Two weeks flew by. Unlike every other Hunger Games before, the tributes were not subject to a period of training and ally-making, to public relations and faking smiles for an insatiable audience. This Hunger Games started immediately after ushering their potential champions off the train. The children were collected and split immediately, all put in their designated starting areas and sent up to the Arena through a dark tunnel with a mennacing light at the end. Once they were all brought in to the Games, Katniss' hollow voice broke through the sky as if the God's themselves were speaking their fate.
"Welcome, Tributes. You all have been given a three-day truce. No killing. No hurting. No hazing. Anyone who breaks this rule in the three-day truce will face termination. Train and gain allies, collect resources and find your place in this world. At the end of the three days, you will hear a cannon sound. That is when blood may be shed, and the official Hunger Games will begin. Whether it be through mercy or blood, may you all bring your district pride; and may the odds be ever in your favor."
Every tribute had their heads up to the sky. When the announcement ended, dread fell upon them and a silence took over. It was not like any other game they had all seen on screens before. It was eyes cast across to others. Confusion. Fear. An odd peace, even. They had three days. Without a cornucopia to divert their gaze, without weapons to scour down and plot for, there was nothing left to do but live and wait until someone tried to change that.
"Okay. So this is it. This what we've come to?" Whitt was the first to break the silence. He had a fiery temper like his mother, and more known like his mother's sister, Johanna. "President Katniss says to kill your champion bloodline for the sake of your people and you do it. It doesn't matter if it's wrong. It doesn't matter if it's children. It's to save the fucking world while she sits in her tower and watches her own son play her sick games. Right?" His dark eyes met Cyrus'. That glance was too much.
Cyrus already knew he would be the main target. He was Katniss' son, for God's sake. They were all there because of his mother. He didn't like thinking about it - he was truly his father's son in that aspect, a big bleeding heart. However if there was one thing he learned watching Peeta, it was how to hold himself together even when it seemed impossible. He never chose to be in the Games, after all. His mother nominated him for the slaughter by her own accord. Then again, it wasn't like he would let his younger sister take the fall. Not when the fall was life or death. It wasn't that she was incapable - she could kill him on a good day. It just wasn't how he was raised.
"See if you're feeling as brave in three days, Whitt." Cyrus responded coldly. Hazel eyes connected to black abyss. "You don't get to speak for me." He took another look around the tributes. A circle of twelve. Girls and boys. Bloodthirsty and gentle alike standing side-by-side.
"I, for one, am a fan of her work. I understand her decision. And yours, Cyrus." Came an unexpected voice, feminine but fierce. A warrior like her dad. Ares had a crooked grin on her face when Cyrus acknowledged her. No one had really moved yet. All in their heads or making talk with their neighbor. It was as though the grassy lands before them were full of mines and the voice in the sky were a trick - everyone was too afraid to move in fear of setting off a chain reaction. "You're brave. I respect that and will honor it, if you allow it." Like a snake in the grass slithering up Cyrus' leg - that's how he felt when Cato's daughter talked - like he couldn't breathe quite right. His first ally in Cato's blood? He couldn't comprehend the thought of her offering, not with the way his mom has treated her dad, not with the way she left him die as he begged for a quick end. He swallowed hard at the proposition and managed a smile back, a trick he learned from his dear dad. A sweet smile with ulterior motives. "Right." Keep it simple and cryptic. Make no promises. That's what he was taught in the public eye.
The first to branch off was an angered Whitt with too many emotions exploding in his head to keep himself hinged. The raging boy had turned on a heel and bared his teeth when Cyrus began spitting back to him - not like he went missed - Ares swooped in to steal the conversation and the eye of the viewers. "If you want to live and honor the fallen, come with me." He yelled over his shoulder as he continued in his confident stride. A natural leader, as scary as that was to imagine. Despite his ignorant display of emotion, he managed to get a single follower. Hailing from District 3, Thatcher followed after Whitt. Whether he admired his courage or sought an easy kill was to be determined seeing as he was of Career descent.
