"Why? What does she have to offer me?"
"Honestly? Very little," Viondra replies. She continues to play and pause the footage at various moments of day one's training. I notice the girl has been eyeing me for a while. "Perhaps I shouldn't be too harsh...She's most likely eager to get her family back into good graces despite the situation she finds herself in. Everyone will form tribes by the end of the training days, so why can't you?"
"No, no, no," I wave dismissively. "She's just gonna slow me down-"
Viondra shoots me an incredulous look. "And what do you do with people who slow you down, Rivendell?"
I roll my eyes. I'm set in my way of getting in that arena and doing what I need to do for my family, yet she keeps poking holes into my plan...Oh wait, you cut off loose ends, that's what you do. Maybe I do need to sit down and think a little...
"Some collateral in case things go sour is exactly what you need." Viondra continues. "We can ill-afford any errors on your part. Remember, they have a squad. What do you have? You're going to need one of your own - or at the very least, a select few people to trust once the dust settles after the bloodbath."
I frown at her while I slowly droop my shoulders. She's sort of right. Who knows what the arena holds? Even with the large amount of tributes within it - cushioning me from being hunted down and killed outright, it doesn't help being alone while they have team and squad-level numbers. I don't even want to imagine being caught off guard - cornered by the Thirteens all on my lonesome.
After days of being a black sheep, it'd be nice to at least talk to one tribute without having the urge to wring their neck or the fear of being jumped by them.
That smug grin still on her lips, Viondra crosses one slender leg over the other and begins dialing a number on her communicuff. "I'll let their escort know."
Chapter Ten - "Quid Quo Pro: Part Two"
As we begin to make our way through day two of training, I notice that the other tributes are steadily shedding their wallflower status in exchange for weapons practice. Unlike yesterday, with their gigantic theory lessons, there are a multitude of trainers on hand who take all six tributes from a respective district into classrooms for private instruction. The gymnasium as a whole is nearly empty as all the tributes who went to the weapons stations opt for private instruction.
The 'Twelves'- Thirteens - do that. Like those voices said, they're onto me, just as I'm onto them.
As a trainer leads them away, they watch me from down below. I'm on the second floor mezzanine, getting a great view of it all as I run a five mile on one of the dozen treadmills. Viondra still has me on the "No weapons training" ban under the promise of being "Justly compensated" soon in the form of a "special trainer". Until then, maintaining my fitness is all I got.
I'm not all that surprised when I see the girl Viondra and I were speaking about enter the room and take the treadmill next to mine. Even without talking I could tell that she was a Capitolite. It's the hair, the perfectly maintained blonde updo it's in. Not to mention the coat of lipstick she wears. Despite being deported to a District - even if it's One - she still maintains the fashion.
She grins weakly but I avert my gaze, curious as to what she'll say to break the ice. She starts her program up and we both run in silence. We're in the thick of our programs when she turns to me again.
"I'm glad...they have this place - the mezzanine..." She pants with a distinct Capitol accent. "It...reminds me of...school and it takes away from..." she gestures toward the ground floor, "What's below us - phew..."
"You can't - humph - run away...from this," I reply, slightly agitated that my run is being hampered by conversation. "It's happening...whether you're...ready or not."
"I agree!" she chimes back, a little too jovial for my liking. "I was...sure as shooting about to...give up on my chances until I realized...not everyone in here is rebel scum...like you for example."
My treadmill transitions into cooldown mode as I bring my hands to my hips and begin a slow walk. So does hers. With a pearly white smile, she extends a sweaty hand toward me.
"The name's Syndra. It's a pleasure to meet you," she chimes.
I glance down at the hand. The concept of 'making friends' was the very last thing on my mind when I decided to sneak onto the square and march down the aisle. But with Viondra's words in mind, I reach out and pump her hand.
"Really now?" I reply with a cocked brow. "Thought everyone in here was secretly planning to hang me by my guts? Name's Zenobia Rivendell."
"Like the Victor?" she asks, mouth slightly agape when I nod. She frowns. "That explains a great many things."
"Not as much as you think," I reply. "So, you aren't here to butter me up and then kill me when I least expect it?"
"Like I said, not everyone here is a finger-saluting rebel..." she murmurs with an agitated edge. "Perhaps we're here because some of our family members got caught up in the flames, pulling us down with them."
Sighing deeply, she follows me to where an Avox manages a cart of towels. We each take one and dry ourselves off.
"I'm not sure why you did it, but your volunteering was something special." She continues as we bound down the stairs and into the gymnasium proper. "Being a Two and putting yourself out there with such moxie can only mean you're a Career."
"What an observation, Specialist Jenkins." I quip with a grin.
"A Dragnet reference, lovely..." she deadpans in reply. "What I'm trying to say is we could really use someone like you in our corner - if only for a little while. You don't need to be alone anymore."
I cock a brow. "We?"
"There are a dozen or so other people like me, who didn't want anything to do with the War but found themselves in trouble because of others." She points a manicured finger toward a boy with a washed out blue undercut and we make our way toward him. "Rivendell, this is Rhodos. Rhodos...Need I give any introductions?"
His elbows dug into his knees while his chin rests in his hands, the boy known as Rhodos sighs deeply as he gazes up at me with his sorrowful grey eyes.
"Hi." He says to me, his voice barely a whisper. He looks like he hasn't slept in ages. I would know. I spent months in a field hospital feeling the exact same way.
"Forgive him. Rhodos is a very nice boy but with the War and everything that came with it...Everything for him is topsy-turvy." Giggling hesitantly, Syndra sits down beside him and caresses his back. "Who can blame him, really?"
Everything was 'topsy-turvy' for me, too. Back then, I was just about done with it all. I imagine he's done too.
The lunch bell rings and we're treated to a modest lunch yet again. The D2 table is empty of my 'partners' but my newfound acquaintances quickly make themselves at home. It's not long after that we're joined by more people. To my relief we don't seem to get many eyes on us, but I know people are taking note that "Ms. Spitfire" is gaining friends.
"Rivendell, this is Cicero, Daphne and Max or 'Maximus." Syndra chimes, gesturing to each acquaintance.
"N' I take it you're all from here?" I reply, eyeing them as they beam at me with glowing smiles. Except Rhodos of course.
They all take their time introducing themselves. Syndra is the daughter of a city planner who fed information to the Rebels pertaining to the Capitol's defenses. So, she was bumped down to District 1 to live with her long-lost cousins.
"To be perfectly honest, it isn't that bad." She explains, although her tone of voice makes me think she's just coping. "They aren't wrong when they say that One is a mini-Capitol. Helena is a wonderful small city. It's shocking, yes, but I was finally getting used to it until...this."
"You're very lucky," Cicero whines, pointing at her for extra emphasis. "District 6 is an absolute mess! I spent the last few months clearing rubble off the streets...among other things."
Cicero's mother and father worked in the Transportation Department. They would skim munitions and materiel off the top of shipments and stash them throughout the city in anticipation for rebel attacks - offering them a resupply the further in they made it. Instead of being executed, they squealed a few names and earned deportation instead.
"You know what I miss about it all...the food." Daphne says. The irony isn't lost on me considering the fact that Daphne is rather heavyset in comparison to all the other girls in the room.
Daphne currently resides in District 9. Her family's charge is espionage - spreading of information detrimental to the war effort, but she insists that they were set up.
"I don't know how they could be so stupid." Max glowers when our eyes turn to him. With an exasperated sigh, he runs a dark hand through his cropped dark hair. "We had everything we ever needed and now..."
Now, Max resides in District 11. He laments about the horrible conditions and Peacekeepers stationed there. His mother ran a safehouse in the form of a townhouse complex used by Rebel troops while in the city during the siege. When the Rebels were encircled, his complex was one of the locations for their last stands. His dad split up with the mom and now he and his dad live on a communal farm working overdrive to feed the rest of the nation. When I ask what happened to his mom, he shrugs dismissively.
We all turn to Rhodos. The guy's barely touched his food, sticking a piece of pasta salad into his mouth to appear normal. His eyes are blank slates.
"Rhodos, do you mind if I tell them?" Daphne asks, frowning when she doesn't receive an answer. Her eyes flicker to each of us one at a time as she explains, "Rhodos is with me, in D9. We work the same plant, thank Panem. He's all alone, which probably means his parents were in too deep and paid the price."
Swallowing my food, I shoot a quick glance toward the boy, frowning at how...invalid he seems. As if he was watching us on holovision. He doesn't even get upset at Daphne's description of his situation. He's that far gone.
Syndra quickly changes the subject to me. With everyone eagerly listening, I tell them bits and pieces about my time in the academy system, nothing about Paulus, Mom or Dad. Bits and pieces are not enough as they continue to pester me about why I came here.
"I mean, does the glory mean that much to you?" Max inquires.
"There has to be more to the story, Rivendell," Syndra adds.
"Maybe you'll hear more on Flickerman's show later this week," I say.
A lot of the talk is then geared towards their inevitable debut on Caesar Flickerman's stage where their 'loyal' family and friends will see them live. One thing I know for sure is that these Capitol types care an awful lot about how people see them.
When lunch concludes, the Capitols insist that I show them a thing or two in regards to any station. They wouldn't be any good to me useless, so I start off with survival before rushing over to the weapons they so eagerly want to try.
We decide to do our work in the gymnasium, out in the open instead of private rooms so that the Gamemakers - who seem to take an interest in everything I do - can see. We don't bother sitting through the theory portion with the trainer, because I'm their trainer. They pitch bivs and make shelters fairly well, Max especially, thanking his time with the Young Nationalist Pioneers for giving him basic camping skills.
Being big city kids, their go with everything else is shoddy at best. They know nothing of plant identification, which could be bad if we find ourselves in another HG 50-type arena. At least if I get stabbed by an enraged Rief Cohen, I'd live to see one more day (and that's it) given all of their first-aid skills.
Surprising no one, they run very well, which means they could probably run away very well. Traversing net bridges and obstacle courses with decent speed, even the portly Daphne makes an effort to put her all in the workouts. At their insistence, we finally get around to the combat stations. Before they could swing a sword or stab with a knife, I recommend that they get some hand-to-hand combat in. The girls aren't like me and my fellow Overwhill cadets, that's for sure. Cicero does decently but it's Max that gives the trainers a run for his money. I suggest that the girls take a trainer together, it's then and only then that they do well. Two is better than one after all.
"How come...you didn't do anything?" Syndra pants as the bell rings out, signifying the end of the training day. Two days down, three more days to go.
"You need it more than me." I say with a shrug. Way more than me.
Besides the crazy Capitol technology, Overwhill has all this and more to prep us for our next phase of PK training or if you're lucky enough, the Games themselves. Even still, I can't help but glue my eyes to the wall of weapons as we pass by toward the elevators. It seems that Syndra and her friends also get VIP 'privileges' like residing in the usual apartments reserved for tributes during normal years. A few other former-Capitolite tributes join us, including the black sibling duo from Twelve.
The elevator hisses open, revealing our escorts. Viondra leads the pack, strutting toward me with her cigarette holder in hand and her puppy creatures dutifully in tow.
"Good job today," She chimes, placing a hand on my shoulder. "We have a lot to discuss-"
A sharp gasp cuts Viondra off as we both spin around. The little black girl from Twelve clings to her brother for dear life, knock-kneed as she points shaky finger toward Viondra. The brother tries to get her under control but it's no use, the Twelve girl drops to the floor and continues to convulse as everyone moves to her aid.
"What was that?" I wonder, looking back at the scene. The brother has her in his arms, hanging limply as the others gather around.
With her hand on the small of my back, Viondra moves us into the elevator. "Don't know, don't particularly care." She presses the button to our floor. "What are your thoughts pertaining to the Capitols?"
The elevator doors hiss shut. I still can't help but watch as everyone crowds around her while replying, "Nothing but collateral. With a little work they could be good cushioning."
Viondra hums in approval. "Good. You're not tired, are you?"
"Not in the slightest," I answer, craning my head to look at her. "Why?"
Her gaze remains to her front. "Good. Keep your tunic on, you're going to need it."
The elevator hisses open. When we step out I'm shocked to see two women in trainer tracksuits sitting in the living room armchairs. I recognize them immediately as Sgt. Floris and Dr. Rhodes. When they see me, a smirk spreads across Floris' lips as she rises to her feet and saunters over with her hands in her pockets.
"Well shit, I knew you were hardheaded but this takes the cake." The Sergeant jests.
A warm grin spreads across the Doctor's lips as she joins the Sergeant by her side. "Hello, Zenobia."
My head whips to Viondra who breezes past me with a grin on her face as she takes her place in the living room. "Sergeant Floris, Lieutenant Rhodes...fancy seeing you here."
"Like mother, like daughter." Floris replies with a casual shrug.
"It turns out the Capitol needs more trainers to adequately teach you all..." Viondra says, wobbling her head and rolling her eyes. "Naturally, the good Sergeant was a fitting choice."
"Y'ready t'learn some serious shit, Rivendell?" Floris asks, folding her arms. "I'm talkin' Capitol-tier stuff. By the end of it all, you'll be an honorary Expeditionaire."
Despite her hardness, Sgt. Floris was a treasure trove of information rivaling that of the Victors. I've learned a lot of field craft and fighting tips from her, but I knew I was barely scratching the surface. And the doctor, well, she probably knows a thing or two that would serve useful in the arena.
I nod. "'Course...not every day I get to kick it with an elite Peacekeeper."
"Before you 'kick it', you must endure through a theory session with your officer," Viondra says, snapping a finger and pointing to the sofa. "Now sit. The Thirteens have been up to no good and you need to see it."
Floris says to meet her downstairs before entering the elevator and leaving with Dr. Rhodes in tow. I make my way over to the living room proper, curious as to how she keeps getting footage. Does the Vice President's daughter really hold that much power?
"How do you keep getting this stuff?" I ask, slipping onto the sofa.
"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Viondra tuts while folding one leg over the other as she clicks 'play'. "Look at this, talk about 'upping the ante', hm?"
The footage is of a private classroom, occupied by the 'Twelves' and their allies. They're armed with crossbows while practicing squad tactics with the precision of fully-grown PKs. Obviously their military tactics would be good, but I didn't expect to see their blade skills to be decent as well. Not as decent as D1 or 2 Career but enough to give one a run for their money like a switched on Outlier tribute would.
All in all, the 'Twelves' alongside the likes of Rabe, Gibbs and Bishop are dangerous. It's obvious they got their hands dirty during the War. The same goes for the other tributes in the footage Viondra managed to get. In public, tributes were hesitant, but it's in private where the story changes.
Instead of one or two 'switched on' Outliers, there's eighty-odd of them - eighty-odd tributes that are none-too-fond of loyalists. Imagine if I kept to my word and screwed Viondra off...?
After a light snack of finger foods, Viondra escorts me back down to the gymnasium. Once there, I can't help but grin at the sight of Sgt. Floris, Dr. Rhodes and a handful of other trainers waiting in the center just for me...or so I thought. My acquaintances attend the party too, looking bushy-tailed and starry-eyed.
"Thanks for the invitation, Ms. DeWynter, Zenobia," Syndra chimes. "I think I speak for Daphne, Max, Cicero when I say we're eager to prove ourselves and outlast the others."
I'm about to ask "What invitation?" but instead I swivel to face Viondra who nods with a knowing expression on her face. "Nothing but collateral," I recall saying to her an hour or so ago. "And with a little training, good cushioning."
"Alright, listen up." Floris booms, striding toward us with folded arms. I can't help but think of her mother. "In this arena, there'll be ninety-six tributes and then in a matter of days, weeks, only one of you will be left standing. If you haven't noticed, if people had to pick, they'd choose one of you to be that one person left standing. That's where we come in."
The Sergeant gestures to each of the dozen trainers standing behind her.
"Kay, every day for the next three days, we're going to cram everything we know into those jars you call your heads. And then hopefully, by the time the gongs go off, you won't be among the first to fall." Clapping her hands together, she rubs them together as her pupils shift. "First things first. A weapon of choice...find one."
Like eager Careers, the four of them rush to the rack of weapons. Syndra selects a spear, Daphne a sickle - "I'm living up to the stereotype." She says wryly - while Cicero and Max select swords.
"Put those down." Floris barks. "'Fore you can run, you must learn to crawl. Pick a knife or dagger...but keep those weapons in mind."
As the four grumble with disappointment, I'm about to make a beeline straight to my beloved push daggers, but Floris makes an "Urp, bup, bup!" causing me to stop in my tracks.
"Start with a dagger and work your way up," She says to me, noting my disappointment with a hand gesture. "Refresh yourself. You can never be too sure."
I relent, selecting a basic dagger - the everytribute's weapon - like everyone else. Using me as a demonstration piece, Sgt. Floris goes over theory such as vital and immobilization areas as she quickly switches the basic attack and defense patterns.
It's easy, blocking each of the Sergeant's strikes by quickly grabbing her wrist, my arm fully extended to meet hers. Even my acquaintances get the gist of it, even if they begin to flounder the faster the trainers go.
Once we learn to 'crawl', they treat us to a crash course on all the blades and then allow us to choose the weapons of our choice. Like the 'Twelves', Sgt. Floris has us do 'squad movements' where the five of us corner and fight a target. It's when they're together that my acquaintances perform their roles well.
We now spend our time honing our individual weapons while alternating with others, sparing with the trainers and decimating dummies using a wide array of blades and spears. The four insist that I teach them how to throw spears and knives. Being Capitols, they've obviously watched too much holovision and try to toss a few themselves, only to watch their spears clatter against the ground.
"Don't hold it like that," I say to Syndra, adjusting her stance and grip. "You look like a warring Indian. If you're going to toss it-" I take up the perfect position myself, leveling my spear, aiming it and tossing it into the dummy twenty yards away. It hits the stomach. This is not a clean kill itself but I don't think 'clean kills' will matter that much. Not to me, at least. These rebels deserve a messy death. They deserve a messy death. "Make sure you aim and find the shaft's balancing point."
Cooing in awe, Syndra claps politely, as do the rest of the four. "Ok...Thank you, Rivendell. I'll take it from you."
"Don't mention it." I reply. "Say...where's the other guy, Rhodos?"
"He decided to sleep in," Daphne replies. "He doesn't even sleep. I can hear him thudding about the apartment at night, ruining my beauty sleep."
I'm reminded about my time in the makeshift hospital but quickly shake the memory out of mind.
We move on to medical stuff. Overwhill taught us the basics. Get cut by a blade, bind the wound until it stops bleeding, disinfect periodically. If it's a deeper wound, pack it with gauze, medical powder and stitch, disinfect periodically. If it's an even deeper wound, fracture or internal bleeding...well, hope some rich Capitolites spot you a stimulant and pray to the gods you eke out a win.
When Dr. Rhodes explains the theory of various medical emergencies, I'm confused when she brings up explosives and gunshots. I'm even more confused when she brings out medical tools - almost unheard of in the arena besides kits of gauze and peroxide - the basics. She scantly goes over plants which I also find confusing.
"What about plant identification?" I ask her when we conclude lessons for the evening.
There's something about her eyes, the way they seem to 'hone in' on me as she shakes her head. "Medical equipment is more important."
"Huh?" I frown. I mean, if they mean to punish us, dying by poisonous plant would be pretty lame - an easy way out of a 'punishment'. "...You'd think with HG 50 being the way it was you'd want us to..."
"Using medical equipment is more important." Dr. Rhodes presses, inclining her head for extra emphasis.
My mouth forms a small 'o' as I nod in return. We're going to be in the arena for a long time, so it makes sense that we familiarize ourselves with the tools since there'll be no outside help...or so I think. I wish I had Bea here to aid me, she's a whiz kid at this stuff just like how Garrison is a whiz at mechanics and Domita at PT. Still, I understand the gist of what the Doctor is trying to explain, as do my acquaintances. My years of first-aid classes, however rusty, are coming back to me. Here's hoping they stick once it all begins.
"Great job, everyone." Syndra cheers, clapping Daphne and Cicero on the back. "We're like mini Careers in the making!"
Behind them, I cringe at her enthusiasm. All night they've treated the experience like a day at an arena reenactment.
I mean, as long as they're eager and ready to go once the gong sounds.
Coming Up Next...
"You want the glass polarized, or do you wanna give 'em a show?" She asks.
"I already gave them a show by breaking Rief's arm." I quip back.
"Polarized it is." Floris trills. "I assume you know that the oriental girl is all sorts of crazy."
"Don't have to tell me twice..."
"An' the others are pretty trash. Sure, they've fired a few pot shots here an' there, but it's nothin' t'write home about. The Four, we'll get them to a decent level later tonight-"
"I figured."
"Good. I'll keep you posted on the other tributes as they come." Floris takes her place behind the panel. "Choose your poison."