The very first thing Iris did the next day was approach Christopher. He smiled at her, and didn't look surprised that she came up to him, which both amused and infuriated her. "Fine," she said. "I'll ally with you." She made to walk away, but Christopher grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.
"Wait!" he said, tugging her to face him. Annoyedly, she brushed his hand off. "If we're gonna be allies, we'd better learn to trust each other better. It's not gonna work out if you and Kasia – "
"Me and Kasia? Oh, no, Christopher, I'm not allying with anyone else. It'll be just you and me."
He grinned. "I thought you'd say that. Before you make a decision, how about you see what she can do?"
Iris narrowed her eyes. "What can she do?"
"I'll show you. Well, she will, but you know what I mean."
They made their way over to where Kasia was chatting to her district partner at the knife-fighting station. The boy was small, skinny, and looked utterly terrified to be there – but there was a mean glint in his eye that Iris didn't like. Although that could just be because she associated him with Kasia. "Kasia!" Christopher exclaimed happily, greeting her like an old friend. "Lovely to see you again. Now, Iris here would love to see that special skill you showed me, if you wouldn't mind demonstrating?"
"Why should I?" Kasia said rudely. "I don't know her. And I don't want to ally with her."
"Well, she doesn't want to ally with you either, so I've decided to convince you both otherwise."
Both Kasia and Iris sent him a sharp look – Christopher's arrogance seemed to be the only thing they agreed upon. Kasia sighed. "Fine." She gently shoved her district partner away. He looked at her, glowering, and she pulled a face. "Not now, Taggerty," she snapped. Scowling, he turned back to the trainer at the knife station.
"So what's this special talent of yours?" Iris asked, wanting to get back to her training. She still wanted to get to spears and rock climbing before lunch.
"Patience, Six. Come, both of you, over here." She led Iris and Christopher over to the first-aid station.
The trainer, who had been sitting there dejectedly trying to help the boy from Three, brightened when he caught sight of Kasia. "Oh, hello!" He said cheerfully. "Good to see you again!"
"I have some allies to impress," she said, bobbing her head towards Iris.
The trainer all but pushed the boy from Three away. "Excellent."
Kasia jumped into action. Taking a first aid kit from the shelf, she approached the practice dummy. In no more than five seconds, she retrieved the scalpel from the kit and made a deep gash in the dummy's leg. The red ink inside the dummy quickly began to flow from the wound, and the scalpel clattered to the floor. In a whirlwind, Iris watched as Kasia disinfected the wound, made a line of neat stitches, and bandaged it tightly. She looked to the trainer, who nodded at her.
"Vitals are good," he said, glancing at the monitor connected to a screen – Iris had not been to the first aid station yet, and was impressed by the technology they had – she wondered exactly how they were able to monitor the vitals of an inanimate object. As much as she hated to admit it, it was impressive. And she also hated to admit that Kasia had done a good job.
But she wasn't finished. Kasia wrapped her hands around the dummy's throat, squeezing hard, and watched the screen. Iris wasn't sure what she was looking at, but after a few minutes, Kasia let go of the dummy and began performing CPR. Iris had never had to do CPR before – there wasn't much cause for it in District Six, if someone dropped dead in the street that was one less person for the Peacekeepers to deal with – but she had seen it done a few times in the Games. Usually by overly attached allies.
After a few minutes of CPR, the trainer nodded again. "And we have a heartbeat!"
Kasia stood up and smirked at Iris. Iris crossed her arms over her chest. As much as she wanted to make a sarcastic remark, she didn't know shit about first aid and obviously Kasia had some skill in the subject. There was no way of knowing if she would follow through, should Iris or Christopher become injured, but Iris knew that they would need someone who was familiar with at least the basics of it. "Fine," she said, trying not to scowl. "I'll ally with you."
"Wow, thank god," Kasia said sarcastically, "I was so worried that you wouldn't."
Christopher smiled. "I told you she'd come round', Kasia."
There was a flash of anger in her chest. She hated, hated, that she had to have allies. She hated that she wouldn't make it by herself for too long. She didn't trust either of them. If she was certain she'd live longer than three days in there without them, she would be all too happy to work alone.
"Great," she said, trying very hard not to let her emotions show in her voice. "I'll see you at lunch."
She walked away before either of them could reply. She didn't want allies, and so she knew she'd better learn a hell of a lot more than she did yesterday if she was going to survive.
/
She spent the rest of the day stewing. Well, sulking was perhaps a better word, but Iris preferred stewing – it sounded more productive. Maybe she was just being stupid. There wasn't a reason for her to not trust Kasia, but her gut had never been wrong about someone before.
Her main focus of the second day of training, apart from talking to Christopher, had been finding a weapon that worked for her. Something more than just her fists. She was decent at knives, terrible at archery, passable at sword fighting. But nothing had really 'clicked' yet – and Iris really wanted something to click. By lunchtime, Iris had been to knives, swords, archery, and spears, and she was beginning to feel frustrated.
Practically throwing herself into her seat, she ignored Christopher and Kasia's strange looks. "You okay there, Six?" Kasia asked, watching as Iris stabbed her beef stew.
"Fine," Iris muttered.
"You know, Iris, if this alliance is goin' to work, we're gonna need to communicate," Christopher said.
"You sound like my mom," Iris snorted, momentarily amused. Her mother had been all about communication. Not that it had done any of them any good – she'd hidden her illness until her appendix exploded and poisoned her from the inside out, her husband was an emotionally closed addict, her daughter was a criminal, and her son would be too if he followed Iris' footsteps. Rolling her eyes, she stabbed a large chunk of beef and looked up. "I'm trying to find a weapon. So far I suck at all of them."
"I saw you with knives," Christopher offered. "You were pretty good."
She scoffed. "Anyone can use a knife."
"Well, what have you tried?"
Iris tapped her fingers, going through the list. "Knives, swords, archery, spears."
"Maybe you need something heavier," Kasia piped up.
Iris looked at her, surprised. It was the first thing Kasia had said to her directly. "Yeah? Like what?"
Kasia shrugged sulkily. "I don't know. But you're tall. Strong. Maybe something like a club would suit you."
"I guess…" Iris frowned, thinking. It was true that clubs were not among the weapons she had tried. Maybe she shouldn't give up so easily. "What do you know, anyway?"
"I have a good memory. I find patterns. You're built heavier than the people who're usually good with the more delicate weapons, like knives and archery."
"Wow, thanks," Iris said, scowling, though she didn't really mind.
"It wasn't an insult," Kasia snapped. "Wanna hear one? You're a talentless, ugly pimple I can't wait to pop. There you go!"
The insult didn't hurt – she'd been called ugly too many times to count. She'd learnt to let words roll off her like droplets of water. Iris sneered, and leaned back, arms crossed. "I don't want to ally with you. If your fighting is anything like your insults, then I'm certainly going to have a difficult time relying on you."
"Well, I don't want to ally with you either, bitch!" Kasia's voice had risen an octave, and her cheeks were pink. Good – now Iris knew how to get under her skin. "It's not like you're any better, you haven't even found a weapon you're good at in a room FULL OF GODDAMN WEAPONS!"
Iris scowled – she had gone too far. "At least I'm not –"
Christopher cut her off before she could continue, much to her frustration. "Can we all just calm down, please?" he said, holding up his hands. "You two need to cut the shit. We're not going to last the first night with you two bickering like children. You need to either play nice or hit the road."
They sent him identical glares. "Fine," Iris said, crossing her arms sulkily.
He looked at Kasia, who rolled her eyes and looked in the other direction. "Kasia?" He elbowed her expectedly.
She turned to look at him. "Fine," she echoed, and sat down with a huff.
Christopher frowned. "I am serious, you know. If you two can't get along we're not going to make it past the Bloodbath."
"We'll be fine," Iris said.
"Yeah. Shut up, Christopher."
He shrugged. "If you say so. Anyway, we should figure out what we're going to do. Anyone got any suggestions?"
"I think, since there's three of us, we can risk going in a bit deeper at the Bloodbath for the good supplies."
"Are you crazy?" Kasia demanded. "I'm not going to the Cornucopia, that's a death trap!"
"I never said the Cornucopia. I just said deeper, that's all." Her allies were still staring at her like she'd grown a second head. "It's slim pickings around the outside, and I intend to live past the third day. To do that, I'm going to need good quality supplies. We are going to need good quality supplies," she rectified.
"Iris, that's crazy talk," Christopher said.
"There's three of us. We watch each other's backs, grab what we can, and get the fuck out. Easy!"
"I think you've forgotten about the Careers."
"Of course I haven't!" Iris protested. "That's why it's good there's three of us."
"Ah-ha!" Christopher cried suddenly, leaping out of his seat and pointing at her. Iris could feel the stares in their direction, and apparently so could Kasia, who slapped him hard on the arm.
"Sit the hell down!" she snapped. "The Careers are staring!"
Christopher sat, not seeming to care. "I knew you would come around! I knew you'd see the positives of having Kasia as an ally."
"Okay, cool your shit. The whole cafeteria is staring at you."
"Let them! This is going to work out, I know it. As long as the two of you can get along we're gonna make a great team."
"Yeah, whatever. Just please sit down," Kasia hissed.
Iris could tell that Kasia was as anxious as she was to escape the critical stares of the Careers. What must they be thinking? If her Bloodbath plan was going to work, they needed the Careers to not view them as threats. They would never get out alive if they were targets.
/
She decided to take Kasia's advice and try a heavier weapon. She did NOT want it to work out, out of spite, but she also didn't want to be trapped by a Career with no means of defence. There was a whole station dedicated to the less popular blunt weapons – maces, hammers, flails, and staffs. The only other tribute there was the boy from Two, who flexed his rippling biceps at her. Heart pounding, Iris turned to the trainer. "I want to try out maces, please."
"Certainly," said the trainer. "Let's see…" She looked Iris up and down. "I think I know what will work." She turned to one of the racks, with all the manner of sizes of maces.
The boy from Two picked up a flail, and Iris watched with curiosity. She'd seen the vicious-looking weapon used maybe once in the Games a couple of years ago. The boy from Nine had used it on the girl from Four. Iris was reminded of the gruesome imagery of the girl's instantaneous death as the boy from Nine swung the weapon at her – he'd modified the weapon slightly, so it had thin spearheads attached to the blunt end. It was this that killed the girl from Four. Iris still remembered the crunch as the spikes pierced the girl's temple, and she shuddered.
The boy from Two swung the weapon around his head a couple of times, seemingly gaining momentum. He swung the flail towards a dummy, and it connected with the face. A spurt of red ink splattered over the boy's training clothes, and he dropped the flail loudly on the ground, grinning at Iris before walking away. The dummy's face had split in half.
Iris gulped. The trainer handed her a mace. She held it limply, still staring at the splintered dummy. "Can I actually learn how to use one of those first?" She pointed to the flail on the ground.
The trainer smiled at her. "My favourite. They are tricky to use, but if you have the proper technique and strength, they can be lethal." She followed Iris' gaze to the dummy. "As you have seen."
"Yeah," Iris said. The weapon was calling to her in a way no other weapon she tried had – she knew she needed to try it out, even if it didn't suit her.
She ended up spending the rest of the day at the blunt weaponry station. Hera, the trainer, seemed happy with her progress. Kasia had been right – Iris was better suited to a heavier weapon. She was good at using a mace, good at using a club, bad at using a staff, but the flail? Yeah, she liked the flail.
When Hera had decided Iris knew enough to have a real spar, she picked up a sword. "Your main disadvantage will be speed. Obviously, flails are not as fluid as swords or spears – you'll have to strongly rely on momentum, and getting distance from your opponent before striking again."
"And it's not a common weapon, right?" Iris asked.
"That's also true. They're not often in the Cornucopia – I think three out of the five times a flail has been used in the arena, they've been sent by sponsors. And because they're not as popular, most people don't know how to use them, meaning there's not as much demand for them as, say, knives."
"I guess that makes sense."
"However, maces are common. As are clubs. It's quite easy to improvise those of course – find a heavy branch or something and you're golden. And if you have a mace, it's not too hard to improvise a flail."
"Can you show me?"
"Let's spar first," Hera said, picking up a sword.
Stepping into the training ring, Iris shifted her grip on the flail. It was a one-handed flail, with three weighted balls of wood at the end. Obviously it was not a real weapon – however it could still cause damage. Hera handed her a helmet, putting one onto her own head. "Put this on," she said.
Iris tightened the helmet, feeling slightly nervous. The blunt weapons station was thankfully in the corner of the room, so there weren't many tributes around to see if she failed.
Adjusting her posture, Iris stared at Hera, waiting for the first move. Hera shook her head. "You want the first move, always, with a weapon like this."
"Okay," Iris muttered, half to herself.
She stepped forward, swinging the flail around her head a few times to get some momentum going. She feinted to the left and swung the flail towards Hera from the right. The trainer rolled out of the way, jumped to her feet, and stabbed towards Iris' exposed stomach. Iris twisted away at the last moment, dodging Hera's second jab, and swung the flail towards her while she was low. Startled, Hera blocked it at the last minute, and stood up fully, parrying Iris' next move easily.
Iris sidestepped before aiming her next swing at Hera's sword. The three chains wrapped around the weapon, tangling around Hera's arm in the process. With her spare arm, Iris pretended to stab Hera's throat with an imaginary dagger.
Hera grinned at her. "You're a natural."
Smiling widely back, Iris detangled the flail from around Hera's arm. "I'll be back tomorrow."
"Good! You've got the basics, but there's a few more moves I'd like to teach you." Hera checked the clock on the wall. "How much time… an hour? That'll be enough. I'm going to teach you how to improvise a flail with a mace and a rope. It's obviously not as good as the real thing, but it's better than being stuck without your preferred weapon."
Iris listened with rapt attention as Hera went over and demonstrated the best knots for flails, the types of materials and things she could use for the weighted end of the flail, as well as going over the advantages and disadvantages of the weapon.
At the end of training, Iris walked out, sore but satisfied, because she finally felt competent enough with a weapon that she would be able to fight with. The idea of the impending Games was still horrible, but slightly less overwhelming now that she had an idea of what she was doing.
She realised, upon getting in the elevator, that she hadn't seen Axel all day. Granted, she hadn't exactly been looking for him, but she didn't know if he had come to training at all. I guess it doesn't really matter, she thought guiltily. It's not like it'll do him any good. She would be surprised if he managed to live past the Bloodbath. Iris wished that knowledge made her sad, but the only emotion she could muster up was relief. Hopefully if he died at the start, he wouldn't suffer.
She hated that she had already gotten to the point where she was wishing for a young boy's death – Axel couldn't be much younger than Jordie. If this was how she was thinking already, what would she be like when she got out of the arena? Would she have any humanity left at all?
/
When Iris got back from training, she walked through the living room straight to her room without even greeting Pomponia. The day had been exhausting, and although Pomponia would no doubt pester her for details at dinner, Iris knew she needed at least an hour to herself to recuperate.
She wasn't sure how to feel about her newfound alliance. It was no doubt a good thing to have Christopher on her side, both for safety and sponsorship. The Capitol always believed in the chances of male tributes better than the chances of female tributes, and even though Iris was just as good as (if not even better than) Christopher, allying with him would boost her score and hopefully attract some more sponsors.
She wouldn't be able to rely on sponsors, though, she knew that. Frowning, Iris climbed into the shower and let citrus-scented water wash away the dirt and sweat of the day. If she were prettier, or from a more desirable district, Iris knew she would be able to expect at least a few sponsors. But the fact was that she wasn't pretty, and District Six was only a nose in front of District Twelve in terms of desirability. So she would need all the extra points she could get. Even if that meant allying with Kasia.
After her shower, Iris put on a green shirt and a plain black skirt. She was still surprised by the sheer amount of clothes every time she opened her closet – there was enough fabric in her closet alone to clothe every woman in her street back home. At home, she only owned about three outfits – a winter shirt, a summer shirt, a dress she wore for reapings, a winter coat, and a few pairs of pants. All of these garments had holes in them. She had been wearing the same pair of shoes for three years. It was hard to wrap her head around the knowledge that every woman in the Capitol owned so much that they could wear a different outfit every day.
She seemed to be the only one in the Penthouse, which was unusual – usually Pomponia, at least, was there, trying to get Axel to eat something, but maybe she was just out trying to scratch up some donations for her pitiful tributes.
Iris didn't really care, either way. It was peaceful, which was what she needed after the long day she'd just had. It also meant that she could eat in front of the television without Pomponia scolding her for a lack of manners. She switched on a rerun of the reapings and the parades, hoping to pick up on any details she might have missed, but found her thoughts wandering to Jordie. What was he doing right now, she wondered? It was 7pm, so he was probably returning from a shift at the factory.
He had started working at 12, which was the minimum age in their district. She hadn't wanted him to, but he had insisted. She still remembered the argument they'd had about it. "You can't stop me, Iris. If I don't get this job I'll find another one instead," he had said stubbornly.
She shook her head. "It's dangerous in the factories, Jordie." She was desperate for him to understand what it was like, to spend days upon days in that horrible place – the flickering lights, the constant grinding of machinery, the petrol fumes they all breathed in for hours. The thought of her little brother going through that made her want to throw up.
But he hadn't cared about this. His stubbornness, his need to contribute, far overpowered any reservation he had about the idea. "I know that, so how do you think I feel with you spending half the week in one?"
"We need the money."
"Exactly!" Jordie had said in exasperation. "So let me help out."
"I don't need you to help. We're managing fine. Between my factory work and Boris, we have enough to get by."
Jordie had snorted at that. "Barely, Iris. Last night we had a can of old beans for dinner and for breakfast we had mouldy bread. And I've outgrown my shoes again."
"So I'll pick up another shift. I'll run some more orders for Boris. I don't want you working sooner than you have to."
"But I do have to! We're not doing okay!"
Iris had sighed. "Jordie, once you start working, it never stops. It will be shift after shift all day every day until we fall over dead. I want you to enjoy the time you have left as a kid."
"Iris, I haven't been a kid since Mom died," Jordie said softly, and she knew it was true. "My childhood is already over."
Their mother's death had changed them both for the worse. Iris had had an almost identical conversation with their mother when she had wanted to start working – she hadn't won the argument, though. If she had, maybe there would have been enough money to get her mom the medical help she needed. If Iris had only argued a little harder, tried a little more, maybe their mom would still be here. Even so, hearing her own logical determination to help echoed in her little brother years later, didn't make her want to agree with him. "It doesn't have to be."
"Iris. It's okay. Let me help."
She had agreed, then, against her better judgement. Her brother was smart, and years more mature than what he should be, and she had known then that he was right – they needed every cent they could get, and if she didn't let Jordie get this job he would simply go out and find another one. She had felt so helpless, in that moment. Allowing her brother to get a job, knowing what it was like working in those factories. Where the smoke killed you slowly, from the inside out. Where accidents happened on the daily. Where the hours grew and the pay did not. She had wanted to protect Jordie from that as long as possible, but she had known for awhile that it was time.
So she had agreed. Jordie had his first shift the next day. He would be struggling, right now, without her pay coming in as well. Knowing Jordie, he'd probably taken her shifts on himself so they weren't filled by someone else. Her little brother was probably exhausted, eating whatever shit was left in their house for dinner, and he would wake up tomorrow morning and do it all again.
Iris found that she was no longer hungry. She had done well at not thinking about her brother when she ate, because when she did, she imagined him sitting alone in their house gnawing on a rock-hard slice of bread, and the food turned to ash in her mouth.
She realised, irritably, that she had paid no attention to the reruns on TV, which were the sole reason she had sat in the living room. I have to get out of my head. If she allowed herself to get distracted like this in the arena, she'd never make it home to Jordie.