you can always bleed a little more.
Their faces aren't the same /
but their stories all end tragically.
DARK BUT JUST A GAME / LANA DEL REY
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﹙ chapter five, act one ﹚
mara cayden.
training centre, the capitol.
july, 70 att.
THE TRAINING CENTRE MAKES THE SURROUNDING BUILDINGS LOOK LIKE ANTS. It's completely new, as Antonia eagerly tells them, who says that no expense has been spared. She goes on about the various scandals that usually come with its creation: the money that vanishes, the squabbles over the themes, and so on. They rebuild it every year, so no tributes will ever use the same one twice. The tower is the part that seems to touch the sky, and has been designed solely with tributes and mentors in mind. Of course it has ─── it's going to be their home for the next few days, where they eat, sleep, and train.
Each district has been assigned a floor; Eleven is near the top, and it's only accessible by elevator. It's entirely fashioned from glass, so you can see the world below you slowly shrink away. Mara gets a childish rush of exhilaration going up; they haven't got things like elevators back home ─── it's only since coming here she's realised how they really have nothing at all.
Her quarters are twice the size of a granary and decked out with everything she could ever want, but she refuses to use any of it. Not the buttons on the walls, even when she's dying to find out what they do, not the remote for the huge television, or even the window with the tint, transparency, and mesh to keep out insects. She refuses to shower, but her resolve fades once she realises how warm the water is. It's also covered in different buttons ─── how she longs to press them all at once, but then she'd burn or freeze or drown in bubbles. The water and lotions shed a layer of makeup from her skin, and she feels a little cleaner.
If only her soul weren't tainted with hatred for her damned mortality, she'd be spotless.
After basking in the hot water, slowly turning up the temperature to see how much she can stand, she dries off ─── the normal way, even if those dryers look tempting ─── and scours the wardrobe for the least gaudy outfit she can find. Dinner is spent with the stylists, who keep Antonia and Chaff occupied enough not to point out any faults in her performance. Opal and Antonia get along well, debating different cuts of dresses; Chaff persuades Cyrus to have a drink, and he settles for a glass of champagne. She keeps her head down, eating away, gaze straying either to Avens, or to the windows, and the sheer drop to the sparkling lights beyond.
That night, she sleeps like a baby ─── there's no problem falling asleep, but she wakes every hour.
Mara wakes once more in the early morning; judging by the sun well over the horizon, she's slept in. Usually, she'd be up before dawn, working by now. Instead, she lays in a huge bed, a radio call away from a meal, shuffling towards her death. After wandering about her room, she heads down for breakfast long before anyone else.
The meal is another sombre one; the only conversation is short, between Avens and Antonia about the upcoming training.
"When do we have to be there?" He asks after finishing his plate of ham and cheese pastries.
"Ten." Antonia says, casting a wary glance to Chaff. "So we'll be there by nine-thirty. Just in case."
He swears at her, glaring from above the rim of his whiskey, and mutters something along the lines of not my fault.
"Uniforms of any kind?"
Antonia nods, glad that a tribute is showing interest for once. "Your stylists will give them to you. You'll be told everything else in due time."
He nods, mulling over her words, and Mara cannot read the stony, ashen expression on his face. It's only when they're taking the elevator down that she realises it was a face of grim determination. Avens, her only friend, is fighting to kill her. Somehow, it's not as surprising as it should be ─── isn't she doing the same thing?
The training centre is a huge gymnasium, divided into countless stations, which range from obstacle courses to weapons to survival skills like fire starting and camouflage painting. There's a viewing window above where the Gamemakers are assembled at a dining table, watching the tributes below. Although they're not late ─── Antonia would have a fit if they were ─── they're among some of the last to arrive. The pair joins the tightly knit semicircle of tributes; Mara gets her first chance to truly size up her opponents.
Each wears an identical black uniform, with their district number stitched on the back, and that helps with identifying them.
The most obvious and immediate threats are the Careers ─── thankfully, this year there's only four of them. The tributes from Four, a redheaded girl and a weedy looking boy, are clearly not in their pack. Two boys and two girls, each gorgeous and radiating strength. Particularly, the girl from One sends her a nasty grin and the boy from Two is clearly the leader. She makes a note to watch out for him.
Those from Three don't seem like much; a forgettable boy, and heartbreakingly ─── a girl who cannot be more than twelve with hair cut and styled like a pixie. No visible threats there, nor from Five ─── a weedy boy named Micah and an older, but less composed blonde. It's clear she's been crying, and has made no attempt to hide it. Six; one of them is crippled and can barely walk ─── Nine, Ten, and Twelve all follow a similar vein.
The only others she registers as a threat are: a boy from Seven who emanates darkness and anger. Dakota Garner eyes the spear and axe stations in a way that can only mean he's experienced with the weapons; then there's Roland Bauer and Deacon Tanner, both large and muscular enough to do some damage, even if they don't know how to wield a blade. A club, perhaps, in their hands could have enough blunt force to cave her skull in, so Mara makes sure to keep an eye on them.
There's a moment of silence among the tributes, where they size each other up and accept, fully accept, that they are fighting in the Hunger Games, that there is no turning back now. Until, it's not so silent any more ─── there's the heavy, rhythmic thump! of footsteps steadily growing closer; the doors to the gymnasium slide open once more to reveal a tall, muscular woman, whose face is decorated with a stark white scar dragging down the right side. Her ebony hair is collected in a ponytail at the base of her neck, and everything about her ─── from her old leather boots, calloused hands and easy, sloping grace of a predator, to the guns holstered at her hips ─── oozes lethal confidence. She knows how to use every single weapon here, and knows how to kill with them too.
"My name is Atala." She says, deep, rich voice echoing around the room. Her heavy footfalls come to a stop before the semicircle of tributes, as if they had assembled there for her. All eyes are on her. "In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead. One will survive."
A barely suppressed snort from one of the Careers; Mara can guess who. She quirks a brow and quite suddenly, Atala has the rare gift of her full and undivided attention. She casts a long glance around the room, searching each of the tributes, and Mara can almost see the calculation behind her eyes, unbiased and factual, hewn from experience. Those two words, unbiased and lethal, seem to describe her perfectly as the silence drags on before she speaks again, every word carefully chosen but not scripted.
"But, the question is: who will it be? Despite what you may have heard, we have no way of telling." That is aimed at the Careers, mostly. "However, it's heavily influenced by what goes on here. My advice: stick to the survival stations. Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die of natural causes. Ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife."
A chuckle, undisguised this time, is heard from one of the Careers ─── the tall one from Two, with the dirty blonde hair and cruel smirk.
Atala raises a brow; he falls silent under her lethal gaze. "We'll see," she says, looking at him, searching his soul through her heavily lidded eyes. It's easy to see his discomfort, the way he leans back and frowns ever so slightly. "We'll see." She nods ─── quietly, knowingly, mockingly.
"There will be no fighting among tributes," she announces to the room at large. "you'll have plenty of time for that in the arena. Experts are at hand at every station, talk to them, see what knowledge they have to offer. If you wish to spar, we have simulations and trainers for that."
Another, less subtle glance to the Careers.
She then begins to list off the stations ─── most for survival, some for fighting, and a few utterly useless. The tributes begin to drift away, heading off to the different stations. She pays extra attention to where her future enemies choose to go ─── though, it's unfair to call them that, since they, except a few, never asked to be here. Half are younger than her, some even small and thinner. A few are dishearteningly strong, even if from the poorer districts. Mara's half-starved, that much is true, but the orchard hours have given her stamina to work with. Gladly enough, she's put on a few pounds since she arrived, and only threw up once.
All the same, any hope she has flickers out, making way for the darkness that hides her desperation.
At least she stands straight. Even if she's small and weak and beginning to embrace the overwhelming probability of her imminent death, she stands.
Atala officially releases them. "You may begin."
No sooner than those words leave her mouth, the two female Careers rush off to the sword fighting station, where a fed-up instructor already knows he has nothing to teach them. They squeal in delight as they slice the air around them with practised ease, and start up the holographic simulation. For all that can be said about them, they know how to kill. Mara looks away, not wishing to see the full extent of her inferiority.
"What do we do now?" She asks Avens; the first real words she's spoken to him in a while.
"We tie knots." He says shortly, pulling her along to the knot tying station. There, they learn all the basics under the instruction of the short, female trainer ─── the slip knot, the half hitch, the figure of eight ─── and in complete silence. Even if Chaff has told them to team up during the training, they may as well be strangers. After half an hour, when the trainer is mildly impressed with how quickly they have mastered it, they move swiftly on. Another piece of advice he gave her while swilling his liquor around his glass: hit as many stations as you can.
They speak only to each other, giving little more than wary glances to the rest, but even then, it's simple and curt; one word answers. Not at all how it used to be.
The next station is fire making. Avens thinks it will be useful, and Mara's only too happy to oblige. She couldn't imagine coming here alone, even if she wishes she had. At the campfire station, there is one other tribute, Alden Mitchell from Six, if she remembers correctly. He's mousy, forgettable, and has acne scars decorating his forehead. They exchange a few words ─── he quietly corrects her arrangement of kindling ─── but other than that, says nothing and fails at lighting the matches. She and Avens both make the silent and unanimous decision not to consider him as an ally.
Next is the edible plants station, which they pass without batting an eye, identifying the edible ─── mushrooms, dandelions, katniss ─── and inedible; water hemlock, belladonna, nightlock. Years of scrounging in the orchards do have a few benefits.
She stays well away from the weapons stations, where the Careers show off their abilities ─── Octavian with the sword, taking out three projections at once, the girl from Two, Yoselin, with the spear, Julius, the boy from One, with the bow. Each gorgeous, deadly, wicked; they're the competition, and they'll never be considered as her ally. They'd have to notice and consider her a threat first.
Which, the girl from One ─── Desiree ─── seems to, when Mara proves her agility and stamina and slight frame to beat all her years of training by a few seconds on the obstacle course. The Career demands to go again, claiming Mara got a head start, but she's long since slipped away by then, to safety of the fish hook station.
For the rest of the day, she and Avens pass quietly from station to station, never staying long and never talking long enough to make any allies or enemies. A few more are removed from the list of possibilities: both from District Four, Morgan Herring and Landen Hess are well fed but have no resolve, Jaya Bulstrode, who makes it clear she wants to be alone, Mikayla Undersee, who wouldn't hurt a fly.
It's a day that leaves Mara with a lot to think about.
⭒ ➷ ⭒ ➹ ⭒ ➷ ⭒ ➹⭒
training centre, the capitol.
july, 70 att.
BY THE END OF THE NEXT DAY, MARA HAS A POTENTIAL ALLY. Avens is the first to notice her, while he swings around a machete the way the instructor said to. They've been careful to avoid going to the same stations as the Careers, or anyone else for that matter, and the only window they've had so far is the machete station, where Dakota Garner, for once, has left in search of spears. It's impressive how easily Avens picks up the weapon and slices the holograms with ease ─── that is, until they have weapons too, and he 'dies' quickly.
Then, it's Mara's turn while he keeps a lookout, and she's much more mechanical in her movements than him, but lasts longer against the simulations, dodging and weaving being what keeps her alive. Once she's done ─── a fake arrow to the head finishing her off ─── he leans over and whispers: "Someone's following us."
Panting, she casts a long long around the gymnasium. "Who?"
"The blonde one by the edible plants. Where were we yesterday?"
Mara raises a brow. "At many stations. What's the big deal?"
"She's been watching us for a while now," he says, pretending to make a few more swings with the machete. "So maybe she wants to be allies."
"So?" She asks. "We're naturally irresistible, of course. What do you want to do about it?"
"Keep an eye on her, I guess. See how competent she is."
Mara hums in agreement, and they go back to the strained silence that does not suit either of them, marred only by the crumbling simulations as Avens beheads yet another one.
It's when the blonde, whom Mara only assumed to be there by coincidence, goes to the machete station as soon as they've left, does she concede that he was right. She's been keeping an eye on her now, not Dakota or Deacon ─── last she saw, they were at the water purifying and weight lifting stations respectively ─── but her. She's competent enough, holding the machete with the right grip and assuming the correct stances, but she cannot seem to bring herself to hack at the simulations.
Mara and Avens are at the sword fighting station, where the Careers have left to go watch Julius show off his archery skills, and the weapons are too heavy. Every stroke sets her muscles on fire; dragging the weapon over her head to parry shot seconds too late. The holographic enemies impale her stomach, and she decides to leave the swords alone.
"She is following us." Mara admits once setting down the overly large and heavy blade. "What have you got on her so far?"
"Amira Montgomery, District Five. Good form, seems intelligent enough, but no resolve to kill. Seems to have finally stopped crying."
Mara makes an appreciative sound. "Same here. There's something holding her back from using the machete properly ─── find out what, and she could be useful."
"Maybe we should go talk to her, scope her out. We'll never find out much from across here."
And with that, she strides off over to the machetes; Avens follows, sighing, muttering under his breath. "I didn't mean now."
Mara approaches the blonde, who looks about seventeen, and taps her on the shoulder. She flinches, turning sharply around ─── her eyes widen ever so slightly as she sees who it is. Curiosity and wariness fill them, and she swallows, saying nothing. She responds with a cutting smile. "What do you want, Amira?"
"Um, hi, I guess?" She says, eyebrows drawn together and taking a step back. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb." Mara says, voice sharp, ignoring Avens' attempts to shut her up. "You've been following us, watching us. So what do you want?"
Amira blinks rapidly, beginning to sweat under her intense gaze. "I─── I don't know what you're talking about." She says hesitantly, playing with the machete in her hands.
Frowning, she turns to Avens, who looks ready to die on the spot. "This is her, right?"
His cheeks flush red, but he nods anyway.
"I really don't know what you're talking about." The blonde's eyes dart between the two, wondering what sick joke they're playing, and she hurries away. They watch her leave.
"Well done." Avens says, once she's gone. "You've shown your people skills yet again."
Mara picks at her nails and says nothing. They head back to the sword station, where he begins to go through the stances again. "Well, you did do one thing. She was lying, and that says more about her than any confession ever could."
"Oh? What was she lying about?"
Avens sighs, fingers on the bridge of his nose. "Everything." He sighs again.
On the third day, they decide to split up. They've been protecting each other well enough, but every look at him ends up with bloody hallucinations, and she's had enough of those. It's time to find something worth showing the world ─── alone.
There will only be one victor, and Mara cannot help but hope it is her, however selfish she may be for that.
She's already tried swords and machetes, hoping to look as casually lethal and elegant as the Careers ─── so far, she's failed dismally. The weapons are either too heavy, or she's too weak to use them effectively. This time, there is no avoiding them, and they not so subtly snigger at her attempts. It's a pattern that emerges once more when she tries spears ─── a little easier to handle, but so large that she's more dangerous to the passer-by ─── axe throwing, and tridents.
All that's left is knife throwing, and she's a little more hopeful. Her aim is good and the knives are light; the station is even set away from the rest of the weapons, and the Careers exhausted the simulations on the first day. Now, they converse in their tightly woven pack, leaving her free to fail in peace.
Amira Montgomery is the only other who attempts knife throwing on the third day. She too, is learning, as her throws spin off at odd angles, or fall short of the orange holograms. The instructor says nothing, still assessing her weaknesses.
Mara walks up to her, casting her a side glance, before picking up a knife and weighing in her hand. It's high quality, shiny steel, perfectly balanced. She grips the handle, takes a step back, and lobs it at the training hologram. It hits cleanly in the chest, albeit with the handle rather than the blade. Another half rotation would've been enough for the blade to enter first.
"Knife throwing, huh?" She says conversationally, as if talking about the weather. "How's that going for you?"
Amira glares at her, eyes red and bloodshot from where she's rubbed them, but her gaze softens as she looks at the knives littered across the range. Her past failures lay there, and she gestures to them. "Not very well."
"Mr . . . Instructor," she waves to catch the tall, dark-haired man's attention. "How is she supposed to learn if you don't even teach her?"
He gives her a look as if to say, she's hopeless! ─── a dark glare, and he relents. "Grip the knife with your dominant hand as you would a hammer." His voice is nasal, grating, like nails scratching on a chalkboard. His face is the picture of boredom, but he continues: "Bend your wrist back toward your forearm. This makes the knife turn over in the air, which keeps it on target."
Amira mirrors his movements exactly, and Mara finds herself going along with it too, holding a knife as he has just described.
"Assume the proper stance ─── weight on your dominant leg and the other foot in front. Raise your arm and bend at the elbow, and make sure to keep it away from your face───" a glance to Amira, who nearly cuts her cheek in her enthusiasm. "───to avoid cutting yourself. Sing it forward and shift your weight for momentum. Straighten your wrist as you finish."
"Release it and follow through. Allow it to slip from your hand once your wrist is straight. Finesse, not strength. Keep the movement fluid."
He then demonstrates, the silver blade sailing through the air, glinting, and hitting the simulation figure dead in the throat.
"Now you try." He says, uninterested.
Mara steps forward, bending her wrist as he said, and steps forward in time with the throw ─── the knife easily slips through her fingers and spins toward the projection; it crumbles once the blade cleanly hits it in the chest. A satisfied smile spreads across her face at her small victory. Amira tries, much more gracefully than before, and she too succeeds in hitting the target. Mara doesn't see the small, dark smile and the wicked glint in her eye; it vanishes before she can even look.
"So," Mara says, with frosty politeness in her voice. "Were you following us, or was I wrong?"
She is a little too quick in answering. "Dead wrong."
"Hm." Mara drones, unconvinced.
"I guess it was a coincidence." Amira says. "I never meant to follow you."
Mara throws another knife, hitting the hologram in the arm, then another in the leg, thinking hard. "It must've been." She says finally, hitting the hologram between its eyes.
She opens her mouth to say something, but is firmly cut off by barely disguised laughter. Mara stiffens, turning, and is met with the sight of the Careers, minus Octavian, wearing identical smirks. They point fingers at the pair, whispering to one another.
"Look how skinny she is." One of them says, smirking. "Both of them, really."
"But the hair. I wouldn't be caught dead with that on my head."
Stupid words, but they do sting. Mara brushes them off, not giving any indication of offence. She stares at them, in what she hopes is a judgemental way, and deadpans: "I wouldn't worry about me. You've got more than enough problems." Then, particularly to the dark-haired girl, she makes a show of her bony arms. "So skinny, and yet so much faster than you."
That same girl, Desiree or some other stupid name, steps forward, fists clenched and perfectly even teeth bared.
"No fighting, remember?" Amira says, gloat barely concealed, passing Mara a knife. "You might break a nail."
The two share a smile as she's held back by her district partner Julius, the prodigy with the bow. "They're cretins, Des, what do they know? They're not worth it." He adds with a vicious glare.
After that day, the duo becomes a trio, even if the alliance of sorts is hardly there ─── after throwing knives, Amira Montgomery sticks with them.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 :
( 4,107 words! )
words cannot describe how i hate this chapter
but it's done,, it's out,, and we move on !! more
lavishness from the capitol to hide the fact that
they're literally being slaughtered and training
just to ensure they will be entertaining enough
─── the more i think about it, the crueller the
games are 💔
i despise all the interactions with the careers at
this stage because they feel so cliche but i have
no idea what else they would say but i promise
they get so much more interesting in the arena!
(more on them later)
most notably, we've properly met amira now🏃♀️
readers from before will know, but what are the
thoughts on her? she's hard to write but i'm acc
quite happy with how her interactions, at least,
have panned out. & yes, she's important enough
to get her own faceclaim + gifs in the act divider
and i've tried to foreshadow her fate. i can't make
hints subtle,, do tell if it's obvious 🫣
mara and avens literally have my heart like i want
it back / their dynamic is so fun to write because
they are such good friends ─── finally a chance to
show that ─── and they desperately want to live
but then want each other to survive. see, it's going
to get depressing!
don't be a silent reader! vote, comment, and enjoy
reading !! <33