Twyla Behring, 13
District Three Suite, Capitol
D3F
July 4, 329 AEDD
Twyla was feeling confident. She felt that her private session had gone well. She had aimed for a nice, average score, one that would be high enough to convince sponsors that she wasn't going to go down in the Bloodbath, but not so high that it would draw adverse attention from the other tributes. Beemo had gone with a bolder strategy, outright explaining to the Gamemakers that he was concealing his true abilities and requesting a moderate score for the survival skills he demonstrated. This had appeased the mentors. Twyla did not find Klicka particularly helpful, but Beemo said that Astrix occasionally dispensed a kernel of wisdom.
District Three had never been known for its mentors. It historically performed weakly in the Games and failed to bring home many Victors, so the ones that did return home ended up mentoring for decades. Astrix was in his sixties. Klicka was a little younger, but despite her surgically enhanced face, she was at least in her mid-forties. Klicka had won when she was eighteen, and twenty-odd years of watching her tributes die had turned her into something of a husk. Astrix had spent upwards of forty years as a mentor, and he was equally jaded, although his advice tended to be a little more applicable than Klicka's. This wasn't to say that they were bad people, or inconsiderate, just that Twyla and Beemo needed a little more support than they could offer.
Thank goodness for the prep teams. Twyla didn't know what she'd do without her trusty team of estheticians. Agnia, Othello, and Crius were much more useful. They'd told her the trick about getting guidance from Orion Zenobia, and they'd done their best to help her plan for the Games. After being dismissed from her training session, Twyla came back to her suite, took a hot shower, and changed into loungewear. Then she'd anxiously waited for the scores to be revealed. She picked at her dinner, finding it difficult to concentrate on eating when there was so much at stake.
But finally the scores were ready, a scant five hours after Twyla's session had concluded. The tributes and their teams sat in the living room as they stared down a massive television screen. Of course, it would be too simple to just announce things right away. First, Pandora Mink had to interview several brightly colored 'experts' to get predictions for the scores. Score night was always huge when it came to betting, and Twyla understood the purpose of the ceremony. She just didn't appreciate being on the other side of the lengthy delay.
At long last, after a long commercial break to provide ample time for a costume change, Pandora Mink finally began the special. She wore an elaborate gown and sleek wig. She smiled out at Panem, teeth a dazzling white. "It's that time again!" she cooed, eliciting a roar from the live studio audience. "After three days of top-quality training, our twenty-four courageous tributes have all gone before the Gamemaker panel for their skill evaluations. Sponsors will be keeping their eyes peeled tonight—tributes who received high scores in the private sessions are often better prepared for Victory, but our guest industry leaders would like me to remind you that tributes' scores aren't always predictive of their placement. Every year, something unexpected happens in the arena, and that is the very nature of what makes the Games so suspenseful, is it not?" Pandora giggled to herself.
"What a revolting woman," commented Klicka.
"Shhh," said Delta, the escort. "We don't want to miss anything."
"So today we'll proceed in district order as usual, remind you of each tribute's placement as predicted following the Reaping, and reveal each score, as assigned by Head Gamemaker Jacqueline Muriel." Suddenly, lights strobed in pastel shades as an elegantly garbed Jacqueline Muriel flounced onstage in sky-high heels to settle into the interviewee chair opposite Pandora. "She'll be accompanying us this evening, in fact," continued Pandora, "since she's new to the job this year and our nation deserves an introduction to its best and brightest thinkers. Head Gamemaker Muriel has ten years of experience in the Gamemaking Room, the past five of which have been spent as Deputy Head Gamemaker, and she's eager to put her own spin on the recent Gamemaking trends we're seeing."
"She's taking over?" someone asked.
"She told me she was the Acting Head Gamemaker when I greeted her in my session today," said Beemo.
"Shhh," said Delta again. "Let's listen to her response."
"I am," agreed Jacqueline. "Konstance did such a stellar job laying out muttation designs and the environmental backdrop for this arena, but she had me take the lead from the beginning of our work this year. I think she knew that her health was in decline, even if she didn't tell us about it, because she was very adamant that I take the reins when it came to actual mapping. I'm so grateful for all the experience she provided me. It was an incredible opportunity, and I look forward to upholding her high standards of Gamemaking this year, especially in light of this excellent tribute pool."
"A marvelous introduction, Jacqueline. About those tributes, is there anything you can share with us?" Pandora leaned in conspiratorially.
"This is a particularly interesting bunch. What a variety of scores! I saw outstanding work from so many of them. Some performed as expected, but others were clearly holding back in their sessions so as to receive an unassuming training score. I can't tell you which ones are which, but I assure you that most of them will be very satisfied with their scores."
"Would you say you evaluate more or less harshly than Konstance?" asked Pandora.
"Honestly, it depends on the performance. All Gamemakers have our own ideas about what's good enough for a seven, good enough for a ten. The other Gamemakers and I discuss and debate the scores to make sure we're satisfied with our decisions. When we're torn between two numbers, one of us proposes a reason to lean on one side or the other, and then I get the ultimate choice. I will tell you that there were no major disagreements this year. Several of the scores were totally unanimous."
"And let's get to them, shall we?"
Nathaniel Lewis, 18
District Four Suite, Capitol
D4M
July 4, 329 AEDD
Nathaniel was deeply regretting the ill-advised decision to test Nikita. Nascha had brought the issue up to him rather guiltily, concerned that Nikita wouldn't be able to measure up against the rest of the Careers, who'd trained so much more recently than him. Then Nathaniel had remembered Nikita's tiff with Odicci where she questioned his abilities and he flipped his lid and tore into her. With a sinking heart, Nathaniel had to figure out a way to restore peace to the Pack. He didn't want Nikita to fail, but if he was less competent than the rest of them and suffering from the aftermath of his Academy-ending injury, maybe it was best to set a clear expectation.
He'd decided to hold a vote. In hindsight, doing it privately had been a terrible idea, but he'd come up with it on the fly. He didn't give Orpheus a vote, which had been another misstep, and immediately afterwards, he realized the enormity of his mistake. What would happen if he, Nathaniel, failed to obtain a ten? He would be ousted as leader and someone else would take control. When Tybalt blabbed about it to Nikita, Nathaniel panicked and tried to stop him. Secretly, he was relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath, but the reveal painted him in the worst possible light.
Maybe he wasn't cut out for leadership after all. When he'd confessed this to Odicci in the interest of transparency, she shrugged. "I assumed you had a plan. If Nikita scores a nine, we'll just tell him we reconsidered."
"I've screwed everything up." Indeed he had. Tybalt and Nascha were already in conflict, and he didn't want to be the cause of a split in loyalties, especially so early in the Games. Still, he'd done his best to focus during his private session. He'd been a little surprised by Konstance's disappearance, but reassured when he saw another Gamemaker—he hadn't known her name—in the ceremonial purple, seated in the place of honor, and directing the proceedings. Nathaniel always liked knowing who was in charge. It eased decision making and helped guide his process. The new Gamemaker was an unknown quantity, so he just had to hope that she was inclined to favor his performance. He'd planned his display to appeal to Konstance in particular, but with any luck, Jacqueline Muriel shared her predecessor's tastes.
"Announcing the first score," said Pandora Mink, "We'll begin with Orpheus Adello, aged eighteen, of District One." A picture of Orpheus flashed across the screen. "Predicted to place fourth, Orpheus has earned a score of…ten!" The audience erupted in cheers. A brief collage of Orpheus photos played: Orpheus at the Reaping, Orpheus onstage, Orpheus getting off the train at the Capitol, Orpheus during the Parade. Nathaniel was immediately relieved. Orpheus's membership in the Pack would not be a debate topic anytime soon.
"And Nascha Eirena Czarin, aged eighteen, also of District One. Predicted to place sixth, Nascha has earned herself a…ten!" That was good, thought Nathaniel. It was always best when district partners got the same score. It helped bring balance and cooperation to the alliance when everyone was on equal footing.
"Moving on to District Two, we have Tybalt Alistair Martell, aged eighteen and predicted first place, who has earned a stunning…ten!" Another ten. If anyone stood out in a positive way, he expected it to be Haylia, a master of all types of technique, particularly physical combat. She was a force to be reckoned with. "Haylia Boaz, aged seventeen, of District Two, has earned a score of…ten!" All tens. Nathaniel was starting to get worried that he would be the one to disrupt the pattern and underscore. His display had been risky, but if the Gamemakers were underwhelmed, he wouldn't be a popular leader for much longer. Holding a vote to boot anyone with a nine and then being the only Career to score a nine had huge potential to backfire.
"Beemo Hudson, aged thirteen, of District Three, has earned a score of…four!" Nathaniel had been paying careful attention to the outliers. He was determined not to discount anyone during training, and he had been eager to learn if there were any surprises with the scores. Beemo had scored a tad lower than expected. With his semi-accurate work with blow darts, he had probably been looking at a five from Konstance, but Nathaniel was unconcerned about this particular tribute. A four and a five were so close that the new, more conservative Head Gamemaker wouldn't have any trouble justifying her choice of score.
"Twyla Behring, aged thirteen, of District Three, has earned a…five!" Nathaniel had expected a three or four from her, since she hadn't been handling any weapons, but it seemed like she'd unsuccessfully tried reserving her weapon training for the private sessions. Whatever the case, he did not feel worried about Twyla and her five, but just to be careful, he'd take her out in the Bloodbath and eliminate the possibility altogether.
He was next. He was next! On the sofa next to him, Lura looked intently at the television, as though praying that Nathaniel would also be the lucky recipient of a ten. Nathaniel was tempted to close his eyes. Odicci, curled up on his other side, clutched his sleeve with anticipation. "You got this," she whispered.
"Nathaniel Lewis, aged eighteen, of District Four, with a score of…ten!" Odicci whooped, and the tribute teams followed suit.
"Nice work!" she exclaimed. "I knew you could do it."
"Are you worried about yours?" Nathaniel asked.
"Nope." She popped the p. "I know I got a ten too."
"Odicci Harbore, aged eighteen, earning a score of…ten!" confirmed Pandora.
"Thank goodness for that." Lura heaved a sigh of relief. He'd been hoping that the training scores would sort themselves out so Nathaniel wouldn't have to answer for his lamentable voting idea. Now all they needed was for Nikita to get a ten too, but Nathaniel really wasn't worried about that. He'd gotten the right score! They all had! The Pack dynamic was fixable, and that was cause for celebration.
Aran Casteel, 18
District Five Suite, Capitol
D5M
July 4, 329 AEDD
Aran had guessed that the new Head Gamemaker didn't like him. He figured it out when she said he couldn't hurt the trainers, and he was expecting her to take it out on his score. The problem at present was that he wasn't going to get any sponsors if he had a disappointing score, especially if Amy comparatively did better and didn't upset the Gamemakers.
He was growing concerned about the Careers. The first four had all scored very high, and Aran didn't know what they'd done to do so well, but he was a little scared for his own reveal. Suppose the little Nine bitch outperformed him—that would be really humiliating, but it was also a distinct possibility. Her shaky training with the sword had mirrored his own mediocre attempts with the seax, but he knew he was so much more capable than her. She had disrespected him so hugely at the Tribute Parade, and deserved some sort of punishment, probably involving a little spontaneous surgery with a dagger.
He was reasonably sure that he'd do better than most of the other outliers, but it wasn't like he could surpass Jeremiah. The Gamemakers had been strict, bordering on mean. He expected them to lean towards lower scores. He hadn't liked the look on the face of the Head Gamemaker when she told him he couldn't use genuine violence. His experience was with torture. She had to be breaking some rule or another by forbidding him from showcasing his abilities accurately, right? Still, it wasn't like the Peacekeepers had taken him seriously when he'd explained this to them. He didn't expect redress of grievances from the Capitol, of all things.
So he was waiting for bad news. He watched as the Four boy pulled another ten, and then as the Four girl also got one. Yeah, the Careers were going to be a problem.
"Aran Casteel, aged eighteen, of District Five, has earned a…six!"
He lashed out an arm and threw the television remote at the screen. It cracked and the display ribboned into strips of neon color, then fuzzed, then turned black. The Peacekeepers jumped up and wrenched his arms behind his back. He stumbled and tripped to his knees on the rug. Amy watched, bemused, as he was cuffed and hauled upright.
"What did you do that for?" asked one of the Peacekeepers.
"I deserved at least an eight!" screamed Aran. He had lost all semblance of control. The Gamemakers had sabotaged him and he was so much more likely to die now.
"No, you didn't. Do you want to go back to the holding cells or can you control yourself?"
"Don't you dare send me back there, you evil bitch!" A Peacekeeper spoke into a radio earpiece. In less than a minute, a stream of Peacekeepers swarmed the District Five floor with restraints. Aran was quickly trussed to a kitchen chair, which was weighted down with a medieval-looking ball and chain, which was looped through the chair legs several times. Aran gave the ball a kick. It didn't budge. He tensed all the muscles in his body and bucked, trying to tip over the chair. The ball refused to roll. Meanwhile, Ravya set up her tablet to project the broadcast onto the side wall.
"Vica Madsen, aged seventeen, of District Six—"
"They missed mine!" exclaimed Amy. Her prim face displayed a clear picture of outrage. "What's mine?"
"I can check," assured Ravya.
"No! I want to see mine on television."
"Yes, I'll just rewind, and—"
"That's not good enough!"
"Yes it is!" barked Dot sharply. "Shut up before I have the Peacekeepers restrain you too!" Amy fell silent, apparently wounded by her mentor's harshness. Ravya rewound the tape.
"Aran Casteel, aged eighteen, of District Five, has earned a…six!" Amy Kawasaki, aged sixteen, of District Five, has produced a score of…six!"
"Six? Are you kidding?"
"Be quiet!" Dot threw the tributes such a vicious look that they both immediately turned their gaze to the floor.
"Vica Madsen, aged seventeen, of District Six, with a score of…four!" Aran thought to himself that at the very least, they'd done the best out of the outliers so far. He wondered how long that would last. "Danny Maddox, aged eighteen, has scored a…five!"
The scores kept playing. Aran was listening for sevens or above. "Tom Leary, aged sixteen, of District Seven, with a score of…three! Brielle Rawlings, aged sixteen, of District Seven, with a score of…six! Kenny Michaels, aged fifteen, of District Eight, with a score of…five! Ash Maris, aged thirteen, of District Eight, with a score of…four! Jeremiah King, aged eighteen, of District Nine, with a score of…eight!"
There it was. If anyone was considering sponsoring an underdog outlier, the one with the best shot at surviving the Careers was Jeremiah. Nobody would pay attention to puny District Five and its woefully underscored tributes. As usual, someone else would claim the spotlight. Aran didn't have a chance in the world at sustaining himself on gifts from wealthy Capitolites who saw his promising score and decided he was worth spending their money on. He would have to fight for his meager share of Cornucopia supplies with the other outliers while the Careers claimed the bulk of it.
"Maize Bono, aged fifteen, of District Nine, with a score of…nine!"
An unholy barrage of curses erupted from Aran's mouth. He was consumed with rage at the picture of lovely little Maize, smiling innocently at the audience, when her only mission had ever been his downfall. If it hadn't been for Maize, he would have done better. If it hadn't been for Maize, he wouldn't be tied to a chair. If it wasn't for Maize, the Peacekeepers wouldn't be trying to gag him. She had to die, painfully and immediately, and Aran was momentarily grateful for the existence of the Careers. If he somehow failed in his mission, they would catch up to her and kill her. Maybe she'd end up like the girl with the infection, battling a creeping parasite that refused to be expelled no matter how much of her own septic flesh she sawed off.
He hoped it would be excruciating.
Aspen Silvius, 15
District Twelve Suite, Capitol
D12F
July 4, 329 AEDD
"Maize Bono, aged fifteen, of District Nine, with a score of…nine!" Aspen smiled to herself. A win for any outlier was a win for all outliers in her book. She hoped that she had done well too. Kenny got a five, Ash got a four, and Pace got a three. Aspen didn't expect anything as good as a nine, but it would be nice if she also scored well. She remembered Maize seeming nice in the Training Center, even if they hadn't actually interacted. Maize had once said "excuse me" to Aspen while they passed each other at the pinch point between one of the dagger ranges and the medicine ball station. Aspen didn't get the feeling that Maize had been engaging in some sort of intricate charade, more that she'd simply gotten lucky or pulled out a latent skill at a convenient time.
They still didn't know if they were going into the Bloodbath or not. Aspen was leaning towards no. She had some survival skills. Although things would certainly be easier with supplies, she didn't think it was worth it to risk dying, especially when Nikita had a grudge, and double especially if she got an above-average score. There didn't seem to be many standouts, so the Careers would probably do their usual Career things and compete with one another to be the first to kill prominent outliers. Aspen didn't want that for herself, especially since the other Careers might push Nikita to target her.
"Fahad Azerola, aged seventeen, of District Ten, earned a…four! Mare Duster, aged eighteen, of District Ten, earned a…five! Pace, aged twelve, of District Eleven, with a score of…three! Xanthe Sparacello, aged thirteen, of District Eleven, with a score of…one!"
Ouch. Aspen understood Fahad and Mare's scores, even understood Pace's, but to her knowledge, there was no way to get a one unless you genuinely wanted to fail or the Gamemakers seriously wanted to sink your chances of survival. Aspen's alliance had finally pieced together the Career drama. Basically, the rest of them had forced an ultimatum on Nikita: get a ten or get out. Realistically, Aspen wasn't sure what the best outcome was, but she was certainly interested to see his score, even if she wouldn't get to see his reaction. He was hanging out with the Ones, which wasn't the cleverest move if he did wind up getting ejected—Aspen imagined him sulking back up to the twelfth floor, tail between his legs, after getting his spot retracted—but she supposed he probably would earn the score he needed.
"Nikita Valeta, aged eighteen, of District Twelve, with a…ten!" Good for him, thought Aspen, only a little spitefully. And it was probably good for her as well. A desperate Nikita was likely to be a dangerous Nikita, and she wanted to avoid his ire. Agitating him might throw him off his game, but it was a risky move, and she didn't want him going into the Bloodbath with revenge on the brain.
Her own alliance needed her. "Aspen Silvius," said Pandora Mink, "aged fifteen, of District Twelve, has earned the final score of the night, a…seven!"
Aspen sighed in relief. A seven was a strong score, all things considered, and it could help propel her alliance to success during the Games. Now she just had to think about the one day that remained in the Capitol. Theoretically, she and Nikita would be spending it in the District Twelve suite. Aspen would get four hours with Stefania for appearance and four hours with Aileen for demeanor, but realistically, she would get access to both mentors for the majority of the time while Stefania coached Nikita. Aileen, Yew, and Stefania themselves explained this as the score announcement ended and they muted the television.
"Nikita deserves to succeed as much as anyone else," Stefania said gently, "But the mentors don't want to help him and Aileen can teach you to walk in high heels just as well as I can. I think it's more fair this way."
"I don't really want to get fashion tutoring from you either," Aspen confessed.
"And that's fine, dear. I just want both of my tributes to do well in front of the audience tomorrow." She smiled. "I need to set you guys up with lots of sponsor deals so we can support you in the arena, and that's much easier if I have insight into your interview angles ahead of time."
"I guess that could be worth it."
"Of course it will be! My tributes got a seven and a ten. That's never happened before. Appealing to Capitolite ideas of etiquette might be the final boost you need. Even if it's just about curtsying and interacting with Pandora at the right times, you'll present much cleaner. Other tributes will look unprepared and confused in comparison, and because you and Nikita are the last in line, you're more likely to stick in people's minds. Tomorrow is all about positioning you as best as possible for the arena, but you probably need the mentor support more than Nikita. He has access to the Career mentors too, and he's already charismatic enough as is. Besides, I should be able to guide a Career tribute more effectively than outlier Victors."
"Yeah."
"I guess I'm just trying to say that I want to be fair. I don't like you any less than him. I just wanted you to know that."
"Thanks. It means a lot. I just don't like Careers. Or Peacekeepers, considering, uh, you know."
"I know. But I'll let you in on something. The Careers are just as scared as you, even if they're better at not showing it. The biggest threat to a Career is another Career, and they all work together. If you don't trust Nikita now, imagine having to trust him to keep you safe while you sleep, to not betray you, to have your back in a fight."
"Oh, gosh."
"Yeah. Nikita's certainly feeling a little on edge, especially because he's not coming directly from a Career district."
"That makes sense.
"But your job isn't to worry, it's to get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow is a big day, and I need you to be nice and alert. We're going to get you through this."
Vica Madsen, 17
District Six Suite, Capitol
D6F
July 4, 329 AEDD
After receiving her own score, Vica watched the second half of the proceedings with an eye towards her allies. Jeremiah's plan was to get a high score for the sponsorship benefits, but Vica, Danny, and Xanthe had all been anticipating low or medium-ish scores to counterbalance whatever attention Jeremiah got. They wanted to achieve a nice equilibrium of getting some Capitolite attention without inviting scrutiny from their fellow tributes. It was a hard ask on the best of days, but it seemed like maybe they'd found some success after all.
Jeremiah had gotten an eight, which wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Anything less would have been suspicious, but an eight was, in Vica's opinion, perfect. All the Careers had gotten tens, so they had a comfortable buffer separating them from Jeremiah, so they wouldn't feel compelled to attack out of jealousy.
Besides, Maize was there as a counterpoint. Nobody would question Jeremiah's score of eight as especially high when his petite district partner had managed to pull a nine with no advance warning. This was a relief for Vica. Although she definitely sympathized with Maize for now having a target on her back, she didn't feel too bad. After all, if she made it past the Bloodbath, sponsors would be lining up to spoil her in the arena. Vica didn't have that privilege, but her alliance did have a plan. The problem was Xanthe.
Vica was not a Xanthe enthusiast. Xanthe preached too much, she constantly seemed lost in a world only she could see, and she didn't really do anything. Vica was expecting her to go down in the Bloodbath. It wasn't like the Tens had been standouts, but they'd still scored a four and a five, much like Vica and Danny themselves. Pace, Xanthe's district partner, had managed to eke out a measly three. Vica had know idea what it took to receive a one, but she was pretty sure the Gamemakers gave you a two just for picking something up and putting it right down again. They'd give you a zero for skipping entirely, so she had to assume that Xanthe had just stood there for her entire time. Or maybe she'd passed entirely and said something about the high king looking out for her. That didn't seem unlikely, actually. Vica would have had a word with her about it, but she actually didn't care too much about Xanthe's eventual fate. Vica was out to save herself, and the more enemy tributes died, the more likely her survival.
Better not to waste energy on Xanthe that could be better spent on other things. For example, figuring out what the hell Maize had done to earn that nine. Vica had thought she was so smart putting on a persona, but out of all the tributes she might have suspected to be doing the same, she'd never have guessed that Maize would have been the one to sneak past her defenses. She'd really underestimated her. On the other hand, Maize would probably stand a fair chance against Aran, and Vica was glad for that. She was doubly glad that she herself was allied with Jeremiah, who could get rid of Aran in a heartbeat if he got in the way. She pitied anyone who got on that creep's bad side.
That didn't mean the Careers weren't still a threat. All seven of them had scored tens, and that was a sign of stability. It was easier to foment discontent in a Pack when the Careers were already upset or jealous about one another's scores. If they all felt secure, they wouldn't be as fearful of betrayal or as eager to dispose of a less useful teammate. A healthy Career Pack could prove fatal to the rest of the tributes. Griffin Cadbury's Victory was well within recent memory, and Vica wasn't about to forget that the Careers had a history of winning consistently.
Vica wondered how she was going to fare. Who would go down in the Bloodbath? There would be surprises. There was at least one every year. A tribute with a poor predicted placement would make it farther than expected; a high-scoring tribute would go early. It occurred to her that the dull blathering the new Head Gamemaker was exchanging with Pandora might actually provide some useful clues about the arena. She reached for the remote and clicked up the volume.
"Yes, the tributes did show up this year," agreed the Head Gamemaker. "I must say, the introductions are always one of my favorite parts of private sessions. They can be such a window into a tribute's personality or strategy. Some seemed to showcase their senses of humor, and I loved seeing that charisma come through. I'd encourage them to try the same thing in their interviews tomorrow! This pool of tributes has completely won me over, and I can't wait for all of you to meet them too."
"So, Jacqueline. Is there anything we should know about the betting odds this year?"
"I'm afraid there's not much to tell you. The scores are always a good starting place when deciding who to put your money on, but there are so many predictors of success beyond that."
"So looking at the scores alone would be a poor choice?"
"Exactly."
"Do you anticipate the betting odds changing much considering the interviews?"
"Not really. I do anticipate that you'll get a real feel for who might be a good fit to sponsor. This is a very sponsor-friendly arena, I'll tell you that, but what arena isn't? We'll still stock the Cornucopia very sufficiently, of course, but sponsors will have considerable influence on what the tributes can do in the space they're provided."
That was enough to send Vica's mind racing about the possibilities. What was a 'sponsor-friendly' arena? Probably a freezing tundra or a boiling desert, maybe a plain concrete room or a flat meadow or a volcano poised for eruption.
She had some work to do.
Fahad Azerola, 17
District Ten Suite, Capitol
D10M
July 4, 329 AEDD
Fahad hadn't gotten a very impressive score, but he hoped he would be able to make up for it during the interviews. He wasn't exactly looking forward to them. He wasn't very good in front of the Reaping crowd, but the tribute team might be able to clean him up enough to give him a fighting chance at being appealing. Mare had ended up with Penn, the grumpy mentor, but Fahad had the good fortune of working with Fahad. Given four hours, she could probably sort out an interview angle for him that wouldn't send everyone looking at their watches and waiting for the longest three minutes of their lives to elapse.
He'd ended up employing his usual self-deprecating humor in front of the Gamemakers. He hadn't gone out intending to, but it just happened, and they hadn't seemed exactly angry with him, so he figured it was fine.
He was trying to go to sleep. The steak dinner was sitting heavy in his stomach, and he wanted to enjoy his penultimate night of being alive, but he was blinking at the ceiling in the dark, unable to relax. It should have been no problem. Fahad had slept in less comfortable circumstances for just about every night in his life, including on cold bar bathroom tiles, a creaky straw-filled mattress, and strangers' bedroom floors. Still, despite the lush thread count of the sheets, they weren't helping him out very much.
He wandered over to Mare's room. It was more instinctual than romantic. Mare was a friend (more than a friend? He wasn't sure) and she probably wouldn't mind his presence. He wasn't surprised to see her laying awake too.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"Couldn't sleep? Me neither."
"Not really. Not sure what's in the air tonight."
"Fear. Impending doom."
"Yeah."
"Wanna come in?" She tossed up a corner of the bedspread invitingly and he got in beside her. The bed was extravagantly large. It had felt a bit like a plush coffin when he was lying face-up in it by himself in his room, but it wasn't quite as bad with Mare there too. Her hair was up in a lopsided ponytail, tied with a sparkly blue scrunchie. For reasons unknown, Fahad hadn't expected Mare to be a scrunchie person. She wore a slouchy tank top and pajama shorts.
She lay on her side facing him. She was a good few inches taller than him, but their faces were aligned on the heap of pillows. He briefly entertained the idea of kissing her, then decided that would only add to his problems if he ended up getting things wrong. "Do you think we scored okay?" he asked.
"I wouldn't worry. The scores don't mean much. People with good scores die, people with crap scores win. I'm more interested in whatever the others scored and what it says about their strategies. The Three-Seven alliance, for example, scored a lot lower than it could have. That was a coordinated effort to look weak, and if I had to bet, I'd say we're the only people who caught it."
"You caught it, you mean. I didn't do anything."
"It's totally a team effort. Even when it's not. Everything we do reflects on both of us because we're doing this together."
"What about the Careers? Seven tens is, uh, a lot of tens."
"Sorry. No Careers allowed in bed. I refuse to think about them when I'm trying to relax."
"Yeah, that's real."
"I think we just can't totally screw ourselves tomorrow. A so-so interview is fine. If we live a while, a couple of people will probably feel like sponsoring us. We just can't make them actively dislike us. If they think we're annoying, they won't care if we die, and the Games are all about making them care."
"I thought the Games were about not getting brutally murdered."
"That's true too. But they're watching for the storyline. Notice how the Victors people actually care about are the ones with neat little angles? Not just for interviews. You got the pretty one, the tough one, the funny one, the smart one. Nobody pays attention to the average ones that just get lucky. But there aren't many unlikeable Victors in the first place, because they don't hand wins to tributes who reflect badly on the Capitol."
"Oh." Fahad wasn't sure what to say to that. What if he and Mare got unlikeable?
"It happens sometimes. You got your Penns and whoever, but even Penn was popular in his own time. Mentoring made him like this. A few decades of watching kids die and their families blaming you for not saving them, that gets tough. He was just some strong, good-looking ranch hand when he was a tribute. It worked out for him. Now it's thirty years later and he's finally brought home a Victor. He's not the only one anymore, but he can't stop mentoring because there are still two tributes. It's not like Victory is a perfect outcome."
"There aren't any happy endings. Could you imagine being a mentor after all this?"
"Well, of course. I mean, technically if I win, I'd be set to replace Harrietta, not Penn, but we could apply for an exception. Penn and I talked about it a little, actually."
"Really?"
"He thinks we have a chance."
"Seriously?"
"We just have to deal with things as they come. We have to survive the Bloodbath, then the first day, then the second day. The Gamemakers think in the short-term. Everything in the arena has an endpoint. We just have to find it."
"Okay."
"Right now, we just have to sleep through the night. Interview prep is tomorrow's problem." Fahad tried to relax. Mare was right. Sleeping wouldn't be difficult compared to all the things he'd have to do in the arena, but that wasn't helping his mind at the moment. He tried to count sheep, but that didn't work either. At some point he drifted off to scenes of his inevitable demise, but at least he was resting.
He'd need it. A grueling day lay ahead.
THE ACROBAT
The Acrobat was an expert at gliding through life. He flipped between allegiances, ducking the law and leaping over regulations, and he saw no reason to quit now. The problem was that the Capitol currently had access to two tributes whose combined backstories, should they be revealed, would get the Acrobat caught. He hadn't heard from Konstance DuMouchel since he sent her the coded correspondence detailing the identity of the mole. He couldn't let the mole's mission succeed, but he also couldn't tip her off. She might blow the whistle on the whole thing, and then the Acrobat would be in an unprecedented amount of trouble.
He had to make his own decisions. This had never been a problem in the past. He had commanded District Twelve with little issue since he was instated as Head Peacekeeper, but now Nikolai Fassnacht was threatening to catch up with him. He had sent a letter to the Ringmaster, and she was in hiding waiting for his arrival, but he had to prevent their double agent from tipping off the Capitol and getting everyone arrested in the meantime. He only needed a temporary solution.
He ended up ambushing her on a train. He simply walked up while she was in the mail compartment with her radio still in the corridor, then shut the doors from the outside and stuck a broom through the handles to trap her in.
She pounded on the door. The Acrobat ignored her.
He went to the conductor's cab and fired up the engines. The train lurched to life.
The Acrobat laid a course for De ro t Station.
Hey y'all,
Nano has been lagging a bit because I caught a cold, but we'll catch up. Three more chapters until the Bloodbath! Next chapter will be interview prep with Nascha, Beemo, Danny, Tom, Jeremiah, Nikita, and another mini Capitol POV. Enjoy!
—LC :)