CHAPTER XXII: TRAINING DAY II
Jillion Morgan • District Eleven Female
Training Center / July 6th, 10:01 AM
Jillion can't shake the feeling that she's being watched.
She's not an idiot. There are cameras everywhere, blatant and conspicuous in the corners of the Training Center and the Eleven suite. Their necks crane and twist and track the slightest movement; Jillion's not stupid enough to believe that she can escape scrutiny just because she's smaller than everyone else.
Besides the cameras, there's also the problem of her District partner. He won't leave her alone or take no for an answer, or (as Janna might crudely put it) fuck off. She's caught him glancing at her from opposite sides of the room, shooting a friendly smile her way like it'll make her want to join him and the group of kids he's amassed. She wonders how many nasty glares she'll have to give him before he gets the memo.
Surprisingly, this time the spy isn't her District partner, but somebody else occupying the wood carving station. A few feet away, a boy with dust-brown hair and nervous eyes steals wildly unsubtle looks at Jillion and her project.
Even hunched over, Jillion can tell that the boy is freakishly tall. But his frame is scrawny, like a strong wind would snap him in half. The boy beside him seems nearly just as tall but built much stockier, like an ox. He seems familiar for a reason Jillion can't pin down right now. At the very least, Ox Boy pays Jillion no mind — on the other hand, Ferret Boy keeps casting her shifty glances, like he was never taught to mind his own business.
The fourth time or so Jillion catches him doing it, she whirls and gives him a fierce stink eye. "What?" she barks, tightening her grip on the little carving blade.
Ferret Boy immediately startles, breaking eye contact. "N-nothing," he sputters.
Jillion's snarl grows deeper, hoping her expression conceals the way her hands shake. "You got some kinda problem?"
"N-no!" Ferret Boy squeaks. "J-just, the way y-you're h-holding the b-b-blade—"
"I've done this before," Jillion snaps.
(It's true, sort of. She's always liked fiddling with whatever materials she could scrounge up, wood or what else. It gives her hands something to do in the hours she watches over her father, the sound of shallow breathing and the machine's steady beeping a comforting reminder that he's still alive.)
(And still in there. Somewhere.)
Ferret Boy appears as if he's struggling to decide whether to keep talking to Jillion or run away with his tail tucked between his legs. After a grueling couple moments, he gingerly points at Jillion's hand, the one holding the blade. "C-can I…?"
Jillion just stares at him, saying nothing.
Ferret Boy slowly slinks over, maintaining a safe distance from her. Tentatively, as if he's scared Jillion will take the carving blade and bury it between his ribs, he corrects her hold on the metal tool. With his guidance, Jillion's precarious grip on the blade shifts into something much safer, sturdier to carve with. Ferret Boy takes painstaking effort to touch as little of her skin as possible, and his flighty touch leaves as quick as it came.
Still glaring, Jillion tests her new hold against her carving. She has to begrudgingly admit that this way feels a lot more stable, less like she's about to slice the top layer of skin clean off her palm. Her eyes warily dart to Ferret Boy. There's a tiny, private smile on his face; she's not even sure if he knows it's there himself.
Jillion almost says thanks. She thinks better of it. Instead, she just keeps staring at him guardedly, hoping to intimidate him into going away and leaving her alone again.
"W-well," Ferret Boy chirps awkwardly. He stutters through a sentence under his breath. Jillion catches "if" and "need help…" and can't make out the rest. She thinks she has the gist, though.
She offers him no response. He keeps standing there like he wants to say more, but after buffering for a couple of seconds longer, he finally decides to give up. He shrinks into himself and stalks back over to Ox Boy.
Jillion watches his retreating frame for just a second before minding her own business again, something she wishes other people could do. She supposes that interaction could've been much worse, though. This rando already seems way better than Yuly, like he'd actually leave her alone if she told him to. Like he doesn't have some weird agenda.
Yuly frustrates the hell out of her, the way he treats her like a goddamn toddler as he waits for her to change her mind about his alliance. He acts like she's never been through anything, like she needs saving. Well, she doesn't. And she also doesn't trust people who pretend to do things from the goodness of their heart — Jillion has never gotten a good thing for free, and that sure as hell isn't going to change now.
That's a lesson her mom and sister imparted to her. Admittedly, they're the most cynical and pessimistic people Jillion knows, but there's certainly a kernel of truth in the things they have told her.
No one will watch my own back better than I can, she thinks. Jillion clenches her fists, but the statement feels more and more wrong as she repeats it in her head. As stubborn as she is, she knows with a grim understanding that her odds of making it back to her Pa are slim to none.
Jillion doesn't want allies. She doesn't want to rely on other people. That's something she's been sure of from the get-go, but admittedly, she's been humoring the idea of a workaround. Perhaps some sort of temporary arrangement with someone else will give her enough protection to make it through the first leg of the Games. But Jillion's the youngest person here; how does she convince someone that she has something to offer?
Frowning, she recalls a conversation she overheard just yesterday. The two Careers spoke boldly and plainly, like they didn't care if someone was listening in.
"You really ought to consider replacing him with someone who, I don't know, might actually be useful," The District One Female drawled.
The District Two Male smirked. "Who're you suggesting, then?"
One hmmed under her breath. "Some of these outlier boys look sort of strong," she said. "Ten. Six." She paused, pointing at a stocky boy with dark hair. "Seven."
"I already tried Ten," Two said, leaning against the wall. "He's not leaving that girl."
"Embarrassing," One snorted. "And the others?"
"I don't think Six will bite. And I kinda want Seven, but I don't think he'll agree either."
One reached up to flick the side of Two's skull, the boy snickering as he ducked out of the way. "Maybe you're just not doing it right, idiot. You've gotta entice him somehow. Offer something he'd actually want. Or need."
"I know, I know."
"Do you?"
Two gave a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Doesn't matter either way," he shrugged. "If I can't get any of them here, then I'll get them at the Bloodbath."
"If you say so." One rolled her eyes. "Dibs on Six."
"Maybe if you're fast enough."
From the corner of her eye, Jillion watches the two boys from earlier as they exchange stilted sentences and the occasional smile. It suddenly occurs to her why she recognizes Ox Boy — he's one of the three outlier threats the two Careers pointed out yesterday.
She purses her lips, unimpressed that the spirits of the two boys seem so high despite everything. Here, like this, they seem harmless and benign, but that doesn't change where they're going in two days. Or the targets painted on their backs.
An idea strikes her.
Jillion rises to her feet, approaching Ox and Ferret Boy from behind. "I changed my mind," she announces without warning, causing Ferret Boy to give an undignified yelp.
"Wh— a-about w-what?" Ferret Boy blurts, as soon as he's regained his bearings. Beside him, Ox Boy's eyes track from Ferret Boy's face to Jillion's, wordless.
Jillion has to crane her neck to talk to them, which mildly intimidates her. And mildly annoys her. Forcefully, she suppresses that dumb fear deep into herself, refusing to let it deter her. "I thought of a way you could help me."
Ferret Boy brightens. "Y-yeah! W-with y-your carving…?"
"No. In the arena."
"Oh," Ferret Boy says, sounding confused but at least he's not all-out rejecting her.
"You're suggesting allies or something?" Ox Boy says gruffly, face as impassive as ever. Jillion can't tell whether he's skeptical or thinks she's crazy. Or maybe he has zero thoughts going on at all.
Jillion shakes her head. "Just a truce. For the Bloodbath."
Ferret Boy's brows knit together. "We w-wouldn't…" He falters, as if struggling to put the words together. "Y-you know. H-h-hurt you."
"I wasn't finished," Jillion says, flat.
He ducks his head, as if admonished. "S-sorry."
Jillion gives him a strange look before continuing. "The Careers have their eye on you," Jillion states, now looking up at Ox Boy. "I've heard them talking. They think you're a threat."
Ox Boy just nods, not seeming surprised. Jillion takes this as a sign to keep going, a little surprised. She didn't actually think she'd get this far.
"You know how the Bloodbath works. There are supplies, and there are more the closer to the Cornucopia you get. But you've got a massive target on your back, and the Careers will never let either of you get that close."
Jillion sucks in a breath, eyes darting between Ox and Ferret Boy. "But I'm small, I'm quiet, I'm stealthy. I can get us packs if you promise to look out for me, or if you distract them. We'll run opposite ways and we'll meet somewhere safe. Split the supplies and go our own ways from there."
Jillion shuffles, loudly clearing her throat. It was just a few sentences, but she's not used to talking for so long without being interrupted. She certainly never got that privilege from Ma or Janna, so it's strange to have the undivided attention of these two older kids.
"Or something like that," Jillion continues awkwardly, when nobody says anything. "We can work it out."
Ox Boy and Ferret Boy look at each other, appearing to have a wordless conversation. Jillion just stands there watching it happen, wondering whether it's really possible for strangers to develop mutual telepathy after just a day.
After a long pause, Ox Boy gives the other boy the slightest of nods, nearly imperceptible — Jillion would've missed it if she blinked. A thrilled smile stretches across Ferret Boy's face, the corners of his mouth taut as if his face isn't used to fitting an expression so big.
"L-l-let's do it!" Ferret Boy agrees.
Jillion flattens her lips and nods toward the older boys, the closest thing to a positive response she can manage. It's small, but this is one step closer to maybe surviving this thing. This is one step closer to getting home. One step closer to saving Pa.
"Remember," Jillion repeats. "This is a truce. Not an alliance."
Fioynder Itamor-Nilth • District Five Male
Training Center / July 6th, 10:17 AM
That's a weird alliance, Fioynder thinks, watching Jillion Morgan, Emilio Carver, and Lucifer Bishop as they converse quietly with each other.
This morning's been a little dull, but Fioynder doesn't really mind. Sergeant told him the best way he could be helpful right now is by gathering intel on the other tributes, and he's been doing exactly that.
He wonders what those three could possibly have in common. All their differences seem to overwhelm any potential similarities they might have; for example, Lucifer and Emilio are easily six foot while Jillion barely hits five. Besides that, Jillion is much younger than the other two. Maybe they can bond over being undersocialized and not going outside?
At first glance, it's difficult to imagine they'd have anything to offer each other, but unlikely alliances happen all the time. Fioynder knows better than anyone how far shared goals can get a group of people — he wrote a twenty-page paper on that very subject! Not that anyone asked him to. It was just for fun. But basically, he wrote about how starkly contrasting alliances in recent Games history tend to serve a vital but temporary utility. Whether or not the arrangement worked out as intended, data shows that unlikely outer-District alliances are usually a part of a short-term strategy, as opposed to a permanent commitment.
On the other hand, intra-District partnerships are common, and in Fioynder's opinion, plain intuitive. It seems reasonable for a District to combine forces and mutually strengthen both the Male's and the Female's chances of making it back home. This seems to be District Ten's strategy. The one thing Fioynder can't wrap his head around, though, is why Asahel Cervantes volunteered. Fioynder hasn't seen an outer-District volunteer in years, not since Joan Pascual from District Seven.
If Fioynder has to wager a guess, Asahel Cervantes and Falo Tarandrus are going for the star-crossed lovers angle, which does not interest him at all. He's seen it done before, and it's definitely a tired concept at this point. Fioynder has always liked the technical, statistical aspects of the Games more than the interpersonal drama. After all, a compelling narrative can only get you so far — the Capitol will get bored eventually.
It's rather disappointing. Asahel's strong, and his reliable, good-natured personality has a lot of regressive potential. By himself, he's a notable contender. A shame he's decided to shackle himself to Falo Tarandrus.
On the topic of disappointments, his own District partner Keesha Cathode has decided to spend her last few days traipsing around with Shaffa Zorp. The only thing he can say is that their goals seem to align; Keesha and Shaffa have done nothing remotely useful, wasting away their limited time and resources. They are certainly right on track to imminent death, if that's their grand plan. In Fioynder's opinion, it was a highly unintelligent decision for Keesha to pass on an alliance with him — her loss, really. He's confident his and Keesha's respective performances in the Games are going to prove him right.
Unless something goes horrifically wrong, which Fioynder won't deny is always possible.
(The sheer unpredictability of the Games — it's all so exciting, being in the center of it all! Fioynder can still hardly believe he gets to participate and see it all firsthand!)
(Best birthday ever!)
Last and maybe least, Fioynder can't say he sees any strategic benefit whatsoever in the alliance between Yuly Montreal, Delano Astarte, Dottie Dressel, Ginseng Clarkson, and Artan Steffins. Yuly looks the part of a schoolteacher as he leads the younger tributes through the Training Center, like they're all going on a fun and educational field trip. Fioynder notices that Delano, the tribute with the prosthetic arm, trails behind the rest. He only occasionally talks to Yuly and his District partner Dottie, but apart from those interactions, he looks out of place, as if he's unsure what he's doing.
But also, about that prosthetic arm — Fioynder thinks it's unbelievable, the lengths people will go to shove their inclusivity agenda in the Hunger Games, of all places. Giving Delano Astarte a prosthetic arm seems to be a well-meaning but wildly misguided attempt at leveling the playing field. It's not as if the Gamemakers are going to give thirteen-year-old Jillion a couple more years before putting her in the Arena against tributes much older and stronger than her, so why fill in that blank for Delano? Fioynder just thinks "fairness" is a ridiculous concept when the existence of the Careers already makes everything inherently unfair to begin with.
Which is exactly why he decided to take advantage of this element of the Games: joining the Careers is clearly the best strategic choice he could've made to maximize his chances of victory! Surprisingly, they're so nice — he still can't believe they let him hang out with them! They're all so skilled too, but he's not surprised about that; after all, they were all trained since they were children on the best and most effective ways to brutally gore and kill other children! What an admirable dedicated institution that consistently produces elites, the best of the best. Just breathing the same air as them improves Fioynder's odds of survival by tenfold.
And to think, he's going to be a bona fide Career soon! Or, he will be as soon as he proves he's worth keeping around. Of course, he's not as adept in murder as the others are, but he knows he's a formidable asset in his own way, full of meta knowledge nobody else has. Objectively, none of the other alliances or partnerships stand a chance against the Careers. He did the math and everything, and the odds are 2,195 to 1, not even including individual variation based on which specific Career! The point is, from a purely statistical standpoint, everyone else is doomed to fail!
At some point, while Fioynder's observing the cannon fodder, Jillion makes eye contact with him from across the Training Center. He waves energetically, happy to be noticed. She hurriedly looks away, as if unnerved.
This doesn't deter him. In fact, it makes him feel downright giddy.
Is this… power?
Somebody places a hand on his shoulder. Fioynder whirls around to come face to face with Jupiter.
"Sarge sent me to fetch ya," she says. "We're gonna start spars soon."
"Yesss!" Fioynder exclaims, pumping his fist in the air. Jupiter chuckles under her breath. Fioynder eagerly follows at Jupiter's heels as she leads them to the sparring ring, where the others are already waiting.
The sparring ring is conveniently placed in the middle of the Training Center. There are guards stationed around the ring as a precaution; during the early days of the Games, it had to be removed because tributes kept accidentally killing each other before they could even get into the Arena. The ring's only recently been reinstated, with more security than ever.
In Fioynder's opinion, it's a riveting development for the yearly Career pack. Yeah, it's a way to brush up and get the blood running before private sessions, but more than that, it's a psychological intimidation tactic. It's an opportunity for the Careers to put their strength on full display, to show off just how deadly they are to the other tributes. It's not like they need the flex, but you have to admit the ring is a real stylish addition to the Training Center.
"Listen up," Sergeant announces. "I've picked the matches. Kieran and I will go first, show y'all how it's done. From there we'll go Cassia versus Jupiter, and then finish out with Reverie versus Kai. First to fall loses."
Fioynder raises his hand. "Sergeant, sir! What about me?"
"What about you?" Sergeant asks.
"What about my match?" Fioynder looks askance at Orion. "I could totally whoop him!"
Orion blinks, bewildered. "Why am I being brought into this?!"
Fioynder knows Orion's only here because Cassia brought him in and Sergeant hasn't told her no yet. Fioynder is aware of the implied competition between them — it's highly unlikely that the Careers will take in two outer-District recruits when they can just take one. But he's not that worried; to be honest, Orion is kind of useless, in the way Fioynder's mentor Coro Gallaway is. Fioynder will be in a good spot as long as he demonstrates that he's clearly the superior option by every metric.
Sergeant's grin grows wider. "Y'know, not a bad idea…"
Reverie stares at him. "Dude. Be so serious."
"Fine, fine," Sergeant concedes. He glances back to Fioynder. "Tell you what, kid. Let's do these spars first, and then I'll see about putting you two in the ring."
Orion just stands there, looking beyond unthrilled by the prospect of moving from the bleachers to the bench. This is exactly why I'm going to be a Career and you aren't, Fioynder thinks to himself, smiling ear to ear as he makes himself cozy by the ring. It's just too bad there's not enough room for the both of them! Not everyone is fit for the tournament, after all. Only one of them can come out on top!
In the ring, Kieran and Sergeant face each other, swords in hand. "You ready?" Sergeant says, flashing Kieran a smile.
"Yeah."
"Locke'd and loaded…?"
Kieran squints at him. "What?"
"You know?" Sergeant makes a vague gesture with his hand. "'Cause you're Locke?"
"Oh," Kieran replies. "Ha ha."
"I take it you're not a fan of puns."
"I like them just fine." Kieran's grip on the sword tightens. "Are we gonna do this or what?"
"Shit, man," Sergeant scoffs. "Just tryna make conversation."
One of the guards blows a whistle, and both Careers bolt toward one another. They start off steady but aggressive. Kieran easily darts away from the jabs Sergeant makes, and Sergeant easily parries the District One Male's strikes.
After a minute of this measured back and forth, Sergeant's attacks grow fiercer, more brutal. His sword swings through the air so fast Fioynder can practically hear the blade sing. He's starting to see it, Sergeant's true fighting style: the District Two Male fights like it's a game, his smile growing wider with every attack. It's as if every move he makes serves only one purpose: to maximize his own enjoyment, and he amps it up with each stab, strike, slice.
Fioynder's heart thumps against his ribs — this is what it's like to watch the masters at work! This is exactly what he's wanted to see in the flesh for so long!
Sergeant bulldozes into Kieran's space, attempting to back him up into the corner of the ring. Fioynder holds his breath, preparing to see Kieran get obliterated. But the District One Male jerks out of the way in the nick of time, in a motion stealthier than Fioynder would expect from the tall Career.
Fioynder squints his eyes, scrutinizing Kieran. His reactions are a millisecond too slow, but just enough to evade Sergeant's blows. As Kieran dodges strike after strike, Fioynder begins to realize that One's narrow escapes must be by design. Underneath Kieran's mask of concentration, there's traces of a nearly imperceptible smile. He's purposely baiting Sergeant into carrying out full slashes, slowly but surely tiring him out. Whittling him down.
Still, Fioynder knows it's going to be a while before Sergeant starts getting sloppy. After all, the District Two Male excels in tight-range melee, and if Kieran keeps letting him get too close, he'll gap that critical distance soon enough.
The District One Male is clearly trained, but he doesn't quite keep up offensively with Sergeant. The sword in Kieran's hand doesn't seem intuitive. Fioynder suspects that he'd be better off with a different weapon, something less showy and more… straight-forward. Not to mention his attacks are half-hearted, like he's not quite taking this seriously.
Sergeant and Kieran's swords collide in a deafening clash. Grinning wildly, Sergeant forces the other Career's weapon to the floor, the sheer speed of the motion wrenching the hilt from Kieran's hands. The fallen sword scatters to the other side of the ring.
Kieran attempts to duck past Sergeant's side — the District Two Male must anticipate this, because his leg shoots out just in time to trip the other Career, sending him crashing to the ground. Kieran whips around, just about to pick himself off the floor, before he sees the tip of Sergeant's sword already waiting at the base of his throat.
It takes every cell in Fioynder's body to stop himself from screaming, "FINISH HIM!" the way he would at the television screen back home.
"Give up yet?" Sergeant declares with a smirk. It's clear he knows he's won; the acknowledgment of defeat must be part of his fun.
After a long beat, Kieran presses the backs of his hands against the floor, a wordless concession. Triumphantly, Sergeant throws the sword aside and offers Kieran a hand. There's a quick flash and no further warning as the District One Male grips onto his hand and pulls, toppling the other Career down to the ground with a resounding thud.
Sergeant swears loudly, holding the side of his head that made impact with the floor. "Really?" he groans.
Kieran only laughs in response, the sound bright.
Next, Cassia and Jupiter clamber into the ring. Fioynder watches as both Careers smile at one another, eyes lingering a little long. He's noticed them spending a significant amount of time together the last couple of days, maybe too much. Don't they know it's a bad idea to become really good friends with someone in the Arena?
"Go easy on me, yeah?" Jupiter says.
Cassia cocks her head, an inquisitive glint in her eye. "Do you actually want me to?"
"'Course not." A crooked smile blooms across Jupiter's face. "Lay it all on me."
The sound of a whistle pierces through the air. Cassia doesn't hesitate for even a second before striking first, forcing Jupiter to back up. There's a determined smile on her face, features tensed in concentration as she makes another strike. Her eyes are dark, focused solely on her opponent before her. It seems as though fondness doesn't make her soft, but more ferocious. She wields her blade ruthlessly against Jupiter, as if eager to impress the same person she intends to cut.
Jupiter wards off her blows seamlessly. Fioynder can tell from the resounding clang of metal against metal that both Careers are frighteningly strong. Jupiter's muscles ripple underneath her skin as she weaves between Cassia's jabs, ducks and maneuvers herself out of the corner. Her body slices through the air like it's water — no resistance. With a grunt, she drives her sword toward Cassia's side, but the District Two female sidesteps it easily.
Jupiter's defensive technique is impeccable, but there's something off about her offense. Similar to Kieran, there's a delayed response — a subtle reluctance, as if the act of striking is uninspiring. Fioynder puts a hand to his chin. He doesn't get it; why even bother volunteering for the Hunger Games if you're not going to put your all into it?
The Careers dance, slashing and evading. Fioynder quickly finds himself growing bored — they're both obviously skilled, but neither is the flashy type. Cassia just hits to destroy, a technique that would be satisfying to watch if there was someone available to batter bloody. At the very least, it seems like she's having fun. Jupiter, on the other hand, attacks like it's more tedious than anything. She seems to enjoy the physical exertion and Cassia's attention, but she doesn't once aim to kill.
Tomato! Still, even with all of his critiques, Fioynder knows that if he got into a 1v1 with any of the Careers, he'd certainly die a horrible death! He makes a mental note to never get on anyone's bad side.
The spar ends quicker than the first, with Cassia emerging victorious. She hollers loudly, immediately putting down the sword to help Jupiter up on her feet. The District Four Female takes her hand, not even looking too disappointed that she lost. She smiles, watching Cassia run over to give Sergeant a hearty fist bump.
The first two spars ended in a District Two wash, which is exciting but unsurprising. It's a common fact that Two's Training Academies are just leagues better than One and Four's. Fioynder can only hope he'll be lucky enough to respawn as a District Two citizen in his next life!
Fioynder thinks about the next spar, anticipation bubbling underneath his skin. Now that the Twos are out, it's uncharted territory… sort of. Kai Thana's a total wildcard of a volunteer, so Fioynder couldn't get any information about him online.
But Reverie Berlusconi, on the other hand…
"Reverie, Kai." Sergeant jerks his head toward the ring. "You're up."
Mavis Marigold • District Twelve Female
Training Center / July 6th, 10:33 AM
Mavis fights to contain an eep! of excitement when the District Two brute announces the next duel. Obscured behind a table, Mavis has a fantastic vantage point to spectate this glorious fight!
It's Reverie versus Kai, but Mavis is far less concerned with the latter competitor than the former. No, she's clearly rooting for Reverie Berlusconi, the perfect picture of blonde-haired, fair-skinned excellence. The District One girl's complexion is unblemished without excess amounts of melanin and her hair is the color of pure straw, a sign of completely uncontaminated ancestry.
Reverie carries herself like a true socialite, like a princess. There's no doubt she hails from the upper echelons of One, born with a silver spoon in her mouth the way she deserves. Reverie's probably so accustomed to riches and luxury that she wouldn't blink if it socked her across her flawless Eurocentric features.
Now in an ideal world, Mavis would only surround herself with people like Reverie. She doesn't understand why Artan doesn't share the same goals as her, and tragically she couldn't make him see reason. Doesn't he know one's character is shaped by the people one associates with? It's a basic sociological theory — something she learned while reading a textbook late at night, hoping her father wouldn't barge in and beat her for reading material he hadn't yet approved. But that's neither here nor there. Why hadn't anyone ever taught Artan the moral perils of mixing with the commonfolk?
To be honest, Mavis is quite mad at him for screaming at her and then abandoning her. She's thought back on her words from the previous day, and perhaps she could've worded some sentiments a little more gracefully, but she thought it was obvious that she only had her District partner's best intentions at heart. But Artan didn't heed her warning, and now she's been making a point to avoid him and his new allies. Mavis doesn't know what he hopes to achieve with that degenerate, melanated lot, but that's not her problem anymore! He's surely doing much worse without her!
(She ought to just forget all about foolish, ungrateful Artan, but the rejection still burns like a fresh lashing.)
Right after her and Artan's spat yesterday, Mavis decided to seek out somebody who she knew would understand — none other than the District One Female, of course. She boldly started in the direction of the Careers before she, um, realized she had something else to do! Something she had forgotten all about! Mavis shan't disclose what she had forgotten, but it certainly existed, and she immediately bolted the other way to wait until her violent heart palpitations turned into pitters.
Completely unrelated to the previous matter, of course, Mavis really doesn't like the look of that District Two Male; from appearance alone, she can tell he possesses a depraved, unscrupulous character. She finds herself distrusting him from the very core of her being.
Mavis watches as the brute and Reverie exchange words and smiles before she makes her way into the ring. Now that she thinks of it, she's seen the two interact quite often. Mavis's only explanation for this is that the District Two Male must be holding Reverie hostage, forcing her to engage in conversation with him and laugh at his jokes. How cruel and unusual!
Mavis hopes she'll be able to have a word with Reverie — alone, without the District Two Male's corrupting influence. Perhaps today, fate will give her a chance!
But for now, Mavis has a match to watch!
The set-up for the sparring ring is rather intimidating. There are eight guards stationed around the platform, two for each side. They each hold a long pole with electricity catching at the tip, prepared to intervene if the situation calls for it.
On the platform, both Reverie and Kai are equipped with daggers. Neither waste a second as soon as the whistle blows. There's a sharp flash as Reverie soars, her blonde ponytail slicing through the air. Kai moves just as fast, a blur of shadow as he ducks out of the way. The hiss of a blade. Unhinged smiles.
Honestly, Mavis can't make heads or tails of what's happening, but she hopes Reverie's winning! They seem to be neck-and-neck, their knives dangerously close to kissing skin. If Mavis didn't know better, she would've thought the Careers were actually trying to kill each other!
The District Two brute whoops loudly, slamming his palms together in a savage display of excitement. Beside him, the District One boy lazily elbows him to get his attention.
"You did really well pitting those two against each other," The District One boy comments loudly. "They've got a lot in common, I think."
The brute turns to him, a quizzical look on his face. "What do you mean by that?"
The District Five Male, or the mini-brute, seems to be possessed by an uncontrollable spasm as he yanks his hand skyward. "Oooh, I know this one! Me! Me, pick me!"
"Um… yeah, shoot," The brute says, eyes darting between the mini-brute and the ongoing match.
"From the preliminary information I could gather and my field observations, I've determined that tributes Reverie Berlusconi and Kai Thana have three critical things in common. Firstly, they're both incredibly proficient with the knife!" The mini-brute points to the ring. "They wield the weapon like it's an extension of their own hands, an instinct that can only be attained if they were familiar with the weapon from a young age. The knife seems to be their primary weapon!"
"Obviously," the District One boy says drily.
"Secondly, they both like to wear black clothing!"
The brute cocks his head. "How the fuck did you find that out…?"
The mini-brute gleefully continues his analysis. "—and thirdly, they both killed the assigned volunteer for the 99th Annual Hunger Games!"
Kai makes a sharp downward arc with his blade that catches against Reverie's hair, slicing off a large chunk.
The guards surrounding the platform immediately level their tasers. The Careers whip their heads back toward the ring. Alarm flashes across the District One boy's face until he sees that Reverie's still on her feet, seething.
Wow, she's such a good fighter that she's concerning everyone! She doesn't even hesitate before she advances on Kai, slashing more furiously and more precisely than ever before. She catches him off-guard and in close quarters, forcing him to surrender some ground.
Mavis can't help but feel inspired, watching her sister-in-arms rightfully claiming the success she's entitled to. Unable to contain her excitement, she unleashes a garbled, unintelligible screech.
Bewilderment flashes through the faces of the Careers. Mavis clamps her hands over her mouth, cowering underneath the table, but it's too late — she watches Reverie's concentration shatter in real time.
Mavis sucks in a gasp as Kai slams Reverie to the ground like an animal, knife poised as if he intends to skewer it straight through her. He brings his hands down, but she rolls her head to the side and the blade plants itself right beside her face. Before he can attempt a second strike, the guard directly behind him jabs the electric stick right between his shoulder blades, causing him to seize and topple backwards.
The guards forcefully pull Kai out of the ring. He makes a ghastly sound before hissing at everyone and scurrying away. He crashes into something as he bolts to the opposite side of the room, but at this point, only the guards are paying him any attention.
Reverie grips tightly onto the ledge as she guides herself off the platform. Two of the Careers move to assist her, but the brute reaches her first. He offers his hand, giving her a quick nod. "You're good?"
"I'm fine," Reverie grits, shooting him a tight-lipped smile. She looks at his outstretched hand, hesitating before a beat before she takes it. Reverie keeps her gaze fixed to the side, not looking at the brute or the District One boy hovering a short distance behind him.
The District Two Female approaches Reverie as soon as she's back on flat ground. "Reverie, your hair…" Her voice is soft, almost mournful.
A flash of worry darts across Reverie's face as she reaches back to feel at what's left of her ponytail. "Shit," she mutters. "It doesn't look too bad, does it?"
"No, no!" the District Two Female says hurriedly. "It's just…" She casts a sad glance at the ring. "It used to be so long…"
"It's just hair," Reverie says, but she still looks uneasy as she brushes through it. She curses under her breath again. "I'm gonna splash my face for a sec."
She excuses herself briskly, heading away from the other Careers and toward the washrooms. Mavis's heart thrills — now's her chance!
The second Reverie disappears through the washroom door, Mavis bolts in after her. The sound of water jetting against porcelain echoes through the dim space. Mavis finds the older girl in the middle of wrenching her hairtie off, long blonde hair draping over her shoulders. Er — long in some parts and haphazardly chopped in others, made starkly uneven by Kai's blade.
She's breathing hard, but Mavis can't tell whether it's from anxiety or anger. The District One girl doesn't even seem to notice Mavis standing behind her as she runs her fingers through her hair, desperately trying to adjust what the mirror's reflection shows.
"What happened!" Mavis blurts out, causing Reverie to let out a torrent of swears. Mavis decides to selectively ignore this unladylike language. "You, like, totally could've beat him!"
Mavis purposely screws her voice into a higher register to mimic how merchant girls back in Twelve speak. She hopes talking in a familiar way might show Reverie that Mavis is also a part of that social in-group, that she grew up rich, classy, and beautiful — that she's just like her.
(Even if it's a lie. Even if it's just what Mavis has deluded herself into thinking she deserves.)
Reverie doesn't turn around. She just continues to stare straight ahead at her reflection, palms now resting on either side of the sink. She doesn't say a word. Mavis begins to wonder if the older girl didn't hear her, even though she knows that's impossible — they're the only ones in this room.
"So?" Mavis prompts again, starting to feel a little nervous.
"What happened," Reverie mutters, voice strained, "is that some middle-schooler brat couldn't use her indoor voice, and started screaming like an absolute lunatic."
"Ugh, that is so not cool! Who would do that?!" Mavis exclaims, before she realizes she must be the 'middle-schooler brat' Reverie is referring to. Hurriedly, she tries to change the subject. "Is your hair okay? Is it going to grow back? You're a natural blonde, right?"
Reverie ignores her barrage of questions. "Does being a Career mean nothing these days?" she whispers under her breath, before raising her voice. "Why are you talking to me?"
Sweat collects inside Mavis's palms. This interaction isn't going as planned — aren't girls supposed to support girls? "Y-you're… beautiful."
Reverie makes eye contact with Mavis in the mirror. There's something impossibly icy in her gaze. "You came up to me just to tell me I'm beautiful?"
There's a shaky feeling in her chest — it feels like there's a bird fluttering underneath her ribs, trying to pry itself out through her throat. "More b-beautiful than all the other girls here," Mavis chokes out.
"I don't even want to know what that's supposed to mean," Reverie spits. "Maybe I wasn't clear. What—" she hisses, "—makes you think you can talk to me?"
Mavis is starting to think that this is a bad idea. No, no — she needs to try harder to win Reverie over! Mavis has already lost Artan, and if she doesn't manage to get Reverie on her side, she'll be alone and all by herself and that is not an option.
Again, she tries to appeal to Reverie's higher-class sensibilities. "I think we're the same," Mavis stammers. "Our background. And our, like, heritage."
"My background?" Reverie repeats, like she can hardly believe what she's hearing.
"I just don't like seeing you hang out with those people."
"What the everloving fuck are you talking about?"
Panicked, Mavis blitzes through her prepared lines. "People like u-us should stick together!" she yelps. "The other Careers, especially that brute from Two — they're too dark, too dirty for you!"
Reverie's face transforms as she realizes what it is Mavis is saying. The Career throws her head back, unable to restrain her laughter. The sound isn't beautiful, the way Mavis expects — it's all wrong, dissonant and awful. Mavis freezes, watching the beautiful girl before her distorts into something unrecognizable.
"So what?" Reverie jeers. "You think because we both have blonde hair we should team up, be all buddy-buddy?"
"Y-yes!" Mavis squeaks, hoping this means Reverie is finally getting it. "That's exactly what I think!"
"Oh my," the older girl coos, looking downright demonic underneath the washroom's flickering light. "You poor thing."
Reverie finally turns to face Mavis, eyes searing into hers.
Her irises are black.
"It's inexcusable that people have let you go on like this your whole life, running your mouth like a goddamn fool," she continues, sauntering ever-so-slowly toward Mavis.
The young girl trembles as the Career approaches closer, frozen in place. Backed against the wall, it suddenly occurs to Mavis that the few feet of distance between them will offer no protection at all. Mavis knows that if the Career wanted her dead, right here, right now, she would be nothing but a broken doll on bloody tiles.
"I pity you. I really, really do. So let me do you the favor of educating you. Better late than never, right?" Reverie sneers. "You and I are not on the same side. We're in the Hunger Games, you understand that? Only one person can make it out, and I'm cutting down anyone who makes the mistake of standing in my way. None of our 'similarities' mean jack shit. No one in this place means jack shit."
Reverie looks straight down at Mavis. There's not a sliver of soul in her eyes.
Mavis tries to open her mouth to scream.
She can't.
"Your hair and your eyes aren't going to save you in the Arena, little girl," the Career whispers, her lips stretching into a wicked smile. "Nothing will."
Keesha Cathode • District Five Female
Training Center / July 6th, 10:47 AM
A sniveling child comes barreling out of the restroom, wailing uncontrollably. She flails in a random direction, right by where Keesha's walking. Whistling a little, Keesha just happens to stick her foot out as the girl scampers by.
The Twelver wipes out spectacularly, basically faceplanting into the floor. A snort rips out of Keesha, beyond entertained.
"Holy shit," Keesha barks. She turns to her companion, smiling brazenly. "Did you see the landing on that?!"
Shaffa looks torn between laughing or wincing, but eventually, her sympathy wins out. "That wasn't so nice, Keesh..."
"Okay, yeah," Keesha admits, though she still feels a little amused. She and Shaffa only started talking yesterday, and the taller girl's already her moral compass. Sort of. They quickly found out that they had lots in common: they're both great at lying, cheating, and getting away with larceny! The only big difference is that Shaffa's rather soft-hearted sometimes, but Keesha still feels an undeniable kinship with the girl from Three. How can she resist a girl after her own shit-stirring heart?
Keesha told herself that she was gonna do this alone, so she's not committing to anything yet. But it's been fun to kick it with Shaffa, exchanging jabs and stories and out-of-pocket jokes. It's a welcome sense of normalcy, considering… well, everything.
Keesha squats down next to the fallen girl, whose skinny frame racks with sobs as she curls up on the floor. Keesha grimaces. Oh, God, she's actually crying. Tentatively, she extends her hand to the girl.
"You 'ight, or…"
The girl jerks away from Keesha, pasty complexion blanching even more at the sight of her. She starts screaming her head off with renewed terror. She scrambles back up to her feet by herself and miserably jingles off in a new direction, still shrieking.
Not without tripping a little, though. Keesha almost feels bad for thinking it's funny. Some things are so painfully pathetic that you just have to laugh.
"Talk about an overreaction," she snickers, still watching the crying girl make her comedically slow escape. "The fuck did I ever do to her?"
Shaffa hums. "You did just trip her, you know."
"Yeah, but that definitely felt a little…" Keesha looks at the strange girl for a beat longer before she decides actually, she doesn't care. "Whatever. That was fun while it lasted, I guess. What now?"
"We can do whatever you wanna do," Shaffa chirps.
"But I'm asking you, 'cause I ain' got nothin' in mind."
"You're making me come up with ideas? I've never had a good idea in my life."
Keesha scrunches her nose. "Liar."
"What?!" Shaffa gasps, clutching her chest. "Such mean words…?!"
She ignores the other girl's dramatics. "If everything you told me about the crazy ghost-busting shit's true, then you have plenty of ideas."
The red-haired girl grins impishly. "I guess you caught me~"
Keesha rolls her eyes, fighting a smile. "I just corroborated the facts. 'Caught' would imply that there was a challenge."
"I actually do have an idea, but I don't know if you'll like it."
"Well, how would I not like it if I don't even know what it is?"
"I don't know, maybe you just wouldn't."
"Girl, just fucking tell me already."
"Okay, okay," Shaffa laughs. "I was thinking we could maybe do a little heist."
The smile on Keesha's face grows wider. "I'm listening."
"You know I'm good at distracting people. And I know you're good at stealing stuff. So what if we did something with that? We pick someone, I'll talk to them, while you… borrow something of theirs. Just for a little bit — just for a little looksie."
"Borrow something? Like…" Keesha ponders. "Their tokens?"
"That's kind of what I was thinking, yeah."
"Shaffa," Keesha says gravely.
"…Yes…?" Shaffa says, doubt creeping into her voice.
Keesha keeps the other girl on her toes, allowing the tense silence to thicken before she finally declares, "That's a brilliant idea. No notes."
Shaffa's face immediately breaks into a smile. She slaps on a smug expression, dropping into a low bow. "I do it for my fans."
Excitement thrums underneath Keesha's skin. Shaffa's idea isn't exactly new to her; Keesha's already considered pilfering through the other tributes' stuff, but she couldn't quite work out a way to do it without immediately getting caught red-handed. But distraction connoisseur Shaffa being here opens up a whole world of possibilities, hugely upping their chances of pulling this off.
It's not like Keesha needs her, but she'll admit Shaffa augments her in ways that make things a lot easier. Things like… having fun, doing these boring training stations, and now, this heist. Whatever Keesha doesn't wanna do, Shaffa's happy to pick up the slack.
Keesha thinks they're kind of a match made in heaven. Or hell, for whichever unlucky soul is on the receiving end.
"Who should we hit first?" Keesha asks. She surveys the Training Center, admiring the selection. There are just so many people to choose from — there's a broody guy with earrings and a full beard, there's a Career with a pleated hairstyle and a lip piercing, there's — holy shit, does that guy have a whole ass mechanical arm?!
Shaffa notices Keesha's eyes going wide and turns to see where her gaze is aimed. "Oh my god, Keesha. Please god no."
"Do you think he wears it to sleep?" Keesha buzzes, excited. "I don't remember seeing it during the recap, so it's gotta be removable, right?"
"Dude, we can't take his arm?!" Shaffa exclaims, bewildered. "He needs that!"
"Does he…?"
Shaffa gives her a stern look. "Keesha."
"Fine," Keesha sighs. "Then who do you suggest?"
Shaffa tilts her head in the general direction of the cafeteria. "How about that girl over there? Wisteria?"
𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝟶𝟶𝟷: 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰? 𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰?
"You know!" Shaffa whispers, not really answering Keesha's question at all. "Her full name's Wisteria Rose Peak, if that helps?"
Keesha side-eyes her partner-in-crime. "How would that help—? Look, I'm not really good with names; I'm more of a 'face, floor plan blueprint, copy of the house key' type of gal. Just describe how she looks or something."
Shaffa ponders for a moment, before putting it in terms Keesha can understand. "She's pretty. Like, really pretty. Black curly hair, brown skin, a bajillion freckles. A whole constellation, almost. And her eyebrows look phenomenal. I wish mine would grow in like hers."
Keesha bobs her head, understanding. "More information than I needed, but thank you. She's the girl over there, right?"
Keesha jerks her head toward a girl that fits Shaffa's description, sitting alone at a cafeteria table. She seems to be deep in focus, scribbling something in a little journal.
Shaffa makes an affirming sound. They watch Wisteria for a little, whispering back and forth as they try to figure out how to distract her, how to get her to leave her post. But it turns out, Keesha and Shaffa don't even need to do anything at all — the opportunity basically falls right into their laps.
A girl with dark eyebags and a Six stitched on her uniform floats by Wisteria's table. Wisteria brightens, calling out to her.
Six startles, blinking at Wisteria like she doesn't know why the other girl would want to talk to her. "M-me?"
"Yes!" Wisteria beams. "Could you keep an eye on my stuff? I just need to go to the restroom real quick."
"U-uh, sure," Six mumbles. "I can do that…"
So convenient! Keesha couldn't plan this better if she tried!
She turns to Shaffa, and the other girl is already looking right back at her with a wide grin on her face.
"You know what to do?" Shaffa confirms.
"Do you even need to ask?" Keesha shoots back, before slipping out of view.
Keesha darts along the walls, trying to avoid as many eyes as possible as she makes her way to the cafeteria. She watches Shaffa approach Six, immediately overwhelming her with the same extrovert cheeriness Shaffa used on Keesha just yesterday. Six desperately tries to keep up with the redhead, but she's so not equipped for Shaffa's bombastic yapper warfare.
Six is too distracted to notice Keesha dart in and disappear with Wisteria's journal, quick as a shadow. Keesha simply swipes it as she walks by the table, effortlessly casual. She's learned that sometimes, plain sight can offer the same anonymity as the darkness. It's outrageous what people can get away with if they have the confidence, and boy does Keesha got the stuff.
Keesha just barely makes it to her and Shaffa's reconvening spot before Wisteria's out of the restroom, way earlier than anticipated. There's a troubled expression on her face, and it becomes even more troubled when her eyes scan the table, no journal in sight.
Wisteria runs up to Six and Shaffa. "Hey, where's my—?"
Shaffa startles, looking at Wisteria with concern. Her gaze goes from Six to Wisteria, playing innocent. "Are you looking for something?"
"My journal," Wisteria says, brows knit. "I just left it on the table, right there. Did someone take it…?"
"I didn't see anyone come by," Shaffa says, somehow managing to sound so sincere that it's kind of scary. Keesha's beginning to understand how Shaffa gets away with what she regularly gets away with.
"I was only gone for a second…" Wisteria sounds crestfallen. "Where could it have gone?"
"S-sorry," the Six mumbles, shrinking into herself. Her eyes screw shut, remorseful. "I'm sorry…"
"I'll help you look for it," Shaffa offers. Wisteria gives her a grateful nod in response. Together, Wisteria and Shaffa peer all around the table: over, under, next to, but of course to no avail.
Their chatter is a nice background noise as Keesha cracks open the journal to read. It isn't very full, actually. It seems like it was only started a couple days ago. Inside, there are loose papers, napkin doodles, and random sentences that seem sort of poetic, but Keesha wouldn't know anything about that mumbo jumbo.
After a couple minutes, Shaffa joins Keesha at their hiding spot, huddling in close. "Anything interesting?"
"It's neat," Keesha replies, handing over the journal. "Kind of cool. She's a good drawer."
"The term is artist, actually," Shaffa corrects, all joke-snobbily.
Rolling her eyes, Keesha points at one of the napkin doodles. "I think she's been drawing the other tributes."
Shaffa's eyes shine in recognition. "That's the Nine boy, Emilio," she murmurs. "I think this is Orion, my District partner."
"You just know everyone's names?"
"Most," Shaffa nods. "I'm making a point to remember as many as possible."
"Jeez, lady," Keesha mutters. She flips to another page and points at one of the portraits, determined to find someone Shaffa won't recognize. "What about this chick?"
"That's the girl from District Ten, Falo. You can sort of tell by the curly hair and the expression. She's got that resting bitch face, or maybe she just looks like that."
"Come on," Keesha groans, hating that she's sort of impressed by Shaffa's identification ability. "And the guy next to her?"
Shaffa squints a little before it seems to click. "It must be her District partner. Asahel."
𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝟶𝟶𝟸: 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝚂𝙰𝙷𝙴𝙻 𝙸𝚂
Keesha snorts. "I know it's just a drawing, but he already looks so bulliable."
"He does," Shaffa admits. "I think we should hit him next. And I've got just the plan for it, too."
"Oh yeah?"
Shaffa smirks. "Yeah, just watch. I've seen him around, and I think I've got him all figured out."
Keesha crosses her arms, watching Shaffa make her way to the station across from Asahel's. She flounders around with some weights and dumbbells before attempting to pick up a large sandbag, straining loudly.
"I wish somebody would help me with this!" Shaffa shouts. "Someone big and strong…!"
A few feet away, Asahel notices Shaffa struggling. "Did you say you needed help?" he asks, expression caught between concern and confusion.
"Yes — this bag is just so heavy!" Shaffa exclaims, batting her eyelashes. "And I'm just so weak, I'm just a girl, after all…"
"It's only twenty-five pounds," Asahel says, but he squats on the ground beside her and places his arms around the sandbag. "Well, what you want to do is secure your grip around the bag, and then use the muscles in your legs to stand up instead of the muscles in your back." He gives a demonstration, standing and squatting back down with the sandbag easily.
"Uh huh," Shaffa nods, extremely attentive. Asahel doesn't seem to notice.
(Keesha is unimpressed.)
"Not too difficult," Asahel says after placing the sandbag back on the ground, giving Shaffa a kind smile. "Try that?"
"I don't know…" Shaffa hums. "I don't think I can…"
"Sure you can, just give it a shot."
"I'm not that strong," Shaffa pouts. "My muscles are so small, and yours are just… so big…"
You crazy bitch! Keesha thinks to herself, floored.
"I—" Asahel abruptly pauses. Then in a small voice, he goes, "You really think so?"
"Yeah!" Shaffa agrees. "But I guess I don't know for sure. You might have to take off your jacket for me to see…"
Keesha is almost too stunned by this conversation to do what she needs to do — almost. She pounces on the abandoned jacket as soon as Shaffa diverts Asahel's attention away. She reaches into the pockets, hand closing in on something solid; she's just about to bounce before she notices that the Ten girl, Falo, is looking straight at her.
Keesha freezes, and then sharply presses a finger to her lips. Falo's eyes scan Keesha, then the object, and then Keesha again. Keesha knows the other girl's not dumb, but she hopes at the very least she can look the other fucking way.
After what feels like ages, Falo turns her gaze back to the textbook in her lap, fixedly ignoring Keesha.
Atta girl, Keesha thinks, before slinking away.
Thankfully, it's not long until Shaffa joins her back in their spot, another successful operation in the bag. "What's that? A wooden block?" the other girl asks.
Keesha hands the object to Shaffa, watching the other girl scrutinize it. "You're holding it upside down."
Shaffa turns it upright. "It's a… tiny wooden piano?"
Keesha's eyes study the skinny legs, the keyboard, the lid. The carving is covered in intentional ridges and cuts that all together make a very strong impression of a grand piano. The whole thing has been crafted with painstaking attention to detail; whoever made this has spent hours on it, and is likely still working on it.
"Yeah," Keesha confirms. "It's really good, honestly. The craftsmanship is bonkers."
Shaffa smiles. "You'd know all about craftsmanship, huh?"
"Duh," Keesha says, tucking the wooden piano into her jacket pocket. "Anyway, cool I guess. One more heist?"
"I don't know," Shaffa admits. "That was a pretty close call. I saw Falo looking at you, you know. We almost got caught."
"But we didn't! Thanks to your…" Keesha thinks back to Shaffa aggressively flirting with Asahel. "Um, expert distraction technique."
Keesha examines the rest of the Training Center one more time. At this time of the day, everyone's quite busy, preoccupied at their stations. It shouldn't be too difficult to steal something right under someone's nose.
Not too far from them, Keesha's eyes fall upon a fabric mass, sitting crumpled on a bench. Squinting, Keesha realizes it's an athletic jacket, the kind that everyone gets with their training uniform. An embroidered 1 is sutured on the front.
"Let's check that out," Keesha says.
𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝟶𝟶𝟹: 𝚆𝙷𝙸𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙲𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙱𝚄𝚃𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙹𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙴𝚃 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝚃𝙾
"Are you crazy?!" Shaffa whisper-shouts, shaking her. "That belongs to a Career!"
"That makes it even more fun, right?" Keesha points out, allowing herself to be shaken. "Come on, Shaffa! No one's even around — the jacket's just sitting right there, waiting to be robbed!"
"I'm down for a lot, but this is genuinely a terrible idea."
"It's not like they can do anything about it."
"Besides kill us?!"
"Not yet."
"Still!"
Keesha cocks her head. "You're scared."
"It's the Careers!" Shaffa exclaims, incredulous. "Of course I'm scared!"
Keesha's gaze hardens. Hearing Shaffa say these words out loud makes her doubt the other girl. Maybe she misjudged Shaffa — maybe she can't keep up with Keesha, after all. "Well, I'm doing it whether you're in or not."
"Keesh—" Shaffa cuts herself off abruptly, biting down on her tongue. "Fine — just be really fast, okay?"
"You don't have to look after me," Keesha frowns, watching the other girl. "I can take care of myself."
"No, don't be stupid, of course I'm gonna." Keesha can't explain the reassurance that floods her after Shaffa calls her stupid. "Just go before I change my mind."
Keesha doesn't have to be told twice.
She's in and out like a flash, procuring something small and flat from the jacket pocket. It's a painless operation, so painless it actually disappoints Keesha. She stole from a Career, for god's sake, and she doesn't even have anything to show for it except for this rounded triangle with a cursive A engraved on it.
Keesha thrusts the stupid tiny triangle in Shaffa's palm as soon as she returns to safety. "Aren't people from One supposed to have cool expensive shit or something?!" she exclaims, pissed. "What the hell even is this?"
"It's a guitar pick," Shaffa answers, turning it over in her hand. "My friend Fae plays. She's kind of a hoarder about these little things."
"Total bummer," Keesha grumbles. "Boring. That wasn't even worth it."
Shaffa hums before sticking the guitar pick into her pocket. "It's okay, Keesh. Let's just stick to outer-District tributes from now on."
"Fine." Shaffa pats her back, and Keesha feels slightly less annoyed about everything, just slightly. "I guess."
Shaffa appears pleased enough by this response. She takes a step toward the direction of the cafeteria, smiling at Keesha. "Wanna grab a bite and figure out what else to do from here?"
Keesha doesn't make any effort to move. She stands still in her tracks, thinking.
"Keesha?"
Keesha hesitates a long time before she decides on how she wants to go about this. "Yesterday, why did you come up to me, Shaffa?"
"What do you mean?"
"You could've started talking to anyone," Keesha explains. "But out of everyone, you came up to me."
The girl from Three shrugs. "I just thought you seemed cool. And I wanted to see what you were like."
"And now that you've met me," Keesha says, "what do you think of me now?"
Shaffa ponders this, giving her question some thought. It feels as if Keesha's breath is suspended in her chest as she waits for the other girl's response.
"Well," Shaffa starts, "I guess now, I actually know you're cool. You're bold and weird and smarmy and you act like you can get away with anything and everything."
"I can, though," Keesha jokes. Sort of.
Shaffa laughs, but it doesn't sound quite right. "You're proving my point. That's exactly what worries me. You're smart, but you can do some really dumb shit sometimes."
Keesha chews the inside of her cheek, stalling. "But hypothetically," she says at last, "if I did more dumb shit, you'd still look out for me, right? You'd watch my back?"
"Yeah," Shaffa says. "You don't even have to ask."
Here goes nothing. Keesha desperately hopes Shaffa'll pick up what she's putting down, because she doesn't want to have to explain herself — that would be unbearably corny. "I'm asking, though."
Shaffa blinks, once, twice, before a wide grin stretches from cheek to cheek. "Are you asking me to be allies with you?"
"Don't make it lame," Keesha groans. "Only if you're willing. If you think you can handle it."
Shaffa beams so brightly it nearly burns. "Challenge accepted, then."
a/n: YIPPIEEE leap day update! excreted blood sweat tears and other fluids to post this chapter in the hell month of february. but… we did it… (weak cheering) THESE KIDS NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK UP SO BAD!
today's title references the red thread, a motif that has roots in several cultures. it refers to a predetermined, fateful connection that brings two (or more, in this case) people together.
qotd: what's the most unhinged paper you've ever written? mine is probably when i used machiavelli's the prince to analyze whether leorio paladiknight from hunter x hunter would be an effective authoritative ruler. i wanna say my prof gave me an 82 for it
deuces,
brookalicious