When Luck Runs Out

Math Really Does Kill

"So, fighting next." John decided.
"We should split up probably, since I'm good at spears and you're good at knives." I decided.
"We're both rubbish at archery." John agreed. I nodded with a smile.
"And then we'll duel." I laughed.
"I'll kick your butt." John insisted.
"Good luck with that." I laughed, going back to my salad as if I actually thought I had a chance against him. In all fairness I knew he was a much better fighter than me, and I was better at survival. We made the perfect team, our talents balanced each other out and just each other's presence kept our fragile mental states in check. It was a terrible shame that one of us was going to have to go down. But I was going to be the coward; I was going to give John his life if he wanted it or not, because I knew that if I had to see him die my mind would simply shatter. When we were done with our food we moved onto fighting, and for the first time I was alone in training. I stood very awkwardly for my turn at the dummies, twirling my spear anxiously on the ground and craning my neck to see if John was anywhere in sight. He was at the knives, chucking a dagger at a dummy straight into the neck. I tried to make eye contact, but he was too busy saying some to Jeanette, who was trying to throw the knife horizontally. The ones she threw kept skidding across the floor, making a lot of the other Victors laugh silently at her. When it was finally my turn to throw the spear (we got three tries), I stood very still, aiming precisely and throwing as hard and as accurately as I could. It hit the dummy in the left side, which wouldn't be a kill shot, but definitely enough to put them out of action, at least for a little while as they tried to dig the spear out of themselves. My second throw hit the dummy in the thigh, which really wasn't much use to me, but the last was able to stick near the right temple, definitely a kill shot if it had been a person. Of course the dummies didn't move, and the tributes would definitely not let me aim properly, or get three shots at them. In the games it would be pure adrenaline, kill or be killed, act on impulse without any mercy. When I was done I went back over to wait for John, who was still chucking knives into the dummy's rubber flesh, very well actually. Jeanette was improving, and by that I only mean the daggers made it to the dummy itself. I wasn't saying that they hit it.
"You've got to actually throw it, try aiming, close one eye." John insisted.
"I'm sorry; I'm terrible at this, just trying something different." Jeanette muttered, doing as John said and closing one eye, aiming carefully. When she finally threw it, the dagger tumbled through the air, looking as if it might hit the dummy, I saw her hold her breath, and it fell to the floor with an embarrassing clatter.
"Maybe I should just stick to swords." She shrugged as some District One girl was laughing loudly from the other side of the room.
"Probably a good idea." I agreed, announcing my arrival even though I'd been here to watch the whole thing.
"Sherlock, how'd it go over at spears?" John asked.
"I think I killed him." I shrugged.
"That's good." John decided. I looked over at his dummy, which now represented a porky pine with all of the handles sticking up out of it.
"I think you killed yours as well." I guessed.
"I suppose so." John agreed with a laugh.
"Dueling then?" I asked.
"You're on." John agreed excitedly. We moved over to the sword area, grabbing ourselves two wooden swords, and started to battle it out. I tried my best, of course, but every move I made John seemed to anticipate, and with every jab I made he made a deflection, and with every deflection I tried to make, he got a jab right in my stomach or a slash across my chest, or even a decapitation. I was rubbish at sword fighting. I noticed Moran and Moriarty were also dueling, whipping the blades around so fast they were almost a blur of wood, and both were laughing hysterically and yelping as the other tried to attack or defend. I had to admit, even though they were crazy, maniacal murders, they did make a cute couple. Shame, two of the most iconic gay couples in this day in age would be sacrificed to the games once more. I was shaken out of my thoughts by a hit in the shoulder; John was ready to go at it again.
"Pay attention." He insisted, waving his sword at me once more. I sighed, but got in the defensive form, and waited for his attack. When we were done with training Molly and Mrs. Hudson were waiting at the door, and they didn't have the coffee I requested when they left. Instead they just led us in a funeral march out the door, concluding our last training session before our second round in the games. When we got off the train, the lobby was surprisingly quiet. There were tributes, mentors, escorts, even stylists walking around in their large animal like outfits, but there wasn't much talking going on, and if there was, it was all whispering. I think the fact that the games, now being only a day away, were starting to dawn on the people who were calm and collective before. Even the ones that had 'accepted' their death long ago, like Greg and Jeanette, were sitting (surprisingly) quietly near the elevator doors, waiting for it to open. It was a somber day.
"Funny seeing you here." Greg said with a small smile as the doors opened. A large group of us, some I knew and most I didn't, waded into the elevator, and nearly all the buttons were pressed. So, of course, being the top floor, we had to wait for all of the others to get dropped off on their floors. There was advantages though, no one would have to see our living room, which was always a bit of a mess, with empty hot chocolate mugs and jackets and papers strewn everywhere. When we were dropped off at our floor the four of us dispersed, John and I went to our rooms to take showers, and Molly and Mrs. Hudson went to sit on the couch. I stood for a while in the hot water, just standing there, pondering the games and what might happen. There were a lot of terrible things that arena held, but, in my opinion, one of the top five worst things is the lack of cleanliness. There were no showers, no baths, no working toilets, not even deodorant. Everyone smelled like crap, the arena was used as a bathroom, and all the mud and dirt you walk through dries to your skin...it was just horrible. This encouraged me to use a little bit more soap. When I was dressed in my pajamas our little Twelve family was sitting on the couch, evidently waiting for me. John was drinking out of a large blue water bottle, and I knew one must be waiting for me. Stupid hydration plan.
"Hello Sherlock." Molly said happily, handing me an orange water bottle.
"Yay." I muttered, taking the bottle and listening to the ice cubes bounce around in the plastic.
"Oh don't be such a grouch, you'll thank me when you're in the games and you're not dying of dehydration." Molly insisted.
"We've still got another day, how will this help?" I asked.
"You'll already have water in you, and you won't need any more." She insisted.
"Whatever you say Molly." I sighed, sitting on the couch next to John and tapping my foot with annoyance. Molly was watching me closely, so I took a sip of water, just to amuse her. This whole thing was so stupid, but I knew she wouldn't let me get away with not finishing my water bottle. I'd just dump it down the sink when she wasn't looking. When dinner arrived she filled both our plates with all of our proper nutrition, meat, vegetables, and carbs. That's one balanced meal. We started eating silently, Molly and Mrs. Hudson trying to start up some sort of conversation, but no one was really in a talking mood, we just didn't like silence.
"So, what are you two planning on doing for your evaluations?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she buttered a large chunk of bread.
"I was thinking of doing knife throwing. I'm okay at it, I guess." John shrugged.
"You're more than okay! You'll do better than last year, I'm sure of it." I insisted.
"What did you do last year?" Molly asked.
"Sword stuff. I got an eight." John muttered, now blushing from my complement. He really was adorable.
"I'm doing spears, I found that I can actually hit the target, which is helpful." I pointed out.
"Anything can be better than your first year, you got a four." Mrs. Hudson decided.
"Offensive." I pointed out.
"Well, you didn't die, and that's all that matters." Molly insisted, smiling a bit wider to make sure no one was bringing down the mood. The problem was, I don't think it could get any lower.
"Sherlock you were fine last year, and I'm sure you'll be just as fine this year, probably better." She assured.
"Didn't you do math last year?" John asked. I smiled proudly.
"Doesn't get you far though." I shrugged.
"Well, you're sitting here now, so obviously it does." John pointed out.
"It's not like I used math in the games." I pointed out.
"Well, whatever you did, it worked." Mrs. Hudson insisted.
"And then we've got the interview." Molly pointed out.
"I shudder to think of my first one." I muttered. John actually snorted with laughter, but turned it into a hasty cough when he saw Molly's glare.
"What, I think it's funny." John muttered, looking down at his half eaten mashed potatoes in shame.
"It is funny." I agreed.
"I think you answered two, and just stared at him in terror for the rest of the questions." Mrs. Hudson agreed.
"I was mortified for you." Molly insisted, looking quite pale even as she remembered.
"I'll make up for it this time." I insisted.
"Maybe he'll answer three." John whispered. Mrs. Hudson laughed, and I just slapped him in the arm. Molly was the only one not amused.
"Sherlock has gotten a lot better in front of a camera; he did very well in your interview with Caesar." Molly insisted.
"I did most of the talking." John defended.
"I just stood there and looked cute." I agreed. John rolled his eyes, but I just laughed.
"Caesar seemed satisfied with it, that's all that matters." I insisted.
"Indeed." Mrs. Hudson agreed. When our food was polished off the desert came out, and for once I helped myself to a very yummy cherry pie, where all the sour cherries popped in my mouth. I had two slices before I was, for once, full. It was a strange day indeed.
"Well, what do you all want to do now?" Mrs. Hudson asked as we all sat on the couch.
"Board game? I know they have a lot around here, for bonding time you know?" Molly asked.
"No." John and I said in unison. Molly just rolled her eyes, but she didn't bring it up again. We were all thinking the same thing; this was going to be the last night we could actually enjoy together. Tomorrow night would be fearful, we'd be anticipating the games, and we'd be terrified... even thinking about it made my stomach twist uncomfortably.
"Well, how about we just talk then?" Molly insisted.
"I'm good with just sitting here silently." I shrugged.
"Just, not about the games, okay?" John asked.
"Of course not." Molly agreed. But the games seemed to be the only thing on our mind, and all of the other topics seemed to have vanished.
"So, what did you all do when you were at district twelve?" Mrs. Hudson asked. Molly launched into conversation with her, explaining the hike that we took, all of the nights in front of the fire, how John and I were so sweet with each other, all the stuff that made me blush and want to yell 'shut up'! John and I just sat together, his head on my shoulder, nodding off slightly as Molly and Mrs. Hudson chatted about absolutely nothing. After a while, our last night together seemed absolutely tedious, so at only nine o'clock I announced my absence, and walked swiftly over to my room before they could recommend something else, like truth or dare or something. John and I played that once, and everyone thought John and I were doing drugs or something since I had to pretend to be an alien and John had to lick the window. Memories. I got changed into my pajamas and sunk into my bed, pulling all of the fluffy covers overtop of me and sitting there in the dark. Even though I was all snuggly I still shivered, not from the cold, but from the fear of what was coming up. I would probably make a fool of myself in the evaluations, end up somehow spearing myself, or the gamemakers, I'd get a one or something. But I knew evaluations didn't really matter, except for the sponsors that looked at them. But for these games most sponsors knew us already, they followed our own games and our victories, so even if I get a zero they might still put a penny in my collection tin. The interviews are what scared me, that was where the sponsors needed to know that I had changed, for the better of course, even if that wasn't the case. I needed to redeem myself from last time, answer the questions and look like every day was living Hell. Couldn't be that difficult.
"Sherlock?" John asked, poking his head in the door.
"Your logic is overwhelming." I groaned.
"What do you mean?" he asked, slipping into the room and shutting the door, so that once again the only light waded in through the crack in the door.
"When the lights are off and you know I'm in here, maybe yelling in to ask where I am is best. Not like I'm trying to sleep or anything." I grumbled.
"Not like you'd sleep anyway." John defended, following my voice and rolling under the covers next to me.
"True, true." I agreed. He snuggled up against my chest, looking at the ceiling above. His skin was cold, on contrast to the fuzzy little cocoon I had made here, but it was a nice contrast.
"So, one more day." he decided.
"Let's just get through the night first." I insisted.
"No more cigarettes, okay?" he asked.
"If you don't want them I won't make you. What made you change your mind?" I asked.
"I feel like they're clogging my lungs. When I had even the slightest shortness of breath yesterday I was convinced I had lung cancer or something like that." John shrugged.
"And you call me a pessimist!" I laughed.
"Oh shut up." John growled, punching me in the side lightly.
"Alright, alight, I'll shut up." I groaned, messaging where he had hit me.
"So are you going to do spears?" John asked.
"I guess so, it's the only thing I'm not terribly bad at." I shrugged.
"You're alright at sword fighting." John insisted. "And it doesn't have to be just fighting, you could make a fire or something."
"The gamemakers are not going to give me any more than five points for setting a fire." I insisted.
"That would still be better than last year." John pointed out with a laugh.
God, why do I tell you anything? Honestly, all I get is tormented. I should've said that I was so good they gave me a thirteen." I decided.
"I would've never believed that, going on how the whole district was already planning your funeral." John insisted.
"At least you guys had confidence in me." I muttered.
"If I had known you personally then, I would definitely have confidence." John insisted.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because you're too darn stubborn to go down in the games." He insisted.
"Well, that changes this round." I muttered.
"You're not dying Sherlock; you know I won't let that happen." John insisted.
"Well you're also not dying; I know that I won't let that happen." I defended.
"I thought you had agreed that I would die?" John pointed out.
"No, I never agreed to anything on that matter. My mind was set as soon as the notice went out, and it hasn't wavered a bit." I insisted.
"I can't help thinking that we're not going to have a choice either way." John sighed.
"Please, think a bit more positively." I insisted.
"No point now." John muttered.
"Just, go to sleep alright? We'll need it." I decided. John sighed, taking one of my hands in an attempt to help me sleep.
"Good night Sherlock." He decided.
"Good night John." I agreed, closing my eyes.