Die for You | Catching Fire

chapter four

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

chapter four
A DAY IN THE LIFE

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

tw: mention of violence, forced prostitution, animal birth and character death
━━━━

While stated to be illegal, The Academy hardly makes any attempt to hide. In fact, it's one of the most respected places at the heart of a bustling District Two, children from all over the District journeying there in an attempt for glory. It stands tall with its marble columns and carvings of warriors in battle decorating the arches, the steps to the entryway inscribed with these words:

επιστρέψτε με την ασπίδα σας ή πάνω της

Come back with your shield — or on it.

Something like a prayer to the citizens of District Two, Ptolemus is quite familiar with the quote, tirelessly climbing these stairs since the moment he could walk. He sighs once he reaches the top, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. Inside, the familiar stench of sweat and iron waft into his noise. Between grunts, there's some banter, various students beginning to stretch and warm-up for the day ahead.

Not even ten steps into the place, and Ptolemus feels a hand he knows very well clamp down on his shoulder. His father keeps his voice in a low hush as the two stalk further into The Academy. "You're late."

An eyeroll he doesn't bother to conceal. "By two minutes."

Before his father can give him one of his squeezes of warning, Ptolemus shrugs his shoulder out of his grasp. He doesn't have to look behind him to know Nero is struggling to keep his cheeks from flushing scarlet in irritation, likely glancing for watching eyes. That's all he cares about, really. Not that Ptolemus is late because he could've gotten into an accident or fallen ill, but because him being late looks bad on the family.

On the Legacy.

Ptolemus makes his way to the other Victors and coaches, some of them still stretching, others just observing the crop of students with those steely glares. His gym bag lands with an echoing thud. Enobaria barely moves her toe out of the way, her lips twisting into a snarl as she flashes those signature fangs. He just ignores her as he begins some loose stretching.

Another familiar figure slides beside him. Unlike his father, he doesn't necessarily incite total rage and fear into Ptolemus's body at his very presence. Brutus doesn't say anything, just gives his usual curt nod in greeting, dark eyes settling across the crowd. In the younger boy's Games, he was saved from having his father as his mentor, it being Brutus's year to coach the male tribute from Two. While the man certainly lived up to his name, his teaching and wrath was nothing like Nero's. Brutal, but strictly business. No silly mind games that family tends to play.

There's a harsh and loud CLAP! that snaps through the air. The booming voice of Corbel Guerrero follows immediately. "HA-OOH!"

His army answers in a startling unison as they stand. "HA-OOH!"

You could hear a pin drop. Everyone stands straight and tall like the statues they hope to have built in their memory one day, eyes set steadily on District Two's oldest living Victor and Mentor. The other Victors stand beside him like his own group of supporting officers. Even though he's seventy-two with blood pressure problems, Corbel shows no signs of appearing frail or weak. His gaze scours the crowd of students ranging from twelve to eighteen waiting for him to tell them just how high they need to jump today.