.
. . ii . .
From now on, the Academy will be a daily thing (with the exception of weekends. Sometimes.) but first, her parents have Venatrix do her exercises in private.
After they find her, that is.
She wakes to people calling her name. It's distant, but sounds just like the diluted light streaming in through the leaves. The relief when they find her is palpable. It's her mother. She brings Venatrix inside, dries her off, feeds her. "We didn't know where you were, Venatrix. Tell us next time."
Because there will be a next time.
"Do you want to train with a sword today?"
Venatrix tenses.
(She does. A part of her soul sings with longing to get her hands on a blade again.)
She opens her mouth, but hesitates when a sneeze crawls its way up her throat. Dagmara stares at her quizzically until it explodes with gusto; her mother's lips quirk in amusement. "Penmanship day, then," she says, and Venatrix groans in disappointment. Dagmara drags her on a quick jog around the mountain trail, and despite Venatrix's sniffling, the burn in her muscles does make her feel a little better. They don't get to the Academy until well after noon; by that time, both Iago and Oberon have been at work for hours.
(Though, as far as Venatrix knows, her father hasn't picked up a sword since her Games either. Something about recovering from a broken arm and a few stab wounds to the heart…)
Penmanship sucks. She hated working on it back in the Capitol, and now that writing with her dominant hand is fully impossible, it's even worse. But it's not an option to have a Victor who can't even write her own name. Venatrix glares down at the chicken scratch marring the sheet of lined paper, flexing her hand. One of these days, I'm gonna get tendonitis, I'm sure of it. Dagmara looks up from where she's grading her own set of papers; she graciously let Venatrix come work in her office rather than locking her alone on the other side of the corridor, though the gratitude disappeared when she plopped the second edition copy of her first novel into Venatrix's lap. Cover to cover, and then she can be done. She's not even through the first chapter. This will take years.
Dagmara lets her stop for a late lunch, though, and before she can drag Venatrix back to the office upon completion, the latter slips out of sight. Venatrix knows these halls well. She makes her way to the gymnasium, rolling out her shoulders as if she's going to do something. She wrinkles her nose—her damn clavicle still clicks.
Whatever. Heads turn as she steps through the door; at least five different classes are running in here, their corresponding trainers shooting her varied looks of surprise and annoyance based on the level of distraction among their students. Hairs prickle at the back of Venatrix's neck. She might regret this later, but regardless, she juts out her chin and strides past the training groups like she has every authority to be there.
To be quite honest, she does.
…What Venatrix doesn't have here is a purpose.
But she finds one soon enough in the shape of a dark-haired former classmate. "Hey Pyke! Get your ass over here. Look at these kids." Alystra jerks her chin at the starry-eyes group of children—tens? Elevens?—under her guidance. Whispers flutter amongst the kids, though they fall quiet once Venatrix's stare passes over. "None of 'em know a lick about proper fighting stances and their placement exam's in a few days."
Venatrix raises a brow. "Really?"
Little faces flush red. Some shake their heads in indignation, while others stare at their feet.
"I don't know if I believe her," Venatrix says. "Show me."
Immediately, they snap to their best fighting stances, eager to impress a Victor. Alystra lets out a low whistle while Venatrix stalks between them, adjusting elbows and feet as needed. She pauses in front of a taller kid. Her stance is perfect—elbows tight, shoulders set, feet evenly spaced—but she won't look Venatrix in the eye. The girl's blank expression hides behind a curtain of hair.
She'd make a good tribute, comes the first thought automatically. And then the second: you'd really want that? She's a kid.
This place really does turn us into monsters.
Still, it feels more like home than anywhere else.
The furrow in Venatrix's brow deepens. Ever-so-slightly, she pokes the girl's elbow as if to correct her. It bounces back into place. Venatrix circles around, checking her in the shoulder, but her stance doesn't break. "Good kid."
"I want all of you to remember this," Alystra says with authority, "for your exam and for the rest of your career. While untrained tributes will rely on things like desperation and adrenaline, you will always have your basics, and that is what puts you ahead of the game." While she speaks, Venatrix studies the kid, still blank-faced while the others nod in appreciation. "Good. Now get out of my sight."
Immediately, she takes off. Some attempt to linger, but Alystra waves them away. "Brats, all of them," she huffs, but she's smiling.
"What was that girl's name?"
"The odd one? Uhh, Theia or something. I don't know. Thalia…?"
"You're a shit trainer."
"I'm very good actually," Alystra says, flicking open her water bottle to take a swig. "Far better than the ones the Capitol sent, have you seen them? They're obnoxious."
Venatrix stiffens at that. "Capitol trainers?"
"Part of their stupid little investigation team. Don't think they're doing much investigating either." Alystra glares across the room, leaning against the stacked bleachers. Venatrix follows her gaze, but the gym is still too crowded for her to pick them out. Absently, she pulls an arm over her head, stretching out the crick in her shoulder from sleeping in the dirt. "Oh? What are you getting ready for? Wanna fight or something?"
"What? No. It's my shoulder—" Venatrix rolls it out, tugging her right arm behind her back. "I have to do physical therapy and stuff for it." Her mother can't get mad at her for following the doctor's orders.
"They didn't heal it?"
Venatrix shoots her a stony look.
"Ouch. …You sure you don't wanna have a go?"
Venatrix grunts. "When did you get so annoying?"
"Someone's gotta make up for it now that Per… mm, nevermind."
Luckily for Alystra, her attention has already drifted across the gym to a bizarrely familiar man with a set of curls somewhat shorter than she remembers. "Arrhenius?" Her call streaks across the floor; the Capitol's sword-fighting trainer turns abruptly, eyes sparkling with recognition. Venatrix finds herself halfway across the floor if only to sate her curiosity; a scowling Alystra jogs to keep up.
"Venatrix! I was hoping to see you here sometime."
"This is her natural habitat," Alystra jibes blithely.
Venatrix ignores her. "Good to see you too. I, uh, wasn't expecting…" After a second's hesitation, she sticks out her left hand for Arrhenius to shake, which he does gladly. Not too limply, but a little too moist. Venatrix clears her throat, tucking her hand under her arms to keep from wiping it on her pants. "Um. How are you? Sorry about the concussion by the way, I don't think I ever got the chance to say so."
This raises Alystra's brows, but Arrhenius waves her off, insisting that it was one of the greatest moments of his life. Venatrix is starting to understand the wrinkle in Alystra's nose. The other trainer he was chatting with—also obviously Capitol—looks like she'd be rolling her eyes if they were speaking with anyone who wasn't the most recent Hunger Games Victor. Venatrix recognizes her too. The last time she saw this trainer, she and Patience were scraping her off the mat after the Six boy got too violent.
…This is fucking weird.
Alystra sizes up the Capitolites and it strikes Venatrix that there is no world where these people should be meeting. "When did you concuss him?"
"Arrhenius worked at the training center gym in the Capitol," Venatrix explains. "As did, uh…"
"Prosperia," the woman sniffs.
"She put on quite the demonstration for the Gamemakers," Arrhenius beams. "It was really clever—"
"Sounds just like her," Alystra cuts in. She waggles her eyebrows at the Capitolite. "Maybe we should kiss about it, fellow demonstration victim."
Arrhenius flushes beet red. "Um—"
"I'm joking. Obviously. You're, like, ancient." Alystra rolls her eyes. Venatrix feels her face twist into an expression she'd wear if the other girl had dumped a dead animal in her lap. "What?"
"So you really trained here?" Arrhenius steamrolls forwards at the merest nod of Venatrix's head. "That's so awesome—this place must have so much history! You have no idea how long I've wanted to see this side of Career training; like, usually we just get the results—which are fantastic, of course—but now…"
Prosperia cuts him off in a low whisper. "You don't get it, Rhen, we're district citizens now," she says, lip curled in a sneer. Alystra bristles. Venatrix's eyes narrow. "If any of us have children here, they'll end up in the Reaping bowl."
Even that can't dim the sparkle in Arrhenius's eyes. "Yes, but, what if they volunteered? They could win."
Something about his tone makes Venatrix's remaining fingers curl. Alystra leans into her ear, hissing, "Like hell."
The ex-Capitolites miss it entirely. "We're not even getting half the salary we had before," Prosperia complains. "I won't be able to afford anything."
"But the cost of living is so much lower here!"
They dissolve into a lighthearted argument, and the two Careers—though no longer in Games training, forever in spirit—make their escape. "I should've concussed him harder," Venatrix snips under her breath. Alystra snorts.
With a start, Venatrix realizes the other girl's steadily been drifting towards the rack of training weapons. Alystra's mouth widens into a grin when Venatrix catches on. "Come on, I'm bored," she says, picking up a knife and flicking it casually into the air. It lands back in her palm with ease; her gaze never leaves Venatrix's.
The gym's empty of classes now. Trainees still filter in and out, eyes locking magnetically on the Victor among them as they pretend to go about their business.
Venatrix feels them all. Like little lights prickling in her peripheral, or a cool breeze tugging the curls at the base of her neck.
"I'm done with my classes for the day," Alystra needles, dark eyes gleaming.
"Uh…"
"Just a quick little match?"
The rack of swords glint under the fluorescents, beckoning her. Venatrix's fingers flex instinctively, but the unfamiliar dread of doubt—a lack of confidence—pools in her stomach like acid. "I can't. My, uh…" My parents said 'no' dies on her tongue. Venatrix cringes in advance; there's no good way to say that. "I already worked out today."
"Oh, please."
"I have to fight leftie now. I haven't trained leftie in ages. And I'm still trying to gain back the weight I lost in the arena."
"You look plenty pudgy to me."
"I meant muscle, Alystra."
Alystra grins, poking her in the stomach with the knife handle; she dances out of the way before Venatrix can swat her. "C'mon, Venny—" (Venatrix feels her eye twitch)— "You just don't want to spar 'cause you know I'll win."
Venatrix grits her teeth. "You can't win."
"Bold fucking stateme—"
Unceremoniously, she grabs Alystra by the wrist, pulling her in close. Locks of dark hair fall from the other girl's ponytail; they frame her face like sharp, black knives, curved inwards towards her throat. Venatrix's voice hisses out low and fast. "This isn't just fun and games anymore, okay? We may be at the Academy, but we are not back in training where we can kick each other around however we want. I am a Victor now, Alystra." Her grip tightens. "I don't have the luxury of not acting like one—especially here. And Victors. Don't. Lose."
Something in Alystra's expression darkens. "Arrogant as ever."
Venatrix's lip curls into a scowl.
"What I'm hearing is, 'I don't want to spar with you because you'll win.'" She smirks, yanking her hand free, and Venatrix's scowl deepens, though she can't conceal the petulance in her glare. Alystra rubs at her wrist, smoothing out the indent Venatrix's grip had left. "Fine. I'll accept that—for now. But you owe me, Pyke."
"For what?"
The other girl pats at the place where Venatrix's sword had gone clean through her gut last January. Venatrix rolls her eyes. If that were true…
(Her mind slips to a certain girl from District One. If that were true, Mariposa owes her a lot more than a rematch.)
All at once, her old classmate is the farthest thing from Venatrix's mind, nevermind Alystra's presence. It's less real than the absence that fills her heart right now. Alystra's attempts to draw her attention go unnoticed; steel and laughter echo through Venatrix's head like a siren's call, and in that sense, she understands the other girl's insistence—she'd give anything to fight her Mari again.
A/N: i lied.. it looked weird sitting there with only one chapter ok? : now there wont be any until august.. brb i will be affectionately bullying my VE kiddo c:
- Nell