In our favor
It was a very special day for Amdis.
It didn’t start out that way, of course. The Games had been over for more than two weeks and there was nothing to hold her attention, beyond going to school (boring) and listening to her parents drone on for what seemed like centuries (even more boring). They talked about Hanz Canter and how they thought he was nowhere near qualified to be Head Gamemaker: Amdis’ mother had been a tutor of sorts to the newly-retired Mercer Tullridge, and she prided herself in having a good head when it came to thinking creatively. Lack of creativity was certainly the last thing Tullridge could be faulted of - against all odds, Amdis’ favorite arena remained the volcano he’d built for his first Games, six years ago.
She waited anxiously for the time when she’d finally be released from her parents’ watchful eyes - seven o’clock.
Tick, tock, tick, tock.
When, after dinner, the moment finally came, she excused herself with a smile and the promise to not be home too late - they would have breakfast with her aunt on the following day, her mother reminded her, as she left the house.
“You’re late.”
The words were her only greeting when she finally made her way underground, through mazes and secret passageways. They came from Cornelius, who stood tall as always, and his eyes shone bright and purple, with orange flecks. He’d had them altered just over a week ago, and he made a point of staring at people for a fraction of a second longer than usual, just so they would notice.
“Parents,” Amdis replied, the air of annoyance plain in her voice for all to hear, and the others nodded. It was a valid reason, after all, one they’d all had to deal with at some point or another. Besides, nobody else had arrived. It was just the six of them.
Cornelius was the de facto leader, tall and muscled and currently purple-haired, to match his eyes. Juliana, next to him, was his girlfriend and the only other girl among them, a pink-haired beauty with olive skin and large yellow eyes. Leander, Manius and Linus completed their little group, and the six of them were renowned as some of the best.
“What is it this time, Cor?” Juliana’s musical, cascading voice. She was nineteen, the oldest amongst them - her skin was tattooed with leaf patterns, because she’d always favored District 7, and her pupils were horizontal slits.
Amdis herself was only sixteen, and she’d had no surgeries yet. No tattoos, either. Her hair and lashes were dyed bright green, though, and she longed for the day where she’d be able to permanently alter her body.
“Twenty-fifth, I think,” came Cornelius’ thoughtful reply. “Mowler and Pellisande.”
A rush of excitement invaded Amdis’ chest when she heard the names. The Quarter Quell was still a favorite in their circles, despite the fact that the 26th Games were much more recent and just as exciting. The Bridge Blitz was a regular occurrence, though proper spears were hard to come by these days, and pulling a Pellisande became widely known as a way to refer to the girl’s method of killing her districtmate.
Amdis had been a staunch supporter of Melly Mowler right from her interview, but Leander didn’t share her enthusiasm.
“Again?” he groaned. He’d been down with a strange fever during a good part of the Quell, and didn’t remember much of it. Maybe that was why he hated it so much. “It’s only been two weeks since the twenty-sixth! We haven’t done Mercer and the kids from Four yet, or Raquen and Oritas.”
“I don’t make the rules, Leander,” Cornelius said, seriously, dangerously. Everyone fell quiet.
Amdis could have sworn she heard Leander mutter something that sounded like I thought you did, but Cornelius either didn’t hear him or pretended not to. It was a relief, too, because Cornelius had a quick temper, and angering him led nowhere good.
Not one second later, the others arrived. Liberia, all blue hair and jeweled brows; Martial, with a trident tattooed on his face; and three others, whose names Amdis might’ve known at some point, but by now she had forgotten. She smiled at Martial, and he smiled back - they’d known each other for years now. He was the one who’d introduced her to Cornelius.
It was Liberia who spoke first, though; a slow, hot sound, like molten metal. The words, delivered with a grin, were even more incensing.
“I don’t know about you,” she said, mostly addressing Cornelius, “but I think it’s been a while since we’ve had some real fun down here.” Her head tilted to one side, her grin grew wider. The sapphire on the corner of her left eyebrow glittered in the dim light. “Don’t you agree?”
There was no mistaking Liberia’s meaning, and the reaction was immediate. An electric buzz seemed to spread through all of them, and Amdis felt herself grinning, too. Juliana laughed with glee, and even Leander seemed to be marginally more interested than a minute ago.
She was not wrong. It’d been a while.
The image was fresh in Amdis’ memory. Twenty-first Games, three weeks ago. Cael’s family had caused such a huge uproar that they had all decided to lie low for a while after that. Not that people always died… but it happened, often. And the wounds were, unfailingly, too noticeable to hide.
Still, they always went back to it. The rush was incomparable.
Reenactment was one thing, nothing but surface wounds and a known outcome. A couple scratches here and there. Everyone did that, even the ones who denied it-especially them. This was something else entirely.
Amdis felt the blood pumping in her veins, and the orange flecks in Cornelius’ eyes seemed to flare alive when he spoke.
“Do you have the knives, then?” His voice crackled, burned with anticipation.
As if on cue, Martial silently produced three silvery knives from his jacket: a short, regular one, and two meant for throwing. The mere sight seemed to set off sparks. Impatience was growing, and Amdis had to stop herself from reaching out to grab them. Instead, she closed her eyes and let images of the Quell flash in her mind.
“How about we do a couple rounds this time instead of just one?” Juliana’s voice, sounding as impatient as Amdis felt. She didn’t want to miss this, not for the world. “To celebrate our being back in the game.”
Amdis agreed, and so did Leander, but after some deliberation, the idea was dismissed. Unable to wait further, Cornelius reached into his pocket and drew six small gems, each of them a different color, each representing one of them; Liberia did the same. As a system, it was better than slips of paper.
The gems went into two small crystal balls, and Amdis’ eyes were fixed on the emerald. For a moment, the only sound was hushed breathing, and then the chorus of voices.
“And may the odds…”
“…be ever…”
“…in your favor!”