And now the second day of training is complete!
Enjoy!
~ Meghan
The Enemies.
...
Training Day II - Pt. II
...
"Only the dead have seen the end of war."
- attributed to Plato, 400s BC - 348 BC, Greece
Juniper Grove - 16 y.o. - D11
...
- Training Center Gymnasium -
Juniper's fingers threaded through the vines.
The hammock was coming together quickly, weft threads strong.
Though she was more familiar with a cloth string and a needle, it hadn't taken long to feel the types of knots and woven patterns in the example hammock. Recreating it, as if she was sewing with her fingers for needles, was as natural as breathing.
"You're good at this," Lewis said with a frustrated huff.
Juniper's lips twitched. Almost a smile. But thinking of Mable did that.
"A friend taught me how to sew," Juniper said. "But weaving and knot-tying go hand-in-hand with it."
She reached over. The soft vines Lewis was trying to tie into a sheet bend were still covered in leaves, tickling her hands.
"Your warp threads aren't tight enough," she said. She pointed to the vines making up the hammock's vertical lines. "These are the structure of the hammock. Everything depends on them. If they're too loose, it'll fall apart."
"Thanks, Juniper," Lewis said, voice a bit lighter. How he managed to find the strength to sound hopeful, she couldn't tell.
"I know I have should enough," the woman had said.
Coins jingled onto the counter. Her toddler babbled in her arms.
"We do," the man said.
The simple light-blue linen shirt still on the counter was small, perfect for the little child.
Ten dollars. That's what the shirt costed. It was one of the cheaper options, but made with perfect buttonhole stitches nonetheless.
"Oh," Juniper said, picking up the shirt again. "Is this the one with the pocket? I'm sorry, that's my mistake, it's actually seven dollars."
"Really?" the woman said hopefully. She handed Juniper a handful of dollars. "We... we have that."
"Well, isn't that perfect," Juniper said, and wrapped up the shirt in tissue paper. "There you go."
"Thank you," the woman said, and Juniper could hear the big smile on her lips.
The shop's floorboards groaned, the way they always did in the middle, as the woman started to walk out. She cooed to her baby about their new shirt.
But the man hesitated a minute longer at the counter. "Thank you," he finally said, just low enough for Juniper to hear. And then the floorboard was creaking again and the bell above the door tinkled. A draft of cold air floated in. Only when the family was gone did Miss Mable come down the staircase, her careful steps slowed by age.
"You gave that shirt away for less than it was worth," Mable said.
Juniper bit her lip. "I... I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Mable said and chuckled. "You did the right thing, honey. But you can pay me back by sorting through those new pieces."
Juniper laughed as Mable sat a basket on the counter before her.
The scraps of fabric, old shirts, and blankets full of holes were mostly shades of beige and white - the colors least in demand in the Capitol, a raw linen considered too rough there - were donated by others in District 11 who no longer needed the pieces. Mable payed a small amount in exchange, and then remade them into something beautiful. And, now, Juniper did too.
It had been four years now since Mable had started teaching Juniper how to sew. It felt like longer. It seemed like Juniper had always known, as if she'd always been here at Crenshaw's Clothing. But that day was still real, when Mable was sitting on her porch, singing some old song Juniper didn't know. Something mournful. And when she couldn't forget it over the week, Juniper had asked her what it is, and Mable had told her as she'd sewn a quilt in her rocking chair.
That was when Juniper had heard about the woman's granddaughter, reaped for the Games.
They'd spent every day together that month. Juniper didn't have much else to do. Her mother hardly let her work in the kitchen at their bakery shop, lest Juniper burn her delicate fingers. Now Juniper regarded the callouses on her hands, worn from pushing tough needles through stubborn fabric, with pride.
She picked a nightgown from the basket, a flash of yellow like the fresh lemons in the outer fields.
Mable's scissors snipped through a length of fabric. Probably denim, by the thick sound of it. "That's a lovely one."
"It's so soft," Juniper said, touching the cloth to her cheek.
"You can keep it," Mable said. "They yellow looks nice on you."
"Really?" Juniper said.
"I insist."
The doorbell jingled.
"Welcome in," Juniper chirped.
"Guess who it is," a man sang.
Juniper sighed. "Hi, Rowan."
"How hurtful," he said. "My own sister is so disappointed to see me."
"Because that means it's time to go home," Juniper said with a wry smile. She folded up the lemon nightgown in her arms.
"Make sure to take those ginger cookies I baked this morning," Mable said to her.
"You spoil her, Ms. Crenshaw," Rowan said with a laugh.
"See you tomorrow," Juniper called, picking up the paper bag of cookies and pulling on her jacket, an old one of her father's that swallowed her up. Mable had offered to make a new one but Juniper liked the mint-soap smell of her father on it, like he was hugging her every time she wore it.
It was winter-dark outside, the kind of night that made it impossible for Juniper to see anything. Even the flickers of light from candles behind house windows, or the occasional hum of electricity in a richer home, were dim. The moon wouldn't be full again for weeks. Now it was just a useless sliver.
Rowan whistled as they walked in-step with each other. "Good day, then?"
"Busy all day," Juniper confirmed. She frowned, kicking dirt along the familiar path. "I wish daddy wouldn't send you to walk me home."
"I wouldn't if he didn't make me. By the way, I want a cut of those cookies."
"You'll have to fight me for them."
He pushed her shoulder lightly. "Let the battle begin."
Juniper laughed, and held out the bag of cookies. The paper crinkled as Rowan pulled out two. She ate one herself, relishing the ginger.
"You're still my favorite sister, June," Rowan said.
"I'm your only sister," she said.
"It's the thought that counts."
"Well, then you're my favorite brother."
And they laughed together, eating ginger cookies all the way home.
When she'd first gotten on the train after the reaping, leaving District 11 behind, Juniper had thought she'd remember the big memories more.
She'd expected a flood of birthdays, of getting near-deathly sick, of funerals for grandparents... It didn't happen like that. As she'd laid in bed that night, window down, listening to the wind whistle past, her mind was a kaleidoscope of the mundane: mornings sat at the kitchen table with her mother, her father and brother already at work; playing jump-rope with some other girls during recess; skinning her knee, and her father kissing it better; arguing with her brother over chores; her mother typing ribbons into her hair; Mable baking yet another treat.
Juniper thought of things like eating ginger cookies, knowing at the time that she was going to sleep in her own bed that night.
How she'd taken it all for granted.
She'd trade anything - anything - for one more hour walking with her brother from Mable's shop, squabbling and laughing.
Every day now felt like a fight. She didn't want to go to sleep because that brought the next day that much faster, but to be awake was unbearable. Sitting around the Training Center apartment after dinner with nothing but her thoughts was a special kind of torture.
Had it been like that for Miss Mable's granddaughter?
It wasn't until last night that Juniper realized that the girl had probably slept in the same bed she was in now.
The thought had made Juniper spring up, nearly tripping over the silk sheets, ripping them as she stumbled out of bed. The rip in the sheets was a good five inches across. How expensive would that be to fix? The pillowcases alone costed more than Mable's entire inventory.
And then Juniper had been shredding the sheets.
Reams of torn silk fluttered to the floor, threads popping, the whole thing so in tatters that Juniper's arms were tangled in its scraps. She was heaving by the end, throat raw, wanting to cry but unable to. The anger made her blood so hot she thought the silk might burst into flames.
But then she'd fallen asleep somehow, laid in a silk nest of ruined beauty. After she'd gotten out of the shower, the bedding had been replaced. A new silk set was in its place.
It was like she'd never done anything to it at all. Like nothing she did left any sign at all.
"Didn't you say your mother has a bakery?"
Lewis' voice was curious, soft, but loud enough to bring her from her thoughts.
Juniper nodded. "She does. Best bread in District Eleven." Better than the Capitol's too.
"Sure sounds nice," Lewis said. "I liked the bread at lunch; the one for our district, the little crescent with seeds."
"It was nice." Juniper finished her hammock with a simple figure eight knot. "What does your mama do, Lewis?"
He was quiet. Then, "she's passed away."
"Oh," Juniper said, frowning, wishing she could take her words back. "I'm so sorry."
"It was three years ago," Lewis said. "But she worked in the seed sorting warehouse. She liked to care for sick animals in her spare time, though, if somebody brought their pets around."
"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Juniper said.
"She was. I miss her."
And that little statement, no shame in it, almost did finally make Juniper cry.
"Let's see the hammock now," she said, swallowing the tears down painfully.
She tested the knots in Lewis' hammock and smiled.
"Is it better?" he said.
"Much better," she said, and held up her hand for a high-five.
He slapped his palm against hers, and the rough burlap of his gloves scratched her skin.
She hadn't asked why exactly Lewis wore them. He had reasons, surely, to have kept his gloves safe.
Juniper couldn't remember if he'd had them on at the parade or not, but otherwise he wore them constantly. Maybe it was just a comfort thing, a piece of home. Then again, she hadn't let go of her yellow-and-blue sweater either, though she'd have to leave it once they were taken to the arena. But for now it was hers to keep.
Reaching a hand up to her necklace, Juniper smoothed her thumb over its worn surface.
"Keep it," Miss Mable had said.
They'd been sat in the Justice Building. Her parents had just left, and her brother had nearly been dragged out by Peacekeepers.
Juniper wanted to feel numb. Her cheeks were soaked with tears. There was an endless gaping hole, threatening to swallow her in hopelessness.
She barely registered the necklace in her palm at first. The chain was delicate, the pendant small but heavy - a real, expensive kind of metal. Something old - Juniper could tell without needing to ask - maybe even something from before the Dark Days.
"I've worn it every day of my life," the woman said, and only now did she sound truly old, as worn and tired as the cloth in her store. "Now you wear it as your token."
Juniper hadn't argued with her. She hadn't even thought to have a token with her. So she'd let Mable put it around her neck, and there it stayed.
"What're you thinking about?" Lewis said. He kept tying the vines.
"Just about someone I know," Juniper said. She stood up and tested the knots of her hammock again.
She tied them around the branches of the trees set up at the station, fingers feeling rough bark, half wishing she'd find the marks her brother had left around their house with his dual-blades.
Juniper hung the hammock and let it swing gently.
She sat back in the neat bed of vines, and Lewis applauded as the knots held fast, cradling her.
Lifting her feet, Juniper tilted her head back, and tried to imagine she was flying, leaving the Capitol behind.
Caoimhin Austin - 16 y.o. - D7
...
- Training Center Gymnasium -
Cin glanced between the two mushrooms.
They were both golden, but one was rounded and the other frilled.
One was perfectly edible while the other would cause severe kidney failure.
Cin was careful in his decision, remembering the lesson from the edible plants instructor. He was used to the familiar plants back home but mushrooms weren't one of his typical choices. When Cin finally picked up the frilled mushroom, he was positive it was the right one.
The instructor smiled approvingly, revealing bejeweled teeth. "Correct."
Cin took a bite of the chanterelle mushroom to celebrate. It smelled like apricot, and tasted even better.
The instructor picked up the deadly webcap mushroom. Her teeth flashed. "You learn quickly."
It was easy in District 7 to learn that sort of thing.
The forests surrounding his wooden shack (his mother liked to call it a cottage, though it was barely big enough for a shack) were full of plants that he foraged for them in the spring and summer. During winter, the nuts and roots of plants were helpful. Cin wasn't starving like some people, but he wasn't as well-fed as most from his district.
His mother tried her best, but for a while it had been difficult for her to earn a large enough salary for them both. It wasn't like his father had ever been helpful when they still lived with him, besides wasting their money on alcohol. Ever since Cin started working at the lumber mill, though, his income helped support him and his mother. The shack even had a new roof, but years of being malnourished had taken their toll. Even now, Cin was overwhelmed with their lavish lunch, though it was considered simple by Capitol standards.
"I knew a bit already," Cin admitted quietly. "But I didn't know about much about edible fungi. That's new."
"It'll be important in the arena," the instructor said, and at least has the decency to look solemn. "Some tributes just go around to the weapons stations. The real problems in the Hunger Games come from not knowing how to find food and water, not being to make a shelter, even incorrectly making a fire."
Cin tried not to grimace. As much he consoled himself about knowing basic survival skills, the real problem in the Games would probably come in the form of a sword to his throat. What did it matter that he could climb a tree when the girls from 1 and 2 could aim an arrow up at him anyway? Or that he could hunt his own food when he was going to be one of the hunted?
The idea of it, of a person hunting him like a rabbit, made Cin so nauseous he worried he'd throw up the mushroom and all of his lunch. He'd watched years of tributes being hunted down only to end up screaming-
"Why don't we go back through berries," the instructor said quickly, noticing his green face. Or maybe she just liked having someone at her station.
Cin wasn't sure how long he spent there, but he appreciated the familiarity of it. There was something monotonous about identifying the edible berries - mascadine, cloudberries, huckleberries - and the poisonous - mistletoe, yew berries, nightshade - that made him feel in control. It wasn't a feeling he'd been used to much ever since arriving in the Capitol.
Everything here was so unnatural, so distinctly separate from everything he'd known before.
It wasn't just the clothes or hairstyles the Capitolites showed off; it was the bright buildings lit up all night, the trees planted along the avenues in perfectly straight lines, even the lack of bugs flying into the Training Center apartments.
Cin had never imagined he might miss District 7. For so long, it had been a nightmare.
He was half-awake when his mother picked him up.
"Shh, go back to sleep, sweetie," she whispered as he started to open his mouth to ask why she was waking him up.
It was still dark outside the window. Cicadas were buzzing, and off in the distance he could hear bats squeaking away, flying somewhere above. It wasn't time for school yet, but his mother held his backpack. His notebooks were on the dresser, and the drawers were open. Cin didn't have much clothing, but the drawers were emptied.
"We're going for a walk," his mother said. Her brown hair tickled his cheek as he laid his head down on her shoulder.
They left the house slowly. His mother walked carefully, silently, avoiding the floorboards that creaked. There was loud snoring that muffled the sound of her opening the front door.
Cin blinked into the darkness, and barely made out the shape of a person sleeping on the couch.
He liked his father only when the man was sleeping. When his father was asleep, it meant he couldn't hit Cin anymore.
That day had been one where his father came home especially irate, already drunk, and holding a snake he'd found somewhere outside. He'd thought it was funny to dangle it over Cin, to let the snake slither around the boy's neck while Cin cried.
Cin buried his face in his mother's neck.
It was chilly outside and smelled like wet earth. The ground was littered with amber leaves, shining in the moonlight.
"We're going somewhere else," his mother whispered, maybe to herself, maybe to Cin. "Somewhere safe."
"Dad's not going?" Cin said, voice small, not able to imagine a place his father wouldn't be looming.
His mother kissed his forehead. She kept walking, faster now, though her heartbeat was steady. "No. He won't find us."
Cin had looked at her then, to see her face, to see if she was joking.
His mother mustered a smile for him. But all Cin saw was the purple bruise all around her right eye and cheek, turning yellow around the edges. He held her tighter and leaned into her shoulder again, and willed her words to be true.
He only woke up once they were deep in the forest, and his mother was walking up a short set of steps.
They were at a small shack, its few windows glinting in the early dawn, birds singing from the trees above. They had made it.
"We're home, Cin," his mother said.
Since that night when he was seven, his home had been the forest.
He missed the smell of the soil. He missed the way sunlight looked when it filtered through the boughs. He missed watching the world bloom around him with life. He even missed snakes, though he kept his distance from them. There was nothing like that here in the Capitol aside from their manicured gardens. Everything was for show here.
Images from the parade slipped through his mind, flashes of them like falling leaves: the blinding camera lights and cheering crowd, the feeling of the chariot rumbling under his feet, seeing his own face projected on screens along the City Circle, President Snow staring down at them. It all seemed so long ago. The reaping felt like another lifetime already.
What was his mother doing now? What about his friends? Tony and Jack were probably visiting his mother, or trying to convince his boss at the lumber mill to give her Cin's last paycheck. When his thoughts turned to Willow though, her laugh, the way her bright green eyes looked as she peeked over at him during class, the way she'd been tilting her face up to his at the Justice Hall-
Cin swallowed hard. It was too much to think about.
He hurried to the axe station, one of the other places here he felt some sense of control. It was the only weapon he knew how to use, but it was much better than nothing, and he wanted - needed - to feel like more than the hunted for a few minutes.
All around the gymnasium, Cin's fellow tributes were spread out, though a bit sluggish after lunch.
There was the boy from 12 making a snare. The girl from 10 was nervously handling a knife. The volunteer boy from 5 was throwing spears. Did everyone feel just as lost as he did, or was all alone in that too?
His throat tightened, promising tears, but Cin forced himself to grab an axe off the weapons rack instead.
For twenty or thirty minutes, his mind was blank. He was used to the way the handle felt in his hand, even if the axes in the Capitol were entirely metal without any wood. He learned the way the axe belly was formed, how to bring it down on a dummy for the blade to slice off an arm, how to hit with the axe's poll in a way that would send anyone reeling.
By the time he set his axe down, he'd left dummies scattered, and the instructor picking up foam limbs.
Cin wiped the sweat off his forehead. He could stay here all day. But even he knew that the Gamemakers would notice, and probably not in a good way.
"I should ask you for a lesson."
He glanced over his shoulder.
A girl smiled at him, as if they were friends.
"Oh, uh," he glanced back at the axes, half-convinced she was talking to the instructor. But no, she was looking at him.
Her heart-shaped face was cheerful, a kind of happiness he hadn't really seen since the reaping, eyes bright. The girl from 9, then, one of the tributes who'd been popular with the crowd during the parade. He'd seen her at her the knot-tying station. She was a fast learner.
"Not much to it," he finally said. "It's easy to pick up."
"Probably been using axes since you were little," she said.
He nodded. "What do you use in District Nine? Wheat, isn't it?"
"Oh, we use scythes and things like that," she said, glancing around the gymnasium. "It's Cin, right?"
He couldn't help his surprise that she knew his name. He hadn't bothered to learn the other kids' names, half out of fear, half out of guilt. Giving everyone here a name made everything more real - more personal. But it was real. He couldn't ignore all the other tributes and expect the Games to just go away.
And now here was someone trying to talk to him. Someone wanted to know him.
"Yeah, that's right," he said. "What's yours?"
"Azzie," she said and smiled again. "Mind if I join you?"
He forced himself to stay rooted to the spot, to not turn her away.
Around the gymnasium, other tributes were beginning to pair off. There was the groupp from the rich districts, but others too.
The girl from 6 and the boy from 9 were at the fire-starting station together. There was the pair from 11 by the shelter-making one. The boy from 10 and the girl from 12 were walking to the archery station. Even his own district partner Evlin was at the knife-throwing station, and the girl from 2 was talking to her.
He couldn't expect to survive in the arena with nothing but enemies around. He'd spent years as a child being afraid, and then years growing up surrounded by a handful of friends he trusted with his life. Things for him had always been a matter of life and death.
But now he needed to have someone here with him too.
"Not at all," Cin finally said. "I'll show you how to throw axes if you want."
"Could you?" Azzie said, eyes widening in a way that reminded him of Jack, who was always laughing.
Cin nodded and finally returned her smile.
He picked up an axe, letting it glint under the cold lights, and tried to forget home.
Liz Baker - 15 y.o. - D5
...
- Training Center Gymnasium -
Liz tried not to stare down the Gamemakers.
They were spread out along the bleachers, purple robes twinkling.
Food from lunch was still spread around them. They took their time plucking large grapes from bowls or decanting green wine. It was a wonder if they weren't staining the notes they'd take every few minutes.
Two were looking at her. Waiting. Expectant.
She ripped her gaze away. It went against every instinct that was screaming at her to meet their eyes - to see if she could make them squirm - but common sense won out. Somehow, she knew her mentor wouldn't approve of a stare-down with the men and women who would be manipulating the arena.
Grabbing a rung, the rope itchy against her hands, Liz hoisted herself up.
It was her second time attempting to climb the net. The thing was massive, stretching from the floor to ceiling. Her first try had ended when Liz had lost her footing halfway and clambered back down, heart thundering. The mats below were soft but the idea of falling from that high was enough to send her back to any of the other stations.
Liz had tried some of the survival ones. They would be essential, of course, and her mentor had said as much too. She wasn't stupid. It was just that the physical ones came more naturally than fish hooks or edible insects. It was like her muscles operated independently from her brain. She didn't need to spend time analyzing an opponent or a target, but she needed to concentrate to make hooks or memorize beetle shells. One just made more sense.
Except climbing. That was one place where her legs froze up and the ground looked too far down. Her brain overtook her muscles there. She'd never had much chance to climb things in District 5 and it wasn't a disadvantage she appreciated.
Gritting her teeth, Liz climbed higher, hands so tight around the rungs that her fingers ached. Down look down, don't you dare look down...
She'd watched the tributes from 9 do this, the girl from 4, even the little boy from 11. The boy from 3 had nearly fallen off, but even he'd clumsily made it to the top.
Inadvertently, she peeked down, and the floor swirled far below.
For a moment Liz's blood ran cold. She was going to fall off this net. She was going to fall, break an ankle, and the Capitol would maybe heal it but then she'd still have earned a low training score because the Gamemakers were staring and they would notice definitely definitely notice her falling and hitting the mat-
She sucked in a breath and forced her feet to move, one rung at a time. Liz climbed down mechanically until her boots touched the ground. She shuddered but schooled her features. She tilted her mouth into a frown, eyebrows low, the picture of boredom. As if climbing a stupid net wasn't a skill she found worthy enough to keep trying.
Wiping her sweaty palms along her pants to keep the Gamemakers from seeing them shaking, she turned and - like her body knew - was walking to the wrestling station before her brain could catch up.
The instructor brightened. He'd gotten used to her face. "Welcome back."
"Feel like a rematch?" Liz said.
"I'll win next time," she said, grinning in the way that Jeremy always brought out.
He beamed back, all admiring, so handsome even with sweat dripping from his hair. He tossed the basketball onto a wire chair.
The patio behind her house was hot with the kind of heat that came on late spring days, burning off the buds from the few trees around.
Off in the distance, the hydro-electric generators hummed. Finches flew between power lines. It was peaceful. These kinds of days were her favorite, coming home after school with her boyfriend in tow, playing a game of basketball or football before doing homework.
Jeremy kissed her cheek, almost eye-level at an inch shorter than her. "I can help you with your thermal energy project if you want. I got a good grade on it when I had that class."
"Of course you did," she laughed.
Inside, her father was home already from work, sorting through some paperwork at the kitchen table.
"Hey, you two," he said, tan face breaking in an easy smile. "Playing a scrimmage?"
Liz nodded. "I nearly had him beat."
"She'll get you one of these days, Spokes," her father said.
Jeremy nodded. "I know it, Mr. Baker. Busy day at the plant?"
As they chatted, Liz wandered to where she and Jeremy had thrown their schoolbags in the living room.
Her father hadn't liked it when she'd started playing sports at home, even after school at first. She'd been younger then, getting shoved around by the bigger boys during P.E. and at team tryouts, her older brother among them.
When she'd started working out more, and training every spare minute, things began to change. She got taller - she was her father's daughter in that regard, and in the sports one too - and her limbs filled out with lean muscle. By fourteen, she could match for anyone in football or basketball.
Her father stopped complaining - or, at least, as much. Now he played against her when he wasn't too busy with work or cooking dinner. Sometimes, she imagined that if her father had been born in the Capitol, he'd be a professional athlete. But he was from the districts so his passion was relegated to being a hobby.
Still. They lived better than most. She'd never had to worry about food. Even more, she'd always had a surplus, enough to have a cake every holiday. She had a bedroom to herself, a house with a generous backyard. District 5 wasn't the poorest among the districts, but even here they were considered wealthy. Not that it kept her parents from working in the Coriolanus 10 power plant, though they were lucky enough to be management heads instead of floor laborers.
But it still didn't keep her name out of the reaping.
The front door opened, and Hank waltzed in.
Liz pulled a notebook from her backpack and hurried towards the kitchen before he could start with some insult, but it was too late.
"You smell awful," her brother said, drifting past, shooting her an irritated look.
Liz sneered at him. "Feel free to go back to work anytime you like."
"Three more years and you'll be off at work too," Hank said, voice saccharine. "No more slacking off after school then."
"Liz and I were just about to start our homework," Jeremy said, regarding Hank icily.
"How nice you're tutoring her," Hank said.
"Hank," Mr. Baker said, a warning.
Hank threw up his hands as he searched for a bottle of beer in the fridge. "Am I wrong?"
"When are you ever right?" Liz spat and grabbed Jeremy's hand, leaving her father and brother behind to argue.
Liz wasn't sure how much time had passed, how lost in her thoughts she was, or how many times the wrestling matched had turned.
But the Gamemakers were staring again.
Her arm was around the instructor's neck, and he was trying to unbalance her footing. She wasn't relenting. And the Gamemakers watched, pulled away from their food, pens poised and faces expectant. Watching to see if she could win again, or if her first win yesterday was just a fluke. It wasn't.
As she stared back at them, all of them in their stupid purple robes, she tightened her arm over the instructor's windpipe.
She was fighting a man from the Capitol. His green hair was in her face, and the gemstones in his nails flashed as he reached for her arm.
Liz was exhausted, sweat running down her neck, but blood was roaring in her ears, egging her on.
How far could she take this fight?
The instructors couldn't actually hurt the tributes, even when sparring. But how much would the Gamemakers let her get away with?
She wanted to make the instructor suffer. Maybe he'd trained tributes the past year, ones who'd died in the arena. She wanted him to be afraid for his life like she was every single damn second since her name was called at the reaping. She wanted him to be afraid of her, a girl from the districts, while the Gamemakers watched.
But one of the Gamemakers turned, peering at something behind her.
And Liz realized they weren't the only ones watching.
She let go of the instructor who coughed, red faced, but nodded his approval.
"Well done," he said. He didn't look afraid at all, and it only made her angrier.
Liz turned, and faced the other tributes standing near the wrestling station, their eyes on her.
The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 were impossible to ignore. They'd spent the two days of training thus far making their rounds of the weapon stations, not to mention their rowdiness at lunch. And there had been yesterday when they'd watched her, when Power had noticed their gaze on her too.
For a moment, Liz hoped they'd find something else to occupy their attention, like yesterday. She wanted to slip away and go back to trying to climb the net, do something that wouldn't have them looking at her with those slight smiles on their faces, like they were impressed - or maybe it was just that they expected her to be impressed at receiving their attention.
"You're a great wrestler," the blonde girl - District 1 - said, a kind of familiarity in her voice, like she and Liz were old acquaintances.
"You're a natural," the boy with cardinal-red hair - also District 1 said.
The muscular boy from 2 and the short girl from 4 were quiet. Neither of them were smiling, but the boy didn't have the stoic expression she'd seen on his face during the parade. Both of them just looked curious, like she was a puzzle they could solve.
The boy from District 4 sauntered up, all golden hair and skin, like he'd spent his life lounging on a beach. Maybe he had. He was tall, but she liked that she was taller. He had to look up at her a bit as he smiled warmly. She didn't return the look.
"It's Liz, right? District Five?" he said
She nodded once. "Yeah."
He watched her for a moment, as if expecting her to care enough to know his name.
"I'm Marlen," he finally said. "We wanted to see if you felt like going around some of the stations with us."
For a moment, she couldn't help her surprise. She knew he saw it too, light-blue eyes searching her face.
And just like that it, it was as if Hank was standing in that boy's place. Her brother, with his mocking and insulting, looking down on her for as long as she could remember.
The only time he hadn't seemed to think she was beneath him was at the reaping. It was his last one. As she'd climbed the stage, glaring at the escort who held her name on a paper slip, she'd seen him in the very back row of boys. He didn't looked happy. He even wished her luck in the Justice Hall. But it was fifteen years too late to make up, to pretend they were anything but at odds.
Whatever Marlen and the rest of his allies saw in her - the physical strength, the capability - they had no idea who she was. If they expected her to be flattered, for her to feel that their alliance offered any protection other than a ticking time bomb, they were dead wrong. And if they expected her to be afraid, to cower to their invitation out of fear of how they might retaliate, then they were more arrogant than she already thought.
They were just bullies like her brother, and she'd outgrown crying over his words.
Marlen watched her - they all watched her. Even the Gamemakers.
"No thanks," she said, and walked past them, shoulders back, jaw set, and let them watch her leave.
Marlen Beckett - 18 y.o. - D4
...
- Training Center Floor 4 -
The Capitol was full of light and rushing colors below.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend it was the ocean.
There were electric waves crashing against a concrete shore, buildings with glimmering windows rising from the surf.
But then a car horn would honk, too-loud chatter would float up on a warm breeze, or he would realize how few stars he could see with the city lights blocking them out. The spell was broken. He was back in the apartment in the Training Center all over again.
Not that he was complaining about that.
Marlen turned from the balcony and walked back inside.
Air conditioning, they called it, the artificial chill indoors making goosebumps rush down his arms. The smell of dinner's roasted peacock still lingered as the Avoxes cleaned the plates off the table. He missed the smell of brine and sand. He even missed the way it clung to his hair, all gritty and stubborn on his scalp.
Reaching a hand into the pocket of his Capitol-provided trousers, his fingers brushed over a smooth shell.
It was pointed on one end, but not so much as to be a danger. The other end was a flourishing swirl. Horn shells were his favorite. He'd found this empty one on one of the southern beaches years ago and had kept it his pocket ever since. Maybe, if he put his ear to it, he just might hear the waves.
"Marlen, come chat with me."
Reef stood there in the entryway to the lounge, waving a hand.
They'd already had a general discussion at dinner about every detail of what had transpired during training. But Marlen had known that his mentor would want to speak with him alone at some point, seeing as how he and Marina were training separately. Were Amethyst and Finnegan training separately? He assumed not. But things with Marina were different.
"Tired?" Reef said as they settled across from one another on plush, emerald-green couches.
"No more than usual," Marlen said easily. But he couldn't deny that he was tempted to go lie down and drift off to sleep.
Training at school was one thing. He was used to it, used to the other kids orbiting around him. Training here was like a new kind of learning, some new strategy, balancing out a delicate alliance with others who had been raised up to be just as lethal as him. His classmates in District 4 weren't out to kill him. Usually. But here? Everyone needed to prove themselves, or die trying.
"What were you thoughts from today?" Reef said, running a hand through his red hair. "About the alliance possibly growing."
Marina. Right. Not, of course, the girl from District 5.
The memory of her walking right past him made Marlen's fist tighten around the shell.
He hadn't mentioned Liz brushing them off at dinner, and Marina hadn't either. Marlen still couldn't hardly believe it actually happened. Liz had looked at him like he was beneath her, like she had any room to stand on, like she could somehow fight all six of them at once.
She'd made a big fucking mistake. It wasn't just turning down the alliance, it was a fucking insult. If Liz was hoping he'd forget, she was in for a shock. But the worst part of all: it had been his idea to finally offer her an invitation to join them. His idea. And she'd made a fool out of him.
"I think Marina showed a lot of promise," Marlen said, giving his most charming smile.
"You hadn't mentioned inviting her to train with your alliance before," Reef said neutrally.
Marlen shrugged. "She's my district partner. I realized it would've been wrong not to."
Well, that, and the fact that the others kept asking about her. He saw the way they would glance over at her in the gymnasium, a question in their eyes as they peered back at him. It was obvious why Garrick didn't want an alliance with his district partner, but Marina was slowly proving herself capable during training.
He'd been keeping an eye on her himself, watching her at the knife-throwing station, climbing the net, and tying knots into complex traps. She didn't have the polished discipline he and the others did, but Marina wasn't wide-eyed and stumbling like so many of the other tributes.
"She gets along with everyone," Marlen continued. "They like her well enough."
"Do you think you're going to make your alliance official tomorrow? It's better to settle it around when scores are announced, rather than waiting to organize it during the interviews."
Marlen nodded. "Of course. After the scores tomorrow, we'll make it final."
Reef studied him, dark-blue eyes questioning. As victor of the 33rd Hunger Games, Reef was one of the first tributes who'd volunteered as a fully-trained fighter from District 4. District 1 and 2 had already been making powerful tributes for a decade by then. Reef was unassuming, but he was a victor.
Even now, he leaned back casually, looking more like he'd rather be surfing than mentoring. But he'd outsmarted his allies during his Games, and won by stabbing the boy from 2 in the back - literally. If there was anyone who knew about alliances, it was him.
"Make sure you get some rest," Reef finally said. He stood up, heading out of the lounge before he glanced back. "And, Marlen, remember - these aren't your friends, no matter how you might get along. There's only one victor."
Marlen smothered the thrill that ran up his spine. "I'll remember."
"Remember your lines," Cecelia said, arranging the blanket around her legs. It shimmer like a mermaid tail.
"I won't forget, unlike you always do," Marlen said jokingly, and Cecelia laughed. He pulled his hat on and checked the feathers tucked into it. Everyone else might see seagull feathers, but in his mind's eye it was a grand plume from a rainbow-colored parrot.
Rhys adjusted his long coat and hook hand. "Do I look scary?"
"It looks perfect," Marlen said. He climbed onto the stool Cecelia had brought over for him.
At eight he was still one of the shortest in his class, and his older siblings stood over him now after their growth spurts. But from up here he could survey their family parlor, checking that the billowing sheets Rhys and Cecelia had hung up still looked good. The sheet behind them was painted with swirls of blue and clumsy green lumps, forming the archipelago background for their stage. The white one in front hid them from their audience until the show began.
"Ready?" Cecelia said, grinning at her younger brothers.
"Ready!" Marlen said, and couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled up.
The play was his idea, and he'd been the one to come up with the story. When his mother had supplied them with old clothes and gave them permission to make costumes, it was like a holiday. It had been easy to pick what kind of story he wanted: one of the fairy tales his mother read to him before bed, the one about the mermaid who led two pirates to buried treasure.
When he threw the curtain open, stuffed animals gazed at him from their seats, button eyes bright. They couldn't applaud, but that was okay, he could imagine it.
"Welcome, one and all, to the show!"
Marlen pulled the shell from his pocket, turning it over and over.
The dapples of orange and brown across it hadn't faded over the years. It looked like he'd just plucked it from the shore a week ago.
His memories still felt just as fresh, surfacing now and then. He used to feel guilty for pulling away from his siblings. Beginning training when he was ten meant things changed, but it was what he always wanted. They had pulled away from him too.
"You're different now, Marlen."
"You put your training ahead of your family."
"I can't trust you anymore."
He shoved the shell back into his pocket.
They didn't matter anymore. Cecelia and Rhys were back in District 4, amounting to nothing important. They could try to have a safe, boring life if they wanted to, and he wanted no part of it. They could be forgotten just like his parents one day, and buried next to their empty graves.
Marlen stopped halfway on the way to his room. The table was clear, the Avoxes were gone, but there were distant shouts.
He turned, following the noise. Light emanated from the viewing room, the one with the large screen and crescent-shaped couch where they'd watched the replay of the parade. A girl sat on the couch, remote held tight.
Instead of the Capitol and a line of chariots, the screen glowed with footage of an orange desert, sun burning from a vast blue sky.
A pack of tributes chased two others.
A blond boy ran ahead, faster than the others, curved sword in hand.
It didn't take him long to catch up to the slower of the two tributes he was pursuing. He was laughing, even as the other tribute - a girl from 8 maybe? 12? - shouted and clawed. It took even less time for her to die, blood soaking the golden sand, his sword gleaming and scarlet. A cannon boomed.
"That's the Fortieth Games, right?" Marlen said.
Marina jumped. She whipped around, and he grinned. "I thought you'd gone to sleep."
"Reef and I were talking." He nodded his chin at the screen. "That's Wallace Winston, District One. The victor. He's mentoring this year."
"It was playing on one of the channels," Marina said.
The pack of tributes chased the surviving one across dunes. Did the tribute escape them and live another day? Marlen couldn't remember. Not that it mattered - they all lost in the end anyway.
"Studying for the arena?" he said.
Marina was quiet for a moment before she turned off the screen. "Just curious. The arenas over the past few years have been really different. Arctic tundra, salt flats, jungle, desert - it's hard to predict what ours could be."
Marlen wanted to ask why she'd actually been watching the Games. That arena bullshit couldn't have been the reason. He'd spent the past eight years watching and rewatching the Games, along with everyone else in his classes, trying to pick out strategy, analyze mistakes, anything to know how he should act once it was his turn.
But had Marina watched them so much she knew them by heart? Or was she playing catch up now? He was willing to bet on the latter.
She stood up, and crossed the room. "Well, goodnight anyway. Private sessions are tomorrow, we'll need our rest-"
Marlen blocked her path, leaning against the doorway. "We haven't really gotten a chance to talk alone. Everything's been so... fast-paced."
"Good point," Marina said, tone unreadable. She folded her arms, peering up at him, and tilted her head. "What's on your mind?"
He considered dancing around it, persuading her to admit everything, but somehow he didn't think that would work with her. So, being blunt it was.
"Why did you volunteer?"
Marina blinked in surprise. "Same reason you did. I want to win."
"But why?" he shrugged. "You never showed much interest before. You've only been training for, what, a year? You weren't the academy's choice as volunteer."
"My priorities changed," she said. "Besides, there've been volunteers before that weren't picked by the academy."
"But you're seventeen. Why not wait another year? You would've had more time to train. Why this year?"
"Why? Were you hoping that Tetra would be here with you?"
Marlen laughed. "I didn't care about her... but she would've been a solid ally."
Marina was silent. She stared at him, and he couldn't help his smile. Marina was on thin ice with their alliance, still having to prove herself, and he liked that she knew that. She might've gotten the spotlight at the reaping - which should've been his - but he wouldn't let her be the star of their alliance. He didn't mind having her around, but needed to remember that she was the outsider here.
"Something Tetra and I have in common then," Marina finally said, and grinned. "Goodnight, Marlen." She brushed past him, and he finally moved, listening as her footsteps faded until a door shut.
Marlen stared at the blank screen. He could imagine Wallace's face there, laughing as blood spattered it.
Marina didn't get to the part of his Games three days later, when his allies tries to gang up on him, and how wrong it went for them. Alliances were a careful, fragile thing in the arena, like Reef said, temporary even among district partners.
Tomorrow was the end of training, and would solidify any decisions - or break them. Marina was right about one thing: they needed rest.
Marlen tucked the shell into his pocket and turned away from the screen.
Happy end-of-June, everyone!
I hope you all liked the chapter. Our second full day of training is complete. The next day marks the private sessions day. I'm aiming to have that chapter out in a couple weeks, and keep up this schedule.
Thank you to SakuraDragomir and Paradigm of Writing for reviewing the past chapter! I really appreciate it.
Feel free to leave some thoughts on the chapter and characters. What opinions do you have on the alliances? Which ones seem genuine? Which ones do you think will fall apart? Which characters are your favorites/most disliked? I want to hear everything.
Have a good rest of the month, and thank you for reading!
~ Meghan