Chapter Thirteen: Careers and Consequences
"When you are not fed love on a silver spoon you learn to lick it off knives."- Lauren Eden
Regina Alameda, District One tribute, she/her
Team Lounge, Floor One, HG 87 Tower
8:00 pm, June 23rd, HG 87
Someone's knocking at the door. My mentor stands to open it, but the Peacekeeper barges in. Like a good old Academy room search. The knock is a courtesy, nothing more.
"..." A huff. The person in white presents a piece of paper to Victor Spinel. "I apologise for this interruption, ma'am. A list of rules for you, and your team."
"Usually these are texted… I wondered when we would get them." Victor Lux peers around her fellow and former mentor's shoulder, impervious to the swatting.
"Well, given that my colleagues and I have also been instructed to bring a message to each team, the Head Gamemaker thought it best we also deliver the list in person, ma'am." They huff, bringing a gloved hand to their neck, tone slightly meek. This PK wouldn't be the first fan to lose their shit when meeting our Victors. It felt like whenever they went walking the halls, there wasn't a single first year that didn't go into catatonia. Even for my brother. Eugh. All the gossip went on for years- 'can you get your brother to sign my shirt? Did you see him look at me? Do you think he's into guys too?' Yuck.
"Well then?" Speak of the devil. He pauses the screen, showing the Head Stylist's interview with Flickeman. Sat on the other end of the couch, my District Partner is trying to hide his curiosity. Badly. Keep your heart on that sleeve like that, Greyfang, and you'll only get it ripped out of your chest.
"Ahem," With a flourish, they bring out another piece of paper, some scroll-looking thing, and I distinctly catch the eye-rolls of both mentors. "In order to ensure the safety, security and comfort of the other tributes, mentors, escorts, trainers, et cetera involved within the preparatory events of this year's Hunger Games, my Gamemaking Team and I would like to assure everyone that despite any incidents that may have occurred involving certain dangerous tributes, the situation is being monitored. We recommend that upon seeing any suspicious behaviour, such as criminal acts or attempts of escape, the nearest Peacekeepers are immediately notified. We would also like to clarify on increased measures surrounding certain tributes, who shall not be named here, in that to protect those within the building, extra security and rules are being assigned to them. This should not affect the experiences of anyone else in any way, and we plead that our Capitolites not be shy in contacting me or the team if they are affected or inconvenienced in any way. We also wish to remind all that our rules are in place for perfectly rational reasons and defying is more difficult than complying. With that all said, I wish you all luck. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour. It's… uh… signed by the Head Gamemaker himself."
"Give me that." Spinel swipes it from their hand, holding it up as the other Victors present crowd to read it and confirm the information. My brother's always been nosy. "Certain 'dangerous' tributes… couldn't be talking about ours. A lot of people would have to die before the Capitol punished us."
Who the hell is more dangerous than me? Dangerous to who?
"Likely one of the outer-district tributes. Juno and Swash are too intelligent to let anything like that leak, so it can't be Two or Four, either. Eight was a bolter. Or maybe one of their suicidal little volunteers." Quintus shrugs, only half-caring. "As long as it doesn't interfere with us. You know how quickly word spreads here. I have a good campaign set up and I can't afford for us to blow it."
"And Eleven. The boy." Victor Lux bites the inside of her cheek. "I heard there was an… incident on the train over here. Same with Eight. They... it's not looking good for them this year. Could also be talking about the Twelves, but that's neither here nor there. It looks like the team already has a mess on their hands..."
"You would know, wouldn't you?" Spinel's tone is… venomous? I've known her to be a hardass but she's never spoken to a non-trainee like that. Not what I've heard… but things are different here. "Would've been nice for you to tell us that, but that's not really your style, is it, Lux? Would've been too easy to give us the heads up. You never were the type to stick to the plan."
"You're one to talk. We don't need things to get ugly over a few extra safety measures now, do we? It's just new, and nothing to do with us. I'm not going to have this fight with you. So…" She smiles suddenly and turns her face to my partner and me. Well aware of our eavesdropping. "As long as you two are on your best behaviour, and you will be, you don't have to worry about a thing… do you?"
"Not at all, ma'am." He smiles, and I nod along with him, desperate to get out of the room. I'm too worked up for this. My social battery may be drained, but I haven't trained since the day before yesterday, and I need something before I lose my mind. I don't know how he's keeping his composure. I can say a lot of shit, but anyone in the top spot would've had to train at least close to as much as me. I've been itching for a fight, but a jog will have to do.
"May I be excused from the room? I want to get some fresh air, if I'm allowed." I grit my teeth, internally pleading for a yes. I've talked enough strategy with Spinel over the years that if I have to do it one more time I might just scream. The plan and all fifty variations of it. I never really spoke with Victor Lux, even before the past few months when she was out of the District. That's Paxton's problem, not mine. God forbid I be forced to talk to my brother. Never the hands-on type when it came to training, not like Mother and Father.
"Just go, Alameda." Spinel waves me off, and I've never been more grateful to someone. I leave quickly, hoping my desperation isn't too clear on my face. I'm unlikely to see anyone until one of them comes to get me. Victors Tourmaline and the other Victor Spinel weren't even there to greet us after the parade, busy drumming up sponsors, I assume. Our Escorts and Prep Teams have probably gone home by now, or are being interviewed. The Peacekeeper disappears into one of the elevators as I start doing laps up and down the hallway.
There's no reason to leave the floor. Our mentors said we could get to know the Twos and Fours tomorrow, no use in intruding. Especially now. Getting in trouble would be the absolute worst way to kick off the season.
A door creaks and shuts.
That doesn't mean there isn't someone intruding on our floor though. They're sniffling. Trapped. We were told it was just a storage cupboard. I should go back to my room, tell the others, and alert a Peacekeeper. An intruder could mean harm or be trying to sabotage me, but what kind of winner would I be if I backed down? For crying out loud, this is the easy part. The one where they pamper you and shower you in comfort. It's built to make you lazy, weak and complacent. Relaxing isn't the way of a Victor. I can handle this myself.
I carefully remove my shoes. Stealth is critical in an ambush… sometimes you've gotta use dirty tricks to catch dirty cheats. For as polished and new as the floors are, they seem to creak every step you take.
"Show yourself."
No frills, no bullshit. I grip the handle, waiting for light under the door, movement, anything. It was a big part of psych training. Prey animals always fight. What have they to lose? Their lives? The only intent is to take you down too. If whoever this is is gonna be dumb enough to fight, they'll be in for one nasty surprise. We're not meant to fight other tributes... but if someone tried to jump me, who would they believe?
"I mean it. Either come on out, or I'm coming in. It's your choice."
For a long while, it's silent. I'd say I could hear my breath, but that was trained out of me years ago. The best predators are silent in a hunt. Noise is for intimidation. Silence helps you go in for the kill. Is anyone even in there? I could be standing here looking like an idiot for nothing.
Nothing but rustling. Guess I'm going in. I brace my shoulder against the door in case something is blocking it. I do one gentle press test. It's not locked. Even if it was… it'd be the worst way for them to deal with this. Trapped like a rat.
Slam!
I dodge the rebound after the door hits the wall and keep my back to it as it shuts again, one hand hitting the light.
Nothing? No. Not nothing. The room is filled with shelves, half empty boxes of cleaning products and tools. The gaps are more than big enough for someone about my height, maybe taller to fit. I peer into each gap, following my ears. The… crying grows louder. When I get to the corner furthest from the door, I see a flash of red.
"What the hell are you doing on my floor?" I'm almost tempted to grab her, take a page from Father's book and give her something to cry about for wasting my time like this.
"..." She only blubbers, turning her face away. "Go away."
What is in Three's water? They're always the most annoying ones to watch. Even their little light show earlier… I can't wait to get my hands on them in the arena.
"Either you tell me why you're in there and why I shouldn't just maim you to teach your mentors a lesson about letting you off your baby harness, or I'll drag you out myself and get the Peacekeepers to come and kick your ass." I drag a hand down my face. Fucking outliers.
"You… you shouldn't, they've got cameras in here. If you hit me, you'll be in trouble. Not that you would care. Do it. Get it done early. My team will thank you for it." The whiny tone pisses me off more than anything else in the world, but I do have to acknowledge that she's right. The self-defence thing doesn't work when she hasn't so much as glared at me. Yet. There's still time for her to fuck up. I hope she does. I'm itching for a spar. The Head Trainer here is a combat prodigy, the best of the best… Spinel's words, not mine.
"Nice try, Red." I nudge her with my foot. God knows what my team would say if they showed up here. "Go cry to your techies, I don't want to hear it. You'll be crying enough in the arena. You're not worth the punishment."
She only flattens herself further against the wall. Girl, move.
"Least you got that right. We're not all lucky enough to have a family of soulless bastards." The anger in her tone would be scary if she didn't look so pathetic. "You should be enjoying this. At least you're the one who's meant to be trying to kill me."
Huh.
"... I don't know what the hell I expected." She won't meet my eyes, and her voice is hoarse. Crying. When was the last time I did that? I don't think she's even registering who she's talking to anymore. "Even if they weren't a family… who the hell would ever believe in me?"
Well… if she's looking for pity, she's come to the wrong floor. But she has given me an idea. I need to keep an eye on the Threes, and if I'm going to be the leader... I may as well start delegating early, right?
"What's your name, Three?" I've genuinely forgotten it. The tears at her Reaping, the fucking parade light show, I remember those, of course. But no one was ever focused on her, especially not me. As soon as Three spat out another volunteer like an insult, Spinel told me I'd have a big fish to fry.
"Angela. Angela Bellsand." She frowns at me, suddenly defensive. "What's it to you? Not like I'm anything but a target to you sickos."
"That's true." I shrug. "What if I told you… I could help you get back at the Walker clan?"
It's not a perfect plan, there are wrinkles to smooth over. If it fails, no harm is done. At least not to me. She remains silent, looking at me as if I'm her salvation. If only she knew.
"If I were to keep you around… I think I could keep you much safer than any of Three's team. Between you and me, there's far too many other legacies and Volunteers. Maybe you could help me out." I shrug, keeping an eye on the door. "We can help each other."
".." She flinches. "I don't… I can't… I don't want to hurt anyone. I just... just let me out. I don't want to make any deals." All at once, the situation dawns on her face. Trapped in a room with me, stronger, more experienced, able to kill her in at least a dozen different ways with just my teeth. Or at least that's the line our Escorts are probably going with. "Look... you never saw me, I don't- nothing happened."
"It's funny you think you have a choice, Bellsand. I'm not gonna make you hurt him, but you are going to help. Your life and your death are in my hands now. All I need you to do is maintain a low profile, and stay out of my way until the Games, then we'll proceed from there. I'll find a usage for you. Better I take him out than you, right? I'm not that wicked." I stretch my arms upwards, but keep my eyes on her face. "And, let's be honest, you're not exactly Victor material, are you, Bellsand? So… if you just… keep an eye on my Career Pack and on him… who knows? You'll make it further than anyone ever predicted. Better to survive a little longer than to suffer because of individuals who'd rather see you Bloodbathed, right? May as well go out fulfilled. Make it count. Contribute to a Victory."
I've made up my mind. She doesn't have a choice. Who would believe her? Who would trust her if she said I was the one making an offer? It's not like it will make too much of a difference. If I get Walker in the Pack, it just means I'll have more eyes on him. I don't trust his team's parade trick, and I keep my adversaries close. If she dies… no sweat off of my brow, but when you're the type of kid people pass over in favour of the greater target, I can find a use. Worst comes to worst… I kill them both. Or someone else does. Hardly the time to grow a conscience about it. These are my Games to win. I've earned them.
"I…" She bites at the inside of her cheek. "Okay. Just don't… just make it quick, okay? I'll help you."
Pathetic. At least she's under no illusion she'll be making it out.
"If that's what you really want, who am I to deny you? Scrawny thing like yourself, may as well find some use for you. So what did the Walkers actually do?" I hate to say that I'm curious. Mousy little wimp like Red here, given the way she just rolled over for me, it's gotta be something nasty.
"They didn't have to do anything." She scoffs, tearing up again. "I knew they'd care more about Hal. I just wanted honesty. Even when some of them lied and said I'd be okay… it's all about him. I'm not even… it's not even worth the lie. But they didn't have to rub it in my face, either. Fighting one minute, shitty make up conversations the next, talking about how important he is, as if I wasn't even there."
"Let them play Happy Families. Fuck 'em." I shake my head. "Let them have their own drama. You got your own folks waiting at home to bury you, right? Don't worry about them. He's an entitled little fucker, with no training, and thinks his big brother can protect him in the arena. Well, he can't."
"No... I don't. There's no one... 's why it stung worse." She looks up at me, watery-eyed, and blinks. "Aren't you a Victor kid?"
"Sibling." The distinction used to be important. A Victor's sibling? They were immune, much like a Victor was. They could only enter the Games by Volunteering, like with Cashmere and Gloss. It was the mark of immunity. If you had the misfortune of being the child of a Victor… well, in the Reapings, you were just another kid with a fancy title tagged on. If anything, you were more likely to be Reaped. Weird how it happened that way. But then that changed. "Legacy. Whatever the fuck you want to call it. All I'm saying is you don't see my brother fawning over me like some toddler, huh? Don't catch anyone making special exceptions for me?"
"No?" She flinches. Good, the fear is there.
"No. Because I'm the whole package, Bellsand." Would it even be worth lying about? Either way, it ought to make a good storyline. "Stick with me, and you'll probably even get an open casket."
"No one left to bury me. Don't worry about that." She sniffs, but at least the crying has stopped. I hate that noise.
"I'll send flowers."
That one gets a smile. It's a shaky, tentative thing, but it's there. She looks ridiculous, still dressed up in her Parade garb. I can't help but smile back. It's necessary to build up a dependence on me.
"Well, Red… this is when you take your leave and get the fuck off of my floor." I shrug. "Report back to me if you find anything. Or don't… I'll only prolong your suffering. It makes no difference to me."
"... I will." She stands with the support of the wall and wipes her face, trying to be more presentable. It doesn't work. "I probably look like hell... do you know if there's any wipes or anything in here?"
"Don't bother. I was stuck in the bathroom for half an hour trying to get all the shit off, and you've ruined yours."
We walk to the lift, the hallway is thankfully empty, and she nudges the button. When it arrives at the floor, she makes to step in but is blocked by, wouldn't you know it, one of the redheaded devils. The cousin, I think. Behind him, is another of Three's Victors. I only recognise her vaguely, we'd been focusing on the Walkers on the train.
"Angela! Why the hell would you- look… Edison didn't mean that, I told you, they're all lunkheads." He pulls my new... ally? No. He pulls my new associate into a hug. "You can't run off like that. You don't know the tower, and you don't even know what would have happened if a One had found you-"
"Hm." The lady clears her throat. "Kelvin, we have company."
Both Victors stare at me, wide-eyed. I stare back. Nothing much to do but that. I can't exactly pretend we didn't see each other.
"What's going on here?"
Ah. That's Victor Spinel's voice if I've ever heard it. Sounds so clueless she knows you know she's faking and someone's been cruising for a scolding. Luckily, I've never really gotten on her bad side. Only once. She must have heard them from the lounge, or maybe she was looking for me anyway.
"Just escorting a fellow tribute to the elevator, ma'am. She took a wrong turn… got lost." Not technically lies. I highly doubt she meant to find herself face-to-face with me, of all people. "I didn't know anyone would be in there."
Head still buried into Kelvin's shoulder, I could swear I see Red grin, just a bit.
"If that's all, we'll be out of your hair. We really didn't mean to intrude." The aforementioned Victor can't seem to keep his eyes on Spinel, even when talking to her. Can't blame him, he's only a year older than me, and I know final-year trainees who can't do that. "Ada and I were just about to sound the alarm… we've been looking for a few hours now."
"That's one hell of a wrong turn to make when, and correct me if I'm wrong, I'm sure the elevators only go up and down. Here, at least. In other buildings, they have the capacity to go multiple directions. But you wouldn't know that, would you? Still new blood. Last year, was it? Ah, yes, the one who ripped Damien's Victory from right under his nose." She keeps staring at the Threes, but it takes her a while to acknowledge the woman. "Binaire."
"Spinel." Just as curt.
"Keep your brats off my floor. All of them. Victor or not… I think you'll find my girls get a little… easily provoked. One might even say… territorial. Isn't that right, Candy, darling?"
"Yes ma'am." Victor Lux leans on the wall next to her, like a henchwoman awaiting orders. A far cry from the warring cattiness from earlier. "It would be a shame if there were to be any… accidents. Things are different now, and you must admit… it's a little suspicious that you just so happened to lose a tribute. This year of all years, I've never known you so careless. Rather difficult to do. I'd expect such a thing from Abernathy, maybe even Termini. Not you, surely. After all that talk of unity, and family… and will. Then again… your Threes always have had a grudge against District One… predisposed to it, maybe?"
"It's not about that, Lux. This was a mere accident. No amount of sway or jibes will change that." She cleans her glasses with an air of carelessness, but that's all it is: an air. She's shaking.
"You're right. Usually, no one was so brazen as to trespass on the floor." Spinel interjects smoothly. "You're losing your touch, Binaire. If those little accidents you call those Victors can lose a tribute… while you're on stage too, then how can we trust your authority in these matters? It was a lovely interview, by the way."
It's like Red and I aren't even here anymore, but I'm nowhere near stupid enough to interrupt my Victors.
"The incident is dealt with. This won't happen again. No one needs to lose any sleep. Ciao." With that, Binaire pulls both redheads further into the lift and jabs at a button, glaring daggers at the Victors behind me until the door closes, and probably after that, too.
"Alameda?" Spinel's voice is sickly sweet, right by my ear. "It's time to tell the truth, now. You're a poor liar. What happened?"
It's not venom, but concern in her voice. I've never… no, I've only heard her sound like that once.
"If the girl was trying to get information out of you, or threatened you, we can always report it. I have… a certain sway with Games personnel." Lux offers, but Spinel shakes her head.
"I'll take it from here, Lux." Her voice is colder, definitely, but it's still not the cruelty you come to expect from Spinel in a bad mood. "Go back to the room. Keep your mouth shut."
The other woman does so, and again, Spinel looks at me expectantly.
"If you need… we can always make sure the girl stays quiet and away. More than one way to do it. That is, if she got anything out of you, which I trust she didn't." There it is, the flash of anger. "...Either way… it wouldn't be the first time I've fixed a problem tribute and gotten away with it to boot."
"She didn't get anything out of me ma'am, quite the contrary. I promise, I have everything under control."
"I hope so." She breathes out, putting her composure back on. "Go to bed, Regina, we'll speak tomorrow. I hope you know I'm willing to do all that is necessary to secure your Victory. If the other side wants to play dirty, sending in tributes to spy, then we can cheat too. After all… at it's core… its still just a game."
Flavian Layton, District Two Tribute, He/him
District Two Dinner Lounge
8:30 pm, June 23rd, HG 87
"I'm so excited to meet them!" Aurelia's voice is almost as grating as her attitude. "I mean, our alliance is going to be so smooth. The Ones look so confident, and those Fours seem so sweet."
"Well, you haven't met them yet…" Imogen Bijou's always been a more rational trainer. "Haven't even gotten first impressions yet. You can't get too excited."
They smirk at each other. Exchanging glances, like it's some private joke.
"..." I keep my head down and resume eating. Would it kill them to take this conversation elsewhere? It's bad enough being expected to partake in the 'who's your primary target' and 'when do you think xyz tribute is going to die' conversations without them being over dinner. Imogen isn't even her sister's mentor, but I'm not sure where Enobaria is. Mentor Juno said she had some important sponsors to go and chat with, but the man himself is hardly present in the conversation either.
"Layton." Speak of the devil. "With me."
There's hardly a pause in their chatter. I leave my plate half filled and walk, just as is expected. He leads me into the mentor's hallway, opening the door to his own quarters. While mine aren't bad, these are flat-out extortionate. I hardly know where to look before he gestures at me to sit again. Hardbacked chairs, direct eye contact, this is an interrogation.
"Well, son, it seems you're our only chance this year." The term of endearment makes my head feel funny, but he calls every male trainee that. "It's a shame, I had had Padme pegged for a Victor, before the Reaping, of course. I'm not always so optimistic for our tributes. I s'pose you'll have to do."
There it is. The backhanded compliments Herschel always preened over when he and I shared a room at the Academy. He'd constantly tell me there was nothing like the Head Trainer's praise. It showed you were on the right path, that you were virtually invincible. The key word: virtually.
"I did come to win." It's just a flat statement, a fact. You don't joke or snark with him. It's tough enough to lie without getting caught, let alone mock him.
"Most trainees say that. Did I believe in half of them? Did I hell. The game… the politics… it's all different now, son. Once, you could just brute force it through. Why do you think the early game victories were all former military, or military raised? Then, in my day, we began making Packs, suddenly there were three District Academies, and you couldn't just be the hardest hitter. You had to be smarter than that. Outplay, outlast and most importantly, outwit. You could be a kissass and backstab or exploit the numbers game. Whatever you did, you had to make sure that when you killed the biggest contender, you weren't the weakest link. Same as the Academy, too good, you were gonna get shanked in your bed, and no one would care. But if you were too low ranked, well… say goodbye to your spot. Now, people depend too much on luck. It could've been literally anyone who made it to that stage… and yet. Left us in a bit of a pickle, huh?"
"No sir." I keep my eyes fixed firmly on his face. Not his eyes, never the eyes. I'll break, my brother always said I was a bad liar. Taught me to look a little above the eyes because I could never hold the direct contact. "Nothing I can't overcome. I highly doubt anyone will be looking to ally with her."
"Attaboy. But that's not what I meant." He actually smiles, and that's how I know that something's gone horribly wrong. "You wouldn't be the first to do it… but killing your District Partner carries one hell of a stigma. Or so I've heard. I never paid too much attention to the boos and hisses."
Of course, he didn't. When his Pack went from six to two in one day, it was only him and his partner left. She was his next kill, the next kill of the whole thing. He played the stage villain for the rest of his Games and for years afterwards. People were in an uproar for a while, but according to Father, he revolutionised the Academy. No one seemed to care after that. Rumours have it that the girl's relatives are banned from attending.
"..." Take a breath. I may not like Aurelia, but the idea leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She's stupid and vapid and flat-out naive, sure, but why should it have to be me? "That might limit my sponsors. Won't she get herself killed easily enough?"
I wince before he even responds. You don't contradict Etruscan Juno. It simply isn't an option.
"Now, see… I thought about that." The grin slowly turns nastier. The eyes don't move. "Y'know, you're a lot like your brother…"
Shit. Academy rule one: don't talk about the failures. The ones tortured, killed like outliers when a real warrior should always be killed on his feet, still swinging a weapon.
"Tall… strong. Excellent swordsmanship. Obedient to a fault." He lets out a laugh, a nasty, croaky thing. "There's just one thing that really sets you apart. Do you know what that is, Flavian?"
"No, sir." Don't move. He smells fear. "Other than the obvious."
"..." He clicks his tongue at the implication. "Well, that too. But the asset you got… you got one hell of a poker face, boy. Your brother never could wipe a smirk off his face, keep fear out his eyes. But there's one issue with your family, your daddy was like it too when he was training. Never made it as far as you two, 'course, but I reckon that's because the game was different back then. No, the issue with you Laytons is that, when all is said n' done… you're not really all that clever, are you?"
"Sir?" Don't wobble. He's trying to trip me up. I know it. But why? I know he's a sadistic fuck, anyone who had him as a trainer knows it… but why now?
"Never did figure out what a stupid idea it was to lie to me." He 'tsks' at me. "You people never learn."
"Sir!" Feign offence. He's bluffing. Please let him be bluffing. Weird mind games are just part of training.
"Please, Layton. I've been a mentor since the 50th damn Games. I alone have produced more Victors than most Districts. You wanna start telling me the truth before I decide you don't deserve to be one of them."
He stands up, and I feel a primal need to go for an exit.
"Do you really think I don't know when someone's head ain't in it? You take me for an idiot? You used to have passion for your weapon, boy. I saw, so did everyone else. But you weren't like your brother or your daddy. No, you thought you knew better. Were stupider than the both of them. Tell me, why would your daddy put you in training too, unless he doubted Herschel? Unless he knew he might not make it home? There was only ever one thing your daddy was good at in my halls, and that was keeping everyone else in line. Admit it. You don't even want to be here. Your parents said you were gonna keep training, you said 'yes, sir'. I told you you were going in the Games, you said 'with pleasure.'" He spits. "Second worst kind of tribute is someone who lies to their team, third is a damn fool, and you managed to be both. You wanna know what the worst kind is?"
I don't know whether to nod or shake my head. This isn't like the halls. There's no threat of expulsion or disciplinary action. My life is forfeit.
"The worst kind of tribute is an impostor, and that's what got me thinking about luck. You're damn lucky that little miss party princess in the other room is that exact type, because that gives you a chance. This may be my last year mentoring, and Snow knows I'll milk that damn retirement, but I will not have my legacy tarnished by you two. A little conspirator with a head too big for her wig and a sad little boy who convinced himself this would fix everything. You don't even want to be here. At least she has that going for her. Believe me, if Padme Tephra had made it onto that stage, I would have dropped you in a heartbeat. But… here we are. This is a matter of my pride, nothing more. You better start telling the truth to both yourself and me."
I'm not sure I can. Father… knew he might not make it? I was… I'm the spare. Does he want me to die? Will Juno ditch me? I need all the help I can get.
"I'm giving you one last chance to prove yourself, lad. I evaluate my trainees in a vacuum. Physical prowess, mental ability, strategic mind. Don't give a damn where they came from or who they are. I could have vetoed you or kicked you out, but I do recognise talent when I see it. Some people like to pretend killing is a conditional thing. That there are some kinds of folks who just can't do it. But they don't know a thing. Anyone can kill, it's just a matter of who will. And if you want to survive, you're gonna start listening to me. You're gonna wait for the alliance to get all comfy, then you're gonna kill that girl in there. I'm the only one who can save you now, and believe me, the only person who cares if you live is you. Not your daddy, not your mama, and if you think the audience cares about your plight then you're even worse a fool than I though-"
"Juno."
Enobaria's voice cuts through the silence. When did she come in?
"With all due respect, sir… that's enough." She places a hand on my shoulder. "It's late, our tributes need their rest."
"Tch. Never stopped you. Trained day and night, Games Season or no." He raises an eyebrow. "Hardly the time to interrupt… I'd've thought you'd be looking after your own tribute, Miss Romas. But it's not as if you've ever had much success with your mentees. Then again, you'll only need to worry about the boy when Bijou inevitably goes down."
"..." Her lip twitches, desperate to snap back. "She's with her sister. I thought I would ask what the itinerary was for tonight."
"Thought so. Those two have been joined at the hip. Keep an eye on Imogen. Snow knows she needs the reality check about her sister. Get her out there for sponsors. More support never hurts. And focus on the boy. Don't say a word about Bijou or Twos performance last year. The feeds aren't in our favour. A rogue volunteer had to show up this year of all years. Fucking Alamedas and their PR campaigns, they'll eat that right up. Not to mention Hertz and his boys. Family ties are a cheap tactic. We saw how badly it went with the twins. Too much focus on logistics. The Dynamos, the Spinels, fuck, even Cashmere and Gloss. They never learn, do they? Ain't ever led to anything but tragedy for 'em."
"... No sir."
Had another Victor, a trainee, or any random civilian ever spoken to her like that, she would have ripped their faces off. But, as I've found, even our Victors have the hierarchy that our District is built on. The ruthless at the top. Once you are indebted to someone, you are beneath them, never above them, even if the debt is paid. Enobaria Romas may be the only person in history to have survived two rounds of the Hunger Games, but it was her mentor who put her in there and dragged her out. Both times. Etruscan Juno may not be the first or oldest of our Victors, living or dead, but he is by far the most decorated, the most respected, and the most owed. He put himself into one of the harshest arenas in memory, a deadly tundra wasteland where you were just as likely to end up with an icicle rammed down your throat as you were to suffocate in a snowdrift. No one saved him, and so, he is a king unto himself.
And if she won't stand up to him, what chances do I have?
"We'll speak more tomorrow, Layton." I stand, but he places a hand on my shoulder. "Just remember who brought you here."
I turn around to look him in the eyes, no longer even trying to keep my face impassive. He only smiles at how my voice wobbles.
"Yes, sir. Good night."
Enobaria guides me out, hand on my elbow. I can't even look at her.
"Good night, Flavian. Sleep well. Idabelle will wake you up in the morning, around six. You and Aurelia will probably want to be downstairs as soon as possible, so just grab something and eat in the elevator, alright?"
She closes the door before I can respond. Probably leaving to follow Juno's orders. A dog to heel, like the rest of us.
The sisters are still chatting away as I pass through the lounge. Aurelia gives me one of her smiles, one that's far too bright for the situation. She doesn't know anything about what just went down. About what I have to do. Just killing her won't be enough. Even in training, there always had to be something else to it. I'm not even sure if she'd remember the way younger students would be pitted against the older as punishment. Thrashed and beaten into place. Practice how they would kill the outliers. Make it a show, and broadcast their weaknesses in front of an audience. Make them cry. That was bad enough. But if you begged… you may as well have just packed up and left, because losing your life is one thing, begging for it quite another, even in practice.
She would have been in the year below me. I don't remember much about her from the junior division, but I do remember the day her sister returned.
Herschel grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowds. Everyone is pushing and shoving, waiting for her to arrive. The new Victor, Imogen Bijou. Herschel begged me to come with him. They say that when a new Victor comes home, the first trainee they see will be their biggest success. I don't believe that, but I know Herschel does. And there's no harm in being here, not really. It's nice to be with him instead of him training all the time. I know he's going into his transition year, but… still. I miss him.
The doors open, and the crowd begins to rush forward. We're right at the front, and I can feel the barrier digging into my chest. Everyone is screaming for her attention… but she looks… sad from here. Maybe it's the angle. Maybe it's the bit Herschel never seems to talk about. It's all he's been yapping about, the Games. How cool it is that Imogen could turn the outliers' skills back against them. The way they were set for an all-Career, three-person finale. How Imogen was guaranteed the win, because the District One girl had been hurt so badly in that ambush by the District Nines, and our boy was getting slow and sluggish because of the blood infection. That it was Imogen's Game to win, that she deserved it. It feels like everyone already forgot that he sacrificed himself for her. That he saw how District One was rearing back up for one last shot and he tackled her down into the river rapids below. Never to be seen again. Maybe that's why they sent the twins in there together in the first place.
Maybe that's why she looks so sad.
There's a commotion at the other end of the barrier, and I see a blur streaking toward her, hair flying. Arms reach for Imogen over the barricade, and she pulls them over into a hug that looks like it's painful, even from here. Oh, right. The little sister. I remember the interviews.
"One day, that'll be us, Flav…" Herschel throws an arm over my shoulder. "I'll come home a Victor… and we'll want for nothing. I'm gonna make you, Mom and Dad just as happy to see me as that girl is to see her. We'll have everything… just you wait."
I believed him. I still do, in a way. What else do I have, but that broken promise? I'll have everything. For my brother, the world. The world, for him.
Aurelia Bijou, District Two Tribute, she/her
Dining Room, Floor Two, HG 87 Tower
10:00 pm, June 23rd, HG 87
"I knew the old you was still in there somewhere." Imogen smiles at me for what feels like the first time in a decade. It's not the practised family dinner faces, or the one blurred with fear and anger and hate. She's… happy for me.
"… Mother and Father didn't really take it well…" Do I still have to pretend?
"Mother and Father never took anything well that they didn't plan. They'll get over it when you win. Pawn the family business off on some obscure relative. Maybe even sell it if they're delusional enough to think you'll be supporting their lives." She yawns and shakes her head, always the more assertive of us. "This is your way out, Lia. Between you and me, I hope you get to rub everything in the Academy's face. I know it was hard for you after… him, but they had no right to treat you like that."
She doesn't say his name. Neither of us ever does. Only Mother and Father ever seem to. But it's only ever about our titles. Imogen, the glorious Victor. Aurelia, the darling heiress. And… Quentin, the noble sacrifice. A trinity for the District to envy. We don't talk about him, only his fate. The memories are still painful… but I'm no longer as broken by them as I was back then. Imogen was always the better fighter and had their finale gone differently without One's presence, I still think she would have won.
Quentin knew what he was getting into. So do I.
"It was so lovely of those Peacekeepers to let you share the room instead of us having to flit back and forth, wasn't it?" Mother places a hand on each of the twins' cheeks. Quentin doesn't nod until Immy does, following her lead.
"You both know what you need to do, don't you?" Father checks the plan with them again, even though it's all they've been talking about for weeks. Or at least that's what Quen's been complaining about. Father says it's not for my ears, whatever that means.
"Of course. What, you think we're just gonna forget?" Immy grins over at him and reaches for my hand. "This is too important for that."
She pulls me in for a hug and picks me up. Quen ruffles my hair from behind, ignoring how Mother winces. She spent hours on our hair and outfits earlier today, even though I wasn't even in the Reapings. She says it's important to show a united front on a day like this… that some people wouldn't understand. Why wouldn't they? What's better than going to the arena, and with your twin too? I wish I was a twin. Quen and Immy have this weird mind talk thing they do, I want something like that.
"Careful now, Quentin. You two will still have photographers. As will Aurelia. You ought to know better."
"Yes, Mother." He lifts his hand up, but I see him roll his eyes and wink at me. "What kind of role models are we being…"
"... We're proud of you." Father looks back and forth between them. "Both of you. And you'll bring pride to the District too. Just do as we've spoken about."
"I'm not sure I'll be able to handle the excitement of waiting for you to come back." Mother claps her hands together. "This is everything we could have hoped for, and I just know you'll come back victorious."
"Yes ma'am." Immy pulls Quentin into a side hug, squishing me between them. Quen reaches to shake Father's hand.
"I'll miss you both, every second." He nods at Mother and goes to scratch his neck, but stops. It's a sign of nervousness, weakness. Like when I tap on the table. Or Immy chews on her tongue. Or-
"Well! We'll leave you two and Aurelia to your goodbyes, give you a little time. Aurelia? We'll be waiting just outside for when you're done." Mother kisses Quen and Immy on the cheek, while Father shakes Immy's hand too.
As soon as they leave, the twins' smiles drop, and Immy puts me down.
"I hate them so much." Immy's voice is sharp, like how Mother's gets when I talk about training. "Why the hell did we agree to do this?"
It's like I'm not even there anymore. Quen parks on the couch and puts his face in his hand, eyes closed. It's weird to be alone with them, even for a Goodbye. They've been training since... I was a baby. Father says even before them. So we don't get to do stuff like this often. I'm too young to go see them in the Senior division of the Academy.
"Duty… that's why. We've gotta do this, Im, we'll find a way." He doesn't look at her, and she starts pacing. "In the end… it's for the best."
"What are you talking about?" I can't help interrupting, even though it's rude. Mother's not here to scold me... and the twins won't tell. Like the time I broke one of the vases when I was practicing my kicks. They cleaned it up, and we never talked about it again. They took care of it.
"The Games, Lia. When aren't we talking about them?" Immy puts her hands on my shoulders. Quen glares at her, but she just keeps going. "It's… it's nothing for you to worry about. We're talking about winning. Our plans. It's a secret."
"You're… you're gonna win, though, right?" I look at them both. I feel bad in my stomach, but I don't know why. Maybe it's food poisoning. Mother won't like that.
"Yes. We are. A win for one is a win for both. One is none… two is one." Immy pushes me gently down to sit on the couch, and I slide to Quen's side. "It's… complicated. We can't really explain. One day, you'll understand."
"Exactly." Quen gives me a hug and puts his head on my shoulder. "We… this is just how everything has to go. This is how we're gonna build success… how Mother and Father are gonna make it in this nothing District. This… this is for you, Lia."
Something wet drips onto the shoulder of my dress, and Immy moves her hand to Quen's cheek, wiping at it. Is he… crying? The twins don't cry. They came home with matching broken noses a few months ago and didn't bat an eye. They're tough like that. Soldiers. Fated Victors, Mother calls them.
"I'm gonna miss you so much, Aurelia."
"We both are." Immy nods, and I turn my head. She's crying too. But… it's a happy day? "Whether it's both of us, one of us, or neither. This… we're gonna win this for you, Lia. Your future, your choice, your safety. You. For the family. You're… you're going to become so much more than us."
I think that was the kindest lie they could have told me. I understand now.
"Is… I just don't understand why they didn't pull me immediately after you won." It never made sense that our parents would let me keep training after Imogen came home. That they let me run my course and get kicked by force. With Quentin's insurance payout, Immy living elsewhere, they had more than enough money that they could afford to just remove me.
"I was paying for it, Lia. I… it was your choice to make. It was… it's selfish, god, I know that, but when you said you wanted to keep training, you wanted to be a Victor too… I wanted to give you what Quen and I didn't get… the choice. So I kept paying your tuition and fobbing off the parents… but when Juno said you couldn't handle it… who was I to say anything against that? I didn't… I don't have that kind of sway. Then a few years passed and you... you seemed like you'd accepted what they wanted. Like you'd settled. Like we did. I'd… I'm not happy to see you here, Lia. I wish you didn't feel compelled. I'm just happy you didn't have that choice made for you as we did. There's… there's so much of him in you."
I flinch. Uncharted territory. Mother and Father didn't really like Imogen talking to me after she won. They said she'd always been more abrasive and would be unsuitable company but for the fact she was my sister. And she didn't live with them after the Games, staying in Victors Village while she bought them both a house of their own, even though they didn't need it. I'd always assumed she just gave up on me. No letters, no notes... but Mother always went through the mail. I always had to talk to Mel in code, and me and Terran used to prearrange our training in person.
"The Games… it's glory, Aurelia. It is glory, pain, and triumph. It's regret and vindication, all at once. I believe you can do this… I just don't know if you will. It's a slippery slope, all the way down." She dry swallows, and puts a hand out towards me, before retracting it. "I didn't want this for you, or for me… but I don't regret it either. We… the Games… is… was… it's duty. Always duty, for the family, you understand that, right? We… we didn't want to go in together any more than you did when you realised the truth. But you… you were so young… and the lies were so deep… I never knew what to say to you. And then... it was after the Games, and you'd seen... you'd seen the finale... and there wasn't anything I could've said to make it better."
"It's stupid… I genuinely thought you were both gonna pull it off." I tap on the table, not sure how to respond. We've misunderstood each other... how long? And I've spent so long lying to the family, it's hard to be honest. But nothing bad can come from this... I feel like we owe it to each other.
"So did we, sometimes… and we were much older than you when we finally accepted the reality of it all." She sighs, chewing on her tongue, but stopping when she meets my eyes. "We thought… I thought... if we were just good enough at it, we'd be the exception. That was the issue. You get told you're invincible for long enough... you start to believe it But… that was then. Nothing I can do to change it now. It's a lot easier to focus on one over the other. You know… you won't win a fight against Layton. Not with that sword."
"You don't know that." And she doesn't know that. Element of surprise, use their own weight against them… it's not like taking down a larger opponent is hard when you know how to do it. And maybe a blade will beat ribbons or ropes, but I'd like to see him try that same shit when it's a chakram headed for his face. I'd like to see the look on his face when 'stupid, simpering Aurelia' is the one ripping his fucking throat out. And then... the others, if I'm lucky enough. But if there's anyone I can beat, I will beat... it's him. Who is he to have what I never did?
"No… I guess I don't, but I do know what he's capable of. Fuck, Lia, I helped train him, we all did. You picked a bad year. Not like its your fault but it still doesn't help. How are you planning to swing this one? Because I'll do what I can when it comes to Juno or alliances, anything you need from me I'll do my best to provide but… we're on tight leashes here… and you'll have your work cut against you."
"I know…" I shrug. "But as long as they don't think I'm a threat… it only works in my favour. Even if they think I'm a target, they're not going to go after me right in the Bloodbath, not when there's the Twelves. Everyone will want a piece of the Twelves."
"You got that right. Just… be careful, Lia. Anything can happen, which usually means something will. I'm… I don't want to blow your cover or your plans but… are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"I've been planning this since I was thirteen, Immy… I've gotta know what I'm doing by now… I'll be fine."
She doesn't look too confident. It stings, but I can't blame her. I haven't been able to tell her about just how much I've been training, with what, with who. Maybe I can get her to prod someone higher up into putting some of my weapons into the Private Session. If not, low score anyway, no harm done. But I need them in the arena.
"That's what we said… and you saw how well that turned out." She sighs. "I'll… I don't have a choice but to trust your judgement… so I'll leave you to it. Just… be careful. We're… I'm not really in a place to negotiate for much at the moment. Juno's pissed that you're here, and Snow knows the One and Four teams won't approve of you either. They'll be on you like hawks. Be careful… get some rest… I'll see you… I'll see you soon."
"G'night, Immy."
"Night, kiddo."
She leaves for the hallway, I for my room. Through the wall, I can hear noise from Flavian's room. Might be punching the wall. I wouldn't be surprised, Academy training was always rigorous. After I was… expelled, I realised just how much energy and stamina it had given me. For weeks after, I could never sit still or sleep properly, I had to be doing something, I was so used to going to bed exhausted and crying that building a healthy sleep schedule seemed impossible. Mother had to bribe a doctor into getting me sleeping medication just to temper down my exhaustion.
I use the remote to project a view of District Two. The rock gardens by Victor's Village. Sometimes… when I wasn't training with Terran, I'd sneak out the other way, up the foot of the mountains, and she'd be waiting there for me. Melanie couldn't always get out as much as I could, so when we could be together like that, it was always beautiful. The shining moon, the stubborn vegetation, her pink nails gripping onto the cracks in the rock as we chased each other up and down the slopes.
On the best days, one of us could sneak food out, make a picnic of it, a proper date. But there's only one night replaying in my head.
"Melanie?" It feels stupid to keep my voice to a whisper. No one else ever comes up here. Not at night. And if I'm too quiet, she won't hear me. But it feels appropriate. I don't want to spook her, or any of the animals she loves so much.
She's been so upset lately. I slipped her a note when our Governess had her back turned, explaining the intricacies of some hairstyle or another. Something-something five braids for luck, but never use more than three strands. It's not like I don't know why she's down. For years, we've been talking about how nothing would ever change if one of us had to get married. Every other family in our social circle has their entanglements, barely even a secret. Then our mothers introduced us to Julian. For months, each of them has been talking about how suitable he'll be for a husband, the same age, ailing father, due for a large inheritance and even larger salary, the son of the banker. 'As far as arranged marriages go, it really could be much worse.'
My mother, especially, has been very insistent. After, all, she and my father were arranged, and look at them now. Happy, and loving, and most of all, committed. It's not like she's ever said out loud that it wouldn't be my choice… but she's made it clear that it's my duty. That whether I want to play the doting perfect housewife or the equally powerful woman in business, marriage is the way forward, and its between both sets of parents as to when, not if, he gets contracted to either Mels or me, and we ought to be competing for him.
It's a funny day when the love 'triangle' is completely inverted. I imagine him in a wedding suit and want to spill my guts.
Mother says the negotiation will be over soon, and that I'll need to throw a party when it is. But it doesn't matter who gets picked, who gets the better deal… we'll both be miserable. That's the issue with this District's Old Money… they tend to be pigs. Like father, like son, apparently. Asshole enough to be taking up space in my head. He's made his expectations clear.
"Mels?" Slightly louder.
"Over here!" There she is. Melanie's voice floats from somewhere within the rock sculptures. "Be careful not to slip! The water's a little higher than normal… I wouldn't want you to get your shoes wet, your mom would freak."
When I find her, she's perched on top of one of the piles, head tilted back, eyes closed. The moon bathes her, and she looks like a heroine from one of Mother's classical paintings. She gets more beautiful every time I see her, but this just feels different, more special. I clamber up in silence, glad my old Academy shoes still fit. Snow knows how difficult it would be in any of my other shoes, even the flats. The ballet pumps are a nightmare to keep dry and clean. She reaches down to help pull me up over the last overhang. I don't let go of her hands, even when we're sat shoulder to shoulder. It's a tight balancing act, but I don't mind.
"..." She puts her other hand on my knee. "You know this doesn't change anything, right? I'll still… we'll still find a way to…"
"Why did you think I asked you to come?" I lean my head on her shoulder. "It doesn't make any difference. Things… things will be different one day, I promise."
She doesn't know… I can't let her know. The Games would fix everything. She doesn't know that's why I've been hanging around with Terran and the boys, even though she's saved our hides countless times. She wouldn't get it. But she will. When we can live in the Village and never have to do anything for anyone else.
"I hope so…" She sighs. "It's so awful… and I wish we met differently… but sometimes, I can't help but be thankful you aren't still in the Academy… we'd never have met."
Maybe she's right. Even in the junior academy, where classes were double the size, more schooling than training, I never saw her. I would have remembered. She's an only child… her parents would never send her. Too risky. Plus, Mels… she's too sweet for that kind of environment. I might miss it… but I remember better than anyone else how much the Academy's tough love could fuck you up. But what can I say without lying, without giving it away?
"I don't think I'd be happy if I didn't have you, Aurelia. I… I don't mind it so much as you do… but you make my days brighter and… I can't explain how wonderful it feels to talk, hug and kiss the way we do. Lia… I think…"
She's usually the more well-spoken of us, the content, the intelligent. My mother's perfect idea of a daughter. But with me, she's never been scared to say how she feels.
"Mel?" I can feel the way my hands are shaking in her grip, and see how her cheeks are flushing. It's too mild a night to be from any cold.
"I think I love you, Lia." She winces as she says it, and I squeeze her hand out of reflex. Picture perfect best friends… but we were always more than that. "I think I have for… a while. Since… since that day when we climbed the slopes, and the full moon was out, and there was that moonbow by the falls… I'd never… I've never felt that same way about anyone or anything, before or since."
"Are you sure?" Wow, Aurelia, way to sound dumb in front of your first love.
"Mhmm." She nods, flushed pink up to her ears. I think it might be my new favourite colour.
I'm not sure who goes for it first, but I must be the one leaning too far forward. Before I know it, her back is against the rock and we're both laughing as I kiss her again, and again, and again. Fuck butterflies, this has to be the whole kaleidoscope. My hair is dangling over our faces and she brushes it away and twists it in her fingers, and I can see the smile in her eyes. We've kissed before, impulsive, sneaky, thoughtless things full of worry about discovery, but this different, like the first rays of sun peaking over the mountain after a storm.
"I think I love you too, Mels." I don't think, I know.
Kissing feels better like this. I feel better like this. Maybe it's because I know that no matter what happens, what she and I do… no one can steal this from us.
I only hope she still knows how much I love her. That simple little four-letter word will be what carries me. She'll understand. She has to understand. Or why would she have kissed me so fiercely in the Goodbye Rooms, said she'd be waiting for me? Why else would I still see her through the screen in our rock garden, saying 'goodnight' into every crevice, in case there's a camera there? When she finally finds it, she taps on the lens and blows me a kiss. It must only be a few hundred miles difference, but it feels like she's right here with me, even though we can't truly speak. It won't be long until we can be together, truly, honestly, gloriously.
I have her and Terran at home and Immy has my back here. What else could I possibly need? I might be self-trained, but this is only the Hunger Games, and it wouldn't be the first time a pretty girl with a dream lied to make history.
I won't be another failed story.
Paxton Greyfang, District One Tribute, he/him
Kitchenette, Floor One, HG 87 Tower
1:10 am, June 24th, HG 87
"What are you doing up this late?"
I spin on my heel, glass of water in hand, ready to lie. But it's only Victor Lux, and she gives me a placating smile.
"Only a question, Greyfang. I'm not going to bite your head off, I was worried you were sick. I've always thought it was cruel, how they did it. All the Districts have to turn up just staggered, about ten minutes between each. But then that means we're stuck going slow, which is the worst way to take our route. Gives you the jitters. Takes a long while to get used to. Take it from me. When I came down for the first time, my District Partner…" She pauses. "They got really sick. Turned up all kinds of green. Thank God for Capitol anti-nausea meds. You're alright, right? Say what you want, this place has some brilliant medics, so if you need anything, just ask."
"I will, ma'am. Thank you."
"Oh, none of that. Ma'ams and Misses and the like. Makes me think of Taaffeite and her drill instruction days. Blegh." She sticks her tongue out, before smiling at me again. "Besides, what kind of mentor would I be if I didn't look out for my tribute?"
Ironic, coming from the woman who hasn't been around since March. Hell, even Phoenix Carnelia showed up for the month after Regina and I were chosen, and she's been retired since before we were born. Hell, probably before even Victor Lux was born, she's only early twenties. It's the only time anyone sees the pre-30 Victors, most of them don't participate in the Academy training anymore. It sucked having our best sword trainer just drop out of existence. Tourmaline said she'd given glowing reviews and voted in my favour from the Capitol, but that didn't exactly help. Compared to Lux, the civilian trainer barely knew the blade from the hilt.
"... Did you want anything, ma-... Victor Lux?"
"That works, even if it's a little pretentious. I know Taffy and Quintus have it as a requirement for their tributes. Must be getting a little annoying for Regina at this point, but what can I do?" She leans against one of the counters. "Nothing in particular… I just like to keep a proper eye on my tributes. Snow, that devil, knows our mentors never did that for Nene and I. Unless there's something you want to talk about, and you're just waiting for me to give you the excuse. If so, go ahead."
"Why…" I take a breath, trying to think of how to phrase it without offending. "Where have you been, Victor Lux? My classmates and I… we were getting worried."
There. It's neutral and spreads the scope of blame. You can't turn a corner in the Academy without gossip. About me, about Regina, the Victors, the trainers, the Peacekeepers, no one is immune. It's also not entirely untrue. On top of melee training, Lux tended to be the trainer responsible for our English credits, and no one, not even Volunteers can graduate without them. It's rumoured that if a volunteer wins but didn't graduate, they'll make you redo the class, as long as you're still under nineteen when you get back.
"There it is…" she shakes her head. "I'd've thought Taffy told you not to talk about such things. And it's hardly something for you to be worried about now. You've got… what, four days until you're in the arena, a little more if you're lucky? This isn't really the time to be worried about that, tribute. The long and short of it, there was an incident, and I couldn't return to One until Reaping Day. You needn't concern yourself with anything else on the matter."
She softens a little at my expression. It was only a question. Of all our Victors I hadn't expected hostility from her. She was always friendly. Stern, but friendly. Always seemed like she was trying to keep her image intact. She always got a mixed reaction, but I was usually paying more attention to (agonising over) what everyone was saying about me.
"You're in far too deep to be worrying about little old me. I'm a Victor, Greyfang… I can take care of myself, and it's my duty to take care of you. So… while we're here… what's the plan? And, more importantly, how did your tourney go? Agate called me and said it went well, but I'd like to hear the details. "I always like to see it through a tribute perspective.
The crowd is divided. Sword against axe. The Soldier versus the Queen of the Halls. I guess neither of us have ever been too popular, even among the volunteer pool, I can hear boos for both of us. Oh well. You can't win them all over. They'll see. Regina wipes the corner of her mouth. We've never been allowed to draw blood like this before. I can only imagine how purple my eye will be after this.
"Halt." Our Head Trainer's voice is sharp. Immediately, we stand down and drop our weapons. "That will be all. Everyone, your volunteers for the 87th annual Hunger Games!"
She lifts both our wrists into the air. Our whole group is cheering, but the undertone of confusion is undeniable. Even Regina looks at me. We'd thought we'd be sparring for much longer, until a winner was found, even. The other trainers begin herding them out. Remus gives me a sly wave on the way out, looking me up and down. Lucretia whacks him round the head, just for spite, but sends a thumbs up my way.
"Ma'am?" I turn towards her. "Are we free to-"
Taafeite rounds on both of us, face positively burning with anger.
"Is that all I get? Is that all your fellows get?" She sneers, hand on hip. "My years upon years of faith and belief in you, the time and effort spent preparing you, nurturing your talents, creating you as you are and this is how you choose to thank me? Your parents' money, the valuable time of myself, my victors, my staff? The opportunity you squirrelled away from fellows with just as much heart and want and yet you squander it?"
I steel myself. The mantra of raising a Whitefang was that we should be seen and not heard and that we never talk back. I know this game. I know this particular punishment.
"I have been too lenient with you for far too long." Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other Victors leaving the room, making a point not to acknowledge us. Taffeite pokes me in the chest, and I put my head down. "You, believing yourself to be some kind of godsend, coasting in that arrogant, vaulting way your family is so notorious for." I take a breath when she wheels on Regina. "And you. Relying on your brother's good nature, allowing, no, begging me to allow you to succeed, letting me teach you where he could not be taught, to surpass, to overcome. Trained by him, me, my victors, your parents, a nationally-acclaimed education that even I did not receive."
Regina can't even speak, looking betrayed. Maybe she's just not used to being spoken to like that. Spinel has a soft spot for some, maybe she's one of them.
"And yet, you fail yourselves, and you dare to fail me. You dare to put on this farce, in front of volunteer, no, Victor-worthy talent. You were entrusted as the pinnacles of this Academy, the very standard even the elites balk at. How long have you stalked these halls, receiving adoration and admiration you did not deserve? And yet you dare to look at me after that performance. I told you to demonstrate your skills, to hold nothing back, to prove a final time to your peers and to me why you deserve this chance."
Our trainer paces back and forth in front of us, each utterance punctuated with a glare, the one that would have scared a much younger self. I don't meet her eyes. I won't give her more ammunition… because I have a horrible idea I know where this is going. Keep your head down. Be polite. Take it.
"Raise your weapons." No room to argue. As if we would. Fuck. "I will only tell you this once. Raise. Your. Weapons."
Expect perfection, nothing less. Many of my classmates consider Spinel to be a third parent of sorts, spending their formative years under her gaze, being scouted, trained, and scrutinised. I'm similar, in a way. Like my parents, she always had criticism and never realised that in expecting perfection, you will never be satisfied. But Spinel has never made her ambitions a secret, so I get the feeling that wouldn't be news to her. And to give the woman her props... she's gotten results before.
"Your choice was forfeit as soon as you entered this room and decided that clearly, you did not want this. This was a tourney, not a playdate. No ferocity, no passion, no heart. And now… you will fight until I say you can stop. You fight, and if you collapse, you die. This is not a game. This is war. If you can't even face each other… how in the hell will you ever face Victory? This is my Academy. You are my students. You are my volunteers. My power as veto could have sent you both to the dirt. And yet, here you are. Never say that I am not gracious."
She takes a deep breath and tempers it down, smiling so wide she knows we know it's fake.
"If you choose to leave this room, you will leave my halls. If you attempt to surrender during this match on purpose, you will leave my halls. And if you die? Well… that is a risk you were more than willing to take in the arena. Should it not be right that the same applies in your last chance to do so?"
Regina dips her head in a silent ascent, pliant, desperate. Spinel takes in the way we both keep glancing at each other, waiting to see who makes the first move.
She picks up her weapon, I do the same. This Academy is the only real home I've ever known. It's my life, It's the one thing I get to take from my family and know is mine. Where I met Lucretia, where I met Remus. Where I learned who I was. Everything I have had to go through, the days and nights of sleepless numbness, begging to be perfect. Like Winston, like Anna. Drowning and starving their lives away. I don't have to do that with the Games. I can be me. Cash the check. Reap the rewards.
Regina will survive without the Games. I won't.
I'm not sure who strikes first, but Taffeite steps back as our weapons collide, almost in fear of what she has just sparked. In a way, she's got a right to be scared. I don't have to enjoy it, but if I hadn't thought about what killing, or even dying, would mean, then I wouldn't be here. For better or worse, I was made to be my family's warrior. Without this, I can never be my own. Someone will eventually have to surrender, and it will not be me. I do not take pride in my title… but a soldier is all I know to be, and I will not falter.
I swipe out a leg to counter her attempt to kick, leaning back as she pushes closer with the axe. Rookie move. She's left herself open. But as I shove forward to press the advantage and slice across her arm, I'm reminded of my hubris. A well-timed blow to the nose, and my eyes are watering. Broken. Shit.
The look on her face… she is feral for this. She doesn't even take the time to assess the damage to her arm before she swings again, once again spitting blood from our earlier performance. Her swings have always been vicious and powerful, maximising pain over efficiency. The type that ensured a million mistakes, but a trainer had to be present when she sparred with another trainee, just in case. There's not a Victor working at this Academy that I haven't seen having to restrain her, and we didn't start training together until they created the volunteer pool.
A Whitefang is meant to appear composed at all times. Intelligent. Chivalrous. Honourable.
Fuck it. No honour in death.
I rear forward, yanking at her ponytail. Best move I ever learned while sparring with Remus and Lucretia. At the same time, I jab the hilt of my sword into her chest. She stumbles back and trips over my outstretched foot, and it's not two seconds before I have the point of my sword pushing into her throat.
"Yield."
"Rather die." She chokes against the steel, and for good measure, I step on the wrist of her axe hand, just in case she wants to try something funny. And these shoes aren't steel-toed, but they're rough enough that a hard enough stomp will at least fracture a bone.
"Drop it, or I break your fucking wrist, Alameda. Don't make me do this."
To my surprise, she drops it, but I'm not stupid enough to believe the fight is done. It's an Alameda classic. Fake defeat when you're in control of the fight. I started rewatching that tape the minute I found out she'd won in the Female pool. I push further. The skin stretches, stretches, splits, and ever so slowly, blood begins to bubble. This won't kill her. But I could. Oh, Snow, I could.
"One last chance. Yield."
She spits blood at my shoes in response. I might have to do it. The time for grievances was yesterday.
"I said you'll fight until I say you're done. Keep going, Paladin. That's an order." Taaffeite's shoe taps from across the room. I glance through blurry eyes, and she nods, lost in thought. "Go on. If she wants death before dishonour, give it to her. You'll find those types in the arena. Martyrs. Rebels."
She gives me an ear-splitting grin.
"Tricksters."
If it's a warning, which I doubt, it comes far too late. I jerk my head away as the blade goes flying, but it's not enough. My world goes white for a moment, exploding into fire. I can't help but let up for a moment at the pain, but that's all either of us would need. She wrenches her wrist out from under my foot, axe long gone after it sliced me. Lucky I had that hand pinned, she couldn't get the angle to hit me better.
Blood pours from her nose, her mouth, her ears. She must've hit the floor quicker than I thought.
I manage to remain standing, but the swift uppercut lets my grip slip. No. Not now. But it's enough. Blood and sweat and skin tear off of my palm as she takes it. Tears and blood fill my eyes from the pain, a natural reaction I cannot fight, but I at least have enough wits to see her blurry shape swinging for my legs. I jump high enough for her to miss, just, and smash my forehead into her nose on the way down, sweet retribution. But my landing is awkward, and my ankle rolls too far.
I can't help the wince, and she capitalises, swinging again, but the beauty of a primary weapon is knowing how to counter it, and I duck under her arm and elbow her in the ribs for good measure, breaking into a sprint. I have no choice but to ignore the needling pain starting to flare up my leg. The weapons cart is just where we left it when the tourney started, and it's half-accident, half-intuition when I swing it around to block her strike and make some space. I grab the first weapon to hand. Mace. Unwieldy, but usable. I should've picked up a long ranger when I had the chance, but it's not like I have time to fix that now.
She's breathing, hard, and I must look just as much of a wreck.
"Go, on, Whitefang. Do it, I dare you. I'll only bash your skull out with it." She grins, twitching her hand to bait me. "I'll even give you a free swing. Better make it count. Make it hurt. Go on."
I hold her stare. If I don't end this, we'll be here for hours. She must know it too. Long fights are dangerous. More chances of injury, fatigue, or slipping up, even for us. There's only really one good thing I can say about my family name. We're stubborn creatures. She had her chance. I had mine. If she needs this as badly as I do, she'll have to prove it.
We both swing, Sword for my heart, mace for my head. I only have to outdo her.
Neither of us hits our target. Hands grab at our arms, one for each of us. For a split second, Spinel stands between us, smiling. Silent. And then she yanks. For a moment, I wonder why Regina wants this so much, why she seems to need it as much as I do.
Our trainer pulls us both off balance, and I'm falling, hard. But I know that'll be nothing when I feel my arm twist.
Pop.
White, nothing but white. Vaguely, I feel the mace get kicked from my hand. It's a miracle I even held onto it. I can't see it, but I know it must be Spinel turning me onto my back, forcing me to sit up. A straw to my lips, and I manage to get my heart back out of my mouth.
"Drink. I'll reset your shoulder in a moment. Bite down on your sleeve." It's the softest I've ever heard Spinel's voice. When we were learning such moves, how to break bones, how to draw blood, it was carefully monitored, our medical team on standby, Spinel only ever watching, impassive. Stern. Uncaring. Take your pick. If you were dumb enough to be the one injured by your training partner, shame on you.
At least this time, I get the warning. I brace myself against… something, and my vision clears up enough for closing my eyes to make a difference. It's over before I know it, and though it hurts to do, I have enough mobility to wipe my face. Tears and sweat and saliva and Snow-knows-what. Taaffeite turns to do the same to Regina, and I have to look away.
"Both of you. Up." Though we both struggle, we eventually manage. I sway as I clock my injuries. My hands are raw, my ankles are bent oddly, and is blood still pouring down the side of my head? I touch around to find the wound and Snow alive, she took the skin off the top of my ear. I can only imagine the uproar my father will bring to the school if he finds out.
"Pick up your weapons."
We can only gawk. Even Regina, exhausted and bloodied, cradling her arm, looks poised to argue. But we don't. We reach, only to be interrupted by a laugh.
"I'm joking. Really, now, you think I was going to get rid of my Volunteers this close to the end? You wound me." Spinel's lighthearted tone reminds me of my mother. Gross. "Congratulations, trainees. You have completed the final test."
Ex-fucking-scuse me?
"Kill me with your eyes all you want. Oh, and well done for having your first experiences with bloodlust. Usually we have to drug the Volunteers to get those kinds of results. Same name as the effects. Our supplier isn't too clever." She shrugs. "Really, you two ought to be thanking me. Since we didn't lace your food, you'll get to remember this. And you proved something important. What you both have for this Games is not just a want, but a need. You have faced the reality of it. Don't be fooled, you two aren't the only pair we've conducted this test on. Or the first to pass. We do this every year. The day I get acceptable results just from the public spar is the day I resign. The tourney never has quite high enough stakes. But you were the first I've had to separate. Usually, they still try to get showy with it, or pass out from bloodloss. Anyway, like I said, it wouldn't do to lose my Volunteers. You got all your energy out of your system, you've finally fought, so you'll probably never have to in the arena. You're welcome. Now, shake hands and get out. I've got to get the cleaners in here, stat. Victor Tourmaline will escort you to the medical room and your new quarters. You are not to speak of this to anyone, except for the Victor team. Not even the regular trainers. This is our initiation, not your party story."
We left without another word. The medicine we were given was Capitol-grade stuff, and we weren't allowed out of our new quarters until our visible injuries had healed. No visits, family notified, free range to train in a separate gym, with only one solid rule. Fighting each other was off-limits. I still found a way to see Rem and Lucretia, of course, sneaking through windows and smuggling notes, but it wasn't until around a week before the Reaping that we were given true reign to do whatever we wished.
"Greyfang?"
Oh, right. She did want an answer.
"It… went." It sounds so lame, but I don't really have the words to articulate it.
"Sounds about right." She laughs, but there's no humour in it. "Most tributes act that way after they've been through the kill test. Don't worry too much about it. It's… a safety, and strategic move. A lot of tributes look like they fight to kill, but we have to make sure. And it dissuades fighting between you and your District Partner in the arena. You know what you're up against, you're less likely to turn on one another and make a fool out of yourselves and the District. At least, that's the theory behind it. All Taaffeite, not me. I just sort out the times and the weapons and the logistics. But, hey, it's not all bad. Back in my day…"
She bites her tongue and glances at me before continuing.
"It wasn't your District Partner you were in the kill test with… it was your greatest rival for the spot. Put you in an empty training room, lock the doors, wait for you to get… creative. And they didn't develop bloodlust until the year after my win, when they switched it to your format… oh no… it was all you. But I feel like your way is more effective. You'll probably thank her for it when you get out."
"Why… why did you tell me that?" I frown.
"Well, you're my tribute, aren't you? My responsibility, and my pride. From this point, you are District One. You're essentially a Victor in waiting… and if you're to be a Victor… I only find it fitting that I treat you like one. It's one hell of a trip, this kind of ascension to adulthood, Greyfang. It wouldn't be fair for me to treat you like a child. Then again… you never were a child, were you?"
"Huh?"
"No, you're like me. You have a job to fulfil. Come with me, we have much to discuss..."
AN: Coughs. Anyway. I was meant to be back earlier than this, blah blah blah. I apologise.
To make the timeframe here clear, this all occurs the same day as the parades.
Format in the pregames is as follows evening/night scenes- training day and repeat. after training day 3, there will be a break for the Gamemakers sessions, then continuing as night-day until the first Games chapter, which will be, of course, the Bloodbath. The POVs for training days will be random-ish, everyone will get a training POV, and the nighttime chapters will be mostly in District order for what little sanity I have left.