The parade was mundane, in my opinion. We rolled around the City Circle and the President thanked us for involuntarily supplying our lives for the entertainment of his citizens, the crowd gasped and cooed over their favourite star-crossed lovers, and Brutus wrapped his fingers tights as iron around my wrist where I gripped the bar at the front of the carriage, presumably because he didn't trust me not to leap from the moving vehicle and sprint back and kill Fire Girl then and there.
The time after the parade again made me uneasy and unsettled by how different it felt to every other year. I had developed a routine for dealing with the stresses of the Capitol and the Games annually and I loathed having that routine changed. I was unprepared this year, even more so than I had been my first time. Regardless of place or company I could not be rid of the nervous twisting of my stomach. My muscles were beginning to ache from the constant tension and when we returned to the Suite, after a silent elevator ride with Cashmere, Gloss and Hydra, I locked myself in my room to escape any more interaction.
I spent the first evening persevering to relax. Until the Arena, there was no need to feel as constantly threatened as I did. I was going to need all my energy for the Arena. It may take days to kill Fire Girl. She was strong and she could hunt and, as we had already seen, she had insufferable good luck.
Sitting on the edge of the ridiculously enormous bed, I closed my eyes and pressed my palms to my head, trying to will calmness.
It had been eight years since I'd last walked into the Tribute Training Room. I paused in the doorway and felt ghosts pressing around me. A very alive Gloss brushed past my arm and his knowing look spurred me into movement.
Unlike last time, the tributes were gathered in small clusters around stations. They chatted amiably and showed each other their skills. I walked slowly passed the knot trying station and a gathering of Five, Seven and Ten. Johanna broke off and sidled up to my side, standing with her hands on her hips. She'd already lost her training jacket and had stripped down to her skin-tight training top that finished just above her ribs and na equally tight pair of shorts that really should have been underwear. We looked at each other stonily for a long moment.
"Hazel respected you," she said after a pause, her voice surprisingly low as she glanced around her. "Panem knows why, but she did. Personally, I wouldn't trust you as far as I could throw you, but I trusted Hazel."
My eyebrows raised a fraction but I focused on maintaining neutrality.
"Please do not tell me you're proposing an Alliance, Seven?" I asked contemptuously.
"Are you deficient, Two?" she snapped, her voice raising a fraction before she checked herself, glancing around suspiciously again. She looked back at me and took a step closer. I stiffened, prepared for defence.
"I'm just saying that maybe you should keep your mind open to new proposals this time around," she snapped in a cold voice, her eyes boring into me. I held her gaze for as long as I could but inevitably I had to snap my head away, disturbed by the intensity and intimacy.
"Maybe you should decline the offerings from the Morphling pair over there, Johanna," I replied in a patronising tone to hide my confusion. "It's clearly damaging your brain and you all the help you can get in that Arena because, let's face it, you can't pull the same stunt twice. That leaves you more than a little vulnerable, doesn't it?"
She hissed and spun away, storming over to a far corner where she proceeded to strip off her scarce remaining garments and present herself to a surprised trainer at the wrestling station. I watched her go, feeling power in my calm appearance, but also with my heart pounding in my chest. I detested not understanding and, just like Finnick and Hazel's words previously, Johanna's words had made me feel that if only I could decode them I would find a message that was desperately important.
No one was inclined to socialise with me. That suited me just fine. Amid a swirling mass of tributes who talked quietly as they moved from station to station, I was a lone rock, anchoring myself to the knife station and glaring at anyone that dared to come close enough.
As I carefully selected a thin, silver knife, I lifted my eyes and surveyed the room. Everyone was in groups of no less than three. Even the two Morphlings, who were still painting themselves with flowers, had a frowning Cecelia watching over them kindly. I glanced back at the knives, swallowing. It shouldn't bother me. I had my Alliance for the Arena and I definitely desired no friends here. Yet as I turned towards the targets, I couldn't deny a strange, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but not a completely foreign one. I recognised it. I remembered watching Cato and Clove together and feeling the sharp, bitter pang of jealousy.
My knife went spinning towards the target with such force that it almost missed. It only just made it to the edge of the target. I stopped, closing my eyes on the surprised face of the trainer, and took a deep breath. I was not jealous, especially not of these pathetic group. They were socialising with people who, in a few short days, would either be their victims or their killers. The stupidity was overwhelming.
Opening my eyes again, I fixated on the centre of the target and let everything else fade away. I was here, exactly where I needed to be. I had a knife in my hand and that always meant I was in control. I could kill any of these people, all of them if necessary, and most importantly, I was going to kill Fire Girl.
The second time, the knife met the dead centre of the target with a most satisfying thud.
At lunchtime I was the last to arrive. Once again I paused in the doorway and ran my eyes over the huddled groups of tributes. They had moved the smaller tables to form one long one. Some of them were off matches; frail Sativa from Nine shared a piece of bread with the enormous and, by the looks of it, drunk Acey from Five. There was a sharp cough that caught my attention. At one end of the room Brutus, Cashmere and Gloss were sitting around the far end of the table. Despite the fact that they were technically sitting with the other tributes, from the way that Brutus and Gloss had their shoulders turned it was clear that they had separated themselves from the rest. I stalked passed a few tables and for a brief second my gaze connected with Finnick's. He glanced away again almost instantly, but there was something in his eyes which caused me to frown as I took a seat opposite Cashmere.
She was pulling apart a piece of bread and tossing the sections on the table, her gaze fixed vaguely somewhere over Gloss' shoulder. She looked more distracted than I had ever seen her before and I wondered if the stress of these Games was beginning to impact her.
"I noticed you haven't changed your weapons preferences then," Gloss commented as I picked up my own bread and took a bite. His gaze lingered slightly on my teeth. Noticing this I made a point of licking my lips, running my tongue over the pointed edges of my two famous teeth, just to remind him how vicious I could be.
Brutus snorted. "The one's never had anything but a knife in her hands since she was a child," he commented loudly and topped his head back to drain his glass.
"Are knives a particularly popular weapon among your female tributes?" Cashmere asked suddenly, joining back into the conversation seamlessly, her eyes now sharp as the knives we talked about. I held her gaze, wary of the direction of her question. She frowned innocently and rested a perfectly manicured finger on her chin.
"It's just that the girl from last year's Games favoured them too. Was that just coincidence or..." she let the sentence hanging. She knew the damage had been done. Even as anger crashed through me I saw the triumph flash in her eyes.
Rising slightly, I leant across the table. She reacted like lightning. Her body instantly snapped into a defensive position. I snarled and she narrowed her eyes.
A loud clattering broke through my angry focus. Cashmere's head flicked automatically towards the noise. I followed her gaze to see Brutus standing sheepishly by the table, his plate lying in shards around him.
"Oops," he said, shrugging. There was a low chuckle from a few other tributes who no doubt suspected he was still a drunkard. They were in for a nasty surprise in the Arena if they underestimated him.
His trick had worked, though. The moment of tension was once again broken between Cashmere and I. When I looked back, the cruel edge had vanished from her eyes and she was avoiding my gaze. She looked instead towards her brother who had placed a hand on her arm and was trying to pull her back into her seat. She obeyed him, reluctantly, and then turned haughtily away.
"Is someone going to clean this mess up?!" Brutus called loudly, looking around the room and challenging the numerous people who were staring. Ignoring him I glanced absently down the table. Finnick was leaning towards Johanna, deep in conversation.
With a jolt of suspicion, I caught him gesture in my direction. Johanna shook her head firmly and glanced up, meeting my eyes. Seeing her freeze, Finnick followed her gaze.
I held their gaze calmly despite the fact that dread was flowering inside me and then flicked it away with careful nonchalance. I pretended to be interested as the red-clad Avox suddenly scurried into the room. They began to clean up the mess as Brutus stepped daintily out of it. He tilted his head to the side as he looked at me: a warning. I nodded grumpily. I didn't want to deal with the politics of an Alliance right then. My mind was too full of Finnick and Johanna. I desperately wanted space and silence to analyse, to decide whether I faced a new threat, or something else entirely.
Following lunch I was too restless to remain at the knife training station. As soon as I stalked away, I noticed than Loverboy and Seeder slipped up to it. I had to suppress a low growl.
Instead I joined Brutus at the archery station and watched Mags line up an arrow with shaking hands. I knew she had once been a skilled athlete but time had worn her away in more ways than one. The arrow sailed far from the target. She didn't seem to mind. She smiled gummily at the trainer and I wondered if she could even see the target. I looked around the room again. As well as Mags, the other tribute well on the senior side was Woof. He was sitting at the edible insects station with Cecelia and Fire Girl. I watched him for a moment, enough to decide that sending an elder into an Arena was as much a sin as sending a child. They couldn't stand a chance and they would know it.
Brutus moved forward and took the proffered bow. He carefully selected an arrow from the display. I only paid him half attention; I knew he could shoot well though not amazingly. In addition I watched the other tributes. I sorted those into fighters and victims. Some were easy to dismiss, despite their relative youth, such as the Morphlings. Others may have been strong once but time and comfort had weakened them enough that they could never summon enough strength in time for it to matter.
My list of fighters was familiar: Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus, myself, Finnick, Johanna, Fire Girl and Loverboy. It was a small list but it was still too long for my liking.
Cashmere and Gloss were sitting in one corner. Surprisingly they weren't training. Despite being surrounded by ropes and half made hammocks, their tasks lay abandoned as they talked intently, their golden heads bowed.
Brutus continued to fire arrows at his target and from the satisfied grunts I presumed he was going well. Finnick was standing with Mags, apparently helping her tie a knot, thought being from the fishing district I found it odd she needed any help. Johanna was exactly where I had left her, naked and darting around the wrestling training who I think was more wary of her exposed flesh than her skill. Loverboy was watching her, his head tilted to the side.
"Careful, Fire Girl," I mused, "you may just lose your fake lover yet."
The girl herself was at the sword fighting station. She was listening studiously to something the trainer was telling her. When she took the sword he offered, it was clear she disliked the weapon. I smiled grimly. She was a fool if she'd only trained with her precious bow and arrow.
"Why don't you go and make friends," said a deep voice in my ear. I jerked away, turning to look at him. Brutus had clearly abandoned his bow and was watching Fire Girl with a cynical expression.
I shook my head. "She'd be lucky if I didn't slide her throat to tail," I spat. Fire Girl wasn't hopeless with the weapon but it was obvious she disliked the heavy weapon.
"Well, if you could restrain yourself from that, it might be important to gain a sense of her skill," Brutus said sternly, stepping in front of me to block my view. I glared up at him and crossed my arms. He raised his eyebrows coolly.
"After all, we already know she's an excellent actor. Perhaps we should see what else she may be lying about."
It was only after I had built up my self control under Brutus' stern eye that I ripped off my training jacket and stalked over to the sword fighting station. He was right, and if anything was going to make it more certain I could kill her then I would do it.
When the trainer spotted my approach, his eyes lit up. No doubt he was thrilled to have a Career at his station as opposed to the rest of the useless rabble. As I approached the gleaming wrack of swords, Fire Girl glanced in my direction. I ignored her and inspected the weapons carefully. The majority of my sword training as a student had been with Manius. He had been the most skilled in our group and he'd always beat me. He'd preferred the heaviest, thickest weapons; I always went for the light and delicate instruments. It was as much practicality as it was principle. Most of the heavier swords were simply too large for someone of my size to wield, regardless of strength. Since my training days with Manius I hadn't paid the sword much attention, not until Brutus and I began training for the Quarter Quell.
A blade caught my eye; it reminded me of a blade I had seen in a previous Games. I touched the hilt with a finger and pondered the co-incidence that this weapon should be so uncannily similar to the one my mother had wielded during the 49th Games. Carefully picking it up I ran my fingertips down the length of the blade. It was as thick as my wrist at the hilt and finished in an elegantly curved and deadly point.
"A commendable weapon," the trainer said, appearing beside me. I glanced at him. His steely grey eyes connected with mine. "I believe you mother used one very similar." It should have been no surprise to me that the people n the Capitol remembered. They did love their Victors from District 2 and my mother had been beautiful as well as deadly.
I set my jaw as I snapped my fingers around the hilt and spun towards Fire Girl. She was watching me warily, her own weapon lightly balanced in her right hand.
"Let's see if you deserve your reputation," I said icily. Without giving her time to answer, I lunged forward. She only just managed to avoid the curved tip of my weapon, spiralling away as the blade sliced into the air beside her.
A few feet safely away, she lifted her eyes back to mine. They were hard and cold. Her gaze flickered briefly to my teeth and I smiled.
"I think you're the one with the reputation," she commented as she began to sidestep around me. I mirrored her movements and we began to pace in a wary circle. The trainer was murmuring instructions to us, perhaps warnings, but I blocked out his voice. Instead I fixed my gaze on Fire Girl's throat. If I concentrated hard enough I could believe her pulse was visible, twitching away beneath her skin. I would be the one responsible for ceasing her heartbeat.
"Your sister is going to cry when you die," I commented lightly, swooping my blade lazily through the air towards her. I did not intend to strike but I was curious to see her reflexes. Instead of leaping backwards as most would have done, and as I expected her to, her eyes remained firmly on the flash of silver, as if she was judging its threat to her.
"I don't think my sister needs your pity, Two," she replied, mimicking my casual tone. I grinned wickedly.
"Pity is not in my vocabulary, Twelve." I leapt forward with a slice of my arm and forced her to leap backwards. Inches from where she had stood I changed direction and met her leap, bringing the tip of my blade to hover near her throat. She had frozen as the blade sliced towards her head. Her chest heaved with each breath but her eyes remained firmly on my face.
"And neither is mercy," I added smoothly, revelling in the thrilling sensation of power.
There was a loud clap from my left and the trainer appeared at our side. He stepped forward and lowered his hand to rest on the hilt of my weapon, though I could sense his nerves.
His unspoken command was clear; we were not allowed to properly engage until the Arena and he trusted me as little as everyone else did. Flashing another smile at Fire Girl, I lowered my weapon and flipped it around. I held the hilt towards the trainer and he took it silently.
Turning my back on Fire Girl I walked calmly away. The knowledge that she was in my sights and her death was imminent brought a steadiness to my previously anxiously fluttering heart.
A/N: Oh Ena...