Deep Breaths // Cam

he harshness of training had stepped up considerably since the 81st bloodbath.  Bad enough that the district was coming up on a decade since Justice Fray took the crown. Granted, one’s mentors weren’t as useless as Julian Bryze and Cricket Antoinette, but it was concerning.   

Just last year, Leon Krigel had gotten off of his ass for once, which was more than their district could say. Due to the unheard of quell twist, Bette Sublino had come home alive, but she had choked in the finale. It was a sting still felt keenly in the district. The less said about Yusei Rhee the better.

But this latest insult had whipped the trainers into a frenzy, her mother most of all. It was unthinkable that such a promising tribute as Myrcella Hudson, a girl that had the looks, brains, skill, the entire package really, should be the first one to die in the games, brought low by a tribute from a nothing district like three.

"Jenkins, you call that a throw? Are your eyes closed?! Does that look like a bullseye to you? Again!"! she could hear mother screeching at an unfortunate boy who overshot the target with his knife.

Velvet shrugged. Not her problem. The break she was afforded was only fifteen minutes long and she intended to get the most out of it. She placed her practice sword back on the rack and grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off of her neck.

State of the art vending machines dispensed vitamin waters, protein supplements, energy bars; anything that a growing young athlete needed to stay on top of their game. Velvet inserted her card and selected a cherry water, taking it over by where the gym bros, gym bunnies and gym biscuits were doing squats, dead-lifts and even aerobics, grunting and breathing like a pack of sweaty animals.

Their fans, the kind of teens that only came down to the center to look good and take photos, clustered around them. Saturn Rhodon had caused an uptick in people wanting to lift, which she supposed was good. The district’s hopes were riding on him now, and if he stopped thinking with his dick for a day or two, it was possible that he might actually win the damn thing.

Velvet wasn’t holding out hope though. If she were the betting type, she’d put money on Jessica Braun or Lady Death, as that spaz of a tribute from eight had nicknamed the girl from three. What had been his name again?

Sam?

Eh, didn’t matter.

Velvet opened her drink and guzzled its contents, crushing the plastic in her hand when she was done and chucking it into the nearest trash can. There was nothing of note going on in the games last time she’d checked; the game-makers had created a bonfire for the remaining sixteen tributes to party at and she had to roll her eyes.

Presumably they were trying to cultivate future drama, or were hoping the tributes would attack each other and start a second bloodbath, thinning the herd before they were forced to do something drastic.

Of course, given that over the last three years every crop of tributes had been a bunch of pansy-ass wusses in the bloodbath that had to be hounded by mutts until they were forced into killing each other, Velvet’s mother was of the opinion that this day four thing was going to backfire.

Though she loathed to agree with her mother on anything, she had to admit it seemed likely.

There was a free spot by one of the walls, so she grabbed a practice mat and laid it out, starting her stretching routine by touching her toes and then moved onto lunges. She had just started her third set on her right leg when she noticed that someone was staring in her direction.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a tone that said helping was the last thing on her mind.