Inevitable | PJO

Hazel

POV: Hazel Levesque

I'm scared. Just to get that out there.

When mine and Frank's names were called... I don't know. I just couldn't breathe. And I'm district 1, career pack, whatever you want to call those with a 'better' chance of winning. Loads of others were desperate for the place on the stage, but with the onslaught of volunteers we got last year, when the fights broke out, they said no more.

But now, after the horror that was the chariot ride, we have training. We've got to talk to those from 2 and 4. I don't want to talk to a bunch of kill-crazy tributes.

But I guess I'm going to have to.

Walking into the metallic-walled training centre, I see only a small bunch of tributes have arrived. Both from 2 and 4 are here, worst luck. The guy from three is tapping his fingers on a metal pillar, the 8 girl is fiddling with her sandy-blonde hair, staring at him, and a small girl from 11 is trying to climb up the vines in the camouflage unit by stringing them through the light fittings. Then there's me and Frank. A lovely little group.

Training starts when a few more have dribbled in. The woman in charge starts talking about all the stuff we already knew, all the stuff we were taught on our first day of district training. The non-career tributes are staring up at her with huge, wide eyes. They don't want to miss a thing. Frank's watching her too, but more out of politeness than need. He's one of the hopefuls to win this game. Our mentor felt like telling us.

Finally, when we're allowed to go and start the workshops, I remember the advice given this morning:

Show off. Make sure they know what they're up against.

Should I? Frank wandered off towards sword-fighting, something he was widely known for back home. I should probably head there too, but what's the point of just doing something you can already do? Taking a deep breath in and stealing myself, I head over to knives.

"... very useful in a fight." The man leading the workshop is saying. " Lighter and quicker than a sword, not to mention you can throw them too."

"Useful." I murmur.

The girl next to me whips her head round, glossy black plait swinging over her shoulder.

Reyna. The girl from four.

Blushing, I turn to face the man speaking again, but I feel her gaze on me. I think she knows I haven't done much of this before.

We're just getting onto correct hand positions, when the lift doors ping open to reveal two tributes.

The guy looks a bit red, and sneaks off towards the hunting station, but the girl saunters into the middle of the room, eyes flickering over every one of us.

She's dressed in her training clothes, sure. But the navy shirt was now a crop, cut on an angle like some Capitol women have it. She's in the shorts, despite the fact it's quite a cool day. But even then, she's somehow stitched them up to be extremely tight and so short it's indecent. Of course, they're lopsided with the material unraveling throughout, but she looks a lot more memorable than she did on the chariot ride.

I say that because I don't remember her.

Well, now I will.

I wonder if that's what she wanted.

Hats off to you then, Miss McLean.