take them on either so I let Hawthorne lead me to the Slingshot & Sling Station. A moment later the tiny girl joins and out shoots us both with the slingshot, getting a bullseye every time. It makes the hunter laugh for some reason and he orders one of the instructors to throw small targets for her instead. These moving targets are harder for her. Eventually we get the hang of the slingshots but we move on to the slings. The slings will be easier to forge in the arena so it's a nice improvised weapon. The sling is nice, I can hit the flying targets but I don't like the time it takes to launch when I can chuck a five-pound rock just as well, just as far and harder than these small stones. As we are leaving to split up and she is hitting three flying targets at time, he looks around the gym and whispers to her, "When we are gone have them bring out the dummies for you. Aim for here" he points to his temple, "or here" he points to his eye, "as hard and as accurately as you can. If they're unconscious or blind they can't hurt you. Once you get good with the still dummies have the trainers move them around and come at you. Also try to learn the sling, it'll be easier to make in the games."

She looks as speechless as I feel! That is dangerous! She is his competition and damn good with her little weapon! What is he thinking? I want to ask, even just raise an eyebrow at him but he is off to the Ropes Course before I can. I turn to look her over, she flinches and I think I see what he saw. A small, frighten 12-year-old wisp of a girl who absolutely shouldn't be here in this situation. I sigh and add, "They have lots of rocks here, learn which ones are bad and fall apart and which are solid enough to make a good impact. Practice with the smoother stones, they make less sound in the air and you can hunt animals with them. The Edible Animal Station might be able to tell you where to strike a critter to kill it with one shot, if not aim for the head and stay down wind." It's the only advice I can give since it worked for me during my exterminator jobs. She just looks at me with her big, dark orbs; I feel so foolish I smile like the dope I am and leave.

I check out the Fire Making Station and after asking the man just run through every way and condition he knows to make and keep a fire I leave. It's not new to me; my father taught all his children all the ways to make a fire and every other time we cook or light the oven we don't get to use matches. His motto is you aren't a baker if you can't even control fire. The running theory between my brothers and me is that he is a pyromaniac who channels his obsession into something useful like the bakery. Next is the Shelters Station, but all the specialist can teach me is what makes up a good shelter (dryness, camouflage, stability, etc.) and not how to make one because I'm rubbish at knots. She kicks me out quickly, saying to see the Knot Station first and come back afterwards. Yeah, I don't think so. The Hammock Making Station is written off as well.

I have three hours left and I want to devote two to wrestling so I go to the large Fishing Station for an hour. The man is obviously from District 4 and once the idea of a hook-line-pole-waiting is rejected he has me wade into one of the structures to try barehanded style. It's harder than I thought as the water, especially the flowing water, distorts the image, knocks off my aim and makes everything slippery (the soaked bandages are no help too). I'm not exactly graceful either so after my third miss, fish slipping between my fingers, I end up sitting waist deep in the little pond to the pleasure of the laughing Careers from 4. Their laughter brings the attention of the others and the Gamemakers, which makes my sogginess more uncomfortable. It all fades into the background when Hawthorne gives me a mocking/amused thumbs up, I glare at the jerk and get up to try again. Eventually the instructor gives up after my third slip-n-slash in so many minutes and hands me a sharpened stick to use as a harpoon. I prove much better with this and only have to worry about catching up to my impaled fish before the manmade stream can takes it away. Next he teaches skinning, gutting and cooking but I already have those covered thus I spend the rest of my hour drying by his cooking fire and tossing the stick into either the pond or stream to practice.

My clothes are still on the damp (fishy scented) side when I go to the Wrestling Station but the specialist that is free waves it off. This is more familiar to me (aside from being out of my binding) as I'm on the wrestling team. The coach back home tolerates me; he took me on because he adores my brothers and couldn't say no to them. This man seems to not mind I'm a girl and has me demonstrate everything I know then uses the same moves against me to see how well I know my stuff. I am really good, or so he says but my weakness is speed (holding back slows me down). He teaches me some more advance moves that don't exist in 12, we practice them a while before it devolves into a practice session of repetition to build up my speed (and control). I'm smiling on the outside, gratified I am proficient in my sport but inside I miss home.

A few times during my wrestling I look around for Hawthorne. Soon I find him with Mr. Anton, going through the basics but at a ludicrously slow pace. Each instant I have to spare him he still has that slow rhythm. The thought that he looks like an incompetent novice has to click before I realize what he is doing. By going this slow he's learning without showing his skills, and it works as none of the Careers or stronger tributes pay him any attention. A while later the hunter is sitting on the floor, watching and listening to Mr. Anton lecture and demonstrate (alone) some very advanced moves. The instructor looks foolish on his own however the look of concentration and enthusiasm on his face means that my teammate is picking it up. Tonight will be an interesting night, if that is anything to go on.

Part 12 End.

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Side Note: Double posting! Part 13 directly follows so please allow a time gap for part 14. Standard reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors so until I have help you're all stuck with me. I pity all of you that in fact have perfect grammar and read this.