Aveline Averone, 18
District 1, She/Her
June 3rd, 97 ADD
9:06 AM
Once the Head Trainer finished her announcements about the rules and schedule of the Training Center, the tributes began to split off.
(Aveline missed most of the announcements. She was busy trying to watch Bas out of the corner of her eye. Aveline had been so convinced that she'd seen her best friend die that it was still difficult to process that they were standing only a few feet away.
It didn't help that she looked… different, either. They weren't as alive as in her memories, or as dead as in her dreams, but somewhere in between. Something had changed. Maybe it was the memory loss, but Aveline couldn't help but think it was something else.)
Bastet glanced over and caught her looking. Aveline quickly glanced away, finding Invincible next to her. Aveline plastered on a smile and clasped her hands together. "Right! Let's do this thing, right guys?"
Invincible quirked an eyebrow, but managed a smile that was definitely much more genuine than hers. "Yeah, definitely."
Tisiphone and Brizo nodded. Bas and Mercury were busy whispering to themselves, and Mercury said something that made Bas laugh.
(Aveline pushed her jealousy away. She and Bas had been like that, once, and they would again. She just had to get Bas alone. Then she could explain what happened, and make Bas remember, too, and everything would be okay again.)
Aveline's smile froze in place. "Great! So I was thinking we could also get to know each other better by doing training stations together!"
"All six of us at once?" Tisiphone asked.
"Or we could do pairs!" Aveline said. "How about… you and Mercury, Vince and Brizo, and me and Bas?"
Vince pursed their lips. Tisiphone glanced at Mercury, who shrugged. "That works," she said.
"We can always switch it up later!" Aveline hurried. "But I'm really looking forward to getting to know everyone. Anyway, let's not waste time! We'll meet back up here in… an hour. Let's go!"
As the Careers began to break off, Vince leaned in. "Good luck," they muttered. Aveline could only nod in return.
And then it was just the two of them.
Bas gave her a look.
(For a moment, Aveline could've sworn she knew. That the Bastet standing in front of her was still her Bas, that they knew Aveline as well as they always had. That maybe she had missed Aveline just as much as she'd missed them.)
"So which station, boss?" they asked.
Aveline, still trying to piece together the jumbled mess of her feelings, was caught off guard. "Boss?"
"I mean, you kind of put yourself in charge, right?" they replied, a smirk brushing her lips.
Aveline bristled. "I was just doing what I thought was best."
Bastet's smirk widened. "Mhm."
"Bas-"
"You keep calling me that," she interrupted. "Which I don't get, honestly, because it's not like we're close or anything. Didn't I just meet you yesterday?"
Aveline's heart twisted in her chest. "So you really don't remember me?"
"No."
"I can't believe this," she mumbled.
"Can't believe what?"
"I was hoping I was wrong, but… there's no other explanation…" Aveline trailed. "It's amnesia, right?"
Bas couldn't hide her surprise. "Amnesia?"
"There's no other explanation," Aveline repeated. "When the grenade went off, you must've hit your head- so then you didn't remember anything-"
Bastet's eyes flashed. "So what am I forgetting, then, Aveline?"
Her breath hitched in her throat. "I, um- I-"
"Because here's what I remember," she said, voice turning cold. "I remember spending my entire life in second place. I remember never being good enough for anyone, because there was always this other girl everyone loved more. She was their hero. She didn't care that being the hero meant I suffered. What a sorry excuse for a hero, right? Anyway, I kept minding my own fucking business. And then another Academy kid won the Games, because our training system is so screwed up that only a rich Pantheon kid even has a shot at winning. So why not protest it? So we started protesting it, and then of course everything escalated and Two went to shit again, and then the next thing I know, that hero girl is throwing a grenade in my direction. When I wake up, she's gone, and everyone figures she crawled into some hole and died. Good riddance, right?"
Aveline stared at them, mouth open.
Bastet leaned in closer. "So maybe I do have amnesia," she murmured. "But that's fine. I remember everything worth remembering."
"But- but that's n-not right," Aveline replied, trying to keep her lip from quivering. "The other girl didn't mean to."
Bastet tilted their head. "She didn't mean to what? Leave me for dead?"
"She thought you already were," Aveline pleaded.
"She was wrong."
"She was your best friend!"
"Best friends throw grenades at each other during riots?"
"She didn't mean to!"
"Well, she did!" Bastet said, their voice barely restrained. "She did, and then she abandoned me, and guess what? I fucking moved on. Just like she did."
"She didn't move on," Aveline told her.
"And how do you know that?" Bastet asked sharply.
Aveline swallowed. "B-because- it was me."
"Ah," Bastet said. They tilted their head the other way, her eyes widening, and Aveline couldn't tell if they were mocking her or not. "Hero girl has crawled out of her hole?"
"I-"
"Hero girl, who left me to die?"
"I didn't-"
"And now you're back in my life- for what? To try to kill me again in the arena?"
"I'm not-"
"Because god forbid the great Aveline Averone think about anyone but herself-"
"Bas-"
"Stop calling me that," she sneered. "I'm not training with you right now. Fuck off."
She turned on their heel and stormed off, and Aveline watched her go.
(If Aveline wasn't the girl Bastet remembered, then Bastet surely wasn't the best friend Aveline knew, either. She'd seen them alive, and thought she saw her dead, but had never seen the pure venom in Bastet's eyes like she had today. Bas had changed.
But Aveline could fix this. She could set the record straight. She could fix Bastet's twisted memories and revive the warmth they used to have.
She could fix this.
She could.)
Jest Valencia, 18
District 5, He/Him
10:25 AM
Jest gritted his teeth and struck the steel with the flint again. A few sparks flew towards the fire the trainer had shown him how to build, but they didn't catch. Jest leaned back with a wince. The stylists had given him some sort of medication to speed up the healing process, but nothing for the pain. Last night had been hellish. Today was better, but he was still trying to keep movement to a minimum.
"Mind if I join you?"
Jest looked up. A short, pale, thin girl with blonde hair and a smattering of freckles stood to the side, looking at him expectantly. Her training jumpsuit had a 10 stitched to the chest.
"Oh. Um, yeah. Sure."
She sat down beside him.
(Jest had worked many jobs. If he wasn't at one of his shifts as a bouncer, he was a bodyguard, or security, or a decorative piece of muscle. And while he wasn't much of a talker, he was good at reading body language. He had to be, because that was when his jobs really started: when things got dangerous.)
(This wasn't that. This short girl did not set off alarm bells. What caught his attention was the way she gingerly lowered herself to the floor. She was so thoroughly careful; every movement was precise. It almost mirrored how Jest had been moving since his prep session.
He didn't say anything. He just noted it.)
"I'm Chevre, by the way," she said. Her voice was warm and slow.
"Jest." He scratched his head. He figured he should ask her a question about herself, right?
(Because this was a place where no one knew him. No one here knew him as the bruiser who dropped out of high school his freshman year. They hadn't seen him shove other kids in trash cans when they looked at Jori the wrong way. They didn't know him as the guy who failed to save his brother's life.)
"So… where are you from?" he asked.
Chevre pointed at her jumpsuit. "District Ten."
Jest flushed. "Oh. Right." The number was right there, dumbass. How did you already forget?
But Chevre didn't seem to mind. She gestured at his jumpsuit. "And you're from Five?"
"Yeah."
"Nice!" She looked to the trainer. "So how does this work?"
The trainer launched into the explanation again. Jest had trouble grasping it, but Chevre was nodding along attentively. After a few tries, she managed to light the kindling Jest had placed.
(The way she struck the steel was just as careful as every other movement, if not more so.)
"That was really good," Jest commented.
She glanced over at him and smiled. "Thanks!"
"Have you ever done it before?"
"Nope. This was the first time."
"I wouldn't have guessed," Jest said sincerely.
"Thank you," Chevre replied. Her gaze shifted to his bicep, where the edges of a tattoo crept out from under his sleeve.
"They aren't real," Jest said reflexively.
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."
"You weren't," Jest said. Then he remembered. "Well, uh, actually, they are. Real, that is."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"
"They didn't used to be."
"Sorry, what? You had fake tattoos, and now you have real ones?"
"Yes." He could feel his cheeks reddening again. "Sorry. I'm still kind of getting used to it."
Chevre squinted at him, then the fresh tattoo on his arm, then him again. "When'd you get them?"
Jest sighed and looked away. "Um… yesterday," he muttered.
"What?"
"Yesterday," he said a little louder.
"They gave you a new tattoo yesterday?"
"More than one," Jest said, wincing.
Chevre stared at him, incredulous. "You have to be joking."
"I, um, I've been told I'm not very good at that."
"Can I see?"
Jest hesitated.
Chevre immediately retreated. "It's okay. Never mind."
"I'm still sort of getting used to it," he confessed. "And it, um…"
Chevre lowered her voice. "It hurt, didn't it?"
"Yeah," he answered, relieved that she understood without him having to say.
"Wow," Chevre said, sitting back. "That's really, really awful, Jest. I'm sorry."
He shrugged.
"I'm serious," she insisted. "I can't imagine how I would feel."
"Bad, probably."
"Bad," she agreed.
Jest paused. "The tattoos usually scare people off," he said.
Chevre shrugged. "They're mostly covered up."
"Everyone saw them yesterday."
She thought for a moment. "If I'm being honest, I have a hunch that you're not nearly as scary as you look."
"Good," he replied. "I don't want to be."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Really."
He looked away. "Yeah."
(He'd been the scary version of himself for years, and where had it gotten him? Nowhere. It hadn't prevented his Reaping. Or saved Jori. It barely put enough food on the table for him and Jiddana and Divvy and Ma to get by.)
"I'd think if there's any time to be scary, it's now, right?" Chevre asked.
"Maybe for them," Jest said, gesturing to a pair of Careers. One of them was gleefully swinging a baseball bat while the other watched. "But that's not me."
Chevre gave him a long look. "Fair enough," she replied.
"Besides," he said, "I have a hunch, too."
"What's the hunch?"
He shrugged again. "Maybe I'm not the only one whose appearance doesn't match the rest of them."
"Oh?"
"You picked up that fire trick real fast," he replied. "Sized me up quick, too."
"Hmm." She smiled to herself, then Jest. "So what? You think I'm smart?"
"Maybe. It's still a hunch. I gotta keep working on it."
She sized him up. "Alright, Jest," she replied. "How about you keep working on your hunch, and I work on mine, at another station?"
Jest tried to hide his smile, nodding quickly. "Sounds good."
(As he followed her to plant identification, Jest couldn't help but wonder if this girl was his chance at a friend. She'd been nice to him, and didn't mind his awkwardness, and… and Jest couldn't shake the feeling that she was smarter than she let on, her fragility masking her intelligence.
If her first impression was an honest one, she was like Jori in more ways than one.)
(But it was early, and Jest couldn't know for sure.)
(So he pushed the memories of Jori's gaunt, lifeless face away for now, and followed Chevre to the next station.)
Rumi Valmorida, 18
District 10, They/He/She
10:43 AM
After visiting the knife station, Rumi turned and looked out across the Training Center. Tributes had scattered fairly evenly through the stations. He spotted Chevre talking to the jacked boy with the tattoos- good for her, that guy's hot- but what really intrigued her were the Careers.
(Someone tried it every year, right? An outlier always tried to buddy up with the trained tributes. And a lot of the time, it worked, at least for a while. If Rumi was going to really win this, then maybe flirting with a Career or two or three was the best way to do it. If he wanted Auberon to really love him- to be the first person to actually love them- then maybe this was the best way.)
(Never mind that Auberon had told them he loved them plenty of times. Or that his sincerity had never faltered. Everyone else in Rumi's life- their parents, their foster family, their boss- had made it clear that loving Rumi was the hardest thing a person could do.
For Auberon to pretend otherwise could only mean one thing: that he was lying.)
Their eyes landed on a pair several stations away. He could tell they were Career by how well they fought; the pair was sparring, if not very intensely. It seemed like they were testing the waters more than anything, exchanging a word here or there, and Rumi doubted she'd be interrupting much. So he walked over, put their hands on his hips, and said, "I think that's the hottest thing I've seen all day, and I looked in a mirror right before this."
The sparring stopped as both Careers turned to see who was speaking. Rumi grinned back, sizing them up quickly. The smaller of the two was a black-haired boy who lowered his sword and jumped back as though startled, staring at Rumi with a frown. The other had thick brown hair with bleached ends and raised their eyebrows, the beginnings of a smirk at the edge of their lips. Rumi glanced at their jumpsuits- 4 and 1.
The tribute from One gave them a once-over. "Who do we have here?"
"Rumi Valmorida, they/he/she, at your service."
One started to smile. "Invincible Gaultier. They/them."
Rumi glanced at Four, who hesitated before replying, "Brizo Windrake. Um, he/him?"
Invincible's focus was trained entirely on Rumi. "You did that yourself?" they asked, gesturing to the remains of her training jumpsuit.
Rumi shrugged. "Oh, sure. Just a few alterations here and there."
(That was why they'd visited the knife station first. He'd chopped off most of the pants and turned them into booty shorts, leaving just enough fabric for their ass to peek out, and cut into the neckline. She'd also cut it clean in half and cropped the top half. For a few minutes' work, it was rather impressive, if they did say so himself.)
"Why?"
"Why not?"
Invincible grinned. "Fair enough. It does make you… stand out."
"Hardly," Rumi replied, "as long as I'm standing next to you with that sword."
Invincible cocked an eyebrow.
"Like I said. Hot," Rumi said. "You should show me sometime."
"You want a lesson?"
"I'd love one," Rumi answered. "Not like there's anything better to do."
"Agreed," Vince replied. "Brizo, we need your sword."
"But-"
Rumi held out their hand. "I'm asking nicely," he said. "What's the problem?"
Brizo shrank back, glancing at Vince. "Aveline said we were supposed to-"
"I don't see Aveline here," Rumi said. "Clearly, Invincible would rather spar with me, and there's no need to get off on the wrong foot, is there?"
"Vince?" Brizo asked, a deep frown overtaking his features.
Invincible looked back at Brizo for the first time. "Don't want to overwork ourselves," they told him. "Might as well take a break."
"And train an outer-district tribute?"
"Would you rather be bored?"
Brizo stared at Invincible, who didn't relent, before turning back to Rumi. "I just-"
Rumi tilted her head towards their outstretched hand. "The sword, please."
"Fine," Brizo muttered. He pressed the sword into Rumi's hand. "I know where I'm not wanted."
"Oh, Brizo, don't be like that-" Invincible started. But the Four boy had already walked away.
"Don't worry about him," Rumi said. She grinned. "I can win him over later."
(The twinge of guilt over the look on Brizo's face when he handed over the sword faded quickly. He could appeal to Brizo later- Invincible had to be won over immediately. They were Rumi's in. This was his chance, and she was not going to waste it.)
"I met him today. It's fine," Invincible replied. "Now, let's fix your grip, shall we?"
Rumi inhaled as Invincible wrapped their hands around hers, adjusting his form manually. "Invincible-"
"Call me Vince." They started correcting Rumi's posture, pulling their shoulders back and adjusting his waist.
"Vince," Rumi repeated. "I like that."
Vince smiled. "I know what you're doing, by the way."
Rumi pulled back. "What?"
Vince pulled back as well, leveling their sword at her. "I'm not an idiot. I can see you flirting with me."
"Well, I can see you flirting back."
Vince nodded. "My allies are so boring, Rumi. And distracted. I need to shake things up."
"I can fix one of those things," Rumi replied.
Vince grinned. "Might make the other worse."
They lunged at Rumi, jabbing at her side with their sword, and Rumi fell back with a shriek. "Vince!" they laughed. "I wasn't ready!"
Vince twirled the sword and lunged again, hooking the dull side of the weapon around the backs of Rumi's knees and forcing him to his knees. Rumi clumsily swept out with her sword, and Vince knocked it out of their hand.
"Whoops!" Rumi giggled. "You topped me!"
Vince snorted. "I can do better than that."
"Is that an offer?"
Vince tossed their own sword aside, and lent a hand to help him up. "Rumi," they said, "how would you like to join my alliance?"
Rumi grinned back. "Absolutely. Should we… shake on it?"
"Better idea," Vince replied, grabbing the remains of Rumi's training jumpsuit and pulling her lips to theirs. Rumi laughed and kissed them back.
(After all, Rumi had Invincible Gaultier exactly where they wanted them.)
True McKellar, 17
District 8, She/Her
12:15 PM
The morning had been productive. True had started off her day by taking out some of her anger on a punching bag. She didn't want to reveal too much of her skills right off the bat, but she also sorely needed to let off some steam, and it had felt good. Even better, one of the trainers had been able to give her a few pointers. True considered herself a self-taught fighter, and a few quick changes by a real trainer went a long way. Then she'd spent some time learning how to purify water, and before she knew it, it was time for lunch.
She was one of the first ones in the cafeteria, and she quickly helped herself to the offerings and grabbed a table along the far wall. Hopefully, no one would bother her here-
"Hiya."
True looked up from her tray to see a boy. He had medium-length, curly, dark brown hair, tanned skin, and bright eyes. She noted the number on his training jumpsuit: 9.
He smiled. "Name's Jem. Mind if I sit here?"
"Plenty of open tables left."
"Meals are better with friends, don't ya think?"
"Are we friends?" True asked. She wasn't asking it in a rude way. True McKellar was a reasonable person. There was no need to be an ass or start shit with this guy. Instead, she kept her tone neutral.
"I think we could be."
True shrugged. "I don't mind. Sit where you want."
Jem smiled bigger and set his tray down across from True. "So how's your mornin' been?"
"Fine," True replied. She reached for her food- lunch was make-your-own sandwiches today, and True had helped herself.
"There's so many stations. I bet it would take a week to get through 'em all."
"We don't have a week," True said.
"I know," Jem replied.
True eyed him as she took a bite of her sandwich. "We have three days."
"Right." Jem paused. "I can cut to the chase, if you'd like."
"Didn't know there was a chase to cut to," True remarked.
"Isn't there always?"
"What's your point?"
Jem lowered his voice. "I wanna form an alliance."
True frowned. "I don't even know you."
"That's what we got three days for," Jem replied. "Here's the deal, okay? I'm not throwin' this at you out of nowhere, even though it probably feels like it. I got a plan. You see them over there?"
Jem gestured to the right, and True followed his gaze to see he was pointing at the Careers' table. There were six- no, seven of them now- talking and laughing and glaring at one another. They were strong and well-fed, and one of them was throwing grapes into another's mouth with perfect aim.
"Yeah, I can see them. Why?"
"Even when they don't win, they make it the farthest," Jem continued. "They make it farther than most of us. And I think they make it far because they stick together."
"...Okay."
"And so I think," Jem said, "that if we wanna go that far, outliers have to stick together. We have to form a Pack of our own."
True considered his words. They made sense. Honestly, she hadn't been too impressed when he first walked up, but he was talking a lot of sense. But she had a few more questions first.
"There's only two of us at this table," she pointed out. "Where's the rest of your Pack?"
"Like I said, that's what we got three days for," Jem answered. "I've been watching the Reapings and payin' attention all morning, and I've got a list of sorts."
"A list of people?"
Jem grinned. "Exactly."
"Who's on it?"
"You."
"No shit," True replied. "But who else?"
Jem leaned back. "Does that mean you're in?"
"I didn't say that."
"So why would I tell you who I think the most valuable tributes are?" he asked.
True pursed her lips. "I guess that's fair." A thought occurred to her. "How'd I end up on your list?"
"It was the Reapings," Jem told her. "You didn't look defeated."
"Pretty sure I looked pissed off."
"You did," Jem grinned.
"So that was what did it? I came off as a hothead?"
"Not that, exactly," he replied. "More like… you didn't give up. You were already rarin' to go. And this alliance can't have people who'll give up as soon as it gets tough."
Well, at least that meant she'd held back enough during training that morning. "What kind of tough we talking?"
"It's the Games. It'll be tough," Jem said. "But I think takin' on Careers… it'll be hard."
"You got a plan for that, too?"
"Maybe," he grinned. "But I think it would be better to do that as a team, right?"
"Sure."
"Sure." He cocked his head. "So…?"
"So what?"
"So, you in?"
"I'm thinking about it," she replied. "But I still don't know who the fuck you are."
"Oh, I can answer that no problem," he said. He stuck out his hand. "Jem Piper, Newsie of District Nine, President of the Union, Bane of Van Housen's Existence."
True laughed. "What?"
"I'm introducin' myself."
She shook his hand. "What does that stuff even mean?"
"It means I deliver papes," he answered.
"Newspapers?"
"Yes. And that I'm in charge of the Newsie's Union."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"How are you president, then?"
"I also helped found the Union," he said proudly. "And led the strike, although… that coulda gone better."
True raised her eyebrows. "Got a real resume there."
"Thanks. Did that answer your questions?"
"Who the fuck's Van Housen?"
"The big guy I was striking against. Is that all?"
"For now, I guess."
"So…" Jem trailed. He grinned. "Does that mean you're in?"
(True thought for a moment. She'd intended to go the Games alone, but here was an opportunity. If things went bad, she could always ditch it, right? This Jem kid seemed confident in his plan. Maybe a bit foolish, too, but she was pretty sure he Volunteered, so foolishness had to come with the territory. But he was prepared. More than she was.)
She glanced at the Career table one more time, then back at him. "'Kay. I'm in."
Shazia Burnell, 17
District 9, She/Her
4:27 PM
"That's really fucking cool."
Shazia glanced up. For the last hour or so of training, she'd parked herself over by the traps station, taking over one of its workbenches. Until now, she'd almost relaxed a little. She didn't have to think so hard at the traps station- it was almost like being at home working for her grandmother.
The small girl standing on the other side of the bench, however, had broken that moment of peace. Shazia gave her a once-over. Her dark, loosely curly hair was tied up in a ponytail, and it matched her dark brown eyes. She had light brown skin and looked stronger than Shazia would have expected. She was young, too- one of the youngest here, without a doubt.
She sat down on the other side of the workbench, reaching for Shazia's materials. "I'm gonna build a catapult," she said. "But like, a mini one-"
"Who are you?" Shazia interrupted, baffled by the other girl's sheer audacity.
"Oh, yeah! Chase Holloway," she said, sticking out her hand.
Shazia shook it begrudgingly. "Shazia Burnell."
"Nice to meet you," Chase said, giving her a cheeky smile. "Can I borrow that screwdriver?"
"Give me a minute."
"Sure." Chase started reaching for the short planks of wood, sticking her tongue out as she worked. Shazia watched her for a moment before returning to the snare she'd been practicing. She'd changed the design somewhat, replacing the unfamiliar materials with what she knew how to work with. Once she was gone, she flipped the screwdriver around and handed it to Chase handle-first. "Here."
"Thanks." Chase grabbed some screws and stood up, using her body weight to drive the metal into wood. "So what did you make?"
"A snare. I'd ask what you're making, but-"
"A catapult," Chase said cheerily. She patted the planks she'd screwed together and got started on the next one.
Shazia glanced at the other girl's jumpsuit. "District Five?"
"Yes."
"What's that like?"
Chase stopped her work for a second to consider. "Kinda a hellhole, honestly."
"Yeah?"
"Definitely." She started screwing a fourth plank.
"In what way?"
Chase didn't stop working, but Shazia noticed her shoulders hunch a bit. "It's one of those places where… you know. No one's gonna look out for you."
"That's really hard."
"It is." Chase glanced up at Shazia, her dark brown eyes serious. "Lots of kids on the streets with no one to care about them."
Shazia nodded. "Nine has that too."
"You one of 'em?" Chase asked.
"No. I live with my grandmother."
"Good," Chase replied, and to her surprise, Shazia felt that Chase meant it sincerely.
She hesitated. "Are you…?"
"Am I what? Homeless?"
"I'm not trying to pry," Shazia replied. "You just talked about it as though you knew personally."
"Then yeah, I guess. I know personally," Chase said.
"I'm sorry."
"Not your fault," Chase said. "I made some friends. That helps a lot."
"That's good," Shazia replied.
"Hasn't stopped me from calling Five 'The Asshole of Panem,' but friends are always good," Chase said, some of the mischief returning to her eye.
Shazia burst out laughing. "The what?"
"'The Asshole of Panem,'" Chase repeated, grinning.
"Why call it that?"
"Because it's hot," she said, her grin widening, "and shitty!"
Shazia started laughing again. "I guess that's a fair name then."
"It is!" Chase exclaimed. "But Tye was always like, 'No, Chase, if we wanna make it better, we can't call it an asshole, because then people won't wanna fix it.' But I was just being honest!"
Shazia watched her continue working. She'd finished the base and was working on the rest of the frame. "Who's Tye? Your friend?"
"Nobody," Chase said quickly.
Shazia didn't pry, sensing Chase's discomfort. "Well, Nine isn't so hot all the time, I guess," she replied. "Summer's hot, but we're not in the desert like you."
Chase perked up, the hints of her bad mood already forgotten. "Have you ever seen snow?"
"Plenty of times."
"Man, I'd love to see snow," she said wistfully. "I'd love to eat it."
Shazia smiled. "It's just water. You've tasted it plenty."
"Yeah, but it has to be different, right?"
"Different how?"
"Because it's all… frozen and stuff," Chase answered, waving a metal rod in the air to emphasize her point. "So I bet it's different."
"Have you ever had ice before?" Shazia asked.
"No," Chase sighed. "Too expensive."
Shazia leaned in conspiratorially. "You know," she said, "if you lick something frozen during winter, your tongue gets stuck to it."
Chase's eyes widened. "Really?"
She nodded. "Absolutely. I've seen it happen myself."
"No way."
Shazia nodded again. "Once a kid licked a pole in fourth grade. He was stuck there for hours."
Her eyes bugged out. "Has that ever happened to you?"
"Of course not," Shazia answered. "I knew better."
"Well, that's good. I'll make sure I don't lick any poles in winter," Chase declared.
Shazia gave her a look. "Were you licking poles in the first place…?"
"No, but now I definitely won't," Chase replied. "Can I borrow a spring?"
Shazia passed her two. Chase fell silent as she kept working. Shazia watched quietly, fascinated by the girl's process. It seemed to involve a lot of trial and error, as well as improvisation- with what Shazia knew of Chase, she suddenly doubted that she'd ever been in school- but in no time, Chase had constructed a small, working catapult.
"Ha! Look at that!" Chase shouted. She pulled the arm back, and as soon as she let go, it popped up. "We gotta test it!"
"With what?"
That mischievous grin returned. "Got any eggs?"
"I'm not sure that's a good-"
"Well, actually, there's only a few minutes left, so we can test it tomorrow," Chase said, patting it fondly. She turned to the nearest trainer. "Hey! Can you make sure no one breaks my launcher before I come back tomorrow?"
The trainer nodded, and Chase turned back to Shazia, satisfied. "Awesome. See you tomorrow!"
And then Chase ran off, leaving Shazia at her work bench. Shazia crossed her arms and grinned, watching her go.
training! we're finally at training! lfg!
um yeah that's all i have for rn
see you next time with tisiphone, valentina, and patrek!
rb
