Consumed in Confidence
Author's Note & disclaimer:
Thank you all for your patience. Day 3 of training is below. I'm going to leave my favorite tribute poll up until the chapter after this is posted & then a new one will be up. Hopefully that'll inspire me for a quick turn-around.
Alliances note: Some alliances were very tricky. Thank you for everyone who voiced an opinion, it really does help when I'm figuring these things out. Apologies if not everyone's suggestions got followed. It may have been for contradicting requests or plot reasons, but regardless, I hope the way it turns out is interesting. Also, it's the Hunger Games, so nothing is certain until a Victor is crowned. That said if you have suggestions for new alliances as the old ones break, PM me. I'm always open to suggestions.
Finally, I still have no rights whatsoever to the Hunger Games.
Mobie Calp – District 10
This was it, Mobie thought. Today he was going to make an ally.
Up until this point he'd been too preoccupied with Nina, trying to coax her out of her shell despite Steric's advice that she was a hopeless cause.
"Don't listen to Steric," his mother's words echoed in his mind. Now, though, with only one day left of training, what would his mother have wanted to do? If Steric's advice and what he thought best were one and the same it would be foolish to ignore it.
He surveyed the area and could feel his heart sinking. After two days most of the tributes had probably already established their alliances. Would anyone want him?
Of course they would. Mobie put on a smile at nothing in particular, forcing himself to stay positive. He looked at the stage to the first group of prospects.
Absolutely not! The ever-growing group of careers, now numbering six or seven if Mobie was counting correctly was dominating the stage. He knew better than to go anywhere near them.
His attention was then drawn to another group, which was also growing a little too large for his liking. He'd heard the boys talking at lunch and now kicked himself for being so distracted with Nina. He'd thought about approaching the boy from 11, the closest to his age, but he now seemed firmly allied with the other loud-mouthed tributes. It was probably best to steer clear of them too.
There was another group of three girls. He hadn't really paid them much mind before, but they might be an option. Two of them seemed to be around his age, the third a little older. Should he approach them?
"Hi," came a familiar voice. "Do you want to see what I found?" Mobie turned to see the girl from 12, Gloria. She looked at him, her cleft lip not detracting at all from her smile. Mobie smiled back.
"Aren't your allies coming?" Mobie asked, genuinely confused. Had she not found anyone either? Surely her cuteness factor would have endeared her to some of the older tributes.
"I don't have any," she replied, not hanging her head in shame like Mobie wanted to, just stating what she considered to be obvious. "Do you want to be allies?"
Mobie should have seen it coming after she'd stayed with him yesterday, not leaving him even when any sane person probably would have. Maybe he owed her after that. But what good would allying with a 12 year old girl do him? She couldn't protect him and he'd probably end up bending over backwards to protect her.
"What did you want to show me?" Mobie asked, deflecting. Maybe he'd be able to buy himself enough time to dodge her question. Maybe she'd forget she'd asked.
"Come with me!" she said, leading him onward.
Mobie had a moment of panic as she charged towards the stage. Was she mad?! If she was planning on going on the stage with the careers and the weapons this alliance was done before it had even begun. But the girl didn't go for the stage; instead she moved the curtain back, revealing another station, or at least part of one. Before she could withdraw the curtain the entire way, Gloria jumped back.
"Someone's back there!" she whispered. "There wasn't anyone back there before. No one else knows about it except that boy and girl." She pointed over to another part of the training center where the boy from five and the girl from eight were talking with the girl Mobie had spent the entire training session avoiding, the girl from 11.
"Can you see who it is?" Mobie whispered. Gloria shook her head. "What's back there?" he wanted to know as much as he could before disappearing into the unknown. Gloria looked over her shoulder and motioned for Mobie to lean in closer.
"Records," she whispered in his ear. "Of all the games, ever."
"That's fantastic!" Mobie exclaimed in a hushed whisper, almost forgetting himself. "If we can get our hands on those, other allies or not, we can figure out how to win this. We can do it." Gloria shared his joyful grin and Mobie could see the realization settling. They had just become a "we". "Yes, I'll be your ally," he affirmed jubilantly before she thought twice. "Now we just have to get in there."
"You first?" Gloria proposed and Mobie nodded, drawing the curtain back.
There in the dimmed light shaded by the curtain, Mobie saw one of the littler girls. She seemed petrified, her hand frozen to the screen. Her eyes were glazed over, unmoving, but if there was terror in them it was concealed beneath their dark pupils.
"Hey," Mobie whispered. The girl didn't respond. He moved to her side so he could see the screen. The tributes from years gone by were flashing across the screen, fighting as they touched on the highlights of that particular year. Mobie paused for a few moments, not wanting to disturb her. The girl's only movement was her fist clenching every time a particular brown haired boy crossed the screen. Then, all of a sudden the camera zoomed into that face as he met his fate and his cannon sounded.
The images on the screen and the girl watching them froze. Nothing resounded after the cannon's boom for a long moment. Anxious, Mobie passed his hand up and down in front of the girl's face. He snapped his fingers. Still nothing.
"Come on kid," he mumbled nervously. Still no response. The girl was petrified.
"Bailey," a voice came at the curtain. Mobie jumped, seeing a scruffy haired boy, from district 3 maybe. The girl still didn't respond. The boy dashed in, past Mobie quick as a wink. "Bailey," he said loudly right in her ear.
"What?" she asked, startled.
"Let's go. I need to show you something," the boy begged, nearly bouncing up and down. Mobie didn't know or care what they had found because whatever it was got both boy and girl out of the station. Gloria bounded in in their place.
"We have to pick wisely. We have a limited amount of time," Mobie advised.
"We're both younger than most of the Victors. Who was the youngest?"
Mobie thought for a moment. "Mags. The eleventh . . ." he trailed off, seeing the 11th games sitting directly off to the right, with the 9th and 10th on the other side. It was as though it had been waiting for them, like someone had known exactly what they would need.
The 11th Games passed before their eyes, each important detail being highlighted as the eventual victor fled from the bloodbath, made allies with two older tributes, neither of which had paid her any mind in the training center. Those two soon finished each other off and Mags went into hiding, until the final 10. Then she found her very first kill, keeping mostly out of the way of the fighting, and then making an odd alliance with an older girl to take out the last remaining Career, the boy from 2. Mobie clenched his fists as the little girl and her ally miraculously took him down, the other girl falling injured. The boy's cannon fired. Mobie looked over at Gloria as the older girl begged the younger for death. She lay injured, all her limbs at awkward angles. With one stab, Mags took out the other girl and the fanfare sounded.
"So, lesson learned," Gloria commended shakily. "Find a power ally and/or stay hidden."
"And gamble," Mobie mumbled. "We should pop back out before we're noticed. Remember, we have to keep this hidden for the rest of the day."
Raivel Aukins – District 3
Raivel fingered the point of his knife and then let it fly again. It hit the target, just shy of a bulls eye.
"See," he offered cheerily. "I'm getting pretty good at this."
Bailey smiled, but Raivel could tell it was forced. He didn't know what else to do to cheer her up. After all, they were both only steps from the arena, only days from what might be their own deaths. But what she had seen on that screen, well, Raivel could only wish she hadn't seen it.
He'd never known his parents, only the orphanage and the streets. He could only imagine what she was going through, having just seen the final moments of a father she barely remembered and a mother she'd never really known.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he offered. Bailey shrugged.
"It didn't really change anything," she said, trying to keep positive. "My aunt had told me what she could and the rest I figured out. The way people looked at me at school, I was always the daughter of two people who died in the Games. If anything, I think seeing that helped. At least now that I've seen them both die, it's like I don't have to imagine it anymore." She paused, as though trying to make herself believe the next words she was going to say. "It can't get worse than that. I'm ready now, for whatever comes."
"So now what?" Raivel asked.
"Now you teach me how to use that," Bailey suggested, eyeing the knife.
"Take the handle like this. The most important thing is to keep your eyes fixed on the target. Don't let anything distract you and don't take your eyes off of the goal. Focus, and when you're ready, let go." Bailey took a deep breath, released the knife and it clattered to the floor.
"Not a bad start," Raivel encouraged. "Now put a little more umph into it."
She tried it again. This time the knife went flying towards the ceiling, landing point town in the floor about a foot from the target.
"Third time is the charm," Raivel encouraged. Bailey nodded, but there was a far off look in her eyes. "What?"
"Do we really have a chance?" she asked in a whisper. "Two little kids against all of them."
"If we stick together, sure," Raivel encouraged her, his voice as bright as ever. Of course they had a chance. He'd spent his whole life fighting for survival and he wasn't about to give up now. He knew that they just had to take a moment at a time, a day at a time and then, soon enough, he would be the victor.
"Try it one more time. You can do it," he encouraged her again, guiding her fist around the knife. "Use your finger to guide it in the direction it's supposed to go and imagine . . ." he trailed off wondering if he should say what he was thinking "well, imagine that this shot could take out the person who killed your parents. This shot is your vengeance."
Bailey's eyes met his and her gaze hardened, confident, determined. She nodded and Raivel released her hand. Then she let the knife fly, straight onto the target. It wasn't a bull's eye, but it struck with enough force that it would have caused a wound.
"That's it," Raivel exclaimed. "I'd take the odds on us any day."
"Thank you. You're right, Raivel. We can do this," Bailey smiled.
Raivel nodded; with the growing weight in his pockets he was absolutely certain they could do this. Proof of his success was mounting slowly, unnoticed. He only had a couple more targets that he wanted to hit before they were inaccessible.
"You're doing it wrong!" a voice growled from a couple feet away, but it wasn't directed at them. "If either of you want to live past day one, I strongly suggest you listen to me."
Both of their heads turned to see the girl from Eleven towering over the girl from 8 and the boy from 5. A huge hook shone in her hands, but something else caught Raivel's eye, a shiny necklace dangling from her neck. He smirked.
"Keep practicing," he told Bailey. "I'll be back."
Margery Kelta – District 8
"You're still not holding it right," Marune growled again, her voice rising in frustration.
"Sorry," Margery adjusted her grip, ever so slightly. This was different than holding her textile knives, she knew, but Marune was wrong. Margery could feel how the weapon felt in her hand, and she knew something was a little off. She swung it around.
"There you go," Marune sighed, frustrated. "It'll be a miracle if you can hold your own."
Instead of answering, Margery looked sideways at Elric. He hadn't said anything, but she could tell he was itching to go back to the station they'd discovered yesterday, to do something that might give them a tangible strategic advantage. Earlier in the morning, two of the other tributes had been in there. Margery had seen them sneak over and, not wanting to alert Marune to their secret, Elric and Margery had let them go.
"Watch where you're swinging that," Marune hissed darkly. Elric had nearly grazed her with the weapon he was now holding awkwardly in his hand. He would have been better suited to a smaller knife or a sword, Margery had thought, but Marune had handed him a large mace more than half his size. Probably not wanting to look weak, Elric had lifted it, but now his arms were tiring.
"Maybe you should go lift some weights. Get your muscles trained," Margery ventured. Marune rolled her eyes at the suggestion. There was no fooling any of them. At this point, no amount of weight lifting would work miracles. Their time was running out. Now they simply needed to use it to the best of their ability.
"Let me do it," Marune demanded as Elric dropped the mace to the floor. The larger girl hoisted the mace, albeit with some difficulty, and stepped away from the other two. She made her way to the center of the stage, where two dummies had been set up, and swung back and forth, back and forth, hitting each of them squarely in the stomach. Each solid thump followed rhythmically until CRACK one of the dummies detached from the rope that suspended it from the ceiling and it went flying across the stage. The mace clanged to the floor.
"That's how you wield a weapon," she whispered, sweat dripping off of her as she approached the two of them again. "Let's go sit down and get some water."
"I think the two of us will practice some more. We'll join you in a bit," Margery decided. "After all, I want to get every bit of practice in before the arena."
"Good. You'll need it." Marune agreed, turning her back on the two of them and striding off.
"Now we act," Margery declared, more restless than she had realized. She took one of the knives in her hands and tossed it at a target, further away than she had thought. She was pleasantly surprised when it sailed over the head of the girl from 7 and solidly collided with its target.
"Nice shot," Elric declared. "Are we going to stay here for the rest of the day, or do you think it would be more strategical to-"
"Of course we're going back there," Margery hissed, turning back to Elric, as if to shield the rest of his tributes from his words. "But we don't want her there with us." Elric's expression absorbed her words and she watched his comprehension. At least, that's what Margery hoped she was watching. If this was to be their alliance, she needed Elric on her side, not allying with Marune. So far, Margery believed she'd played her cards exactly where she needed them in order for him to do exactly as she wished, but his people pleasing personality had her worried. What would he do if it came down to his choice, his choice to determine her life or death?
"I think we should find you a weapon that suits you better," she re-directed. "What do you think you'd do well with?"
Elric shrugged. "I've never really held a weapon, unless my father's tailoring needles count."
Margery's eyes lit up. She did some digging in the weapon pile and then she found it: a think weapon, just like a long needle.
"It's beautiful!" Elric exclaimed.
"Try it out." Elric gripped the weapon almost as though it were an extension of his own arm.
"Don't show it off yet. Just do a couple of practice rounds, but now, I guess you've got something to show the gamemakers."
"How do you know I'll be any good?" he asked in wonder.
"I just know," Margery pushed, hoping it would be what he needed to hear. She looked over her shoulder. All attention had been drawn away from them by Marune yelling about something in the corner by the weight lifting station. "Let's sneak back there, now. No one will notice. We've still got half the day to pick up some more strategy."
Elric nodded and the two of them dashed behind the curtain back to their station.
Jonas Tanner – District 7
The six of them hadn't done much the entire day. He supposed they were all ready, after all, they had all trained extensively. Why shouldn't they take advantage of the day that remained to them and rest up for the games.
Yet, even as his allies laughed amongst themselves, and he joined in, he couldn't help but feel the most minuscule bit apprehensive. There was a significant difference between working as an individual and being a member of a team, especially a team of which only he could be victorious.
"I believe it would be prudent to discuss our strategy," Jonas piped up, interrupting Saphyra's loud laughter as Bailey hurled another knife unsuccessfully at a target.
"What's there to discuss?" Killian demanded. "We're all on the same page: win. Isn't that all there is to it?"
"In essence, yes, but the dynamics of a band of entities are distinct and unless we are of one mind the probabilities of our success are diminished. If our tactical thoughts are collaborated, then our success will be undeniable. Unmistakably, our numbers lend us an exceptional advantage. Our forces number a quarter of the tributes in the arena. We should deliberate upon our additional strengths. My intelligence, evidently, numbers among our chief assets. Furthermore, between the six of us, we have extensive weapons experience. Obviously, we will be the dominant group at the Cornucopia, but it is possible we will sustain casualties, depending upon if any of the other groups dare to oppose us. Who are our primary adversaries?"
"Everyone, but really, no one. We're the strongest. That's settled! Can we move on now?" Saphyra asked, twiddling a knife in her hand. She hadn't put it down the entire time they had been talking, but Jonas was undeterred.
"It's vital that we identify our first targets," he insisted, pressing his point. He didn't think it had truly dawned on his allies yet that only one of them was coming out of this and their mental capacity had to be at peak strength if it was going to be a member of their alliance.
"The girl from Eleven," Nero said immediately, his voice low. "She's may have been trying to lie low, but I wouldn't put it past her to challenge us, especially if she has allies."
"She was with two other tributes earlier," Dane chimed in. "I've been keeping an eye on her. I really don't like the look of her. Should we ask her to join us instead of them?"
Jonas shook his head. "Six is a perfect number. Any more and our alliance would disintegrate at the slightest quibble and our strength would be diminished."
"Because alliances last forever," Ibrahima commented snarkily.
"Well, obviously the intent of every alliance is to lend its strength to produce a singular victor, but it also prolongs the existence of each of its associates. It would behoove us to dominate the Cornucopia and thus lord over the supplies until we have eliminated all of our adversaries. At that point, the penultimate combat will be sustained between the remaining accomplices."
"Boom!" Saphyra smirked. "Boom, boom, boom."
"Great summary, Saphyra," Killian jubilated. "Jonas, relax. We have this all under control. Everything will go exactly the way we've planned. Just wait for the arena."
"Very well," Jonas agreed, taking his seat again. "I perceive that the so dubbed "Broliance" may be another hazard to us. I propose that we exterminate them as expediently as would be judicious."
"Would you speak in words we can all understand?" Ibrahima raised his voice. Jonas looked at him puzzled.
"Which of my dictations were befuddling? I am more than adept to the task of elucidating them."
"That's it. I can't put up with this in the arena!" the boy declared, turning his back. "Do you understand a simple word: five?" And with that the other boy sulked off.
"It seems as though I have offended him. Perhaps it was farsighted of us to unconsciously weed out the sparks before a fire was ignited."
"Yes, he might not have fit in," Nero reflected. "But now he's another threat we'll have to deal with."
"He constantly would have been an adversary, whether he accompanied us or not," Jonas observed. In reality, they were all out for themselves. The difference was, only Jonas had accepted this.
Freida Vasey – District 4
"That's going to be trouble," Freida commented, watching Ibrahima stalk away from the Career pack. She looked to Ailis and Candice for their reactions. Ailis looked up, surveying the situation just as Freida was. Candice simply continued trying to construct a slingshot for herself. She'd nearly gotten it, but something just didn't click because whenever she drew a pebble back to shoot it she stopped herself mid-swing and the pebble dropped to the floor.
"Is he going to go off by himself?" Ailis asked. Freida had been wondering the same thing. Yesterday her district partner had come back ranting about Jonas, but something must have happened, a straw that had broken the proverbial camel's back. Did he have a backup plan? Judging by his direction and him stripping down to his shorts and then diving headlong into the pool, Freida supposed he probably didn't. She couldn't help but laugh as Ibrahima's shirt landed on Nina's head. She hadn't moved from her petrified spot on the wall and now she was making that sound again, just like a frightened sheep. Freida knew it shouldn't be funny, but found the entire situation hilarious.
"Don't laugh at her," Candice muttered, not aggressively, but loudly enough for Freida to hear her. "She should be treated as gently as possible in her last days."
Morbid, Freida thought, but true. She hurled the stone in her hand at the target instead of using the slingshot. It felt good to get some of her energy out.
"I'm going to go talk to him," she determined.
"Wait," Ailis said, grabbing her arm. "Shouldn't we give him time to cool off?"
"No, trust me, now's the time to grab him. If we let him stew he might go back to the Careers, decide they're not so bad and just get of whoever pissed him off the first chance he gets. If we get him now," Freida smirked as Ailis still looked at her hesitantly. "Trust me, I have five brothers. I know how boys work."
She strode off in the direction, not even bothering to remove her clothes before diving in. The water felt like a sweet relief, almost as though she was truly free again.
Ibrahima hadn't noticed her at all, he was still swimming laps around the pool. Freida snuck up on him and then jumped him. Her breath held tight as they submerged, Freida wrestled him. This was familiar, she thought, just as she had wrestled her brothers. After a moment she released him, not wanting to incur the wrath of the Gamemakers.
They surfaced together, both standing up and distancing themselves from the other.
"I saw what happened," Freida broke the silence. "What's your plan of action?" Freida demanded, looking up at him.
Ibrahima smiled and shook his head. "You know I figured it'd be best to stick with the Careers, with people who had trained, just like me, people proud of what we're doing, but that scrawny know it all from 7, he's a piece of work."
"So you take him down first," Freida proposed with a smirk. "Come on, you don't really need them and there are other people who could be useful to you. We could have fun, rather than having strategy and big words shoved so far down our throats we vomit."
"Who do you have with you?" Ibrahima asked, smiling.
Freida could sense him coming to her side, but he needed a push, needed to know that he'd be followed, that he'd get the respect and attention that he commanded as a Career.
"Well, you've got me," she said, confident as she could be. "We've got the girl from 3, Ailis, who is smart, smarter than she lets on, and then the girl from 9, Candice. Between the four of us we'd make a dynamic team." Ibrahima was considering.
"I always thought I'd be with the Careers," he sighed.
"We've got your back," Freida promised. "We'll be just as good as the Careers. You may even get more sponsors since you're the dark horse, the unlikely career candidate. Besides, you'd have the most experience, so you'd be our leader." She smiled, playing to his ego. He surely couldn't turn her down now.
"Excelcia won't be happy that we're teaming up," he commented.
"What do you mean?" Freida demanded.
"She was very emphatic about staying with the Career pack. She was so glad when I was meshing with them, wanting to keep us separated."
"I always got the impression Mags wanted us together," Freida deflected. Maybe there was more going on between their mentors than either of them had thought. "It's your choice." She got out of the pool, hoping to entice him.
"I'll do it," Ibrahima agreed. He leapt out of the pool and followed her to where their allies stayed. Freida was practically skipping as the four of them met.
"I'm Ailis from District 3. It's a pleasure to meet you," Ailis bubbled.
"Ibrahima, District Four. Likewise. " Ibrahima replied. "Good to meet you too," he said, extending his hand to Candice.
"You too," she replied, smiling shyly.
"I'm looking forward to hearing about all your training," Ailis gushed. "You'll undoubtedly be a great help. I'm so glad you've decided to join us."
Saphyra Cullen – District 1
They were nearly there. Saphyra despised standing still and finishing the day, but that was the task of the moment. There didn't really seem to be anything else that they could do.
She stood as the others continued to talk, but her mind wasn't in the conversation. Every day that she went without the drugs she'd had on the street was a day closer to withdrawal. She could feel every nerve of her body standing up on edge. Was there anything in the training center she could use to soothe that sensation? Maybe something at the plants section, she thought.
"I'm going to go . . . size up the rest of the competition," she excused herself.
"Haven't we done enough of that?" Dane asked, twiddling her ring on her finger. Saphyra just shrugged, not feeling like giving more of an explanation.
"Do you want company?" Killian asked, though he didn't really look as though he wanted to get up from his chair.
"I could accompany you. My analytical eye would undoubtedly behoove you," Jonas offered, looking fare more enthusiastic than Killian did.
"I think you've done all the analysizing you need to do. Seems like that's something you're good at," Saphyra smiled.
"Perhaps," Jonas agreed. "But nonetheless, one can never be too secure where their defenses are concerned."
"All right, come along. I want to go to the plants station, though. That'll be where people who are trying to lie low will be hiding," she excused herself, knowing it was a lie through her teeth. "Try to keep up."
To her surprise, the boy eagerly accompanied her.
"Did you know that my best friend challenged me to win the Hunger Games?" Jonas ventured, once they were a little further away from the other Careers. "I've deduced that your reasoning was similar."
"How did you figure that out?" Saphyra asked, genuinely surprised. None of the Careers knew anything of her motivations, aside from the fact that she'd trained and, as far as Saphyra had been concerned, that was all they needed to know.
"I have my methods," the boy said. "I also inferred the reason that we're bound for the plant station. You're hoping to concoct a substance similar to those from which you are in withdrawal."
"Don't you dare tell the others!" Saphyra snapped. Forgetting herself for a moment, her hand was nearly at Jonas's neck.
"That wasn't a threat, merely an observation," Jonas conceded, taking a step back.
Saphyra scowled, still walking. Maybe she should have been more cautious of this boy, less willing to accept him into the Career pack at a moment's notice. She had figured the more competent heads they had together was beneficial for all of them, but now she wasn't so sure. Then again, there wasn't much she was sure of at the moment. Only that she was craving the drugs.
"This one ought to help," Jonas offered, extending one of the plants. Saphyra had been so consumed steaming in frustration and withdrawal that she hadn't even noticed they had made it to the station. "It'll stimulate all of your muscles, make them stronger, more agile and keep your mind . . . well, where you are accustomed to having it. Light a fire."
"You light it," Saphyra insisted, fussily. She didn't care that she was being a brat. He was pushing into the secrets that he wasn't supposed to know, secrets she didn't want to worry about.
"Allow me to show you. First you find the flint. If you don't have a flint improvisation will be necessary, but in this case, we have one. Then you gather desiccated brush and . . ." Jonas was still talking, but Saphyra had tuned him out long ago. She waited until the fire was lit and then lit the plant, inhaling its smoke, gladly.
"Now you simply have to recall that plant's appearance in the arena, but use caution. It is remarkably similar to another and its doppelganger is lethal." The words should have been significant, but Saphrya didn't care. She smirked, the drug in her system and the fire in her hand.
Above her was exactly what she had been seeking, the limb of the one tree in the training center. Its leaves reached down, almost welcoming the flame.
"What are you doing?" Jonas exclaimed, backing up as the tree itself caught fire.
"Everything burns," Saphrya chuckled as the Gamemakers rushed to extinguish the fire.
Ridge Therne – District 11
"We attack the Cornucopia. That's all there is to it, Bros," Brody repeated for what seemed like the millionth time that day.
Ridge heard the words, but he wasn't really listening anymore. His mind was wrapping itself around the fact that in two short days everyone here would be doing the exact same thing he was trying to do: get home alive.
It hadn't hit him until then, not really. He had supposed their strategy, being one of the bigger alliances, but not necessarily the strongest in force of arms, would be to stay away from the battle, to seek out shelter and water. Brody and Tanner had a different plan. The two of them, and maybe even Leoric seemed to be in agreement.
Ridge flipped his coin over in his hand again, keeping it concealed in his pocket.
"Are you still awake?" Tanner asked from beside Ridge. It was a fair question, since the hammocks they had all assembled were surprisingly comfortable, lending them to the illusion of relaxation and security.
"Yeah," Ridge managed a peppy reply. He swung back and forth trying to shake the feeling that he was being dragged to his doom.
He had to be wrong, he told himself. Brody, Tanner, and surely Leoric wouldn't steer him wrong. And Jayanti, well, he had made it clear that he would do whatever the rest of the group wanted. That had to be the right thing to do.
He sighed again, hearing Esthelrir's words again, as he had every night since the train rides. 'What are you holding on to?' it echoed in his mind. Ever since he'd first been asked it, it had been a lonely answer, not one that could be responded to in chorus, especially not a chorus whose purpose seemed so divided.
A jolt pulled Ridge from his reverie.
"Hi," a girl's voice greeted them. "I've gotten pretty much shot down at every turn, probably because your group already has the gems."
The voice wasn't talking to him, though Ridge realized. He could hear Tanner adjusting slightly in his hammock, preparing an answer for the girl who could only be Tavia, the girl from 6 that Tanner had wooed on the first day of training.
Ridge braced for the impact. He should have known that the girl would come back, that she intended to collect on the promise of allies that Tanner had given her.
"Bros before hoes, girl," Brody's voice came before Tanner's. "It seems as if your beau got a bro-better offer that he couldn't bro-down."
"What does that even mean?" Tavia scoffed. "Come on, of all the people in the arena, he's the one you need least," she said, jabbing at Brody.
Ridge tried to hide down further in his hammock, making himself invisible. Tanner wasn't so lucky.
"Let's go talk about this in private," he said, sliding out of his hammock.
"This had better be good," she huffed as she dragged him to another area of the training center.
Ridge welcomed the silence that followed, taking a deep breath, and thinking about how big a hole Tanner was digging himself.
"What do you figure he's telling her?" Jayanti whispered after a few moments.
"He's promising to turn on us, to help her," Leoric answered, his voice calm.
"What?" Ridge exclaimed, nearly shooting out of his hammock.
"He won't do it, of course. She's on her own, but she won't know that. He's going to convince her to lend her strength to us, charge the Cornucopia, and help take down the Careers. That'll work out all well and good, of course, and she might even survive the first day, but don't be fooled. He won't turn on us, not for that girl. And with Brody in charge, well, there's no way she's would mesh with us. It's her or us," Leoric stated, matter of factly. "Don't get me wrong, I wish it weren't that simple, but that's what the Games do, drive out your sentimentality, connections, forcing everyone to be on their own."
"Of course. That's what he ought to do," Ridge answered, slipping back into his hammock. "In the end, everyone's alone. She should have realized that the first day." His words echoed in his head again, answering Esthelrir's persistent question once more before rising, and walking out of the training center at the conclusion of the day.
Brutus Aurelius – Head Gamemaker
"It certainly has been eventful, thus far," Brutus reflected, aware of Puck glancing over his shoulders. He had separated himself from the other gamemakers, now that the tributes had left the arena. They were undoubtedly taking bets on what they would see tomorrow, on what the Mentors would be telling the tributes in their final days, on who would die first and last the longest. Technically, they weren't supposed to bet, but Brutus allowed the gambling amongst themselves. Brutus couldn't have cared less about the odds; in fact, he didn't want to know what was coming. If only he could have truly been an actor in this play instead of the omnipotent director.
No, not omnipotent, he reflected, as the stage door opened.
"Fascinating idea with the old records," the President's voice resounded. "I hope it proved beneficial."
"Knowledge is always powerful."
"Especially when it is a two-edged sword," President Gaius Emanuel said darkly. "That was delectably cruel, especially for the little 7 girl." He smiled the sort of smile that made a shiver run down Brutus's spine. "I'm always surprised how our budding Careers seem to miss the blatantly obvious assistance we hold out for them. I wonder if the system is indeed as beneficial an idea as I've been led to believe."
"I wouldn't know, sir. It's only my first year," Brutus admitted. "Any feelings I may have on the supposed Career system aside, I believe the arena is where all the tributes are transformed into stars"
"In perpetual memory, yes, yes," the President finished. "I wonder if it works, though. Look at our victors, after all. There are some like Excelcia, undoubtedly stars, forever grateful, but then others, like Allorea. Sometimes I think we would have been better off having no Victor her year. And most are somewhere between, not burning brightly into memory, just being victorious one year and then fading into memory the next. Is this the legacy we leave, Brutus?"
"If I may be so bold, Gaius, you seem like someone has been pushing your buttons."
"After eight years of re-living the same things over and over again, I can't help but also feel the need to "up the ante" as the saying goes." Gaius smirked, dodging Brutus's implication. From the look in the President's eye, though, Brutus's course was clear. "Remember, Brutus, you can make all of them stars, but in the end, the one who is crowned is forever alone."
The door slammed shut, leaving Brutus alone onstage, but perhaps not as alone as he thought, as he heard unfamiliar footsteps cross the stage floor.
"Your wisdom is consumed in confidence".(2.2)