Author Games: Beta

Task One Entries - Gaius Nerodius Gore

ALTHEA VACCETI (wordsmith)

The sun hurt her eyes. Althea covered them with her hand, squinting to see through the thin glass that surrounded her. Around her, she could see other podiums, like the one that had brought her here. Wherever here was. She scanned her more immediate surroundings more closely, taking in the other podiums that risen from the ground. She was in the Capitol. For the briefest moment, Althea thought she had gotten lucky. That she had been forgiven, that she had been exempt from the Games. But something told her that wasn't true. She looked around again, seeing the podiums again, with their colorfully dressed inhabitants. They reminded her of tombstones rising from the ground. She made to move away, only then noting with a jolt of surprise that she couldn't move her feet.

She swallowed, and her eyes landed on one of the men nearest to her. Her mouth fell open in shock and confusion flashed through her. It was President Gore. What's going on? He was the one to put me here, so what's he doing here? She shook her head; she would figure it out later. The next thing she noticed was the large screen next to him, bright red numbers counting down to zero. Fear suddenly covered her body like a second skin, making goosebumps pebble her arms. Like a magnet, her eyes were drawn to the countdown, watching the numbers go down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. Suddenly, Althea could move her feet, and she stepped away from the podium. For a moment, she stood there uncertainly, unsure of what to do. After a moment she decided to leave the square. If this really was the Games, then she didn't want to be anywhere near the bloodbath that was going to happen.

Without looking behind her, Althea ran to one of the buildings at random, grateful that for once she wasn't wearing heels. The ugly running shoes that had been placed on her feet fit perfectly, although they hurt her feet as she ran. Althea burst through the door of the coffee shop she'd headed for, only minutely surprised to find it was unlocked. She ran inside, heading straight to the back of the shop. The sound of her shoes on polished tile was loud in the silence, and Althea hoped no one else could hear her.

Come on, where's the back room? she thought, thoughts panicky and unfocused. She eventually found another door that led to the back room of the shop, and burst through it. The door clanged shut behind her with a bang that made her jump and clutch at the smooth marble counter top in front of her. She took a moment to get her bearings and calm down a little before taking a closer look around.

There were bags of sugar and other ingredients to make the sugary pastries that Althea usually got here, as well as things needed to make various drinks. A few ovens were visible and drawers covered almost every surface. Althea took in another shaky breath before she started towards the long island in the center of the room. She started rifling through the drawers there, looking for something, anything, she could use to defend herself. But there was nothing there. Pot holders and packets, silverware and napkins. Plates and mugs were neatly placed in some of the upper cupboards, but nothing that was remotely like a weapon.

Unless... Althea's mind started turning, using the shrewd logic she usually reserved for judging dress designs to re-examine the objects around her. She had knives, but they were blunt, meant for bread and pastries, not defense. There were matchsticks; she could use the flames if it came down to it. Forks, but not much more useful than knives. Althea shook her head, wishing she'd run into one of the training centers.

But she hadn't, so she'd have to make do. It was like not having enough material for a proper dress and having to improvise, she reasoned. With that thought in mind, she grabbed a handful of knives and stuffed them into one of the oven mitts she'd found in her search, along with a matchstick and a small collection of forks. It was pitiful bag of weapons, but it would have to do.

She attached the oven mitt to her hip by using the thin black scarf she was wearing as a belt. With it secured firmly to her waist, Althea felt a small measure of comfort. It was her safety blanket, but instead of thread and pictures, she had knives and fire. Althea took a deep breath, steadying herself before she went to go find a safe place to sleep. She was going to need it.