by thy kings decree [excalibros]

jenoah.

I am alone here. Not because of the great factor of there not being a single mentor for District Eight but because I don’t have them. For a long time I hated their peculiar love for me, fully grown men bowing down to me like they were disciples and I was some sort of god. I am not that, I am not that at all. If only they found out about the conflict that tore through me every day. Should I stay or should I go? Many times I was ready to betray my family and the people that worked for them but some force always pulled me back from that thought. Now that I am finally alone, a new conflict has replaced the other and has brought a lot more emotions along with it. I am finally alone, nobody here will bow down to me like I am their emperor yet I am yearning for something. Maybe I didn’t like them following me but, I liked their company…

And so today is the day that I finally get to go to the training centre, a foreign concept to me. There is no such thing in District Eight and I am sure the career District tributes will be well accommodated in the room. I don’t whether to get myself noticed or stay hidden tinkering at a bizarre station. Father taught me how to use the basic of weapons as well as create them because equipment used to maim is hard to come by in District Eight however I wonder if I should practice something that I am already familiar with. I know too well that the survival skills I have now will likely allow me to last at least two days. I have some basic skills in first aid but I have no clue on how to trap my own food, even if I have been holding back from stuffing my stomach with nutrition since arriving in the Capitol, I’ll still need to feed myself in that arena. And well there is the matter of all things poisonous and not, I just hope I can learn as quickly as what my father used to praise me for.

I throw the duvet across the bed, neatly making it as though I haven’t spent the past eight hours nested within it. Despite having my mind clouded with thought of what ifs all night, the comfort that consumed me in the bed somehow gave me a few hours of sleep. I am sure someone in my District likely produced the bed sheets, and well I am certain the business had a large shipment on a similar product not that long ago. Fighting the urge to ponder on such thing, I pat the bed down one last time before dressing myself in the uniform that had been sneakily placed in my bedroom while I slept. One thing I have learned about the Capitol in the short moments of being here, is that they can creep around like shadows and their surveillance is mere impossible to figure out. My father would ache for such observation; he’ll be able to finally figure out which worker has been stealing the odd balls of cotton every other month.

I take one quick glance in the mirror before departing but some force halts me from exiting the room. This isn’t the time to ask for ripred’s help. He very well hasn’t helped me to this point so is there any reason to ask now? Just one request…he might help me cope in this inferno of hell. ”If you’re even listening Ripred,” I keep my eyes fixed on the mirror, hoping to see the face of the god replace my very own…”Please make today go as well as it could possibly go, I just want a little guidance.” And with that, I run the faucet and splash my face with the water in the basin. A sharp freezing pain attacks the surface of my skin as the cold water strikes. Maybe that’s one way to cleanse me of the sins I’ve conjured up over the years.

I am the only one in the elevator for a few moments and some sort of motion sickness strikes my stomach as the glass mechanism drops down the floor. A few tributes join me each time the elevator stops at q floor, many with a different mask of emotion painted across their face. I don’t know whether I am excited to get into that room or if I am worried or maybe even both…I shouldn’t be worrying really, if I can impress fully grown men with my skills back home, then it shouldn’t be too hard to impress whoever is watching in this room.

I take quite a long time to figure out the first apparatus that I am going to accompany this morning; maybe I could brush up on my first aid skills. The weaponry stations are quickly filled up by mostly career tributes and I’d rather stay out of their way for now. A table filled with plants finally catches my attention and so I immediately hurry over to it, realising I have been stood pondering in the middle of the room for a long time.

One time my mother taught me about the few plants that grow around the District and so the ones that I immediately recognise I place into different piles. Edible, medicinal, poisonous. I pray that the words in the books that I have consumed myself in all my life will finally come in hand. That is until I stumble at a foreign plant. ”This looks like one of the edible ones.”I mutter under my breath, but something makes me hesitant to put it into the edible pile.

"Actually, um, that isn't edible. It's white snakeroot, a rather deadly herb containing trematol. Very toxic, most of its victims die a rather painful death filled with vomiting and acid in their bloodstream." The female voice quickly knocks me off guard as I turn to see a red headed girl observing me. It’s hard to identify who she is due to the vast amount of red heads but I nod, fairly grateful that she actually pointed out my mistake. Why bother helping me? Surely it’s every man for himself here. ”Oh thank you for pointing that out. I’d rather not meet the fate it contains…” A smile creeps across my face as I place the plant in the poisonous pile. ”So you must know a lot about plants then?” I raise another plant in the air, one that I immediately put into the ‘unknown’ pile. ”Because I haven’t a clue what this is.”

Life pumps within his veins, blood red cells carrying the pieces of life to his heart. The epicenter of his whole being. Every second he stands in the room alone, staring at the walls that change depending on what he wants. A forest. A cave. Anything generic that he can think of. All he wanted was to be home, lips upon Jasper's, but he was late, way too late. It didn't matter anyways, Jasper wouldn't want anything with Mitchell. Mitchell Laws was nothing more than the dust upon the ground of District Twelve, created to be shoved away and stomped on. Life runs through his veins, but he was meant for death. A dead body to add to District Twelve's miserable count of lifeless bodies rotting underground forever.

Breakfast was as silent as could be, besides sounds of the living eating what could be one of their last meals. It could be one of his last meals in his entire existence and all he wanted to do was shuffle it around his plate. His stomach hadn't been hungry since leaving home behind. Stomachs rumble in District Twelve, but his never did, just like it doesn't that morning. All he can do is breathe in and out. In and Out. The longer it takes for him to get down, the longer it takes for him to bump into others.

Socializing wasn't something he was good at. Confrontation was harder for him. If Jasper took his spot, it would have been easier for him. Jasper would have made some snarky comment at a tribute like they were his slave. They would bow down to Jasper who would win the games within the week. Mitchell Laws wasn't Jasper Dandarian. Mitchell was himself. Mitchell Laws would never be like Jasper in communication, but he could always try to be. After all, sooner or later, he would be in a grave six feet under. His killer would walk out as a saint for killing someone so awful, a boy who stole even though he was able to live normally. The killer praised for killing a god awful boy who plays thief at home.

Elevators were a myth in District Twelve. The contraption nothing more than a luxury that the capitolites didn't have to worry about. The districts made sure to walk everywhere they went like savages. That's how they were viewed. Savages and cattle waiting for the dominant group to either kill them or accept them into their society. Mitchell Laws was a part of the savages that came to the capitol every year. Acceptance into their society, the prize of it all. Failure meant death and that's why Mitchell was meant for death. Failure was his name alone. The word is engraved in his bones like the rings he used to steal from women and men. Bones engraved with the words that echo across his life. Failure. Dead. Weak. This is what he was.

The training center was exactly what he would expect from the capitol. A room full of weapons, skills, trainers, and tributes. Sparring areas, weapons, items, and anything he could imagine stands before them all. The chills that pull at his skin reminds him that every single person in the room could be out to kill him. They could be out to watch him burn before them. They could be the ones to cut him limb from limb and let him bleed out in the middle of nowhere. They could be the ones to slice his head cleanly from his shoulders with little to no skills. They were all murderers and he would follow. Killing was something that he would soon have to deal with, but death didn't bother him like it did with Carter. Mitchell Laws was surrounded by murderers who would be out to stab him in the neck when he turns his back. Mitchell Laws wasn't a boy playing simple games. This game would mean death or sorrows, no one was the winner of this game, only death himself could cheer in joy as he takes twenty three souls with him.

The wall feels comfortable against his back. A cool surface to hold him down to reality as he watched tributes from afar. Pretty blondes. Average looking males. All of them soon to be killers in their own rights. Mitchell would join them soon enough, but first he watched. Observation was his best ally and skill in the games, it'd be his talent. A quick mind and observation. Everything was calculated based on instinct alone. Tributes give off personas in the way they move and act. Spotting the little things were easy for him. All of it a game and a skill that he learned as a thief at a young age, only for it to grow into a useful skill. That's when he heard the conversation nearest to him.

"Actually, um, that isn't edible. It's white snakeroot, a rather deadly herb containing trematol. Very toxic, most of its victims die a rather painful death filled with vomiting and acid in their bloodstream."

His vision catches the red haired woman's figure. Smarter than he would have expected coming from the way she looked. Plants were something he never truly understood as a boy from District Twelve. Instead of learning it, his mother told him that he could do what he wanted. Medical wasn't something that was needed often. Miners were the only ones to get injured often and yet he never was a miner. His father taught him how to build up his body for fun. A luxury many didn't get to do, but his father was richer than most would think, but with so many kids, they were an average family. Plants were always interesting, but he tuned it out to watch the two work together. Watching carefully, caution was in both of them. A sense of intelligence was picked up by his own eyes from their forms. Smarter than most of the people he could tell from.

The male speaks next, ”So you must know a lot about plants then?” Mitchell's tongue caught in the act of almost laughing, he held his breath to hold it in. It was obvious she was good with plants. District Eleven was the district that he would expect to know plants since birth. Mitchell watched with interest as he ignored the male from Eight asking for help. Something about them called out to Mitchell and he was going to press forward with caution, but the District One Lumiere had come forward with snide words that could easily get the career killed. "I just find it funny that you're helping each other with plants when you should be worrying about me."

District One was known for careers among all of the districts. Justice Fray being the most recent victor. A career killing both of the highly skilled District Fours with in a matter of days. Everyone knew who District One had created, many of their tributes vicious creatures with an instinct to kill. Blood pumps through his veins, anger runs through his body, and he can't help but not feeling afraid as he makes his presence known. The smirk on Lumiere's face would disappear, even if Mitchell Laws has to cut it off his lips with a rusted spoon. The words fall out of his mouth with a smirk on his lips.

"Why would they have to worry about you, Lumiere?" The smirk keeps it's strength with every gaze at the Lumiere from One. Talk about careers was a normal subject for many of the trainers and peacekeepers that walk throughout the building. Lumiere was someone that he wouldn't fear, just like he wouldn't fear death. Mitchell Laws was made to die, but Lumiere wouldn't be the one to put that fear inside of his soul. Mitchell Laws was stronger than he could realize. Mitchell Laws wasn't afraid to die. He wasn't afraid to stand up to a career like he was nothing more than a kid from home. His voice continues with the venom, "Big and tough words for someone who's going to die first. After all, I think it'd be boring for District One to win again. What do you think the gamemakers will think? I think you'll be one of the first ones to fall." A chuckle escapes his body as he reaches for the white snakeroot to hand it to Lumiere. The smirk growing ever so slightly into something his brother would have called a shit eating grin. The area was silent and he continued to speak with poisonous words like the white snakeroot in his hands.

"So, how about you just eat that white snakeroot right now and make it easier for all of us?"

jenoah.

Help, it seemed a foreign object in this room until now. The careers are all bustled away in a corner, comparing their skills while us lower Districts are forced to take pickings of the stations but here stands the girl from District Eleven, giving me guidance on the array of plants on the table. A spiky looking plant has left me baffled since the start; it looks so toxic yet welcoming at the same time, even if that is possible.

"I just find it funny that your helping each other with plants when you should be worrying about me." A voice breaks our conversation and with it brings more poison than the plants before us. What a rude mouth, so typical of a boy from his District. The blonde District One boy, the likely hopeful to reclaim the crown from the recent Justice Fray. Now that the career Districts have tasted glory after a stint of hibernation, they’ll be craving for more successors. My poor forsaken District thrown to the bottom of the pile, something that the whole community has come to deal with. I am not going to be the one to take home the victory so there will be many years yet, if the day even does come for District Eight to finally be blessed with a victor that they deserve, it’ll probably be long while yet. Anyway, I don’t have the appearance or personality of a victor; I doubt I meet the criteria of such a burden.

But the ego of the District One boy rattles the rage that is safely tucked up secure inside of me. A scowl almost immediately replaces my neutral expression as I stare him down but before I am able to pursue his rudeness, another steps in to disrupt the moment. It seems as soon as action is noticed in this room, everyone is instantly drawn to it.

It’s the rough looking District Twelve and his attention is solely on the District One boy, what courage he must possess, even being from his District, he is able to stand up to so called superiority like the career that stands before him. His words contradict my earlier thoughts about the careers yearning for another victor, he words could likely be true; would the gamemakers even want another District One victor? They have the power to control every action in that arena, the poor egoistic boy could easily stumble upon a trap or a mutt that they put in front of his path.

The District Eleven girl ignores the two males, explaining the plant that I am unsure about. Supposedly, despite its rather intimidating appearance, the plant that I was unsure of is in fact edible. Something that looks so deadly is really able to do so much good. Really it’s kind of like me. The men always believe the misconception that I am brutal leader who is capable of taking the business far, when in reality I have the softest heart of the pack and I am likely to push the business downhill. All the way down, toppling straight to the bottom along with my life… The two boys in front of me are like this plant, one looks rough yet he standing up to this modest looking fella who in reality is likely toxic inside.

Quickly everything unfolds in the group, the girl who assists me turns her attention to the District One boy, grabbing him by the chin and threatening him with the poison of the deadly plant. He deserves it really, this whole situation has me amused and reminds me of such events that have transpired back home with the men. Petty little arguments that transpired into scuffles, I am left grinning at the three of them although my conscious calls out to me to break it up. ”Dear Ripred to the lot of you.” I say as I walk away from station, moving close the pack hormonal teenagers. ”At least save the death threats for the arena.”