Four Seats | [The Orbs]

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

Even though the training center was filled with people, Cyril had never felt more alone.

He had spent the morning traveling between whatever training stations had the fewest people at them, all the while watching the tributes around him and feeling outclassed. For starters, most of his fellow tributes were older than him, many of them seventeen or eighteen years old. Wiser and better prepared with their greater life experiences. There were a few people around his age, but Cyril had yet to talk to any of them. What could he even say? Hey, we're both young! No, that would be stupid. Cyril was never too good at making new friends, and never really bothered trying back in District 9. But this wasn't District 9. This was the Hunger Games, and making friends was crucial if he wanted any chance at survival.

Cyril had waited for a few minutes to enter the dining hall for lunch, having used the reduced number of people in the training rooms to visit some of the stations that were otherwise usually populated with others. As he looked around he saw that most of the tables were now packed. At some tables tributes were talking amongst each other, succeeding much better at connecting to each other. Part of Cyril was telling him he should go over and try and sit with them, try and befriend them, but Cyril passed by these tables. They were too social, too intimidating. Perhaps they'd laugh at him if he had tried. Still, he had seen an opportunity to make friends and he had blown it.

Just perfect.

Internally beating himself up, he decided to try and find a spot with as few people as possible. His eyes scanned the room and landed on a table in the far corner of the dining hall. Four empty seats. It was the best he could hope for. Quickly he took one of the seats and began to eat in solemn silence.

Maybe I'm doomed, he thought to himself. Maybe I'm going to have to survive this alone. He was trying to convince himself this could be a good thing, that going through the games alone was actually better. But Cyril knew better than to think he could survive against so many others on his own by anything other than a miracle. He couldn't do this alone.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of another tribute at his table. Maybe he wouldn't be doing this alone after all.

Table by Arrows / Graphic by Mattio

[WC:413]

[Knuckles]

She's alone trapped within the walls of her mind as her thoughts run rampant. It's a terrifying place, and every tribute she looks at, Oblivion only sees them striking her down like she's nothing.

This place is a nightmare, and she's living inside.

Most of her time is spent alone away from the rest of the tributs, and instead of trying to build an alliance, Oblivion simply turns the other way. All she's doing right now is setting herself up for failure as her parents watch from afar. Every fiber of her being yearns to prove them wrong, to come home with the crown upon her head, yet the task seems impossible.

And now as she ventures through the dining hall piling strange foods upon her plate, she looks around trying to find an empty table. A place to sit without anyone disrupting her. A place to eat in peace when everyone else is chatting amongst themselves.

It's a hard task. One she never thought she would face, and now that she wants the chance to stay alone, she spots a table that's occupied by one person while three other seats are empty. It's the only place in the room that's remotely calm, and part of her wants to take the tray and leave the room, but she knows that isn't the right answer.

She sighs as she piles something called sweet potato pie onto her plate. One of her goals here is to try every ounce of food there is just to say that she did it, but this doesn't look like any ordinary pie.

Keeping her head down low, Oblivion slowly makes her way over towards the nearly empty table. A single male is sitting down minding his own business, and she knows it's rude to interrupt someone. It's a shame everywhere else is full.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind if I sit here."

Only she doesn't wait for an answer, and she pulls out a chair opposite of him. Without another word, she begins eating. Maybe this isn't so bad after all.

In the midst of the chaos, she found a calm, and it's her hope that it stays this way until she's finished, and then she'll leave without a care in the world.

graphic by mattio <3 | table by arrows <3

[mat]

He launched the crystal clear water from the bathroom sink up to his face, letting it go from the tip of his nose to the backs of his ears. It was summertime, warm for sure, but Royce had never felt heat such as this. He’d been training, sure, but he didn’t feel as if he overworked himself to the point of perspiration. And it went beyond that: every bone in his body was tense. Had he let his guard down for just one moment, he was sure he might jump collapse. So he kept his chest high, trying to block out any suspicion that he’s weak or vulnerable.

The vulnerable are the most at risk of being exploited. The vulnerable are the ones who suffer. So he didn’t dare show it.

Turning the tap off, he let the water sink in. It was at his best guess the afternoon, which meant there’d be a break from all the training. It was time to dine.

Every single food in the Dining Hall was too fancy for Royce to fathom eating, aside from the slices of bread or basic meats. Every plate was a pristine white color, glimmering from the ceiling lights. His mother told him to try new things when he was being sent to his death away, but Royce could not bear the sight. None of the food made his taste buds tingle. Instead, they made him feel ill. It was all too good for him, a boy from District Ten who chose to eat the bare minimum, nothing more.

And that’s what he chose: two pieces of bread, a slice of ham, and a slice of cheese. And a glass of water that he overheard some people saying ‘sparkled,’ which honestly made him suspicious.

Royce moved slowly with the tray, careful not to drop it. Ranger, his brother, would stride this hall with confidence, but Royce, although knowing it’d be beneficial to pretend for a second that he was Ranger, couldn’t manage to walk with any sort of pride. He’s on death row, after all. There’s not enough time to change and become something you’re not. And so he took his tray away from the volume, something he had grown accustomed to since primary school in Ten.

It’s a boy and a girl, with the numbers nine and one stitched onto their shoulders, respectively.

He didn’t say a word nor ask for permission, but he felt that it wasn’t necessary. With what little intuition he had, Royce knew this was the best place for him to dine.

Hiding among what he hoped to be vulnerability.


g; mattio | t; arrows

[Arrows]

Orion adjusts himself awkwardly as he watches tribute after tribute take claim to a section of the sleet grey lunch room. School had always been a source of pure division within Orion. On one hand, school offered the precise properties needed to enforce Orion's continuation into the calculations and arithmetic of all mathematics. On the other, it was a sweltering shit show of hormonal heathens either too focused on fading 'glory' or on whether they had a chance to screw the person sitting in the seat next to them. Just spending a second reliving in the sweat stained stench of the place, makes Orion's face contort. He has half a mind to just find another small piece of shadow to eat in with the rats, but the rational side of his thinking holds him to the importance of finding potential allies in this moment.

He needs something to alter his equation, something with a more effective multiplicative property than zero.

Slowly slinking along the seam of the room, Orion watches each table as he passes. Several selections sway his attention, but one combination in particular prizes his puzzlement. A rather unexpected factor of friends sitting in one of the more secluded sections. What acquires the apex of Orion's curiosity though is the difference between each individual member.

First is Oblivion, the District One female. Orion has to admit, in terms of his calculations she has persistently been one of the mysteries. Aside from hailing from one of the more successful career districts, she is a bit of a ghost. Orion hasn't seen her once show her skills off at a station, or sever a dummies head for that matter. She is an unidentified variable, and that alone fascinates Orion.

Second is Cyril, the District Nine male. He is less of a shadow in Orion's mind, but still carries an air of unknown around him. From what Orion has already compiled into Cyril's individual equation, he and the boy are very similar in the tendencies to stay towards the edges of circles. From what Orion has seen, Cyril has preferred more seclusion than socialization. As such, Orion silently snorts to himself, relatable.

Lastly is Royce, the District Ten male. He is the one Orion's theorems quantify the most. Not entirely because they pertain to his individual assessment, but to the name he has tethered to the back of his first. Like many before him, Royce holds the weight of a name the Capitol already knows. It is an aspect Orion can't help but admit that is best not to overlook.

Finalizing his decision, Orion begins altering his algorithm before he is even fully in his seat.

Never being one with a gift for conversation, Orion asserts his presence with a typical taste of awkwardness.

"Due to the maximum capacity of this room being met, the only available seat is this one."

Yep, his mind is made up. He hated school.

Orion coughs solely to spur more sound back out of his mouth, "Um... I'm Orion. Sorry, I can talk a bit... fast."

graphic by Mattio