What the Water Gave Me | Pthalo

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

No nonsense voice
Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
Singing

Sometimes the heavy bag hanging from a chain reminded her of a body, swinging away in the wind like the soul had fled from it. Other times it was filled with passion as it swung back at her, and she would have to duck or roll away. Once when she had been all alone in here, she had laughed and said, "Time Phonce!" Then she would realize that it wasn't a boy she was fighting, but an empty, emotionless bag, and she was all alone. At those times, she'd laugh lightly, and go back to hitting the bag as normal, concentrating so that she wouldn't make the same mistake again. It's not that she cared about looking stupid, it was the fact that she cared about being stupid, and there is a difference.

When she was younger, she had often wondered if Alphonse was her boyfriend. In the magazines she had swiped from Nettie's room, it had the signs that a boy liked you in it. She hadn't liked the thought of it, and had ended up staying away from Alphonse for a whole week before he figured out what was going on. He had laughed and ruffled her short locks, saying, "I'm not your type." It had often made her question what her type actually was then. If Alphonse, her second half wasn't it, then who was? She hadn't ever really found out who it was after that. She had watched Riley, Nettie, Edana, and even Keela fall into love, while she had been left empty.

She likened it to Easter eggs. When Avon was little, her father would poke a hole into an egg, and would blow all the insides out and let it dry. But even though they were so dry and empty, they'd still be so tough because he'd paint them in a layer of varnish, hardening them. The ones with egg inside still broke, but then the yolk could be used as well, as if they had a second defense because they knew that their first was no good. If Avon was an egg, she was a dried out one, betting on her first defense instead. All her insides, all of those emotions long taken away, and put somewhere else. She'd watch her siblings break daily, all runny and snotty like yolks. But they somehow knew how to rebuild their shells, or at least pretend they did. Avon was pretty sure that if her shell cracked, She was finished.

She grunted as she lifted her right leg and kicked at the bag, sending the thing soaring away, the sound echoing out as if she were in a cave. Quickly, she dodged to the right, skipping out of the way of the thing coming back for her. Suddenly it was a tribute, laughing, and running, and she was falling back, onto her tailbone, and she was kicking up, heel hitting the bottom of the tribute's foot, and the chain made a clinking sound. It was a body bag again. She chuckled lightly after a moment's hesitation, fisting herself to her feet with her boxing gloves, as if she were a gorilla. Her nervous laugh turned into a glare as she punched the bag in a left hook, and watched it swing away, yet again. It was like it was teasing her. Her tight latex training gear stretched with her movement, making her shiver and cringe with the odd fabric.

She hadn't ever been kissed. It hadn't ever occurred to her to go out and seek a kiss. Falling in love had turned into something secondary with the death of Xavier, and no one had ever approached her. Now as she was only days away from her execution, she wondered if she was missing much. Would she have been able to deal with the heartbreak of loving another human being, or would she have shattered into a million pieces of chipped eggshell. In the past few nights, she had lain in bed, trying to fall asleep, wondering what it would be like to feel the pressure of another set of lips upon her own. If it would hurt, or if it would be nice. What if she didn't even feel anything at all? She was a girl made out of sticks and stones.

She drew her right arm back and screwed it into the punching bag, standing resilient as it came back and hit her. She kept her footing, but the force of the bag hitting her made her body bend back. As it flew away again, she stepped to the side and took off her gloves, clenching and unclenching her fists. Hair was matted to her forehead, well the short tufts of it that she still had, and she was panting, but not too heavily. She honestly wished that she were punching in the faces of anyone but a bag right now. She wanted to feel the soft flesh of another human being underneath her fist, to hear bones fracture and blood spill. She wanted to punch someone, so that it might matter. Because Avon Lightwood had never affected anything in her life, or done anything big.

It wasn't fair. That she would never have the chance to do that, because she was in a games, fighting a war, and paying for repercussions that she hadn't even been apart of. Making a low sound of annoyance, she hit the bag with her bare fist, her fingers concaving into her hand, leaving crescent moons in an angry red on the palm of it. Shaking her hand out with a low growl of pain, she stopped suddenly, cocking her head to the left like a puppy. There had been a shifting in the otherwise quiet room, and it hadn't come from the bag swinging in front of her. Not turning around, she waited for more sounds to be made. She had thought the room was empty, she had been wrong. Either that or someone had just come in. In a level just above a whisper, she said, "Who's there?"

[pthalorarity]

Julian watched silently as the girl from District 1 mauled the punching bag. He had already decided she was indeed beautiful, and worthy of her District’s attractive reputation. His own mother was from District 1 and he sometimes found himself supporting their tributes as such. Had the quell twist not been what it was, he would have definitely considered allying with Avon. She had struck him as a true female career. Now however, all false pretenses of friendships could be thrown out the window and Julian could take everything about this competitor at face value. He examined the way she carried her body as she attacked, and noted what it would take to bring her down. They were around the same size, though Julian was slightly larger. He couldn’t help but wonder how far she would make it in the Games… perhaps it may even come down to the two of them. If anyone out of his 23 rivals would be worthy of a final face off with Julian, he had deemed it to be her from his observations so far.

The Games may not begin for another few days, but Julian decided to play one of his own. He needed more intel on this adversary other than her body movements and fighting styles, so it was time to test out her other skills. He silently drifted over to the blades booth, his favorite location, and selected a large hunting knife to unsheathe. The metallic sound as the blade left its casing was subtle, but enough for trained ears to pick up. As he suspected, Avon’s ears perked and her small voice pierced the silence of the empty training room.

Julian licked his lips hungrily; she would certainly be one to give him the challenge he craved. As of now, she was the only tribute he had any assemblage of respect for so it was with a genuine smile that he approached her. His stride could best be assimilated to a lion on the prowl—graceful and powerful. He stopped in front of Avon and extended his hand. His large blue eyes looked into hers. No matter how friendly he try to come across, his gaze had been left permanently cold—beautiful, but cold. “I’m Julian Bryze, though I’m sure you already know that by now, Avon Lightwood.”

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

No nonsense voice
Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
Singing

“I’m Julian Bryze, though I’m sure you already know that by now, Avon Lightwood.”

Avon ran a hand through her hair, as she took in the sight of the boy in front of her. He was the first one that she had seen so far that didn't really tower over her. In fact, he was rather small and compact, like herself. The name did register, in fact, she could have sworn that she had heard it before. Whether it was in the stiffing quiet of the dining room, or she had simply remembered it from year's past. The first thing she noticed were his eyes, blue like ice. It didn't matter that ice wasn't blue, or that eyes couldn't be ice, those were his. In that instant, she owndered if maybe he had lost someone special too, or if he had helped to orchestrate the killing of his own stepfather, after learning that his real one had been murdered. It was funny, because she could have sworn his eyes matched her skin.

Sometimes she felt herself lifting off, backwards, away from her eyes. It was like she was watching a movie of herself move, but she was trying to control a big hunk of metal that had lost the ability to hurt and feel a long time ago. That's what this kid's eyes looked like. Like he was a broken hunk of metal still trying to remember the way he used to move when things made more sense and the world was still round. She slowly took his extended and hand and shook, with the hand that wasn't sweat soaked. The places she had marked with her own nails stung bitingly as his palm met her's, but the pain of it never really registered. Her own chocolate eyes were dark, like the dirt at the bottom of a hole that she couldn't dig her way out of as she also registered the knife in his hand.

Shifting her wight so that her stance was more even, and tried to figure out what business the guy might have with her. Alliances were forbidden, if he didn't remember, that would just be silly. Was he here to figure out her weaknesses? Her eyes flit to the hunter's knife again, and her expression still blank, she picked the gloves up off of the ground. "Were you watching me, Julian? So you can figure out a way to kill me easier?" As of yet, she had only trained during the dinner hours, when everyone else was eating, finishing up fast enough that she could still grab a bite.

[pthalorarity]

He couldn’t help but be amused at Avon’s caution as she slowly accepted his hand in greeting. His icy eyes sparkled like glitter as he tilted his head, pursing his lips into a sneaky grin as she questioned his motives. In fact, a genuine little laugh escaped his lips as he smiled back at his competition. She was the first tribute to show even a hint of spunk when she spoke to him; he liked that.

Julian began circling the canvas punching bag, running his forefinger along in a flowing pattern as he did so. Completing his predatory circle, he came up from behind Avon. “Naturally,” he said, in response to her question. Removing his finger from the bag, he again walked around in front of the girl of District 1. “You’re clearly one of the only tributes worthy of note around here. Take it as a compliment,” he said with a perky little smile. “Perhaps you’ll even give me a run for the title of victor… So tell me, Avon, why do you want to win?”

[✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ]

No nonsense voice
Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
Singing

She slipped her left hand into her pocket, fingering an old guitar pick that Kaiser was going to put on a string for her to wear around her neck. It already had a slight groove in it's amber side because of the constant motion of her thumb worrying over it. She felt as if Julian was trying to play with her, to scare her. He seemed conceited, but then again, so was she. They both believed in their own abilities, and she couldn't help nodding in agreement when he said that they might both make it to the end. She stopped herself quickly. She wasn't superstitious, but she also knew that she couldn't hope for a win, because when she lost, it would make the pain so much worse. At least it wouldn't last long.

She followed her fellow tribute with the corner of her eyes as he made his way around the punching bag. He was almost predatory as he did so, slinking long like a lynx. It didn't really make her uneasy, she was used to hanging out with Alphonse after all. The thought of his name sent a sharp pang dropping into her stomach. And she took a moment to collet herself before she considered his question. Why did she want to win? Easy. She wanted to win to get back to her family, so that she could protect them from the pain of losing her. She wanted to go back and see them, and stop any and all of their pain. She wanted to be their cork found in the top of a wine bottle, keeping them all afloat.

But that might be taken as weakness to show him that she wanted to win because her family needed her. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. If there was one thing that she wanted to get back to however, it was them.

"I want to win because I don't want my brothers and sisters to have to watch me die. I want to win because I want to protect them." After a moment, she added, "Besides, if I die, my garden will die too.......why do you wish to win, Julian?"