Once Apollo had heard what I had done in my private training session he had lost it. In fact, both him and the escort had. I was such a disgrace to them. They clearly regretted ever having me in the games, I could see it all over their faces. I was a disappointment to them. With clenched teeth I slammed the door to district nine suite, drowning away the shouting of Apollo.
Well fuck them. It was my private training session. It was my life and it was my life I could lose in a few days. If I decided to do what I did, then they could complain all they wanted but I did not regret it. I got my point across and I had felt powerful along the way and whatever number I got wouldn't even matter to me. They could give me a zero for all I care.
But I still needed a drink to calm down my nerves from the fight with those two meat-heads. Therefore I took me and my half burnt body down to the lobby, getting an Avox to get me a glass of strong alcohol. Stretching my neck I went and sat near the window, looking out into the horizon. Losing myself in it until I heard someone behind me.
Turning my head around ready to tell whoever it was to piss off when I realize who it was and I smirked, holding up my glass.
The morning was brutal. I was back in my room, but for a change my whole body ached. Disorientated I turned on my other side, and managed to fall out of my bed. The impact between my shoulder and the carpeted floor sent waves of pain through my chest area. While coughing and clutching my right side, I managed to get back on my feet and walk into the bathroom. The floor to wall mirror showed my entire body in its full glory. Marks of purple, black and green were everywhere, and the burn on my thigh was a bright red. I certainly looked messed up.
Luckily some of the creams they had put on the burn had soothed it, and it was nowhere as painful as the day before.
After taking a quick shower and putting on some clothes I made my way to the dining room. It was strangely enough empty, but I figured that Ryner might be talking with Gaby about the private training. Last night he and I had planned my whole training down to the smallest detail, so I knew that it could take some time.
I decided to order some food in the meantime, and decided on an omelet with some fresh fruit and a cup of tea. In addition to talking about training, Ryner had been clear on that he expected us to eat varied and healty. Bye, bye pancakes. The omelet was fantastic, and I quickly finished my entire plate. Gaby and Ryner still wasn’t anywhere within sight, so I decided on reading one of the books on the coffee table. This wasn’t very typical me, but soon enough I was engrossed in the play about two star-crossed lovers from families that hated each other.
I almost didn’t hear the knock on the door. For a second I wasn’t sure if it was something I had imagined, but then it knocked a second time. I put my index finger between the pages, so that I would know where I left off, and walked over to the door. When I opened Zale was standing there. I smiled at him and stepped aside while opening the door wider. “Hey, what’s up?”
It seemed that Dionysus and I had come to an uneasy truce. I avoided him and he avoided me. We spoke through Felix and for the most part I took meals behind the closed door of my bedroom. I didn’t want to be around the drunken prick nor did I wish to see the trail of his harem fawning all over him. I was being antisocial, keeping to myself but in the long run it would make it easier for us to kill each other right? No connections. No friendships to make my hand waver.
I’d slept in, my head was throbbing and if I didn’t think Felix would drag me kicking and screaming from my bed I would have stayed there all damn day. Instead I traipsed down to the training centre to put in a few hours to satisfy Felix’s high standards. I found my way to the knife throwing station, slipping a belt over my shoulder before stepping into the target range.
Target’s moved to and fro as soon as I stepped inside, the wooden cut-outs coming perilously close to ramming into my side. “You’ve got to hit them, or they’ll just get closer.” The trainer called out as I fumbled with a knife, throwing it at the target that had swooped around on the track to head in my direction. The knife clattered to the cement and the target didn’t stop its trajectory. Slamming into my shoulder. I stumbled and found myself face planting on the concrete. This was stupid. This whole thing was stupid. Another target narrowly missed running over my hand as I pushed up into a seated position. I grabbed a knife, running the blade across my palm before throwing. The first knife hit the very tip of a target but the next found the target. I stood, moving around the field and throwing knives. Most fell to the floor but those that hit? They were slowly finding their mark. I had one last target to hit when a knife whizzed past my head and clunked into the heart of the target. The lights flicked on and I spun around to see Dionysus standing there. A shit eating grin on his face and a goblet of wine in his hand.
“What do you want?”
“That’s no way to speak to your old man,” his speech was slurred. His balance off and I couldn’t help but feel sick at the notion that he was my father. I hated him. I hated what he stood for and honestly I had nothing left to say to him. I pushed past him, moving further into the training centre when he called out to me.
“You’ll be dead before Day One even ends, Rowan.”
I turned, the admission didn’t make me sad nor did it really surprise me. “I don’t doubt that but you know what? It’s all on your head. You could save us. All of you, but what do you do? You get drunk and fuck anything that moves while your children fight to the death. Thanks a lot Dad. Nice talking with you.” I turned on my heel, leaving Dionysus behind me and hoping that he'd crawl into the bottom of a wine bottle and leave me be.
Another station caught my eye after my chat with Ruby. It was yet another odd one, with a few strange objects lying around. Most were made of marble and seemed to have been built by Greek sculptors. It always fascinated me how anyone could make such things by carving them on rock. District Two's main industry is masonry and construction. Not once have I ever thought of having a profession like that.
As I brushed my fingers against everything, I noticed some I recognized as one of the females from District Seven. I had this strange vibe about her. She wasn't the usual Tribute whose scared about dying in the Arena nor was she a confident Outlier. She was somewhat threatening and definitely competition when the time came.
I gave her a smile and went back to looking over the strange objects. My finger touched a specific one, a picture of the Olympian Gods. It was almost like a family portrait with a piece missing on the corner. All of a sudden it was divided into fifteen squares, and rearranged. I raised a brow and looked up, noticing a dome forming around the station. I turned and noticed that I was trapped now with the girl.
"It's alright," I assured her. "I can handle this." I conjured up a blue fireball which I launched at the forcefield-like cage. The result wasn't one I wanted. Slowly the dome began to concave. I was almost certain it was going to squish us, hadn't it stopped. "W-what do we do?!" I asked, starting to panic.
After getting to know both Zale and throwing axes a little better, I made my way over to the boxing rings, which I'd had my eyes on for a few days now. Today was the last day and I'd really slacked off. In a last ditch effort to get some actual training in, I forewent the request of my mentor-dad-god and went back to my lone wolf status.
A trainer was waiting patiently at the empty station when I trotted over. He offered me some tape and gloves, which I turned down immediately. Whether I was a glutton for punishment or not, I wanted to go bare knuckles to the bag. At least for a little while.
"Fair enough, kid," he said, waving his arms and backing off. This is what I wanted anyways, to be alone.
After taking a moment to stretch out, I squared off against the red bean bag as it hung in front of me. Nimble on the balls of my feet, I channeled my inner granddad. He was brilliant with a punching bag, he beat the one in the garage every day for at least an hour. It was probably the reason why he was in as great of shape as he was while I was growing up. Until he got sick, that is. I remember watching him as a kid, perched on the hood of some dusty trans am, air boxing to imitate him. I was still too young when he got sick to have him teach me, but after he died, I tried. Always bare knuckled.
Focusing on nothing but my breath and the way my body moved, I jabbed, punched, and cut into the bag as if my life depended on it. Three punches in and I felt my knuckles split a little. I kept going. Left, right, left, right. Right, right, left, left. Back and forth, duck and dodge and punch. I could feel my knuckles swell and break, the skin becoming rough and sore with each connection I made with the bag. But I just kept going.
Half hour in, I had to stop, much to my dismay. My fists throbbed and I realized that even at 18, I was no match for granddad. That man was all balls, rough and tough, he took no shit. Sure, he was scarred, he probably started out just like me.
Wiping the sweat from my brow, I caught my breath, watching the bag float back and forth in the air until it slowed from lack of impact. Blood dripped down my knuckles, which didn't bother me any. It was the throbbing pain that caused me to stop. And even though the bag was red, I could see the splatter of my own blood against the canvas.
The trainer walked over, handing me a towel, looking rather displeased. From his belt he pulled out a spray bottle. "Clean up your shit," he said flatly, clearly unamused. I knew he'd rather I had used the gloves or at least the tape. But I did what I wanted, even if and especially when I had to clean up after myself. I took the bottle and sprayed, wincing at the pain in my fists as I worked the bottle. Rubbing the bag down, I left only when I knew it was clean.
But I was still covered in blood, even if it was beginning to clot and dry. The most logical thing in my mind was to head to the first aid station. There, I took a seat at an empty table and looked over the supplies in the kit. Bandages, gauze, tape, morphling injections, splints, tourniquets, needle and thread. But what I needed first was the anti-bacterial cleanser.
Using cotton balls, I applied the cleaner to my knuckles, giving off a low grumble when the alcohol came into contact with my exposed skin. I gritted my teeth through the pain until my left hand was cleaned up. Using the gauze, I applied a wrap to the outside of my knuckles and padded it. I finished the bandage off with medical tape and some more gauze for good measure. My hand still throbbed with pain, but at least it was cleaned up. I knew I had to learn to endure the pain, as I was certain that if I escaped a scuffle alive in the arena, I wouldn't escape unscathed. I repeated the steps on my right hand before stopping to admire my handiwork.
"Need help?" a trainer came up and asked.
"No, I'm quite fine, thank you," I shook my head, still wishing to be alone.
"Suit yourself," she said before disappearing.
Because my knuckles were so sore, I found it impossible to complete any real hands on training, such as practicing stitches and the like. Instead, I lost myself in the first aid training book, trying to memorize hints and suggestions for treating various wounds from simple cuts to sprained ankles to large, bloody wounds. My stomach rumbled, signifying lunch time, and I realized just how lost in the book I'd gotten.
Excusing myself, I went in search of food and, of course, another cigarette.
I'm a Career, Promise|| Spears & Tridents || Leo & Open
This was the third time I woke up in my room, and it was starting to feel familiar. Shame that I’m counting my last days in it then, I thought darkly to myself as I put on the provided clothes. After throwing down my breakfast so fast that my father asked whether I had even chewed it, I headed for the stairs and jogged into the training Centre. My excitement stemmed from one thing only; after discussing with my father after our session, he had allowed me to use some weapons today. Although he had warned me not to choose any close combat ones, it was still better than those boring stations I had covered yesterday. Just thinking of fire making made me shudder. That was the reason why I almost skipped into the room feeling unusually happy.
I was not allowed to use my dear swords, he had made that crystal clear. Like yesterday I stared a long time at the currently empty sword station, and the assortment of different swords. Although I preferred the lighter ones that I could wield a shield with, I would have done anything to put my hands on a heavier double-handed one. Distracted by the longing for my precious swords I had walked right into the table of another station. “Ouch!” I exclaimed and jumped backward in surprise. I had walked right into the spears and tridents station. I grinned. What a great coincidence.
After spending some time talking to the instructor and picking a spear I liked, I practiced. Spears were not a new thing to me; after all we made tons a day. I noticed another tribute was also at the station, so I did the most Career-ish thing I could think of and threw the spear, hitting the red marker on the dummy with deadly precision. I grinned my most confident smile and asked; “Up for a competition?”
I would need to be able to hide. This was for certain if I was going to last in the arena. Blending in had become a particular strength of mine, luckily, as I had spent years as a young teenager learning to hide from those who targeted me for my size and brains. I eventually became a more difficult target, and so they moved on, but I never really stopped hiding from them.
I had a premonition that I would enjoy the camouflage station.
The camouflage trainer welcomed me warmly as I approached his station. Evidently it hadn't been the most popular among the Pegasus riding and swordfighting offered. I admitted to him that I came here because I thought it would be easiest for me, given my pervious circumstances. He listened to me carefully, trying to dig into what would be the best strategy for me to use.
"I think," he began. "That you're less of a painter and disguiser as you are a sneaker. And you need to know how to do both."
I agreed and he began by showing me the basics of disguising myself, covering me with wet leaves and dirt until I felt like I had rolled around on a forest floor rather than trained at the clean Capitol building. But when he showed me the mirror, I gasped a little. If I were stuck in the wilderness it was be close to impossible to recognize me among the trees and bushes if I remained still.
He offered me a wet cloth and I wiped myself down, offering him my arm for another one, but instead he handed me a paintbrush, showing me the basic technique to making my skin a less noticeable hue with mediums such as mud and mashed up leaves. When I pointed out I probably wouldn't have a paintbrush in the arena, he assured me that I could do the same with just my fingers or some leaves or grass I might find.
"The more natural and less man-made, the better," he told me. I listened intently as he showed me techniques to hide features such as my hair or eyes. Things that people have been trained to notice in humans and that would give me away if anyone saw them.
"Now as far as camouflaging your body, it sounds like you've gotten pretty good at that on your own," I nodded as he continued. "It's stealth and silence, not just avoidance. And as contrary as it might sound, camouflage could be one of your most important offensive tactics. The best offense is a good defense."
I laughed a little. "Actually that quote the other way around."
He laughed it off and continued giving me little tips and words of advice, and I thanked him and left when I decided that I needed to move onto something else.
I woke up on the third day with the knowledge that I would need to train alone today. During our power session the day before, Lucia warned me that I was getting too attached to other tributes, that it was adverse to my trail to victory. I didn't need to read her mind to know she was talking about Leo. In obedience, I decided to simply go my own way today. My routine remained the same: throw on clothing, pull hair back, tie shoes, walk downstairs without bothering to talk to my District Partner. We all knew he was bloodbath fodder, anyway; the poor kid had been sniffling and moping all day, spending all his time at the firemaking and Pegasus riding stations.
When I reached the training center, I realized it was almost glaringly obvious how scrawny I was, especially in comparison to the more athletic tributes in here. The girls from One and Two were both practiced in weaponry and the young girl from Four was outright scary despite her stature. Nevermind the boys. The only offense I had practiced was throwing knives, and even though I found myself good at it, there was no guarantee of their presence in the arena. I needed to learn at least some physical skill. And so I turned to the hand-to-hand station.
The trainer today, luckily, was not the 6'5" brawny man I had noticed the day before, but rather a woman near my height, who stood stocky and boyish almost. Her hair was cropped above her ears and she had a friendly face, so I gathered the courage to take that station first.
She asked me what my strengths were, what I had practiced, if I had done any physical training back in Three. I was disappointed by my own answers; precision and intelligence wouldn't come as an advantage if I were pinned down under that huge kid from Nine or even Nick or Leo. I had spent so much time working at home that I never bothered with sports. It simply wasn't something I was interested in.
I didn't bother with my powers. Though it might have been helpful asking for assistance on how to incorporate them into my fighting technique, there would be no way for me to actually practice without my special suit. Once again I silently prayed for an outfit in the arena that would conform to my body, no matter the shape or size.
She began by showing me several small defensive techniques, using my elbows and knees to hit the pressure points. Hits to their instep, groin, and nose would all stop an attacker in their tracks. If they were running directly at me, stepping out of the way would force them to run past me, their momentum pushing them forward continually. This would buy me a few precious moments to gather myself.
She taught me strategies for when I was trapped under a tribute. Thrust the pelvis forward, forcing them off balance, then twist their arm behind so that I could push them off of me and onto the ground. Easy enough. She told me it could be done with minimal power, so long as I was quick with it. If they were sitting on my chest, bringing my arms up to force their legs off would leave me with enough pressure off my chest so that I could slip out from between their legs. If I was on my stomach with them on my back, I could pull their legs out and twist their ankles, pushing them off of me with little force.
The trainer gave me techniques for simple punches and kicks after I told her that no way in hell would I ever go after someone with no weapons or traps set up. She raised an eyebrow and warned me that anything could happen when I was deranged from lack of food and water. I rolled my eyes but allowed her to teach me basic offenses.
Finally she taught me how to get out of a headlock, something particularly deadly if I got caught in the arms of a Career boy. My mind flickered to Leo. Would he snap my neck if I was caught in his arms? It certainly would be the quickest and most painless death he could offer me. I shook the thought out of my head and returned to the trainer, who was offering her last words of wisdom before I went off to train somewhere else.
I thanked her dearly and walked away, searching for something else to train in. I would need more than this if I was going to survive through these Games.
