CHAPTER XX: TRAINING DAY I
Falo Tarandrus • District Ten Female
Training Center / July 5th, 7:03 AM
"Miss?"
Falo stiffens, watching as the elevator doors close shut before her. "...Yes?"
She can see from the corner of her eye the way Asahel shuffles beside her, nervous. "I just wanted to say—" he lets out a shaky exhale, "—I'm really sorry about yesterday. I overstepped. It was inexcusable."
She whirled around at the sound of a doorknob being turned. The feeling of alarm shot up her spine like an electric shock. Her arms immediately rose to shield herself as she locked eyes with Asahel's — in this state of undress, she felt like a deer caught in the headlights. A wild animal at the mercy of a wholly unknown foe.
Falo couldn't tell whether it was Asahel or the stylists who exclaimed first, but all of it ended abruptly with the door being slammed back shut — a moment even shorter than brief.
She could barely process the rapid-fire apologies sounding from outside the room as her prep team let loose a torrent of curses. All of it was tinny in her ears, dull. The only thing Falo could register was the sensation of burning: from her cheeks to her shoulders to the tips of her fingers.
Burning.
In the moment, it had shaken her. In retrospect, she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Asahel Cervantes had no ill intention. He never had ill intention when he'd amble by the window of the music room, stealing quick glances as Falo tried to play the piano. He never had ill intention when he'd cultivate the flower plots outside her room, doing perhaps a more thorough job than necessary. It had always been harmless, well-meaning.
She knew that then, and she knows this now. It had just been an accidental intrusion, barely even a glance. So why does this… uneasiness still linger? Why does it stick to her like oil, like sweat?
Falo pushes down the impossibly tight feeling in her chest. She wants so badly for the conversation to just end. "I know you didn't mean to."
Asahel's voice wavers. "That doesn't make it all right, though."
"It's fine. I really don't wish to think about it anymore."
"...'m sorry," Asahel mumbles again.
Not knowing what to say, Falo opts for silence.
Another wavering breath from the boy. "Please don't hate me." His words come out as a whisper, small and ashamed.
She doesn't know what to name this feeling, but to call it "hate" would be a gross extreme. Falo's been aware of the farmhand's presence for years, but they've yet to exchange a proper conversation. They barely even exchanged words on the train ride yesterday. Falo just sat there, nibbling on a pastry to satiate an appetite she didn't have, only half-listening as Asahel conversed with their mentors. It had been painful to hear him bluster through a baffling explanation for why he volunteered, one that truthfully didn't make much sense to Falo. She remembers suspecting that while perhaps Asahel was telling the truth at parts, he had not been fully honest.
Falo doesn't doubt that he has good intentions, but she doesn't know what to do with his sincerity. She doesn't know how to feel about it, any of it.
She doesn't know how to feel about Asahel.
"How could I hate you?" Falo says finally. "I… don't even know you."
Asahel visibly sinks into himself. If it's possible, his voice becomes even smaller. "I know."
The tightness in her chest quivers, subsiding slightly into… guilt. "I apologize," Falo whispers, though she doesn't even know what she means to apologize for. She just feels compelled to do it, to perhaps alleviate some of Asahel's hurt.
"Don't." Asahel fidgets with a stray thread on the hem of his shirt. "I get it. I'm just some guy that works for your dad."
Falo slowly nods. "My father thinks highly of you."
"I'm… glad."
The conversation dies out once again. Somehow, the awful silence that replaces it is even worse. Falo can't understand why they're only just now reaching the 15th floor. The Training Center isn't for another ten floors — isn't Capitol technology supposed to be fast?
In this conveniently slow elevator, her mind insistently wanders back to the Reaping, when her name was called and Asahel's "I volunteer!" followed. Why did he do that?
She can sort of wager a guess— try as she might, it's hard to explain away those longing glances. But of course, Falo isn't going to go out of her way to put the words in his mouth. She just wonders if the confirmation will relieve this stubborn agitation, this tension.
The truth of why Asahel volunteered is probably going to come out sooner or later, whether Falo likes it or not. She thinks she'd rather hear him just come out with it. Say it directly to her, as opposed to her mentors — or, Panem forbid, an audience.
"Asahel?" Falo decides to say at last.
Asahel snaps to attention instantly. "Yes? Miss?"
She hesitates for a beat, gathering her words. "I don't understand why you volunteered," she finally says, only a half-truth.
"You were there when I told Yadriel yesterday," Asahel stammers, looking somewhere off to the side. "I'm… very loyal to Mister Tarandrus. I feel very obligated to him."
Falo purses her lips. "Is that so?"
"Yes. I know he cares for his daughter more than anything else." Asahel pauses. "And I can bring her home safely."
"But to martyr yourself for your employer?" Falo mutters, deep in thought. "It sounds far-fetched."
Asahel flushes darkly, sputtering. "I — I wasn't lying about the last part, though."
Another pang of guilt thrums in her chest. It's true that with Asahel supposedly on her side, her chances of returning home are much higher than they would be without him. She would like to be grateful — she just can't make sense of it.
Even if he… even if he possessed a certain fondness for Falo, she can't fathom why he's willing to sacrifice everything he had back in Ten, just for her. She doesn't even know how she earned his affections in the first place. Is it her fault for not addressing the farmhand sooner? Is it her fault for not doing something about it? Could she have prevented his feelings from culminating into something so… extreme?
But how could she have known he would volunteer?
(How could she have known she would be reaped?)
Falo can't help but feel that she's responsible he's here. And that whatever this is comes with a certain expectation she's not privy to.
Falo tries to put all of this as delicately as possible. "I just wonder if there's… more to the story. I would like for us to be on the same page." She heaves a soft sigh. "But only if you feel so inclined."
"I," Asahel starts, pink and exasperated. "Are you really asking me to… just say it?"
Falo just looks at him, expectant.
"It makes everything look worse," he murmurs. "And you're going to think I'm a fool."
"Mm," Falo hums, just as the elevator doors open to the floor of the Training Center.
Asahel gestures hurriedly for Falo to step out first, following on her heels. "Just… just give me some time, okay?" he whispers, voice lowered as they walk. "I promise I'll tell you eventually. Just — not now, but I promise."
"Okay," Falo says, not really feeling like she has a choice.
Nobody has ever warned Falo just how divorced from reality romance novels can be. Or perhaps, how inapplicable. She ought to be flattered that someone is so willing to give up everything for her. but it's just another thing she doesn't know what to do with, another thing she doesn't know what she did to deserve. It's one thing to live vicariously through a daring female protagonist, and another to experience it in her own skin.
She can't make heads or tails of it, how women can be so easily swayed by such grand, inexplicable gestures of affection. But perhaps the problem is with her.
Is this what love is? Falo frowns. Why does it have to be so… peculiar? So boldfaced? So—
The sound of Asahel's voice cuts through her thoughts. "Be right back. I'll get us some breakfast."
Falo nods hastily. "Right. Yes. Thank you."
"You like your eggs poached, right?"
She blinks, caught off-guard. "...Yes. That's correct."
She watches as he retreats into the cafeteria. It occurs to her that she's alone — alone and free, even if only briefly.
Falo examines the room, trying to identify and categorize each station in her mind. Besides most of the weapons, of course, she surprisingly finds herself recognizing a great deal of stations, like basic survival, first aid, animal butchery, firestarting…
Subconsciously, she finds herself wandering to the plant identification station first. Falo approaches the station, offering a tentative smile to the trainer before picking up and flipping through the book on flowers. The vivid pictures set something in her heart right; she aches for her meadow back home.
"A marsh marigold," a voice murmurs by her ear. "We don't get a lot of those in Nine."
Falo makes an undignified noise, dropping the book to the ground with a loud slam. She jerks her head to the side as the girl jumps back, Falo's eyes meeting deep, warm brown ones that stare right back — it's a girl, the eyes belong to a girl, okay…
A wide grin stretches across the other girl's face. "Sorry, did I scare ya?"
"A little," Falo admits, heart still racing.
"Sorry," the girl says again, though her persistent smile seems to betray otherwise. Or perhaps not; she sounds sincere, but there's an undertone of amusement, for whatever reason. She brushes a long, dark curl behind her ear. "I'm used to getting around quietly."
"Oh," Falo breathes, her eyes darting back and forth between the girl's and literally anywhere else. "Is that so?"
The girl laughs, though Falo isn't aware that she had said something funny. "Yeah. It's useful if I wanna leave the house. Or get out of class early."
Falo bends down to pick up the fallen book, opening her mouth as if it might help her generate some sort of clever response to that. "I see. I, um—"
"Miss!" Asahel's voice calls out from in the near distance. "Where'd you go?"
Abruptly, Falo places the book back on the table, hitching up her skirt to go. "Coming!"
"Wait!" the girl calls out. But Falo's already leaving — she practically bolts, without so much as a goodbye.
She can't explain why she leaves as fast as she does, or the restless thing that bursts in her chest as she runs. But she can feel it twist, constrict back together as she approaches Asahel in the cafeteria, two trays in hand. She feels the tightness return.
"What were you up to?" Asahel asks, curious as he places the trays on a two-seated table.
"I was looking at flowers," Falo decides to say. "At one of the stations."
"You like those." Asahel smiles, as if confirming a fact. "Flowers."
Falo hopes the smile she returns isn't as stiff as it feels. "I do, yes."
Asahel glances at her, picking up the bread roll from his tray. "Make sure to eat up. For energy."
Falo nods, placing a spoonful of food in her mouth. She barely registers the taste.
They return to the smothering quiet that Falo has begun to associate with Asahel, broken only by the farmhand dropping an occasional comment here and there. But it isn't so bad, she thinks. The elevator was better than the train, and this, right now, is better than the elevator. Falo just needs to get used to the farmhand. To Asahel.
They've been around each other for years. He knows what she likes. He's come to the conclusion she's worth everything, somehow. Who is Falo to say that what he feels isn't love?
She wills herself to look at Asahel across the table. He is not unattractive. He's patient, he's reliable, and he's hardworking. Who is she to say she can't reciprocate… this?
After a second, Asahel returns her gaze, brown eyes meeting hers. She squints slightly, as if searching.
"What?" he asks, slightly flushed.
"Nothing," Falo says after a long beat. "Just wanted to check something."
Sergeant Andronicus • District Two Male
Training Center / July 5th, 11:11 AM
"Nobody's ever beat me at Panemian Rat Screw," Sergeant mutters under his breath.
Reverie lets her leftover cards spill through her fingers and gives him a melodramatic pout. "Aw. First time for everything, right?"
This cocky son of a gun, Sergeant thinks, trying to keep himself from grinning. She'd been talking mad shit this entire card game, but actually managed to put her money where her mouth was through the most blindsiding, foul, but technically legal play Sergeant's ever seen.
Sergeant has to hand it to Reverie; she's singlehandedly dismantling the dumb blonde stereotype. He's only known her for less than twelve hours, but she's already contributed more to the cause than Adrienne ever has. She kind of has it all — she's funny as fuck and knockout gorgeous (though the latter isn't anything he didn't already know from the recaps.)
[ BERLUSCONI (REV): MAD confident. MAD competitive.
Mad capable (?) — leaning hard yes. Either way, gonna
make leading this shit FUN. ]
Sergeant furrows his brows, looking from his hand to the cards on the table. "There's no way you didn't cheat."
Reverie sweeps her blonde hair behind her shoulder, preening. "Maybe you're just bad."
Cassia makes a hmm sound, leaning her chin on her hands. "I didn't see any cheating."
Oh, Cassia — eager, starry-eyed Cassia. She's a phenomenal District partner, hanging onto his every word like gospel. Honestly, it's like having a little sister the same age as him; her excitement does crazy things for his ego. The rumors about Cassia being weird are kind of true, but it's not like she's a total freak or anything. Sergeant's met far stranger people, and he's certainly had far stranger friends.
But goddamn, she's a girl's girl, to put it generously — he's not blind to the way she looks at the other girls. Especially Jupiter - Cassia watches her like she hung up the goddamn moon and stars.
His only real worry is whether her heart's in the right place for the Games. She seemed to do mostly fine when he played back Kai's little scene at the Reaping, but a part of him wonders if she fully knows what she's getting herself into.
[ COSMOS (CASS): Enthusiastic. Excitable. CUTE.
Kind of like a puppy. Probably loyal like one, too.
Ready (?) Look out for her. ]
"If it wasn't cheating, then it was a fluke." Sergeant gathers the deck into a haphazard stack and starts to reshuffle them. "We gotta go at it again."
Reverie laughs, the sound high and bright. "So eager to lose again?"
Jupiter lets out a low whistle, an impressive feat considering her mouth's full of breakfast sandwich. "You just gonna let her say that, Sarge?"
"Man, you ain' even involved." Sergeant rolls his eyes.
Jupiter shrugs. "Don't need to be. Reverie's already solo-ing you."
Instigating ass bitch.
[ FAIRHOPE (JUPI): Somehow both chill and always starting
some shit. Stoic, but interacts. Butch as fuck. Might
steal Cass if not careful! ]
Cassia clamps her hand over her mouth, looking way too delighted at the snappy back and forth between everyone at the table. She doesn't even step in to say a single word in defense of him! Wow. He expected the instigating from Jupiter, but of all people, he thought Cassia would have his back right now…
Betrayal never comes from your enemies…
"I feel like all y'all ganging up on me," Sergeant grumbles, but the corners of his mouth tug upward, betraying any sense of displeasure he's trying to convey. He hands the deck to Reverie to trade off shuffling. "That's not fair. Who's gonna be on my side?"
"Not Kai," Reverie snorts. "Guy's gone."
That reminds Sergeant — he's gotta have a one-on-one chat with the guy. Pin down exactly what his deal is, find out if he's worth keeping. Maybe it's an endeavor for later tonight.
[ THANA (KAI / BONER DEMON): Killed someone. Growled at me. Emo?
LIABILITY? — TBD. ]
"Kai left a while ago, but Kier—" Cassia pauses when she sees the other side of the table is completely vacant. "Never mind. He's not here anymore."
"Left a couple 'o minutes ago," Jupiter supplies, picking between her teeth with a toothpick. "Wanted to scope out the swords station."
Sergeant gives a noncommittal hum. He hasn't yet had the chance to talk to Kieran too much, but he certainly doesn't seem shy; he holds up his side of a conversation perfectly fine, from the exchanges Sergeant's overheard between him, Cassia, and Jupiter.
Now that Sergeant thinks about it, he hasn't seen Kieran interact much at all with his own District partner.
[ LOCKE (KIER? NEED TO TEST): Nice enough. Lowkey fine. Distant.
Not friendly with DP? Find out. ]
"Don't worry about him," Reverie says, looking like she's suppressing a small smile as she gives Sergeant a fresh hand. "Worry about what you're gonna do when you embarrass yourself again."
Sergeant huffs, straightening. "Nah, nah, watch. I'm gon' get serious this time."
"Is that supposed to intimidate me?"
"Oh, yeah. You're in danger, Berlusconi."
"If you say so," Reverie sighs, playfully disbelieving as she fans out her cards. "May the odds be ever in your favor, then. Think you'll need it."
Before Sergeant can make his first move, he feels a firm hand shake his shoulder. "Incoming," Cassia murmurs, brows furrowed.
Sergeant looks up to see a dopey-grinned kid approaching the table. His shirt is buttoned all the way to the top and he's carrying a notebook full of loose papers. He looks completely undeterred and unintimidated, even as Reverie shoots him a withering look. Dude oozes even more lightskin audacity than Sergeant does, and that's saying something.
When the kid finally makes it to the edge of the table, he points at each of them and identifies them one by one. "Cassia Cosmos of District Two. Jupiter Fairhope of District Four. Reverie Berlusconi of District One."
He finally faces Sergeant. "And last but definitely not least, Sergeant Andronicus of District Two."
Wow. This is fucking weird. An outer-District kid that just… memorized all their names. Sure, okay. But Sergeant's even more unsettled by the way he's looking at Sergeant right now, eyes way too wide. Why do people with blue eyes always do this shit?
"Um," Sergeant says, unable to help his incredulous smile. "Hi?"
Reverie just comes out the gate with it. "Who the fuck are you?"
Blue-eyed Fuck puffs out his chest in a comically animated manner. "I'm Fioynder Itamor-Nilth from District Five, but you can just call me Fio for short. I turned sixteen years old yesterday—"
"Jesus," Reverie mutters.
"—and I'm adept in basic survival, knife-throwing, hand-to-hand combat, first aid, and parkour. I've been training for the Hunger Games since I was ten. I used to be really bad, which is how I got this battle scar—" Fioynder points to a tiny mark on his chin, "—but I promise I'm way better now. This is my formal application to join the Career pack."
"Wow," Sergeant says, after a beat of silence. "That's… really special."
"Are you the leader?" Fioynder asks.
Jupiter smiles wryly. "You just assumed the only guy sitting here is the leader?"
"Oh, no," Fioynder responds quickly. "It's not because he's the only male here right now. Speaking purely statistically, District Two Males are 23% more likely to be Career pack leaders compared to District Two Females, 39% more likely compared to District One Females, and 55% more likely compared to District Four Females."
"Hahaaa." Sergeant flashes Jupiter a lopsided grin. "According to statistics, Jupi, I'm 55% better than you."
"That's definitely a misinterpretation of Fioynder's data," Cassia says unhelpfully.
Sergeant gasps, fake-scandalized. "Cass! Aren't you s'posed to be on my side? What kind of District partner are you?!"
Cassia practically deflates before his eyes. "I," she falters, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say something wrong. I—"
"No, you didn't do nothin'," Sergeant interjects quickly, patting her back. He has to remember he can't do too much sarcastic shit with Cassia. "I'm just playing with you."
Nutjob Newcomer is still standing there posed like a salesman, evidently waiting for some sort of response or verdict. He's barely even done anything today and he's already getting more bullshit thrown at him. Why didn't anyone tell him leading the Careers would be goofy as hell?
"Do you need more of my stats?" Fioynder offers. "I know my hook was brief, but I can certainly expand on more of my skillsets if need be."
Like it's a fucking job interview! But despite — or perhaps because of the ridiculousness, Sergeant finds himself entertained.
"Yeah, let me just have a confidential discussion with my team real quick," Sergeant responds, deciding to humoring the kid. "Could you go to the other side of the room 'til I call you back?"
Fioynder squints conspiratorially. "Oooh, this feels so professional. Sure thing, boss!"
"Oh my god," Reverie mutters as he skips off. "Don't tell me you're actually—?"
Sergeant makes a quieter gesture with one hand and a beckoning motion with the other, signaling the others to come in closer. "Look," he whispers. "There's two ways this goes."
Reverie is staring at him like he's grown another head. Jupiter's expression appears unconvinced, but mostly unbothered. But Cassia, as always, is looking at him wide-eyed and earnest, listening attentively.
God. He loves that girl.
"One," Sergeant says, "Kid's full of shit, and we get a good laugh these next three days. And then we get rid of him at the Bloodbath."
"Uh huh," Reverie says drily.
"Or he's actually capable, and we get a semi-useful ally. And a good laugh."
Reverie wrinkles her nose. "Neither of these options include the one where you reject him outright, and then kill him at the Bloodbath."
"Impressive observation, Berlusconi. Because what's the point?"
"The point is that it's, well, pointless."
"So is there a point or not?" Cassia murmurs, looking confused.
"Yes, there's a point — no, I mean, there isn't. Sarge, I see you opening your mouth, close it. You're confusing me. The point is there's no point to keeping him around if we find out he's useless. Just drop him — why let some outer-District fuckup into our inner circle? Literally just for shits?"
"Literally just for shits," Sergeant says gravely.
Jupiter stifles a laugh.
Reverie gives him a genuinely baffled, frustrated look. It's the first time he's seen that expression on her, like she has no idea what to make of him. "Sergeant. What the hell?"
Sergeant takes both of Reverie's hands into his. "You ain't gotta worry, Rev. That's my job."
"I'm worried about the fuck kinda brain state you're in. I'm worried about you letting some outsider kid crash and gather intel on us."
"There's nothing behind his big blue bug eyes. You really think he's that smart?"
"Obviously fucking not, but—"
"Surely you don't think this kid stands any real chance against us, right?"
"No—"
"—Surely you don't think he can kill any one of us?"
"Of course I don't," Reverie bites out.
"Cool," Sergeant replies pointedly. "So, do we still have a problem?"
A tense silence. At last, Reverie responds, like it's taking all her willpower to grit out the words. "I hope you know what you're doing."
"Always do," Sergeant winks, leaning back. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles. "Fio! C'mere, boy!"
Fioynder comes barreling back to the table, optimism smeared all over his features. It's like the kid doesn't even know to be scared, like this is all some exciting Panemland Amusement Park Adventure to him. It brings a smile to Sergeant's face; he has no idea what the fuck is wrong with the kid, but goddamn it's funny. It'll bring some much needed comedic relief for the upcoming days.
"Gotta say," Sergeant laughs, "you've got balls, kid."
"Um, thanks!" Fioynder responds, seeming confused but still smiling.
"Tell you what, Fio." Sergeant crosses his arms. "You're in."
The kid fully pumps his fist in the air, like a goddamn cartoon character. "Hooray!"
"For now," Sergeant interrupts loudly. "This is just an evaluation period. You've still got ways to go before you're officially in. But I'm intrigued by you. So we're giving you the next couple days to prove yourself."
"Okie dokie!"
"And you better impress," Sergeant says, voice lowered, "or you're gonna be our first target."
Fio straightens his back, giving him an enthusiastic salute. "Yes, Sergeant, sir! Understood!"
"Don't fuck up, yeah?" Sergeant smiles, poking his finger into the kid's chest. "It's your life on the line."
[ ITAMOR-NILTH (FIO): Crazy ass kid. New pet.
Might keep him. Might put him down. ]
Artan Steffins • District Twelve Male
Training Center / July 5th, 2:08 PM
Artan didn't think it was possible, but sure enough, his heart has learned to love once more.
He didn't expect that he'd be able to move on from Melisande after she tore his heart into tatters. He only agreed to Mavis's suggestion on the train ride to get her to lay off — truthfully, Artan wasn't optimistic that there was going to be another person he could love the same way that he had once loved Melisande.
But lo and behold…
He saw her for the first time last night, right before the Parades began. He could imagine the girl from District Seven had spawned out of a dream from a night he'd forgotten long ago, the way that she felt both strangely familiar yet unknown. Déjà vu, as romantics from before the Dark Days would say. The heart worked in mysterious ways.
Her visage was every part an ethereal being's. She had long, raven-black hair, askew as if tousled by the wind itself. Her stature was lithe, likely cultivated by frequent activity outdoors. She was refreshing like a breath of fresh air, a cool stream in the summer.
And don't get him started on her countenance, strung up with the sort of contradictions that would make the heads of poets spin with delight. Fearless but fairylike, reckless yet somehow romantic. He saw it in the way she skipped, spun, lay on the ground without a care for what others might've thought. All of her movements declared something about her, something bold and unwavering.
Of course, Artan can only work off of assumptions until he actually talks to the girl, but he feels like he already knows her!
There is only one way Artan can think to describe his feelings vis-à-vis the girl: enraptured. The heart worked in mysterious ways, indeed! Perhaps this propensity to keep falling in love, even in the face of adversity, is in his blood, his spirit. After all, Artan is a poet — and a lover. Or perhaps both are one and the same.
Artan wonders if the District Seven girl's beauty has yet to know ink on paper.
His hands itch for his notebook, which he foolishly neglected to bring today. Last night, he spent the better part of an hour scritching out every mention of Melisande in his written work to replace her with the new girl.
That's Artan's only mission today: to find out her name. And perhaps even approach her, if he dares. But it's proving to be quite the daunting task. All morning, he's tried to muster up the courage to talk to her. He's run through his head every scenario of wooing her, he's talked out each hypothetical to Mavis… and still, he is unable to decide on the perfect first impression.
"Am I just to… walk up and introduce myself?" Artan mutters, pacing back in forth in front of one of the stations. "Or perhaps, approach her at a station and offer help? Would that be more suave?"
It seems the only thing Mavis has to offer is a loud groan. "I feel like doing anything at this point will be better than all this… staring! There's no way she hasn't noticed by now."
Artan flushes, immediately yanking his head away from the girl's direction. "Oh no," he bemoans, "have I doomed it already…?"
With an exasperated noise, Mavis grabs Artan by the shoulders, shaking him. Artan assumes she's trying to do so forcefully, but it is less a violent gale as much as a weak, slightly inconvenient breeze.
"You just have to go for it!" Mavis bellows. "Aren't you a man?!"
"A gentleman," Artan sniffs primly. "I need to do this correctly."
"You're a man, and she's a girl! Be bold and go up to her like, 'you're mine'!"
Artan stares at her, appalled. "Under no such circumstances will I resort to such brutish, uncharming tactics. She is clearly a woman of class, and I will treat her as such!"
Mavis rolls her eyes, casting a glance back in the girl's direction. "She… could be of more class."
Artan shoots her a glare. "Mavis!"
His District partner absolutely mortifies him. Artan has tried to make her keep her opinions to herself, from the trains to the Parades to today, but Mavis shows no signs of stopping. Her worldview is ridiculously outdated, to put it generously, and she doesn't even seem to realize it.
In all honesty, Artan pities her, from the bottom of his heart. It's clear that Mavis is just parroting something she must've read somewhere, but she also appears to believe it with her full chest. Artan thinks the kindest thing he can do is tolerate her, but it's unimaginably irking when she says something blasphemous — and expects him to agree with her!
"But," Mavis continues, aggravatingly oblivious, "I guess she's better than the others. Her skin's not so dirty, though I wish she would open her eyes a little wider…"
Artan reddens. "I don't wish to hear any more of your prejudiced remarks!"
"I said she was better than the others!"
"You can't say things like that."
"I can't say anything these days," Mavis grumbles. "Next, you're not going to let me say that she's pretty for her kind, or—"
Abruptly, Artan clamps his hand over Mavis's mouth, effectively stifling her. "If you keep saying these outrageous things," Artan exclaims, mortified, "I will not hesitate to shun you."
Mavis stares at him, stricken. She smacks Artan's hand back. "Wh— shun me?" she squeaks. "But I… you… we need each other!"
"If you cannot keep your opinions to yourself, then you are little more than a liability."
"Even if I'm right?"
"You're not though," Artan deadpans. "But it doesn't matter either way — I don't wish to continue our tentative alliance if you continue to say things that will surely get us killed!"
Mavis's face grows red. "It's supposed to be us together, Artan! You promised!"
"I remember doing no such thing!"
"I'm going to find someone else who shares my views," Mavis sniffs. "I think that girl from District One will know sense when she sees it."
"Don't be foolish — she is a Career. You are going to put a target on yourself!"
"Even if she's a Career, at least she looks like us! How can you leave me for some girl that doesn't even look like us?!"
"It's not about looking alike, it's about being a decent human being! Can't you get that through your thick skull? Or perhaps, you've never thought to try such a thing?!"
To Artan's horror, he realizes tears are streaming from Mavis's eyes. Oh, heavens — he doesn't even remember when he started yelling back. He didn't mean to be so harsh, but everything he said was true and he certainly can't take back his words now.
This is the direct consequence of her actions, Artan thinks to himself, trying to assuage this strange guilt in his chest. He's being kinder than most other people would be. He is!
"I…" she chokes. "I'm a good person, Artan! I was just trying to help you!"
"Well, you're not!" Artan bites out, trying to shove down pangs of guilt. "You're just making it worse!"
"Fine, then," Mavis blubbers through a relentless onpour of tears. "If I make everything so awful, I'll just leave you alone, then."
"Good!"
"And you can talk to that girl all by yourself!"
"I will!"
"Fine!"
"Fine!"
Sniveling wildly, Mavis breaks off from Artan and into a random direction. He realizes, with an almost comical sense of horror, that she's making a beeline straight toward the girl from One.
He cannot stick around for this — it's like watching an awful coalmine accident. Stiffly, he gathers what is left of his frazzled nerves and scours the area; he needs to get his mind off this fraught situation with Mavis.
Artan realizes the girl is no longer where she had been. He blinks, whirling around again. Where did she…?
Aha! He catches sight of her again, now in the cafeteria section of the Training Center. She's animatedly reenacting some sort of story as she walks side by side with that girl Artan saw her with yesterday. Artan watches as the girls make their way over to a table where two older boys are already sitting.
Artan squints, recognizing one of the boys as the person who approached him and Mavis at the Parades last night. Yuly — Artan remembers him being warm, almost motherly. But of course, Mavis being Mavis, she did not like him.
("You can't trust Eleven tributes — they always have ulterior motives!")
Well, Yuly had offered an alliance and Artan told him he'd think on it, much to Mavis's displeasure. Seeing the girl sitting at Yuly's table now makes that offer look much more attractive, and with Mavis out of the picture, he can be much less afraid of looking like a bigot.
(Though, he has to admit that running ideas by Mavis had been nice. And he did not mind the company as much as he thought he did. Her refusal to leave his side or leave him alone had been… oddly comforting.
(But he has to do without her now.)
Gah — he can't afford to waste time! If Artan doesn't talk to the District Seven girl now, he's going to overthink himself out of it again and again until he loses his chance!
Mavis's voice echoes in his brain. You just have to go for it!
Artan supposes there's still a grain of wisdom in the sentiment, even if he has to take it completely out of its intended context. He wills himself to move one foot in front of the other — miraculously his body complies, and complies again and again.
Is this more like a death march, or walking down the aisle? Artan is both physically and metaphorically walking toward a brand new future, a new possibility; no, walking is too weak of a word to describe how inevitable this feels. This feels like waves crashing onto surf, like stars bound to collide — like fate.
His heart soars despite the anxiety, the fear — what does this mean?
What could this be?
As Artan draws close, Yuly exclaims something, but he doesn't hear it. His gaze stays firmly tunneled on the girl, who doesn't seem to see him until Artan's right in front of her.
"Um," the girl says, looking him up and down. "Do you need something?"
"Yes," Artan breathes, his treacherous heart aflutter. "Your name?"
Orion Amsel • District Three Male
Training Center / July 5th, 4:33 PM
When Orion is lost, he looks to the stars for direction.
That's why he finds himself at the celestial navigation station. Truthfully, there's nothing more he needs to teach himself on that front, but surrounding himself with something he knows like the back of his hand is… comforting. If he flips through these laminated constellation charts and tunes out everything else, Orion can almost imagine that he's home.
Almost.
Orion didn't start at this station; he ventured between a couple of others for a while, hoping to find something that might've piqued his interest. He darted from knife-fighting to trap-setting to plant identification — hell, he even spent a good half hour at a wood carving station before he ultimately got bored. Turns out, it's ridiculously hard to make a wooden skewer with a good, sharp edge, and not in an intellectually challenging way. Just a frustrating one.
While he was station-hopping, Orion also just happened to take note of the tributes that approached one another. A large group amassed at the beginning; probably the Careers, but nothing was surprising about that. Orion also happened to notice his District partner, all smiles, conversing with a girl dressed in all black.
(Speaking of his District partner, Orion thinks she's much too upbeat. No one is that happy to be here of all places, and he doesn't understand why she'd pretend otherwise. Yesterday, during the Parades, she spent the entire chariot ride whipping her head around the atrium, as if scanning the crowd for someone. Who could she have possibly been looking for? It was beyond him.)
In addition to the Careers, another rather loud group had assembled quite quickly. The younger girls were loud and obnoxious; every time the one with curly hair started spinning in place, the other followed suit, both giggling uncontrollably all the while. A young boy was with them as well, following ardently on their heels despite not quite partaking in the foolishness.
The two others in the group were older boys with much less energy. Orion believes one of them is from Eleven. He doesn't recall what District the other boy is from, but he can surely recall that mechanical arm of his.
Orion is slightly fascinated by the prosthetic's technology; even though he lived in Three, he'd never seen anything like it. If he had the chance, he'd love to look at the machinery up close. Unfortunately, that would mean actually having to approach the boy, and that prospect isn't appealing to Orion in the slightest.
Even with all the things that the Capitol has to offer, Orion isn't impressed. The only thing he can say he's enjoyed is this station tucked in the far corner of the room, isolated from most of the other tributes. The station's trainer attempted to help Orion out at first, laughable considering Orion's knowledge of the stars clearly far surpassed theirs. Once the trainer realized that they couldn't teach Orion anything he didn't already know, they thankfully gave up and left him alone.
Still, even with his attention alternating between a thick astronomy book and a virtual reality telescope, Orion can't quite escape all human life. The pair of boys a couple stations down aren't exactly noisy, but Orion can't ignore them, either.
One boy is burly, the other scrawny; both are rather tall. At the very least, Orion knows they're both outer-District. They occasionally exchange stilted words; Orion can't decide whether their sorry excuse for a conversation is more amusing or painful to listen to.
"Y-you have to hold your h-hand like this," Nine stutters.
A pause, before Seven follows up. "Like... this?"
"U-um, m-maybe. Sort of. N-not really. You w-want to… um, your th-thumb, put—"
"You don't talk good," Seven interrupts.
Orion can see Nine's lip waver as he tries to think of a response. Hurriedly, Seven fills in the gap again. "I didn't mean it like that," is his attempt at a save. "I don't talk good either."
"Oh," Nine murmurs. "O-okay."
Miraculously, their conversation somehow continues. Orion's not a social butterfly by any means, but he knows this is definitely not the right way to have a conversation. These people act like NPCs from video games Orion used to like, before he got bored of those too.
Boring, boring, boring, he frowns. All of it is boring.
Orion tries to tune out the distant chitter from the other boys, but every time one of them laughs, something aches in Orion's chest. He suddenly becomes aware of just how far apart he is from everyone else — in every sense.
It's by design, of course. Of course! People just aren't nearly as interesting as outer space anyway. He never needed anyone besides his grandpa, until he died. And he hasn't needed anyone else since.
With renewed effort, Orion tries to immerse himself into his study again, going back and forth between the charts and the telescope. It soothes him. It reminds him of the countless nights he's spent searching the skies for constellations, letting inky midnight black envelope his eyes, his thoughts, his worries. The practice would make him forget life on earth for a couple hours; during this stretch of early twilight, he could pretend he was just another star in the sky, blinking, comfortingly aimless…
Someone's voice cuts through his thoughts. "You like stars?"
Orion jumps, knocking the telescope over onto the ground. The trainer cries out, aghast.
"My bad," Orion says perfunctorily, his shock already wearing off. Great — as if having to overhear other people's conversations isn't enough, he has to deal with one personally. Orion tries to re-set the telescope as best as he can before turning around, face-to-face with a smiling girl.
Oh god, another smiley, excitable person. Orion has to look down to meet her eyes. The girl is pretty short; Orion dully recognizes her as the shortest silhouette in the Career pack.
What could she possibly want with him?
Orion clears his throat. "I do, yes," he answers levelly.
He swears her eyes are shining — what on earth? "What's your favorite star?" the Career girl asks, hopeful (and definitely louder than necessary).
Hah! What an amateur question. How is he supposed to pick just one?
Orion sniffs, crossing his arms. "There are only thousands of stars visible to Earth, and billions more that exist in this galaxy. How exactly do you expect me to choose?"
The Career girl nods, a serious expression on her face. "Just billions in this galaxy," she repeats. "And then there's even more in galaxies we've never even heard of."
"Precisely. How am I to narrow it down to one favorite?"
"Can you try narrowing it to three?"
"Still too narrow, I think."
The Career girl raises her hand, fingers spread. "Five?"
"Perhaps," Orion says haughtily. "But are you sure you'll be able to recognize my picks? I may lose you after the second star I mention."
Cassia's eyes glint, challenging. "Try me."
Orion smirks. "My 5th place has to go to Shirrioth."
"The white dwarf?"
"Indeed. White dwarf and one of the strangest astronomical curiosities in all recorded history."
"Not so strange," Cassia shrugs. "Astra is much stranger, and much cooler. It's a white dwarf ice planet, with volcanoes. Where else can you find that? Shirrioth has nothing but desert."
"Deserts are cool," Orion says defensively. "What's your fifth favorite?"
"My fifth place is Moriah."
"The scarlet supergiant? She's reaching the end of her life, no?"
Cassia nods. "Due to go supernova in about two thousand six hundred years, give or take."
"So soon…"
"Yeah…"
"My fourth place is Alpha Pegasi."
"Hey, I like that one too. My fourth is Bellatrix."
"'The Warrioress', huh? Predictable."
"It's a cool star! And especially bright during summer months. It's not hard to see it, even with a low-grade telescope."
"That's true," Orion murmurs, the corners of his mouth rising. "There's no way you're going to know this one: Mu Arae."
The Career girl squints. "Is that the G-type star? In the constellation of Ara?"
Orion frowns. "It is."
She snorts. "You tried to trick me by using its lesser-known name, huh? Just call it Cervantes. Everyone else does."
Orion rolls his eyes. "Touché."
"My third goes to Galatea."
"Oh, I must admit I quite enjoy the lore of that one, as well. I'm not surprised you picked that one over Pygmalion."
"Why?" the Career girl blinks.
"You've had a consistent bias towards the stars with more feminine names."
She laughs, embarrassed. "I didn't even notice that…"
Orion thinks for a moment. "I think I'll have to give second place to Danfeng."
"Ooh… no, that's a gorgeous pick. 'Red phoenix' — it's not that red from Earth, but the pictures from space are stunning." The Career girl taps her chin. "Are you familiar with Xerxes's constellation, by any chance?"
Orion scoffs, lips curling into a smirk. "What fool isn't?"
"I have to give my number two spot to that one."
"That's a constellation."
She shrugs. "It's just that good. You have to evaluate the whole thing holistically."
"That's cheating," Orion huffs, amused, "but if you insist on bringing in constellations, then I'll take that for my first choice pick."
"It's a good one." The Career girl's eyes twinkle. "But my ultimate favorite is the Piano Man constellation."
Orion finds himself giving a nod in approval, strangely enough. He faintly recalls a simpler time, back when he was a child and his hands could fit so snugly in his grandfather's. Back when nights were dedicated to listening to stories passed down for centuries, told with painstaking patience. Back when his grandfather was alive and Orion didn't have to worry about his own place in the universe, when it was so obviously by his grandfather's side. Back when he was… happy.
What stars need to align for that to happen again?
"Cliché," Orion finally comments, "but certainly respectable. I have fond memories of that one."
"Me too," the Career girl whispers, her features soft. She suddenly snaps to alertness as she seems to realize something. "I never introduced myself, did I?"
"You didn't."
"Oh, jeez." She extends a hand. "I'm Cassia."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance." He's surprised that he actually means every word. "I've never met someone on my level when it comes to astronomical knowledge."
"Me neither. Although that's not saying much," Cassia replies sheepishly. "What's your name?"
"Orion."
"Like the Hunter," Cassia says thoughtfully.
"Yes. My grandfather named me after the constellation — he felt it might one day become fitting."
Cassia cocks her head. "Do you think it is?"
He blinks. "My name?"
"Yeah. The Hunter."
"I'm unsure…" Orion places a hand on his chin. "I must admit that I have never given it much thought."
"How about I take you to meet the others?" Cassia smiles. "There's only one way to find out, right?"
a/n: i would say im sorry for subjecting the masses to such an egregious amount of heterosexuality except im not. i fucking love my hets ha ha ha. but fear not! next chapter will offer a brief but much needed reprieve. smiles… night one…
oh also happy 10 year ffn anniversary to myself! i am exactly double the age i was when i first made this account. ever thankful for all the lovely souls that have made contact with mine on this ugly blue website.
this chapter's title is from must be love by laufey :) thanks lady for being my top artist of 2023! and see you on 4/20 kya~
qotd: most embarrassing crush story go! in first grade there was this kid named daniel who i didnt even like but i told everyone in bible study that he was my boyfriend and then my bible teacher laughed at me until i cried
deuces,
brookie