To clarify: Jak is bipolar.
And the bloodbath is next, everyone! Unfortunately I lost my list of who gets what, who gets killed, who kills who, who gets a POV, etc. All that fun stuff. But that can easily be rewritten late tonight when I'm bored, too tired to read or write, but want to be productive. I'll just email myself my bloodbath details so I can't lose them this time. And all important interview information (like what scene Krumr makes, because his...Krumrness is just awesomely fun to write about) will be mentioned during the Games. But I hate interviews. So skip over them I shall.
The final day of training! And private session scores. At the bottom.
"It's Time" by Imagine Dragons
So this is where you fell
And I am left to sell
The path to heaven runs through miles of clouded hell
Right to the top
Don't look back
D12- 17- (Carlyn Hansen)
I think I've lived with this façade all my life. I've been the sweet, popular girl who's totally likable; and it's much easier to act as this person than it would be to be her, as she is too perfect and too fake. She's a character I've created because I'm bound down to District Twelve with no freedom and nothing but its dull workings and ways; the sentimental culture that's all too confined and close for me; and the emptiness of any joy that there is in a stable environment of freedom. As there is none, you wouldn't expect this joy to appear, but I crave it desperately. I crave the rush of defiance to those who bind my life to its least extent of creativity and independence.
I want the thrill.
While the Games will be not near enough short of hell for my likings, I think, after the first or second day, I will grow used to them—for I am making it that far; I must. I mean, there is such freedom in that that it's laughable compared to the lack thereof we receive in the districts, confined to the nothingness of our basically planned lives and mapped-out careers; confined to our homes and our towns and our people, never to see anything particularly new or creatively interesting, let alone something exciting, while instead we see what we've known and hated all our lives.
Quite honestly, I'd love to live in District Four. It seems so much freer. If Four were out of the question, I'd love to walk the mountains of Two, or drift through the forests of Seven; the fields of Eleven are extremely inviting and the glamor of One even appeals to me, though the idiocy of their thickheaded minds does not; and then Nine would not have my back turned to, with the fields and the farming and the warm sun.
In Twelve, our jobs that most Seam people take up—thank God for not being a Seam person, though it wouldn't matter since I'm in the Games—are mining jobs, deep underneath the earth where the sun will never reach and where fresh air is nonexistent, but simply a dream and what the limited miners yearn and long to see and breath and feel; and it's either burning up or freezing cold. I wouldn't know, but I seriously doubt that even fans are down there, let alone heaters if it's cold.
The gloom that resides in the worlds of these helpless miners eats through the districts like hungry termites through wood, spreading until there's nothing left not infected by its sickness and brought down by its darkness. I don't believe our district can ever exist on happiness nor will it ever be again the heart of the rebellion as it had been in old unspeakable Katniss Everdeen's time. We have succumbed to the weight of the Capitol once more and are much less free; the fences are turned on a lot more than they used to be, but not all the time. Hunters still have the ability, if courageous and fearless enough, to slip through it and feed their families fine, fresh meat.
But trading it—well, even the black market's banned that. But there's the gray market, as they call it. It's even more secretive than the black market, which is called the Hob, but supposedly it's the New Hob, and it easily looks like an old thing shop, except when no officials are around, or looking…a squirrel slips over the counter, and oranges slide back, or a big bag of old clothes comes to the back. And cleverly enough, the bag will have clothes in it with meat wrapped in the clothes. The Peacekeepers know, I'm sure, but they pity us and know that we try our hardest so the Capitol doesn't know. As long as they're not in trouble, we're not.
Now, training.
I try to focus as the insect trainer drones on, but my eyes flicker over to my district partner, Krumr, sitting out from training and looking around at all the tribute with this inexplicable gleam in his eye. Maybe it's a bloodthirsty gleam, something of passion for blood and bloodlust. But even if that's not it, I know it's something that frightens the other tributes because of the expressions they take on when they see him watching.
I decide to walk over and sit against the wall with him, and the glare he gives me makes me smile devilishly, for it doesn't scare me in the slightest, but only gives me the knowledge that I've annoyed him.
My voice not at all matching my smile, I sweetly say, "Oh, I'm sorry—was this seat taken, mister?"
"Are you going to leave now easily, ma'am?" he replies, narrowing his eyes and calmly adjusting the way he's sitting so as to not awkwardly scoot away from me, but I only match the way he moves to make him uncomfortable, close enough to him that we can hear each other's breathing and if one movement faltered, one motion strayed, our hands would touch or we would collide. Of course, I balance myself ever-so perfectly and keep my motions strictly on my side of a small but fine line between us so neither of those things happen, and can only hope he's doing the same.
"I don't believe I am."
He spats out viciously, "Go away. Now."
"Oh, make me, darling." I cackle quietly to irk him and my results are glorious. He glares so furiously and with such force that I only find myself falling into more and more fits of laughter that get worse each time, to the point where I have to cover my mouth because I'm laughing too much and people are starting to stare. He's fidgeting and openly moving away from me, cursing under his breath but otherwise is completely rendered speechless, which I'm pretty sure is a feat, if I know Krumr Strongthews well enough.
"I will in the arena when I slice you in three," he snarls, standing up threateningly to tower over me. I stand up as well, and though I don't reach his height, I cross my arms and indignantly glare at his tall form. "And if you don't stop being the most idiotic, blonde, brainless bitch, I will not hesitate to get a weapon and cut you up now."
"I'd like to see you try!" I counter, turning around and walking away with slight arrogance directed towards only my district partner.
I hear him walking after me and know my ears don't lie when he forcefully turns me around to face me. He shoves forward a hand reluctantly, hesitantly. I raise an eyebrow and wait for an explanation for us to shake hands, but he's just letting his hand fall and rolling his eyes, like he's throwing a childish fit for me not shaking his hand. I do love the way I tie him up in a tight little ball until he explodes.
"Allies?" he says with a tight voice, looking anywhere but me, as though he's ashamed to admit he's even thought of this.
I shrug. "Why not. You're adorable."
Krumr glares. "Call me that again and I'll kill you in your sleep."
"I'll take my chances."
D11- 17- (Sage Birr)
Fiona Ryder from District Nine, of all people, is who I've chosen as an ally. She's alright. She has fiery hair that leans on the orange side, which I suppose matches the temper that flares up inside her from time to time. I mean, for the most part, she's really cool and all—kind, helpful, et cetera—but sometimes, if I take a step wrong, utter the wrong syllable in a sentence that turns it into something offending, she bursts.
At the knives station, which I'm wary of since the Careers frequently have meet-ups and practices on their knife skills at, she throws considerably well. Her form and grip on the knife, the trainer tells us, is fairly alright—and compared to what he says to mine ("…Needs improvement…"), that's pretty good, really—and I suppose that sort of comes mostly from luck a little from working with scythes in Nine. Well, scythes is what she's briefly mentioned is used in Nine.
"Your turn," she mutters quietly, motioning forward.
"Oh," I say awkwardly, nodding and grabbing a knife. I step up to the dummy, take a breath, and lodge it into its heart. By now, I've just been working on strength whenever she insists we do weaponry training, since it's quite obvious there's no way I can get the knife from point A to point B successfully in the spot that I want it to go. The further I get it in, and the harder it is to get out, counts as a success for me.
When I walk back to Fiona, I request, "Can we do a survival station? The knives station…unnerves me."
"You go ahead. I'll be right there."
I nod and head off to knot tying. At the moment of allying with her, we silently agreed that there was no way in any circumstance in the entirety of ever that we'd ever try to get close; this was strictly business, and if we happen to become somewhat...friends along the way—well, oops. I guess that we would just split up shortly after to avoid the pain of growing attached and losing the other, for only one can win, as everyone knows. We will talk and help one another to survive and not get killed as long as we are agreed to be allies—unless of course one of us goes crazy and-or has the desire to backstab, that is—so it's not like we're isolating one another from ever existing in each other's lives and becoming more than two people throwing food across the arena to keep the other alive.
How that came into my head as an example, I am not sure.
Nonetheless, despite not being close to her…whatsoever, since we did just meet yesterday technically whilst training for the Hunger Games, I don't want to kill her. Then again, I don't want to kill anyone, but there aren't many non-Careers that do want to kill, but we all must and almost all of us will. I expect these Games to be bloody, brutal, long, and torturous, if we can base it on the twelve extra tributes.
Suddenly I'm just wondering—if I didn't get reaped, or I got reaped nest Games or the ones before, would I do better? Would someone else? Really, this is silly, because it is what it is, and there's no changing that fact. These are my Games, the ones I will and must play in. There's no avoiding it, and I shouldn't really even be pondering things like this, but I must, because now that it's in my head, it sort of plagues me. Who would get to live if I weren't in these Games? Me? Someone else? Me and someone else, from two different Games? Oh, how blissful that might be.
I end all of these mindless thoughts when Fiona walks over to me, and with a sigh, I teach her what I've relatively picked up on the trainer telling me, and we're talking of the Games once more.
D7- 17- (Jackson Brothel)
The Careers have split again—oh, thank God for that!—and now I am practicing with my partner from Two, and luckily it's not the bratty Stone or the arrogant Beck, but rather the mellow Azaleigh, who actually likes to do the survival stations with me, but I don't hold her back from the weapons she wants to try. When she practices something I'm truly terrible at, I go shoot guns, and watch people around me flinch at the loud noise through a window in the separated but adjoined room to the training center for gun training. I'm the only one in there today.
As we both finish our weapons and a few survival stations together, she decides to head over and join Vixen and Stone—mostly just because it's funny when they're together. They didn't want to be partnered up when we decided it would be best to train with someone else most of the time, if not all, so we could have hunting partners when the pack splits up for a hunt or to search for something. When and if we are to do this, Azaleigh and I will watch each other's backs.
We also choose to go over to these two because Azaleigh knows Stone and I know Vixen. I know Vixen very well, of course, having talked to her family from time to time; perhaps you could even consider it frequently. I know a lot of people in Four. Anyway—and the final reason is that the twins are confined to their own little world, and Beck and Gleam together is just too much arrogance for us.
So off to the fighting girls we go! Azaleigh giggles when she sees Stone turn on Vixen with a deadly glare, seeming to try to worm her way into Vixen's heart and shut it down, to which Vixen heaves a heavy sigh, rolls her eyes, and otherwise totally ignores Stone, unless I'm reading their actions wrong. This is the humorous act they put on that pulled us towards stepping over to them. I think Vixen could take a break from Stone anyway, and Stone could take a break from all of us.
"Hello," Azaleigh greets them conversationally, brushing some of her blood-red bangs under her brunette hair so it's just a red streak and a few glimpses of red peeking out to see what was happening under the normal brown. Of course, her bangs are dyed, and she must be rather rich for her family to be able to afford the Capitol's hair dye. Then again, District Two is the Capitol's favorite, so maybe the price for her is not what it would be for me.
Stone turns around, breathes a sigh of relief at knowing we're here and that she can leave Vixen's side, and crosses her arms. "Can I go?" she asks, throwing a nanosecond-long glance at Vixen, who flips some of her super-red, thick, curly hair behind her shoulder. Her hair is very long, so I suppose it must get in her face a lot, and this isn't just an act of arrogance. Though cocky at times, Vixen is pleasant to be around—or maybe that's just my opinion since I know her.
"No," Aza replies, restraining a grin that I catch flickering in her eyes when I look into them: They're kind of blue. In some lights, though I bet it's just the light because unless you're a Capitolite this is impossible, her eyes give off the slightest purplish tint. I smile when I see her eyes flicker with the satisfied grin at her defiance to Stone's wishes, which will most certainly raise a fiery tantrum Vixen will have to quell. Poor Vixen. "I think you ought to stay—work on some survival stations, yeah? Perhaps we'll gossip, huh, Vix?" Aza giggles girlishly, and Vixen cracks a smile.
"Oh, hell no," Stone snaps furiously, so desperate to get out of this without spreading more tension amongst the Careers that she pleadingly glances around for others to flee off to for the briefest of seconds, and I only catch it because I'm not laughing and distracting myself like the other two; I'm watching her close enough that I even catch a hateful glare for seeing her moment of weakness there.
"Go ahead, Stonesia. Chicken out," Vixen taunts.
Stone's eyes narrow and she shoves Vixen hard. "I said at the reaping—do not call me Stonesia! And then I restated it on day one—do. Not. Call. Me. Stonesia. I am Stone."
Aza sighs and pulls me away from the scene. "Out of hand," she mutters when we're out of their earshot, but they're not out of ours, talking so harsh and loudly. "Oops." She looks up at me and brushes her bangs under a load of brown again. "I'm sorry for bringing you into that. I thought it might be entertaining, and we've trained quite a lot, you know. Perhaps we should join in with the twins?"
I shake my head. "Training with you is fine."
She smiles at me, the light dash of freckles sprinkled up her nose making me not even care that the Career Pack is in disrepair. "You, too." And she offers to kindly try out guns, but I insist I kindly try out axes, and we're laughing because we won't agree on whose weapon to train with. So instead we compromise with knot-tying, and I help her, being from Four, and then happily watch her hands move and her eyes light up when she gets a complicated knot without my help.
D10- 17- (Jak Crenshaw)
The little range for shooting guns is nice and mostly empty of other tributes. The only other tribute is at the very end, talking to the trainer and glaring at me every time I shoot over the sound of his voice and they keep having to restart their sentences, but this other person has annoyed me before, so this is his payback.
Eventually I decide that shooting has gotten boring and reluctantly exit the range, for I wasn't finished ruining my opponent's day—and last session of training. A brilliant plan, my mind compliments, and really it is, messing with them on their last chance to perfect any skill they can possibly scrape up from the bottom of their talentless lives. To do this is to push them a little further away from the line of tributes with a chance and closer to the line of tributes that are doomed; surer to die than the certainty of a starving family to stampede anyone in their way of a free banquet or buffet, these tributes need all the practice they can grab.
Suddenly I feel bad for all I did to that poor tribute; he must have no chance! What if I doomed him? Is it because of me that he'll die, even if I don't kill him? And more frighteningly, what if he carries a grudge over to the arena, and without a conscience, he simply kills me evilly for revenge, in any way he can manage with his little skills and without the skills he needs but lacks thanks to me? What if I'm doomed now, for dooming him?
Oh, and now I'm completely paranoid, fretting and terrifying myself with every imaginably possible "what-if" and "now-because." My mind flutters with these situations, and the possibilities mingle with the impossibilities so greatly that they flux in and out of confusion to the point where it's just a mass of panic and I have no clue in hell what's going to happen to me or anyone or anything.
D6- 17- (Dante Kyanide)
After three days of training, I have accomplished three things: I've found myself to be skillful in combat and creating poisons from common things I may find in the arena; I've found out who the Career leader is; and most important, I've learned what will impress him. I must work my way into the group, for revenge if nothing else. But also because though they're foul, despicable beings, who else am I to ally with?
I approach him now, chatting idly with the girl from One, whom I shoot daggers at as I walk towards her and abruptly stop when I'm too close for such dangerous behavior. They're sword training, sparring together, but they've paused for a moment, perhaps to talk over what the other could do better. He's a good leader, I guess, for a jerk, to consider the other Careers' strengths and weaknesses and work on improving the weaknesses.
Once I'm close enough, I stand tall and try to look at powerful and big as my form allows me. Then with the most confident and cocky, yet slightly frightened and awed, voice I can muster, I announce decisively, but with room enough for only the highest of the high to decide completely, "I want to be in the Career group, despite that I'm not from One, Two, or Four," and I expected such glances that they throw me, like I'm a giant idiot and irredeemably will be forevermore. But, having predicted this, I smooth it off to the side and further try to reason with them as calmly, coolly, and certainly as I can. Mostly Beck—the girl from One can and will go to hell.
"I understand that this is entirely unlikely and you'd never have thought to allow such things in a million years, but I could make up for the girl from District Four who's too small to be in it," I say logically, and throw in the smallest shrug a person can do without not moving their shoulders at all, defeating the purpose of a shrug. "And I'm stronger than her, so you'll be gaining more than losing. You won't be losing at all, even."
I see a flick of consideration.
"No way," snaps the District One girl. She sets her sword down and exits the area where you spar. Beck follows agreeably, rolling his eyes. "You're— You're puny! Compared to Beck and Jackson!"
"But am I puny compared to…Stonesia?" It takes me a moment to remember her name. "Or, oh, Azaleigh? Even the other girls, really?"
More consideration lights up Beck's eyes, and I'm glad he gets to speak first this time. "Gleam, maybe he has a bit of a point. We could use a guard mouse," he mutters to her, but it's loud enough for me to hear. He cracks a grin, but "Gleam" does not seem amused. "Come on, lighten up, yeah? You're a bit of a tight-ass," and now it's my turn to crack a grin, earning a glare from Gleam and a light, not annoyed or angry, roll of the eyes from Beck.
I raise an eyebrow. "Does this mean I'm in the Careers?"
Beck turns to me, heaving a slight though heavy sigh. "If you get a six or higher in private sessions. Any less and you're dead meat, six—got me?"
I nod, seeming to be extremely grateful, but inside I'm plotting the thousands of ways to slit the three One girls' throats, to tear their insides out, to watch their blood dribble out on the ground and stayed spilled so pleasantly there. I can just see the redness against the green or the white or whatever color the ground is. Suddenly I'm wishing we get a tundra so the perfect white will be contaminated by the perfect red as I throw away their bodies and run right along, not minding to look and see if organs or limbs or anything else totally disgusting has been left.
And maybe I just inhaled too much of my mother and father's morphling as a child, but this is insanely comforting. I find myself dreamily wandering away from the Careers, my brother's screams of death on the television set mingling with what I imagine Gleam and the District One twins' screams to sound like.
Private Session scores:
D1- (Luxuries)
1. Gleam Diode, 18, female. Megalor9 - 10.
2. Adelina Summerfield, 17, female. CapitolRules- 8.
3. Daphne Summerfield, 17, female. CapitolRules - 9.
D2- (Masonry)
1. Azaleigh Rommel, 16, female. Araka-chan - 9.
2. Beck Ferrari, 18, male. WhyNotDream - 10.
3. Stonesia "Stone" Zhunder, 16, female. XOXOFutureFame - 9.
D3- (Technology)
1. Forrest Montgomery, 17, WhyNotDream - 6.
2. Calypso Oswald, 14, female. WhyNotDream -5.
3. Rylan "Ry" Ashmore, 14, male. the epic bookworm - 3.
D4- (Fishing)
1. Vixen Payne, 17, female. jblonde123 - 7.
2. Nelly Carter, 13, female. Bowserboy129 - 6.
3. Jackson Brothel, 17, male. Araka-chan -8.
D5- (Power)
1. Anya Saitov, 18, female. the epic bookworm - 6.
2. Allegra Ride, 12, female. WhyNotDream - 4.
3. Tenne Bradhe, 18, male. BlueYoshGuy - 7.
D6- (Transportation)
1. Dante Kyanide, 17, male. Megalor9 - 6.
2. Cade Allens, 17, male. bijtjen - 7.
3. Phoenix Grant, 18, male. the epic bookworm -5.
D7- (Lumber)
1. Decon Crow, 17, male. Bowserboy129 - 7.
2. Jaelyn "Jae" Nicole Analetto, 15, female. SpunkyFun - 6.
3. Damien Andrews, 16, male. Jammerock2000 - 7.
D8- (Textiles)
1. Damon Grey, 18, male. sportygirl123 - 6.
2. Dan Axton, 17, male. Jammerock2000 - 7.
3. Alicia Ludwig, 13, female. the epic bookworm - 2.
D9- (Grain)
1. Asher Lightwood, 17, male. Rikachan101 - 7.
2. Aeris Lockhart, 15, female. Rikachan101 - 7.
3. Fiona Ryder, 17, female. sportygirl123 - 6.
D10- (Livestock)
1. Nick DiLaurnetis, 16, male. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal - 8.
2. Jak Crenshaw, 17, male. Jammerock2000 - 7.
3. Leo Rivers, 16, male. WhyNotDream - 7.
D11- (Agriculture)
1. Skylar Mitchell, 14, female. Jammerock2000 - 4.
2. Kayla Baker, 16, female. Jammerock2000 - 7.
3. Sage Birr, 17, male. the epic bookworm - 5.
D12- (Mining)
1. Krumr Strongthews, 18, male. CapitolRules - 10.
2. Carlyn Hansen, 17, female. CapitolRules - 7.
3. Astrid Levine, 15/16, female. CallingMeFakeWontMakeYouReal - 6.