And the final day of training is here!
~ Meghan
The Divide.
...
Training Day III
...
"It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be."
- Virgil, 70 BC Roman Republic - 19 BC Roman Empire
Darien Dragomir - 18 y.o. - D12
- Training Center Floor 12 -
Darien woke to sunlight dripping through velvet curtains.
Even after two full days in the Capitol, he still wasn't used to waking up here.
He reached a hand across his pillowcase. It was the kind of shiny, sleek material - silk? - that only merchant families could afford. The mattress was so soft that he sank into it, and if he had cut it open he'd probably find mounds of feathers. The covers were thicker and warmer than anything he'd felt before.
But none of it would ever be comfortable. He would take another night of sleeping in their leaky Seam house with its rotting porch over this foreign luxury - he'd take a lifetime of it.
Darien pulled himself out of bed before he could imagine his brother's face.
That didn't stop the thoughts though, running like a brook through his mind, vivid and flowing.
Drew would like living in the Victor's Village. He would probably crack some joke about having seen better, or about how he'd try to swing from the chandeliers. The houses in the Victor's Village were bound to have chandeliers, right? Something fancy.
No matter how he thought about it, Darien couldn't image himself in one of them. Just Drew, always Drew, happy and with a full stomach, growing up somewhere better than what they had. Not that Drew ever complained. And that just made it worse.
Darien forced himself to shower, to stop thinking about home or any of the empty houses waiting on a District 12 victor.
Just like working in the mines, just like putting his snares around the district fence, he broke everything into steps. First he needed to wash his hair. Then he needed to pick a soap from the wall of buttons. Then he needed to dry his hair. Then he needed to put on a robe and change into his clothes for the day.
But an Avox was already there in the room.
She turned, a green shirt in her pale hands. A pair of dark black pants and white socks were on the bed.
"Oh, sorry," Darien said, suddenly feeling as if he wasn't supposed to see the woman.
Every day, a new outfit appeared on his bed for training. He hadn't questioned who was coming in and picking it out, having assumed it was their escort, Julius. But of course Julius wouldn't do that himself. The people here in the Capitol had servants at their beck and call to do things for them.
The Avox laid his shirt on the bed without a word.
Servants who don't have tongues any more. Darien swallowed. He'd forgotten that. This woman, according to the Capitol, was a criminal - someone who the Capitol deemed unworthy of ever speaking another word. What had she done? What had been bad enough for them to punish her like that?
With a start, Darien realized that he was a criminal too. His poaching wasn't legal, and he knew it, even if the Peacekeepers rarely punished anyone for it. He could just as well be arrested and have his tongue cut out, turned into a servant as punishment. Besides, he was already being punished - for being born district, for a rebellion that he hadn't been alive for. That was enough for the Capitol to punish them all.
As the woman turned to leave, she gave Darien a look so pitying, green eyes so searching, that he didn't say a word as she left.
For a minute, he couldn't move.
This woman was a slave, her voice stolen from her, and she pitied him.
Her eyes, that green, the slight lines on her face from stress and age... she looked like how Darien remembered his own mother.
Suddenly he was relieved his parents were dead. He was glad his father died in a mine explosion, glad his mother died brokenhearted, glad they were six feet under in graves dug within months of each other. He was thankful they couldn't witness him now.
A painful lump choked his throat. Darien blinked back tears, breath shaking, and put on the clothing the Avox had left.
He walked slowly to the dining room, nervous she might be there, that he'd have to face her. Did that woman have children, left behind when the Capitol took her from wherever it was she came from? Were any of them around Darien's age? How many other children had she witnessed going through the Games, how many outfits had she laid out for kids who didn't know they were already dead?
But the Avoxes had already put out breakfast. They were gone, leaving behind platters of steaming food.
Raven and Agrippina sat at the table, talking quietly, both looking serious.
"Good morning," Darien managed.
Their conversation ceased, and he suddenly wished he'd listened to what they'd been saying.
"Good, you're both here now," Agrippina said, sitting up even straighter somehow. Despite the lavish breakfast, she only had a cup of coffee in front of her, and a sheet of papers with notes written by a neat hand. "We need to discuss today. As your final day of training, it'll be slightly different. Do you know why?"
"We'll have private sessions today," Darien said quietly as he piled his plate with as much as he could. No part of him was hungry, feeling sick with an ache for home and nerves for the day to come. But it was necessary for him to eat. Who knew how long he'd be hungry in the arena for?
Agrippina nodded. A lock of shiny, dark blue hair fell over her shoulder. "You'll have fifteen minutes each with the Gamemakers to show them what you're capable of, not a minute more nor less. Use every second of time. Look them in the eye; your humbleness ends when your private session begins. As tributes from District Twelve, you'll go last."
Darien relaxed slightly. That seemed much better than being one of the earliest tributes.
"That means they'll be bored by the time you get there," Agrippina added, giving him a significant look. "You'll need to keep their attention. I'd recommend you each start with key skills, whatever you're most proficient with. Ignore anything you're not sure you'll do correctly. There isn't any room for errors with these scores, as initial sponsors are among the most crucial in the Games."
Darien looked down at his plate, and forced himself to start eating, trying to keep it all from coming back up.
After Agrippina had discussed the schedule of the day (morning training would go on as normal, private sessions were to happen after lunch), she left to find Octavian and discuss tonight's replay of scores. Their stylists would join them that night as well, which didn't make Darien feel any better.
Silence settled over the table.
Raven picked at her plate of sausages and vegetables.
Finally, she gave Darien a shy half-smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"I didn't have any dreams last night," Darien admitted, "so I guess so."
Raven nodded. He knew she'd probably had nightmares over the past few days too. How could they not?
"What do you think you'll do during your private sessions?" she said, and fiddled with her napkin, twisting it until a few threads came loose.
"I'm not sure," he admitted. Snares, sure, and pickaxes. But he didn't have any flashy skills with swords or poison to impress the Gamemakers. While he'd learned how to start a fire and make a shelter after two full days of training, it still didn't feel like enough.
Raven sighed. "Agrippina said it's boys before girls, so I'll be last. No wonder Twelve always has low scores... Nico said nobody from District Ten has gotten above a six in the past few years."
Darien couldn't help frowning at the name. Nico.
He'd been surprised the day before, seeing Raven talking with the boy from 10 at the throwing knives station. Nico was one of the tributes dressed up as a cow during the parade, the one who'd looked so irritated about it in the stables.
Raven had been having lunch every day with Darien, and invited him to eat with her and Nico yesterday.
But it became clear that Nico didn't care for Darien being there, if his sharp looks when Raven turned away were any indication.
The feeling was mutual. There was something about Nico - like he was ready to bolt at any time, and take out the knees of the closest person to do it. Darien couldn't put his finger on what exactly told him that, but he knew in his gut that associating with Nico in the arena would probably mean a knife in his back.
So why was Raven even spending time with him?
"Are you training with Nico again today?" Darien said, trying to keep his voice light.
Raven nodded. "I think so. We'll probably try to do more of the edible plants station. You... would you want to join us?"
Darien fished for an answer, stalling by drinking some tart orange juice. "I think I need to do more weapons stations today. I don't really have much to show the Gamemakers except a mining demonstration with a pickax."
Raven's lips quirked up in another smile. "At least you have that. I don't have much."
Maybe that was the only advantage of being Seam. They got to have experience with one weapon, and just to risk their lives every damn day in the mines to get it. But there wasn't a guarantee that pickaxes would even be in the arena.
"You could have lunch with me and Nico again," Raven said, sounding hopeful.
The idea of sitting there with Nico again while Darien's instincts told him to get away sounded like misery.
"Are you allies with him?" he blurted.
Raven looked as stunned as he felt.
Darien blushed. He hadn't meant to say it, at least so bluntly.
"I... well, I figure we'll agree to being allies officially today," Raven said. She twisted the napkin around her fingers faster. "Were you thinking of allying with anyone?"
Darien was quiet. He hadn't really, hadn't thought it out fully. His entire focus had been on just getting through training with his sanity, and picking up some skills that could help him stay alive. He'd gotten so used to eating lunch with Raven, to talking with her, but he hadn't actually considered the ending of that. For a little while, it was nice to pretend that they were still in District 12 in this way, putting off classifying Raven as ally or enemy.
But training was ending, and it was a fantasy to pretend they weren't tributes. It wouldn't make the Games go away.
"You trust him?" Darien asked instead. "Nico, I mean?"
Raven stared at him, eyes wide.
Finally, she murmured, "I do. He's... he has a brother, he misses him. And he's funny. I feel like you'd both get along."
And that quickly, Darien remembered that he and Raven weren't friends.
They'd never interacted in school much, aside from sharing classes and knowing of each other. They probably wouldn't have ever spoken if it hadn't been because both of their names had been called at the reaping. The Games were in three days. Only one person would win.
If he was ever going to see Drew again, Raven wouldn't be alive. And if she was ever going to see her twin again, Darien would have to be dead.
The loneliness felt crushing, so much so that he had to put his cup down, couldn't touch his food any more.
"I don't think you should trust Nico," Darien said, voice hollow. "I don't think it's a good choice."
Raven gave him a look, more hurt than anything. "Just because you didn't make an alliance, it doesn't mean you should sabotage mine."
They both sat their, staring at each other, and Darien could almost hear the cracking and shattering of whatever trust they'd been building so far. It was gone, and they were both left without words now, and he wasn't sure if it was better than pretending things were normal. It didn't feel better.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Their blue-haired escort stepped out.
"Children, it's time for training!" Julius called, clapping his hands. "You have a big day ahead."
Evlin Grove - 14 y.o. - D7
- Training Center Elevator -
The walls of the elevator were cold.
Evlin let the wall thrum against her cheek as they descended, head leaned to the side.
"Remember, you'll come back up to the apartment after your private sessions," the woman said curtly. Some glitter fell from her sparkling lips. Evlin still couldn't remember their escort's name, and couldn't be bothered to ask.
Cin nodded, but didn't reply.
Conversations in the District 7 apartment mostly went like that.
Evlin only spoke when she had to, and Cin was too shy to open his mouth most of the time. She didn't mind speaking with Sawyer every day about strategy, but that was pragmatic, and talking to her mentor was necessary. Otherwise, there was no one in the Capitol she needed to or wanted to know - escorts least of all.
The doors of the elevator opened. Evlin strode out, and didn't turn around to watch as it whisked the glittering woman away. Evlin missed the cool wall, something so solid, something to focus on aside from the rubber smell permeating the gymnasium.
Like every morning, a paper was pinned to her and Cin's backs. Like every morning, other tributes were gathered in a crescent.
On the left side, Princess waved.
Evlin settled on the right side, as far as she could get from the girl.
The pair from 3 was still missing, it seemed. Everyone had gathered in clumps with allies, or, for the majority, stood alone and tried not to look nervous.
These moments were Evlin's favorite. While it was useful seeing what skills others excelled at or avoided, it was even more telling how someone acted around others. Who would be the hunters in the arena? Who would be the ones cowering? Who would be able to be independent?
There was the biggest group, of course, the ones from 1, 2, and 4 who had been so loud at lunch every day. Even now they were laughing over something, gathered in a circle, backs to everyone else as if they were the only ones there.
Then there was the blonde boy from 9 talking to the tall girl from 6. The scarred girl from 12 was with the brunette boy from 10. The pair from 11 were together, but quiet, watching the others. Did any of them really trust each other? Were any of them already planning on killing their ally?
Evlin could only hope so.
The more tributes in alliances, the more chance they would implode and take care of each other.
The pack of trained tributes could pretend like they were indomitable, but, like every year, their alliance wouldn't last forever. All she had to do was survive until then, but the crumbling of every alliance was inevitable. Loyalty in the arena was for fools.
The elevator dinged, and the pair from 3 stepped out and got their pinned numbers.
Iasus blew his whistle from the center of the crescent. Everyone fell silent.
"It's the final day of training," he said, scanning the tributes' faces. "It's the last chance you have to prove yourself capable before the arena. Don't take it lightly, it's still just as important as before."
Evlin glanced over to where the Gamemakers were settling on the benches like usual, purple robes glimmering under the florescent lighting, banquet already set before them.
"You'll remain in the lunch room until we call your names," Iasus continued. "Until then, train as much as you can. Your lives depend on it."
Iasus blew his whistle, and a couple tributes jumped. The crescent began dispersing. The loud group of trained tributes - surprise, surprise - made a beeline for the mace station.
Evlin was halfway to the fire-starting station by the time footsteps caught up to her.
"Hi," Princess said, grinning, falling into step. "Did you sleep well?"
"No," Evlin said.
"That's too bad... Are you looking forward to your private session?"
"Not really."
"I'm sure you'll do great."
"Maybe."
Princess fell silent.
Evlin knew it wouldn't last long.
Somehow, she hadn't managed to shake off the girl yesterday.
After lunch, Princess had followed her to every station, trying to make attempts at a conversation. When Princess had first sat down at the lunch table with Evlin, there'd be some novelty about Princess being from District 2, but so different from their usual volunteers. It was just a shame she seemed incapable of shutting up.
Princess was obviously desperate to talk to someone, to have some semblance of company. The whole thing was so incongruous with the image Evlin had of the bloodlusting, ruthless tributes from 2 she'd seen in years past. But it was a major vulnerability, and Princess seemed completely uncaring about that.
Still. She knew things about her district partner, seemed to know about how the volunteers like him thought. Princess was useful. If Evlin could know more about the weaknesses some of the strongest tributes had, it would ensure her survival that much more until their alliance tore itself apart. If the boy from 2 was as bad at animal tracking as Princess said, then it would be useful to know if he was trying to chase Evlin through the arena.
But Princess was like a splinter, digging under Evlin's skin. She was just so... cheery. Evlin was already an introvert, but she felt exhausted just by hearing Princess talk.
But usefulness beat any temporary irritation. Evlin would never have to speak to Princess after today.
"Would you want to do the archery station?" Princess said. "I can teach you."
Evlin peered over at the station, empty at the moment.
"Let's go," Princess said.
When they reached the station, the instructor greeted Princess with a familiar smile.
"Good morning, Marcella," Princess chirped.
Evlin's eyebrows rose. She knew the instructor's name?
"Back to show off again?" Marcella said, but smiled.
"I'm here to teach," Princess said, motioning to Evlin. "Sorry to take over your job."
"There's not much I can teach you about archery," Marcella said. She turned to Evlin. "You've picked a good instructor."
As much as Evlin wanted to walk away, it was better to make friends with this Capitolite. Princess had pointed out the Gamemakers talking to the instructors the day before. If Marcella reported something good about Evlin then it could influence her training score.
So Princess held up an arrow, naming all the parts of it - point, shaft, crest, fletching, nock - and what they did. Marcella added in extra information, and picked out a bow for Evlin's height.
"And you'll pull the string like this," Princess said, drawing it back to her mouth, eyes staring down the arrow shaft, "and then release it."
The arrow flew into the center of a dummy's face.
"Does you district partner shoot as well as you do?" Evlin said.
Princess beamed at the compliment. "Definitely not. Garrick trains with a lot of weapons, but he definitely prefers swords."
Does he, now?
"His sister was really good with swords, too," Princess said.
"Was?" Evlin echoed.
"She died three years ago, volunteering in the Thirty-ninth Games."
Evlin was stunned into silence. Then again, there were probably a lot of families like that in 2.
"He only started training after she died," Princess said, tightening her ponytail. "I remember, since I started training that year too."
Three years ago. So Princess had been just 10 years old, getting taught how to handle deadly weapons and how to kill other kids. The whole thing was so unthinkable and foreign that Evlin couldn't imagine it, like nothing in District 7.
She'd started working at a lumber mill a year prior at 13 years old, but it was still only a junior position chopping excess wood. But even that allowed her to use an ax, getting used to how the weight felt, how to swing it correctly. Nobody considered teaching her how to use it on other people, though.
"Your parents put you in training?" Evlin said, curiosity getting the better of her.
Princess stared at her a moment, blue eyes more guarded than Evlin had seen so far. "Yes."
She didn't say anything else about it, and Evlin didn't push. She was glad Princess didn't ask her about her own parents. Evlin didn't want to think about home much, didn't want to consider the loneliness she usually felt in school there. But she was glad that Princess didn't seem to like her own family. This girl had clearly grown up with money, without fear of the reaping every year, and Evlin had no sympathy for her.
Evlin managed to hit the target after a while, though not a bull's-eye, and Princess clapped for her. The bow still felt strange in her hands, clumsy. Axes felt so much more natural.
"You must know how to use an ax," Evlin said, trying to line up her arrow with the dummy's chest.
"Not really," Princess admitted. "They're not as popular as swords or spears back home. Knives are common too."
Evlin loosed the arrow. It wasn't a good shot, but it still hit the dummy's shoulder. "I wonder if Garrick's allies know any special weapons from their district. I saw them using tridents yesterday; the ones from Four were good with them. Maybe they'll surprise the Gamemakers with something secret."
"I doubt it," Princess said. "See, look at them right now."
Evlin turned. The group was over at the knife station.
"The girl from One likes to use throwing weapons the most, archery too," Princess said. "I bet you she's awful with close-range weapons like a hammer."
"How can you tell?" Evlin said, watching as girl managed to hit the bulls-eye several times with a handful of knives.
"You can't master every weapon, so most people train with a category of them. It's probably similar in District One."
Evlin couldn't remember seeing the girl from 1 using any of the close-range weapon stations. Or, when she was, it had been to watch her allies.
"What about the boy from One?" Evlin said.
They'd been the ones to talk to her after the parade. Well, talk about her.
Ooh, look, Finnegan, it's the other redhead.
Evlin could still hear the girl's giggle, see the boy's smirk.
"He seems good with melee weapons," Princess said. "Light ones."
"Light ones?"
"He avoids heavy ones, like swords."
Evlin nodded. She thought for a moment before tilting her head. "Did you see them yesterday? Talking to the girl from Five?"
Princess shook her head. Evlin fought to not roll her eyes. Of course she hadn't noticed them.
Just because she was good with understanding weapons didn't mean she was any less oblivious to everything else.
"They were talking to the girl from District Five, and she walked away from them," Evlin said.
"That's dangerous," Princess murmured, frowning. "She'll have a target on her back now."
Evlin watched as Princess turned, nocking another arrow.
Princess had said she'd rejected allying with her district partner too.
Evlin imagined an ax swinging in her hand, and a target on Princess' back.
Trip Hewitt - 18 y.o. - D6
- Training Center Gymnasium -
The gymnasium felt the way the ring felt before a fight.
Trip could practically see the tension rolling off every tribute.
It made no difference to him that today was when they'd receive their scores.
Whether it was three days or three weeks, it didn't matter. It was the same most years: tributes like those from 1 would receive high scores; malnourished ones like the girl from 10 would score low; those in the middle or wild cards would make or break their impact during interviews.
Training felt like Trip was holding his breath. His lungs were screaming, and the tension needed to break.
The sooner the Games arrived, the better. Part of the torture of it was the waiting around, the pomp for the Capitol's benefit, all while knowing they'd be in the arena in a week. It was like Iasus had said at the beginning of training - within three weeks, twenty-three of you will be dead.
It was better to rip off the bandage than have to exist with this in-between.
"And migratory locusts like this one are excellent sources of fat."
Trip turned back to the woman showing off a bowl of bugs.
The edible insects station was covered with an array of other dried insects, and some live crickets chirping.
Food would be a major concern in the arena. How many times had Trip watched tributes on television suffer from starvation? Sure, it would take a few weeks of no food to kill someone, but the lack of food caused other problems that made surviving that much more difficult.
There wasn't much nature in District 6, except what he could see past the electrified fences. Hunting and foraging were major weaknesses of his, and Trip had spent the past two days trying to catch up. How much did that even matter to scores, though, compared to the others with bows and maces?
Fuck the scores and fuck the sponsors who would inevitably choose the flashy rich volunteers - he just wanted to learn whatever he needed during training for himself. Not for the Gamemakers, not the audience that just wanted to see him die. It was for him, only so that he would feel ready when the gong rang out.
"You've always been so determined," his mother said, laughing as Trip checked the oven again.
"They need to cook faster," he said.
Dinner was taking forever, stuffed potatoes, all gold.
"Don't you ever want to slow down, ask a question," his mother said.
She picked him up and sat him on her lap. He was almost too big for that now, but he didn't want to be. She smelled like diesel from the factory, but he didn't mind.
"You could ask me how many minutes are left," she said. Her dark eyes were warm, soft, a gentle strength. "Patience is a skill you'll need your whole life."
"It's not very fun," Trip said. He leaned against her shoulder. He could feel her heart beating a slow and steady rhythm.
"Sometimes things aren't. But that doesn't make them not worthwhile. Besides, there's always a way to have fun if you try."
She reached over, picking up a deck of cards. It was worn, some of the patterns fading, but they'd had it forever and played too many games to count.
Time melted away as they slapped cards down, laughing, countering each other's plays.
By the time the oven was done with dinner, Trip had forgotten about them altogether.
Trip clenched his fists in his pockets, not sure if it would be better to shove the thoughts aside or not. It was an old memory. It had lost the details of the colors of the room, of what time of year it was, but his mother and that feeling of safeness remained.
What was his mother doing right now? Hopefully she'd be surrounded by her friends, not just sitting inside worrying about him. She was a capable woman, he knew that, he'd always known that. But this wasn't something she'd ever had to endure before.
Chuck would be there, no doubt, holding her every day. Was he still running the ring?
Trip hoped so. What he would give at that moment, just to go the ring again, to fight in it himself.
He wasn't usually allowed to fight, not if Chuck was there. His mother would've asked about his bruises if he did, found out about it, and Chuck would've had to shut it down. Maybe Trip should've told her anyway about the fighting. Maybe it would've been better than hiding if from her.
A blond girl appeared at the bug station as Trip picked up a dead grasshopper.
She was instantly recognizable, almost as tall as Trip, as muscular as the trained tributes.
The girl from 5 eyed the pile of grubs and listened as the instructor explained the best ways to find mealworms in the arena.
Trip had been at the camouflage station the day before, right next to the wrestling one. He'd heard everything - how the boy from 4 had invited the girl from 5 to join them, and how she'd rejected them so outright.
Whether it was brave or stupid, Trip wasn't sure. Both, probably.
"This is either the most brilliant thing ever or the dumbest."
Chuck was pushing Trip away from the ring, away from all the confused faces. Seeing a 16-year-old near the fight was unusual; kids weren't allowed.
But Trip couldn't stop staring at everything. The pit for the fights, the high ceiling of the factory, the old rusted pipes everywhere. How had Chuck found this place? Was it Chuck who had started it? He was the one talking, the one in charge.
"How long have you been running an underground fighting ring?" Trip said in awe.
Chuck had him by the shoulder, dragging him out of the industrial doors. A dog barked in the distance, but otherwise the night was quiet. The ever-billowing smokestacks of District 6 rose up around them and poured into the overcast sky. Even the moon couldn't fight through the smog.
But inside it had been loud and screaming. Everyone was cheering as the two people fought, fists flying, swears spilling. Then the two fighters, covered in cuts and the promise of bruises, had shaken hands after - had even laughed. The tension they'd had at the beginning was gone. It was incredible.
"I want to watch them fight," Trip said to Chuck.
The man shot Trip a disbelieving look. "Are you kidding?"
"No, why would I be fucking kidding?"
"It was rhetorical. I know you're not, you're just not making sense, and don't fucking swear."
"You're so much cooler than I fucking thought, Chuck," Trip said, punching him in the arm.
He hadn't been sure what to make of his stepfather at first. Chuck was serious, sarcastic, and built as hell. But then Trip had seen the way he looked at his mother, at the devotion and love on his face, and had decided to tolerate him. After all, Chuck was a hard worker, and almost as good at cards as Trip or his mother.
But after a year of knowing Chuck, this was nothing Trip had expected. Suddenly he saw the man in a new light.
When he'd started following his stepfather that night, it had been a long time coming.
He hadn't bought that bullshit about Chuck having late work. He'd expected to find an affair, or even a morphling dealing maybe, but not a warehouse full of fighting.
"Let me join," Trip said.
"This isn't a place for kids, Trip," Chuck said.
"Let me help you run it then."
"Out of the question. Your mother would kill me."
"Then let me at least stay with you, then. Just once."
Chuck hadn't let him stay, hadn't let him go back to the ring for a while.
It hadn't been until Trip was 17 that Chuck let him watch the fights sometimes, on nights when it wasn't too rowdy.
After months and months of it, not until Trip started working at the factories at 18, did Chuck let him help run the ring. It didn't take long for Trip to learn the techniques the seasoned fighters used, to understand the outlet it provided everyone with.
And he still remembered the first time he won a fight when Chuck wasn't there.
It was almost by instinct that Trip left the edible bugs station and the girl from 5 behind.
When he ended up at the hand-to-hand combat, it seemed only right.
He'd been avoiding it, forcing himself to try every other station first. But he needed to fight.
The instructor - a man with teal hair - gave Trip a helmet, put on one himself, went over simple fighting techniques. He asked if Trip had ever fought before. Trip said he had. And then it began.
The instructor was fast.
Trip was faster.
They grappled, broke apart, countering each other.
It was a fair fight, a bad example for what would be in the arena. But it was what Trip liked best. He liked winning, not based off of cheating, but by being the absolute fucking best.
He struck again, an elbow and then a hook kick, and the instructor recoiled. The man was strong, but had he ever seen a real fight in person, not just training in an organized gym, or watching it on a television? Had he ever watched furious people wear themselves out in a ring?
This man couldn't understand the kind of anger in District 6, the kind that made people beat their neighbors or coworkers in a fight, thank each other, and then do it again the next week in an abandoned factory. This Capitol man hadn't grown up afraid, hadn't let it turn into rage.
Fury warmed Trip's veins, blood roaring in his ears. It drowned out everything else.
There was only the instructor, the mat beneath their feet, and the anger driving Trip's fists.
Jab, cross.
Rage for his name being drawn at the reaping.
Roundhouse kick.
Rage for his name being in the damn drawing at all.
Lead hook, rear hook.
Rage for the Capitol existing at all, for all the scars on his mother's hands from the factory, for all the fear the Capitol ever made him feel.
Rear uppercut.
The instructor's helmet went askew.
Cartilage crunched under Trip's fist, and blood exploded from the man's nose.
Trip was heaving, chest rising and falling, and he couldn't even feel the pain in his fist.
"You're agile," the instructor said, wiping at his nose. He didn't cry and didn't wince.
For the first time, Trip wondered if maybe, just maybe, there were underground rings in the Capitol too. But imagining Capitolites fighting in their fanciful clothing and makeup was laughable. Still, nobody probably expected it in 6 either.
He turned, waiting for his pulse to stop thundering.
And found two pair of eyes watching him from across the gymnasium.
Two boys, from 1 and 2, watched him from the spear station, interest painted across their faces.
The boy from 2 tilted his head, folding his large arms. The boy from 1 smiled slowly, a spear in his hand.
Trip held their gazes before he looked down at his fist, spattered with blood that wasn't his.
Marina Fischer - 17 y.o. - D4
- Training Center Cafeteria -
By the time lunch was called, Marina was sick of throwing knives.
Their table was even louder than yesterday, laughing over things that weren't that funny.
It had been a relief when lunch was called. Her group had spent the last half hour twirling knives and sinking them into dummies. It had taken every ounce of her concentration - and some sheer luck - to manage to hit the targets well.
While unsaid, it was obvious that Marina was still on probation. The others were watching her. She was still a prospective ally, not part of the inner circle yet, awaiting judgement from the others who'd trained for years for this. They gauged her capabilities at every station, waiting to find her wanting.
She was determined not to disappoint them - or, worse, piss them off.
Getting on bad terms with them would only lead to her cannon after the bloodbath.
"Not hungry?" Finnegan said.
Marina glanced at him, snapped out of thoughts of him holding a knife to her throat. "Huh?"
Finnegan's brows rose in amusement. "You're not eating. Everything alright?"
Marina peered down at her full plate. Everyone else had finished their lunch, but she'd barely touched hers.
How could she, when she felt seasick? Anything she ate would just come back up, and that wasn't the kind of splash she wanted to make in front of the Gamemakers. Their score would make or destroy her place with this alliance. She wasn't afraid - but she wasn't stupid enough to be carefree either.
"Too excited for your private session?" Amethyst said with a grin, turquoise eyes shining.
Marlen leaned his chin on his fist conspiratorially, and Amethyst laughed. "What're you planning on showing off?"
"Everything I can," Marina said easily. It was the truth after all.
Marlen made a show of miming himself throwing a spear. "Sorry you're after me, I'll be a hard act to follow."
His tone wasn't arrogant, it was sarcastic, and the table dissolved into another round of unnecessarily loud laughter. Marina joined in until her own laugh sounded distant, like she was hearing it underwater.
Iasus appeared at the doors to the gymnasium, and the cafeteria fell silent.
Marina's mouth was dry. She reached for her glass of water, but knew it wouldn't help.
"Finnegan Armani," Iasus said.
Marlen whooped and Garrick beat out a rhythm on the table that pounded behind Marina's skull.
Finnegan stood up. "Let's get this shit over with, wish me luck," he said as he walked off.
"You know you don't need it," Amethyst called.
Finnegan went through the doors, but the smile he cast over his shoulder was so genuine that it could've charmed the Capitol right there.
Marina frowned at her empty glass. This group acted like they genuinely liked each other, like they weren't going to - most likely - end up killing each other. If she didn't know better, she'd think they could just be a gaggle of friends at school, having lunch together.
Not that she knew what that was like, anyway.
"Why don't you go out today? The weather's good."
Marina didn't bother looking up from the ship schematics on the desk.
"The skiff will need a longer boom," she said. "The mainsail looks wrong otherwise."
Her father peered over her shoulder. After a minute of quiet thought, he hummed. "You're right. Make a note."
Marina didn't need to be told. The pen was already in her hand, notations scrawled onto the diagram. She'd mastered her own shorthand years ago, modeled after her father's, trusted enough now to write on his own schematics. She ignored the Capitol seal always present in the upper right corner.
"Why are you avoiding my question?"
"I'm not," Marina said. "You don't want to spend time with your daughter?"
She stood, filing away the skiff plans. The windows to her father's office were open, and he was right - it was nice out. Winter was falling away, past the last frost, giving way to a warm spring sun and a breeze scented with brine instead of snow. It was almost warm enough to swim for longer than a few minutes.
"I love that you want to spend time with me," her father said, "but it would be a nice day to go out with some friends."
Marina turned to him, where he sat in a worn leather chair fit for a captain.
Her father looked older these days. He'd seemed to age overnight with her mother gone, but there were touches of the sun everywhere from a life spent on the shores of District 4. The wrinkles around his eyes told of laughter, and the cracks along his hands showed difficult work. Marina and her father had the same dark curls and olive skin, shining amber in the late afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Marina thought he glowed sometimes, and she supposed that meant she did too.
How was she supposed to tell her father that she had no friends? Not besides him, Shelly, and the dolphins.
"Can I take the rowboat out?" Marina said, though they both knew it wasn't a question. The boat was practically hers, since she used it most days. "I won't be alone."
"Shelly doesn't count as company your own age," her father said, frowning, but his eyes shone with concern. "I was thinking someone aside from your sister."
Marina smiled. "I didn't mean Shelly. Thanks, dad." She kissed her father's cheek and hurried out before he could stop her.
The dolphins would be there, waiting in the deep water, and they were company enough.
"Amethyst Amberdust."
Marina snapped out of her daydreams. How had she drifted off for fifteen minutes?
Then again, everyone seemed somewhat preoccupied, even as Garrick and Marlen discussed the merits of steel versus wooden weapons. Finnegan wasn't there now to call her out on losing focus, he hadn't come back after his session.
Amethyst stood, smoothing her thick blond braid. "How do I look?"
"Killer," Marlen said. "Knock them dead."
Amethyst walked off with a bounce in her step like she'd already received a high score. Then again, hers was practically guaranteed.
Marina tried to seem interested in a story Marlen was telling about about getting caught in a net while out fishing at night with some friends. Her mind spun as she tried to sort out exactly what order she'd do the stations. What would look best when coming right after so many others more trained?
She'd tried every survival station before they'd asked her to join their group. Fire-starting, camouflage, the gauntlet... she had started to think they wouldn't even speak to her. Marina had begun to imagine being on her own in the arena, or with a couple others. Maybe the girl from 8 or the boy from 6?
But when Amethyst had appeared, Marina knew she couldn't refuse. Not that the girl from 5 seemed to understand that.
Marina had been taking every day one at a time. Today was about proving herself more than ever. If only they could see her swim, she'd be better than them all, better than Marlen too even if he could handle tridents better. She wasn't weak.
Sitting up straighter, Marina laughed at something she barely listened to, and Garrick started talking about his escapade trying to climb into a quarry as a kid.
He was interrupted by Iasus returning.
"Garrick Raymond."
"You're going to do great," Marina said, and managed a convincing smile. See? I'm good at this, pretending to be friends. I can do it too.
Garrick glanced her way, nodding, which was the closest thing to a smile she figured he got.
After he vanished, the table was quiet. She couldn't help being jealous of Finnegan and Amethyst, sessions done and dusted.
And Marina was left with Marlen at their table, which felt too large now for just the two of them.
She didn't exactly know where she and Marlen stood, especially not before yesterday night. Marina hadn't interacted with Marlen much at home, especially with him being on the training track and a grade above her, and she had barely spoken to him on the train. Mostly she'd talked to Muscida, listening to every word of advice her mentor could possibly have, desperate to know every shred of information.
Somehow she'd figured Marlen would find her weird. He'd always run with a crowd of popular kids, which she was not part of. Him finding her off-putting only seemed natural, especially after she'd stolen the volunteer spot from Tetra. But she couldn't read him last night. He'd just seemed curious, like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve, but he hadn't disregarded her yet.
"I wish I could take a nap instead of score sessions," Marlen finally sighed, stretching, like he was complaining about an everyday quiz in class.
"Can we get the Gamemakers to give us a rain check?" Marina said.
Marlen's lips twitched. "I don't know, they seem really serious." He made an imperious face.
"If they wanted me to take them seriously," Marina said, "they shouldn't have worn those robes."
Marlen burst out laughing, and a couple tributes - the boys from 7 and 8 - looked stricken from the next table.
"You know, it's too bad we never hung out at home," Marlen said.
Marina searched his face, trying to spot the signs of a lie, but she couldn't find any.
"Your dad makes some pretty good ships, by the way," he said. "My parents had one of his seiner boats. I think it got sold after they died, I haven't seen it in a while, but I still remember how perfect the rigging was."
Marina dug her nails into her palms. More waves of memories threatened to drag her under - her father's broken voice at the Justice Building, her sister's tight arms around her neck, and how much she missed the ocean - she missed it so much, it felt like a gaping hole in her chest everyone could see.
"Princess Daylight."
The girl from 2 got up and said something to the girl from 7, who didn't reply, before she left to the gymnasium.
"Why doesn't he supply them to the fishing rigs any more? His ships are private sales now, right?" Marlen continued.
"Yeah, I'm not sure," Marina said, willing her memories to drown, "I think he just prefers it."
Marlen nodded, and they were quiet for a while. Then they chatted a little, over small things, what food they missed from home, what gossip Marlen had of other socialite families like his, what they thought of the District 4 apartment in the Training Center. The tributes from 3 got called, the boy looking green and the girl looking grim.
Finally, Iasus called, "Marlen Beckett."
"See you for dinner," Marlen said with a grin, standing up.
"Try not to be jealous of their purple robes," Marina said.
Marlen winked, and then he was off in the gymnasium, and the table was empty.
It was just like at school again, only this time the lunch room was quiet, and Marina wasn't the only one feeling out of place. Out across the other tables, tributes were staring off at the walls, bouncing their legs, pushing around plates of half-eaten food. The boy from 5 got up and paced.
Marina took a steadying breath.
She was meant to be here. She wasn't going to let herself fail.
She tried to imagine the waves crashing over her head again and the feel of the rushing ocean around her.
By the time Iasus returned, Marina was already standing up, back straight and chin high.
Happy July!
I'm glad I got another update out within a month.
ALSO it's great to have training all done, and to start to feature other aspects of the Capitol's pre-Games events. I feel like it always creates really interesting spaces to see how different tributes interact, and to see how they misunderstand or connect with each other.
Over time, we'll have backstories continue to develop and relationships change. If you have any thoughts on the chapter, or last chapter, feel free to leave a review. I hope I'm writing everyone's characters well. Everyone will be featured in the next chapter for private sessions.
I figure I'll introduce the questions again! If anyone is interested in answering them, I'd love to know your thoughts:
1.) What do you think of the alliances? Which is strongest/weakest?
2.) Which one was your favorite POV and why?
3.) Any predictions for any of the characters?
Thanks for reading! I'll be back soon with an update, hopefully within a week.
~ Meghan