#tbptraining1

Even though my time with Styx had put me in a good mood, one look at Salem in the boxing ring and it vanished.  I hated that I was still so annoyed with him, but I was over being passive.  The stars were aligned, he was alone in the ring, waiting for someone to punch him.  My time has come.  

I wrapped my fists in tape the way the instructor showed me and hopped in the ring with a scowl.  

Tearing myself from the library had to be one of the hardest things I had done in living memory, but we had to visit at least two stations, and I wasn’t interested in ticking off the GameMakers. I wanted their attention, but the right kind of attention, and the right kind of attention was definitely not breaking their rules. I had seen what happened to troublesome Tributes in the arena, and I was definitely not in want of that fate.

I could outwit any of the mere mortals that I’d be facing in the arena, but I knew better than to expect that I could beat out the Gods who controlled the arena.

Most of the stations were occupied by various Tributes, but the Edible Plants and Insects station seemed to be left alone for the time being. Shrugging to myself, I decided to make my way over, not really in the mood to listen to some idiot yammer away in my ear about nonsense. And anyway, it would be good to brush up on that sort of thing. While I was very familiar with the plants in Ten, I doubt that they’d put us out in an idyllic, sunny prairie.

The Trainer went over some basic rules before leaving me alone with some helpful illustrated books of berries and leaves. Flipping through absently, I could feel the boredom taking over. As important as the information was, I absorbed it easily and had little trouble noting the distinguishing marks of the various plant life.

Smirking as an idea popped into my head, I picked up two nearly identical berries, one poisonous and one delicious. Carefully popping off the sepals off, easily switched them, reattaching them with pitch from a discarded branch. Examining it closely, I grinned at my work, pulling over a handful of each, being mindful to keep them separated until they were set up the way I wanted.

With all of my berries fixed, I presented the ‘poison’ berries to the Trainer, biting back my laughter as he shook his head in disappointment, pointing to the handful of my ‘good’ berries. I blanched as he reached down, scooping up a few to pop into his mouth.

“Don’t eat those!” I exclaim, knocking them out of his hand.

Scowling, he straightened his spine, trying to intimidate me, I suppose? Well, it might have worked since he was so much taller, had it not been for the fact that he couldn’t even tell the stupid berries apart.

“They’re poison. I switched the sepals.” At his bewildered expression, I rolled my eyes, picking up on of the berries. “These little green things? They’re called sepals. I pulled them off and used pitch to reattach them on the wrong berries.”

“Now the reason the enlightened prince and the wise general conquer the enemy whenever they move and their achievements surpass those of ordinary men is foreknowledge.”

I still had a handful of hours left before training closed tonight and wanted to spend some time at the various survival stations, having gotten a diverse fill of the physical ones through the day.   

My knowledge of first aid was elementary, I have to admit. We learned the basics in school; how to treat basic bumps and bruises, what you should and should not do, etc. I took to a book and a few charts, sat myself down and started reading. 

The library they had in the training center was easily three times the size of the ‘library’ we had in District Ten. As soon as the head Trainer said we were allowed to go, I made a beeline to the stacks, pulling down books on fighting techniques and strategies while setting up the projector to play the highlight reels of all of the past games, not just the few we had access to in Ten.

Already I was feeling more confident. After the Parade, my first instinct was to retreat to the suite to prepare for the first day of training. They never broadcasted the intensive training they put the Tributes through, so I wanted to be sure I was at my best. I’d never been too keen on surprises, and doubted that would change anytime soon. Still, the last thing I wanted was to give anyone the jump on me.

With a pen in hand, I began to scratch down notes on combat techniques as reel after reel played in the room. Suddenly, a familiar voice caught my attention. On the screen was a young Merona, bloody and weak, but standing victoriously over the corpse of the last tribute who stood in the way of her victory.

What caught my attention wasn’t just the mess that was once another young teenager. No, as cruel as it was, I’d seen many a fallen tribute, it was the satiation in her eyes. There wasn’t sadness or confusion, only pride and satisfaction. She looked every bit the image of a Victor, despite the fact that she started out looking anything but.

Turning to look back towards the training room, I saw my fellow Tributes sparring and fighting and training. Some looked confident, their skill obvious and confidence deserved. Others looked like they had never touched a butter knife, never less any of the deadly weapons they were being given to wield. It was a strange juxtaposition, to see so many different approaches to the same assignment we’d all been given. Standing, I called over the sole Trainer in the library and requested the footage of the Reapings for this game.

Best to know your competition, as it were.

Settling back into my arm chair, I gave the screen my full and undivided attention. I was just one of twenty-four, regardless of how intellectually superior I was to most of them. At the end of the day, there was no way I could afford a dark horse jumping out of the shadows, the way that Merona had done in her own Games.

There was a balance that had to be met. Be enough of a threat to defer active annihilation, but vulnerable enough to be written off as a non issue. As each of my competitors flashed by on the projection, I made mental notes on their quirks and dispositions. Were the girls who threw up on stage really that pathetic? Or was it a ploy to gain sympathy. Were the boys who Volunteered really competent? Or did they think strength was enough to win their Games?

Judas’ nose wrinkled as he saw the bucket of shoes that awaited all those that entered the station labeled “Track.” A mix of all different sizes of this peculiar type of shoe were just dumped in there, a foul odor drifting up from the bucket. Whoever used these shoes before must have never learned about personal hygiene. With regret lining his actions, he dropped to the floor and found a pair of shoes that fit him and slipped them on. It didn’t even feel like he was wearing anything. He probably should have expected something like this from Capitol made goods.

Once he had finished, he stood up only to see someone standing right in front of him. He flinched and started to move back, but stopped when he saw the uniform they were wearing. In that moment, Judas honestly wanted to pull a Joan from District Four and vomit all over the ground, because what this man was wearing was absolutely god-awful. 

After eating only the healthiest of meals as my mentor insisted, I was ushered back onto the training floor. I had been mostly messing around all morning, and I knew that I should start actually practicing with things I would need to know in the arena. I’d already gone over life skills and even swam a bit, but those were not going to help me in a fight. I knew how to throw a spear from my life in Four, and I knew that I wouldn’t do very great wielding an axe.

However, the swords station was mostly bare, with other tributes either eating or working at other skills. Actually, it was completely abandoned, except for... Game Maker Styx. I weighed my chances of being slaughtered before the games even started against actually picking up some tips from the man, and decided to give it a shot.

I walked up to the station, looking upwards at the rather, ah, large man. I wasn’t afraid, though I’m sure he could have crushed me with his pinky finger. I wanted to learn how to use a sword, and I was determined to make it happen.

When the announcment came that there would be an opportunity to train with Game Maker Styx, a lot of the tributes backed off.  Not many would be dumb enough to take the hulk one on one in the first day.  However I knew I could achieve any level of dumbness I set my mind to, and thus found myself approaching the giant.  

“Knives may not seem like much compared to other types of weapons like swords, spears, and axes, but they can be just as deadly. You just need to know how to wield and use it, right? It’s simple once you get the hang of it. Plus, a simple hidden knife can mean the difference between life and death when you’re ambushed by a tribute...”

As he listened to her and took in all the advice that he could, Judas started to fiddle with the knife in his hands. It was a rather large knife compared to some of the other ones he had seen at the station. Chelsea, the trainer that was helping him, recommended it for someone of his size. Judas was a bit skeptical at this because he knew he was not the tallest tribute. There were plenty of males that were taller than he. Still, he wasn’t the smallest one either, plus she was the experienced one, so he did not question her choices.

(looks like some of the Capitol people were actually good for something after all)