Beware the Children, a tale from the Arena

Uncivilized Conversation

        The slight rattle of ice in a glass brings me out of my thoughts as the train takes a sharp bend.  I realize I'm just pushing food around my plate.  Our mentor, a woman named Geo, is even taller in person than she appears onscreen.  She must be at least six feet tall.  Her hair is short and tinted gold, a striking look on her dark brown skin.  The Victor has hardly aged a day, even though her win was fifteen years ago.  She was notorious for blunt object damage in her Games, racking up a large number of close-range kills.  Honestly, I had no idea you could club someone to death with an animal leg.  She and Dahlia make a strange contrast; next to her, pearly-pale, violet-haired Miss Quill is like a tiny doll.  Sitting in her chair, her sequin-heeled feet barely touch the polished floor of the dining car.  Even more surprising, the two women are apparently great friends.  

        "- and I said to her, 'Darling!  Those flowers aren't the appetizers, those are the decorations!' Can you imagine?!"  squeals Dahlia, and the women erupt with laughter.  Geo leans back in her seat and pops a cherry tomato into her mouth as Dahlia continues describing a party that sent everyone home with a talking parrot (dyed purple and gold, the latest in colors) for a party favor.  

        I'm surprised by the stab of jealousy I feel.  The girls from the dormitory were the closest thing to family I'd had in years, and they hadn't even bothered to visit me before I left to my possible death.  Dahlia wasn't Geo's escort, she started as a member of her prep team.  Nothing more than a makeup artist.  And yet, here they are.  Her closeness with the Victor was what had her considered above more famous stylists for the highly desirable post of such a prized District's escort.  I've heard the gossip that District Ten's stylist, Aphra, is still steamed about losing out on a Career District.  After all, she created the "dragon-skin" bodysuits that took the Capitol by storm a few years ago.  Snakeskin and glitter.  Big whoop.  Still, I imagine Dahlia is sweating after Amber's colossal failure on that mountaintop.  I can still see the humiliating image of Amber scooting along on hands and knees towards the weapons and food ahead, only to lose her head the minute she reached the Cornucopia.  Linden from District Seven, putting those tree-chopping skills to use.  I'm the best, and I lost to her in every mock challenge.  She was that good with a short sword.  And she lost her head on all fours, like a dog, to an idiot lumberjack.  

        "Hellooooo, Alabaster?  Earth to Ness?"  Luxe waves his hand dramatically in front of my face.  "Any interest in this?"

        I glare at him.  "I'm sorry, I'm using my brain.  You might try it sometime."

        "Alabaster," says Geo, and I shrivel a little at her tone.  "I wouldn't turn on your District partner this early.  Do I need to explain the word 'Ally' to you?"

        "No," I mumble.  "I was just remembering...last year."

        Her mouth tightens, and Dahlia grimaces daintily.  Luxe seems unimpressed.  Of course, the boy last year made it to the final four, so he has nothing to regret.  Lucky bastard.  Too bad a girl is going to win this year.  Ally my ass.  He's only insurance until I don't need him, if he even survives that far.  He's far too cocky to outlast the Arena.  Geo refills her glass from the dainty glass flute of white wine in front of her, and Luxe brazenly reaches for it himself the minute it's back on the table.  She slaps his hand away.  "The last thing you need is alcohol.  Drink some green tea.  Build up your immune system, Luxe."

        "Fine," he says sullenly. "It's not like I'm going to risk my life in a day or two.  Wouldn't want to cut teenagers open like dead pigs without my maximum level of vitamins."

        "Honestly!  Manners!  Need I remind you, Mister Burren, you are not a...a...miner from District Twelve" 

        "Dahlia, calm down," says Geo.  "And Luxe, shut your privileged little trap.  Let me wish you a belated congratulations, you're a special Tribute snowflake."  Dahlia giggles into her wine glass, but Geo isn't done.  I think Dahlia loves her for saying all the things she can't.  "In case you forgot, Luxe, you're one of twenty-four disposable bodies.  I'm a Victor, and you won't know if you have the balls to earn that title until you shed some actual blood. If you're alive a few weeks from now, preferably with most of your original limbs still attached, you can drink as much wine as you want.  I'm sure Haymitch will love a new drinking partner.  You know how popular he is."

        "I'm sure I'll have too many women to keep me company to waste my time on a pathetic drunk like Abernathy," sneers Luxe.  He reaches casually for the wine a second time.  

        I've seen Geo projected onto a dozen school screens, young and soaked in the blood of a Tribute crazed with something similar to rabies, courtesy of some sort of rat.  He almost took her nose off trying to eat her face before she tore him apart.  The same anger she wore as she cut his throat with chips of volcanic glass flashes briefly across her face now, and she slaps the glass out of Luxe's hands before he's raised it to his lips.  It shatters against the wall.  Dahlia shrieks in surprise.  Luxe tips backwards out of instinct.  Unfortunately for him, these chairs are not as solid as the metal seats in the dining hall back home.  He falls to the floor when the stylishly angled seat tumbles away from him.  Geo slides calmly back into her chair.

        "If you were my District partner, I'd kill you first, Burren.  Remember that.  Ness," she points to me.  "I hope you have more sense than this fool."

        Luxe rights his chair, and slides into it, blushing angrily.  I have a decision to make.  While I agree with Geo, she isn't going to have weapons near me while I sleep anytime soon.  I smile at my District partner, fighting my urge to gag.  "I don't know about that...we'll just have to let our thousands of sponsors know to send us a nice glass of champagne along with all those fancy steak dinners."

        It works like a charm.  Luxe winks at me and runs a hand through his perfect, rumpled hair.  Geo makes a disgusted sound, and Dahlia says something about hormones.  I make a mental note.  He underestimates women.  Should I pretend to be in love with him?  No.  A secret kiss or two, though, might be useful in making him forget to watch his own precious back.

        That night, I make sure to deliver a stolen glass of brandy to him.  Personally.