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Caleb...did not want to go to the Capitol. District One has a wide pool of victors, and they tend to trade out who does the mentoring for that year’s tributes. As it was when they were children, this position is fought over like dogs with a bone, and most times Caleb can avoid the worst of it.
This year, Trent... suggested that he be the one to go. The oldest among them, Trent Ikithon won his Games when the Capitol was still precariously recovering from the war. He was known to be especially ruthless and sadistic, but there was no denying he trained an awful lot of victors.
Caleb, of course, among them.
You didn't refuse a position of honor like that, not when your own mentor suggested you. So Caleb was standing on the stage when the girl who didn't want to die was Reaped. And he looked for Ikithon in the crowd, thinking, so you want to break me again, old man?
The boy was much more...promising. Taller than Caleb, thick with muscle and with a bloodlust in his eyes all too familiar. The first thing he did on board the train was shove the girl up against a wall, his arm against her throat. "Aw, is the little princess crying for her mama?" he said, leaning all his weight against her neck.
Caleb was stepping forward already--no fighting among tributes before the Arena--but the girl had it handled. She kneed Lorenzo sharply in the crotch, and when Lorenzo crumpled she put her beautiful pointed boots on his throat instead. Leaned just enough that he choked on his scream.
"You'd better believe I love my mama," Jester--that was her name--hissed. "And I'm gonna win for her."
Caleb only stood there, hiding his smile, as Jester flounced off to the dining car, leaving Lorenzo curling into a fetal position on the floor.
She's the one who tells him what she wants her style to be, the next day. Over a bowl of ice cream for breakfast, brought at her request. "Little princess. I don't want people to think I'm, you know, scary . Except I am ." She clicks her teeth thoughtfully around her spoon, and Caleb smiles again.