"Elara Rosewood. Come on up, honey. Don't be shy."
Elara had hated the annual tradition of the Hunger Games since she knew how to say the words. It was violent, twisted and a fucking outrage. Her grandfather loved it though. He'd sit her down beside...
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TRAINING|DAY ONE
WALKING BACK INTO THAT ROOM, although it had changed a lot since her games, was like walking straight into her past. She half expected to turn around and see Tanner following her eagerly, or Caspian watching her from across the room with his large arms folded across his chest. Well... that was still a possibility in her condition.
Weston had disappeared to go wield some axes, probably with Johanna, who she still hadn't had chance to see. She'd heard about her friend's little... performance— so to speak— in the elevator. Stripping in front of two tributes and their escort was another level of insane. That's probably why she loved her so much.
She wandered around the room, trying to find a place she'd fit in but not exactly succeeding in that task. Cashmere and Gloss were practically unmoving from the knife throwing station so Elara retracted right back to Weston's side, feeling like a child.
"Elara Rosewood." Johanna beamed in that smug looking grin as her axe dangled at her side. "Get your ass over here."
Elara grinned and moved forward, a hand curling around Johanna's wrist as the woman swung the axe at her. "Trying to take me out already?"
"Just had to make sure you've still got it." She shrugged, picking up an axe and handing it to her. "You've still got it." She confirmed. "Me and Westie, here, have been having a little axe throwing competition."
Weston was sat on the floor, huffing and puffing in pants as he tried to collect his breath. "You." He pointed at Johanna, making the smug smile on her face stretch even further. "You are ridiculously quick with that thing."
"You're not so bad yourself, you know?"
He stretched out an arm for Elara to take and help him up again. "God, I'm too old for this shit."
The women chuckled, Elara still testing the weight of the axe in her hand. There was a sickening sensation shooting through her arm. It zipped through her chest and down the other arm, her fingertips tingling at the feeling. The familiarity of the weapon. The right weight. She liked it.
Her eyes flicked across the room. Katniss was chatting quietly to Beetee and Wiress. The group turned towards the large room of Capitol officials above them, Plutarch front and centre, and Elara followed their gaze. She wasn't sure what they were noticing, not at her angle. When she gave up trying to understand, in amongst one of the split seconds as she turned, she could've sworn Plutarch's suit warped slightly. She shook her head dismissively.
