Dark clouds roll over the distant ocean. District 4 gets storms frequently, but these clouds promise a type of storm Thames hasn't seen in a while. The kind that shakes the foundations of your house and pelts rain at the windows so violently you're scared they'll shatter in the frame.
Fishing boats drag themselves across the waves, rushing towards the beach speedily. The fisherman will want to get inland before the seastorm hits the coast. A gust of wind firmly whips his ginger afro back and forth.
If Callista saw him hanging his feet over the side, she'd have a heart attack. The wind is so sluggish that he feels rooted in his spot and isn't worried about falling. He watches the junior Lionfish clan members down on the beach. Seabrooke Tomby has them lifting weights and doing squats on the uneven sand, and he can hear the groans of exertion from where he's sitting. He suppresses a smile. He remembers being them, still getting used to Mari's iron fist.
He's watched the tape of the twentieth games several times. Seabrooke won pragmatically, staying out of the way of most of the larger tributes and injuring their limbs with rocks when it was time to take them on in close combat. She's a lovely lady, but during training, Thames would rather take on a shark.
He's relaxed here on the cliff, alone to his thoughts and the sea breeze, and he just sits and watches the juniors training for a few minutes. He takes the time to appreciate not having every muscle screaming in his body. A pair of legs suddenly appear over the cliff beside him, and he turns. Sirena sits next to him, leaning back on her elbows. Her dark hair frames her face delicately as if she'd purposely put them that way. He silently scolds himself for not hearing her come up next to him.
"Watching Seabrooke abuse twelve-year-olds?"
He laughs. "Yeah, appreciating that it's not me."
"It will be in a few minutes."
"And my dread grows stronger every second."
She brings up school and other irrelevant things for a few minutes. Her family's fishing crew (her uncles were probably in one of those boats rushing to land) are reaching the increased quota the Capitol has imposed. They're happy with the progress. Thames couldn't care less, but he lets her talk. He doesn't want to look like an ass. She asks how his family is, and he asks how hers are. The conversation inevitably turns to the Hunger Games and the Quarter Quell.
"Thoughts on the twist?" He asks. He's heard the question asked a lot at school and uses it to keep the conversation going.
"I'm hopeful." She says. "But I do feel bad for the poorer districts. Their chances are terrible this year."
"They're terrible every year."
She doesn't respond.
The kids on the beach are winding down the exercises and packing up their equipment. Thames starts to get up. He doesn't understand why she's brought it up. The announcement was a month ago, and everyone has surely tired out every part of the topic.
"We'll be okay," he says. "We don't need sponsors. We don't even have to kill the Ones and Twos; just injure them badly enough, and they'll die on their own. They can't forage or fish or anything."
She gives him a look. "You've thought a lot about this. Are you planning on volunteering or something?"
"Nah."
He hasn't thought that deeply about it. It's just a bit of strategizing. He has no intention of volunteering, but he's watched a lot of Hunger Games, and there's a pattern.
"I just want us to win, you know? We haven't even come close since Annie Cresta, and she went, well," he motions being crazy with his hand.
Sirena tuts in annoyance. "She didn't go crazy. She has PTSD. I thought you'd be better than the crap the Capitol programs churn out."
He tries not to roll his eyes. He doesn't like when people act 'holier than thou', and Sirena is guilty of doing it often. He wouldn't say it out loud, but who cares if Annie Cresta 'didn't go crazy'? It's not like she'll hear them talking about her. Even if she did, she wouldn't do anything. She's usually holed up in the Victors' Village.
He keeps his face passive and shrugs. "Sorry, I guess not. Come on, let's start walking. By the time we reach the beach, it'll be time for class. A few of the other students are already there."
Sirena seems irritated with him, but he doesn't care.
They have to backtrack and walk the curve to reach the bottom of the cliff. The dirt and rocks are a bit loose, but they're far enough from the ledge that there's no fear of falling. They come often enough that they know the way well anyway.
It's not a long walk to the beach; they find themselves with their classmates in no time. Thames stands outside the group and doesn't contribute to the conversation. Sirena brings up the Quarter Quell again, and the discussion essentially goes around in circles. The same points are brought up again. Seabrooke ignores them and sets up cones on the beach, and Thames decides to tune out.
She starts the group off with laps of the beach. There are markers on either side of the expanse, one near the fishermen's huts and the other next to the cliff face. A few laps around each cone adds up to four miles. They don't jog in a single file. Everyone spreads out in mismatched groups. Thames sticks with Sirena, jogging lightly.
Marleen Felix, a girl he knows from school, glides up to their right. She was one of the last to show up to training, but her brown hair already looks stringy from the mixture of sweat and salty sea air.
"All right?"
Thames shrugs. "Not bad. Yourself?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm well." She says. "How do we feel about all this Quell business? There's only about a month and a half until things kick off."
People will not let it go.
"My Ma almost competed in the last one." She continues. "The family likes to think she did District 12 a favor by not volunteering and finally giving them a victor."
"Didn't half of the inner-district alliance get incinerated by a volcano that year?" Sirena says from Thames' other side.
She probably knows it happened for a fact, but she's obviously trying not to seem pretentious. Maybe she's caught on that she comes across that way.
"Also," he adds. "District 12 won in the first decade. It's just no one remembers."
Marleen shrugs. "Well, obviously, they weren't that memorable."
The first decade of the games was so long ago and so primal that not many people remember them. It's not a requirement in the clan curriculum to watch every single past Hunger Games, just the ones District 4 has won, but Thames has managed to watch them all during his years as a trainee. They were nothing crazy. Two dozen teenagers in a dilapidated amphitheater hacking away at each other.
He was going down the list, and when he asked Seabrooke about the tenth games, there was some trouble finding it. Apparently, there were no tapes around until a few decades ago because some Capitol fanboys noticed the missing footage, but it was oddly edited when Thames watched it.
He doesn't say anything, just shrugging helplessly. He can't be bothered to tell Marleen, and if she took her training seriously, then she'd already know.
She stays with him and Sirena for the rest of the session. She's a bit of a tryhard, barely panting by the end of the laps while he's doubled over. Seabrooke must see that there actually a few students who aren't struggling as much as she'd like them to, so she decides to push everyone further.
The bicep curls are initially effortless, but the longer they go, the more fire rips through Thames' arms. Seabrooke is brutal, and she pushes harder when she sees someone struggling with the drills. Of course, if you seem too at ease, you'll have more to do anyway. The two hours of training are long, and by the end of it, all he wants to do is collapse onto the beach and lay there for hours, but he makes it through.
"All right, you got through training," Seabrooke says. She clasps her hand on Roffe Falkner's shoulder, making him wince. "You're free to enjoy the rest of your day."
As if anyone has the energy to do anything but go home and lie down, Thames thinks to himself.
She packs up her weights and whatnot into her duffel bag. Apparently, people have more in them because everyone makes for the ocean before Seabrooke begins packing up.
"Need help, Seabrooke?" He asks her. She's knelt on the sand, shoving weights and a few mats into the bag.
"No, I'm alright, dear. Go and enjoy the waves."
He takes it as a suggestion rather than an order and bends down to help her pack everything.
"It's okay. I can't be bothered to swim."
She doesn't argue and holds the sides of the bag open for him to get the items back into it more practicably. She's brought quite a few weights, mats, and cones, but it doesn't take much to shove them into the bag. He makes quick work of it and straightens up.
"Will you be alright getting back to the village?"
She suppresses a smile. "I'm not old and frail, I will be fine."
She looks between Thames and Sirena, who's come to his side.
"Do you kids need to talk? The Reaping is-"
"We're fine, ma'am. Not worried in the slightest. Go and enjoy your afternoon."
She doesn't seem convinced, but there must be other pressing issues. She gives a nod, says her goodbyes, and leaves the beach.
Thames turns to the ocean and watches Marleen sprinting full speed through the waves.
"Not keen?" Sirena asks from beside him.
He shrugs. "I don't want to wet my hair. It dries out like a beached fish and takes way too long to recover."
"I meant on Seabrooke."
"Oh."
"She was reaching out, you know."
Thames pinches some sand between his fingertips. "She probably just feels obligated because she's our clan leader. I didn't want to annoy her."
Sirena sighs, and a flicker of irritation ebbs through his body, but he keeps quiet.
"Is there a story there?" She says. "With the ocean. I've never thought to ask why you barely get in."
"Not really. I just really liked the ocean as a kid."
"Well, it's not like anyone here has a choice." She gives him a look. "C'mon, let's go swimming. Just keep your head above the waves."
He's irritated with her but forgives her when he obliges, and the water is cool against his aching muscles and washes the sweat and sand off his body. Everyone around him weaves in and out of the waves like dolphins, shaking the water through their hair. Thames just floats around. He only goes as deep as his stomach. There's a drop-off that'll put him up to his chin, and that's not accounting for the waves.
Sirena and a few others stay closer to the shore as well. The water carries their weight, but they're still exhausted from training.
Conan Medina floats on his back. Shelly Garber & Roffe compete to see who can hold their breath underwater for the longest. Shelly holds him underwater for another dozen seconds when she resurfaces before him. He bursts to the surface, and they start to push each other around.
Thames relishes the opportunity to float in the water, freed from the soreness of his body. Tomorrow he will be sorer, but there's something nice about the ache in his body after a workout. He likes to tell himself it's his body, letting him know he did a good job.
The dark clouds out over the ocean start to blow about an hour after getting into the water. Everyone exits the sea and grabs their shoes and socks to leave. Sirena and a boy named Senan Duke live nearby, and the three of them walk to Campbell Avenue, the area of Zone A, otherwise known as the "seafarers' lane." Most families who go out on boats live here due to its proximity to the coast. It's in an area the Americans called 'California'.
The storm from the sea starts blowing warm air along the streets of District 4, soothing Thames' aching muscles. Sirena must feel it too, and she sighs softly.
"Oh, that's nice."
The dark clouds cast a shadow across the pavement, adding to Thames's uneasy feeling across the district.
Reaping day is in a few weeks, and it's easy to see the anxiety settle across the district. Something sinister must be happening because Sirena told him that the Peacekeepers had started a heavier watch on the fishing boats only a few months after last year's games. Her uncle hates it, supposedly.
Since the last Games, things have felt a little off. The moment Katniss Everdeen dropped the nest of Tracker Jackers on Marina Macken, it's like the district has been holding its breath, waiting for something. The weird tension with the Peacekeepers has been palpable.
Thames' home is the first in their lane, and he bids them goodbye when they reach his front door. Senan, always an odd guy, ruffles his hair like he's a kid, and Sirena gives him a look when she leaves with him.
"See ya later, Thames."
Callista is hunched over a pot of shrimp gumbo when he walks in. She's humming some sort of diddle to herself as she stirs the wooden spoon mechanically. Callista is a genius in the kitchen, and Thames has never wanted food since he's lived here with her and Edwyn. Even when his parents were alive, he still looked forward to Aunt Callista's legendary shrimp boil or fish tacos.
Fintan, an absolute ball of energy, slams into Thames with the force of a speedboat.
"Thames is home!"
He pats the kid's head and greets him. Callista calls a hello from the kitchen. Thames peels Fintan off his leg and strides into the kitchen. The smell of the shrimp gumbo pleasantly wafts through his nostrils.
"Hello, auntie. How was your day?"
She's not really his auntie, and Edwyn isn't really his uncle. They both grew up with Thames' father though, and Thames has known them his entire life, so auntie and uncle he calls them. They showed no hesitation in taking him in when his parents died and he was orphaned. He can thank them for not having to curl up on a dirty mattress in a room with thirty other kids when he sleeps at night.
"Same as always. How was yours, honey?"
"School was boring. The Quarter Quell is all that's on anyone's mind. Desta Rossem says he's gonna volunteer at the Reaping, but everyone knows he's saying it to seem cool."
Callista presses her lips together. "I don't know what it is with the sudden interest in going into the Games. This fad popped up when I was about your age too, and not one of the volunteers came back."
"Well, my generation has Annie Cresta."
She gives him a look.
"Maybe it'll be different this time," he continues. "Seabrooke Tomby has been pushing Lionfish clan hard these past few weeks."
She rolls her eyes. "She puts too many expectations on her clan. No one from her clan has come home alive since she started it."
Thames raises his eyebrows. Edwyn comes over and clasps his hand on Thames' shoulder. "She has had it out for that woman since we were trainees. She wanted to be in Mags' group." He says.
"Why do you hate her?" Thames asks.
"I don't hate her," Callista huffs. "She's just a very stern woman, and we never got along when I was a teenager, that's all."
Thames wants to push it, but Callista turns the stove off and calls the boys to set the table. She begins to serve dinner into bowls noisily, and Thames rushes to his room to put his shoes away.
Dinnertime is, as usual, a social event in their household. Fintan and Raffy animatedly tell their parents all about what they're learning at school and what's going on with their friends. Thames doesn't know how Callista and Edwyn keep up, let alone seem interested. He understands why the school stuff is essential, but all the drama with their friends is inconsequential.
But he sits through it, listening. They finish eating, and Edwyn sends the kids off to bed.
Thames mills around and helps them clean up the plates and cutlery, but Callista sends him off to the outside shower. He gratefully allows the warm water to wash away the salt from the ocean and clears his head. He only takes a few minutes to let the strain of Mari's regimen sweep off his body before he shuts off the water. He crawls into bed and sighs, relaxing his body. He falls asleep quickly.
When he wakes up suddenly, he's not sure how long he slept, but the house is dead silent, so Thames hears small feet shuffling across the floorboards. The culprit seems to be trying their hardest to remain unheard, but the hallway is next to Thames' room. He waits until the footsteps are well past his room and slides from his bed, slowly opening his door and creeping out into the house.
The darkness obscures everything, but he manages to feel around the walls and enter the common room. A dark silhouette sits against the moonlit window. He leans against the glass, staring at the avenue and other houses.
Thames clears his throat. "Can't sleep?"
Raffy doesn't physically react. He just sighs. "Just nervous."
Thames crosses over to the window and kneels beside him. He looks up at his face expecting tears like usual, but there are none tonight.
"Scared about what?"
Raffy doesn't look away from the window. "What do you think."
Thames tuts and puts his arm around his shoulder. Raffy doesn't move away. "You're going to be completely fine, buddy. Someone will volunteer for you. There's always someone who would take the place of someone your age."
"They didn't for Finnick Odair, did they?"
Thames takes a second to respond.
"He won, though."
"Yeah, and he was a million times more skilled than I am. Plus, he had all those sponsors."
Thames can't think of anything to say. The silence stretches for an uncomfortably long time. Raffy sighs and looks at him.
"It's fine. Go back to bed; I'll be fine."
Thames rubs his face with his hand, but he doesn't leave. What kind of brother figure would he be to do so? But he racks his brain for something, and there's nothing he can do to fix the issue. There isn't any guarantee that someone will volunteer for him. Unless he pulls a Katniss Everdeen and takes Raffy's place, but he doesn't think the Capitol media would appreciate that angle as much for the second year in a row. He scoffs internally at his thought process. There's no way he wants to compete anyway. He trains in the event his name comes out of those bowls like everyone else.
"Well, staying up all night stressing out about it is no good. Why don't you go to bed and try and get some sleep, hey?"
Raffy sighs and stands up, "Yeah, alright…."
He walks off to his room.
Wow, you're useless, Thames.
He feels a pang of guilt in his chest. He'll tell Callista and Edwyn tomorrow; they can figure it out. Raffy's their son; they'll know what to do. He drags himself off to his bedroom and falls down onto his bed. Another pang hits his chest. Sitting here, in his own bedroom, when Raffy and Fintan have to share, reminds him that the least he could do is be a good older 'brother'.
He debates going into their room to try and comfort Raffy again, but he'd probably wake Fintan; Besides, there's nothing he can think of to say that would make Raffy feel any better.