Pantheon Lexicus, 18

District Two Male, he/him

This is going to be a great day.

As soon as he was camera-ready, Theo repeated this sentiment to himself several times in the mirror. He hopes the cameras got a good shot of him brimming with confidence, bracing himself for every possibility that the day before him holds. He then shared the sentiment with Nerissa, who rolled her eyes, Rhosyn, who just gave him an odd look, and Callan, who looked beyond tired from what must've been a late night. Theo figures he could use a great day.

(Truthfully, Theo is a little… nervous. He's not sure that his contributions yesterday were enough for the producers. Despite his insistence that today will be good, he feels deeply unsettled, and Theo cannot for the life of him figure out why.)

He goes through the motions. Checks his reflection in the mirror one last time. Greets everyone he sees. Theo puts himself in as jovial a mood as he can – he needs everyone to match his energy, after all.

This is the same formula for success that Theo has been following his whole life. He can't say it's never failed, but he has to admit it's done far more good than harm. This way, he can keep all the extras pleased, and the audience will see that he's more than ready to face whatever trials and tribulations lay ahead.

Pantheon Lexicus is ready for anything.

He has to be.

His first hurdle of the day is figuring out how to split up the group. Theo spent some time debating this last night, and then again this morning when his internal debate was inconclusive. He even asked for Callan's opinion at breakfast, hoping for some insight, but his mentor merely wrinkled his brow and suggested whoever Theo most wanted to spend time with.

A mundane answer, but one that Theo nonetheless accepted. The audience clearly wanted him to get to know someone, and that's what he would do. There's one answer that sticks out in Theo's mind, but he'll have to be clever to make sure he doesn't have any unwanted guests.

His plan is simple. Theo doesn't want to assert too much dominance over the group right off the bat – he doesn't want anyone to chafe under his harsh rule. Instead, he'll let his allies lead, and then he'll swoop in with a carefully curated plan that no one can argue with.

Foolproof. The audience will love it, and Theo will save the day. A great omen, if Theo does say so himself.

"Good morning to everyone," Theo says to his assembled allies. The only one that looks truly excited to be there is Thessaly, and he greatly appreciates her actor's consistent enthusiasm. "First order of business: we need to figure out how to group up today."

"With seven of us, we can't split off evenly," Nerissa points out. "We'll have to figure out another way."

"A group of three, and then two pairs?" Zephyr suggests diplomatically.

Theo nods contemplatively, as if this wasn't the exact conclusion he came to earlier. "We should split off differently this time." To give the audience something new and different to look forward to. "The girls can be a group of three, and the rest of us can pair up. I'll go with Ibai, and Zephyr with Callum."

Pleased with his own idea, Theo waits for the others to agree and split off. He does not miss the curious glance exchanged between Zeph and Callum, or the way Thess is very excited about her grouping, or the way Nerissa is incredibly unamused. He does, however, miss the way Ibai's eyebrows pinch together as he looks to Thessaly for help.

"Works for me," Thessaly chirps, linking her arm with Nerissa's.

"It might be best if everyone spends at least part of the day at a weapons station," Theo continues. "Whether you pick up a new weapon or not, I'd hate to see anyone's skills get rusty."

This gets a light chuckle out of everyone. It's a ridiculous notion, really. Bar Zephyr, everyone has spent a good chunk of their lives training for this moment. A couple days won't make someone rusty. Really, Theo just wants to show off for his audience, remind them who they're rooting for.

(Not that they could ever forget.)

The split works exactly as Theo intended. Nerissa and Thessaly will make a nicely entertaining dynamic duo, and including Saccharine will help the poor One girl from completely falling into obscurity. Theo's starting to wonder if that's her true intention. She hardly seems to do anything, or talk, or even offer up her own opinion. Does she have any?

He's hoping that Zephyr and Callum will complement each other nicely. Letting someone as intriguing as Zephyr spend the day with Callum is a true kindness, as Callum isn't offering up much on his own. But Theo doesn't figure much can go wrong in the span of a day.

Theo picked Ibai as his partner for purely selfish reasons. He's been keeping track of everyone's archetypes, and Ibai is the only one that currently eludes him. The Four boy was happy to chat with Thessaly and Zephyr yesterday, but he grew strangely stiff anytime Theo drew near. Considering Theo's incredibly important status as the main character, this simply will not do, and he's determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

Everyone else slowly moves off, leaving Theo and Ibai alone in the middle of the training center. Ibai watches Thessaly almost longingly – Theo isn't sure whether it's a crush or district loyalty that has him so fixated on his District Partner, but he'll hopefully have the chance to find out. These are the kinds of secrets that any good protagonist should know, so he can help out his supporting actors to the best of his ability.

"Ibai!" Theo says, slinging his arm around the other boy. Ibai's shoulders immediately stiffen, but Theo tries not to mind. "Just the guy I wanted to talk to."

"Um… why? You talked to me last night."

"Yeah, with Thess. That doesn't count."

"... Why not?"

God, the producers really should've trained this guy better. Doesn't he know that a group scene is all about character dynamics and entertaining the audience, while a one-on-one is for really getting to know the different characters he's working with? Theo isn't exactly in a place where he can explain all of this to Ibai – someone who should already know this information – so he has to improvise a little.

"There's just something about you that… that really intrigues me," Theo says, clasping a hand to his chest dramatically. "The art of folding paper-"

"Origami."

"-is really interesting and all, but it doesn't tell me about Ibai. Besides that you enjoy that sort of shit, of course."

Wow. This guy is really giving him nothing. Ibai does nothing but nod along, like he's completely uninterested in the conversation. Theo was a little worried that this would be a problem without Thessaly there to make Ibai open up, but he didn't think it would be this bad.

"What kind of weapon do you prefer?" Theo asks, abruptly switching the topic.

Ibai jumps, and Theo's arm slides off his shoulder. His eyes are wary, like he's sure Theo's about to attack. "Why do you ask?"

Again with the questions. Theo frowns, starting to get irritable. "To go train? Spar? Show off a little?"

"No," Ibai blurts out. "I think… survival stations would be best."

Theo's starting to feel like he's missing cues. First Ibai hardly wants to talk, and now he doesn't want to spar. He supposes this means he could discuss his favorite topic – himself – and that's never a bad thing. He'll try to mask his disappointment, though. Theo was really looking forward to getting his hands on a pair of brass knuckles again.

The only completely open station is fire starting. Theo's stomach twists. He feels like he's doing this all wrong, but he's just listening to the cues he's given. It's not his fault if his chosen scene partner is getting everything wrong.

(Maybe it's Theo that was wrong from the start. Maybe he should've gone with Thessaly again, or Zephyr. They're both great at what they do.)

(But… Ibai seemed to be fine with the others. Theo doesn't understand how things have gone off the rails so quickly.)

(Or, maybe, he doesn't want to understand.)

Ibai doesn't appear to be interested in striking up a conversation, so Theo takes the lead. He can get his viewers excited and invested again with tales of the Fortuna Equestris, his trials and tribulations in finding (and losing) love, and the dramatic twists and turns of his training group. It's reassuring for him, as well – this is why he's supposed to be the protagonist. These are the reasons why people should be rooting for him, why they should adore him.

(Why they should love him.)

[Ibai twitches again, squinting at Theo as he does his best to listen. He isn't used to listening to someone else talk for this long, but he'll have to make do. It would be rather rude of him to stop paying attention, anyway. So every time he feels his attention slip, he sits up a little straighter and tries to stop thinking about boats. Hopefully there will be time for that later.]

"...And that's how I managed to win in the second round of the Fortuna Equestris without even breaking a sweat. It was so easy, it's like I was born for it!"

"Mhm."

Theo frowns. He doesn't understand why he can't seem to catch Ibai's attention. When Theo glances over at Ibai, the other boy's focus is entirely devoted to the bundle of firewood in front of him. Ibai gives Theo a cursory glance and a nod before he turns his attention back to the sticks.

Theo is starting to get desperate. He's running out of stories of his grand adventures, and the only ones he can think of now are… less than flattering. He doesn't exactly want to talk about his more embarrassing moments, and he certainly wants to steer clear of anything regarding Pollux. But, of course, in his time of need, that's the only thing that comes to mind.

So, instead, Theo falls silent. Ibai doesn't seem to notice the sudden lack of noise – maybe he's even relieved. Theo doesn't know. He still can't get a read on the other boy.

That feeling from earlier is back in full force. Theo thinks he's discovered the source. Here, in this new environment, Theo finds that he doesn't take center stage as easily as he used to. It's possible for him to fade into the background.

The only thing Theo doesn't understand is why.

(He's unsettled, yes, but not overwhelmed. Theo cannot let this get to him. He knows that tomorrow is another day, and he'll get things right. He'll solve whatever puzzle the producers throw at him, find out the right combination of people to highlight himself, and Theo will further cement himself as the rightful Victor of the Hunger Games.)

(Because if he doesn't…)

(If he doesn't, then what was all of this for?)

Marri Esters, 15

District Five Female, she/her

Things are going… surprisingly okay for Marri.

She has not set a high bar for herself. Based on how the past week alone has gone, that would be a dangerous thing to do. The simple act of getting out of bed has been hard. Luckily, she hasn't had much of a choice, so that's kept her moving, despite her mind's best attempts to get her to stop.

(Wouldn't it be for the best? her mind whispers even now, as she sits in the training center with a strange emptiness in her chest and no way to overcome it. There's no need to find something as fickle as hope in your surroundings. It will only lead to more loss.

Try as she might, Marri can never completely stamp out the voice. But she's doing her best not to listen to it.)

Today's hope comes in the form of her ally, Xander. Now, Marri understands that he's… a bit difficult at times, but he's not as bad as he wants to seem. Sometimes, in the lull where neither of them speak, she can sense a certain discomfort in the way he carries himself, like he's not quite sure how to be just himself.

Truthfully, Marri thinks that's part of what drew her to him in the first place. After she ran straight into him, that is. Rather embarrassing, but she can't complain too much, even if this is something that Xander likes to remind her of.

Right now, they're in another one of their quiet moments. Marri tries not to think too hard about the extended silence. It makes her anxious, and she often looks for a way to fill it, but something tells her that wouldn't be the best choice now.

Instead, she just continues sorting through the paints in front of her. The trainer had been showing them how to paint something that would make them blend into any kind of greenery, but Marri got distracted a while ago and started painting flowers in every color she could get her hands on.

"This is stupid," Xander declares, shoving the collection of paints away from himself. "How is camouflage supposed to help anyone? The tributes last year weren't even outside."

"Perhaps we will be this year," Marri points out, surveying her canvas - her own arm. "It's unlikely that a gamemaker will choose a similar Arena two years in a row. They prefer something new and exciting to keep us on our toes."

Xander gives her an odd look, like she wasn't supposed to disagree with him. "Whatever," he mutters. "I still don't see how a bit of paint is supposed to keep you out of sight. That's what running is for."

"I can agree with that. But it's nice to have options."

"I don't think the Careers will give us a heads up before they come after us. What, am I supposed to walk around covering in paint, hoping that it'll work when they come knocking?"

Marri pauses and looks him over. "It might work. Maybe they won't recognize you without a yellow suit on."

His face turns bright red, and Marri smiles pleasantly. "Shut up! That wasn't my fault, it was my stupid District Partner's. They're so… irritating." He sighs. "Whatever. It still doesn't make any sense!"

"The colors are nice. I thought it would serve as a relaxing way to spend part of the day. You don't seem to like many of the other stations."

"The medicine one isn't bad," Xander admits. "We're going back there."

Unsurprisingly, Xander doesn't actually ask what she wants to do. She's noticed that he mostly makes demands – which isn't necessarily a bad thing for Marri, as she doesn't exactly love making decisions. And besides, she doesn't like very many of these stations, either. She couldn't quite get enough friction going to start a fire, she discovered she wasn't very good at following the instructions for tying knots, and here… well, it's not that she's bad at camouflage, she's just more interested in painting something pretty. Her materials at home are nowhere near as high quality as the Capitol's.

"Looks like two others are there right now," Marri points out. "Six and Three."

Xander wrinkles his nose in distaste. "Six talks a lot. Maybe they'll leave."

She shrugs, not caring much either way. Marri figures the decision has already been made, so she gets up and begins making her way across the room. Her still-wet arm brushes against her side, and she tragically discovers that her favorite flower – the light blue one – has been smeared across the hem of her shirt.

Up close, Marri remembers that Six and Three look to be about her age, maybe even a little younger. Six in particular is short and skinny, with a boyish grin permanently on his face. Three, on the other hand, seems to purposely shrink into herself when someone new approaches, and she keeps ducking her head as if she expects her bangs to shield her.

"Hello," Marri says as she sits down. "Lovely to meet you both."

Six beams at her, thrilled by the presence of someone new. "You're Marri, right? I'm Aleksei, and this is Sagan."

Three – Sagan – gives him a look of betrayal, and says nothing. Instead, she purses her lips and determinedly stares into the bowl of herbs she's mixing.

"You're still here," Xander says, clear disappointment in his voice as he sits down.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Aleksei wonders aloud.

"What are you even doing?" Xander leans closer, trying to figure out what concoction Aleksei has been working on. "None of those go together."

The other boy coughs a bit, his smile dimming slightly. "I'm experimenting! Maybe I'll discover something new for them to add to the books."

Xander crosses his arms. "That's what doctors are for. Someone who knows what they're doing." Unlike you.

Aleksei doesn't seem deterred. "You never know! True genius could be trapped inside me, waiting to get out, and I have to let it happen naturally."

"... You're strange," Xander declares, and that's the end of that. He picks up a spare bok and begins flipping through it, pausing a few times to skim the information. He passes up a few of the recipes for reasons Marri is not privy to, and eventually lands on something he deems acceptable. Based on the way he immediately starts gathering ingredients, Marri guesses that he's at least familiar with the steps.

Across from him, Aleksei sifts through the bowls seemingly at random. Marri's not sure if he even knows what's in them – or if he cares. He doesn't appear to be taking this as seriously as Sagan, so she assumes that this wasn't his choice of station. Either way, he looks perfectly content, so Marri supposes he doesn't mind much.

"What have you been putting together?" Marri asks curiously, watching as Aleksei crumbles up some dried out leaves. "If you're not careful, you could end up with something toxic."

"That's true, but it's not like I'm going to eat it." Aleksei pauses. "Probably. It is almost lunch, though."

"Um," Marri says, staring at him, "please tell me you won't actually eat this."

Aleksei holds the bowl up close to his face. "I think it's supposed to be a paste to go on your skin. Maybe if I'm lucky it'll melt skin off. That would be sick!"

"Surely they wouldn't give us anything that could do that," Marri worries. "That doesn't seem safe."

"It's not, so they won't," Xander cuts in. "Don't be stupid."

Marri picks up a bowl full of leaves and lets them run through her fingers. "Are any of these ingredients real? I'm not sure how to tell."

"I could eat them," Aleksei volunteers a little too eagerly.

"Please don't," Marri says. The last thing she needs is for someone to die right in front of her eyes, before the Games even start. Surely she won't get blamed for it just because she was in the area.

Aleksei sighs. "No one around here knows how to have any fun."

Sagan stands up abruptly. "I'm going to go get my interview done," she tells Aleksei. Marri doesn't miss the way she avoids addressing the rest of them.

She also doesn't ask if Aleksei is interested in going with her, but he jumps right up alongside her anyway. "I'll do mine after! I'll see you later?"

The girl doesn't reply. Instead, she heads off towards the far side of the training center with all the enthusiasm of someone being marched off towards their death.

Then again, Marri supposes, that's not an inaccurate description of what's happening to everyone.

"They're rather odd," Xander says. She's not sure either of them are out of earshot yet.

"I like them."

"You like everyone."

"And you hardly like anyone."

Xander shrugs. That's usually his way of admitting she's right – by not admitting anything at all. "Are you actually planning to spend more time with them?"

"I wouldn't hate it. The girl might, though."

"Sagan."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. Remembering someone's name is a nice gesture, and they'll remember that you remembered."

Xander gives her an odd look. "Are you trying to scold me? I'm not a child, you know."

"I know," Marri says, relenting immediately. "I just… nevermind."

Without anything better to do, Marri sighs and hauls Sagan's forgotten book closer. It's better than nothing, she supposes, and Marri doesn't want to waste the little time she has left.

Even here, in this terrible place, Marri can see hints of normalcy that make her long for home. She's not enough of a fool to think there's any way she'll make it back alive, but maybe she can last a few days, feel normal again.

(Is there even such a thing anymore? Marri can't be sure. Whatever current she's caught up in is threatening to take her under for good.)

(And when that happens, Marri doesn't think she'll ever surface.)

Svelte Rasa, 17

District Eight Male, he/him

This is his last day.

Svelte swears it. He's played nice, he's done his part, and soon enough he'll be gone. Guinevere and Akira surely won't miss him, and he can't say he'll miss them either.

It's not that they're bad. Svelte just… isn't interested. He's not here to make friends. He sees the same show play out year after year, the consistent loop of heartbreak and betrayal that the Capitolites eat up. Maybe living the life of a privileged spectator means that they've never known hardship, and thus are dazzled by the spectacles that play out onscreen.

In an odd way, the Games have never been real even to Svelte. He's well aware of them, can likely scrounge up the names of some recent Victors, and has heard of the more scandalous moments. But until now, Svelte has lived a life untouched by this particular hardship. He's never known anyone that's been stolen away by the Games. Most years, he'd hardly been aware that the Games are even going on. He'd catch snippets between rehearsals and performances, but he always had greater concerns. The last Parcel Day was only a few years ago, for example, but that event was overshadowed by a stunt gone wrong – Svelte had wrenched his arm out of its socket. While it hadn't taken much to fix him up, the beating that followed left a lasting impression, and Svelte took precautions to make sure he never made a mistake like that again.

Simply put, Svelte's life has been hard enough without the Games breathing down his spine. He'd never go so far as to consider himself lucky, but he's well aware that in this singular situation, he's better than many others.

Until now, that is.

Everything has been happening too fast. Svelte barely remembers what happened between his name getting called and getting on the train, but there's a stubborn bruise encircling his left wrist that tells him enough. Every so often, he has to adjust the sleeve of his shirt to hide it.

It's… frustrating. One cage right into another. Even though Vaurien's not here, there's a multitude of people telling him what to do, where to go. Svelte's chafing under their command, no matter how well-intended it might be.

When it was just Guinevere, that was… tolerable. But the sudden intrusion of Akira has made Svelte draw back dramatically. They're loud and blather on about everything and nothing, regardless of whether or not anyone is listening. Guinevere has gotten good at nodding along, shockingly patient with them, but Svelte's patience thins the longer she keeps talking. Keeping his head down isn't exactly a foolproof tactic either – Akira has been trying out a whole array of nicknames to see if one catches Svelte's attention more than the others.

"And you're sure Sparkles doesn't do it for ya?" Akira asks again, finger poking at his knee. They're remarkably unaffected by the scathing glare he gives her. "Is it because you're not wearing any right now? I'm sure if you give me a few minutes I could-"

"Akira," Guinevere cuts in, "maybe he doesn't want a nickname."

"That's stupid. You like your nickname, don't you, Gwenny?"

"Gwenny" pauses, as if genuinely contemplating the question. For a second, her eyes cut over to Svelte, but he swiftly glances back down, uninterested in whatever camaraderie she's trying to inspire.

"I do," Guinevere says, and she even sounds honest about it. "You like nicknames, then?"

"Duh," Akira replies. Svelte can imagine their faux-irritated eye roll. "That's what friends do, right?"

Guinevere pauses, and a thoughtful smile overtakes her face. "Yeah, exactly. So how do you feel about… Kiki?"

Their eyes light up. "It's perfect!"

Svelte cringes at her volume. There's something about Akira that naturally draws attention – similar to the boys from Two and Nine, both of whom preen anytime someone else looks their way. Svelte cannot fathom why they're all so determined to create their own spotlight in a place where doing so might be their downfall. All he wants to do is tune them out.

"That still leaves Svelte," Akira says. "What about… Skinny?"

Svelte looks up and makes a face at her. "Why?"

"That's what Svelte means," Akira explains.

"Why do you know that?" Svelte can't help but ask.

The kid just shrugs at him. Svelte frowns back at her, but she doesn't seem to notice his sudden irritability. They tap their chin thoughtfully a few times before her whole face lights up. "I've got it! Vel."

Svelte visibly stiffens. "No," he bites out, a little harsher than he intended. "Not that."

Akira wilts, looking to Guinevere for guidance. The other girl gives Svelte a strange look, like she understands something that he's not willing to explain.

"Why not?" Akira asks insistently. "I think Vel suits you."

And maybe it does. Or did. But that was a long time ago, when Svelte was still a child, and now…

Something constricts tightly around his chest. He's no longer thinking clearly. The world is a bit fuzzy around the edges. A hand draws close to his face, and he recoils in anticipation.

("Aw, Vel, you know better than that," Monsieur Vaurien coos, running a thumb over Svelte's swollen face. "You should know by now that I don't tolerate failure. So you'll fix this next time, right?"

Svelte swallows, knowing he's lucky that there even is a next time. Vaurien always promises that one day his usefulness will run out; all Svelte can do is wait for the day to come.)

Svelte blinks, trying to clear his head. His companions are strangely silent – even Akira, who is staring down at the floor, drawing something with her finger. But he still feels something watching him.

Guinevere is looking directly at him.

She sees him.

It terrifies Svelte.

"Kiki," Guinevere says, not breaking eye contact with Svelte, "I would like to visit another station. Camouflage, perhaps? If you go ahead, I'll follow in a moment."

Akira hesitates, looking between the two of them. There's a hint of understanding on their face – and Svelte is suddenly glad that Guinevere asked her to leave.

(It's bad enough that Ariadne has managed to pick apart everything that makes Svelte tick. He doesn't need anyone else to do the same.)

Five gets up with minimal fanfare and crosses to the other side of the training center. With every step they take, Svelte's shoulders relax just slightly.

And then, he remembers Guinevere is still there, watching him. Svelte frowns at her. "Why'd you do that?"

"Did you not want me to?"

He finally breaks eye contact. "I… don't know."

"I get it. She's loud. You don't have to stick around, you know."

"Is that your way of saying you're sticking with her?"

"For now, at least."

"Why?"

Guinevere hums. "I'm not sure. It's like I can… see something. There's potential there. I think they've got something up their sleeve, and I don't want to be on the wrong side of it."

Svelte grimaces, remembering the reapings. "Like a fucking bomb?"

"Maybe so. But at the end of the day, I don't want to regret the choices I make here. Do you?"

Svelte has no idea what to say to that. He figures Guinevere knows that, too. She stays stubbornly silent, merely quirking a brow at him and waiting expectantly.

"I think we should split up."

Guinevere does not react at all. Her complete lack of surprise sets Svelte even more on edge. "That's fine. Just for the day?"

"I don't know."

"That's fine, too. I'll see you back in the apartment later, right?"

"... Right."

There's nothing left to say. Guinevere leaves, and then Svelte is all alone.

It's exactly what he wanted.

(Isn't it?)

Slowly, Svelte gets to his feet. There's no use wasting his time at a station so out in the open; he'll return to his shadows, learn something new, and forge a plan for tomorrow. If he can figure out how to make something out of that, Svelte could rig up something for his session tomorrow that will really wow the gamemakers.

He settles down at the knot-tying station, which is nestled right next to one of the combat stations. Luckily for Svelte, the only Careers present are the boys from One and Seven. The Ones are easily the least conspicuous of the group, so pairing Seven off with one of them has likely done him some good. Though Seven is currently wielding a knife with a surprising amount of familiarity. He spins the dagger in their hand before driving it into the side of a dummy's neck.

"Holy shit," One says, grinning. "Show me how to do that?"

"I'd hope you know how to aim a knife into an enemy's weak spot. Isn't that what they train you for in One?"

"Uh- yeah, right! I was never good at the flashy stuff, though."

"I've never heard a kid from One say that. Are you sure that's where you're from?" Seven teases. "Alright, just don't cut yourself – the trainer of here might have my head for it."

Pleased with the intel he's managed to gather, Svelte returns his focus to the work in front of him. It looks like Seven knows their way around a blade more than they should, and One knows less. If Svelte is ever unlucky enough to end up in a fight with one of them, he'll keep that in mind.

Slowly, Svelte settles into a comfortable sense of monotony. In this corner of the training room, he can see it all, and in return he gains nothing more than a few cursory glances.

This is where he's safe, where he's at ease. Svelte is a spider, watching and waiting while he builds his plans. He can bring his intel back to Ariadne tonight, and they'll figure something out, something to keep him in the running without drawing too much attention to himself.

As he scans the training room again, his eyes catch on Guinevere and Akira, who appear to be perfectly content without him.

Good. It'll be better this way. For all of them, really.

(But if that's true, then why doesn't Svelte feel any more free than before?)

Nolan Okorie, 18

District Eleven Male, he/him

The one thing Nolan Okorie had hoped for was a peaceful day of training.

It's worked to an extent so far. Surprisingly enough, he managed to get through half the day largely uninterrupted. A couple alliances drifted too close for comfort, but whenever that happened, Nolan would just move on to another station. He hasn't touched anything that wasn't a survival station – last year may have been wholly indoors, but he has a feeling this year won't be a repeat.

Nolan has to cover his bases. His fists alone won't save him from death in the Games.

But of course, this reverie can't last forever.

"You're back."

Nolan cuts Jasmine off before she even gets the chance to open her mouth. Her foot taps a couple times before she sinks down onto the floor across from him. Even though he tries to give her his best scathing look, she doesn't even blink.

"I did say I'd have something to show you," she points out. "I'm not backing down so easily, so don't get too excited."

"While I admire your determination, I'm still not sure your offer will get me anything besides an early grave."

"I think getting reaped for the Hunger Games is what brought you that, not me."

"An earlier grave, then."

"Despite your protests, you continue to hear me out. If you keep that up, I'll start thinking you're actually interested in what I have to say."

Sighing, Nolan continues working through the book in front of him. The rather irritating duo from Nine took up space at knot-tying for half of yesterday, and Nolan was pleased to discover that they'd moved somewhere else for the day. He'd check to see where, but the last thing he wants to see is another disgusting display of affection.

Really, have they no shame?

Once Nolan manages to copy the diagrams in the book perfectly, he repeats the steps a few times to make sure he can remember it. After a few minutes, he realizes that it's been blissfully silent. Of course, Jasmine hasn't gotten up; instead, she's turned her attention to a set of instructions and begun diligently working on them. Her fingers are a little clumsy, but she catches on fast. When she successfully copies the knot shown in the picture, a pleased smile crosses her face.

"I thought you had something to show me."

Jasmine looks up at him, grinning. Nolan almost regrets speaking up. "I didn't want to interrupt. Besides, I was hoping Six and his friend would clear out soon."

Another pair Nolan has been avoiding. The Six boy appears perfectly content to strike up a conversation with anyone, prattling on about everything and nothing at the same time. His grin never falters, he barely pauses to breathe, and he waves his hand wildly to emphasize every story he tells. His friend, the girl from Three, is the exact opposite. Nolan has no idea if they're actually friends or if the boy is holding her hostage.

Now, they're crossing through the middle of the training room – Six walking backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet, while Three stares resolutely at the floor. She periodically opens her mouth to give a brief answer, and Six looks beyond pleased every time she does.

"Where are we going, then?" Nolan asks, glancing back at Jasmine. "Seems like they've moved on."

"Edible plants," she chirps, jumping to her feet. "C'mon, before someone else takes over."

She's off before Nolan can even put up what he's been working on. He taps his fingers against the ground a few times, sighs, and then stands up. As long as they stay out of the way of the Careers, he doesn't particularly care where they go.

Luckily, Jasmine is the sole occupant of the edible plants station by the time Nolan arrives, too busy flipping through a booklet to even notice him sit down. She's almost reverently skimming her hands over the pictures, which Nolan would consider odd, but he's starting to get the feeling that most things about Jasmine are. He can't quite wrap his head around her, and he doesn't care to, either. Whether he allies with her or not, making a friend is the last thing he wants to do.

(Not again.)

Admittedly, Jasmine is the least offensive potential ally. Nolan has kept an eye on his other options, and none of them look promising. The Eights have been taken over by Five's rather… unconventional personality, Seven has gotten mixed up in the Careers, and everyone else is either too irritating or too abrasive or simply too young. Jasmine isn't his only option, but she might be his best, whether Nolan likes it or not.

Nolan takes a deep breath before turning his attention back to the girl across from him. "Edible plants," Nolan says aloud. "That's what you want to tell me about?"

"Sort of," Jasmine says, tone barely concealing her excitement.

"Can't I learn this from what's already here?" Nolan asks, flipping through an illustrated book of plants.

Admittedly, it would take him ages to learn all of this. Nolan's more of a hands-on learner. If he'd spent fewer years in jail, maybe he would've gotten the chance to learn about them himself in the fields of Eleven, but now his home district's plants are nothing but a jumble of information on a page in a book.

(Learning directly from books was more Ryker's thing. Maybe if he was here, Nolan would be able to pick up information more quickly. He was always better at listening when Ryker was the one talking.)

"You can, but I already know all of it," Jasmine says. If Nolan didn't know any better, he'd think she was bragging. But based on the way her eyes light up as she flips through the book, he'd wager she's more passionate than anything else. "So you don't have to. And I know what's actually important, and I'm sure there are a few things I know that this book won't tell you."

At this point, Nolan can't say he's not intrigued, so he hears her out. "Like what?"

"A cure for nightlock," she says, voice hushed. "A natural poison that can enter your bloodstream from the smallest cut and give you two days of pure agony before death finally takes you. A whole array of plants that are deathly toxic in their leaves, but have perfectly edible stems."

Nolan frowns. "There is no cure for nightlock."

At that, Jasmine grins. "Not a well-known one. It's tricky, because you essentially have to have everything on hand the moment it's ingested, and you still have to revive them after, but it's possible."

There's not exactly a way for Jasmine to prove this information, so Nolan is forced to take it at face value. He mulls his options over for a moment, still stuck in the same stalemate as yesterday.

This is an awful idea. It's certain death. If Nolan helps this girl out, she could backstab him in a heartbeat. Her sweet promises are laced with a bitter poison, and if he doesn't navigate this situation properly, he'll be dead before he even realizes he's in danger.

But then again, no ally will offer true safety. The only person Nolan has ever fully trusted was Ryker, and he's gone. Ryker was the one with the good ideas, and all Nolan knows is how to fight back. He's unsure about his own survivability, but if he has someone else by his side…

This is his best chance. Nothing is certain, but Nolan needs someone to balance out his own weaknesses. If he can stick with Jasmine just long enough, then he can ditch her before he's in too deep.

At some point, Nolan will have to take a chance. If he doesn't, then he'll never find his own freedom. He'll be as trapped as ever, whether he's behind bars or not.

Sighing, Nolan looks at the girl next to him. He really can't believe he's doing this.

"Fine," he says, immediately catching her attention. "Allies."

Jasmine instantly brightens. "Really?"

He holds up a hand. "I have conditions."

"Of course."

"We're not friends. I don't want to be friends. This is purely business. It'll last as long as it's beneficial, and then we do a clean break. No hard feelings."

"No hard feelings."

"You give me a crash course here, and I'll help you wield a knife successfully enough that you can land a single hit on your opponent. With your poisons, that's all you'll need. But, when we're in the Arena, I want access to the same things you have. If your weapons are coated in poison, then so are mine."

"Sounds fair enough to me," she says. Her grin hasn't gone away. Nolan can't tell if that's a good thing or not. "Anything else?"

"I don't trust you," Nolan says immediately. "Let's establish that now. You've told me your greatest strength, and I don't trust what you could do with it."

"Because you think I'll turn on you?"

"I think that's very possible."

Humming, Jasmine's expression turns contemplative. "I can't give you much more than my word," she admits, "and I don't know how helpful that is."

"Not very. When facing death, a lot of people will say anything to save their own life."

"Or do anything. Which is why I offered, and why you agreed."

He shrugs. She's right, of course. And as long as all their cards are on the table from the beginning, there's nothing he can get truly blindsided by.

"This is good," Jasmine says, tapping her chin. "The openness, I mean. I assume you agree, and that's why you're sharing. I don't see why this wouldn't work as long as we can agree to be honest."

"I agree."

"No surprises, then."

Jasmine extends her hand, a lifeline in this new cage. Nolan learned how to escape once, and he intends to do so again.

(And if he doesn't, then Ryker is waiting for him.)

Without letting himself hesitate too long, Nolan grips her hand tightly and shakes it. "No surprises."

Nerissa Kitharion, 18

District Two Female, she/her

Nerissa has long since given up on a quiet, productive day of training.

It's a shame. You'd think that being grouped with Saccharine would help matters, as the One girl certainly knows how to keep to herself, but she disappeared a while ago. Maybe she went for her interview, or maybe she just found some nice, relaxing corner where no one will bother her.

Either way, Nerissa is jealous. Thessaly has taken this whole day in stride - which means she has attached herself to Nerissa's hip, chattering away all the while. Something about that fascinates Nerissa. She's certain she's made it quite clear that she has no interest in whatever Thessaly wants from her, but the other girl is either ignoring her or simply pays her no mind.

Quite odd indeed. Thessaly has no issues respecting the wishes of their other allies, but she's more than willing to talk over Nerissa at every turn. She's as downright stubborn as one of Nerissa's old training partners, Leif, and Nerissa does not mean that as a compliment.

(At the very least, Nerissa can say Thessaly is mostly competent. This is not a kindness she could also offer Leif.)

Somehow, Nerissa has found herself in a sparring arena across from Thessaly. The other girl is in the middle of going through an entire routine, ranging from touching her toes to stretching her arms over her head as high as she can. She's awfully chipper about the fight she proposed – Nerissa only went along with it in the first place because she assumed she'd win.

Sighing, Nerissa tears her eyes away and starts flexing her wrists. She refuses to participate in the same overdramatic showmanship that Thessaly is presenting right now. Instead, she begins mulling over what sort of weapon she wants to use. Not her halberd, certainly. The trainers are already watching them like hawks, and Nerissa thinks bringing one of those into the arena would make them break up the fight immediately. She's actually not sure how Thessaly managed to convince the trainers to let them fight each other.

"Okay, so Ner, I-"

"Nerissa."

"-I think we should spar without weapons." Thessaly gives her a cheeky grin. "Just hands."

"That's stupid," Nerissa says bluntly. "Why would I do that?"

"Well for one, you never know what will be available in the Arena."

Nerissa frowns. "They've already had a weaponless Arena within the past ten years. I highly doubt they'll try that again."

"Don't test the gamemakers!"

"It doesn't matter anyway." Nerissa waves a hand flippantly. "Even if there aren't any weapons I'm used to, it's all about taking what you're given and making it a natural extension of your body. A good blade is tailored to fit the fighter's hand, a good fighter can adapt to whatever they're given."

"If that's the case, then shouldn't the focus be on training your body to handle anything?"

"I suppose," Nerissa concedes. "And?"

"And what?"

"You said for one, which implies that there's at least a second."

The gleeful smile that overtakes Thessaly's face is enough to make Nerissa regret asking. "And," she waggles her eyebrows, "it's a good way to get real close."

"No."

"Aw, but Ner!"

"It's Nerissa."

"You really don't have to keep protesting about the nickname," Thessaly says, finishing her stretches. She starts tying up her hair, still too pleased for her own good. "I can tell you like it."

Nerissa's eye twitches. "Is that so?"

"I have a good feeling about it."

"Just because you 'have a good feeling about it' doesn't make it true."

"Maybe so," Thessaly replies. Her sudden concession makes Nerissa pause and regard her with suspicion. The other girl merely laughs. "You don't have to look suspicious – what, are you afraid of something?"

"I'm not afraid of anything."

Somehow, Nerissa's comment sparks something in Thessaly, and she looks dramatically off into the distance. Nerissa raises an eyebrow and waits for her to be done. "I am. Dogs. Ever since I was a kid. There was a tragic incident where one tried to attack me, and I've never been the same since…"

Nerissa isn't entirely sure what to say about that. But she recognizes a certain glimmer in Thessaly's eyes – the one that means she's up to something – and says, "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

Thessaly laughs brightly, shoving her shoulder. "You're getting good at this, Ner! I'm starting to think we're really becoming friends."

"Nerissa," she mutters. "Are we going to fight or keep wasting time talking?"

"And here I thought you just loved the sound of my voice…" Thessaly pulls herself into a fighting position – one that, Nerissa notes, has all the confidence of someone that believes they're about to win.

A ridiculous notion. Nerissa will stamp it out immediately.

The lack of a weapon has her feeling rather exposed. Nerissa doesn't enjoy the sensation. And, based on the way Thessaly starts slinking around her, this is a style of fighting that the other girl is far more familiar with.

Not that Nerissa is in any way intimidated.

She settles for defensive fighting right now. She'd like to conceal her own strength, draw out Thessaly's fighting style now, lure her into some false sense of security, and then strike. Ideally, Nerissa can conceal her own talents while exposing Thessaly's. She'll be able to store this away for later, and when the time comes, she'll know exactly how to take Thessaly down.

Her plan does not go exactly the way she thought it would. Thessaly is quick on her feet, and knows exactly where to hit just hard enough to throw Nerissa off balance when she tries to defend herself. And then, all too soon, there's a kick at her ankles, and Nerissa is sent crashing to the floor. She catches herself with her hands, but before Nerissa can do anything more, there's a weight on her back and a bright laughter in her ear.

"I knew this was an awful idea," Nerissa grumbles.

"Don't be so pessimistic. I could be saving your life, you know."

Nerissa grits her teeth. "I highly doubt that."

"You'll thank me someday," Thessaly insists, as though she didn't hear Nerissa at all.

Thankfully, she soon gets off, and Nerissa sucks in a relieved breath. She rolls onto her back, raises herself up on her elbows, and is promptly met with Thessaly's outstretched hand. Nerissa stares at it for longer than she cares to admit.

"Aw, c'mon, don't be that way," Thessaly pouts. "I know proper sportsmanship, you know. We're in between spars, so it's not like I'll try anything funny."

Nerissa huffs and resigns herself to her fate. She cautiously accepts Thessaly's hand and is on her feet in seconds. The room briefly spins, and Nerissa wonders if she's more disorientated that she realizes. And then she notices that she never let go of the other girl's hand.

Needless to say, Nerissa drops it immediately.

"Ready for another?"

While Nerissa is more out of breath than she'd like to admit, she merely squares her shoulders and looks Thessaly dead on. "Another," she challenges.

"If you insist."

Thessaly moves back into her starting position. She seems reluctant to attack first, as if, this time, she wants to force Nerissa to make the first move. So this time, Nerissa mirrors Thessaly's stance. Thessaly is strangely amused by this, but then again, she's strangely amused by everything.

Nerissa should stop trying to read into things. She clearly won't get anywhere with the likes of Thessaly.

So, devoid of other options, Nerissa moves first – cautiously. If this is really a 'learning experience' like Thessaly claims, then she's going to milk it for all it's worth. For whatever reason, Thessaly is deliberately sharing her strengths, and Nerissa wants to explore them as much as she can.

But Thessaly counters every move Nerissa makes like it's nothing. It's as if the other girl can read every one of her movements seconds before it happens – which, really, might be the case. The longer this goes on, the more Nerissa realizes just how out of her depth she is.

Nerissa tries for a feint, but Thessaly sees right through it and snatches Nerissa's wrist faster than she can blink. Caught off balance, Nerissa stumbles a step forward and immediately freezes when she sees a pair of dark brown eyes mere inches away.

"You look like you're having fun," Thessaly says, face entirely too close for comfort.

Nerissa doesn't bother with a response; instead, she shoves the other girl back as hard as she can. She's starting to get tired of this futile back and forth, but Thessaly doesn't even have a hair out of place. Her face is glowing with excitement, as if this is nothing more than a game to her. One that she is very clearly winning.

Something occurs to Nerissa. "You've been going easy on me, haven't you?"

The look on Thessaly's face tells her everything. "A little. Why? You don't want me to?"

"It's hard for me to learn anything if I'm not even fighting you at your best."

"I don't think you could handle me at my best." Thessaly's still grinning like she knows exactly what she's doing.

(Nerissa hates that it's working.)

"Try me."

"You asked for it."

Thessaly wastes no time. She's even faster than Nerissa anticipated. And yet, Nerissa still gets the feeling that right now, Thessaly is doing nothing more than toying with her. Each swing of her fist and jab of her elbow barely grazes Nerissa's skin – she's forcing Nerissa to retreat, while smoothly avoiding giving Nerissa so much as a bruise. Nerissa only manages to stay on her feet because she's spent ages coordinating her footwork to work with large weaponry. Now, with the absence of any excess weight, she can almost keep up with Thessaly's brutal pace.

Almost.

The edge of the arena is drawing rapidly nearer. Nerissa can see it out of the corner of her eye – a white line that, under normal circumstances, would mean the swift end of a battle that's hardly begun. Granted, Nerissa isn't sure what rules she and Thessaly are playing by, but she won't let her second defeat be the result of something so asinine.

She refuses to give any more ground. She plants her feet in a stance that she's seen one of her training partners, Ultima, utilize before. As long as she can deflect Thessaly long enough to achieve some kind of opening, Nerissa stands a chance at turning the tides.

The idea strikes her as one of Thessaly's jabs lands on her side. Nerissa doubles over, putting on as dramatic a show as she can, and then lashes out at Thessaly's ankle in the other girl's brief moment of hesitation.

It's a dirty move, one that wouldn't fly in most fights back in Two, but it works. Thessaly lets out a yelp of surprise – which, for the record, Nerissa does not delight in – and falls to the floor, hard. Before she can react, Nerissa lunges forward to pin the girl to the ground, solidifying a win for herself.

"Wow," Thessaly exclaims breathlessly, "that was really good!"

Nerissa hums, certain that Thessaly still has some trick up her sleeve, yet to be discovered. "Was it?"

"Absolutely! I'll have to keep it in mind for later."

"I win, then," Nerissa declares.

"Mmm… almost."

Before Nerissa is given a chance to wonder what that could possibly mean, the world spins, and then Nerissa is flat on her back with nothing but Thessaly filling her vision. She huffs in irritation, and Thessaly looks beyond pleased.

"I win! You should never let down your guard until a fight is truly over."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me up now."

Thessaly retreats swiftly, and Nerissa once again accepts her outstretched hand. As soon as she's back on her feet, Nerissa dusts herself off, thoughts whirling. Beside her, Thessaly appears to have something on her mind as well.

"You know, Ner, there's one thing I've noticed."

"What's that?" she says through gritted teeth.

"You're awfully pretty when you're flustered."

Heat flares in Nerissa's cheeks, and she struggles to keep herself composed. "You're ridiculous," she mutters.

"And you didn't correct me," Thessaly replies smugly. "That means I win."

"Correct you…" Nerissa trails off, confused, and then freezes. It finally registers that Thessaly used that damn nickname again, and she was too caught up to notice. "That doesn't mean anything," she insists.

"Uh huh," Thessaly says, clearly not listening. Her smile is wider than Nerissa has ever seen it before. "We're definitely not friends or anything."

"We're not!"

"Whatever you say, Ner!"

"Quit calling me that," Nerissa insists. "Are we going again?"

Thessaly flashes a wink at her. "Only if you're up for losing again."

"You wish."

my mind for consistently giving myself a date to finish a chapter and then writing 2.5 povs and editing on the last day. i'm not smart so this will happen again. sorry goldie. also thanks goldie.

umm... idk! i'm moving into my apartment this weekend so expect it to be at least a couple weeks. i get to visit my subplot friends tho and i missed them so maybe it'll happen quickly. unfortunately i also have to write two interview povs so i'll violently hate myself for a few days about that before i can convince myself to write them.

i can finally say i'm over half done with pregames tho! lord. i need to move faster. at least i'm rapidly approaching my favorite pg plot point. i have a feeling you'll know it when you read it.

leave thoughts or smth if you feel inclined! catch you on the flip

~ de laney is out