Chapter 3
He met up with Augusta at the first aid station, and they worked together. They both picked up new tricks, but it was definitely Augusta who learned more. She was absolutely entranced. So entranced, it seemed, that while she was busy stitching up a fake wound and while Petronius was watching her, neither of them noticed the boy as he walked up until he spoke.
"Hey," the boy said, startling both of them. But it was more of an accusation than a greeting, and Petronius was immediately on his guard.
"Amadeus!" Augusta said cheerily. "Hi! What's up?"
Petronius relaxed. He knew Amadeus. Of course he did, because they were cousins. Amadeus was Augusta's twin brother, anyway. They even looked it with their curly auburn hair, hazel eyes, and slight figures. But somehow, Amadeus had been chosen as the representative for District 9 while Augusta was the tribute for 10. Petronius saw in Amadeus's eyes the poorly disguised contempt at being separated from his sister.
Amadeus shifted his weight and dropped his arms to his sides. Although their physical appearances were very similar, their personalities were polar opposites. Augusta was an obvious extrovert and smiled to everyone she met. Amadeus was shy and sometimes sullen, not to mention protective of his "baby" sister. (In truth, they were only ten minutes apart.)
"I want you to come with me," said Amadeus in a low voice, sounding eerily similar to the villain of an old movie Petronius's dad had shown to Petronius once.
"Oh, just wait a second," replied Augusta brightly, "I just need to finish fixing up this mortal wound with Petronius really quickly."
"I don't want you to be around Petronius," Amadeus said coldly, and Petronius almost flinched at the young boy's directness.
Augusta opened her mouth, but no words came out. She closed her lips, then asked, "Why?"
"Yeah," Petronius said in a puzzled voice. "Why?"
Amadeus turned his glowering hazel eyes to Petronius. "As stupid and unthreatening you may seem," he began, at which Petronius interrupted with an indignant "Hey!", which he ignored and continued, "Augusta wouldn't stand a chance against you. I've seen and heard of what you can do with a sword."
Petronius recoiled. The very thought of ever hurting Augusta –– innocent, oblivious Augusta –– sickened him. He wasn't even able to say anything, the surprise was so intense, as Amadeus took his sister's hand and led her away from Petronius. "Come on," he said, trying to be as gentle as he could, but this gentleness vanished when he fixed his eyes on Petronius. "And you," he snapped. "I don't care if you two share a level in this bloody building. Stay away from my baby sister."
And so ended Petronius's first attempt at forming an alliance. Badly.
At lunch, Petronius wanted to sit with Augusta. The girl was adorable, not in beautiful way –– that wasn't to say that she was ugly, because she was definitely not –– but was adorable in a little-kid kind of way. He loved her; she reminded him of his real sister Paityn. But right as he was about to head over to Augusta's table with his lunch, he caught the glaring eye of Amadeus, and their gazes locked. Petronius remembered, nodded understandingly, and walked away to find a different table.
He noticed the tables in the back were occupied by lone tributes, such as Iris Snow and Cornelius Thyme, taking up entire tables of their own. There were many of these tables, Petronius noticed, with lone tributes, but there were no vacant and unoccupied ones. Association with the loners may be required.
There were two in particular who caught his eye, or rather, did not. One of them sat in the far left corner, angled so she was allowed a full view of the entire room. At first, she sat so still that Petronius thought the table was empty, until he saw the plates and tray and followed them to the girl sitting behind them. Her short dark hair veiled her eyes as she hunched over, giving her a hostile, intimidating appearance, but that could just be an illusion. Petronius made his way over and sat directly across from her.
"Hi," he said, just for starters.
"What do you want, Petronius?" The girl didn't even look up as she said it, and yet she still knew who it was. Creepy.
"Can I sit with you?" he asked uncomfortably.
"You just did."
"Oh. Uh, thanks," he replied with increasing awkwardness. "I guess you already know me, so…"
"Petronius Artolian Lyre, male representative for District 10, eighteen years old, six feet two inches, one hundred seventy-nine pounds," she droned in the voice of someone who did not care about the information she was spouting. Her bored voice was marked with the tinge of a foreign lilt that wasn't typical of Capitol-raised children, or even district children. "You could say I know you." She never looked up as she said it. She just kept calmly eating her salad.
"That's really creepy," Petronius muttered. "Problem is, I don't know you."
"My, that is a problem," the girl gasped, every word dripping with sarcasm as she finally set down her fork and looked up. Petronius almost flinched as their eyes met. Hers were dark, cold, and more intensely focused than he had ever seen before. She was younger than he expected, not much older than Augusta. But her olive-skinned face was hard and emotionless, and her lips were devoid of a smile. He managed to catch a glimpse of the number on her shirt sleeve –– 11. "You don't remember me," she continued, but it was a statement, not a question.
Petronius held her gaze for a second, trying to dig up where he had seen her before, and then he squeezed his eyes shut. "Wait!" he muttered, snapping his fingers repeatedly, like he had a habit of doing when he was trying to remember something. "Wait…YES!" At the second word, he pointed at her. "Treasurer Apollo Gossamer's daughter! Right?"
She sighed. "Yes, I suppose."
"You were on the news," Petronius continued, warming up to the topic. "Like, four years ago?"
"That's not what I prefer to be remembered for, but yes," she rolled her eyes. "And it was only three years ago."
"What were you on the news for? I can't remember," asked Petronius rather unwisely. "Didn't you run away or something…?"
"You would do wise to shut up now," she advised coldly, but Petronius was on a roll. He wasn't going to stop easily. As he was ranting, he did not see her subtly grab the knife from her plate.
"Yeah, it was," he said, "you went missing for a year, then you came back and said you were in District 11, and you wouldn't tell the press anything else –– "
The knife flashed in her fist, and Petronius abruptly stopped speaking a microsecond after the thud reached his ears. The sharp knife had buried itself in the wooden table, right in the centimeter-wide space between the index and middle fingers of his left hand. The girl's hand still gripped the handle, and Petronius was amazed at how fast she had lunged across the table. Fast enough to catch even him off guard. He didn't dare move his hand, but the adrenaline was now racing through his system.
"I said," she repeated darkly, swiftly pulling the knife out from between Petronius's fingers and twirling it nimbly in her fingers, "shut up."
Petronius quickly withdrew his hand. Nodding almost imperceptibly, the girl set down the knife and continued poking at her salad. Neither of them said anything, until Petronius broke the silence with a single name: "Artemis Gossamer."
The girl froze. After a second, she looked up with only her eyes, barely moving her head. "What?"
"That's your name. Artemis Gossamer." Petronius felt proud of himself for remembering a person's name. "I met you once, at one of your dad's dinner parties. You and I were the only kids there."
Artemis said nothing, only waited for him to continue.
"You stole the watch right off my wrist, along with my dad's wallet. Your father sent you to your room before the night was over, I remember."
A flicker of recognition, or maybe amusement, flashed briefly across her face before vanishing into the impenetrable indifference. "That's what I was looking for. Or, at least, waiting for you to remember."
She reverted back to poking at her salad. He noticed her token, a silver necklace with a pinkish-purple pearl set in a pendant, hanging around her neck. "Artemis," said Petronius, trying the name out again.
"What?"
"Sorry. I wasn't really talking to you."
"Who were you talking to, then? I don't see any more Artemises in the room."
"No, uh…" What am I talking about? Shut up, Petronius! "I like that name. Greek, right?"
"Greek goddess of the moon and the hunt. Mom hoped that I would grow up to become as beautiful as a painting she saw of Artemis. Her name was Athena."
"Greek names run in the family, huh?"
"We're nonconformists."
Petronius said nothing for quite a while and simply watched Artemis eat her meal. She was a mystery to him. The idea that this…this girl acted as his superior puzzled him. And he didn't particularly like it. She was an interesting figure. Of course, he didn't like like her –– for heaven's sake, she was four years younger than he –– but he was definitely intimidated. The silence she was giving was not shyness. It was defiant indifference. She did not care about him, plain and simple.
"Do you want to talk?" he asked.
Artemis glanced back up at him as if he had just stuck his finger up his nose, which is to say, with a disgusted scowl. "No."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Get lost."
The words were spoken with such indifference that he realized that she not only did not care about his predicament, but that she would not even care if he dropped down dead. So he did the tactical thing. He muttered "sorry" again and left her alone. If she didn't want a friend, that was her problem. Not his.
And so ended Petronius's second attempt at forming an alliance. Worse than the first.
Remember, dear reader, that there were two individuals that Petronius noticed, not just one. The second was a boy in the opposite corner. The light bulb on the ceiling above him had just burned out, providing shadows in which the individual sat. He was hunched over his plate, picking out the blueberries and strawberries from his fruit salad but not eating the rest. From Petronius's vantage point, he didn't look too impressive. But as Petronius drew closer, he began to make out more details about the boy. On the sleeve of his shirt was the number 4. So he's Callia's district partner, thought Petronius distractedly. His black hair flopped over his ears and eyes and hid his face. He was small and skinny, but somewhere Petronius sensed a hidden danger in the boy.
So Petronius slid into the chair across from him and said, "Hi."
The boy said nothing. He didn't even acknowledge Petronius's presence.
"I'm Petronius," he continued. "Representing District 10. What's your name?"
"Caius," said the boy, not even looking up.
Petronius was unfazed. He was determined this time. His tingling instincts told him that this young, dark boy would be a good ally –– and a dangerous enemy. A perfect combination for Hunger Games alliances.
"So, uh, you got an ally already?" asked Petronius uneasily. Something about Caius just made Petronius suspicious.
"Yes," he replied shortly.
"Who?"
Caius looked up and stared into Petronius's eyes, and now Petronius could see the boy's entire face. He was no older than fifteen, though his expression made him seem much older. His sharp dark eyes and unkempt shock of black hair, which looked like Caius had cut it with safety scissors while blindfolded, contrasted with the deathly pale skin of his thin face and prominent cheekbones. Petronius felt a sense of déjà vu, because once again he met a pair of hostile, scheming dark eyes that glinted with the wild light of either insanity or genius, possibly both. But Artemis's expression had been mostly just arrogant and annoyed –– Caius's glare was dangerous, almost startling.
"Myself," he said coldly.
Petronius shifted uneasily and averted his eyes from that piercing black gaze that never faltered or blinked. "Do you want me to leave?"
"It would be for the benefit of your health if you did," said Caius sardonically, watching Petronius as he stood up and turned away.
But before Petronius walked away he turned back to the hostile boy and suggested, "Hey, if you do decide to get an ally, there's a girl at another table who I think you'll like. Her name's Artemis and she did the same thing to me as you did."
"If Artemis cast you out," he said flatly, "she did it for a good reason, the same as mine. Now find your own table and stop bothering loners."
"Okay, okay," Petronius consented, leaving Caius and slumping down on the floor by the garbage can. He decided that if all the tributes were going to be this prickly when sharing the limited table space, then he might as well fight alone and friendless.
And so ended Petronius's third attempt at forming an alliance. Worse than all the others combined.
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If you thought this story sucks so far, go ahead and say so. HOW IN THE BLITHERING BLUE BLAZES AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF IT SUCKS WHEN I HAVE NO ONE TELLING ME HOW IT SUCKS?! (Which is kind of self-explanatory, but... still...)