tick tock

“Something is better than nothing.” He took hold of the bag so that it hung motionless in place.

“Make sure to keep your thumb across your other fingers as oppose to wrapped in your fist. That’s grounds for you to potentially break your finger. Try pushing off with your foot next time to give yourself a bit of momentum, but not too much that you’ll lose your footing.” he said, demonstrating a proper jab at the bag.

She knew he meant to be encouraging but it really did sound like pity. At least to her. Even if the bag weighed more than she did (which was probable), she’d barely made it move. 

“Mind if I ask where a man dressed like that learned to fight like this?” Ximena asked the Game Maker as he showed her a strike. 

“No need for formalities, hun. Gattin is just fine.” he replied with a slight smile.

, “It’s a bit of a pain in the ass, you don’t want to wrap too tightly that you cut off your circulation or too loosely that it gets in the way and falls off.” he motioned towards the tape having seen her attempt to bind her hands moments ago, “Watch and follow.” he said, unraveling a portion of his own tape and piercing his thumb through one end and pull it down and across his wrist, looping it around in a pattern until his hand was wrapped. He motions were slow enough so Ximena could follow until her own hands were secured.

“You may have no past experience but you’d be surprised what could happen when your fight-or-flight instincts kick in.” he said pushing a punching bag so that it swayed in place, “Punch it.” he said, nodding to the swinging bag.

The way the man, Gattin, said the work ‘hun’ made shivers run up Ximena’s spine. While there was nothing outwardly wrong with him, something about him definitely made her uneasy.

“Alright, uh Gatting, sir.” Old habits die hard apparently.

She nodded along to his explanation of the wrapping. It all made sense and was actually similar in a way to the cogs she was familiar with. If they were too tightly packed together, they would jam. If they were too loose they would fail to touch each other and the clock wouldn’t run. 

Step by step she followed his example, noting he’d probably done this at least a few times. Still her attempt was admirable and by the time he was finished wrapping she had a decent looking wrap of her own. He mentioned fight or flight, something she’d heard mention of in school before. Never had she had a moment where she’d needed to fight or run for self preservation. The games would be a first time for a lot of things.

Seeing as how so few tributes were present on the first day of training, the doors to the facilities were unlocked before the formal period began on the second day. Only a handful of tributes trickled in early and took advantage of the extra time, and inadvertently, the undivided attention of their Game Makers and sponsors.

Gattin’s eyes scanned over a pair of tributes sparring at the melee weapons station to the unarmed station where the girl from Twelve fiddled with a roll of wrapping tape. Trainers weren’t due for their shift for another twenty minutes or so, and with that in mind the Game Maker made his way over to the station, catching the girls eye as she met his.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you haven’t done much in the way of fighting back in Twelve?” he said, picking up a roll of his own and toying with it in his own hands.

As she grew frustrated with the wrapping, she almost felt the anxiety and anger at Ester washing away to be replace by another sense. One of hopelessness. After all, she was- what had Ester called her? A wisp? Slight, weak, hardly noticeable against all these big bodies and deadly minds. Maybe Ajax had the right idea after all..

The man who approached her wasn’t dressed like the trainers had been yesterday, nor did he carry himself with the same air they did. If her few dealings with foremans and government officials had taught her anything, she knew he was a man of power. 

Amp nods. At least the girl is calm and patient- not overexcited, not panicked like many of the others. And, most importantly, not a whimpering idiot. She seems to have a good head on her shoulders, even if her hair looks stupid.

So, careful with her stitching, Ampere moves along as Ximena instructs. “Thanks, I guess.”

Two quick tugs, a careful pull-through. Then two more quick tugs. Two more. Soon, the fabric is stitched up neatly and Ampere manages to tie it off neatly after counting the stitches to make sure there’s an even number. She’s satisfied with all ten of them, so she sets down the needle and reaches for the box of ointments and creams. A few she recognizes- the clear stuff was often used on her scrapes and bruises back home- but there are a few Capitol inventions even her wealthy family back home doesn’t have access to.

She picks a blue gel up to examine it as the trainer explains that it’s used to warm fingers and toes to prevent frostbite. “Seems odd in a gel.”

She doesn’t immediately seem hostile this time which encourages Ximena a little more. She still doesn’t know the girl’s name, but baby steps is the way to go. “I’ve always liked helping people. Seems a little silly now I guess since-” She pauses her thought there. This all still didn’t quite feel real.

Ximena stops to watch the other girl make progress on her stitching. It still isn’t perfect but definitely it’s improved. Besides, what’s more important come the arena, staunching blood loss or having pretty stitches? As long as it seems functional it should be fine. Strangely enough the girl seems to count all her stitches once finished, nodding to herself as if satisfied with the number before moving on.

The two get to work learning about all the different creams, salves, and ointments the capitol makes for medicinal purposes. Some of them seem to treat fairly minor wounds, disinfectant for cuts and scrapes, burn gel, etc. Others seem almost impossible, one small tube claims to repair full wounds and replace flesh in an instant. 

“Don’t count on getting any of that sent to you sweetheart, shit costs a fortune, even for us.” The trainer motions to the tube in Ximena’s hands. The pair works in near silence beside each other, something that simultaneously comforts and unnerves Ximena. The trainer goes over a few advanced techniques, how to tourniquet, how and when to remove shrapnel, how to revive someone with CPR. Even how to fashion crutches or a basic materials should it be necessary. 

Ampere doesn’t care about the other girl’s name, but she seems smart enough not to intrude on her training with gossip. The trainer calls her Ximena, though, so she can guess from there. She follows suit as Twelve picks up the needle and thread, picking the fabric arm up with her other hand.

She taps the needle twice against the table before beginning, taking painstaking care to make the stitches even. One is barely off, so she pulls it out and stitches it again, carefully spacing them about an eighth of an inch apart. She’d be screwed in the arena if she had to do this quickly, she decided.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. “This is shit.”

Having been working with her hands and minuscule objects almost her entire life, Ximena is pleasantly surprised to find herself much more adept at stitching than she was with bandaging. She threads her needle on the first try and after watching a few demos by the trainer, makes a series of neat stitches almost as well as she had.

Smiling a little, the attention to detail reminds her of her long days in the workshop with Papa. Eyes barely staying open as she finished just one more watch, replaced just one more cog. She was no seamstress from Eight, but before she knew what had happened she’d created a row of almost straight stitches all the way down the fabric arm. 

Ampere stands from the fitness station, sweating and exhausted but ready to get going with more training. Perhaps something a little bit easier. The trainer at the first aid station is speaking and the weight equipment surrounding Ampere obscures her view, but it seems she’ll have a nice, quiet time there.

Disappointment floods her when she notices the girl with the oddly colored hair sitting at the nearest table, but she is already on her way. Ampere takes a deep breath and takes a seat across from her, taking note of the number twelve on her sleeve.

Amp picks up a roll of gauze, taking a look as the trainer instructs her on how to apply it, then begins wrapping it around her own arm. It’s not like she’ll be going in with other tributes, so there’s no use in letting the other girl touch her.

“Don’t bother,” she says as she struggles a little bit with the wrapping.

While the trainer is giving a brief introduction to the first aid station, another girl comes to sit with Ximena. The number Five on her shoulder says little other than where she’s from as Ximena never watched the reapings. Both girls grab for rolls of gauze, and the other girl gets right to work practicing her bandaging. 

It takes Ximena a moment to realize what the other girl is even talking about as she practically glares across the table at her. “Oh, uh- ok. Sorry.” Ximena offers, already feeling uncomfortable sitting with the taller girl. After meeting Stan the previous night she had been hoping all the tributes would be nicer like him. Seems she was mistaken.

“I’ve never heard of Spanish before, that’s interesting, I like learning new things and getting new experiences. I’ll just call you Ximena though, it’s an interesting name and I like the way that it sounds.” I take a small sip of my drink, watching as it clings to the glass like a syrup and it’s sweetness begins to become cloying rather than enjoyable, I decide to trade it out for some water. “It’s a shame your costume isn’t real coal, I’ve never seen it before but I’d like to just to see what it feels like and what it smells like.” People back home were inventors but they were particularly cynical about how much I wanted to see everything and anything that I could. Including something as strange as seeing coal.

“Back home I’m a toymaker, I didn’t really want to go into computing or manifacture and I found myself in a little workshop just tinkering with new ideas to entertain the masses, I’ve sent designs all over Panem. I guess toys are needed everywhere. I like the old toys though, the ones from before advanced technology that were made of keys and cogs and everything like that. I could take them apart and put them back together again and have them working perfectly, it’s a shame that there’s not things like that any more, it’s all about tablets and drones and hover-boards these days.”

I take a small sip of the water and feel it washing away the tart cherry drink.

“What about you Ximena? What’s there to know about your story?”

“No one really speaks it anymore. Even Papa only knows a few words from what his parents taught him.” Ximena takes a sip of water offered by an avox. She’d never tried alcohol before and in front of all these people it didn’t seem like the best time to start.

Ximena can’t help but laugh at Stan’s response before she realizes he’s being absolutely serious. “You get a little disenchanted with the stuff when it’s more common than food I suppose.” There’s a spark of her in him. That insatiable look, like he just wants to know and see and touch everything. 

Ximena’s eyes grow to the size of dinner plates as Athelstan mentions his profession. “You actually make toys? That’s so cool!” She could just picture him hunched over a workbench, tinkering with some adorable little toy. “Twelve doesn’t get those fancy toys. Most of the kids make their own stuff so I’m sure they’d be happy with even the old stuff.” Three must be very wealthy to be able to afford having people as toy makers. 

I saw a look all of a sudden in the girl that I recognized, I knew it from back home when I first stepped into that toyshop and saw how things were made. This girl was a tinkerer just like I was, the thought brought a smile and a blush to my face as I watched her for a split second longer than I would’ve thought polite, her handshake was soft and timid. I could see that this girl was quiet too, I liked that, something about it settled me.

“Ximena.” I test the name in my mouth, repeating it again and then trying the nickname her father used for her. “My father calls me Athelstan, always, he’s a stern man but I don’t let that rub off on me.” I give her a grin that I hadn’t used for a while, not since before the reaping and all of this madness, a grin that I hadn’t used while under the captivity of the rebels, it was an innocent grin that I’d used when working in the shop revealing the latest range of toys for District 3 and the rest of Panem, it was a disarming and warm smile. “I like your costume too, is it real coal?”

“He says it means daughter in Spanish. Apparently lots of people used to speak it before Panem was a country.” I have no idea how much I’m supposed to share but so far Stan seems nice. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if Papa had been stern like Stan says his dad was. It’s hard to imagine him being stern with his kind eyes and smile.

Touching my fingers to the ‘coal’ on my shoulders, I see it doesn’t leave stains on my fingers so I hold them up to Stan. “Nope, if it were real coal my fingers would be streaked just from touching it. Coal really does get on everything, hands, skin, hair. My stylist probably thought it was too dirty to use real coal.” Ximena enjoyed being clean as much as the next person, the treatment her stylist had given her before the parade was a whole other level.

I barely escaped from the rage of my stylist team as they argued with Chastity and Lorna over the fact that the post parade party was in fact a party where the tributes could change into another costume, as I walked away from the noise and entered the lavish ballroom I slipped the goggles from my forehead to around my throat in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Catching a glimpse in a large mirror, I noticed that the goggles had left red welts where they’d been pressed against my temples. With a sigh of exhaustion I made my way to where a table was laid out with food from the Capitol, all of which I didn’t even want to eat due to the rumbling nervousness in my stomach. This is where I’d meet my competition, the games started here and I could quite easily seal my fate in a few words. 

Just as on the train, the tables were laden with more food than could feed all of Twelve for a week. Popping a devilled egg into my mouth, I surveyed the fringes of the party. My eyes settled on the clockwork boy from Three whose costume I absolutely loved. Before I could stop staring he locked eyes with mine, flushing me with embarrassment. 

Grasping his hand gently in one I mine, I give it a shake just like Papa taught me when the workers wanted to thank me for repairing their watches. “Athelstan, that’s kind of a mouthful.” Almost immediately I feel ashamed for saying that. “I like it though, it suits you I think.” 

I barely escaped from the rage of my stylist team as they argued with Chastity and Lorna over the fact that the post parade party was in fact a party where the tributes could change into another costume, as I walked away from the noise and entered the lavish ballroom I slipped the goggles from my forehead to around my throat in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. Catching a glimpse in a large mirror, I noticed that the goggles had left red welts where they’d been pressed against my temples. With a sigh of exhaustion I made my way to where a table was laid out with food from the Capitol, all of which I didn’t even want to eat due to the rumbling nervousness in my stomach. This is where I’d meet my competition, the games started here and I could quite easily seal my fate in a few words. 

Just as on the train, the tables were laden with more food than could feed all of Twelve for a week. Popping a devilled egg into my mouth, I surveyed the fringes of the party. My eyes settled on the clockwork boy from Three whose costume I absolutely loved. Before I could stop staring he locked eyes with mine, flushing me with embarrassment.