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May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor	By : CJ_Wallace Category: G through L > The Hunger Games Trilogy Views: 12260 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy and make no money off the posting of this story.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Eight
We sleep until my Avox comes in. I wake and stare at Jet's face, his eyes still closed. When he sleeps, all the anger, bitterness, and resentment is gone and he almost looks boyish. "Wake up..." I whisper as the girl moves about the room setting out the clothes she's been instructed to bring me. I touch his face and am startled when he snaps awake and grabs my hand painfully. I whimper, looking to the girl who looks alarmed and starts for the door. "Stop!" I call. "It's okay! He just has nightmares." I don't know if this is true as we both sleep so still, but it's an excuse at least.
The girl slows and looks at us apprehensively, her hand on the doorknob. We've thrown the blankets back and are scrambling out of the bed, motioning for her to stay. When she sees we're fully clothed, she purses her lips and looks at us both sternly, but leaves without a word.
"It's okay, she won't tell anyone," Jet said, running his hands through his hair. "They don't talk. Jade told me they've had their tongues removed."
Horrified and worried, I rush him out of the room. "Last night was much needed, Jet," I say firmly, keeping my door open only an inch. I can’t look at him and say it. If I saw him, my voice would lose its edge. "Don't come into my room again, or I will let Sid know."
He turns and walks off, making no promises or even an indication he heard me. I know he'll be back because he doesn't care. Getting into trouble is pointless when you are going to be dead soon; and when you not only want something, but you need it. Once you've found a source, you don't abandon it. You hold on for dear life.
Locking the door, I strip out of my clothes, shower and change. The outfit today was exactly the same as the last, only the leggings are emerald the underdress is white and the top dress is a pale pink. I find my coat still hanging in the sitting room and put it on, seeking out my first cup of coffee for the morning.
Jet avoided me until we had been training for an hour. I had filled the time carefully avoiding the careers, talking with a few tributes from the lower districts. I took a special interest in Cherry, the girl from Eleven who sought me out while I was learning to build a fire.
I called her Sakura in my mind and we struck up easy conversation. She told me she liked my coat, which I was still wearing, and I thanked her. I asked her about home and she told me she liked her District, and missed her family. They didn't eat very much, despite the fact they had the largest orchards in Panem. She told me her job was to run messages, clean the barns and storage areas, and every so often she worked in the orchards. It sounded like a happy life, or at least one she was content with, but it was sad.
After I got my fire lit, I found myself asking her to teach me to climb the fake trees that were spread out. I couldn't have picked a better person to ask, it turns out. She's lithe and agile, but she seems to have magic in her hands. Wherever she reached never broke and she never slips. I had fallen quite a few times before I ditched my boots and went at it barefoot. With the use of my toes, my grip improves and Cherry helped me find the easiest of handholds.
"It's important to keep most of your weight off your feet," she said, watching me. "You're slipping a lot because you keep your weight on your feet. If you keep the weight in your hands, your feet won't slip."
I try it her way, and though my arms are aching by time I reach her perch, I am rewarded with a bottle of water and soft praise. I know I would never be able to climb as well or quick as her, but if I had to scale a tree, I was sure I could at least get to a decent height before I fell and killed myself.
I also found out getting down was just as hard and struggled before I fell halfway down. I grabbed at branches as I bounced towards the ground, and managed to snag one of the thicker, lower limbs. From there I dropped out of the tree and onto stable ground. Tree climbing was not for me, but if it saved my life... I'd need this experience.
We part after that, but before she leaves she points at my coat. "Those are cherry blossoms," she said with a smile.
I nod, touching the fabric subconsciously. "They're my mother's favorite," I tell her.
Cairn finds me at the targets again as I tried throwing knives. She's just as poor as I am, and we converse stiffly. She finally gets around to her point, and I this time I expect it.
"Have you thought about joining?" she asks, peeking at me curiously. "Brock has made it clear if you're not with us, he's allying with you."
This surprises me. I hadn't expected to have such a firm ally so quickly. I have to word my replies carefully, as not to raise suspicion. "Well, I tried to get Jet to reconsider. He's still being stubborn, but he did mention that perhaps, if didn't have to be around me, he would join the Pack. He might have been baiting me, or he might have been serious."
She looks over to the archery range where Jet is practicing.
He's doing quite well, and seems to be enjoying himself with the boy from Nine, Rye Pliny. They're talking openly and laughing, playfully shoving each other over a shot Rye had made. "He would be an asset, as a strong male. We've asked a couple others to join, but we haven't gotten a definite answer from anyone yet."
I don't ask who she's thinking of, I don't want to know. The less I pull out of her, the more she'll trust me. I'd had people spill their secrets to me by staying quiet my whole life. "Well, I don't mind working around him, I mean... he's easy on the eyes. Rye looks alright too, but looks don't save you in the arena for long. Yet, you have to admit, most of the male tributes this year either look like monsters or little boys. Jet... he's a man."
Cairn giggles and agrees. It’s the first time I enjoy her company, and note her laughter makes her sound younger than she is. "That is what the girls are saying."
"He's too vicious for my tastes though," I say, returning my gaze to my target. "Not physically, but he knows how to play emotional games. He'll sweet talk a girl and then shove a spear through her. He uses appeal as a weapon."
"I won't be tricked," Cairn snaps, arrogantly tossing her hair, still staring at Jet. "I just want to play with him."
I flung my last knife, wincing as it hit the outside ring. If they were slimmer, or needles... that might work. "I have to go..." I mutter, then walk off to the chopping section where the Lumberjack twins were. It looked like they hadn't left this area in the past two days. I found them chopping logs into halves and quarters, giggling to themselves, often breaking out into loud and repetitious songs as they alternated hits with their hatchets.
I pick up a small hatchet for chopping wood and slowly approach them. They see me and stop their work, and their song, so abruptly and synchronized, I stop short and move slightly back. I smile a little and wave. "I just needed a bit of wood. I was wondering if I could borrow a wedge to chop my own."
They look confused, but the girl motions me to come over. They've built a small hutch shelter and spent time camouflaging it with moss, grass and dirt. They had obviously learned how to set fires and had a very small one burning merrily. I had interrupted what looked like pikes for a trap.
I'm apprehensive, but I walk up slowly. The girl has sleek blonde-white hair that ruffles as she whips her head around, jumps up and bobs around the bespeckled boy. She's taller than me by an inch, but her arms are thicker than mine, her chest broader, even though I can tell the first proper meal she's ever had was on the train. "Can I borrow your wedge?" I ask again, feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. She made me feel like a twig. One snap, and it was over.
"What is a wedge?" the boy asks, his eyebrows knitting together, itching his thick brown hair.
"It's a tool," the girl snaps, looking at him as if he was stupid. "We don't use wedges. We're strong enough to not need them. What do you need the wood for?"
I figure telling them can't hurt anything, so I explain how I want to make throwing needles out of wood. I get a half log out of the deal, but they make me work away from them. I'm grateful, but my thanks fall on deaf ears, so I move off and begin chopping up the wood. I almost lose fingers several times, but manage to get a dozen good sized slivers. I dull three knives shaping and sharpening, but when the lunch call comes, I abandon them at once. I had half-forgotten about hunger in my work and concentration. I had been pouring every thought into training, I forgot about food, the careers, Jet, and even Chiara. I hadn't eaten anything with my coffee this morning and my stomach was protesting loudly.
As I sit alone in the corner, peeling a miniature orange, I smile to myself remembering the time Chiara and I had shared oranges like these under the tree in the park. Every sharp, acidic bite of the orange is delicious in my mouth, and a particular memory so sweet... I eat the whole thing with my eyes closed, my head resting against the wall. Every so often I spit a seed out, then return to the juicy fruit. It isn't until I hear someone clear their throat that my eyes snap open.
Jet is sitting across from me, and appears to have been there for some time. He motions to the sticky seeds that coat the table and raises his eyebrows. "Have you completely lost it? You look disgusting over here."
I pick up a bit of peel and throw it in his face. "No," I say calmly. "Not here, not now. You will not ruin such a precious moment."
He let the peel hit him and watches it drop to the table. His eyes are intense when he glares up at me. "Look, while you're daydreaming over here, the Pack is circling. They want an answer and they want it today. Tomorrow a plan will be worked out, and if we're not in, we're on our own."
"I say do it," I insist. "Look, it's our best chance to at least get supplies, weapons, time to breathe, time to think, food and water. I want in. This "we" thing isn't an issue. If you can play nice, I'm sure they'll be willing to take you. If you can't possibly, for whatever reason, trust me long enough to get you to the Cornucopia, then you're on your own, Jet. Remember what Sid said the most important thing to remember was?"
"When you're in the arena, you're on your own."
"Trust no one," I finish for him, our eyes locked. "I can give you one safe day or two even, just for joining with me. I can give you a week, if you can find something to trade in return."
Jet looks revolted, and he stood. "Tell them I'm in, but you can take your safe days and burn them." He had raised his voice and tributes were beginning to notice.
"Look buddy," I exclaim, slamming my hand down on the table. "You don't get things for free in the Arena! Nothing is handed to you in the Capitol, and there's no such thing as a free banquet! Someone is paying for all of this! You're paying for it, I'm paying for it, every tribute in here is paying for this food, the clothes, the game! That's what tribute is, payment. Only one person wins, Jet, and I'm not going to be the one giving handouts. Those people end up dead..."
"You're sick," he spits venomously. "I'll follow your advice and join up, but I don't need safe days. Any time you want to try and kill me, you just let me know."
After he leaves, I don't have to move. Cairn came to me. She is thrilled when I tell her Jet had come around, rather rudely, but he would be happy to lend a hand. I swear I will keep away from him to prevent further headaches and arguments, promising to help her out with anything she needed. It isn't hard to see she was setting herself up as Pack leader, and if I wanted to lay low, I'd have to bow and scrape with the rest of them.
When I return to the area I had left my wooden needles, I find them gone. My tools were still there, and half the log that remained, but the shavings were scuffled about. All trace of footprints were gone, smoothed over and mussed with a tree branch. Dismayed, I looked up, looking to every tribute. The Lumber twins were painting each other with mud, Jet wasn't anywhere near... in fact, no one seemed to be around. Whoever had taken them could have them, I think bitterly as I kneel and chipped away at the quarter log I was still lucky enough to have.
Ten minutes later I had my wedge, and a second, tucked away. I slowly approached the twins again, holding my hands up. "Can we negotiate?" I ask.
"What do you want?" she growls. Her bright blue eyes are afraid, distrustful. The boy crouches close to her leg, watching me as if I am a strange bug.
"Those needles I was talking about," I remind her. She nods, curiosity seeping out slowly. "I made them, but someone stole them. I just want to work out some of the frustration on those logs over there. I know you don't want me around, I just thought... maybe if I chopped some for you, I could use your chopping block."
She looks around the room, examining everyone like I had. "We didn't see anyone over there, and we cut out of lunch early. If they're really gone, and you want to chop some wood, it's over there. You bring it here, then leave, got it?"
I take the long wedge from my jacket and bounce over to the block. While the tool did help, it was still thirty minutes before I had what I needed and wood chopped for District Seven. As I sit next to the pile and drink some water, I wipe my brow and gaze around the area. They sure knew how to make such an unpleasant place look almost like a home. My back and shoulders ache when I stand, but I wave to the girl and start to gather the wood for them. I'm joined by the boy, who has the same bright blue eyes as the girl, millions of freckles and the oddest round glasses. He scoops up an armful of wood and walks with me back to their hutch.
"How did you chop so fast?" the boy asks suddenly. He blushes, looking fearfully at the girl, but when she looked at me as well, I show them the wedges I had made. When I offered to let them keep one, the girl started to protest.
"Keep it, I made it for you anyway," I tell them.
The boy clutches at it and whines. "Yew... let me keep it! You know I can't keep up with you splitting wood! Now we'll get twice as much done."
"Hush Cy, I'm thinking." Her slim brows knit together and she looks me over. "He can keep it. I'll find those needles for you. Fair trade?"
Astonished, I tried to explain I didn't need them, but she left me talking after her. "Well... I guess there is no telling her..." I murmur.
"There really isn't, but she's nice," the boy says, looking over the wedge. "You better clear out though, she has a temper."
I nod and leave this side of the room, tucking my wedge in my boot. I don't know what to do next, or where to go, or who to talk to. I just want to find something to do to avoid talking. I find the eatable plants station and think it would be useful. Sauntering over, I spend the next twenty minutes listening carefully about which plants I could eat, and focusing on plants that were poisonous. I studied them, memorizing every detail of its shape and coloring, even the smell. There was a chance there would be no plants at all, or even plants that appeared harmless being lethal. It depended on the mood of the Gamekeepers if we would get anything at all.
I was sorting the plants, asking questions about symptoms and antidotes when I felt someone lean over my shoulder.
"You'll want to do swords next."
For once, I don't turn, I just nod. A few minutes later I thank the knowledgeable trainer and head over to the blade rack. I had meant to avoid this place, until now anyway. I was balancing out a short sword with my hand, trying to find the right blade when I felt watched. Looking over my shoulder, I find the boy from Nine watching me. Rye, I remind myself. His name is Rye.
"You know a bit about blades?" he asks. "I'm going to bet you know quite a bit if you're waiting to hold one this late in the day." He's wearing the traditional tight black shirt with short sleeves, black pants, black boots, but his stylist added a cape-like scarf for him to wear. It wrapped around his neck, pinned on the side with the ends hanging over his shoulder. The lavender is pretty with his hair, and adds a tint to his blue eyes making them look purple.
"My father won the Hunger Games with nothing but a sword, a knife and a bow," I tell him quietly. "He told me knowing how to use a sword was essential to living. Not only the body is trained and honed, but the mind as well." I find a nicely weighted sword and flip it into the air, catching it and giving it a few swings.
He has a short sword already, and he watches me as we face our trainers, who step up with practice swords. Both our trainers start us off slowly, but finding us proficient, use us and the other group, to steer us in different directions, wheel us about and finally put me on the defense. I have no time to pay attention to the boy, whose huffs and puffs are evident, but I can tell he's still trying to attack.
I hold off my trainer, watching for an opening. I use the dance lessons I learned from Sid to stay on my toes, advancing on the girl even though I blocked her blows, paying attention to my surroundings and what was going on. Practice patience, move with your partner, and trust no one. Sensing someone behind me, I duck and roll past my trainer, sliding around to see Rye's trainer had set us up to run into each other.
The two trainers moved together against him, blocking his blows and in time, wearing him down to exhaustion. They leave him sitting on the floor, panting and glaring at me, who stood watching.
"Think that was funny, do ya?" he asks angrily. "Two instructors on one tribute? How is that fair?"
"They're here to teach," I say stubbornly, turning to a dummy and using it to practice my strokes. "They're not opponents, they're instructors. What did you learn?"
He shook his head. "You're not half as skilled as I am with a sword and you know it. You're more graceful than I am, but you're slower. You trust your instincts more than your gut, and you're preoccupied with something right now. A really hard decision... It has to do with your partner, Jet."
I can't tell if he was bluffing, or if he was telling the truth. If he had training with a sword, highly unlikely with him living in the Grains district, he would be able to tell my skill. If he was bluffing and trying to unnerve me, I still had a chip to bargain with. "Look, I don't care how much training you've had with what weapon; a good warrior, a skilled combatant, would have understood this lesson. The easiest way to control an enemy is wearing them down, keep them busy until they are too tired to fight!"
"Don't try and talk down to me, girly," he snarled, shoving himself off the ground. Once righted, he returned his sword with me.
It was evident I didn't intend to leave when I followed him over to the weights area where Brock, Jet and Bos were gathered. I knew they wouldn't dare attack me, and I was free to use any section, so they couldn't tell me to leave. They did look intimidating together though.
"What do you want, Nara?" Jet asked, making it known my presence bored him. "Here to cause another scene?"
"I have business with Pliny here, but it's touching you're so concerned," I toss back, crossing my arms and looking hard at Rye. "You have something of mine. I want it." I was confident Yew wouldn't pick someone at random. She owed me a debt, and if she tricked me, she was as good as a walking target when I did get them back.
Rye's demeanor shifted. He tried to deny he knew what I was talking about, but halfway through his weak lies and the glares of the boys who were now very interested, he broke off. When Jet stepped away from the weights and walked up to hear the conversation, Rye stopped and reached into the back of his shirt and drew out my needles. "I don't understand why you want these little toothpicks," he mutters, thrusting them at me.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," I growl, snatching them. They were wrapped in black cloth and must have been hid somewhere under his scarf. Wherever he had kept the thick bundle, it hadn't been obvious. It made me wonder how Yew had known. "Thank you for their return. I wish I hadn't had to confront you on it, but I will let it go without another word if you just tell me why you stole them."
He shook his head and laughed, slapping his chest a couple times. "See, it's so funny!" he chortled, lowering his voice. "I was sneaking around, practicing being invisible, and mostly hiding from the creepy Death Duo-"
"Death Duo?" I ask weakly, looking to Brock and the others.
"It's what we've taken to calling District Seven," Jet explained. "What have you been calling them?"
I knew they would never understand my label of Lumberjacks, or “the Twins”, so I went the snarky approach. "Yew and Cypress? Those are their names. Rye, my throwing needles?"
"Your what?" Jet asks, stepping up beside me and looking into my hand.
"I made them," I say, clutching them tighter. "I spent a lot of time and effort making these, just to use for practice and he stole them." My voice was level, low, and threatening as I tried to keep calm.
"Ah, yes. Well, I saw you working so hard on those needles, for so long. Then the call for food rang out and, like an animal, you dropped everything and went to stuff your face." His tone was accusing, and hateful. It wasn't just aimed at me, it was aimed at Jet and Brock as well. People who ate better than him on their worst day. "I waited until everyone was gone, stole down and took them. No one saw me do it."
"You know..." I said slowly, "in the Ancient days, they'd take a man's hand for thievery."
His face flushed, but when Jet stepped between us, he crossed his arms.
"But only if they caught them," I add, motioning Jet back. I didn't need him to fight my battles for me. Thankfully, he followed my direction and joined Brock who had come to see what was going on. "I, unfortunately, didn't catch you. I had a little help with that, so you can keep your hand. I just want to know why you took them. They were of no value to you."
"Ah," he said, stepping forward and raising a finger, putting it to his lips and tapping. "It had no value to me, that's true enough. Yet, they had value to someone. Things of value should not be left lying around, even a common street rat knows that lesson. You worked hard on these needles, so hard, then left them scattered for food. Some night, you'll remember this lesson."
I tucked the needles away carefully into my coat. He's goading me, and I refuse to let it bother me. "Well, I'll remember we have a thief in our midst. Thank you for that lesson. I've gotten what I've come for, I'll leave you boys to your... whatever it is you do here."
"Aw come on Nara," Jet said, elbowing Brock in the abdomen gently. "Lift weights with us! It'll be fun!"
I frown and look at the weights, shaking my head. "It doesn't look fun. Besides, you guys can all lift much more than me, there's no contest here." I back away, wave good-bye, and rush off before they can drag me back.
End of training couldn't come soon enough, and I was eager to return to our apartment. I hung my coat up where I had yesterday and hid my wedge in an inside pocket with the needles. I knew it wouldn't be touched, as it had stayed there overnight before. They would come in handy with a little practice, and perhaps I could implement them into my private session.
That thought jars me to my core and I suddenly find it hard to stand. I wobble over to the couch and sit heavily. I had been here only three days, and tomorrow I would have to perform my best, show what I know and hide what I don't. One day closer to execution. Sid and Jade were right. The time really was slipping away from us.
My stomach twists tightly and I curl up, chewing on the inside of my lips as I think carefully about the tributes I had met and talked to, the things they had shown me, and what I had told them. I wonder which tributes have been asked to join the Pack, and how many would be left after the blood bath. Most of the careers make it past the first night. Not always, but it's usually a good bet. I knew one of us wouldn't make it, and exactly which one. I hadn't figured out how, when and where, but the who had been established.
"Can I sit with you?"
The soft voice is a sweet relief and I try to hide my worries as I shrug. He does sit and sticks out his legs, yawning. He doesn't speak for a long time, but when he did, I knew I had never heard this Jet speak.
"My dad is a barber," he starts, looking over at me. "He cuts hair for a living."
"I would have never guessed," I laughed, purposefully mussing his hair. It made him smile a little. I had never been to the area he lived in. In fact, I'd never seen him anywhere outside the park we frequented, and always with Chiara or Emery. I knew his family was wealthy enough to keep a family of five well fed and clothed, but his father's profession had been a mystery.
"I'm kind of glad I got to volunteer," he muses. "Father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, inherit the shop and cut hair. I would rather die in the Hunger Games than die a barber."
"I don't blame you."
Our easy laughter doesn't bother me so much as how we open up. He tells me about growing up and the shop where he got his first job sweeping up the hair after his father finished cutting. He told me how he worked until he was 15, even though he was still going to school.
I listen as his story unfolds, not saying anything, though my eyes follow every move of his hands as he carefully unbraided my hair, flitting up to his face and watching his lips as he speaks. The gold of the sun as it starts to set lights up the room, swathing us in light. “I didn't know," I admit. "If I hadn't met Chiara, I would have never known anything about you. I didn't notice the world around me after my parents died. I went to school, studied hard, came home and helped- well, I had a job too." I feel him watching me, but I can't look. I can't look at him when I'm thinking of her, and knowing how badly I want to get back to her. "But... we're here. So, we have to make the best of it."
"If you don't think about it too hard," Jet murmurs, looking out at the Capitol spread out before us. My hair is finally untangled and is very wavy, but Jet hasn’t stopped running his fingers through it. "The person who wins gets a second chance. They get to have the life they want, forgiven for their sins in the Arena, and rewarded. Twenty-three children die every year so that one can live."
I lean against him, resting my head on his arm. I like the way he speaks. He almost sounds like he believes his words. "If that's what it takes to keep the peace and not gum up the mechanics, I'm all for it. I like the idea of it; it shows proper place and consequence." I'm serious though, and he can tell from the way I shift. "I told you earlier Jet... everything has a price. If you really think about it, the ones losing out are the Gamemakers. Twenty-three kids every year that will end up dead, with one victor. They plan all year for each game, the arena, the food, the costumes, the stylists and prep teams, the interviews, the training and judges, plus the escorts and the mentors..."
"Do you have a point in there?" he asks gruffly, rolling his eyes.
"My point is..." I say carefully, looking over our shoulders at the empty room. "Only twenty-three kids die. For all the work they put in, for the money they pour in, for all the extravagance... One boy tribute and one girl tribute is a bit of a light sentence for the Districts. After all, they're going to die one way or another! It doesn't matter if you're a poor kid, or rich. It doesn't matter if you're nobody or a victor's child. Twenty-three children in the whole of Panem keep the rest of them safe."
Jet chuckles at that and wraps an arm around me. "So you're saying..."
I close my eyes. I'm comfortable in his arms and I can feel rest coming. I speak slowly, just under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear. "I'm saying everyone dies, in the arena or outside it. The Hunger Games, when compared to life, is just a room... and the tributes are just people you're forced to die with."
Jet strokes my head and I hear the deep rumble of his laugh in his chest, the thump of his heart. "I hope they pay the Gamemakers well... I'm enjoying myself very much."
I tsk at him, but I don't think he hears me. I have muddled thoughts that wander away when I reach for them, and then pleasant darkness.
- 6
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May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor