Rope Him In ( Cato x District 10! Reader x slight! Marvel) Pt. 6
Summary: (Y/n) begins training.
A/n: Sorry for any inconsistencies and spelling errors, enjoyyyyyy!
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“So tell me why you’re in a feud with a career.” Ramsey bit into his apple. The mentor sat across from you and Buckley.
“Where’s Dolly?” You hadn’t seen her in the room and were starting to get worried.
“Don’t worry about her.” Ramsey dismissed.
“Where is she?” Buckley then repeated.
The room had grown quiet. Even Pradain who had been watching the Capitol news had gone silent. Ramsey shook his head, avoiding eye contact with either of you. You turned to look at Buckley who intently waited for an answer.
“She’s talking with the President.” Praidain offered you an answer. “Apparently (Y/n)’s stunt didn’t sit right with him.”
“Fuck.” You cursed as you threw your head into your hands and onto the table.
Dolly had warned you. She had told you that you’d get her in trouble. Buckley seemed taken back but was quick to come to your defense.
“I'm sure it's nothing,” He began, “Maybe he’s just telling her to keep an eye on you.”
“Buck’s right.” Ramsey shrugged. “It’s not like the presidents going to hurt any of us. There’s rumors of rebels in the districts. He’s worried that your little horse trick might’ve sent the wrong message. That’s all he’s worried about.”
“That and the girl from 12.” Pradain added.
“I wouldn’t worry about her. She seems like another Joanna if anything.” Ramsey added.
“Have you seen how she stares at the Capitol Citizens? She practically skins the President with that nasty glare of hers.” Pradain sprawled out on the couch.
All the talk couldn’t distract you from the immense guilt you felt. You’ve heard stories about people getting punished by the Capitol. You knew about how cruel they could be since you practically lived with the lingering threat of the peacekeepers. You hoped that Buckley was right. That she was just getting a little scolding. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if your actions had caused her to get hurt or worse.
“Why don’t they just kill us on the spot?” Came your hopeless reply.
“Don’t go around saying things like that (Y/n)” Pradain’s sympathy shone for the first time.
“They like entertainment.” Ramsey said, looking out into space.
Buckley looked uneasy. It seemed the guilt had gone to him as well. You wondered if he hated you. Of course he probably didn’t but you were sure he thought of you differently.
You could feel the flood of emotions swirl in your brain. This was all getting to be so much and the games haven't even started. You’d lost your appetite. Shakily you got up. Your body felt weak. It seemed you’d spent most of your time here fighting off panic attacks and the urge to cry. Quickly you marched into your room. You could hear Buckley’s chair screech as he stood up to follow but Ramsey kept him back.
“Let her,” He instructed him. “Why don’t we chat about winning?” He followed up.
Your tears didn’t hesitate any longer. A familiar flood of salt water streamed down your face as you slouched down the door. The cries were progressively getting harder to contain. Ugly cries erupted from you and you knew the rest of the group would be able to hear them. You threw yourself onto the strange bed. Cries were muffled but now you were drowning in your snot and tears.
Why did you ever believe Buckley? Why did you think you could be strong. You weren’t the same person you were 10 years ago. That brash little girl left when your mother died. She left when reality took over your fantasy of a better life.
In your time here so far you’d proven to be difficult, negative, and living off of false confidence. There was no possible way you’d win the games. Especially since you’ve managed to make enemies out of the tributes with the highest chance at victory. Amaranto was wrong. You weren’t even good at your job back home. Skilled with knives? If anything you’d get killed by one. Amaranto. He’d be left with a heartbroken father. Clarabell was there for him which gave you some sense of hope but even then. What use does it have for him to have a life, a family- if his kids would be reaped too.
You thought of your mother. What would she think of you if she were still here? You hadn’t talked to her in years. You weren’t able to. Life got hectic and visits to the meadow were replaced with shifts at the slaughterhouse. Instantly your mind is filled with memories of your mother. She’d told you that anything was possible. That you were strong and capable yet wild and fierce.
The cold air kissed your tears away as you laid looking at the ceiling. Her last words echoed as you closed your eyes. Sleep was hard to get by these days. Fortunately for you, you’d exhausted yourself enough to drift into a blissful nap.
“(Y/n).” A voice came through your dream.
You shifted in place, the untouched part of the sheets cold, causing your skin to break out in goosebumps.
“(Y/n), come on you gotta go to training.” The feminine voice came again.
Your eyelids fought to open, refusing to be awoken by the gift of a nap. When they finally did open you were met with Dolly’s gentle eyes. She shook you slightly to get you up. Your groginess was replaced and you basically threw yourself onto her.
“You’re ok!” Your arms grasped her into a tight hug.
Dolly hugged back, “Are you ok? Did something happen?” She asked you. She thought it was unlike you to be so forward.
“I should be asking you that- What happened?” Came your worried reply.
“Nothing much.” She smiled. “You have training in 10-”
You cut her off, “Ramsey and Pradain said you were talking to the President.”
She looked confused. She stood back, getting off the bed she had been hugged on to.
“He wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” She sighed.
“What's going on Dolly? Was it about me?” You wondered, glad she didn’t seem to be hurt.
“Well Snow called me in because of you, so that parts true.” She placed a hand on your arm, “But don’t worry about it nothings going to happen.” She took a deep breath as she began to explain. “You cant tell anyone I told you this but Snow suspects another rebel uprising. He’s concerned about the tributes showing defiance towards the Capitol.”
“Yeah Pradain and Ramsey told me about the rebels.”
“Great.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyways, I was going to tell you later since I know you’re busy with training but I guess now’ll have to do.” She tried to find the right wording. “Snow wants you to play up the part of a cowgirl from 10.”
“What?” Her answer didn’t seem real.
“You’re joking right?” You laughed.
“No (Y/n). Your parade stunt, in his words, ‘ can be seen as an act of defiance.’ So to counter that he wants you to show the Capitol that you’re really, again his words not mine, ‘A good ol’ fashioned- wild and dense country girl.” She said the last part with disdain. She was from district 10 too, something that you’d forgotten from time to time.
You felt offended. “Wait why- that doesn’t even make any sense. He didn’t like that I rode a horse so he wants me to act stupid?”
“It could be worse.” She reminded . Suddenly you had no problem with it. Except you did. Cato would have a hayday with this.
The second day of training was already different as soon as you walked in. You’d all be spending the first half training as a group, the next would be individual. Like yesterday, you dreaded group training. The tributes lined up by districts as they waited to spar against trainers.
You looked up to the balcony. The game makers were stationed up there to evaluate the tributes, but in reality all they did was get drunk and cause distractions. You paid no mind to them yesterday since there were only a few, but the rest of them seemed to join in today.
“So they’re really making you play an idiot?” Buckley whispered. He was in front of you, waiting for his turn.
“Yeah. Keep that on the down low please.” You asked, not wanting to let any other tributes in on it.
“Of course. Can you believe we have three days of this? Like it's going to help anyone. The game makers like to kill people off when the games get stale.” His face scrunched in annoyance as he looked towards them. “They say may the odds be ever in your favor, but they make it so that they never are.”
You didn’t like thinking about the games. You knew you’d die eventually, even if you did manage to make it far. Out of the 24 people here there’s bound to be at least 16 ahead of you. The only thing that got you through the long days were memories of 10, thinking of going home to Amaranto, Pa, and Clarabell, and Buckley. Though you tried not to think of him too much. You’ve grown attached to your neighbor, but there could only be one. He’d have a chance, you hoped he would, but he could get in over his head at times.
The girl from 12 overheard, she looked like she wanted to pipe in but went against it. Buckley had previously told you that she had also made Cato’s list. So even if you did want to talk to her you knew it’d make things worse for the both of you.
“I wonder if they program them to be psychopaths.” You chatted with Buckley.
“They probably feed them sheet metal.” He joked.
Routinely the careers finished fast. They went to their familiar spot and proceeded to judge and ridicule the efforts of the others.
“I’m surprised 4 isn’t with them. Aren’t they also careers?” You looked over at the pair of tributes.
“Have you seen them (y/n)? They may be from 4, but they don’t seem like the career type. They would’ve been with the pack already.” Buckley moved slightly so they were in your field of vision. It was true. The boy from 4 looked too young to be here. It broke your heart. The girl looked capable, but she kept to herself, not really helping the boy.
“Have you decided on your chosen skill yet?” You asked him.
Buckley shrugged, “No, but I might just throw some knives around.”
You nodded. He looked at you as if waiting for your answer. “I think I’ll do something with rope.”
His face lit up, “You have to!”
Individual training was better than group training. Partially because the careers were focused on themselves and not on the less capable tributes. Buckley had gone on to do some strength training. You could see him trying to talk to Thresh. It was clear the boy didn’t want to talk, but Buckley didn’t know any better. You on the other hand were in a simulation pod. It was a small rectangular room within the building. It simulated different weather and textures. One of your least favorite parts of the game that you came to realize was the randomly selected arena. In past years there’d been tundras, deserts, beaches, and cities. There was no telling which one they’d come up with this year. You hoped it’d be anything but a jungle. You could handle heat but not humidity.
When you first started using the pod, all eyes were on you. Mostly because it piqued the interest of the other tributes and you were sure they’d want to use it after you. It was filled with coarse sand first, cold but then gradually heating up. The pod went from room temperature to a scorching heat and you had to take your jacket off. The sand quickly morphed into liquid, and you were floating in the water. You weren’t much of a swimmer, so of course you panicked. The worst part came when the water evaporated and you stood on leaves while the air around you got humid. Your jacket was already off and you couldn’t get rid of any more layers. The simulation ended with the water turning into snow. When you were done you stepped out, already regretting having chosen it. You were however pushed back in by a trainer. The pod inhaled the sand, snow, and water particles, leaving you good as new.
Stepping out you’ve noticed the tributes lining up. In a weird way you could tell they were excited to try out capitol technology. Marvel was the first in line. He was surprised to see you walk out the door. He peeked his head in the pod before looking at you.
“Can’t swim?” He asked. You couldn't tell whether he was trying to make conversation or insult you. Saying nothing you walked past him.
Your mentors had instructed you to try to at least learn some lethal skills since trying to run wouldn’t always work. The weapons area was intimidating, but you had to at least try. There were spears, bow and arrows, knives, daggers, swords, axes, sickles. An array of weapons you didn’t know how to use.
You picked up a knife and examined it. A trainer looked ready to help you so you walked toward them. “I’m not sure what to do.”
“Why don’t you try with the dummy first?” They suggested.
Nodding you went over to one of the training dummies. You tried stabbing the knife into the wood. Your arm was a bit wobbly at first but you eventually got the hang of it. The trainer came over to help you out with a technique. After a half hour you were finally able to train with them. It was hard at first since you never really had to fight with anyone. You were skilled to an extent with a knife, but those skills were only permitted in the arena.
“Alright, why don’t you try the spears next?” The trainer pointed to where the said weapon lied.
Spears were a weird weapon to you. It was essentially an elongated knife mixed with a needle. You’d seen Marvel use these before. He was the only one who could effectively use one, so you’ve come to learn. Eventually the trainer got whisked away to help another tribute, leaving you alone. The metal felt heavy in your hands. You lifted the spear to poke the point, drawing blood from your finger. Hissing, you put the finger in your mouth, hoping that it wouldn’t bleed too much and cause a mess. As you approached a dummy you messed around with the weapon, hoping to find your grip. When you did you hit the dummy- lightly at first- deciding what the best way to weaken your opponent would be. Driving the point into the dummy’s stomach, you let out a sound as you tripped over your own feet, the force of your stab stronger than you anticipated.
“You know those are meant to be thrown too right?” Marvel appeared besides you, his hands on his hip as he observed your technique. “Give me that.” He took the spear out of your dry hands, immediately getting into a stance before throwing it at the dummy’s head.
Marvel turned to you and smiled, acting like a boy who had just made a basketball shot. Your mouth twitched as you forced yourself to keep a stoic expression. Your nerves were around the place but you didn’t need Marvel knowing that.
“Come on 10, it’s not that hard.” He said as he retrieved the spear. You could see his muscles when he grabbed the base of the spear, using force to get it out of the foam head he had stuck it through.
“(Y/n)?” Buckley called your name. You turned around and saw him on the opposite side of the room. He gave you the ‘you good?’ eyes. Dismissing him you turned back around to face Marvel who was examining the build of the spear.
“These things are wicked huh? I’ve never seen one this sleek.” He commented, running his hands over the metallic stick.
“The Capitol loves making things shiny.” Came your reply. Since your talk with Dolly, you’ve come to learn that being friendly with the careers might be your only way of not getting killed in the games, especially now that snow was on your case.
Marvel looked astounded that you even spoke. You’d kept quiet for the most part. Your comment made his smirk grow. Marvel handed the spear to you. It was only then that you noticed he smelled like cologne. It was sharp enough to give you a headache. It didn’t surprise you that he would take advantage of the Capitol’s amenities. He was from district one after all.
“Here, I’ll try again.” You got into a stance, “Can you show me how you get ready to throw?” Your voice sounded artificial. You knew he could tell you were acting differently. He raised an eyebrow but helped you anyways.
“You want to spread your feet. No-not like that.” He said as he tapped your leg to fix your stance. “Make sure you don’t poke your damn eye out.” Marvel warned as he fixed your arm. When he saw that you had perfected your stance he nodded. “Alright, that's a start. Go.” He ordered.
You mentally slapped yourself. You had made the spear go through the dummy’s neck- which was impressive, however you didn’t like the fact that you needed Marvel’s help in order to attain it.
“Look at that!” He shouted. Marvel looked proud, he wrapped an arm over your shoulder and you quickly stepped away from him. “Not bad.” He said still impressed by your work. “If it were up to me you’d be in our pack.” He joked.
“Are you serious?” Again, you never knew when he was lying.
“No. Of course not.” He said and walked away to bug some other poor tribute.
“You guys know what to do right?” Ramsey and Dolly stood by the door as they watched the district 9 tributes enter the waiting room.
“Show off?” Buckley answered.
“Exactly. You have fifteen minutes, so use them wisely.” Dolly looked nervous. You wondered if she was worried about you since you hadn’t shown as much skill as Buckley since you got here.
“If they get bored of you they’ll ask you to leave earlier, so don’t bore them.” Ramsey eyed the two of you. “I assume you’ll be showing off your throwing skills?” He turned to Ramsey. He shrugged, “I’m teetering between that and strength.”
“Remember, the higher you score, the more likely you are to get sponsors.” You could tell that was aimed towards you by the way Dolly intentionally faced Buckley.
It didn’t take a genius to piece together that you were the weak link in the district 10 team. A few other tributes made their way to the waiting room, leaving team 10 behind.
“Alright, well they’ll call you by your names. Good luck.” Dolly bid the two of you farewell as she and Ramsey turned to make their leave.
“They didn’t even ask you what you chose.” Buckley commented, sticking to your side as the doors to the waiting room opened.
If it weren’t for the fact that it was deadly quiet, you would’ve responded to him. Instead you sat down next to the district 9 and 11 tributes, sandwiched in the middle. The freckled girl looked at you, offering a scared look, the boy next to her looked frightened as well. You could tell they didn’t speak much by the way they weren’t facing each other. On the other side of Buckley sat a small girl with the curliest locks you’ve ever seen. You’ve seen her before, each time a sharp pain would reach your heart since she looked so young and innocent. The thought of her meeting her demise in the arena sickened you and you wished that she’d at least go peacefully. Next to her was Thresh. You knew his name since he was the biggest one here, everyone even Cato seemed to be wary of him. You even heard Pradain talk about how he’d probably be this year’s victor.
You hadn’t noticed how anxious Buckley was. In fact this was the first time you’ve noticed how much he bounced his leg and fiddled with his fingers. In your eyes he was the peace in all of this chaos, always finding a way to calm you down, even in the moments where the two of you faced the reality of possibly having to kill each other.
The nerves in your body were just as bad as his, but you fought to put a smile on his face, your hand going to his forearm as a way to reassure him. He nodded at your action, his bounces dying down. As you removed your hand you noticed the girl from 12 observing you. She had a blank expression on her face, and before you could return it the intercom went off.
Everyone’s attention was on him as he stood up.
“You got this Marvel.” Glimmer cheered him on, patting him on the back as he went to take his turn. He did a little pre-game jump before he disappeared into the other side.
One by one the tributes went, some of them taking longer than others. The careers took the longest, you assumed the game makers were infatuated with their natural-born skills. As it got closer to the lower districts, the tributes took less, some of them lasting not even 5 minutes. Soon enough it was Buckley’s turn.
“You’ll do great.” You didn’t know how well your words would encourage him, but you hoped he’d feel less anxious about the whole thing.
“Thanks.” He smiled, leaving you alone with the tributes from 11 and 12.
Once again quiet filled the room. You looked over at the tributes and observed them, making eye contact with the little girl. She looked away quickly before you could give her a smile. The baker from 12 also made eye contact with you. It lingered for a while, the two of you feeling a spark of similarity, it was like looking at a mirror. You recognized the look on his face.
“You had blood on your clothes when you got reaped.” The girl from 12 spoke up, probably noticing how long you had been staring at them.
Not sure if you should respond, you simply nodded.
The boy gave her a look but she ignored him, pressing on. “Why?”
The tributes from 11 were now also intrigued, Thresh turning to size you up.
“I-” Your voice came out crackled from the lack of speaking, “I was working in my reaping clothes.” You replied quietly as if you’d just gotten in trouble.
“Oh.” There was a lull and silence overtook the room once again. “You’re a butcher?”
You shrugged. You could tell why the baker looked like that, you assumed she was the more capable one from the two of them. She was his Buckley.
She left the conversation at that. You thought to yourself. Were people afraid of you? You hoped the Capitol didn’t paint you as some psychopath, although you’d take psycho over a ditzy cowgirl.
“(Y/N) Cuernos.” The speaker announced your turn. Buckley came back from the doors, his face red and misty from sweat. He gave you a look, a silent cheer as he left.
The training arena looked scarier when it was empty. All the weapons were lined up at the same point, tables with supplies were also lined up, the two opposite of eachother. Tributes got to choose what they wanted to show off, and it was between survival and combat skills.
The game makers were enjoying their drinks, laughing up there as if they didn’t have a job to do. Seneca Crane, a devilish looking man who happened to be the head game maker was causing a ruckus up there. His jokes seemed to have a chokehold on the men as they laughed their drinks down.
You had 15 minutes. 15 minutes to impress a group of drunk men who weren’t even paying attention to you. Immediately you looked for rope. There was no way you’d score high with a weapon. On the steel table there were about three piles of rope. It was dark and heavy, and unlike any you’d seen before. You struggled to pick them all up, but eventually hoisted them on your shoulder as you began to scurry around.
Memories were what you relied on as you quickly unraveled the rope, your hands working fast as you tied knots. Your mind went back to when you were young and working as a farmhand with Amaranto. The old man who you had worked for would always forget to close his gate right, causing all the livestock to scurry around. Even though you were small, you had a fire burning inside of you. Amaranto taught you how to make a lasso, more importantly he taught you how to rope in the livestock. On weekends you’d practice your lasso skills with him, trying to see who could bring down barrels full of sand the quickest.
Suddenly you were back home. The dummies in front of you were the frantic animals trying to run into the forbidden lands. You built up speed, spinning the lasso in different directions, the time showing as the first one immediately fell. Embarrassed, you looked over to the game makers and to your relief they still weren’t paying attention. You tried again, this time you had an idea of how to get it to work, the child in you peeking out as you managed to get the loop over a dummy’s head. Quickly with force you pulled it close to you, the dummy falling with a loud thud that echoed through the metallic room.
You took haste as you worked your muscles to bring it next to you. It was heavier than you anticipated, you groaned with every pull. The game makers were now watching you, curious as to what the hell you were doing. You didn’t stop there. Once it was close enough to you, you knelt down to tie it in a hogtie. It took longer than you remembered, and you were sure it was a weak tie. Immediately after you finished, you went to grab the other lasso, this time showing off since you knew they were watching you. Once again with full force you threw the rope over another dummy, repeating the process only this time quicker. Your third and Final attempt was faster, this time you took down two dummies at the same time.
By the time you were done the cheeks on your face had reddened, your hair was messy from wiping your forehead of sweat. When you looked back up the only audience you had were about four game makers, the rest of them going back to drinking. As you were dismissed you couldn’t help but feel impressed by yourself. You’d left the dummies on the ground, bound and tied. You only hoped you’d be able to do that in the arena.
When you arrived on your floor, Buckley was already in the shower. Dolly greeted you and sat you down.
“How’d it go?” Her bright eyes looked excited, hoping to hear something good.
“They were drunk, so I don’t think they were paying much attention, but good I hope.” Her face fell when you told her that.
“Those assholes.” She sneered.
“What did you end up doing?” She pressed on.
“Lasso tricks.” You should have worded it better, but you didn’t want her to be disappointed when they gave you a 4 for showing off the best ability you thought of at the time.
“Lasso tricks? That’s it? Like swinging around a rope?” She seemed surprised, irritated almost. “(Y/n), ya were supposed t’ show off dear.”
“S’pose that’ll feed into the whole act Snow’s got you doing.” She sighed.
“About that- Dolly.” There were a few questions you had in mind. “I don’t have to keep that up in the arena do I?”
She clicked her tongue, “Truth be told I think it depends. If the arena you get is western then yes, but either way I think you’ll have to keep it up until he shows interest in another tribute.” She warned. Interest in Snow was like a Lion being interested in a wounded gazelle.
“Dolly I don’t think I’m gonna win.” In your heart you knew it was true. No matter how many people wished for the odds to be in your favor, you knew you wouldn’t see home again.
“No. I mean it.” Your mood had shifted immensely, and once again you were breaking down. The games were so close, the only thing left being the interviews before you met your eventual demise. “I have no skills, there’s about 9 tributes here who can kill me no problem, and probably more that are hiding the fact that they can kill me.” You choked trying to not ugly cry in front of your mentor.
“(Y/n)-” You cut her off again.
“I’ve got about three Careers who have it out for me only because I won’t be their little bitch, I don’t think I’d be able to kill Buckley if I win, and I’m weaker than I’ve ever been. I can’t even hold my own in combat.” You sniffed. Your eyes were hurting now, you’d been holding in your tears and they were starting to fall involuntarily. “I can’t do this.”
Dolly sighed, she rubbed your back. “Look- even if you don’t think you can, you have to try. You’re going to try. I am not going to let you go in there thinking you’re going to die. Alright? Me and Ramsey are gonna go around getting people to sponsor you. You just try to survive alright? Hide out just make sure the game makers don’t catch on, try to live until you’re the last one there. Most importantly put on a show.” She paused to wipe your tears away. “What do all of the Victors have in common?” She asked as you sniffled. “They all put on shows. And you-” She poked your chest. “You are going to put on the best one alright? That’s all they want.”
A good show. Show. To you it was life or death. To them you were entertainment. That’s why the crowd went wild when you rode the horse, why they cheered when the coal miners caught on fire, why they ogled over Glimmer’s looks.
Nodding you let yourself fall into Dolly’s arms. The lady was kind enough to hold you in her arms until you calmed down.
When it was time for the evaluations to be announced, all of you gathered in the lounging area. Pradain in his usual spot, sprawled on a couch, Sashay and the other stylish sitting in the loveseats spread around the room. Dolly, Buckley, Ramsey and you were on the main couch facing the giant screen.
“Good evening folks! I’m Caesar Flickerman live from the Capitol as we announce the 74th hunger game’s tribute evaluations!” He cheered, his white teeth contrasting his nearly orange skin. Claudias Templesmith introduced himself as well but everyone knew that Caesar was the star host.
“It’s starting, everybody shut up.” Rasmey announced as he turned the volume up.
“Here.” You had gotten a small cupcake for Buckley and yourself from the dining table.
“Thanks.” He took it and immediately swallowed it whole- or at least it looked that way.
“From district 1 Marvel! With a score of 9.” Buckley noticed you shift uncomfortably.
“Glimmer with a score of 9!” Of course they’d score high. It was just another day for them.
“From District 2, Cato with a score of.. 10!” The host said, his eyes wide. “Also from 2 Clove with a score of 10.”
“God damn.” Buckley said surprised. “She’s so tiny!”
The scores kept going, the lowest so far being a 3. You prayed that you’d at least get a 4.
You had held onto Dolly’s hand, your other hand in Buckley’s as you waited for your scores. Time felt so slow. The anticipation makes you want to go up to Caesar and just tell him to say it already.
“From district 10, Buckley Wheaton…” His grip tightened on your hand. “With a score of 9!” Everyone cheered. He shook your shoulders, happy with his score. You laughed with joy, however the room fell quiet again when your name was called.
“(Y/n) Cuernos…” You felt like throwing up, “with a score of 6!” Immediately you could feel the room’s mood change.
Dolly’s voice faltered, “Hey! That’s better than a 4! And above a 5! That’s good.” She tried to lift you up, but you sat there on the brink of another breakdown.
“Let’s hear it for our tributes!” Pradain smiled, lifting up a plate with shot glasses. He passed them around, offering one to you and Buckley as well.
“To (Y/n) and Buckley!” He announced, and everybody drank.
Your face scrunched up from the foreign taste, yet Buckley looked unphased.
The screen was still playing, and you could hear them announce the rest of the tributes. “From district 11 Thresh, with a 10!” He said happy to see another high score after an hour of low scores. “Rue with a score of 7.” You wondered what she had done to get a score so high. Your ego definitely was down after that, crushed even more by the fact a small 12 year old girl could score higher than you.
“From district 12 Peeta, with a score of 8.”
Everyone commented on how they didn’t expect him to be high up. However the most shocking score was yet to come.
“Katniss. With a score of… oh my- 11!” The collective gasp around the room was hilarious to you.
“Damn-” Buckley commented, “an 11? How is that even possible..”
“Heard from Effie that she stuck an arrow through an apple in a pig’s mouth, right at the game maker’s balcony.” Pradain giggled as he continued to sip on some champagne he had poured himself.
The girl who had asked you about your clothes, the one who you knew had something about her, had scored an 11. A sense of happiness washed over you as you knew that Cato was having a bitch fit right now.
After the evaluations were through, everyone returned to their own. Except for you and Buckley who were having a late night snack of cheese and fruit.
“What’s your strategy?” Buckley asked, the two of you alone in the lounging room.
“Hmm? What do you mean?” It didn’t strike you as something he’d bring up. Maybe he was trying to figure out if he had to protect you or not.
“Like other than survive.” He broke off a grape, sticking it into his mouth.
“I’m not sure. I was thinking of just trying to avoid the tributes, hopefully make an alliance with the girl from 5.” You shrugged. It was the truth. After today you knew that everyone would be out for Katniss, moreover, your low score either meant you were going to be killed first, or kept off the radar. “Dolly says I gotta keep up the cowgirl act in the arena.”
“Why the girl from 5? And what do you mean keep up the act? What act is there to keep up? Shouldn’t you be focused on surviving rather than keeping the president happy?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowing.
“She seems smart. She knows how to keep a low profile anyways.” You shrugged. “I think keeping the president happy is what’ll keep me alive longer. What about you Buck, any strategies you’d like to share?”
“We can stick together.” He offered.
“Not happening.” He looked almost offended.
“Because, respectfully, I don’t want to be dead weight. You actually have a chance.” You’ve had this conversation before. It was always the same thing. He had a big heart, but there was no room for heart in the games.
“What’s your strategy?” You hoped he would change the subject. He sighed, his big eyes falling to the ground.
“I guess just try to survive, not kill. I don’t know if I’d be able to kill anyone really.” There was sadness in his face. “I’m pretty big, so I guess I’ll have to try to not get killed by the Careers. I mean I’d want to have an alliance with Thresh but- I’m pretty sure he’s got a lone wolf thing going on.” He rambled on.
You smiled at him, “It’s gonna be hard to hide huh?”
He let out a breathy laugh, “Pretty much.”
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