[/That] for [\for] me...~it isn't over~(Damen/Sky)

[Rosetta]

Lethe Turner

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Lethe Turner hadn’t thought about training. She hadn’t spoken about it. She hadn’t wrote about it or anything about it. She slid through the first day of the magnificent Capitol, trying to keep all worries from her mind, trying to enjoy the riches that the Capitolites enjoyed themselves. Training never crossed her mind. However, for some reason, one awful thought rose into her mind instead: The other tributes.

It wasn’t the Games, the mere fact that she might die. It wasn’t that she probably couldn’t even wield a sword correctly. It was how was she supposed to recognize the other tributes? She could accidentally attack her own ally, if she had one, if she wasn’t careful! That confident voice in the back of her head that had appeared when she’d been Reaped, tried to reassure her that that was a good thing. Then, she’d have no problem with killing anyone. She wouldn’t have to know them. It was easier killing someone you didn’t know, right? Or…it was harder, never knowing who they were, driven mad by wondering…No, no, no, that wouldn’t happen…in the Arena, during the anthem, the faces of those killed that day were illuminated into the sky, along with their district number. See, she’d be able to know…no worries…no worries at all, right? Right.

She nearly jumped out of her skin as some other tributes pushed past her. She was standing in front of the doors leading to training. Her heart was beating rapidly. Part of her wanted to push through those doors, confidently, but another part wanted to run and run and run and never stop. How could she face the other tributes, knowing that only tomorrow she’ll have no idea who any of them are? How could she look into the faces of those she’ll have to kill? How could she talk to them, laugh with them, be kind to them, only knowing she’d become just as savage as they will become in the Games?

Who was going to be the one to kill her?

The thought sent chills down her back. She knew she shouldn’t be thinking like that, but there was a huge chance that one of the kids in that room would end her life. Will it be quick and painless? Or drawn out and merciless? Will she cry, beg them to spare her life? Or will she bow her head and take the blow? Lethe’s legs were shaking so violently, she had to lean against the wall to steady herself. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. She wasn’t in the Arena now…all she had to worry about now was training. Yes, training, no Arena…just training…training…keep focused on training…only training…

With that in mind, Lethe stood up straight and entered the room. Instantly, her breath caught in her throat. So many tributes…so many faces…she stopped short, her heart beating so loudly, she was sure they could all hear it. She stood there for a moment, her feet glued to the ground, frozen…oh my…Move, she instructed herself, move now, so they don’t all think you’re weak! She forced herself to enter the suffocating group of tributes and listen to an instructor speaking about the various stations. The words passed through one ear and out the other, as she tried to memorize every face. Every scar, freckle, mole, the angle of their nose, eye color…but she knew it was no good. Come tomorrow morning, and she would not know who any of them were.

Finally, they were dispatched, free to move about the stations. Lethe moved on shaky legs, that seemed unwilling to walk. She hobbled over to a station, any station without paying attention, but in doing so, tripped over a mat. Lethe went flying, crashing right into another tribute. They both went down and on the ground, Lethe hastily rolled off the other tribute, stammering quickly.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry about that!” Tears pooled in her eyes. She was so stupid! Her hand went to her face, her nails digging into her cheek, almost comfortingly. She reached her free hand down to the other tribute ot help them up, her cheeks burning with shame. “I’m really sorry, so sorry…I’m Lethe…Lethe Turner…the idiot who knocked you over…oh, I’m so sorry!”[/color][/blockquote][/size]

[skylarversion2]

[ooc; i feel so dumb. i misread your post. i... god i am so dumb. i didn't realize that they'd just started training, so i wrote it like they'd been training for like, an hour or so. i am so sorry.

also, soyala wanted to talk a lot, apparently, sorry for that.

and i promise that this is nothing ooc. I love Lethe and everything, but Soyala did not appreciate that at first. lol. don't take it personally.

The third day of training was always nerve-racking and quiet. It was ultimately, the day before 23 deaths. The tributes would piddle around, some having a partner or two to stick with. But all were mostly quiet. The third day of training was something of a day to worry about yourself. Alliances were not at the top of anyone's mind, and neither was what was going to be for lunch. People pondered about their private sessions and others worked out Bloodbath strategies. Some brainstormed on Arena possibilities and some fantasized about kills that might be made. Tributes all did their own thing on the third day of Training, only speaking when an instructor spoke or something important was needing to be said. It was not unusual, however, for someone to not be quiet. There could be a Tribute or two that yelled or maniacally laughed or cried, all for their own personal reasons. Everyone would stare and get distracted from themselves, and temporarily lose their focus. Soyala, however, was not the type to be distracted. When she had something on her mind, it was unusual for her to stray away from that, especially to the expense of herself. If she were to get distracted by a crying Tribute, her voice would mentally lecture her and threaten to pinch an ear or something of the sort.

She sat with Gage, at a table based around identifying edible and inedible plants. She only tuned out her own mental monologue in her head when someone said her name or when Gage said something. She was unsure if the voice was running a thousand words a minute or staying silent, because the majority of the time, she thought of life back home, she thought of how she regretted all of the things her voice had ever made her do. She regretted the slicing of the throats, she regretted climbing that tree that one time, just because she was convinced that doing so would bring her closer to her mother. She regretted being so persuaded by the voice, even to the point where the belief that the voice was the sky above her and how there was a name for it. She regretted how it had persuaded her to be infatuated with the Games, and have some independent training style for The Hunger Games. It was unusual to think that someone would regret training for the Games, especially in a career-oriented District, but she did. She felt guilty trying to have an upper-hand against some of the other tributes. She regretted running for hours to try to build up her legs and lungs. She regretted stealing knives from stores and carving sticks and twigs to form spears and practice throwing them at other people. She regretted a lot of things. She was full of it. She was a puppet. A puppet to something that did not even have eyes. That did not have a skeleton or skin or feet or hands.

She didn't speak much. When she spoke, it was in response to someone else. She was afraid of saying things wrong. She hadn't had much experience with people since she'd killed her parents and ran into night, but she never really wanted any either. She always carried a fear that someone would pop up out of the forest's ground and say their salutations and try to be her friend, but nothing like that ever happened, and she was glad. But if something that were to happen, wouldn't she have much better reactions to someone saying 'Hello, can I sit here?' other than tensing up and dropping her silverware on her plate. Maybe she would put on a smile and nod her head all while maintaining a good posture and seeming like a lady, all in the midst of large amounts of tension and brown gravy-ed chicken and broth-y peas. Meanwhile, on the other side of the argument, maybe that would have caused Gage to not be her friend/partner/ally/whatever they were. Maybe the reason why they'd stuck together was because they both hid something from each other, and each of them wanted to find out what the other had to have in store.

Soyala still hadn't told Gage about her voice. She was afraid of that too. Soyala had a paranoia that involved losing something that she'd never really had. She felt like she'd lose Gage if she were to share her secret, but there was no use in being scared to lose something when they were never even yours. One of them were going to die. Actually, both of them were going to die, it was just a fact. Gage was dead, Soyala was dead, and so was every other Tribute in the training room. So there was no use acting like something was hers when it wasn't, nothing was. The only thing that was hers was the voice in her head, and she wanted it more than anything for that to be lost. She found it ironic, the thing she had to keep was the thing she wanted gone, and the thing she wanted to keep was the thing that had to be gone.

She stood, tired from looking at pictures of plants, secretly wondering if Gage would follow. She wanted him to, she wanted Gage to stay with her, she wanted Gage as her ally, she was ecstatic that he might be. There was also Seaborgium and Aenor, the duo that were chatting at lunch the first day of the Games. Aenor carried a sense of beauty that could not described; large blue eyes, blonde hair, a round yet striking-featured face. Seaborgium was interesting as well, but his appearance was nothing special, at least to Soyala. She was sure she'd stay with Gage, and she supposed she'd go off with Seaborgium and Aenor as well, but she didn't know much about them. They seemed trustworthy enough, to say the least.

Suddenly, a body flew at her and knocked her down, causing a loud squeal and a hurt back. Quickly, the girl that had fell on top of her rolled off just as quick as she'd landed, spitting out apologies. The thing is, Soyala didn't listen, she was mad. She stood, fuming, grunting, pulling her hair, and other things. "Yeah, you should be sorry. You'll be glad you said you're sorry when you see my knife in your ally's back." She wasn't exactly sure what she'd just said, but her eyes bulged out and she brought her head back. What was she thinking? She was 15, that girl was probably 17, probably 18, definitely older than her. Soyala should not have been spitting out a comment like that. She'd just painted a target. "I- I'm sorry. I just overreacted. I don't mean that. I was just not expecting it. I- I'm sorry. I am."

She was.

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[bg=1A201A][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,522,true] G A G E x D E A N x C O O P E R

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Working your body into its top physical condition was something that I never really wanted to do. I liked the fact that I had a high enough metabolism to just ignore exercise. I could eat what I want, do what I want, sleep whenever I wanted. I really didn't need to keep myself in great shape. That was until after the accident. It wasn't for working off pounds though, like most people might do exercise for. It was to teach my muscles and limbs to toughen up and to possibly get a little stronger. Had I done that before, maybe I wouldn't have broken like I did. Maybe I would've healed faster. Even though it was too late now. I've already healed and am as good as I was before. But the exercising made me better I suppose.

But after I finished my treatment, I stopped. I stopped doing the daily jog down the path and I stopped lifting the small weights in my hospital room. I stopped it all and I felt good. No more exhaustion from working too hard and no more strain in my muscles. I guess that the long walk from District Twelve to the Capitol may have included a bit of exercise, but that was all I did. So, coming to the Capitol and being told that I'd spend a week exercising, getting into better shape and perfecting abilities that I had never heard of before was a bit of a shock. A stupid shock because everybody knows that you train prior to entering the Games. Maybe it was just weird that it was being said to me. It intensified the fear inside of me. It reminded me that I was truly in the Hunger Games.

Really, I was worried about embarrassing myself even more. No, I wish that was true. That might be true for some of the Careers but it wasn't for me. I was worried that I'd be dropped into the ground by the District Three graveyard owner and nobody would care. I was afraid that nobody would cry or that nobody would remember the Cooper kid from District Three. I was scared that my parents would brush it off and accept that their son was truly pulled away from then. I didn't want to die. I didn't at all. But part of me had already accepted it. Part of me had already accepted that I couldn't be friends with all of these tributes. One of them would kill me. If they stabbed me in the head, ripped off a limb, pushed me off a cliff or anything, I didn't really care. One tribute would do something that would make my biggest fear come true.

Was I more worried about not being cared for than dying? Yes. Call me crazy but it would feel a lot better knowing that somebody loved me before I died than thinking that people would just lower their heads and feel the same way about any other tribute. Maybe District Three would feel a bit depressed that their chances were lowered. Dashica might accept that her friend had died. I came to terms with Katie's death, even if it took a while. Pilot would have to find a new best friend. They didn't care though, surely. Nobody would logically care for me. I guess that's because people only knew me because I'd always be working or because they'd see me peaking through my glasses at a book in the coffee shop. They didn't really know me or care for me. That's what I cared about.

Getting out of bed was a nightmare. I slowly pulled the bed sheets down around my feet until I felt a bit of a chill. That sent me out of bed fast, wishing to cover up my bare skin with some sort of clothing. It was a trick I used at home too. It worked well with wanting to go to work and school. But I didn't want to go training, so it was different. I opened up the closet, pulling out a set of clothes that was made for training. A simple, loose t-shirt and some baggy sweatpants. Slipping into them was probably the best part of the day so far. The warm cotton hugged my skin and made me feel the most comfortable I had since I left home. Making my way over to the table, I let my hand brush against the dial pad. Fast food had a whole new meaning in the Capitol.

I took the small bowl of soup from off the table, sipping from the edge as quickly as possible. I wasn't going to bother with a shower until after the training. That way, I'd be able to get all the sweat and grime off before going to dinner. Placing the now empty bowl on the table by my door, I headed outside and down to the training room. Once there, I take a seat in the center, waiting for everybody else to show up. Finally, everybody arrived and took a seat. That's when the head instructor began their long and drawn out explanation about what was to be done and what could be done. I drained all the information out, not really caring about what they had to say. It was really only a brief explanation of each and every station and I just wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Drowning out the explanation was probably the best thing to do.

Pushing myself up to my feet, I headed over to one of the nearly empty stations, treadmills. The girl standing there had a name tag on, saying her name was Sindy. I ignored her too, starting up a treadmill. That's when I heard two bodies collide coming from behind. I checked over my shoulder, seeing Soyala on the ground and immediately hopped off. I ran up to the girls, hoping to help them up but they had already regained their previous positions. It sounded as if Soyala was angry at the girl, so I stayed back a bit to observe the situation. It was after she apologized that I spoke. "Are you two alright?" My voice had plenty of worry. If anybody knew about how small injuries could cause big issues, it was me. And I just wanted to make sure that Soyala and this other girl were all okay. Was that hard to ask for?

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credit to shrimp