though its the end of the world dont blame yourself {pearl}

Pearl Millison

The patter of downpour functioned as both her lullaby and her alarm. Pearl’s eyes opened to a blanket of overcast sky and a canopy of tree leaves, but the fabric beneath her palms reminded her that it was merely a simulation. Relying on Capitol technology as a remedy for her restlessness was weak, and she didn’t want it to grow into her only coping method. But it was impossible to sleep in silence. Silence left her nothing to focus on but her own scattered thoughts, all of which were tangled together in one mass lump of stress. It was toxic, like a cancer. Sleep was a top priority, but she had yet to achieve it without some method of coping. Altering the walls and ceiling to display images of a rainforest created ideal background noise, and allowed her to tuck her stress behind mental folds until she was rested enough to confront them with her full attention.

Inevitable death was a difficult thing to shake, however, and no amount of acknowledgement could ease her aching mind. The moment she sat up in her bundle of silken sheets she could feel it like tangible weight bending her shoulders – like a chain wrapped around her torso, tied to anchors heavier than any skyscraper. She was surrounded by rainforest, and wished desperately that she could be there instead of here. Here was what she couldn’t trick herself into escaping. She was in the Capitol, in the training center, in her assigned bedroom with walls like television screens. As real as it felt, she wasn’t stupid enough to buy into it. It was just background noise; medicine for her newly-developed insomnia.

Her shuffle from the bedroom to the dining hall was quicker than anticipated. Mother was all about punctuality, and she wanted to adhere to her ideals until it was time to isolate herself in the training room. At breakfast she decorated her plate with eggs for protein, fruits and oats for carbohydrates, and a glass of orange juice for vitamins. Her mother constantly heckled her about eating a balanced breakfast, but also emphasized that she should treat herself to desserts before the battle started. Pearl didn’t quite see it in the same light. She wanted to try new things because these would be her last days. Even the wine had captured a curious eye a few times. How could she die without having ever felt the buzz of alcohol?

Mother always pulled her aside before she walked into the training area, and assigned her a “to-do” list. Allies was on the top of said list, and polishing her act for the private training session was next. Then it was practicing for her interview and exploring other training stations, like first aid and the stealth trainers’ corner. Allies was the only word to truly stick, because flying solo was not something she was capable of, and not something her mother could accept. Even having just one other person would provide comfort, meager as it would be, but so far all she had done was procrastinate with cowardice. Other tributes were already starting to pair up, and if she didn’t make haste she would be left in the dust to fend for her own pathetic self.

The knife station was her claim. Since the days began she had constantly stood in front of the rows of artificial skin and tossed blades until her eyes strained from the prolonged focus. But today, as she approached the rack of silvery blades, there was a redhead occupying the space, grasping only a single knife in her hand. Patricia Valfierno was an easy name to remember, because she was the only tribute with such a fierce tint of red in her hair. Pearl started to gather her usual selection from the array of knives, and observed from the corner of her eyes what Patricia was doing. She only prodded a dummy once before abandoning the area completely in favor of a dark, secluded corner of the training center.

It was none of her business. She should simply ignore the suspicious activity and concentrate on her station. How other tributes spent their time should not concern her.

She set the knives down and found herself walking into the dark. From what she could see at this distance, Patricia was hunched over something on the floor. Upon closer inspection she spotted the exposed wiring beneath a wedged-out floor tile. Those wires could be for anything – lighting, holograms, computers. Surely this wasn’t allowed. Would the Gamemakers chastise for rule-breaking? Technically the only rule in here was to avoid injuring other tributes, since there was plenty of time to do that in the arena. Was this some kind of sabotage?

She cleared her throat when she was inevitably noticed, and tried to make herself smaller despite standing over the redhead. ”I-I know it’s none of my business, but what are you doing? If you don’t mind me asking…”

Pearl Millison

Patricia retorted with a sour grin, face resembling a mask her mother used to wear when she pretended to admire something she despised. My progress at reaping boot camp, for example. Her instinct was to shrink back and mentally cringe at the discontent she had inflicted. Perhaps venturing to this secluded corner had been unwise after all. Patricia clearly didn’t want some career lurking over her shoulder, nosing her way into her private business, and Pearl figured she should oblige.

”You’re right! It is none of your business!”

Fair enough.

Pearl stood in an awkward silence as the agitated redhead diverted her focus back to the wiring at her fingertips. An apology tickled the back of her throat. It was the right thing to do, to apologize and abandon the scene before she sparked any further anger in this girl’s busy mind. The last thing she wanted to do was create enemies. Of course, everybody in this room – save for Asa thus far – would become an enemy in the arena, but perhaps they had no reason to fixate on her. They could fear her, for all she knew. Her status as a victor’s daughter was widespread and impossible to ignore, and there was no doubting her abilities as a knife-wielder. There might not be a single soul in here wishing to seek her out and cause her harm. But what if angering Patricia gave her the means for painting a target on Pearl’s back?

She realized she had not moved since the redhead last spoke. Like a statue she was mounted in place, except statues didn’t have racing hearts or sweat beading at the napes of their necks. ”But, seeing as you're clearly interested in my business, I suppose I should assure you that I'm not trying to cause any trouble,” she piped up again, and it flushed her clean of anxiety. Pearl wasn’t completely out of the danger zone, but she was inching her way out.

If her mother were here, she would probably comment on the girl’s district. ”She’s just a runt from Five, what can she do to you? You’re a Millison!” And Pearl would be forced to nod as if in agreement. However, her personal policy was to never underestimate anyone. Look at Colgate O’Leary – a volunteer, a lower district, and what a vicious butcher he had been.

Who could say that Patricia wasn’t capable of slitting her throat the moment she turned her head?

”I'm just curious as to how this all works, really."

Pearl hesitated, then nodded. She could understand that. Capitol technology was a work of wonder. Back in One they didn’t have much other than simple computers, televisions, factory machines (to produce luxury goods), and beauty products. Mother owned one of these computers for her jewelry company; it was designed to keep track of employee records, inventory, sales, and if one played with the right keys it could generate graphs and charts that displayed how well the company was faring. Pearl had only used it once or twice, but it was fascinating stuff. Here? It was all holograms, giant plasma screens, vehicles, and so much more. Could she blame this girl for wanting to explore its wiring? Not at all.

”I understand,” she said, curling her lips into a timid smile. ”But you could still get in trouble, right? I don’t think they’d want tributes breaking into their wiring system.”