94th public training sessions ✨

[Cait]

yall know the drill! x


__________________________________________

olete bene

Recon started five days ago.

While the other tributes had spent their time preparing for their private sessions flitting about the stations in the Training Centre, I’d opted to do what I did best: gather information. Mostly this involved slinking around the living quarters, sneaking down empty corridors and making mental notes of every exit, every door, every room that could prove useful to my endeavours. A painstaking, boring task, to be sure, but let’s be honest, I wasn’t going to be impressing anyone with my ability to wield a sword.

Or tie a knot.

Or identify poisonous berries.

Or start a fire.

Thanks to my parents and their insistence on me never having to lift a finger on my own, at most things in life, I’m an utter failure. But there’s a few advantages to growing up in a house of secrets. You learn how to put up a façade and present yourself to the world the way they want to see you. You learn to read between the lines, see what’s hidden in plain sight between written lines of seemingly harmless dialogue. You can pick a guilty person out from a crowd of nobodies and crawl under their skin to extract the skeletons in their closets.

That was what I did best. That was what I planned to do every day I managed to stay alive.

Storm had said the training sessions were designed to show the Gamemakers what we were made of. How we planned to survive, to fight for our survival. But that sounded boring. What was the use in wearing myself out now? Surely it was better to prove a point while I still had the chance, still had my dignity.

Five days later, I’m armed with thin sheets of paper, delicately folded in half, in half again, intricately resembling tiny, fragile butterflies sitting in my hand. Defenceless. Seemingly harmless, yet the papercut on my left pinky would beg to differ. The irony isn’t lost on me.

I stand before the three Gamemakers, a sense of calm washing over me. They stare down at me, surely trying to intimidate me in the way that only someone who holds your life in their hands could do. They’re trying to make a point of who’s in control here – isn’t that all these training sessions are? But I don’t feel the chill of their gazes. I don’t stand down.

“I know who you are.” My voice doesn’t waver like I thought it would. It has the steadiness of a practiced orator who’s memorised their speech down to every last syllable. But my words aren’t rehearsed. They simply come from the heart, truthful and bitter and razor sharp.

“You can sit up there, pushing your little buttons, wearing your little suits, thinking you’re above the rest of us, but you aren’t. You’re just like us.”

Human. Disgustingly vulnerable, inherently flawed.

“You’re animals, with the most basic of instincts, just like the rest of the world. Eat, sleep, fuck, shit. Survive, protect yourselves, at all costs.” My gaze settles on the Goliath of a man in front of me, muscles straining against his too-small shirt in a laughable way.

“It’s an ambitious mission to try and collect the entire Zodiac wheel under your belt, Maddox. But I’m not sure how certain lovers of yours would feel about sharing amongst the family tree, wouldn’t you agree?” A rhetorical question; like they would ever waste their breath on answering to me. “Keeping the peace is so important in a world that is laced in nuance. Though it does make me wonder if you can truly put a price on happiness. But I suppose you already know the answer to that.”

Truthfully, my eyes had almost popped out of their sockets when I saw the multi-digit figure scrawled in rushed handwriting along the bottom of the bank cheque, made out to one second-best sister with another typical, stupid Capitolite name – Pisces, of all things – in exchange for an oath of silence. Humans were so fucking simple.

“You’re just like the rest of us,” I repeat, eyes shifting to the pixie-faced shell of a girl seated next to Maddox. “Power-hungry, desperate to prove yourselves, unwilling to be proven wrong.” The second piece of paper is actually a bundle of sheets paperclipped together: a cut-out of an obituary. A sepia photograph of a mourning family. A status report on the “perfectly working condition” of one steel gate at Quartz Mutt Emporium. A letter of termination with an additional clause of relocation hidden between the lines of jargon. A promise: go quietly, start over, and all will be forgotten. No room for any raised questions, no loose ends in sight.

Astounding, really, the extents humans would go to just to come out on top. But looking up into the eyes of the viper in front of me, I’m not the slightest bit surprised. “It’s nice to know my death is in the hands of someone capable of such professional janitorial work.”

The faint scratchiness of my throat reminds me that time is ticking away as my monologue builds steam. But it’s okay. The end is in sight now. My head is clear, and for the first time since the Reaping, the prospect of death doesn’t feel as paralysing. We are all human. We will all die. Nobody is untouchable.

“I think what makes us most alike is our innate desire to understand: the world, ourselves, each other. All of it. Sometimes it feels like an impossible mission – after all, isn’t it unrealistic to expect to know everything? And yet we still find ourselves seeking out answers to the mysteries of the universe, thinking it might fill a void deep within our souls, even when we know the truth might kill us. Why do things happen a certain way? What did I do to deserve this life? Do I truly deserve all I’ve been given?”

“Of course, the answer to that question is usually a resounding no.” My eyes narrow at the face of Gamemaker Astrid Zane, the legend herself. A woman now, but once nothing more than a girl like me, who found herself in a certain place at a certain time. We are the same; we are different. We are human. Two ends of a spectrum, right place-right time meets wrong place-wrong time.

“Do you truly deserve all you’ve been given?”
“Of course, the answer to that question is usually a resounding no.”

“But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The pieces of paper fall from my hands, weightless, despite the heavy truths they emblazon. I don’t wait to watch where they fall. I don’t wait to watch the Peacekeepers pick up the discarded scraps and take them upstairs to the Gamemakers’ room. I don’t wait to watch the face of Astrid Zane react when she reads the words pressed into the parchment addressed to her:

GAMEMAKER OF THE DECADE

and under it, the truth:

HADES LOCHLAN

[kap]

♛

I knew that private training sessions were important. The high-scoring tributes typically got some pretty good sponsorship in response, so I wanted to try to get as good of a score as I could. I was pretty good at a few different things that I'd learned in the training center, but decided that perhaps it would be better to show something I'd honed at home; something you couldn't really learn to the extent I had in the short amount of time we had in the training center.

I'd honed the craft of tinkering when I was at home in Six. So, now was the time to finally use it. After all my studies of the Hunger Games, I'd seen how useful being able to improvise things in the arena was, which is why I taught myself how to do just that. Whether it be with scraps of metal, pieces of cardboard or even a sheet of paper, I was almost always able to come up with something pretty neat to make.

I had some technological knowledge, too. I could wire things, at least a little bit, which is more than could be said for the average teenager that didn't live in Three. So, knowing exactly what I wanted to do, I strode into the room for my private training session glowing with confidence. I held my head high and my shoulders back, giving a wave and a confident smirk to the Gamemakers as I came in.

"Hello there!" I greeted them. "Quentin Quinn, District Six. But you knew that, of course."

Then, I got started. I first made a stop at the improv station and picked up a piece of wire, which I started bending and twisting into another shape as I made my way to the far wall where I saw a steel box jutting out of it. It was one of those boxes that held all the breakers. There'd be switches, levers and wires in there, which was exactly what I needed.

So, I took my makeshift lock pick that I'd crafted from a piece of wire and jimmied the lock to the steel box open with a click. It only took me what was probably a little under ten seconds to do so, which impressed even me. I then swung open the breaker box and inspected what was inside. It was pretty similar to breaker boxes back home, but not quite the same. There was definitely more in here.

I then left the breaker box as it was for the time being, put my wire makeshift lock pick into my pocket, and grabbed a rather significant length of rope from another part of the room, as well as a knife. I put the knife in my jacket pocket, sincerely hoping I had it in there well enough that it wouldn't fall out with what I was doing, or stab me somehow, for that matter. Then, I took the rope and threw one end of it up into the rafters right near the corner of the room, grabbing the end I'd thrown as it swung back down at me.

Holding both ends of the rope in my hands, I anchored them both to the ground with some tent stakes that I'd driven between the floorboards. Next, I did my best to climb them to the top. It took me a few minutes, but I got there. When I did get there, I pulled the knife from my pocket and began to cut away at the security camera that was in the corner where the walls met the ceiling.

I got it down with a little bit of effort, and dropped the knife to the ground in order to take the security camera in my hand. I climbed back down, which was a quicker trip than up, and I was impressed with myself for not falling in the process.

As soon as my feet were on the ground again, I was certain I was running low on time, so I picked up the knife I'd dropped with my open hand while still holding the security camera in the other and made my way back to the breaker box. After a few moments of tinkering, rearranging parts on the security camera and taking wires and other pieces from the breaker box, no doubt fucking up some other things in the training center when it came to lights and other such electricity in the process, I was done.

I used a switch and some wiring from the breaker box, as well as the little red light from the security camera to create what was a bit of an oversized version of a laser pointer. I flipped the switch on the device to test it out, and the laser light turned on. I moved it around the room, showing it aiming at different targets and such to show it off. I still had one last thing to do, though, and judging by the clock, just enough time.

Going back to the improv station to grab more wire, I then went over to the archery station and picked up a bow. I affixed the laser light to the bow so that when turned on, it would point to the place the arrow was intended to land. Now all that was left was to try it out.

"Dim the lights," I said to an avox who was standing nearby. She obliged, dimming the lights so that I could still see, but that the laser light would be more visible.

So, I knocked an arrow on the bow and flipped on the laser light. The little light was pointed at the center of the practice dummy's chest, and I let the arrow fly without a second thought.

Thump! The arrow embedded itself in the practice dummy's chest, right where I'd been aiming. I looked to the same avox again.

"Lights up," I told her, and yet again, she obliged, bringing the lights back to their normal brightness. I turned off the laser night, set the bow down and looked to the Gamemakers. With a bow and a smile, I thanked them.

"Your time and attention is appreciated. Thank you," I told them. Then, when I was dismissed, I left the room.

-


TLDR;
Quentin fashions a lock pick from a piece of wire, opens the breaker box, climbs up a rope to take the security camera and fashions a laser pointer from pieces of the security camera and from the breaker box. He then attaches it to a bow, dims the lights to show where the laser is pointing on the target in front of him, shoots an arrow and lands it right where the last was pointing. Lights come back to normal, he sets down the bow, bows, thanks the GMs and leaves when he is dismissed.

[d11a tsiuri dermott ☕ minie]

In the center of the training center there was a table with a chessboard set up, just as I had requested.

I strutted towards the center of the room, positioning myself behind the chair that was facing the game makers up above. The clicking noise of my heels announced my presence as I held my head high with all the confidence in the world. The whole experience thus far has been one giant performance, a performance of terror and fear. Today would be the day I lay some of my cards on the table, show the game makers that strategy and games were my greatest weapon.

A deadly smile plastered onto my face and my eyes filled with fury and mania.

Games have been an essential part of my life since my first thought. In the store we were surrounded by them, creating our own custom ones. At night I played a game resembling battleship, outselling, outwitting and out terrorizing anyone that came in my way. A theatrical spectacle that kept me in my position.

Today would be a private performance and the warning bells have rung.

action.

"Ladies and Gentlemen", my eyes locked with each of the gamemakers for a little more than a second each. "District One usually produces the fiercest of careers, trained killing machines. I value a skill much more sophisticated than wielding a weapon. Strategy." I slowly pull the chair out and sit myself down slowly without ever letting my gaze down or my smile fade. My fingers ran themselves lightly over the edge of the table. "My mind is more deadly than any armament."

They might be sitting above staring down at me, but in this moment I was a performer on a stage. They were nothing else but spectators in the gallery. I called all the shots; in this very moment I was in charge. The posture I held demanded respect; in this exhibition I was the queen.

My fingers treaded lightly over the chess pieces, I was white, and the opposition was black.

"Back home in One, I often find myself gazing down on my subjects, just as you do now. I observe, I recognize threats and I ensure their elimination. My life is one big game of chess. Old habits die hard, my dears." I gently move my first pawn to d4.

"Making the first move in the arena will establish dominance. However, leaving your options open is a necessity. Never reveal your plans in your first move and always leave room to adjust. Observe how your opponents work and create a specialized plan of action from there. It is vital that you gain an understanding of how they think." my voice is silky smooth as I narrate my thought process of the game. It may appear that I am playing against myself, but my line of eye contact makes it clear that they are my real enemies in this scenario.

I turn the board slowly so that I am now playing black.

I respond by moving the queen’s pawn two spaces forward, face to face with white.

"Black accepts the queens gambit. Allowing myself to take control of the center. I hold the power now. If they were playing with strategy they would have declined, but in the heat of the games one has to assume that we all want to go home. Short-circuited reactions are to be awaited; we all just want to make it out alive."

I continue my game, explaining my thoughts. Each move is made quickly to prove that my mind can work at the speed of the computer, hardly ever glancing down at my board. I know what needs to be done to survive. Fingers moving quick and nimble until…

"…checkmate".

I stand up and push in the chair. My expression changes from a grinning devil to something from the depths of Tartarus. My smile gone and my eyes more intense than they have ever been.

"Game over. I win. I go home."



OOC: Basically Xaa just plays herself in chess and draws parallels to the games. Also disclaimer that I know nothing about chess, except for what I googled so if any of it is wrong then I apologise.

[mat]

U L Y S S E S.

Ulysses burps the alphabet as their PTS and immediately leaves!

Table by Rave

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Looking pretty is not going to get Elise far in the arena. Looking pretty is not going to get her a big number etched next to her name either.

A lot lies on the number, it is unlikely to match or be greater than her District number, but it needs to mean something. It needs to catch the eyes of those who want her to survive as much as she does, those that will carry the keys and hold open the doors for her in this next journey.

This morning she assured her District stylists that gluing and filing fake nails onto the end of her fingers was all a part of the prep for her private training session. Elise is no brute; she cannot swing a sword or aim a bow. But she can persuade the mutation taming trainer to loan her a vial of venom from a toxic mutt as well as assure the stylists that she will not wreck their manicure set.

Her nails are a set, a shining silver with equally sharp edges at the point. They are the first things she introduces to the gamemakers when she steps below them. ”Elise Krane, District Eleven. This should be quick.” If she too had to sit through twenty-four dull demonstrations, her mind would be melting by now. Being one of the last is not favourable but maybe she is more likely to be remembered versus those that had to follow the desirable careers?

Elise selected her victim yesterday, the weaponry trainer that laughed in her face when she struggled to raise a broadsword above her shoulders. He is stood in the wings and she ushers him over, there is reluctance but he cannot deny the opportunity to say he was a part of tribute’s training session. Though the trainer should have revised history, he will not be leaving here without a short trip to the medical bay.

”I designed these nails to look like your swords, do you like them?” She says, presenting her perfectly manicured hands to the trainer.

”Yes, they are nice.”

What a boring response, Elise thinks. This isn’t going to grab the gamemaker’s attention.

”They will be the only swords I will ever be able to carry. That is your thought?”

”Yes absolutely! She has weak arms.” The trainer tells the gamemakers, showing off his own biceps.

”What were you trying to teach me yesterday? Swinging a sword at a face?”

”Yes and she could barely lift the thing above her wai-.”

The trainer is cut short, Elise proves him wrong and strikes just as he is trying to downgrade her to the gamemakers. One swift swipe of her nails across his cheek and the trainer is already screeching and cusping his face.

Then she waits. She was assured the concoction would work quickly and to her surprise, the mutt trainer is the only one reliable here. The screeching from the trainer becomes excruciating to her ears and the wound starts to bubble and weep. A thick yellow residue runs down the chin of the trainer, visible when he is not covering it up with his hands.

”Venom of the Pitfall Lizard and Dart Jaguar mixed together. Your colleague at the mutation station has the antivenom, I would find them quickly…” She then smiles at the gamemakers, bows her head and bids her see you laters. She hopes that was fast enough. Impressive enough. Unforgettable.

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

here is a bullet point PTS because i have the idea, i just dont have the time to write it. i hate working two jobs.

- luna is both confident and nervous. she walks in and is immediately confused though because there is someone that she recognizes.

- surprise bitch, olivia harper from young love in panem has somehow wormed her way into this very secretive private training session. (thanks to mad dog, who is a BIG fan of young love in panem.)

- olivia harper looks at luna is both happy and angry to see her, because not many people know that they actually had a little thing going on in district two before olivia decided to run off to the capitol.

- luna is confused, introduces herself to be formal and then immediately runs towards olivia and begins shouting things like "i said i was coming to get you bitch."

- olivia definitely smiles, but the moment luna gets close enough, she sucker punches her for not taking her chance when she had it. that the games is the reason why they are finally seeing each other again after what seems like years. (because ofc hunger games time is its own thing here)

- luna stumbles back and she realizes that olivia is ready to fight, good, because luna is too. she pulls her own fist back and throws a punch.

- olivia sidesteps it. "this really all you got luna?"

- luna knew olivia to be confident, but she didnt think cocky as well. luna catches her off guard and sweeps her leg from out under her.

- "sneaky snake." olivia probably said, a wry smile showing up on her face.

- olivia stands up and tackles luna to the ground, but luna is quick to roll her over, using her leg to gain some leverage as she straddles olivia "you just had to go and try to be famous huh?"

- olivia then uses her free hand to thrust upward, landing it in the crook of luna's neck, which tossed luna over and gave olivia a chance to get on top of her and hold her down. "you could have came looking for me, but your pride wouldnt let you huh?" olivia knows how to cut deep. "you dont do anything unless its to show up your awful family? right?"

- luna looks up at olivia, she sneers for a moment, her anger welling up, but too focused on the fact that she is currently in the middle of an all out girl fight!!

- luna puts her hands on the ground above her, using her hips the push up into a backbend and pop olivia off of her and back handspring back to her feet.

- olivia quickly throws an onslaught of punches, to which luna is able to dodge for the most part, some landed in places that luna had not been a stranger too.

- luna does move her way back though, catching punches and listening to olivia tell her about all the times that luna could have tried to reconnect with her. each different moment coincided with a different important moment that had to do with luna's family.

- luna finally feels a table behind her, to which she catches olivia's next punch and pushes her back to create a little space between them. "you could have come and found me too, but you thought you could make it on your own huh?" luna's hand has slinked behind her and grabbed a small knife, to which is is holding tightly.

- "youre no better than me luna!" olivia is frustrated "now i might not get the chance to see you again."

- luna is a little apathetic to this, but she walks forward from the table.

- olivia throws another punch, this one aimed specifically at her face.

- luna catches her hand and pulls it forward, their bodies colliding for a moment and luna wrapping her hands around olivia's neck. "i know oli, i know."

- they share a kiss, tender and sweet and very wlw.

- then luna flourishes the knife and plants it into olivia's shoulder. luna hears a scream, but immediately pushes olivia off of her. "guess im just a backstabber at heart."

- olivia mutters some not nice words, but the trainers rush her because obviously she is going to need some medical attention. "i hope you do make it out, just so i can get you back luna."

- luna smirks and looks at the gms "i do too oli, i do too." and then she bows and leaves.

***i have kiah's permission to powerplay this scenario! we were gonna thread it out, but of course, life.***

[pup]

A spear? Out of the question.

A bow and arrow? My aim is shit.

Traps? Not flashy enough.

My conversation with my mentor did not go as planned. I was kind of counting on Nico to have some idea of what I could do for my private training session. He's seen people go through the gauntlet year after year, but each idea he offered is unusable. Fighting is not my strong suit and flashy things are more of Xaa and Will's fortes than mine.

The one thing I really know how to do which could be useful in an arena, stitch up wounds, is not something the gamemakers would really like to see. At least, that's what I was told.

Slumping back in my chair, I lean back and my legs stretch in front of me. They could have at least given us some padding on the plastic seats. My back is starting to hurt. Xaa and Luna went for their sessions hours ago, and as the time ticks by I can sense myself losing my composure more and more. Boredom is a powerful tool to drive someone insane. Elise, my social media marketer and my stylists' one true love, heads for her session. It's just the scary looking one from eleven, Will, and me left in the room now.

My escort is the one who offered the most valuable information. You don't necessarily have to be flashy to get an okay score, you just need to show them you can kill. Gritting my teeth, I roll through the set of ideas I came up with in my eternity in the waiting room. Someone told me that tributes like to drag avoxes into the training session so they can show the gamemakers their killing ability. I don't think I could bring myself to murder someone yet, but I know I can show the scorers that I know how to kill at least.

When my turn rolls around, I give Will a nod goodbye. I'll see her later tonight, probably when our scores are released.

The gamemakers look exhausted from a day of lazing about. I can give them something to make them think about, at least. Hopefully I can at least wake them up.

I gather my supplies. Rolling a whiteboard, a wicked knife, and a dummy hanging from a chord attached to its head in front of the gamemakers' booth, I take a deep breath. Grabbing a red marker from the whiteboard's base, I slide it across the white board, writing the words:

Murder 101
Thomas O'Quinn.

"Welcome to murder 101, class." I say, raising my voice so they can hear me. Staring up at them, I make eye contact with the scariest looking one. Mad Dog I heard someone call him. He's got a brutal look in his eyes, but I don't break my stare as I continue talking. "Now I know you all think you know a lot about killing, but do you know how it really works? Today, we're going to go over the vascular system."

With the marker, I draw over the dummy as I allow myself to look away from the gamemakers. Red lines etch their way through the plastic body.

"Now, the vascular system is one of the most important in our bodies. It's what carries blood through our veins. It keeps our brain, our lungs, our limbs, our heart, and practically everything else in our body working. Anything hurting the vascular system can really take a life."

I step back from my artwork. The dummy has veins snaking through its body. It wasn't perfect: I ignored the capillaries and less important vessels, but the necessities were all there. The marker gave life to the lifeless.

Before my parents let me deal with the severely-injured patients, they forced me to memorize one of our ancestral textbooks. The medical book, passed down from generation to generation in my family, has a detailed outline of the vascular system amidst its stained pages. It's what taught me when a patient could or couldn't be saved with our limited resources.

"Let's see then,"

I put down the marker and pick up the knife.

"There are multiple parts to the vascular system which, when injured, could kill someone in ninety seconds or less without proper treatment."

I make the first slash in the right arm, digging it deep. Fake blood spurts from it. splattering me in the face and soaking the marks I made.

"The brachial artery, for instance, is deep in the arm. When it's severed, though, unconsciousness will occur in 15 seconds and death will happen in 90. Interesting stuff, huh?"

I felt sick as I bent down and made a swift cut in the dummy's left leg.

"The femoral artery," I take a second to spit out some of the fake blood which sprayed into my mouth from the cut. They must keep it pressurized in there for dramatic effect. "When severed, can kill you in a few minutes."

"It's the same with the radial artery," I move back up to the arm and slice into the forearm before darting behind the dummy and slashing into it's deltoid, "Or even the cephalic vein." Walking back to the front of the dummy and digging into it's upper chest with another quick strike, I continue as the blood soaks into my uniform, "A cut to the outer pectoral can also sever the cephalic, but we're all about backstabbing here, right?" I try to force a smile through my queasiness, but I close it quickly as more faux blood drips from my lips and into my mouth.

"Fun fact, a cut to the pectoral can also limit muscular movement and prevent a tribute from using their arms."

The blood drips from the knife and puddle forms on the floor. How much liquid could they fit into a dummy?

"Then, of course, the one we're all familiar with, the jugular vein."

The knife slices across the dummy's throat, tearing through the plastic flesh.

I take a step back, looking at the bloody mess I've created. My shoes are soaked, and I realize the ones they give us for the training center must not be water proof. This is not going to be fun to wash off in a few minutes.

Turning back to the gamemakers, I put the knife next to the marker on the whiteboard's base.

"Any questions?" I ask the crowd, but just as I do, my timer goes off. Thankfully I won't need to answer any depraved questions about my murder scene. I leave the training room, a bloody trail in my wake.

[tick 12a / calla]

p e r r y !

" i am
i am
i am "

Short and sweet - that was the principle Laura always lived by right? Short temper and sweet nothings, a body that just never quit. Can you imagine living like that?

God, can you believe that Perry used to be practically in love with her??

Loser! Boring!! Lame!!!

Perry's not bitter though, see? She can actually do way better, thank you very much.

But still, the legendary Peregrine Gauthier gets called and she tosses her hair, striding by all the lame, boring losers that watch her with their silly vacant eyes. Those lower district kids have given up already - she can practically smell it on them. She's a shark in bloody, bloody waters, even got her eye on a few already.

The doors slide open and her confidence is already on display.

There was a fair in Two last summer. Laura and Perry had gone together, obviously, throwing darts at balloons and getting their fingers sticky with cotton candy. But it’d been a fair in Two, so the darts were more like throwing knives, and the whack-a-mole was an actual mole. Not the animal - but some snitch that had gotten on the ringleader's bad side. It had taken only a short few rounds before a little girl in pigtails stepped up and finally brought the mallet down on his head, her delighted little laughter echoing against the sound of his skull caving in under the painted wood.

WELL!

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

She demanded one of those huge mutt transport crates, the ones with the air holes punched in the top big enough to fit both your fists through

• yoinks the trainer from this thread
• used her Wiles(™) to weasel him into position and slam the crate shut
• plays whack a mole <3

She pulls herself up onto the crate just as Dick’s head is popping up through one of the air holes.

“Okay.” He’s saying, “Very funny, now-“ But Perry’s giggling cuts him off, and she swings the warhammer above her head just once before smashing it down precisely where Dick’s head was a millisecond ago.

He’s screeching “THE FUCK-“, ducking and throwing himself away, she’s laughing, seeing the shine of his bald skin again and swinging the hammer towards it.

“C’monnn,” she’s sing-songing through peals of laughter, this time only missing him by blink, “Just lemme get you once.”

His head pops up through a different hole and he looks at her, wild-eyed. He’s starting to say something that sounds a little like “You’re a crazy fucking bitch” but Perry’s not letting her mole get away that easy. She’s a predator playing with her food, singularly focused, uncaring of any aspect of humanity from the cat-and-mouse of it.

She's not exactly stable - we can admit it! And if she imagines Laura's face overlaid on Dick's head every once and a while, well, the public will never know.

“Just a little tap!” The force of the hammer coming down yet again rattles through her feet. The sound of it banging against the hard plastic reverberates throughout the room like she's playing a giant drum. Slippery little shit - he keeps getting away, she keeps whacking.

It's like a little symphony starts to play -

BANG BANG LAUGH BANG LAUGH SCREAM BANG LAUGH BANG SCREAM

Music to her ears!

The timer goes off eventually, “Your time is up!” The mole's yelling, “STOP, your time is UP!"

Like that's gonna save him?

Perry wipes the sweat off her brow, hoists the hammer, peering through one of the holes, “Then come out, little gopher.”

"HELLO?!??" Little gopher hollers, "REECE??!"

The backup trainer that must be Reece comes waddling out through the side door of the training area, already looking done with the whole situation.

"Alright Two." He's saying, "C'mon, down, time to go."

But the gleam of that shiny hairless scalp is literally right there, peaking over the edge, and Perry's itchin for it. It's like a spotlight suddenly falls onto it, that hole near her right foot, she's aiming for it, bringing the hammer down but Reece is reaching for her so they can get a move on.

So it's not her fault, really, what happens next.

The good news is that Dick's gloriously waxed head gets to live another day. The bad news is that Reece's hand doesn't.

The warhammer crunches his outstretched hand and every little bone from his wrist to his finger pops like popcorn. His palm shatters rather impressively, and he starts screaming. Which makes Dick start screaming.

Perry, with no empathetic bone in her body, just watches.

"Haha oopsie."

She lets the hammer fall, "Hey, this guy needs some ice!"