Thames can't remember the last time he slept so poorly. He pokes his spoon at the bowl of oatmeal in front of him. It remains uneaten as it has for the past fifteen minutes. Every time he thinks he can choke some down, his body lurches with nausea, and he goes back to prodding the mush.
His eyes burn from lack of sleep. Or maybe from the nightmares he had of being eaten alive by ants in the arena. He vaguely remembers the same thing happening to a boy a few years ago. Maybe the seventy-first games? He hopes his brain is just throwing memories at his subconscious and he isn't having premonitions of the arena.
Brita sips a glass of orange juice from across the table. She's bright-eyed, reading the newspaper intently. It reminds Thames of Edwyn back in District 4, and he feels a dull ache in his chest. He'd give anything to be sitting across the table from him. The breakfast food scattered across the table smells amazing, but it does little to distract him from how homesick he's feeling. Right about now, Fintan and Raffy would be getting ready for school. Guiltily, he hopes the house feels empty without him. Is he missed? He can't help but wonder if Callista and Edwyn might be a little relieved not to have to care for someone else's kid anymore.
"Are you done with that paper?" He asks Brita, looking for a distraction.
She picks it up from where she neatly folded it on the table and hands it to him over the plates of egg and bacon. "Knock yourself out."
He opens to the first page and is immediately bombarded with a four-page spread on the Quarter Quell and the pool of tributes. Scanning through the article, he reads each tribute's little blurb beside their photo. It's pretty standard; everyone in the inner-district alliance, himself included, is given a generic paragraph on how they're eager to represent their homes and earn the crown.
"They don't seem impressed by the Twos this year." He says. The boy from Two is described as 'less intimidating' than the boys from his district in years past. The paper speculates he could be a secret weapon.
Brita nods. "I'm not too astounded by them myself, to be honest. Keep reading though; the girl from Eleven spent time in prison for attacking Peacekeepers."
Finnick walks in before he can do so, holding his cup of coffee up to his face as if the fumes could cure the purple shadows under his eyes.
"The information you need isn't on that paper; it's in the gymnasium. Finish up here and get down there. We won the first Quarter Quell and have a reputation to uphold."
It's unlike Finnick to be so serious. The bags under his eyes look like they're pulling his face down. He looks so tired. Thames and Brita follow instructions, getting changed into comfortable clothes for training.
Their escort takes the elevator down to the basement with them. She tells them she has business to attend and that they can handle themselves. She leaves them to wander into training alone. An Avox pins the number '4' onto the backs of his and Brita's shirts as they come in.
Thames tries not to gawk at the training gymnasium, and he can see Brita doing the same, but it's hard not to be amazed. It's huge. There are dozens of stations set around the place, ranging from sword fighting to complicated knot-tying. It's nothing like the beach camps they have back in Four, where there's always sand in your clothes.
The pairs from One and Two are already here, trying to keep an awkward conversation chugging along. They seem unphased by the equipment. Thames envies them. They must have huge training gyms back in their districts. Two mousey-looking kids cower away from them. They make quiet conversation but are trying hard not to be noticed.
"You ready to meet our allies?" Thames asks Brita.
Her chest rises with a deep breath. "Not much choice to it, is there?"
The girl from District 1 spots them and waves them over.
"Time to see how annoying they are." He says out of the corner of his mouth. Brita snorts.
"So we're the pack this year, huh?" The girl from One says. She's very beautiful, which is exactly what you'd expect from a tribute from her district. She's not any different from the scores of District 1 girls who have competed before. "A bit of a 'motley crew' if you ask me but I think we can make it work."
Thames groans inwardly. Great, she's irritating. There's nothing motley about them; she's just trying to seem charismatic and 'relatable'. He gets the urge to bring up the brutal death of last year's female tribute from District 1.
She suggests they go around the circle. Introducing themselves as well as their preferred weapon.
"I'm Adriano." The boy from District 2 says. His arms boast a lot of muscle and he has the thickest pair of eyebrows Thames has ever seen,, but he's not the craziest thing to come out of his district. "I trained with axes back in Two."
"You think you can give the lumberjacks a run for their money?" The girl from One asks. Adriano gives an unclear grunt.
They continue around the circle. The girl from Two, Beatrice, apparently is a prodigy with spears.
"Brutus says I could give him a run for his money," she boasts.
Thames suppresses the urge to side-eye Brita. Brutus is considered the best spear user in the history of the games; he once hit a moving target from twenty-one-point-three meters.
Amaryllis, from District 1, is a swordswoman. She doesn't hesitate to mention her older brother, Luster, who won the seventy-second games. As if they all didn't already know. He gets the feeling he'll be hearing a lot about Luster Beaumont.
"He specifically requested to be my mentor. I heard the commentators regard that we're the next Cashmere and Gloss." She says, flipping her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.
Her district partner is just as tall and blonde as her, and he has the stupid name of Glitz. Apparently, he's an archer. Where Amaryllis overachieves, Glitz underachieves. He says so few words that it's a wonder he got picked to volunteer. He must be an amazing archer because he lacks any charisma.
Thames feels the group's eyes on him.
"I'm Thames," He says, trying not to come off awkwardly," and I trained with spears, tridents, harpoons, and anything of that sort back in Four."
Glitz scoffs, "How unique. We've never seen that before."
Thames keeps a stony face. Brita introduces herself and hesitantly explains that she uses spears too. Glitz rolls his eyes.
"If you've got a problem with that," She says. "Save it for the arena. You won't be so cocky when you see how far we can throw those things." She looks at Beatrice, who narrows her eyes.
"How about we hold that thought," Amaryllis intervenes. "Let's focus on getting rid of the fodder before we turn on each other."
It's a reality hanging over them. Every year the pack turns on each other when everyone else is dead. Thames isn't sure how he'll sleep knowing the others are plotting his death, but at least he's got Brita if things go south. He's not attached to the idea of the alliance, and the other members don't rock his world. It might not be the worst thing if he was somehow separated from the group. Unless he has no supplies.
The last few outer-district stragglers wander in, and everyone is called over to the center of the room. The head trainer, a woman named Atala, gives them a brief overview of the stations.
"And no fighting any other tributes," She adds at the end. "You'll have plenty of time for that in the arena." She leaves them to their own devices. The cannon fodder can't get away fast enough.
Amaryllis immediately takes charge.
"I say we should split up. We can spend the next few days looking for potential recruits and potential threats. My eyes are already on Yash and Clementine."
"Which ones are those?" Beatrice asks.
"Boy from Six and the girl from Eleven," Brita explains. "Yash's aunt is Berenice Waterman, who won the thirty-fifth games, and Clementine is the tribute who spent time in prison."
"How do you know that?" Glitz asks.
"It was in the newspaper. She attacked Peacekeepers in District 11."
"The Elevens can never be trusted," Adriano says. "That's what Phoebus told me. We shouldn't underestimate the Sevens, Nines, or Tens either."
"And we should keep eyes on the Threes and Fives. One of them could pull a Beetee." Beatrice adds.
"Is there anyone we can ignore?" Thames asks, though he knows the answer just as it's leaving his mouth.
"The Eights and the Twelves," Amaryllis says, verbalizing his thought. "After Katniss Everdeen, though, we shouldn't underestimate anyone. Just keep tabs on the dangerous ones. The fodder will be dealt with when they start showcasing something noteworthy."
Adriano scoffs. "And then we have to deal with another Johanna Mason?"
Amaryllis rolls her eyes. "We can't keep track of all of them. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.
They split up, sweeping the room for potential threats and allies. Thames watches as several tributes have shaky first lessons with sword or knife fighting. The pairs from Seven, Nine, and Ten seem adept with blades, but everyone else looks completely out of their depth. The girls from District 3 and District 10 are both at the fire station, learning how to build a campfire. Apparently, they've forgotten that starting a fire is exactly how the girl from District 8 got found and killed during the first night in the last games.
Thames' eyes land on the girl from District 11, sitting alone at the knot-tying station. Learning ropes and knots is one of the first parts of the industry you learn in Four, and he figures maybe he could earn her trust by giving some tips. The kids from District 11 are notorious for being loners, but if she's smart, she'd recognize the disadvantage she has. The Cornucopia will be the only place with supplies; maybe she'll take the opportunity.
He watches her, kind of hoping she'll notice his presence. He stands there for what feels like forever. By the time he clears his throat to let her know he's there, he could've killed her in a dozen different ways if they were in the arena.
"Room for one more?"
She looks up from the hook she's struggling to make, glares when she realizes who she is, and looks back down.
"I can't control what you do."
He kneels beside her and watches her bend some of the rope, tries to wrap it around itself, then tut in frustration and unwrap it. He holds out his hand.
"May I?"
"No, you may not." She says, keeping her eyes on the rope.
May as well cut to the chase, he thinks.
"The Inner-District Alliance was talking, and we want you to join us." It's an exaggeration but not technically a lie. "We saw you at the sword and weight stations, and you can hold your own better than any of the other outer district kids here. You're tough, and I think it would be a shame not to have a chance because you couldn't get anything from the Cornucopia. If you align with us, you'll have as many supplies as you need."
She considers him momentarily, as if she has all the time in the world, and then frowns deeply.
"Get lost, lapdog."
"Have fun dying in the arena, then." He means it in reference to how she's doomed without supplies, but he spits it with so much venom that it sounds like a threat.
Her face contorts in rage. "At least if I die, I won't be a glorified kiddy-killer."
He flushes with anger. Something about the deadpan look the girl is giving him boils his blood, as if she's completely unimpressed by him. She's obviously putting on a brave face.
He hisses, "You don't know what you're talking about," turns on his heels, and stomps directly to the spear-throwing station. He can't believe how arrogant she is. He gives her a great opportunity, and she insults the person trying to help her.
She's not going to last long in the games. If she can't sense someone standing there and watching her for five minutes, she's a goner. That kind of mistake means death in the arena.
He floats around the other survival stations, learning to set traps and tell apart poisonous plants from edible ones. The outer district tributes cower away from him at the stations they share. Several times, they leave. It's embarrassing. He hates how they treat him as if he's licking his lips at the first chance he gets to stick them with a sword.
A bell is rung for lunchtime, and Atala calls everyone over to the lunch tables in a room off to the side of the gymnasium. Brita jokes around with Amaryllis and the Twos, but Thames sits quietly, only occasionally joining in the conversation. Compared to Glitz, though, he's downright boisterous. It's jarring for a face so angelic to be marred by such a filthy scowl. Whatever media training they have in the District 1 academy isn't good enough to hide how irritated Amaryllis is by him. She rolls her eyes at him every possible chance she gets.
The other tables are dotted with pairs of tributes. For the most part, the outliers stick to their district partners. The girl from District 11 sits alone. She catches Thames looking at her, and he retains eye contact. She raises an eyebrow at him and keeps staring as well. No way is he backing down. They sit like this for a minute until she rolls her eyes and looks back down at her sandwich. He counts it as a victory.
Lunch concludes, and everyone floats back to the stations. Thames spends more time with confused outliers. The boy from District 6, Yash, is the nephew of Berenice Waterman. The thirty-fifth games were a dense jungle, and she wasn't seen until there were five tributes left. She wasn't aggressive, but when she was attacked, she fought back. Hard. He doesn't share the same harsh anger in his eyes, but he's a wildcard.
Much like the District 11 girl, the boy from District 10 openly despises him. Thames tries to talk to him about joining the alliance, but the kid hisses at him to 'piss off' through crooked teeth. He builds snares with the kids from Three and Five, keeping a close eye out for indicators that one of them could pull a Beetee Latier. None of them seem particularly skilled.
Thames is back with the inner alliance, throwing knives with Beatrice and trading tips, when there's a commotion from one of the other stations. Amaryllis is chest to chest with a tribute. The girl from District 7, the one with white streaks in her hair.
Amaryllis is a good foot taller than her and looks down at her with an amused expression.
"Feeling brave, are we, little logger? Trying to shit-talk me?"
The girl from Seven is trying to look tough, but her fists keep curling and uncurling nervously at her sides.
"You can't touch me." She says in a firm voice.
Amaryllis chuckles. "Not now, but watch your back when we're in the arena."
The two girls stare at each other until a Peacekeeper comes over. "Get your ass over here, now." He says, leading the girl from Seven away. Amaryllis grins smugly.
"If we can't get them to join, the next best thing is to intimidate them." She says, walking to the knife-throwing station.
"Did your brother tell you that?" Beatrice asks.
The sarcasm in her voice goes over Amaryllis' beautiful, blonde head.
"It's the strategy he used in the seventy-second Hunger Games, which he won, to the surprise of no one. He played it very, very smart. By intimidating the other tributes, it unnerves them in the arena and allows you to control the narrative. We want to be seen as a silent, terrifying force in the arena."
Thames and Beatrice share a look. He gets the feeling that the Twos will knife her in the back the second an opportune moment arises. Even her own district partner can't stand her. Maybe he can play them off each other. It'll be easier to win the games if they're seconds away from slaughtering each other.
"I cannot wait to kill the Seven with her own weapon."
Amaryllis tosses her silky blonde hair over her shoulder and struts off towards the archery station, where the girl from District 9 is timidly learning how to notch an arrow. He spends the rest of the day alternating between showing off and people-watching.
The Twos shuffle into the same elevator as Thames and Brita at the end of the day. The Ones try to join them, but 'there's not enough room'. They all collectively exhale when the doors close.
"I don't know how long I'll be able to put up with them," Beatrice says, massaging her temple. Brita groans in agreement.
"We don't have to rely on them for the alliance this year," Thames says. "Their good looks don't serve us this year. I say we ditch them the moment they get too irritating."
"I like the way you think," Adriano says. Thames' chest swells with pride. It's a little immature, but he can't help feeling prideful at his praise. The Twos step off the elevator, and he and Brita are alone.
"The Twos are⦠not what I expected," Brita says. Thames gets what she means; most years, the Twos are feared by almost everyone in the arena. Adriano and Beatrice are talented, but impressive isn't a word Thames would use to describe them.
He shrugs. "Maybe they're secretly master assassins and are hiding their ability to kill everyone at the start. What did the paper say; secret weapons?"
Brita gives him a look as if to say, "As if," and the door opens to the fourth floor.
