ebbing neptune

Training, finally somewhere Briella felt perfectly at ease. The Parade had been fine, but she was eager to show off her skills. Naturally she gravitated towards the weapons and quickly picked up a bow and a quiver of arrows. “Want to try?” She asked the person that settled in the space next to her as she shot one of her arrows. An arrow that would have been buried in someone’s eye socked had it been a real person and not a dummy. The second one found a home right in the heart.

“I hear the simulator is a riot, should we try that instead? Is that more your style?” Briella asked because she knew as a career, certain things were expected of her. Sure she should check out some of the other stations, but right now she needed to establish herself as a career.

@ttwstarters

Delta loved archery. It was predictable. And she felt capable of reading people from a distance more accurately than up close. It helped that the person already standing at the station was someone she’d met before.

“Hello,” she said softly, picking up a bow. Delta turned her head to the girl next to her and gave her a small smile. “I know archery already, so I don’t think it’s much of a try.”

After a couple of strategic shots into a dummy, she nodded at Briella’s suggestion that they try the simulator and walked towards that end of the station. This one would be interesting: less predictable than a dummy, obviously, but people were still easier the further away they were. 

“Would you like to go first?” she asked.

--Task 003--

Getting the tributes settled in was always the first big step in figuring out how they would handle the pressures of the Games.  When she was finally able to pull herself from the crowded lobby vying for a glimpse of her infant, Marina found Delta off to the side.  She smiled.  “It really is overwhelming at best,” she told her.  “But I promise that the chaos does die down after a few days.”

Waverly had fallen asleep in the baby sling, so Marina’s full focus was on her tribute.  “Do you want me to show you the suite?” she asked. "It’s a lot less overwhelming when you have somewhere to go.  Most of the Capitolites aren’t allowed on the district floors, except the those working directly with the teams.”

Delta relaxed immediately when she realized it was Marina that had approached her. She felt an immediate kinship with the mentor, whether Marina reciprocated that or not, and Delta wanted to work to impress her. She knew she’d just given birth to a baby girl, so of course that would be taking up all of her attention, but if Delta could solicit even a small amount of that it would be enough for her. 

She knew that it was probably a side effect of that fixation on her own mother. Delta admitted internally early on that she might slip up once or twice and call Marina “Mom”, and promised herself she’d do her best to avoid that at all costs.

“I’m just not used to all the people, I guess,” she said with a soft smile, letting her arms down from having them crossed over her chest, instead intertwining her fingers together nervously down near her stomach. “And yes, that sounds... wonderful.”

Her champagne flute had a stem painted in gold and intricate white roses painted along the crystal. No one had made a fuss about her grabbing one off the buffet. What was a little alcohol to a tribute? She was meant to be pampered with every luxury, after all. It was part of the gig.

“And you have a pulse,” she said, not unkindly. She took the moment to rest the plate between them should the career decide to really go wild. “Was beginning to think that training had turned you into a damn robot.”

She’d sometimes imagined herself born in one of those districts. No doubt she’d have been tossed in to the student body as well. Would she even be noteworthy, much less chosen to volunteer? “What would you study if you were me, down in that training center then? Edibles? Camoflauge? Dying gracefully?” A thought came to here. “Do they teach that in the Academy? How best to die with dignity?”

“I do,” Delta answered with a nod. “I’m just not good at... people. Training’s got nothing to do with it, if I’m being honest.”

Delta wished it did have something to do with how she talked to other people. Maybe then she would have had something in common with the other kids in the training center. Her trainers hadn’t paid much mind to the fact that she’d never really been able to connect to the other Careers-in-training, because human connection wasn’t exactly important when it came to entering and winning the Games, but it would have been nice. 

“For you?” Delta asked, looking her over. She bit her lip for a second- a nervous tic that she’d been struggling to get rid of since she was a kid- and furrowed her eyebrows. “Plants and camouflage could help you, I think. Maybe some training with a slingshot would help with hunting for food. I don’t think I can help you with weaponry, though.”

Thalia nodded, her fingers dancing along the top of her notebook as she regarded the girl in front of her. She hoped that Delta would show her more of her personality in the next little bit. Thalia wanted her outfit to fit her in more ways than one. “You’ll get your training outfit issued to you by the Capitol, but the Parade and interview will be all me. And I’ll be there to dress you for the Arena too, although I have less of a say in that then I’d like.”

Delta had beautiful red hair like Marina and she would look so strong up in that chariot. She wasn’t sure if that was what Delta would want, but Thalia saw it. “So, what kind of impression do you want to make? What colours, what fit? If you have a preference at all.”

She opened her notebook, her pencil poised to write down anything that might help her shape the costume more. 

“Oh,” Delta answered, somewhat taken aback. “I thought-”

No, "I thought that was your job” sounded rude outside of her head. Delta didn’t want to sound rude. In truth, she was always bad at fashion. She liked her soft cotton pants and denim shorts with t-shirts. Whatever was comfortable or practical for the day. 

“I mean, I don’t really know, if I’m being honest,” she said, fiddling with the locket around her neck. “I’ve always just worn whatever’s comfortable.”

Colors and fashion hadn’t even been something she’d really considered, she realized. People at home tended to wear cotton or linen or whatever was light and easy and would dry quickly if it got wet. Most of the girls she knew wore hand-me-downs from their mothers, and Delta realized only now that perhaps that was the reason she hadn’t ever bothered.

“I don’t have my mom,” she said frankly. “So I didn’t learn... girl fashion.”

“A while ago,” she told her with a shrug of her shoulders. District Two was practically in the Capitol, so it never took long to get there. To be honest, Briella was happy of that fact because the distraction was nice. Later she would have to figure out her new plan to the the games because a clean sweep of the games was out of the picture now.

Briella chewed her lip a moment. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to dress up and have the parade, but I am ready for training to begin.” It was starting to feel a little bored and she didn’t want to think about Max too much anymore. “What about you?”

“I agree,” Delta answered with a smile and a nod. “I feel much more at home in a training center than in front fo a whole bunch of people. No need for... fake friendliness.”

But this wasn’t fake. Though she’d been assured that Marina and Finnick would handle all the relations between her and the other Careers, it was nice to meet one face-to-face before the arena. Delta may have been bad at estimating other people, but it was better to meet now than in a hostile situation. Nobody could objectively build trust in that kind of environment.

“Do you know your district partner well?” she asked, shifting a little bit and biting the inside of her lip. “Because I only kind of know mine.”

The wall of photos caught Ripley’s eye just before the other girl did. She could only picture Rowena on the wall, not herself. Rowena, tackling a lion to the ground. Rowena, with her victory crown. God, this was all so stupid. 

“Yeah, I’m not,” she replied. Thank goodness for someone she didn’t have to be fake around. People just wanted positive attitudes here, and Ripley could not provide that. She softened a little at the girl’s presence. She was tall, her red hair was pretty. But this was the Hunger Games, not some kind of Capitol Matchmaker, and this was a terrible time to be distracted by a pretty girl. “My sister, she promised years ago that if I got picked, she’d volunteer for me. You can see she kept that promise, clearly.” Ripley rolled her eyes. 

Delta turned back from the wall to look at the girl, ripping her eyes away from a view of her own mentor, Annie, floating solitary amongst the wreckage of the dam. The other girl had been frank with her, which was nice, since people tended to need to use small talk to open up first. Delta had never understood that, just as she had a hard time comprehending this girl’s sister. Families were so complicated, and she didn’t think she’d ever understand her own, much less anybody else’s.

“She lied,” she said, furrowing her brows almost incredulously. “Why would she say that?”

Delta chewed on the inside of her lip. She’d never had to consider what Hudson or Baffin would do if the other was reaped. It was a given that District Four would always have a volunteer, and Hudson, the older of her brothers, would never dream of stepping away from his paints and into a training center.

“I don’t know her, but you’re better,” Delta said softly, turning back and staring at another photo. Jules Churchill breaking out from under a pile of rubble. “Unless you’re also in the business of breaking promises.”

Watching the Reapings was always an easy way for Thalia to get a feeling of her tributes. Figure out their style and how they might act when they got to the Capitol. Some tributes were harder and some were hiding themselves. So, Thalia would start some basic sketches and some options based on the Reapings, adding the finishing touches when she actually met her tribute for the first time. 

Delta was Thalia’s first target, having gotten a very good idea about the boy from the Reaping. She saw the girl away from the action and Thalia made her way over, a gentle smile on her face. 

“Hi Delta. It can be a little much here. It’s why I spend a lot of my time designing, away from everyone.” It had become more and more the case as she found the people that she wanted to spend time with. There was no need to go looking for companionship in strangers. Thalia had people now. She couldn’t believe this was already her third Games as stylist. “I’m Thalia, your stylist. Here to make you look like you and also make an impression.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Delta smiled at the woman. Businesslike, put-together, no-nonsense. At least that was how she seemed, and Delta could respect that. “So you’re doing... all my outfits? Like, parade and interview and stuff?”

That would be nice, to not have to deal with dressing herself. At home she usually stuck with neutrals because she was bad at figuring out what looked good with what, at least as far as colors went. Sure, she liked the combination of green and red and yellow, but it had taken one day of rude comments from her fellow middle schoolers several years ago to put that attempt to rest. 

Ashten wasn’t a fan of the crowds. Of the people gawking at her and the other Tributes as they came off of the trains. As soon as a new pair of kids came through, the Tower was buzzing with murmurs and excited conversation. They were all so eager for the slaughter, it made her sick. She had seen friends get sent into the Games, classmates lose a sibling or friend. And now, she was one of those kids, and these people were making a spectacle of her possible death.

Once she had arrived at the tribute Tower, Ashten snuck away from the main entrance and stuck to the wall as much as possible. Just for the sake of getting away from the crowds. Once things cleared out, she figured she would explore a bit and then head down to the Remake Center. She just couldn’t sit still for so long between the train ride and having to sit for the stylists. She needed to move around some.

Another younger woman was sitting in a corner by herself, having greeted Ashten when she got close. “Hi,” she greeted and then nodded, briefly dropping her gaze, “Yeah, a little bit. Didn’t expect there to be so many people.”

“Yeah, it’s... a lot of people,” Delta repeated, nodding. While she wasn’t particularly keen on another stranger joining her at this juncture, the other girl seemed to be about as uncomfortable as she was. “You can sit if you want.”

This was Ashten from Seven, Delta recalled from watching the reapings on the train ride in. Her trainers at home probably wouldn’t have liked her memorizing the names and faces of the other tributes, but she couldn’t help it. If she was going to be killing them, she might as well know who they were. It was an uncomfortable inconvenience, the killing part, but something they’d all have to get through one way or another. 

“Do the other tributes look scary to you?” she asked, not bothering to beat around the bush. “I don’t think you’re someone who’s trained for this, right?”

She could feel the stiffness in the other tribute, the sense that she figured they shouldn’t be having this conversation. “Well screw what the rule book says,” she told her with a smile. “I’m not dying without ever having some ice cream. It’s not like I’ll be such a quick study in that training center anyway. There’s nothing I can learn in one week that will beat what you’ve spent a lifetime learning, right?”

She downed the rest of her champagne and relaxed, hoping it would signal that she wasn’t intimidated or uncomfortable around someone that might be shoving a knife in her belly come next week, and then offered her one of the cookies. “Care to partake? I mean it’s only possibly the last week of your entire life.”

Screw what the rule book says. There had been kids at the Academy who spoke like that. They were usually the ones who avoided her for acting “odd”, or spoke about her behind her back as if she wouldn’t understand what they said. Delta was just focused, not... unable to speak English. 

But this girl, she supposed, was different. Because she was figuring she would die. She didn’t have the training that Delta had, which was probably the most open secret in the country at this juncture of the Games. 

“I guess you’re right about that, but there’s still valuable stuff to learn,” Delta answered, raising her eyebrows when the girl downed champagne. Was she even old enough to drink? If she was a tribute, then no. It hadn’t even occurred to Delta that they would serve alcohol at these events, but... it didn’t really matter, if most of them were going to die before hitting drinking age, anyway.

She looked at the plate of cookies. Really, one wouldn’t do a lot of damage. She’d be training hard this week, anyway. 

“Ok,” she answered, picking one off the plate. “Thank you.”

Briella nodded because it had been a bit chaotic out there and still was. However, her prep team had set her free for a little while, so Briella figured it was a good time to wander. She had spent the train ride familiarizing herself with the other tributes so she could recognize them when she saw them. It was hard to shake the years of Academy training when it came to such things, but at the same time, she knew she couldn’t.

“I doubt it’ll get any less chaotic, but least this isn’t too bad.” Mostly it was people pampering them and getting them ready for the parade. “I am Briella by the way, District Two. You’re from Four?” She asked but she knew the answer already.

Delta recognized the girl. District Two. She knew she was Briella, had memorized all the Career names and paid attention to their odds, remembered her district partner was Max. 

“Yes, it’ll probably stay this crazy,” she answered with a nod. “I just hope there aren’t as many people screaming my name after this. It’s overwhelming. I don’t know where to look.”

She gave the girl a smile and a deep breath. 

“I am from Four,” she assured the girl. “Delta Caliban. It’s nice to meet you, Briella. How long ago did you arrive?”

Rowena could’ve won the entire damn thing. Rowena had the physical ability, the mental smarts, the I’m great at making people love me crap. She had everything. Ripley? Ripley knew how to take shit apart with a screwdriver. That was about it. Ripley was smart, but not as smart. 

It had been a process throughout her life, accepting that she was not the favourite child. And that there was a possibility her parents would not miss her.

“Oh, Ripley, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t go-”

“What kind of fake-sibling-love bullshit-” Ripley muttered, storming off around the corner to find a place to sulk in private. As she rounded a corner to try and get away from the lobby, she noticed another person there and smiled, stopping her quiet rant in its tracks. “Hello, just exploring,” she greeted, trying to cover her tracks of just wanting to escape from all those people in the lobby. 

She didn’t have the energy for a fake smile. // @ttwstarters​

There was a wall in the hallway off the lobby that displayed famous moments in the Games. It was fascinating. Enobaria ripping a kid’s throat out was on the far left side, right on top of Glitter Rosseau and her lion. Finnick Odair speared a kid with his trident in one photo, with Ares Carnahan facing off against a wolf nearby. Magnolia Reyes and her dinosaur, Lincoln Conway clutching the body of the small girl from One, Pixel Delaroux holding onto her ally as the other girl dangled over the edge of the balcony. 

She supposed these Games might have some interesting addition to this wall. Delta might be shown this time next year. Maybe not, but probably. The girls from One and Two also seemed well-trained, but if Delta could shoot them from afar they wouldn’t be an issue. 

Delta was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of a girl’s voice near her and turned. It was a girl smaller than her, but who looked about her age. District Three. Coda. That was her last name. 

“Me too,” she answered flatly. “You’re smiling but you don’t look happy.”

The girl next to her was a career, she remembered from the recapping. Delta something or whatever. She was tall, statuesque even, and probably outweighed her in muscle. These tributes were her greatest competition. The trained killers that would form their little clique and then pick them off one by one. It was the same storyline every year as she watched the games.

“Thanks for the advice Red, but I’m looking forward to a good old nap. Long stuffy train ride, big old capitol. I’m ready to try out these fluffy beds they got.” The screen switched over to district ten and their tributes. “Maybe you can meal prep me tomorrow.”

“Naps are nice if you need them,” Delta answered, taking a bite of her chicken. It was good. Not as good as her dad made, but good. “It’s good that they give us comfortable rooms.”

Never complain about the Capitol in the Capitol, she’d been told. Don’t want to give off the wrong impression to sponsors.

“I don’t really know anything about meal prepping, though,” she said softly. “Just the basics of what’s good to eat before training. I guess it’s fine to eat sweets since we have the parade before training, but it’s still not great.”

Delta knew this was probably not the right kind fo conversation to be having with another tribute, especially one who didn’t seem particularly interested in this kind of conversation. But she’d never really understood how to have conversations with people that didn’t revolve around training or the Games, at least not with people who weren’t her dad or brothers.

She wasn’t a people person, she never had been, and she would be the first person to admit that. Someone would ask her a question, she’d reply, and suddenly Delta was the mean bitch who hadn’t bothered beating around the bush when trying to give an honest answer. It had happened more than once, and now she might become the mean villain in someone else’s Hunger Games story because she responded something truthful about some unimpressive tribute from Five or Eight or Twelve or whatever.

Not to mention the noise. She didn’t like the noise. 

So Delta Caliban was standing inside the lobby of the tribute tower, in an inside corner, crossing her arms over herself in an effort to look poised, maybe a little intimidating, but not villainous. And she was doing a pretty good job of it, she figured, until someone approached her. 

“Hello,” she gave a smile, as she’d been instructed to do. “It’s a little crazy out there, isn’t it?” // @ttwstarters

@ttwstarters

There was a twisted and harsh kind of beauty to the capitol that intrigued her. The people all dressed in garish colors and mixed fabrics and then the buildings behind them all steel. It was like she’d been living her life thus far colorblind and only now seeing the full array.

The crowds cheering, their peering faces, were half for the new victor and her mentor Aspen. She’d avoided the girl on the train, too pissed at the obvious rigging to do more than glare at the ornate ceiling. After being plucked, bathed, brushed, bathed again, and shaved she was released by her stylist and found herself wandering down toward the reaping recaps.

There was food in every conceivable corner and she filled a plate with chocolate cookies and grabbed a stem of champagne before plopping herself down on the gold couch. They ran through the districts in order, broadcasting pictures and stats and commentary. She shook her head when they got to her. “Scrawny? Why don’t they grow up on day old bread and molded cheese and see how they grow.”

Delta Caliban didn’t particularly like all the noises coming at her from different directions when she’d gotten off the train. They were overwhelming, and she’d stood off to the side while they shouted words at her that she knew she was supposed to be prepared for. She gave her practiced responses of ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘I’m just so excited to be here’ that her trainers back at the Academy had prepped her with. 

And now it was quieter, and Delta could hear herself think finally as she walked gently past the tables piled with food. So much sugar and white bread. The plate piled with brownies wasn’t exactly there to help anyone emerge from the arena unscathed. If only there were lentils or beans for protein, even some broccoli, perhaps. She would have time to eat sweets when she came back from the arena. 

There was a girl sitting in the corner, on the only couch in the vicinity. Another tribute. And while Delta had been told to avoid talking to the other tributes, it seemed there was no choice at this juncture. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d be allying with anyone but those in the Career districts.

“Cookies won’t help that,” she said as she sat down on the other side of the couch with her own plate, which she had eventually thrown some chicken beast on top, and poured some eggplant stew over. “Simple carbohydrates will only wear you out quickly, maybe add some fat.”

None of it would ever be okay, Aspen knew that. Even before she seen Lacey die or Finley. Her family had been murdered when she was thirteen and that hadn’t been okay either. Life wasn’t fair though Aspen had learned. Nothing was fair about Finley being dead or any of them really. Truth was only one person got to walk out of that arena.

“No, it’s not okay.” Aspen agreed softly. “But we didn’t ask to be put in here.” It was what Harlow had told her when she said it wasn’t fair and didn’t think she could kill someone.

As Joule reached for her crossbow, Aspen stared at it a moment. What was she doing? It was just the two of them there at the moment since Couscous had taken a moment for himself. “Joule…? What are you doing?” Aspen asked as she continued to look at the crossbow in the other girl’s hand.

I have bunnies back home, too!! Four of them!!

Pancake, Albus, Mollie, Plum

There they were, four sketches of actual bunnies that were waiting for the little girl who fed them and cared for them to come home. And she never would. Because of Joule’s dumb sudden reaction to the emergence of a thirteen-year-old girl stumbling through the jungle. 

You look nice.

She’d written that to Joule herself, complimenting her on her dress after her interview. Not a cruel word came from the little girl, unlike Joule herself who had harassed and harangued victors who had... who had been forced to do this shit over and over again.

I love strawberries.

I’m from District Ten. It’s nice to meet you.

People who are quiet don’t get caught.

Joule gasped in horror at the last sentence she could bring herself to read. The girl had been quiet, quieter than anybody she’d ever met. But she was caught. She was caught anyway and it was Joule who had done it and Joule had shot that bolt into her chest and Joule had killed her and it was Joule that had committed murder and had murdered a child.

“Don’t look, Aspen,” she muttered. “I don’t want you to have to... to have to see this.”