Hurricane • F. Odair

twelve » eight heads

A L T H E A

   "It was incredible! She would've been chopping him to pieces if they were real machetes." Althea heard Peeta declare your his table. She had yet to decide if she was going to sit with him, but the empty seat between him and Thatcher practically screeched her name. While she hadn't exactly been hungry, she had acquired a protein shake to keep her hands from shaking too much.
   "They were there, Peeta. They don't need a play by play," she said quietly as she sat down. Finnick was seated across the table. She could feel him like she could feel the electricity in the air back home. His eyes on her skin raised goosebumps and stood her hair on end.
   Peeta flushed. "It was so cool, though," he murmured.
   Althea swallowed a bit of her shake. "There's nothing cool about training to kill," she muttered. While she was proud of her level of skill, she abhorred what it was used for and the fact that she had it at all.
   Johanna leaned forward from her position next to Thatcher. "Yeah, but it was good to see good ol' Toby look like he was going to piss himself. That was pretty cool, I'd say," she snickered. A few others joined in, but the majority of their table broke off into smaller conversations. Althea leaned back into her chair. Thatcher soon put his arm around the back of it.
   "I was just guessing that her boobs we fake," he whispered. Althea snorted at the randomness of his statement. "I'm serious. The only reason I thought of it was because of Cassia's critique two years ago."  Cassia observed everyone's outfits during and prior to the games and wrote her opinions down for Thatcher to read when he came home.
   "Ah, yes. I believe she said "there's no way a fully grown woman can naturally go from an a-cup to a double-d,"" Althea recalled. Having a seamstress mother provided all the fashion insight a fourteen year old could need, and Cassia used to it absolutely roast everyone she saw, which included Thatcher. However, the girl had always praised Althea and her outfits, even her first year when her old stylist dressed her up as a literal lightning bolt. Fortunately, the man was replaced with Paprika when Althea won her games.
   "That girl had an eye for detail, that's for sure," Thatcher chuckled. Althea finished her shake and placed her cup on the table before her. She still refused to look at Finnick, but it was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, just under walking away from him the night before.
   Right after lunch was the private training sessions with the Gamemakers. It was usually around eight hours long and was followed by the announcement of scores and interviews with the one and only Caesar Flickerman. Considering Althea was in the first half, she and Thatcher within four hours. It gave them ample time to replenish their energy, strategize, and get ready for the interviews.
   However, she had no idea what she was going to do.
   Males from each district went first, so Althea found herself between Thatcher and Apollo, a morphling from Six.
   "Hey Apollo," she greeted softly. His knees bounced and his fingers were covered in paint. "How is Kayla?" Kayla was his eldest of five children. Althea had learned early on that talking about his kids helped his withdrawal symptoms.
   "She's good," he chittered. "Starts her last year of school in the fall."
   Althea smiled at that. "Kayla's a smart girl," she commended. "You've done a good job with them." The worry lines on his face softened. Despite being an addict, Apollo had always done his best to be a good dad for his kids.
   "You think so?"
   "I do."
   His shoulders slumped. "My sister is going to help Scarlet with the kids until Bellamy gets out of school. Scarlet's brother works at the college and will help get them jobs."
   Her heart ached for him. Patting his hand gently, she told herself that she could never kill him.
   "You did good, Apollo."
   He simply nodded and went back to bouncing his knees.
   After speaking of his children, she wondered how her siblings were doing. Did they know of Logan and Althea's involvement with the rebellion? Were they apart of the rebellion? Did Willow end up cooking for Blaze and Elaine or did they ask Mrs. Golsbane? How were Willow and the baby? Hollowness ravaged her body at the fact that she would never meat her niece or see her siblings again. Oh, what she wouldn't give to be tackled into fallen leaves in autumn by Graham, listen to Blaze play guitar, or snuggle and read with Willow one more time.
   "Do you know what you're going to do?" Thatcher's voice was low, calming and curious.
   Althea leaned forward and placed her elbows on her knees. She knew that the Gamemakers would be losing interest rather quickly. They would be looking for a show. She had given them one in her games — a show that earned her a title.
   The Executioner.
   Her killing technique was one of revenge — a bloody reminder to Snow and her district for what they'd done to her mother. Skin bristling, she gave him a slight nod.
   "To be perfectly honest, I think I'm going to just scream for fifteen minutes," he whispered.
   Althea snorted. "While I feel that in my soul, you need your voice for your interview."
   "District Four. Finnick Odair. Report for individual assessment." Althea fought off the urge to watch her golden boy walk away and to wish him luck.
   "Unfortunately, I believe you're right," Thatcher huffed like he was five and he was told he couldn't eat chips off the floor. He reached over and squeezed her hand once.
   The next forty-five minutes passed too slowly and all too fast at the same time. Thatcher had been called away, her last source of comfort gone.
   "District Five. Althea Hawkforge. Report for individual assessment." Taking a deep, shaky breath, she stood.
   "Good luck, Althea," Apollo wished quietly. She gave him the softest smile she could muster. Would this be the last time they would speak before one of of their faces were plastered on the night sky?
   Probably.
   "You too." Good luck in the games, I hope you don't die too horribly. She knew they were both meaning it, too.
   Althea's heart pounded harshly as she passed the doors. Immediately feeling heavy gazes on her face, she went to work.
   The dummies were heavier than they looked, but she managed to drag nine of them into a pile. Althea didn't dare look at the Gamemakers until she was finished. She tied the dummies into kneeling positions, which took forever in itself. It was a process that left her frustrated and with eight minutes left.
   The few Gamemakers that were watching seemed intrigued, especially Head Gamemaker Plutarch Heavensbee.
   She found the blue paint and dipped her fingers in, pointing two letters on each dummy with a shaking hand.

E L I Z A B E T H
H A W K F O R G E

   With her mother's name still dripping wet on the plastic, she grabbed a sword — a real one this time. If she didn't have the Gamemakers attention before, she definitely had it now.
   Shocked noises came from the protected balcony when she swung and cut the first dummy's head clean off. A guttural sound escaped her lips, and the other eight heads were quick to follow the first. The last head touched the ground just as the fifteen minute timer went off.
   Althea tossed the sword to the side, panting. She didn't bother looking at the Gamemakers before she left. She would know their reactions soon enough.

A/N: hey lovelies! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Althea's such a compassionate person with a side of idgaf attitude, ya know? Love you!