like clockwork {pearl/asa}

Pearl Millison

Mother was breathing dragon’s fire down her neck. From the moment she had stepped into the luxurious confinement – decorated no differently than her house at Victor Village, although it didn’t feel the least bit like home – Ruby was glued to her side, donning the façade of a proud mother as she reminded Pearl of all the things that had been drilled into her since childhood. How to hook her audience with confidence, how to gather sponsors with charms and smiles sweet like candy, how to impress the Gamemakers with her abilities. The process was overwhelming and nerve-wracking, but surprisingly simple. However, they were both silently neglecting the truth that would condemn her to an untimely death: Pearl Millison wasn’t a killer.

You can teach a puppy to kill, and they grow to become vicious beasts. Diamond, for example, was a viable career due to her upbringing and natural predisposition for mischief. But Pearl Millison was no obedient dog. She was a rabbit among carnivores; she was quick, she was nimble, she was capable, but she could only bite, she couldn’t shred or maim or destroy. She was a harmless mammal with the knowledge, the mechanics, the motivation, but not the mindset. Morals acted as a road-block. Her courage was faltering the further she ventured into the Capitol. Its intimidating skyscrapers, screaming crowds, and training center, where all core activities would be scrutinized, made her nerves quiver. Tribute names had already been memorized like mother expected, but she couldn’t deem herself capable of hurling knives at their fearful hearts. She couldn’t even imagine it without feeling her stomach churn.

Still, her mother acted as if Pearl was meant to return. After a grand tour of the Capitol (as much as they would allow her to go after Ruby pulled a few loose strings) they had gazed at the Gamemakers’ Headquarters in mutual awe. Pearl had faintly wondered what all of the technology looked like inside. How much of the arena did they truly control?

”It’ll become a second home to you before you know it,” her mother had said. In the span of just a week, she doubted she would adjust to the intimidation. The presence of the people and the buildings themselves was sensory overload. ”One day we’ll have to bring Diamond here. I’m sure we could pull a few strings.”

To that, she said nothing. How could she? Her mother was in denial. She was assuming that Pearl – the weakest link of their family – was going to further the Millison legacy.

She was going to end it with a gravestone.

Pearl didn't know what exactly was reeling through her mother’s head, but it wasn't enough to repress her tyrannical demeanor. She was the constant devil on her shoulder, feeding her strategies and demands and snippets of advice. "Find allies," she would hiss. "But not those lower district runts, unless you're going to use them as bait."

She would do no such thing.

This left her in a conundrum. Making friends had never been her forte, so how was she supposed to form an alliance? How did people even accomplish that? By walking up to random tributes with a ”Sup, wanna be my ally and not die?” up their sleeve? That was out of the question. There was nothing she disliked more than blunt confrontation. It made her sweat uncontrollably.

She was procrastinating instead of making progress. The throwing knife station was her own little area, one she refused to abandon. She tossed blades left and right, from both hands and from different angles and from different speeds at all different targets. It was rapidly growing redundant, and she couldn’t help but glance up every so often at the other tributes. The career from two – Asa Reau – was occupying himself at the archery station nearby. He was one of a few candidates. Meanwhile she had hardly spoken to her district partner at all – Ruby had stolen too much of her time, and it made her feel even more isolated in this room of silent strangers.

As she plucked knives from her targets’ plastic skins, she discreetly glanced at Asa’s progress and gave a start when she noticed him returning her stare. Instead of smiling – she should’ve smiled, that might’ve initiated conversation and she needed that right now or else mother would fume – she lowered her head and returned to her position in front of the dummies, knives gathered in her holder. She let them fly.