Laurel
The training uniform the tributes were required to wear was far more modest than Laurel's parade costume. A short-sleeved, collared black and gray breathable shirt and pants, with a hint of red for accents, and equally breathable, movable boots. The sleeves were emblazoned with their district number for identification purposes, as there was some swimming station/course at the training gym and they needed some way to tell the garments apart in case they were mixed up. They couldn't wear these while taking those lessons, after all.
The gym was located on the ground floor, taking up most of the facility. Several tributes were already present when Laurel arrived, lining up in a semi-circle around the Head Trainer, Ben Turner. Laurel went to find a spot, deliberately as far back and out of view as possible. Many were shooting her nasty looks, likely holding a grudge over her show-stealing performance at the parade yesterday.
While waiting patiently for the rest of the tributes to arrive, Laurel reflected on her conversation with her mentors last night. After peeling herself out of her costume with Zinda's help and changing back into regular clothing, they had dinner before separating into each tribute's respective rooms to discuss strategy. Alan took Vanch aside into his room to speak while Uncle Ted and Sandra went with Laurel to her room. There, they devised Laurel's strategy for training for the next three days.
Typically, an outlier tribute focused all their energy on learning everything they could during the training period to get a good training score when it was time to show off their skills during their private session with the Gamemakers. Good training scores helped a tribute stand out and win over possible sponsors, the lifeblood of a tribute in the arena, if they couldn't get good supplies from the Cornucopia or their survival skills weren't up to snuff. Something that happened often, as the bulk of the best supplies always went to the Careers thanks to their longstanding alliance and because three days usually weren't nearly long enough to learn all the possible ways to survive in the virtual wilderness.
However, straight from the outset, she was told that wouldn't be her strategy. "You stood out too much during the parade for that strategy to work, little bird," had been Sandra's explanation.
"She's right," Uncle Ted agreed. "If we go down that road, you'll be too strong a tribute for the Careers to ignore, especially if your interview goes well. You'll be the favorite to win the Games, and they'll make you their number one target. The moment that gong sounds, they'll all jump you the first chance they get."
Laurel winced. She was confident in her abilities, as much as she could be in these circumstances, but she was under no illusion she would survive if the entire Career Pack went after her all at once. Especially considering a number of the other tributes would help them. After all, Cyrus Vanch was her district partner, and he had already taken a distinct and entirely unwelcome interest in her.
"So, what do you suggest?" she asked, anxious to hear instructions on what to do tomorrow.
The two Victors exchanged looks. "We're going to make them believe you're all flash and no substance," Ted continued, wringing his hands together. "Focus only on the survival stations. It's more important for you to learn those skills anyway since you already know how to fight. Avoid the combat stations as much as you possibly can."
That got him a frown. "Won't people get suspicious if I do that, though?" Laurel pointed out.
"Yes, which is why you are going to visit the knife-wielding station and the bo-staff station to learn how to use those two weapons," Sandra added, crossing her arms. "Knives are the most common weapon in the arena, and you already have some experience with a bo-staff. It would do you well to familiarize yourself with both."
"Make it look like you're just learning how to fight instead of showing off what you're capable of," Ted followed up, continuing where Sandra left off. "No matter how quickly you pick those two weapons up, do your best to downplay your abilities and make mistakes."
Laurel swallowed. "And what about real practice? I can't go a week without at least some."
"You can go to the roof at night and practice your katas after dinner. Very few tributes go up there."
Well, Laurel couldn't argue with that. It wasn't like she had a better solution.
Once all the tributes lined up in the gym, Turner began his speech on how the training would work for the next three days. At the beginning of each day, all the tributes would be required to complete a different compulsory exercise. After finishing the exercise, the tributes could move about the gym as they pleased and visit any stations for however long they wished. Each day, around noon, there would be a brief break for lunch, and they would be sent back to their rooms for dinner around five to five-thirty. The only change in routine would be in the afternoon of the third day when the tributes would be taken out of training by order of their district number and sent to the Gamemakers for their private session.
When he was done, the tributes lined up to go through the first compulsory exercise, a simple obstacle course focusing on climbing, one of the most essential skills needed for the Games. Laurel was in the middle of the pack, and when it was her turn, she tried to remember her mentors' advice. Downplay your abilities. Make mistakes.
Climbing the wall wasn't actually all that hard. She tried to go slow to make it look like she was struggling, but it was clear to her early on that if she tried, she could scale it relatively quickly. To ensure no one noticed this, she deliberately allowed herself to fall twice from safe heights, so it seemed she was trying harder than she really was to conquer it.
Once Laurel was marked off by one of the trainers as having completed the exercise, she was given the freedom to move about the gym and choose a station to train at. She looked around and knew that a combat station was out of the question right now, as it seemed everyone was trying them out. The Careers, for intimidation's sake, everyone else because many of them didn't know how to fight and were very panicky about it. Very few of her fellow tributes were trying out any of the survival stations, which worked well for her strategy.
It was just a matter of choice, and after some thought, Laurel decided the most critical skill she needed to learn was how to feed herself. She glanced around and found the edible plants station was free; that seemed like a good starting point. Laurel had always had a good memory and was a great student, especially when she had extra motivation to do well.
She went ahead to the station and cleared her throat. The trainer, rifling through some cards, looked up and blinked. Laurel smiled.
"Mind teaching me how to forage for my food?"
After about one hour at the edible plants station, Laurel moved to another station. Figuring sticking to a theme was as good an idea as any without any set schedule given to her to follow, she visited the other "food" stations, including the water-finding and treatment station and (very reluctantly) the edible bugs station. By the time she was done, the queue at the knife-wielding station had thinned out enough that there wouldn't be as much of a wait.
It was then Laurel decided it was time for her first knife-wielding lesson. She headed to the station and lined up at the back, waiting about fifteen minutes before it was her turn. The trainer, a tired man named Cobb, handed her a knife and showed her how to hold it properly. Once she had a good grip, he began leading her through some basic movements for her to practice.
Much like with the rock wall earlier, Laurel found it much easier than she thought it would be. A lot of the movements were reminiscent of early techniques she learned growing up, just with the extra weight of a weapon. She could probably learn more advanced techniques if she put in the effort, but then she spotted Nyssa al Ghul from District Two observing her with an unreadable expression. After that, she started fumbling with the knife, internally crowing in victory when the other girl eventually walked away with an unimpressed scoff.
Here, to all of them, you're mediocre, Laurel reminded herself. Any more than that, and you're dead.
Lunch was an hour-long break that started at noon and ended around one. The tributes were directed to a cafeteria adjacent to the gym, where a buffet was set up for them, along with several tables for open seating. Laurel picked up a tray and decided to continue her mini-food tour of the Capitol's best delicacies, picking up a large meat sandwich that the chef called a "burger" and a frothy milk drink called a "shake," along with fries that were far fresher and crispier than the ones she got at school. Once her tray was full, she tried to find an empty table to sit at, deftly ignoring Vanch's mocking wave. Asshole, Laurel thought, with no small amount of disdain.
Just as she found her table and was about to sit down, however, her attention was caught by something else. "You don't mind if I take this, right?"
Laurel looked up and spotted the boy from Four, Ricardo Diaz, toying around with a water bottle he had taken from the tray of one of the Sevens. The two youngest tributes of the Games had stuck with each other throughout the day, afraid and desperate enough to only keep company with the one person each was familiar with. It was the only thing keeping them from breaking down and being prone to tears like that girl from Three.
"It's not like you'll need much of it, right?" Diaz continued, speaking casually. "Considering you'll both be dead at the end of the week."
The children flinched. Diaz smirked before heading off to the table where the Careers sat, deliberately bumping into the boy's shoulder along the way. The Careers laughed and celebrated his grand "achievement" before they noticed one of the other outlier tributes and started taunting them, the Sevens wholly forgotten. Laurel's stomach curled.
Neither Sara nor she had ever liked bullies. They hadn't been particularly popular growing up, mainly because it was an open secret in their neighborhood that they were the bastard children of a Peacekeeper. Naturally, such a thing did not go over well with the poor sections of the district, the biggest victims of the draconian policies of the Capitol that the Peacekeepers enforced. Laurel still had vivid memories of defending Sara from harassment when they were younger until Sara had grown up and learned enough under Uncle Ted and Sandra to protect herself.
Part of her wanted to go up there and defend the honor of those young kids. It was hard enough for them to be here, knowing they had no chance at winning the Games, and there was no reason to make it worse for them. Constantly throwing their inevitable deaths into their faces was another level of unnecessary cruelty. But Uncle Ted's reminders about how she shouldn't draw attention to herself and make any serious enemies stopped her. Only one could make it out of the arena, and that one had to be her.
Still…
Laurel set her tray down on her table and rushed to the Sevens, ensuring the Careers weren't looking their way. She put a gentle hand on the shoulder of the girl, causing the younger woman to look up, and gave her a kind smile. "Do you two want to sit and eat with me?"
The duo exchanged looks before turning back to her, giving searching expressions to see if there was any deception. After a moment, they both nodded.
The older tribute smiled and gestured to her table, her heart considerably lighter than before.
Oliver
Training was productive today. Oliver had gotten solid archery practice, refined his knife-wielding, hand-to-hand, and swordsmanship skills, and even picked up a few new ones at the survival stations while intimidating several other tributes and showing their opponents what awaited them in the arena. On paper, it was a resounding success.
Except he didn't feel that way. Part of him hadn't enjoyed the part of the plan that involved throwing his weight around — Oliver was many things, but he'd like to think he wasn't much of a bully. With a couple of exceptions, none of those outliers stood a chance against him in a fight. They were terrified and probably wished they were home right now. On a personal level, there was no reason to rub it in further.
But strategy was strategy; this was the best way to ensure most of the competition was off their game when it was time to enter the arena. Scared as they might be, Oliver was under no illusions that just about any of those tributes would switch places with him if they had the chance. Only one could go home, and they were all determined to be that person. When it came down to it, they were every bit as willing to kill him as he was willing to kill them. He could never, ever forget that.
After training, Oliver went back upstairs with Helena to have dinner. He immediately had to revise his plans when he opened the door and saw who was inside.
"Oliver!" Robert Queen stood up from where he spoke with his fellow Victors. Next to him, Moira Queen, perfectly poised as always, got up to follow him. "Son! How are you?"
"Dad, Mom," Oliver greeted his parents hesitantly, returning their hugs briefly and shying away from his mother's kisses. "What are you two doing here?"
"Sweetheart, we're Victors, remember?" Moira reminded him, smiling lightly. "We need to be here, even if we're not mentoring this year. Due to business, we'll be busy all week, but we made sure we took some time today to see you. Need to make sure you're preparing properly for the Games."
Oliver blinked and nodded slowly. "Right," he answered, his eyes darting to the side to see Helena scowling heavily at them and his official mentors exchanging pointed looks. The fact that Oliver was the child of two Victors hadn't been much of a sticking point between Helena and him despite the inordinate attention it got him. This was due to their mentors going the extra mile to treat the two tributes equally. The appearance of the Queens decidedly threw off that dynamic. "Have you had dinner yet?"
Robert shook his head, still smiling. "We figured we'd eat with you tonight."
"Okay," Oliver replied, plastering on his best grin. It's not like he wasn't happy seeing his parents, but didn't they realize how awkward they were making things for him here? "That sounds great. Why don't we get started right now? I'm famished."
Before either of them could respond, Helena cleared her throat, cutting into the conversation. "Oliver, I'm sure you and your parents have a lot to talk about," she spoke with a sweet, saccharine tone dripping with insincerity. "So I'm just going to have dinner in my room if that's alright with all of you."
Oliver tried not to cringe. "If that's what you want, Helena," he conceded, reminding himself to apologize to her later. Even though they'd be entering a gladiatorial death match at the end of the week, he owed her one.
With that confirmed, Helena nodded and left, heading towards her room. Oliver turned back to his parents and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm going to go change first. Why don't you two call in the Avoxes to start dinner?"
"People are lining up the block, clamoring to sponsor you, son," Robert boasted between courses, dinner now well underway. "You're the second biggest favorite to win this year."
Shado arched an eyebrow. "Let me guess — number one is Nyssa al Ghul?"
"Yes, but that's only expected of Ra's al Ghul's youngest," Moira sighed. "She's a dangerous one, Oliver. You best be wary of her when you're in the arena. Once it's time to break up the pack, get as much distance between you as possible and snipe her off with your bow. She'll have the advantage in close quarters, so it's better for you if you keep away."
"I'll keep that in mind, Mom," Oliver dutifully answered, trying not to sound pained.
Dinner had started well enough. There were greetings and exchanges of old inside jokes. With Helena in her room eating dinner by herself, the small party was entirely populated by inhabitants of Victor's Village, people who had known each other and (for some) had grown up together for years. It was a comfortable, familiar atmosphere that she would've felt out of place in, and it just made Oliver feel even guiltier about the whole situation.
But then the guilt turned into resentment. The conversation gradually shifted from topics like family and recent endeavors to the one thing that bonded them all together: the Hunger Games. The same event that had been dominating Oliver's very existence practically all his life. And while he got it, especially since he was now officially a tribute for the Games… it was just too much.
I'm here, he screamed in his head as he forced out a smile at another tip his parents helpfully provided him. I'm finally fucking here. After years and years of training, of bitter, hard work, I'm here. I'm going to enter the arena in a couple of days and become the Victor you've always dreamed of, so for at least one night, could we not talk about the fucking Games!
When dinner was finally over, his parents said their goodbyes and returned to their hotel to prepare for the upcoming weeks. There was a promise to keep working sponsorships for him to ensure he had a big, fat account waiting for him in the arena. Oliver accepted the words with the same strained upturn of the lips he had been wearing all night and, when they were gone, slumped onto the couch in emotional exhaustion.
He loved his parents, he did, but…
"Is there anywhere I can go to get some air?" he asked Shado. Tributes weren't allowed to leave the Training Center until it was time for them to enter the arena unless it was for their interviews.
Shado gave him a knowing, sympathetic look. She was the child of a Victor, too, after all. "You can go up to the roof. People rarely ever go up there."
"Good enough for me." And with that, he left to grab a jacket from his room.
Going up to the roof was the best idea Oliver had been given all day. The first brush of fresh air across his face was like a much-needed balm on his soul, a release from the mask he had been wearing ever since the Reaping had been in spitting distance of his future. Here and now, alone with the bright lights of the Capitol skyline surrounding him and the stars shining above, Oliver felt like he could finally be himself.
Or so he thought. Because, as it turned out, he wasn't alone.
It took him a moment to separate the sounds of grunting and panting from the whistles of the wind. But they were there, and at that moment, he knew he wasn't the only person on the roof. Oliver followed the sounds with a frown, turning around a corner to another part of the roof, a garden surrounding an open area beneath some pavilion, probably to shield whoever stood under it from the rain.
And in the middle of it all was her. The girl from Eight. Laurel Drake.
He first noticed that she wasn't wearing her training uniform anymore, having exchanged them for some loose, black workout clothes and a pair of running shoes. She hadn't noticed him yet, too busy keeling over, hands on her knees while she tried to catch her breath. Judging by her deep breathing and sweaty state, she had been working out for quite some time—training for the Games.
That conclusion only led to more questions. Why was she doing more training tonight? They had been training all day, and they had two more days of training left after that. Oliver tried to try and recall what his fellow tribute had been doing in the gym earlier. As far as he could remember, Laurel had mainly stuck to the survival stations, trying to absorb any knowledge she could from there. She had ignored almost all the combat stations except the knife-wielding one, which she didn't stick around with for long. The only reason he remembered that was because Nyssa had watched her and later given a scathing comment about her poor technique during lunch.
Had Laurel noticed that? Had she been discouraged by her lack of progress? Almost immediately, a wave of pity crashed into him. Maybe she had. After her big splash at the parade, there had to be a lot of pressure on her to live up to the impact she made and keep the momentum going. Something that would be hard to do when she likely had little to no combat training. Fighting wasn't something you could pick up in a couple of days.
It doesn't matter how pretty that girl from Eight is if she doesn't know how to fight or survive, Slade's words from yesterday whispered in Oliver's ear. It was the hard, cold truth. The Capitol might delight in a pretty face and swoon over a charming line or two, but they watched the Games for blood in the end. A tribute who couldn't shed blood would find the sponsorship money running dry fast, and Laurel had to know that. It only figured she would panic and desperately try to close the gap, and Oliver almost sympathized with her.
However, as soon as he realized what he was feeling, he shook it off. As much as Oliver might want to, he couldn't afford to feel any pity for her at all. Compassion, kindness, virtue — all those things got you killed in the arena, as numerous too-kind tributes had learned over the decades. No matter how unfortunate this girl's circumstances were, they were opponents in a deadly battle royale. At the end of the week, they would be locked into an arena together to fight to the death, and he couldn't expect her to show any mercy just because the soft part of himself was willing to show her some. No, the only way he could afford to show any leniency was to kill her quickly if they encountered each other in the arena.
Then, Laurel stood up and began stretching, and Oliver's mind went entirely elsewhere.
Well, I'm not going to get any from any of my allies, and she's probably aching for some comfort or relief after being reaped for the Games, he reasoned as he began to approach her. A quick tumble should help take the edge off for both of us.
So, with that thought in mind, Oliver adopted his best ladykiller smile and opened his mouth. "Hey, Eight! What's a pretty girl like you doing up here?"
Laurel
Laurel sighed in relief as cool water slid down her parched throat. After almost three hours of a hard workout, she was sweating like a pig, feeling like she was burning hotter than the surface of the sun. It was exhausting, but the good kind. There was a comforting familiarity of falling back into the rhythm of practicing her katas again, the movements flowing from her muscle memory with the kind of ease she hadn't been able to show in training with all the other tributes.
The only thing the entire routine was missing was a decent spar, but there was no way to remedy that problem. Even without the whole "hide that you can fight" part of her strategy, fighting was forbidden between tributes until it was time to enter the arena. There were her mentors, but the general agreement between them and her was that Vanch would get suspicious if they disappeared alongside her whenever she went up to the roof. With no Sara present either, there was no hope of a sparring partner in any fashion, so Laurel had to make do.
Sara. Just thinking about her sister immediately made her mood plummet. God, she missed her sister. It felt like there wasn't a moment where she saw something, and her first thought was If only Sara could be here to see this. The Capitol was gauche and excessive in a way that made Laurel sick, but there were a few bright spots here and there, a certain beauty that left her awe-struck. And every time such a moment came, the greatest ache she felt was knowing she couldn't share any of it with her sister—only pale imitations, lingering, fleeting shadows, and only if she won the Games.
It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. But that was just the Hunger Games for you. There was a reason why every tribute went into the arena, hoping, desperately, that the odds were in their favor. The Capitol had rigged the system to make sure it was never fair, for any of them.
"Hey, Eight! What's a pretty girl like you doing up here?"
Laurel was jolted out of her melancholy thoughts by an unfamiliar voice and glanced towards the direction from where it came from. She froze up when she saw who it was: a tall, muscular boy with short blonde hair and the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. Recognition came to her instantly. He was the male tribute of District One, Oliver Queen.
Uncle Ted had warned her about him and the District Two female tribute, Nyssa al Ghul. As the children and relatives of previous Victors of the Games, they were what were called "legacy" tributes. Children who had family that had entered the arena before, who were raised and trained with the expectation of continuing their families' "legacies" by repeating their relatives' success and winning the Games, becoming Victors in their own right. Tributes who, in his honest opinion, were going to be Laurel's most dangerous opponents when it was time to duke it out.
"There's going to be a lot of extra pressure on them not only to win but also to put on a good show," had been her mentor's explanation. "And with their families, they'll be frontrunners and favorites of the Capitol audience from the get-go. Be careful with them, Laurel."
She had done her best to obey that advice. It was the reason she had deliberately fumbled so much when she noticed Nyssa staring at her during her knife-wielding lesson. Laurel did not want to test how well she matched up against the strongest Career in this year's Games, at least not right off the bat. And especially not in a chaotic melee where everyone was trying to kill each other.
But seeing Oliver now, in the place where she was supposed to be isolated enough to practice her real abilities in peace, the panic returned. How much had he seen? Was her strategy already blown? She quickly schooled her expression into something neutral. Laurel didn't have all the facts yet. The last thing she wanted to do was clue him into the possibility she was hiding something if he hadn't seen her training—no need to pique his curiosity.
"Just stretching my legs, One," Laurel cooly answered, crossing her arms. "Is that a problem?"
Her fellow tribute ran his eyes up and down her form, and his smirk adjusted into something more… sly. "For someone with legs like yours, far from it," he flirted.
Oh. Laurel rolled her eyes. Of course. Career, legacy tribute, it didn't matter how many labels were put on him. At the end of the day, Oliver Queen was a teenage boy and had all the hormones that implied. For a boy raised with a (relative) silver spoon in his mouth, it wasn't hard to figure out what he was after now that she was speaking to him.
"How many girls have you won over with lame pick-up lines like that?" she asked dryly.
He blinked, and his smirk quirked up into something more genuine. "It was pretty lame, wasn't it?"
Despite herself, Laurel felt her heart skip a beat. Like it or not, as much as Oliver was a teenage boy, she was a teenage girl, and she had hormones, too. And screw it, he was hot. At least she wasn't too full of herself to admit that much.
"Yeah, it was," she finally said, the semblance of a smile forming before she quickly squashed it down. "Now, mind telling me why you're up here?"
Oliver shrugged languidly. "Wanted to get some air," was the answer. "My parents showed up for dinner tonight, and they got overbearing. I had to spend like three hours listening to them go on about the Games and how I was going to win and crap like that." Now, it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Like I haven't heard that practically all my life."
And just like that, Laurel's mood dropped. She started scowling, not that Oliver noticed.
"After they left, I felt so annoyed and keyed up that I figured I'd come here to blow off steam. Imagine my surprise when I found you here, sweating up a storm on a cold summer night like this." He tilted his head. "Are you trying to get more practice with those weapons you tried learning how to use at training earlier today?"
When she didn't answer, Oliver shook his head. "Hate to break it to you, but you're not going to magically learn how to fight like us Careers in three days. It takes years of training to reach anywhere close to our level. You're better off not wearing yourself out and getting some rest instead. You'll need all the energy you can get when we're in the arena."
The words were all-knowing and smug, dripping with the arrogance you'd expect from an entitled Career who had spent his entire life dreaming about winning glory in the Games. Laurel felt whatever little goodwill she had towards Oliver Queen shrivel up and die, her expression morphing into something more hostile. "Is that a threat?" she asked, trying not to sound too angry.
He shrugged again. "Nah, just some advice. Outer tributes like you need all the help you can get, after all."
"How kind of you. Forgive me if I don't find your advice very helpful." Dick.
Instead of offending him, Oliver seemed more amused by her barely restrained hatred. "You're not just a pretty face at all, are you? Got a real spine in you." And just like that, he was flirting again.
Alright, Laurel was just about done for tonight. She rolled her eyes and turned around to leave, but before she went, she couldn't help but throw one last barb in. Turning to face Oliver again, she adopted a piercing look. "It's funny that you're complaining about your parents visiting you. They'll probably see you every day this week, maybe even see you off into the arena, and be there for you when you get out. Provided you win, of course."
Oliver frowned. "And?"
She shrugged. "Like I said, I think it's funny — you're mad about your parents being around, while the rest of us will probably never see our parents ever again."
Just like that, the roof fell deathly silent. Oliver stared at her, wide-eyed, open-mouthed. Completely stricken.
Laurel gave him an unimpressed once-over before heading off to the elevator. She was done here.
The following morning, Laurel did her best to put her confrontation with Oliver out of her mind. Part of her acknowledged that antagonizing a Career like that when she was trying to stay under the radar was decidedly foolish, but she still couldn't find it in herself to regret it. He had been such an entitled, obtuse prick, and the schadenfreude she felt taking him down a notch, even for a brief moment, had felt wonderful. Ten out of ten, would totally do it again.
Instead, she refocused on her training. Once again, after the compulsory exercise (swimming, with a swimming lesson for those who didn't know how), Laurel did a run-through of all the survival stations, trying to supplement and reinforce everything she learned yesterday. The only difference was that she had two tag-a-longs this time: Evelyn Sharpe and Rory Reagan, the two tributes from District Seven. Her new allies.
Sandra and Uncle Ted tried to dissuade her from taking them on, but Laurel was stubborn. "Uncle Ted, there's no guarantee I'll make it out. And if I don't, I'd rather have one of the younger ones do so in my stead."
"Laurel…" Her male mentor had looked pained. She knew what he was thinking — they would only be baggage. She'd have to do all the heavy lifting when it was time to enter the arena. That if she died, they weren't going to make it out.
"Think of it this way," Laurel continued, determined to make her case. "Taking on two twelve-year-olds as allies will only make the Careers underestimate me even more."
Uncle Ted grimaced while Sandra stared at her solemnly. "You are far too kind, little bird," she declared, but she hadn't protested further, so Laurel counted that as a win. When Uncle Ted conceded right after, she declared complete victory.
Besides, having Evelyn and Rory around was a huge benefit. The best way to reinforce knowledge was to try and teach it to others, and the two were very receptive students. In addition to helping them learn the skills the trainers were trying to teach them, she could pick up newer, more advanced knowledge after effectively proving she had a good handle on the basics.
After going through the hammock-making, knot-tying, and edible plants stations, Laurel sneaked a look at the Careers, who were once again hogging all the combat stations. She had fully expected her tentative decision to ally with the two youngest tributes in the Games would make her a bigger target for their bullying. Especially after her little exchange with Oliver last night; he still had to be smarting over being one-upped so thoroughly like that.
Instead, most of their efforts focused on the outliers overlooked yesterday, particularly that poor girl from Three, Felicity. Only fourteen and as thin as a twig, she'd been the tribute most unable to hide her fear over what awaited them at the end of the week. Every time Laurel saw her, she trembled like a leaf, despairing over her lack of physical ability. She was the brainy sort, and while that wasn't necessarily a complete disadvantage in the arena, it was only valuable if you could keep your head calm and focused. The Careers were trying to make sure Felicity was anything but.
Laurel had tried to reach out to her when they were at the same station (fire-starting) yesterday, but Felicity took one look at her and told Laurel not to talk to her. Either she was afraid of the other tributes in general or worried that sticking with Laurel would make her a bigger target for the Careers, thanks to her splash at the parade. Possibly even both. The older girl couldn't blame her if that were her line of thought, she'd be thinking the same thing in Felicity's situation.
After finishing up at her latest station, Laurel thought a combat station was overdue for her new alliance. She escorted Rory and Evelyn to the hand-to-hand combat station, deftly deflecting their requests for her to join them with the ready-made excuse that she already had some self-defense training and should be fine, and then headed off to the bo-staff station to practice. Of the two weapons she had been instructed to learn, she had decided to focus on this one more because it was considerably more difficult and because she had more experience with it.
She was learning a particularly complicated movement and trying to figure out how to botch it in a way that made it look like she wasn't remarkably talented when she had an unwanted interloper: Cyrus Vanch.
Surprisingly, her district partner had consented to her desire for him to keep his distance and hadn't bothered her during training or at lunch yesterday. He was still a major pain in the neck during dinner, but that was unavoidable when you were sharing an apartment. Laurel thought that he would keep it up today, but it seemed that hope had been in vain.
"Hey there, Drake," he greeted her mockingly with his stupid, sly grin. "How's your training going?"
Laurel glared at him but answered, figuring that playing along would make him go away faster. "As well as could be expected."
Vanch hummed. "I hope so. Saw you avoiding most of the combat stations. Is that wise? It's important to survive in the wilderness and all, but if you can't throw a decent punch, you're as good as dead if you encounter another tribute."
"I have my reasons," she said, short and pointed.
"Oh, I'm sure you do," he laughed, slinging an arm around her shoulders, throwing her off balance.
Almost immediately, Laurel froze. She had to clamp down on her immediate reflex to throw Vanch off her, gritting her teeth as her district partner leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I know you're hiding something, sweetheart," he taunted, licking his lips. "And I'm going to find out what it is eventually. So if I were you, I'd watch my step, Laurel Drake."
With that, he clapped her back in a friendly manner and then wandered off. Despite herself, Laurel watched him go, narrowing her eyes when she saw him hook up with two other tributes: Hunter Zolomon, from District Six, and Jason Woodrue, from District Eleven. Outside of the Careers, they were two of the biggest and most muscular boys this year. Even without knowing how to fight, they'd be favorites on sheer size and bulk alone.
Was Vanch trying to form his own alliance? When Laurel thought about it, it made sense. Vanch was the head of a massive criminal enterprise back home. He wasn't the type to be a loner — he always had to have followers to do his bidding. There's no reason why that would have to change in the arena, especially if he was slick enough to convince people they had a better chance of sticking it out together first before trying to bash each other's brains out later on.
She had to wonder what kind of people those two boys had to be willing to follow Cyrus Vanch of all people. By now, word had to have spread about Vanch's status as an unabashed and unapologetic criminal. His reaping was too unusual not to take note of it, and the other mentors had likely done their research on him by now. It wasn't like Vanch's crimes were a secret. Besides, he had "snake" written all over him. He couldn't be trusted.
But either they didn't see it, or they didn't care and were buying into whatever he was selling anyway. Or, possibly, they were making their own plans and using him as much as he was using them. Treachery was common in the Games, with alliances always breaking down as more people died and the number of tributes in the arena decreased. It was inevitable when only one of you was allowed to go home. The ones made under good faith and goodwill smartly ended their alliances and parted ways before things reached that point. Those were, unsurprisingly, rare, and most, including the Career Pack, ended with somebody stabbing someone else in the back first.
Vanch wasn't stupid enough to fall for that, not when he made his name doing that same thing when he was just a minor. He definitely had something in the works to dispose of his allies once he was done using them. But that was not until late into the Games, likely until the Top Eight or the Top Four. Until they reached that point, if Laurel wanted to get rid of Vanch, she would also have to contend with those two. It wasn't a particularly appealing prospect.
The trainer at the bo-staff station cleared his throat, causing Laurel to return her attention to him. As she returned to practicing the move he had been trying to show her earlier, a sense of foreboding ran through her as her mind returned to Vanch's alliance. Something about the whole setup made her hair stand up on end. She felt Vanch's plans didn't just stop at having two thugs do his bidding. He'd never stop at something so small.
It was another reminder that it wasn't just the Careers Laurel had to worry about. Everyone in that arena would be a threat — whether she wanted them to be or not. It would be up to her whether or not she'd be able to survive them.
Happy New Year's, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. We had Laurel and Oliver's first one-on-one meeting, and boy, are sparks flying. Granted, not the romantic kind, but considering their differing backgrounds that's not surprising.
As for Laurel's strategy, I wanted it to resemble Katniss's strategy, but in a way that made more sense to me. Laurel here is trying to win over the Capitol while at the same not making herself the number one target for the Careers like Katniss did in the original novels. Whereas Katniss is too fiery and too bold to really make that strategy work, Laurel is of a different mind and knows how to keep that balance better. In part because she knows and trusts her mentors way more than Katniss did Haymitch. I wanted to make that distinction so it wasn't a complete rehash.
As for Oliver, he already harbors doubts about the Games, but the way he was raised and the environment he's surrounded by have allowed him to effectively ignore it. His conversations with Laurel, therefore, are going to have a more profound effect on him. As to how — well, just wait and see.
Next Chapter: The Training Scores.
