Storm: A Hunger Games Story {Book One of the Storm Trilogy}

Twenty One

"This is just an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting Wes. I don't want to be here." I huffed as the elevator reached the event space.

"Not all of us are alcoholics, Wyatt." Finnick teased, walking up to us.

"Maybe not, but you certainly are indulgent." I tease back with a smirk. I look around at the bar and the many tables surrounding it. There weren't many of us, one or two mentors per district. Sitting at the bar, as expected, was Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve. Beside him was Chaff from District Eleven. The two of them were hollering, cackling, banging on the bar table. Meanwhile, their tributes are out learning how they can survive this monstrosity of an event.

"They're like that every year. It's the only time they see each other, since no one drags them out for interviews anymore." Finnick whispered. I gritted my teeth in anger as I watched the two men make mockeries of themselves and their districts.

"It's just as sick as parading around in silly outfits while watching the games and betting on tributes. No wonder their districts never win."

Finnick, Wes, and I sat down at a table, and I took note of which other mentors were sitting with who. The careers stuck together, minus Finnick. Beetee sat in the corner, writing away in a notebook. Blight from District Seven sat alone as well, drinking at the bar away from Haymitch and Chaff.

"We should invite Beetee to sit with us." I suggested, remembering the kindness he displayed to me during the tour. Finnick made a face.

"What?" I asked him.

"Nothing, I just never know how to talk to him. He's like a machine sometimes." I roll my eyes and get out of my seat. I approached Beetee with a small smile.

"Hi, Beetee." I say quietly. He looks up from his writing and gives me a small smile back.

"Hello, Ophelia." He continues to write.

"How are you doing?" I reply, trying to keep the conversation going.

"I'm working on strategies to help my tributes to gain an above average survival rate. The gamemakers like to make us come to these social gatherings to distract us from what we're here for. They do it to make us feel like we are a part of the Capitol now. It doesn't distract me from creating the best possible strategies for my tributes, and it shouldn't let you either." He nods at me before getting back to scribbling in his notebook. I just blinked at the strange man, taking in every last word he said. I put his words in the back of my mind.

"I won't. I wanted to thank you again for the sewing machine, it was so kind and thoughtful of you. It was a major help." I told him sincerely. He looked up from his scribbling with a small smile.

"I'm glad I could be of service." I took that as a dismissal, and said goodbye, walking back over to Wes and Finnick who were discussing strategies.

"Could our tributes be allies?" Wes was asking Finnick, who was adamantly shaking his head.

"These two were volunteers, there's no way they're going to team up with the two from District Eight, no offense," he explains, "especially after what occurred during your games." he locks eyes with me, telling me his tributes were angry with me for winning instead of their district, and also for killing their tributes.

"What if Lilah and Apollo prove to be strong allies? Could they join the careers?" I suggest. Both Wes and Finnick give me a look.

"It just won't work. District Four has always been a career district, I can't break tradition like that. Plus, Snow would probably have my head." Finnick took a sip of his drink, which I didn't even realize he had gotten a hold of. I looked around the room again, glancing at the screens that showed clips from interviews and past games. My face appeared more than anyone else's. I remembered what Beetee said, and continued to talk about strategies.

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"How did training go? Did you do what we said to do?" Wes asked, reminding me of when I ignored him and used the knives in training anyway.

"Survival and hand to hand combat, just like you said." Lilah replied, walking straight to her room. Apollo lingered, not knowing if he should follow or stay to speak with us.

"Apollo, how did you do?" I asked the boy who was older than me.

"We learned how to start, put out, and hide a fire. We also learned how to find water. We learned hand to hand combat too."

"And how did you do?"

"I knocked the trainer out. So did Lilah." My eyes went wide, and I turned to Wes to see his reaction. He simply nodded.

"Good, now tomorrow you both need to work on plants and then weapons. You should try swords and knives first and then try others. I can give some tips on using swords, and as you know Ophelia can help with knives." Apollo went to get ready for dinner, leaving Wes and I in silence. I looked up at him, hope brimming my eyes.

"They can make it, Wes. They might have a chance." Wes looked at me, no hope in his eyes.

"The only one I ever thought had a chance was you. And I was right." He brushed past me into the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it. Ever since the tour, something has been off about him. It's like the games bring something back for him, a constant reminder of the traumas we have all experienced.

Scoffing at his rigidity, I left him alone and decided to go upstairs to the rooftop for a bit of solace from everything. I sat criss cross on the bench, looking down at the city like last year. Wondering how the citizens don't feel guilt for all of these deaths.