Chapter 4

The next day, Petronius's determination broke. He had managed to veer away from the swords for a whole day so far, but he couldn't stand it any longer. He didn't care what Katniss had warned him about showing off his skills too early. He hadn't used a sword since…well, since the rebels took over. He had to get his hands on one of those shining blades immediately.

He ran his fingers over the hilts and picked up a couple of ones that looked right, but none of them felt right in his hands. "A master swordsman," he explained to the trainer, "has to have the right feel for a certain sword, which is balanced for maximum accuracy." The trainer sympathized with him and told him to take a few whacks with a practice sword for the time being. At first, when Petronius tested out his skills on a padded dummy, he was shocked at how much his skills had decreased from a year and a half of neglect. Feverishly he repeated the standard drills over and over, trying to regain the natural instinct he had had with the sword. He practiced them for hours. Some of the more arrogant tributes, such as Julius and his crew, watched him and jeered, but Petronius's attention never wavered. His muscles started to recall the movements, and the actions once more became instinctive. After one last devastating overhand cut that would have decapitated any opponent, he stopped. He was drenched in sweat from the intensive workout, and took a deep swig of water from a plastic bottle. From the sidelines, the sword trainer approached him and handed him a silver sword with a three-foot blade, razor keen and perfectly balanced. Petronius hefted it once in both hands, then smiled. This was what he was looking for.

He replaced the padded dummies for foam ones, and got in the fighting stance. Julius and his crew, who had stopped to watch again, went silent. And when this arrogant group went silent, the rest of the room followed.

Then, like an arrow flying from a bow, Petronius launched himself at the foam dummies. His sword never stopped moving, neither did the one who held it. He was a whirlwind of ferocity and destruction. The sword became an extension of his arm, and a lethal one at that. He parried imaginary blows without faltering even a second in his attack sequences. This, many people in the room realized, was a warrior to fear.

Only one person did not watch. He was a certain small, dark boy who had taken off his shoes and was now crouched barefoot in front of a partially finished snare. While everyone else gaped and gasped at the show pony of a swordsman, he turned his back and continued his work.

When Petronius stopped with his sword raised and ready to parry, every single dummy surrounding him was either decapitated, split right down the middle, or stabbed right through their foam hearts. Every Gamemaker in the room started scratching notes on his clipboard. Petronius breathed heavily as he lowered his sword, and that's when the clapping started. It began with someone in the back of the room, near the spear targets. It was a slow, almost sarcastic clap, if a clap could be sarcastic. That blossomed into a chorus of slow applause, and Petronius's face started to resemble a tomato. A tomato with a sword.

The clapping faded and people started going back to their own business. Petronius handed the sword back to the sword trainer hilt-first, whose face was a mixture of terror and wonder. "I like it," he said, nodding.

But when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with Julius. Petronius had to look up a few inches, not a common thing. Julius was three inches taller than him.

"That was pretty good swordsmanship, if I do say so myself," Julius remarked lazily, folding his arms.

Petronius was instantly on high alert. Flattery from Julius was a dangerous thing. He took a quick look around and noticed that the rest of Julius's crew was standing a few meters away, watching from afar. Cynthia was one of them, he noticed, the beautiful, tall girl he had once courted. Unfortunately, she had dumped him for Lucius, who was also there, examining the swords on the rack but looking up to meet Petronius's eyes with a glare. There was a towering, dark-skinned boy, taller than even Julius, who was built like an ox and looked like he could break one of those foam dummies with two fingers. Petronius didn't know him, nor did he know the stocky, muscular girl next to Cynthia who kept glancing back over to the spear station wistfully, as if saying, Can we go now? Petronius later learned that the frighteningly huge young man was named Marius, and the girl was named Claudia.

"So good," Julius continued, "that we've decided that we like your style. How would you like to join our group?"

Petronius wasn't entirely sure what to say. He liked the idea of being in a group, but he didn't trust any of the members in that aforementioned group. "So this is how it is?" he inquired, knowing that the way out of a predicament like this often lay in tactics and diplomacy. "You're just banding up now?"

Julius scowled. "Yes or no, and I can tell you if you choose no, you'll be the first we come for."

"So this is how it is," Petronius repeated, but this time it was not a statement. "Just like earlier years. Banding up to eliminate the lesser threats, then turning on yourselves. Just like the Careers. Sure, having an ally is one thing. Joining a group that was formed merely to kill and win is another."

Julius seemed ultra-offended by this. "The Careers?" he said. "We are nothing like the Careers –– they did it for the money. They did it for the rewards. They all went willingly. We are not the Careers. We are the Elites. What are we doing it for? Survival. None of us chose to be here."

Petronius nodded. "You're right. None of us chose to be here. But we can choose other things, and one of those is whether to stay with a pack or not. I'm sorry, but that's just not for me."

He shrugged and walked away. Julius seemed absolutely enraged, but he did nothing as he stared at Petronius. Petronius did not care. He felt empowered by his own small rebellion, and felt like throwing a spear. So that's what he did.

In a dark corner, Artemis inclined her head approvingly as she watched the District 10 representative walk away.

Review otherwise I will give Petronius an espresso and a sword and send the hyperactive result after you.

Petronius: *sniffs disdainfully* I never get hyper.

*cricket, cricket*

Petronius: Well, I DON'T!

Everyone else: Sure… riiiiiiiight…