Training: Day Two

-Kunal Lindberg, 17, District 11-

Eating a banana was way better than being dressed as one, that was for sure.

They'd never gotten to eat a banana before and they didn't even realize until then how good it was. What other things were they missing out on? Even Pepper, the usually stone-faced and brash firecracker, melted upon putting the sweet, soft fruit in her mouth.

They could definitely get used to this. At first the constant white lights hurt their eyes, the constant air conditioning made them shiver, and the fragrances of the expensive soaps and perfumes made them slightly ill. But after settling into a routine here, they found they were quickly desensitized to it all, and in fact even starting to enjoy it. It was pleasant to always have power and be able to see, eat warm food of all sorts of textures and flavors, and actually be clean instead of constantly smelling like sweat. Those Victors really lived well. And… Well, so far the fame hadn't been as bad as they were imagining. Even with a giant section of banana sticking out from their crotch, the crowd loved them. It was like they couldn't do anything wrong. And really, they couldn't, because in order to stay famous they were literally going to get away with murder!

They were getting too ahead of themself here, though. Because in order to get this life – and all the resources they could possibly want to study alchemy of course – they had to first survive. And surviving in an atmosphere like this was proving to be quite the tall task. It was as if they were doomed from the start by some other-worldy force for the sake of continuity in the extended universe. But it was nothing that Kunal couldn't overcome with a little bit of hard work… Right?

They had already demonstrated plenty of success using a scythe – why wouldn't they? Sure they spent a lot of their time in school, but they still had to work part time for the family and at this point a scythe was practically like an extension of their arm. It just took a little extra… Oomph, to use it to kill. They had left it, but they would come back to it eventually. Today was all about getting some extra strength training in and peeking around at what other stations were offered. There was one in particular that Kunal was avoiding – the plants station. Why, oh why, would they be caught dead going over there when they already knew everything to know about plants? They knew better than to openly show off all their skills right off the bat, especially being from Eleven. They had to keep some folks on the ropes to not become target number one.

They just walked past it, avoiding the eyes of the Twelve girl – the twelve-year-old – when she tried to make eye contact with them, and instead went towards the weights that were set up on the far side of the gym. To Kunal's surprise, they weren't alone at the station. The ginger that was already there dropped a weight when he saw them coming and gave a brief nod. "Hey."

"Hi," Kunal said politely as they looked at how much he was lifting and raised their eyebrows. It was more than they were expecting for sure.

"Kunal, right? I'm-"

"Mickey." Kunal chuckled a little bit. "I know pretty much everyone's names at this point, I think."

"You been watching the odds too?" Mickey asked as he put down the weights for a bit. It looked like he had lifted before with the right technique – it just seemed… Natural to him, not just like he was trying to obey the trainer's orders.

"As often as I can," Kunal said, giving a short trivial lift to a weight to figure out where to start.

"Smart," said Mickey. He did another lift, using his legs, with Kunal watching, and then set it down. "Odds don't mean everything though." His face suddenly changed quite dramatically for a moment, screwing up as if he was witnessing something horrifying, before he took a shaking breath and opened his breath, looking calm as if nothing had even happened.

"I suppose not," Kunal said, finally settling on a weight to get started, squatting down like the trainer had showed them yesterday even though they felt awkward doing it – was their back too curved? They didn't really know what they were doing. "Guess that's for us outer-District tributes to be glad for."

Mickey's expression was… A sort of frustrated confusion for a moment, before he just took a weighted ball, thrusting it towards a designated wall which it hit right off of with a loud thud. Then he turned back towards Kunal. "I suppose so."

Without another word, he walked away, almost aimlessly, and Kunal just squinted after him, trying to figure him out – and figure out if it was worth following him. They eventually decided it wasn't worth it and just focused on what they were doing, trying to see how high up the weights they could go before the exhaustion took over them and they had to take a break.

They leaned against a big spherical weight for a moment as they took a generous sip of water – cold water, too, not just the warm meager stuff that came out of a well with the slightest taste of dirt. They never realized just how different the Capitol life was from their life back home – and how much better as well. Sure, they thought about what it must be like to have food upon command, but there were so many little things they never even thought to imagine that existed here. It was amazing.

They looked around as they sipped their water, trying to place everyone – and especially their biggest competition. They had been watching the odds – and they were pleased so far with how theirs measured up to everyone else's. Their District partner was currently struggling with a bow, looking completely pathetic next to the girl from One. They saw quite a few tributes crowded in at the knives station, and a fair crowd around the fire-building station. Probably smart of them all. Kunal would definitely practice their fire-making skills, but it wasn't something they'd never done before.

Some of them huddled together, and some of them refused to make eye-contact with others. It was a fairly quiet-seeming bunch, besides the girl from Six and of course, the Careers. Well there was no way that Kunal was going to take any of them down – or even get away from them - by themself. Surely some of these other tributes knew the same was true for them as well. The Careers were set to totally dominate the Games and it was a matter of self-preservation until the alliance imploded.

So, despite not truly wanting to, Kunal wandered over to the station they had been avoiding – one that was fairly well-populated at the moment – edible plants. They didn't make the first approach and just waited for a little bit, slowly and casually answering a question or two here and there, just observing. They were nothing if not observant and wanted to see what the others had to offer.

"Are you struggling?"

A voice snapped Kunal out of their thoughts and they turned to look at the owner of it. It was the boy from Twelve, looking at them with curious eyes.

Kunal looked at the question – one that they immediately knew the answer to. But they also knew that it was the idea of them struggling that attracted the boy over here in the first place.

"Yeah. I am."

"Maybe I can help!" He had a certain optimism about him that reminded Kunal of Arvin back home. That kid that had no real family and clung to Kunal because of it. This kid was no different, it seemed. "I'm Farley."

They could tell that he was proud to introduce himself. "Farley, hi. I'm Kunal."

"Nice to meet you Kunal," Farley said, grinning at him and cracking his knuckles a little bit. "I'm from Twelve, so I see a lot of these plants in my day-to-day. And the ones I haven't, I've learned pretty well by now. Can I show you?"

Oh he was so desperate to impress. "Of course." Look at him. He was young. Not as young as his District partner, but young. He didn't know better. Kunal had been that young once. Then the boy did something weird. He clutched the crystal around his neck and whispered to it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Okay!" He immediately started to test, his brows furrowed and wrinkling his forehead.

Kunal looked at the crystal around his neck with interest. It was small. Quartz. Nothing at all special, really, but the boy clutched it like it was his life force. They looked up and saw that the score on the test was actually quite formidable, high eighties.

"Wow," they said, willing to humor him. The only thing better than someone that'll fight for you is someone that'll die for you, after all. "That's impressive."

"Thanks," said Farley, but the way he carried himself screamed I know it is.

"What's that you have?" asked Kunal, pointing at the crystal.

"Oh," said Farley, holding it protectively at Kunal's finger even going a little near it. "It's my crystal. I found it at work."

"You work? Mining?" Kunal asked, surprised to hear this even though they shouldn't have been, knowing where he was from.

"Yeah, you get good work being small, you get in all the nooks and crannies. But this is special. I found it. It changed my life. It makes me a better brother to my siblings, a better son, and a better person. It helps me learn these plants."

Kunal rubbed their chin at that, in thought. They were a spiritual person in nature – hell they wanted to be an alchemist! They understood the power that spiritual beliefs had on a person. But that was just a silly piece of quartz. Hardly worth protecting like he was.

But he believed in it. And that… Was something Kunal could use.

"I see," they said, looking at him protecting it and realizing that they had a… Power now. And they liked that feeling of power. This boy was easy to figure out. And more importantly, easy to use. "Alright, Farley, I'll tell you a secret." They took their token out of their pocket. A vial, full of ground up leaves. It came from Nalin, their idol. But they realized that it had way more use than just to carry around and remember home. "This is my token. And… It's magic too."

Farley's eyes widened as he leaned forward to look – respectfully keeping his hands wrapped around his crystal as he gazed at the vial with rapt eyes. "Wow."

"If we use this with your token, it will make your crystal even more powerful. But we'll have to wait for the right moment." They weren't sure when that moment would be yet. But they wanted to have someone waiting in the wings for them.

"Oh!" Farley said, looking at his crystal for a moment. "You're so right. So… When is that?"

Whenever it'll get ME ahead. A smile spread across Kunal's face.

"I don't know yet. But we'll know when that moment is."

Farley nodded resolutely. "You're right Kunal. Okay, let me handle the edible plants so I'll be the expert. You can be our brawn and protect us while we wait for the right moment. Okay?"

Kunal just kept smiling. "Okay."

They turned and walked away but they could still feel Farley watching them with a deep respect – and excitement as well. This boy had practically fallen right into their lap.

They looked around at the other tributes. Now, they were quickly realizing that they had something above everyone else in the room after all. Their ability to read people. They thought it was natural but apparently not everyone was able to pick up on things like that. And that was a strength that was silent, but deadly.

They looked around the room, excited at this discovery of their new superpower and anxious to keep using it – they didn't to stop it now! They felt too powerful.

They saw the boy from Nine at the scythe station – Carlisle, the one without an arm. To Kunal, he just screamed easy target.

So they stood up taller, still grinning, and off they went, to find their second victim.

~.~.

-Cuprian Pearson, 17, District 1-

The Games happen not in a continuous story, but in moments.

That was the biggest lesson he'd learned since this crazy journey began. And also one of the first things his mentor Platinum told him.

When he said it on the train, Cupey had no idea what he was talking about. The Games were a narrative, a story – but since he'd been thrown into the fray, he found that it wasn't that at all. The story was created by folks behind the scenes. Not to say that it was disingenuous, but rather… created for continuity and brevity.

He didn't want to call it a disappointment, because he was going in fully expecting to see some of the behind-the-scenes. And it didn't make the journey to the title of Victor any less awe-inspiring. It just… Changed his perception of the whole event, a little bit.

No matter how many notes he took at the end of each day, it was just impossible for him to remember every second of his time in the Capitol. He was only human after all. He didn't have someone following him around transcribing his every move.

But the thing that brought him solace was that he didn't have to remember every single second, in chronological order. Because the Games – the true essence of the Games themselves – happened in moments. Those were the things worth cherishing – and that in itself was what made the Games so good, and compelling.

So this was his challenge. To get rid of the constant itch to cherish every second, because some moments were more important than others.

Why did it matter the circumstances that led him to the reaping? The moment that mattered was the one where he raised his hand and uttered the words, I volunteer.

Why did it matter what the train looked like? What mattered was the moment he got to shake Platinum Krietzer's hand, and look into his wise old face.

Why did it matter that he know every single tribute's name? They were nothing but moments. Some would be more important than others.

And yet, he still found himself remembering every single moment he was spending with her.

There was just something about her that piqued his interest. Perhaps because she was so different from the typical District One girl. Nothing about her was conventional – from the way she looked to the way she acted and thought. It was like they actually wised up and produced a District One female with a brain. And a brain that worked hard, at that. She was definitely useful to him. He would almost be worried about her as being a threat – almost. However… There was just something about her that didn't at all scream Victor material.

Maybe it was that unconventionality – after all, Cuprian had changed everything about himself to become the most likely candidate for Victor. Hair color, eye color, weapon of choice, personality, angle, his name… He fit the role more perfectly than anyone else here. And she just… Didn't at all. Therefore, she stood absolutely no chance. It was as if she were doomed from the start.

And yet, that unconventionality was what made her memorable to him. Nobody was like her. She was unique – special, in a way that he… Wasn't. It was what drew him to her. And yet it would be what would cause her to lose as well.

And here she was now, walking with him towards what was going to be one of the most critical moments in his Games journey. He felt… Nervous. Why? He was the obvious choice for Victor, he fit the bill perfectly. And yet, it was a feeling that he just couldn't shake.

"Alright everyone," Ornstein said, standing next to his District partner, who was crossing her arms, as they got closer. Cupey took a deep breath. He knew he could do this. It wasn't the first time he'd sparred. Hell, he had to win high-stakes battles to get here. But none were more high-stakes than this one. "We have two sword-users and a high likelihood that only one sword will be in the horn. At least, one good one."

Cupey felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down. His hands were starting to shake. The adrenaline was good. It was going to help him win.

"We don't need any catty fighting within the alliance during the most critical time in the Games," Ornstein continued, looking at each of them with eyes that appeared friendly – but Cupey wasn't fooled. "So we decide this today. Fair and square. We only get one chance in the Games, so only one fight. Winner gets first dibs on his sword of choice." His eyes landed on Cupey and held his gaze confidently.

It was a fight he couldn't lose.

"Well, Cupey? If you don't think it's fair, speak now. Otherwise we'll both agree to respect the result of the battle." He looked at Isabella for a moment, who was just shallowly nodding her head, arms still crossed, as if he were trying to impress her.

Cupey took a deep breath. "I'm ready," he said, even though he didn't feel ready at all.

"Then let's spar," said Ornstein.

"Make it a fair and good fight, you two," Damian said, smiling at them. "Good luck."

His unbiased nature was clear, and he gave both of them a kind pat on the shoulder. But he was a kind fool. Victors were not kind by nature – the few that were got damaged far beyond repair. He was as good as dead as soon as his chosen pet kicked the dust.

Cupey shrugged him off a little bit – Ornstein did the same, as they both went to stand across each other on the mat.

"Give it your very best," said Ornstein, picking a slimmer weapon. "And so will I."

"Wouldn't do anything less," Cupey said. Victors were confident. He didn't at all feel confident, but he had to act. He had that tenacity. He took his weapon – a sword that wasn't so thin and light like Ornstein's, but wasn't too heavy. Something perfectly in the middle.

Cuprian Pearson needed the sword.

It was what Victors used. Overwhelmingly. If he wanted to be the write-in choice, he had no choice but to use one. He couldn't lose. His grip tightened around his sword as he looked up at Ornstein – he had a few inches on Cupey but that didn't matter when it came to expertise.

"And…" said Damian, putting up a hand. "Engard!"

Cupey shut out everything in that moment except for his opponent. Just like training back home, but even more-so. He didn't hear a single thing except his heart pounding in his ears as Ornstein was on a quick offensive, forcing Cupey to deflect a slash right from the start. Cupey was also quick on his feet, blocking another slash and studying his opponent carefully.

Ornstein was swift with the lighter sword, but Cupey had more power. It was mostly just a waiting game. Ornstein would slash, then slash to the other side, then feint. It was a fairly predictable pattern and Cupey was getting good at predicting it – and blocking the shots. Ornstein couldn't push him with such a light weapon even with all his strength and Cupey easily threw the blunt weapon away from himself.

But they couldn't keep doing this forever – sometimes Cupey would wait it out for trainees with less stamina – less tenacity – but it was clear Ornstein was not that sort to just get tired and let it slip. He quickly moved to the other side, throwing Ornstein's rhythm off, and going for the offense. Ornstein stepped back cautiously – he was light on his feet, Cupey noticed – and the sound of blunt metal clanging with and sliding off of blunt metal gathered the attention of many in the training center.

Cupey threw a great effort into a chop – and felt the strength of Ornstein's weapon underneath sliding it off – and then Ornstein thrust his sword forward and hit Cupey's head. A parry. And a good one at that. Cupey suddenly was forced on the defense – but the strikes were much faster this time. Cupey's mind shut off and his body acted for him, muscle memory and pure adrenaline throwing his arms into every block, holding him back for a little while longer and trying to sense his patterns. Cupey threw up his sword for a block and it was like the moment went in slow motion.

The realization that Ornstein had changed his pattern.

A feint.

It was like everything moved so slowly when he watched Ornstein's sword thrust forward and felt the impact knock the wind out of him and send him flying backwards, falling on the training mat with some sort of sound that came from his chest. He didn't know what it was, it was like he wasn't even in his own body for that slow moment.

He was rubbing his chest for a moment which was beating dully with pain as he suddenly had Dazzle and Damian by his side. Damian had a hand down to him, Dazzle looking at Cupey with an expression of worry, like he might melt if she got too close to him.

He felt like it took forever to blink, the contacts dancing around his eyes for a moment before they were put back in place by his eyelids.

"Ornstein wins." Isabella's voice snapped him out of his stupor as he looked up at the boy, and his District partner standing next to him punching his arm a little bit. "Not bad, Rogue."

Cupey… Lost. He suddenly felt waves of cold horror deep in his chest, each one of them rocking his heart around like he was going to be sick. How could he lose?! To him!? No. Impossible.

And yet, it had happened.

"Don't worry Cupey, they'll probably put in two swords so you can both have one," Dazzle finally said, still staring at him for a long second.

"If not, those sponsors will be throwing money at your mentor to get you one," Damian told him.

"Y…eah…" Cupey didn't know if he was even speaking, it felt like he wasn't even there.

"Grow up and get on your secondary," Isabella said, a rare instance of her speaking.

"We have a lot more work to do if we're going to clear out the field," Ornstein agreed, but quieter, avoiding looking at him.

And just like that Isabella was walking away, back towards the strength station with different kinds of weights. Ornstein went towards the agility course, leaving the three of them.

"Are you alright Cupey-" Damian started, but Cupey finally got his senses about him and shrugged him off.

"Fine."

"Go back to your hatchets," Dazzle told him.

"Are you sure? I-"

"Just go," Cupey said, not meaning to be short, but he couldn't help it. This wasn't according to his plan at all.

Damian just shrugged and left, and Dazzle held down a hand to Cupey.

"Get up on your feet. You can do that much. And you should."

Cupey shut his eyes for a long moment, hoping this was some kind of bad dream. But when he opened them, he was still here. She was still holding her hand down to him. And he had still lost.

"How could that have happened?" he asked, slowly pushing himself up on his feet.

Dazzle looked like she didn't know what to say. "District Two is just too big for their britches. You said it, right? The overconfident ones never win."

Cupey wanted to believe her. But in that moment, he didn't win. Ornstein won. And Ornstein didn't seem at all overconfident. Which just made him all that much more of a threat. "I need a sword. Victors use swords."

"Not all of them," Dazzle said as she walked with him to the bow and arrows section. "That's why we have all sorts of weapons. Bows are good for range after all, and close-up fighting. They're flexible." She put her bow on her shoulder and Cupey just stared at her.

He could see the green notebook in front of his eyes. The one where he kept all his notes so diligently about archery.

"I don't want to miss a single detail."

It was the fastest bulls-eye she ever shot.

He hesitantly touched the bow, remembering back when he used to use one. He put the bow on his shoulder and notched an arrow, pulling it back and taking only a second to aim before releasing. He squinted a little bit to see where it landed.

"You're pretty good at it already," Dazzle said with a small giggle.

"I used to specialize in archery," Cupey said, staring at the target for a moment. "Way back when." When he didn't care what color his hair was, or hide his blue eyes, back when he wore his glasses because he needed them. Back when he didn't care what anyone thought of him and just did things because he loved them.

He put the bow back on the rack.

Things changed. He changed. He had to reach his destiny now. And that required making sacrifices.

"Knives," he said finally. "A reliable second choice. The most common secondary weapon."

"Oh," Dazzle said quietly. "Sure you don't want to train together for a little bit? I'm…" She spoke so quietly she was practically mouthing the words. I'm worried about you.

No.

NO!

People didn't worry about Victors! People didn't pity Victors before the Games even started! Victors had tenacity. Victors were not rude, but standoffish. That was how he had to be to win. He had come too far to lose out on his dream just because of a little nostalgia and a pretty girl.

He turned around, putting his back to her, and started towards the knives station without another word.

Once he got there, he would make sure to scare them all. And it was a brutal showing. Every single dummy that came in his way had swoopy brown hair and steely blue-gray eyes. Every single dummy he saw flaunted around a stupid light sword, and a charming smile. Every single dummy he threw at had a 2 on the back of its shirt. Every single dummy he stabbed into was named Consus Ornstein.

The Games hadn't started yet, after all.

It wasn't too late to make certain things went according to his plan.

~.~.

-Bucket Tanzer, 16, District 7-

He was eating lunch alone. He wasn't sure why he was – not like he hadn't interacted with his fellow tributes during training. And a lot of them seemed like good people, of course they did. That was as much a good thing as it was a problem.

He looked over at where a few small groups were starting to form besides the Careers. The Six tributes had picked up the girl from Five. The boy from Eight sat with the girl from Four. Even the tribute from Eleven was sitting with both of the Twelve tributes and the boy from Nine. The pair from Three was eating slowly and chatting quietly in hushed voices. The Ten tributes were together – not at the table, as the girl was against the wall and the boy was passing her pieces of food, which she inspected and chose whether or not she wanted to eat, tossing the pieces she didn't like.

Bucket sighed a little bit as he looked away from them, going back to staring down at his cobb salad and pushing the food around a little bit with his fork. It was good of him to help her – he didn't have to, and yet he still chose to. Often those two were just in their own world in the training center.

She was eating alone.

He knew it. He had an eye on her. Maybe it was because they were from the same place, because he knew her a little bit, because she was kind to him when his own family wasn't, but he had an eye on her.

But Sabine wouldn't even look at him.

He knew why. They were going to be thrown into a death match in a few days, and it wasn't going to work in anyone's favor if they got too attached. She was doing what his grandmother said he should do – shut everything out for the next few days. She just got a head start.

But how could he just abandon her like that? After everything she did for him – made him feel valid, and… Seen. Every single other tribute in the room fell on deaf ears to him. Even Kennedy, the twelve-year-old from Twelve, who told him all about her family – two older and two younger siblings, she was happy to be perfectly in the middle – evoked no sympathy from him. It was like they were all ghosts, holograms, not real. His brain just shut down when they tried to come over to him and get to know him, get to know what they might be able to use against him. He didn't trust them for a single second. The fact that they could all tell he was trans was enough. He didn't care much to give them anymore fuel.

And yet, while he saw everyone else in the room in black and white, he just couldn't see her that way. He felt like he owed her something for her kindness.

Not that it mattered. She won the race, she shut him out first. In a way it should have made it easier, but in reality it just made things so much harder. He still didn't even know why.

He put a hand through his hair – it was still pulled back tightly, clipped into place so it wouldn't come loose by Sidonia, who commented on how fine it was as she was putting it up for him. His prep team never offered to cut it, as much as he wished they would have. Sure, he could have asked, but… He just didn't want to inconvenience them when they had so much else to do to his body before the chariot ride. He had another chance to ask before interviews, and he was really trying to build the courage to do it, but… It was just hard. He was too used to being silenced, and he knew it too.

It was why he didn't want to even entertain the thought of teaming up with any of these other tributes. They were all out for themselves – their own families, their own Districts, their own selfish reasons for wanting to live. And if he got caught in someone's trap… He would never get to really find himself. Then everyone that shut him down and stifled him back home would win. And he just couldn't imagine that happening. It was his selfish reason for wanting to live. Everyone had one.

They were released from lunch with a bell. The Careers left their plates and chattered loudly as they led the parade out of the lunchroom, but this time many of the tributes followed close to them. Bucket wanted to be one of that bunch, so he made himself get up, though he didn't eat much. He honestly wasn't used to having so much food available – enough for three meals a day – and his appetite still stayed pretty small because of it. He'd run on less before.

Despite himself he turned around to look for her, and she was dumping her food in the trash can. For a moment she caught his eye and then quickly looked away. Bucket just let out another small sigh and then went back to the training center, looking around to think through what was next for him. He definitely wanted to go back to the axes and learn more about what could be done with them. Too many Careers at swords, bows were too finnicky and he looked like a fool next to the boy from Three with spears. Mickey learned it so fast he barely spent time there, while Bucket struggled for an extra fifteen minutes before he gave up.

He'd never worked with an axe before, despite being from Seven, but it was just the easiest for him personally to learn. Guess he would make his home proud after all. Ha. Like that even mattered anymore.

No, what he really needed to learn was how to make a fire. So he decided to head there, let the little food he did eat digest, and plan out where to go from there. With a new determination he headed there. No, it wasn't just because she was there. It was a life-saving skill for him to have.

Just when he got there, the girl from Eight thrust up her hands, letting out a cry of victory as she had a small flame. The movement of her moving her hands and cheering made the flame go out quickly and just as fast the smile was wiped off her face.

"You have to nurse the flame when you finally get one," the trainer scolded her, and she just slumped back down.

"Did you see it though? I had it," she said. But like the rest of them, she meant nothing to him. She wasn't real. She wasn't him, she wanted to take advantage of him, she had her own selfish reasons for wanting to live, and so did he.

"Nice," said Kamaria, the girl from Five, who was really focused on making a kindling pile. "I've gotten it a few times already, but this is one skill I want to have a hundred percent solid."

"It's important for survival," said the trainer, and Bucket looked at all the supplies as she started to explain how to set them up to get the best chance at building a tall flame. Bucket followed along and watched – not the only tribute to watch her again. She just made it look so easy. Surely he could do that… Right?

Once she put out the flame, she let the tributes continue, going around and giving pointers as they went. Bucket focused in on his pile of supplies – not only how to set them up, but also the information about where and how he might actually find them in different environments. No use in doing any of this if he didn't know where to look.

"I saw you at the axes you know."

Bucket heard the voice, and knew it was talking to him, but he didn't look over.

"Every skill you master makes the Games go faster," he said.

"I guess you're right." A pause. "I'm, Ka-Kamaria," she said, almost stumbling on the name. "Chameleon, really. That's my nickname."

"Chameleon is a cool nickname, much cooler than Bucket," he said, but absently as he was focused on building his pile.

"Was it hard? Being out back home?" she asked finally.

He had to scoff at that. She had no idea. Nobody really did. He was in denial for so long, and now he was out of time to truly be happy. "Being trans ain't no cake walk," Bucket said, trying to sound dismissive, because he didn't need people continuing to ask those questions.

Suddenly Bucket looked up at moving light, and noticed that Sabine got her fire started. She was quickly leaning down to blow on it, adding some sticks in and covering it on the outsides with her hands. Wow. He looked back at his pile, wondering if he should add more to it.

"Was it worth it?"

He didn't look up. But he could feel her eyes on him anyways. He couldn't make himself look at her. She wasn't real. Nobody here was real. They were all gonna come for him in the end, and him for them. She went back to her own pile of kindling.

"WOO HOO!" the girl from Eight cheered, her flame actually getting pretty big as well and causing people in the area looked over at her fervor. Bucket didn't understand how she could even force a smile anymore. But everyone seemed to deal with the high likelihood of their death in different ways.

Grief, he was learning, was weird like that.

He grabbed the flint and started trying to make a spark with it, focused on doing that for a while. A few times, it looked like it might actually catch, as surprising as that was to him, but then quickly dissipated. He added some more leaves and tried again, focusing on trying to get a flame. He could only hope and pray that he got matches, but he couldn't leave this station until he got a flame going.

He was trying for so long – sometimes getting a small flame and sometimes getting close to a lasting fire before it disappeared – that different tributes were coming and going. He noticed the motion of the person next to him getting up and deciding to try something else for a while, and before he could stop himself, he finally spoke.

"Yeah."

"Huh?"

"Being out, getting ridiculed, going through hell, being reaped on the right side…"

He finally turned to look at Chameleon.

"It was worth it."

…

He thought he might feel hungry by dinner time, but he wasn't at all. Maybe it was because she was eating so close to him, or maybe it was just that silly thing called grief, anxiety, impending doom.

It was a short dinner. Seemed that the lack of appetite wasn't just a him problem. Sabine got up quickly, disappearing somewhere through the big long hallway. He didn't try to figure out where. Marlowe took that as her chance to go to bed early and rest up for the stressful day that would come tomorrow – the last morning to train, and the private sessions.

"Sidonia? Can we get a moment?" His mentor's voice was unlike any he'd ever heard. Not in tone – there were plenty of gruff ol' Seven lumberjacks, they were about a dime a dozen back home. But Bucket had never heard a voice that was just so… Devoid of feeling. Zero purpose. Barely alive. Marlowe had a similar look to her, but not like Luther.

"Of course," the young escort said, giving them a smile. "Let me know if you need anything, I'll be up in my room."

Luther didn't respond. She lingered for just a moment – it was a moment of pity, of not knowing what to make of the situation and not knowing how to help, a certain hopelessness. But finally she left, disappearing into the maze of bedrooms and quarters.

He waited an extra second before speaking. "I see how you look at her. You know her?"

Bucket was taken aback for just a moment before he sighed. "Yeah," he said. "I'm pretty bad at poker faces, I guess."

"None of us are born for the Games," Luther said. "Even the big bad Careers, as much as they love to pretend they are. Sometimes the Victor is just determined by whose adrenaline lasts longer. A lot of times luck has something to do with it. Your decisions have an impact on your chances of winning but no one has the answer on how to win."

"I don't know if that's reassuring or terrifying," Bucket confessed, looking at the table.

"Both," Luther said, but he was just staring right through Bucket at this point. "Allies just add a factor of uncertainty to your life. You can think you know someone and not know them at all. I didn't trust a single person because I wanted to get back home. I went through it all alone." And yet he was barely even alive. "All for my family of course. My best friend. Phoebe. A lovely person who is transgender like yourself." He tapped his fingers on the table. He was speaking about his best friend, but he may as very well have been talking about a stranger from his tone.

"There is lots of good to be done, if you can push through the trauma. I could do it by myself." The way he said it, Bucket didn't believe him, despite the fact that he was alive and here right now. It was almost as if he wasn't. "If you can't do that by yourself, then… You know yourself better than I do." Bucket frowned because he felt like he didn't know himself at all. Not truly. "And you should go talk to her."

He looked up, his mouth falling open a little bit in shock that Luther just said that. He was known for being a loner – gruff, and not exactly pleasant to be around. The last thing Bucket expected to hear him say was that. "I-…." Bucket closed his mouth.

"Surprised, I know," Luther said, and for just a moment he expressed something – a deep desperation. "My years of mentoring have taught me that every tribute is different. And… Well, it's better to live in ways you won't regret. Dying is better than living with regret."

"I want to live," Bucket said. Nothing was worse than dying. "That's quitter talk."

"When I was your age, I thought the same," Luther told him solemnly. "And I'll do everything I can to help you live. But if she's the thing you're going to regret the most… You should sort it out with her while you still can."

Bucket stared off into the hallway for a moment, the words taking a moment to fully absorb into his brain. Finally, he took a deep breath and stood up slowly. He could see the ghosts of many regrets deep in Luther's eyes. He wasn't going to let himself end up the same. So he went off into the hallway.

He could see Sabine's door open, the lights off in the room, but a pale blue light reflecting off the wall indicating that she was still up and in the room. So he knocked quietly on the door. "Sabine?"

He waited a long moment, breath held, before he heard her voice. "Yeah?"

He cleared his throat a little bit. "Can I come in and just talk?"

Another long moment of silence. "Yeah."

Bucket peeked in and his mouth opened when he saw the beautiful sky and mountains that filled the room and looked so… Real. He saw Sabine, a pile of tissues next to her in her bed, and slowly moved to just stand across from her. "I know you're trying to shut me out. I get it," he said quietly, and he felt a little stupid trying to come in here and ruin that for her. "I understand why, you're protecting yourself. But…"

Sabine was quiet for a moment before she made a small sound and squeezed her eyes shut, her face scrunching a little bit as she was trying to not cry. "I'm protecting you more than myself," she said finally, taking a shaking breath.

"Me?" Bucket asked, looking at her for a moment, blinking in surprise.

"Hello? Ms. Cerebral Palsy?" Sabine asked. "I'm basically a walking corpse."

Bucket frowned at that, taking a moment to figure out why she was saying this. "No, that's not true," he said right away, and she looked away from him.

"I don't need you to try to convince me otherwise, Bucket," she said, putting up a hand to stop him.

"You started the fire faster than any of us at the station," Bucket told her. "Hell it took me forever to even get a small flame. And you're a lot smarter than I am, better educated."

"That ain't gonna do much," Sabine said, reaching up to wipe her eyes. "I don't need to be a liability to anyone. Especially not you."

"You're not a liability," Bucket said right away. He would never see Sabine that way. He looked at the sky, the mountains, just wishing that he could jump into the scene and leave all of this behind. But he was here. So he continued.

"We're both running out of time to make things right and not regret things," Bucket told her. "I just don't want to leave you behind. I don't want to regret what happens in the coming days, whether I live or die." He reached up and didn't realize he was instinctively touching his hair until his hand brushed his chin a little bit and he quickly dropped it. So much was left for him to do to really have no regrets if the worst happened…

Sabine just looked at him for a moment, her expression unreadable for a long second before she sniffed and wiped her eyes again. "If that's what you want…" She looked up at him. "Then I won't leave you behind either." She sounded serious about it and took a shaking breath. "Thank you Bucket."

Bucket felt like a ten ton weight was lifted off of his chest at that. Maybe Grandma said he had to disregard everyone else, most people told him that. But Luther was right. Bucket did know this much about himself and he was going to stay true to it as much as he could in a place like this. He slowly sat down on the bed, looking at the blue sky, the clouds floating across it, surrounded by the rocky grassy plains around them. She followed his gaze up and watched it for a moment of silence – but comfortable silence. Calm silence.

For a moment the tears suspended themselves and gave way to a feeling of quiet contentment between them. Another question lived in his throat, but he swallowed it down, and just lived in that moment a little longer. Maybe later.

Finally he spoke.

"No regrets," Bucket said.

A low whisper, a quiet promise, a special small commitment to her, and to himself.

Sabine closed her eyes for a moment, able to release her breath slowly as she watched a breeze blow the clouds and the grass, she could practically feel it, she could practically imagine that she was anywhere else but here right now. But at least now she wasn't so alone anymore. She had someone that refused to leave her behind, and she would do anything for him now that he did that for her. Even if she was a walking corpse, he didn't have to be. She responded in a similarly soft tone, as soft as the imaginary breeze that made the imaginary clouds drift away.

"No regrets."

~.~.

A/N: Down to 7 pre-Games sections! Woo hoo! Keeping that stockpile going as much as I can in the midst of the holidays. If I get a fire lit under my ass I might actually get the pre-Games written by the new year! Too much? Maybe! We'll see.

Next Chapter: Gus and training score reveals.