96th [public] training sessions ❄️

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

felicity carrow pts
🛠️ district three.

⪼ felicity takes with her two things: a flathead screwdriver, and a small magnet plucked from the inner workings of the coffee machine in district three's suite.

⪼ felicity got scolded earlier this week by one of the peacekeepers for fiddling with a control panel when her back was turned. she just cut the weird ambiance music, an experiment to see if she'd found the right wire. turned peacekeeper turned back around and smacked felicity upside the head when the speakers went silent. she said she was sorry; that yes, she understood the panel wasn't for tribute use; and no, she wouldn't mess with the speaker system again.

⪼ this was, in fact, a lie.

⪼ the first thing she does when she struts in is pop the panel open with her flathead and hijack the thing so she can play a song. before twisting off the wires and letting the music blare, she says "song clocks in just under seven minutes." pliers bend copper and aluminum together, and a deep, electric bass thrums to life. sound system acquired. 

⪼ "enjoy the show!" she has to shout.

⪼ it takes her a minute and forty nine seconds to collect all the parts. she's just a flurry of movement as she darts around different stations, picking up stray things here and there. at the improv station she scavenges thin, flat sheets of metal. she rubs her magnet along the edge of a small rectangle of iron while she collects some nails, a hammer-like weapon that'll do the job, and all the flint and matches she can carry away from the firemaking station. 

⪼ there's a mechanical room that requires a keycard to access. this does not seem to hold her back. newly magnetized iron, she bypasses the lock with her small iron rectangle and emerges again with a roll of copper wire. she probably could've stripped it from one of the machines in the other room but... that would take time, and this seemed more fun, to her at least.

⪼ she's made a hundred of these in different shapes before, depending on the materials she's got at hand/how much time she has. getting everything she needed from around the room had been the hard part; putting everything together means smooth sailing from here.

⪼ crisscross applesauce in the middle of the floor near an outlet, she assembles what looks like a tool — she takes a pencil and whittles either end to expose the lead. she connects one end of this to a piece of copper, using thin wires she gets from a usb cord she exposed the insides of. when plugged in, the wires/lead conduct the electricity as heat into the copper and it begins to melt. this is what she uses to solder together the parts of her device. a tangle of thin wires connected to simple machinery, a collection of small tubes she uses practiced hands to fill with ground down match tips and sugar from the coffee station.

⪼ four minutes in, the song hits its first crescendo and the shape of a monkey starts to take form.

⪼ felicity claps alongside the monkey when it smacks its cymbals together for the first time, a grin spreading across her freckled cheeks. she crafts a backpack for it, a little top hat, anywhere she can attach one of the small tubes she made and have it looks like a decoration. the little guy gets a sash made of the things, and ends up looking like a war machine monkey.

⪼ fifty seconds left on the song, she winds the gear sticking out of his ass and lets the cymbals beat together again. this time, she doesn't stop them.

⪼ clang, clang, clang, clang, the monkey marches in place where she leaves it on the concrete floor. felicity turns her back, and walks towards the exit. forty seconds left, the fireworks start. they burst out from the monkey in haphazard patterns of green, blue, and white, depending on the food coloring mixed in. a burst of technicolor that lasts the remaining time. 

⪼ the door swings open when the song hits her final note, and the last fireworks light falls. the last thing they see is the briefest glimpse of chipped blue paint on a middle finger before the door swings shut.

[mat]

Even with just a half dozen tributes ahead of him, Lucky nodded off in his chair. Only when the speakers called in the next tribute did he pick his head up, hopeful he slept through the waiting. Once Maggie was called, Lucky moved up one row to sit in Xylia's initial seat, with equal room for a chair on either side to stretch and keep those muscles ready. There was no valid reason to keep himself squished between Inga and Lionel. For all of their sakes.

"District Four, Lucky Nachtnebel."

His arms and legs stretched outward, "Ah. Oh, crap." Lucky pulled forward, landing on his feet. A quick yawn and crack of the neck woke him up and drove him ahead toward the front door. Training shirt tucked neatly into his pants and light blue gloves pulled to the middle of his forearm, Lucky cracked the door open. The training center was refashioned into one large space for the Private Training Sessions. Silence from above made his footsteps those of giants.

Lucky had no expectations of whether or not Gamemaker Ivan Korsch would follow through on his wish for the pool room's tapes. He stood at the center of the training center, thumbs stuck between his empty back belt loop. The dead air told him Inga Vanas's session went either one of two ways: she annihilated and the Gamemakers were recovering from their amazement or she bombed and the Gamemakers were recovering from their embarrassment. Either way, Lucky paused in space until all three sets of eyes were stuck on him.

"First of all, I have a little note I want to read for you guys." Lucky pulled the once-folded index card from his pocket and read the well-rehearsed text aloud to the Gamemakers. "Ahem. I am truly, sincerely, genuinely, honestly, wholeheartedly, and… earnestly sorry if my party in the pool room made any of you upset. Per Mr. Ivan's request, I cleaned it all up. However, I hope my Training Session today will show you that the party was a necessary scheme to help me win in the arena. Thank you." He slid the note back into his pocket, silently thanking the escort for helping him write a thoughtful apology.

Once more, he cleared his throat and pointed to his eyepatch. "This is my blindspot. All that's under here is a scarred eyelid that can't open on its own. It's hollow underneath." Lucky flashed the eyepatch up and down. There were no muscles to force the lid open, even as the other eye blinked rapidly, and he spared them the grotesqueness of showing what was inside. "At least five other tributes have commented on it, and I know all of them have taken notice. You guys, too, probably. That's my weakness. Well, and I'm not the brightest, but…" The eyepatch rubberbanded back across his face as he continued to speak.

"I've spent over a decade training the academy to be a killer. All I needed to do here was sharpen my combat skills and pick up a few survival skills on the way. I'm not going to rip a bunch of trainers to shreds or stab a training dummy until it's dust. I want to show you something else if that's okay." He pointed to Ivan above, hoping he'd be following along better than Hades or Maryn. "I hope you brought the tapes."

It was about thirty seconds later that a pair of trainers opened the opposite door, carting in two television screens, one propped up in the direction of the Gamemakers and one level with him to view. Lucky jogged over to help them wheel the stands toward the center stage. "Thanks," he whispered, shaking both of their hands before they faded back through the exit.

"I don't know what these buttons do, so give me a second to figure them all out."

Play. Fast Forward. Rewind. Pause. Stop. Draw. He tapped the screen, acquainting himself with all of the mechanics.

"Okay! So. Getting your eye ripped out by a Le Roux put me on the sidelines for half a year. I wasn't allowed to train because I had to build up the strength and awareness to fight again, but I still studied." Lucky rewound the video to the beginning, where he stood on his throne and stained his hands pink. "I studied people. And no, I don't mean and-thro-apology. I found their blind spots, and I want to show you them! Because everyone can die a death by a thousand cuts, but I much prefer a quick death, exploiting someone's weaknesses. It's much easier that way."

Lucky pointed to Ivan Korsch before he started. Monologue man to monologue man."The other day, Mr. Ivan saw a glimpse of that when he watched me clean the pool room. I think he was getting a little too into it, which to be fair, was funny and humiliating to have to clean it all up. But he was getting a little too close. To keep my back turned, I was a little too messy with the mop and water bucket. Water got everywhere. And because Mr. Ivan was wearing those pretty dress shoes, he squeaked wherever he went. So I always knew where he was, and how close he was to me, in the room! That's just an example before we get started."

He pressed the button to formally begin: Play.

The charismatic and friendly expression on his face dropped as the video began playing at two times the speed. Harley walked in. Immediately, his eyes rolled. "I can't believe she thought I was going to drown her. The number of people who suspected that I was going to kill them pre-Games… gosh, it outnumbered the number of times I threatened it."

---

The next person to walk in was Sage. "Thank God she came when she did, saved the vibe by completely killing the vibe!" The volume on the footage isn't perfect, it was a visual aid more than a hearing aid, after all, but the faint whispers about her birthday card left Lucky laughing in reaction. "She's sweet, but you can tell just how bad she was at this sort of thing!" He scrolled through the footage, following her around with his index finger as she wandered somewhat aimlessly.

"I wanted to start with Sage because she's the perfect example of weaknesses being more than just physical. She was never comfortable, not once the entire night! She did better blending in than standing out, though. Perhaps she would've held her cards closer to her chest if she just arrived late."

Lucky pointed to the back of the room, where a handful of dummies were stacked against the wall. One of them had fallen. "If those were real tributes back there, the dummy on the ground would stick out like a sore thumb. The others blend in with each other. Sage DeVille blends in. She's more vulnerable if she sticks out."

He wandered to the back, picking the fallen dummy up by the scruff of its neck. "Isolate her, make her stick out, and she's ten times more manageable to kill." He sent the dummy flying into the darkness. "I stick out, too, but I can fight and hold my own when I'm alone. To cut the weak links, you can't let them hide in the crowd or hide behind some awkward tension."

---

Lucky dragged the bar to later in the pool. It was when they were playing a game in the water. It was him, Rita, Xylia, and another one of the boys. Gunner, maybe? He couldn't remember and didn't have the energy to squint his eye to triple-check. Regardless, the girls were on the boys' shoulders, and the girls were play-fighting with foam strips and their hands to knock the other off. "Watch Rita and Xylia closely. Specifically, here." Lucky used the draw feature on the screen to circle the left half of Xylia's body. Rita, who was on Lucky's shoulders, was exchanging blows with her until eventually, Xylia was the first to fall off of Gunner after Rita shoved the foam into the circled area of Xylia's body.

"What we learned here is that I am very good at this game. That'll be very useful in the arena." Lucky drew in yellow a gold medal around his chest. "I'm kidding, of course. I'll spare playing the other three renditions of this pool game. I caught onto a pattern from Xylia." He went back into the training center, taking one of the spare standing dummies from the back. Lucky placed it on the cart that wheeled the television screens in.

"I like Xylia, we have a little romantic thing going on, but at the end of the day, she needs to die for me to win. So I watched her. Xylia prefers her right side. Not because it's stronger, but rather because her left is weaker." He pointed to the circle again. It covered her left side. "If you were paying attention, she winced and flinched when Rita pushed her left side but held firm on her right." Lucky began to roll the dummy down the training center standing on its right side. "I'm only hurting myself if I'm on her right. She's stronger there, but if I stand on Xylia's left side," he spun to the other side of the cart, waving to the Gamemakers. "I've got a better chance of protecting myself against her. I might even, you know," Lucky stopped in his tracks, letting the cart roll a step ahead. He placed his knife at the dummy's back. "I might stand behind her, just so my own blind spot doesn't get in my way. I'm taller, too, so it'd make sense for me not to block her view when we're traveling the arena." His arm jerked back and forth, stabbing the makeshift Xylia Fray right in the back. "If I tried this on her right side, a career like her would have the time to react." The imaginary hair on the pretend Xylia was brushed with the back of his knife.

---

He ran back to the screen. He'd forgotten to pause it as he demonstrated for Xylia. At this point, the birthday boy was bending further and further back toward the pull, playfully submerging Rita's lower body in the water as if he was going to drop her. "Don't know if you guys noticed, but Rita is my other girlfriend." He smiled up toward the Gamemakers, proud of the words he spoke. Two. Both from the same district as well! It was the closest Lucky could get to the boy-cheats-on-girl-with-her-sister fantasies. They played with each other, having their fun in the Training Center while they still could. Which one he preferred, or if he wanted a secret third option, he wouldn't say.

"She's neat, she's sweet, she is very petite." Lucky drew in red a smiling face. "But Rita Jakov can rip your head off!" Two red horns and a devilish pitchfork tail change her entire expression. "I'm only partly kidding. She's not that bad, but she's a threat! Like me, I think her size might be an easy blind spot to recognize. My height combined with her light weight, I'm surprised the breeze from the window in the back there didn't knock her off my shoulders."

He swung the training dummy over his shoulders, balancing its stiffness like he did in the water with Rita. "If she did this in the arena, I think I would just, you know," Lucky grabbed the dummy by the shins across his chest and sent it across the room. "But she's smarter than that. She's crafty, you know? Spent a lot of time in the trapping station with Eugene the mouthbreather. She tied that strap like she knew what she was do- um. Anyway!" Lucky paused the video this time. If the Gamemakers wanted to know more about that, they could find the bathroom camera at three in the morning.

"Rita has a good low center of gravity thanks to her height. She can climb and keep a grip, meaning her traps could be anywhere. High or low. The thing I noticed about her in the training center, though, is that Rita is good with blades. Slicing, cutting, light weapons. Really fucking good at swordplay, in more ways than one!" Lucky tossed the knife in the dummy's direction, sliding just about to its forearm on the ground. "I'm not going to duel her with swords or knives. She's nimble and quick, she can block those. So…" Lucky went back to the weapons station, picking a heavy mace from the shelves. "If push comes to shove and I have to fight her, I'll have to use something that I can put my strength into. Like this."

Lucky's left hand held the mace while his right played the role of Rita. He got close to stabbing himself with the knife multiple times, displaying his quick-thinking and nimbleness. With one crushing blow, the mace buried into the dummy's propped-up chest. "Easier said than done in a real fight, of course, but with someone trained in fighting like Rita, the type of weapon you use against them can be the difference between chopping off a pinkie or crushing a hand."

---

Heavy breaths filled his chest as Lucky returned to the center of the room. "Pre-planned hydration break! Thankfully, I brought my water bottle." He pulled the clear bottle from his training bag. He held it a few inches above his mouth, letting the liquid waterfall across his tongue.

He snickered as he twisted the cap back on. "Nothing's really funny. Just ironic, and definitely not pre-planned, that the next person I wanted to talk about drank from this very bottle. Xov Thao, from Twelve!" Lucky dragged the timestamp to the right until he caught Xov entering the frame.

The quickened speed of the film was hard to keep track of, but as soon as he saw a half-hearted Xov ankles-deep in the water, Lucky reverted the tape to its normal speed. "Watch how scared she looks in the water. She never gets in deep enough to actually float, or even practice. I think we might have a phobia on our hands"! He watched himself on the screen cannonball in and encouraged Xov to go deeper, but she never did. "I met Xov at the hand-to-hand station, and she initially didn't want to come to the party. It would've been a shame to miss out on the footage." Lucky brought his ragdoll dummy centerstage once more. He grabbed it by the neck just as he extended a hand on-screen to 'help' Xov. "Give me any arena with a lake and you won't even need to give me a weapon. Half of these kids can't swim! Just gotta overpower them. But you should give me a weapon anyway."

He let go of the dummy and looked back up at the screen. Xov never swam that night. "Oh, also, please don't tell Xov I showed you guys this! That'd be embarrassing. I promised to keep it a secret so she'd come to my birthday party." He paused the video again. The next part of his analysis wasn't from the tape at all. "On top of that, in her spar with the hand-to-hand trainer, she had really poor recoil. Got a hard punch in but took an even harder one back. Right in the gut! With Xov, if you can endure one strike, you're going to get the upper hand if you know she's vulnerable to an aftershock. Let her strike first to lower her guard."

---

Resume.

"District Twelve… with Marik winning last year, you just can't count them out. Wait! Speak of the devil. Mr. Juno!" He circled Juno Brimstone in green on the screen. "District Twelve, twice in a row."

Out of all his party's guests, Juno was among the warmer. It took a few minutes from Lucky to catch on and stick close to the guy. Friendly and chatty, they spoke for quite some time by the refreshments table, fruit punch in both of their hands. "He's a talker, for sure. I always assumed that the people in District Twelve just mope around the streets in silence," Lucky commentated, half-jokingly. "Not true! He's a guy's guy. We spoke a couple of times before and after this. He likes camaraderie." The gentle nudge Lucky gave to Juno on the screen came after Lucky joked about which of the male escorts were packing and which weren't.

Lucky picked up the half-dismantled training dummy and swung its arm around his neck. "The Hunger Games requires lonely people to find some sort of friend. I don't know if he was lonely in his past life, but Juno gravitates toward people who give him some positive attention. He's very "buddy-buddy, you've got a friend in me!" He swayed with the dummy, wrapping his own arm around in kind as he began to sing. "I've got your back, bro. Yeah yeah, I've got yours too, bro! Absolutely, bro." He puppeted the dummy back and forth until he returned his gaze to the Gamemakers.

"Don't trust a dude because he smiles and is nice to you, bro." Lucky turned around to maneuver the recording again. The dummy's entire spine was ripped out by his knife. "Next up!"

---

He searched relentlessly through the footage to try and find the girl he was looking for. Vali Forrester. But she seemed to evade the camera if she was even at the party in the first place. "While I look for who was on my mind, I guess I'll mention quickly the District Eights. I hand-delivered Garnet his invitation. He was so shy! Didn't even tell me his name but he was all too ready to mention Marceline's. He's soft, and probably won't do well on his own. If he's got allies, gotta go for them first. Freeze him up." Lucky pulled the tape back toward the beginning to find Marceline. He was sure she was one of the first to arrive. And there she was, handing off a gift.

"And Marceline, she's crafty. Look!" His blue gloves waved in their direction. "She made me these. So cute, right? I think it's croquet. No. Crochet!" They were atop his list for favorite gifts from the party. So much so that Lucky kept them on for days following. They were just so warm! "Love them. Which is why Miss Marceline cannot win the wealth. If she can craft these in the name of good, imagine what she might craft in the name of evil! Way too many resources in the bloodbath to let her or her allies get their hands on. Strip her of her skill set, and what does she have left?"

---

Lucky ran through the entire video once more, unable to find Vali. Maybe he was just missing her. "Well, I guess I don't need footage for this one. You guys have my next subject fresh in your minds! And luckily, so do I." It took a couple of tries, but he eventually got the training dummy to stand upright once more, even if it was stripped of half its contents.

"Vali Forrester. I fought her in that simulation you guys hosted, remember? So artificial but so real at the same time! I had a lot of fun getting some practice in that day. As did she, I think. You know, there's something in Forrester blood that just makes your blood run cold. When I fought her, I got those vibes."

A pair of axes fell as Lucky rushed to their shelf to grab just one. "Oops." He rushed back to the makeshift Vali, axe in hand to reimagine their fight. "She loves to fight! And I mean, so do I, but I know when to back down. This girl… did not. While we were fighting in that simulation, Vali kept going as if the hits I landed on her weren't doing anything. But they were. Simulated, sure, but we all saw and felt the pain we got."

Lucky swung once, then twice, then three times at the dummy. "I can't fight with the dummy at the same time, but imagine she's hitting me blow for blow." He pretended to get hit and backed down from the dummy. "Vali Forrester is a glass cannon. All offense, no defense. It's not like she doesn't get hurt, but she doesn't get deterred by it! The trick to killing her is outlasting her." He grabbed the cart the dummy was on and pulled it from behind him. Lucky screamed in his own imitation of Vali's voice, loud at first but it slowly dimmed until he swung the cart over, crushing the dummy with its hard metal. "She'll get herself killed from her own determination."

---

"And, of course, how could we forget my partner in crime." He considered asking Ivan for the entire day's tape, rather than just the party hours, to display his knowledge about Gunner Azarova, but Lucky didn't want to stretch too far with Mr. Teapot. He'd asked for so much already! He pulled the tape's focus front and center midway through the night, where he and Gunner sat perched atop the lifeguard tower. "Gunner. A bad boy, a real black cat."

When Lucky wasn't moving around the pool room talking with guests, he was with Gunner on a throne big enough for the two of them. The black and red shorts that Gunner wore that night were Lucky's actually, another pair of swim trunks buried deep in the dressers of the District Four hotel. "You know this already, but he helped me steal the key from the old guy. I distracted him while he swiped it. He's incredibly stealthy and dexterous." Lucky showed his palms to the Gamemakers. "Good with his hands, heh. Pulled me left and right that morning to make sure we didn't get caught!"

"Initially, he was a real party pooper. In our first chat, he wanted to blow my head off and I wanted to roll my eye to the back of my head." On-screen Lucky's finger guided Gunner to look in the direction of the food and drinks. His finger swirled, a daring potion brewing between them. "Gunner wants to show you his bad boy exterior and prove himself." Lucky dared him to pour a bunch of herbs, brought to the event by someone (maybe Sage or Xov,) into the drinks. And he did just that. "It's a little prank, but it showed me two things. One: he's got good sleight of hand. Two: he'll take a chance when you ask him to do something a little chaotic. He's impulsive."

Once more, he took the dummy. "Even if he says he doesn't like me, Gunner wanted to impress me. Still does, that's why I'm working with him." The Golden Retriever boy and his Black Cat training dummy strolled again. "Gunner is incredibly capable, especially with his hands. So, the best way to get rid of him is to catch him off guard. Get his hands full, mentally and physically." To demonstrate, Lucky took random supplies and resources from the shelves, tossing them into the training dummy's arms. Hands filled with junk, he guided the dummy back to its cart.

He took the yards of rope from the dummy's hands and stood behind the makeshift Gunner Azarova. Lucky's foot pinched the back of the dummy as he wrapped the rope around its neck. The dummy's head bent back as he tugged. "Gunner follows through on his impulses and his risks. That's when he is at his weakest." As Lucky dragged the dummy off of the cart, the junk he piled onto it flew every which way. A mess for the trainers to clean up.

---

Lucky turned back to the Gamemakers, hands tucked into his pockets while he caught his breath. "Obviously there are like, twenty-three other people I'm competing with. I'll spare you the exhaustion of going through each of them. These are just some big examples." He shut the screen off and picked the completely tattered and destroyed dummy up from the ground. Lucky pointed at his eyepatch with the dummy's thinned-out arm. "It's so easy to see this and think to exploit it. Smile to my face on my good side, flip me off on my bad side."

"Everyone else can understand fighting, dodging, hiding, healing, all that. Become masters in it! But if you don't understand the strengths and weaknesses of the people you're up against, you're leaving a million things up to chance."

His arms stretched out at his sides. "I've given them ninety percent of Lucky Nachtnebel. Fairly attractive, chatty, and physically endearing. Plus, I've got a killer swing! Twenty-forty-sixty-eighty. When they say I'm not bright, that last twenty percent, they're only half right."

Lucky carried the dummy to the trash can by the exit. "How can I be dumb if– wait! Hold on." He jogged back to the screens, propping them back up on their carts before wheeling them to the door.

He leaned against the door to finish his thought.

"Can I
be that
dumb
when I'm
reading
them
like a
fucking
book?"

ELEGANT

[sidney]

R  I  T  A

they won’t tell you fairytales of how
girls can be dangerous and still win

❥ Rita is gonna enter the room like she belongs. in the words of the man with the biggest dick on the planet, drake: nails done, hair done, everything did. she looks a vision, truly, despite being made to wear the hideous training outfit. though, you wouldn't know it's the same one she was given on her first day. it's been cut to pieces, the long leg material gone and shredded, then sewn back together to create a much, much cuter mini skirt. and the skin-tight top's sleeves are nowhere to be found, nor is the neck-high collar. it's been replaced by a v-shaped cut that clings to her form in all the right places. she's showing off without trying too hard. ❥ she introduces herself, winking at all three gamemakers, giving each of them their own personalized hello and introduction. she thanks them for their time and promises to show them something they've never seen before: the live transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly. ❥ she doesn't explain further, just smiles knowingly as Sarah, the most boring and plainest looking trainer enters the room. we're talking huge bifocal glasses, frizzy hair, and shoulders hunched. ❥ its giving the before moment of mia thermopolis when she meets the desinger, ok. ❥ insert a snort of disbelief from said girl when rita announces said transformation again, and points to Sarah when she says caterpillar, nearly gagging at the grotesque creature before her. ❥ soon follows a few carts of requested items: a dyson air wrap LOLOL, anti-frizz and heat protection spray, an entire skin care routine and makeup set in Sarah's specific tones and complimentary colors - which Rita had already found and requested, having done her homework before this performance, for lack of a better word. ❥ and thus proceeds a montage to a song we all know and love from the early 2000s hit film Legally Blonde, perfect day. ❥ in a VERY short amount of time, rita transforms said girl from not to HOT she's all that style and though she knows it may have not been the most amazing thing to watch, or the most compelling, she knows how much beauty, style, and elegance, mean here above all else. ❥ she closes with a bow and a sort of reverence on her face as she looks back at her handiwork, simply saying: "A butterfly."

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

[TW: violence towards animals, animal sacrifice, and animal death]


Vali Forrester.

Their voices bleed; the trail of blood before her is nothing more than an echo of the past. The weavers of fate having weaved the same path before her where her siblings of before had passed. A tug from the gods; a distant shriek of laughter, happiness, and the fulfillment of bodies. She steps once, twice, thrice. Bare foot to bare foot; a gentle step into the oblivion she'd seen for herself all those weeks ago. Blood soaked skin would follow this; another tale of how she follows at a different pace than her siblings of the same name.

Only, she's not the same. Forrester in name, ichor in her veins; she's above the past, but she never forgets where she stands. Alone; a never-ending task before her. Humans are born to freeze; teeth chattering where the skin goes red with all the rushing of flesh and blood. It's why she steps into the place; feet cold against the solid ground where names are called into the unknown. Humans standing above them as if they are gods themselves; perhaps they would think so, but she knew of the gods, old and new. None of them could stand to the test of time; the capitolites are nothing more than false prophets covered in gems and jewels. They do not understand the natural, the weave of fate, nor the blessings of the allfather himself.

Approval is what they want her to fight for; as she stands before them in the outfit they've provided. Set into the stone to make each of them feel bare, alone, and scared; a platform above them to stand taller than each individual who comes in. Vali can feel the crumbling of the past; the souls who'd gone through the same performance. The training center this year carried none of the weight of the past year; there's no souls beneath the ground she stands upon. The newest amenities for all of them to experience. She stands alone here; eyes pointed up to the platform for just a second. No announcement from her lips; instead Vali sets to the only thing she believed was left for the new home of wayward souls. Everything is about setting a precedent, a place of sacrifice made for the gods themselves without even realizing.

She would set them on this path.

Gentle, ever so soft like a drifting snowflake, she steps bare foot towards the table of plants. A concoction of different plants typically used on arrow tips; she had done this time and time again. A generous process of grinding plants into a paste; simple enough to coat on the edge of a blade. A soft blank expression as he hands grind this plant in seconds to a simple enough liquid; it's a process, but she's quick about it. Not wanting to linger on this step. Only one way to guide these heretics to a new following; a simple enough demonstration. No longer in the ease of the natural world; she stands for a moment with the liquid in a small bowl. If she's going to do this; she had to do this ritual the way it's intended.

Soft, pale skin glittering as she shrugs off the shirt; pants dropped into the center of the table. Stripped bare, her heart shown before the gamemakers. Cold. She was born during the cold; left to freeze like her siblings. Strength built from her longevity. Ichor burns in her veins; the god's blessing beneath her skin. Alone, she's always been above everyone else. Sacrifices were the part of the Forrester's belief, but Vali had always done things her own way. Bare a soul to the world, give a gift to the old gods. Left in nothing but the skin she'd been born to, she grabs a knife with a serrated edge. A gentle dipping into the concoction; dripping with poison, Vali's eyes widen in excitement as she gently moves over to a panel. Having asked what creatures lay beneath these walls; she can hear their hearts pounding.

A simple spattering of gentle taps; a door opens. The howl echoes across the room; a gentle touch as if Fenrir himself were there. Bright eyes, dark fur, and dangerous teeth linger in her vision. A child of Fenrir; she can tell by the snarl of it's teeth. It's a moment of tension; the lingering chill of mortality in her veins. Like the solidity of ice, she stands coldly in front of this wolf-like beast. No voice to claim battle, but she'd always seen danger in her work. The clash of teeth against her arm, the opposite one of the knife if her right, she can feel the ichor draining from her veins, but blood never quite bothers her. The searing fire of it is enough to set her ablaze. Arm defensively raised to protect, she drags the other into fur. A gentle touch like a snowflake onto the branch of an evergreen. The silver tugs against flesh where blood seeps into metal. Liquid draining into blood; she smiles as the wolf tugs at her flesh. It's painful, but nothing more than a ripping of flesh. Vali Forrester's been bitten one too many times already; a wolf's teeth only mean she's being blessed with another mark of one of Fenrir's own.

It's quicker than she expects; the ferocity of the wolf doesn't dim, but the muscles tense. The body gives as she yanks her bleeding arm out; punctures in the skin, not enough to cause too much damage. Her eyes glitter against the fur; she rips the knife forward to rip into the wolf once, twice, thrice. Still breathing, she's watching every breath of it's chest. Her voice comes out carefully; almost a breathless thing in the air. "Oh Týr, I provide another in your name." The wolf stuck in perpetual paralysis for enough time, she rolls the beast back onto it's back. Exposing the weak points of the beast; she drags the knife down. Ripping the chest open. A still beating heart exposed as the cries of the wolf echo in the room. Vali stays moving with authority as she pulls the exposed wounds of this beast forward to show the still beating heart to the people above on their false heresy.

"Under the visions of gods, old and new, I ask for nothing more than the simplest of blessings unto this place and the game we all will play."

Bare hand to heart, she rips with a force she's always carried until it's blood soaks her skin red. Her hair, face, and body covered in the life force of the beast before her. Holding the heart up to the sky, she echoes once more. "May Mother Nature, the All Father, and the Warrior of Heroic Endeavour bring forth a path to Valhǫll. Let these children of the gods be apart of your own." The crushing of blood and flesh, she feels the red coat her arms, her legs, her body, and everything else. A smile upon her lips as her hands begin to draw out the symbols of old.

"Your games of past, now, and future will be blessed by the gods themselves; I give thee the only blessing I could give on a day like this."

Standing up, she smiles arms splayed out for them all to see.

If they wanted to see a goddess' finale blessing, here it was.

Left beneath the ground; there would be enough sacrifices to reach immortality once again.

No one needed to know her destiny other than herself.

Even these heretics couldn't divine her fate; only the Weavers of Fate would.

[august vance d7b [Bella]]

ooc: ahh lmao don't judge me!

scene: the training center. evening. XOV THAO enters upstage right, wearing a skin-tight training jumpsuit marked DISTRICT 12. she walks upright towards center stage, as if she is thinking about her posture with every step.

XOV:
(craning her neck to look at the mezzanine)
Hello. I know you have all been here for quite a while. I will try to keep my demonstration brief in the hopes that you will look kindly on my consideration.

(Beat.)

In District Twelve, my mother was training me in her apothecary work. Since I’ve been old enough to talk, I’ve been learning the names and uses of plants. I believe my confidence in my knowledge of plants is what will set me apart from the other tributes in the arena. As you probably know, plants can provide food, shelter, medicine, poison, and antidote.

Xov rolls a portable cart to the center. Then she retrieves from upstage left: a mortar and pestle, two handfuls of green plants, two bowls, a knife, and a carafe of hot water.

XOV: (clearing her throat)
I have here two plants: one is water hemlock, poisonous enough to be deadly—and the other, harmless cow parsley. As you can see, they look identical to the naked eye.

(Xov holds the two bundles over her head for the audience to see. They do look identical.)

Now I am going to mix the bundles into one pile, so that the plants are lost among each other.

(she mixes the piles, then holds up the bundle of green for the audience to see. it all looks like the same plant.)

And now I will pluck the leaves off of the stems and re-sort them into separate bowls. I’ll make a tea from the bowl that I know to contain only cow parsley, and then I’ll drink it. You’ll see in less than 10 minutes if I start to die.

(there is a soft snipping noise as Xov picks apart the piles with intense concentration.
a close observer might see sweat appear on her forehead.
when all of the leaves are sorted, she wipes her hands on a towel.
she pours hot water into one of the bowls.)

XOV: Water hemlock can cause respiratory failure only a few hours after ingestion. But within just ten minutes, it can cause nausea, vomiting, and seizure. If I’ve done this correctly, though--which I’m confident that I have--there should be no problem.

(there is a three-minute pause while the tea steeps. meanwhile, Xov returns to upstage left to retrieve a bundle of reeds and a spool of string. then she raises the bowl of possibly-poisonous tea in a toast to the audience before bringing it to her lips and drinking deeply. a look of disgust passes over her face, but it is gone a second later.)

XOV: (wiping her mouth on her sleeve) While we wait to see if I die, I will show you how I make one of the traditional reed mats of my people. We make them out of water plants, but these can be made out of any flexible material and used for shelter, bedding, rudimentary clothing, and fences.

(the stage is eerily quiet as she lays the reeds down one-by-one on the ground. a cough is heard from the audience. she takes the spool of string and knots it around the first reed. her hands shake slightly as she weaves the string between each subsequent reed and ties a knot, over and over. she makes three rows of knots, one on each end of the mat and one in the middle. by the end, the mat is about 4 ft long and 2 ft wide. she holds it up for the audience to see, tilting her head to one side.)

This one is a little rushed. When made carefully, they are durable and quite useful.

(she glances at the clock.)

Well, as you can see, I’m still alive. Point is: I know plants—which ones are good to eat and which are not, which an be medicine and which can be made into useful objects. I think I have a chance in your Games.

XOV exits upstage right. FADE TO BLACK.

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

tw: (avian) animal death 

👹

(I am become a bullet)

A dozen white winged doves is what he requested for his showcase. A dozen white winged doves, and two guns.

His trainer, a sizable woman by the name of Meredith that had a grey streak through her hair, made many attempts of talking him out of the idea, implying through undertones that it was a rebellious move. That was how Gunner knew it was the right one, the daring one. After all, his entire existence had been nothing but a bad triple dog dare.

When did a dove come to symbolize peace?

It was a question he gave little fucks about.

Yet, as he entered the empty center with swagger, wearing a sleeveless vest showcasing the black-inked tattoo spider lily blooms down his back, he pondered the question. The only other items of interest on him were the guns holstered on his belt, twin flintlocks he had been using the past week as practice or rather, a way to pass the time. Their pearly handles glinted silver under the skylights.

Gunner stepped forth into a ring they had rigged and looked up at the Gamemakers. Three wicked gods on their pedestals, there to cast their divine judgement. Or perhaps, more aptly, three lords hell who judged to see if he was worthy enough to carry out their want for bloodshed. His heartbeat had become ragged, animalistic. He sucked in a fortifying breath, then kept it hostage within his chest as avoxes dragged two cages up to flank the gallows.

Through the metal bars, the doves were a flurry of beautiful snow, cooing their secret songs back and forth.

“Fourteen of these birds has a noose tied around their neck,” Gunner said by means of explanation. Then, with a shrapnel grin and eyes that shimmered a gunmetal grey, he declared: 

“I’m going to shoot down all fourteen.”

What was the process of selection? Nothing special. But that had always been how this world worked. Your fate get tossed in the air and decided on what side it lands, whether it be riches or poor, health or sickness, life or death. And he chose fourteen because it was deemed an unlucky number. Certain death, it meant in the silky tongue of his people. At least that much was true for this.

As they prepared to open the cages, he tried to tune out the staccato beat of his heart even as it tapped, tapped, tapped at the base of his navel. The heartbeat mingled with the wingbeats, the wingbeats pleaded at the heartbeat, and then it was it.

An explosion of feathers as the doves burst from their cages, cycloning up and around him, an ivory maelstrom. He smelt the air musky with their bodies, living bodies, so intent on flying away and being safe, being sound, being –

Bang. The first shot pierced the air.

He had spotted the bird by the skylight, narrowly missing the fluorescents as the bullet tore its wing. It squawked and crashed onto the floor in a mass of gore.

He smelt gunsmoke. It was awakening, transforming, making him remember what he was before he got on the train, the long nights spent with the Longbarrels, the feel of a handle in his grasp, the arid scent of gunpowder.

Bang, bang. Another two splattered on a nearby wall.
Bang, bang. Another two falling onto the ceiling beams.

His hands moved fluidly across the sharp air in perfect synchronization with his eyes. This is what you are good at, a man once told a young orphan who clutched a teddy toy and wore rags. He’d only learnt how to shoot marbles and wasn’t that good at it really, but the man said he was, so he believed him. Tears stung at Gunner’s eyes, pricking his sight, yet he willed them away as he searched the storm of feathers before him once more.

Bang, bang. Two more in the hearts.

He charged forth after the nest that now gathered at a corner, desperately looking for the little black bands to shoot. His heart drummed. Calm down, you fucker. Calm the fuck down. Calm the fuck – there. The bullet followed the sighting, consigned a dove away to death’s door. He ached for it, grieved for it, and yet he couldn’t stop. Because you can fuck destiny, fuck fate, fuck circumstance and fuck hierarches and fuck generational wealth, but the bullets and power win in the end.

Fuck luck, it was all about who was ruthless enough to come up on top. He pushed through the storm of feathers. Bang, bang, bang. Three more fell, their white feathers stained scarlet, a floor a splattering of ivory and red.

Now the final three.

He moved again as the doves now squawked and  squealed at him, some pecking his hair, some at his bare skin, but Gunner only pushed them off as he looked desperately for his targets. He spotted them soon, their collars shiny. Yet something made him stay his hand. Gunner looked and with a keen eye, saw that they were behind a shimmering layer of something that rippled before the gamemakers. Forcefield. He’d seen it during the past few days.

He held his first gun up and shot one of the final three doves hard. The momentum of the bullet carried it through the air, until it smashed with a boom against the forcefield, a few feet away from Gamemaker Ivan’s face. Then he shot the second last one, this bird exploding into a bloody mess down in front of Maryn Hale’s black hair, crowning it almost. The one – it turned to flee, he watched, but his bullet was faster. It pinned the dove to the forcefield, cooked it alive with a burst of electricity, leaving smoke near where Hades sat.

The gunsmoke was almost a physical thing in the air by then, clogging. And he, Gunner Azarova, stood there still like the barrel of a gun with peck wounds and innocent blood, feathers abound over his inked shoulders.

Here, peace died—all by his hand.

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

🌱

“hey, what’s up.”

they’re all up there.

Maryn, gorgeous. Hades, getting a lil old, but he’s still got it. Ivan. well, you know. he’s funny, i guess.

not sure what i’m supposed to do during one of these. if you’ve got a grave to dig up, then i’m your girl. if you want me to house-sit and water your plants, i’m your girl too. duality of the female experience, or something.

the iced coffee’s melting in my hand. i sip through the straw and the ice rattles.

it’s a little funny, actually. think one of the greatest fears of the country is getting reaped. saw that in some District Six think tank poll on mental health.

but statistically, the odds are so small. what’ll end up killing you will be probably something totally mundane. like bureaucracy. like denied insurance. like malpractice at the hospital. like chemical runoff in drinking water.

you see enough death, and tragedy gets boring. it happens all the time.

but then, i actually did get reaped. so what do i know.

“hope you’re all doing good. Maryn, i love you, by the way. you can call me dog anytime.”

yea, had to watch her speech for school. a dog has the right to know that it is, in fact, a dog.

turned to Sera and said okay, why she kinda though, and girl looked at me like i was crazy.

i stand by it.

shoot my shot, i guess. if it exists, she’ll probably be in hell at some point.

“well, i guess i think you guys should just give me a twelve? i don’t know. i think it would be funny. like, for the comedy of it all. like, for the plot.”

i drink my coffee. fuck, i’m tired.

“people will be like oh shit, she must be insane! and i’ll be like yea. yea, killed eight trainers, babe. you know what? ate a fucking trainer, actually. raw. uncooked. unprompted. catch me in the arena. eight/seven central. girl on girl cannibalism, or whatever. female gaze though. Maryn, don't let me down with that.”

i’d rather not. have to actually do that.

heave in a breath, shrug my shoulders. the room’s silent for a moment.

“cool. good talk.”

M A R Y N H A L E

Humor is often lost on Maryn Hale. She doesn't care for talkers, and she hates when tributes try to skirt around their inevitable demise by acting as if they're above the dread. She wants to see fear, anxiety, realization. When Isolde enters with a relaxed demeanor and an iced coffee clutched in her hand, Maryn instantly quirks an eyebrow in interest. It's as if someone forgot to tell the girl that she's about to be thrown into a death pageant.

Maryn waits to see if the drink in her hand is actually a secret container filled with acid, ready to be thrown into a trainer's face, or if she's simply going to chug the coffee to super charge herself to give an incredible performance. All she does is stand there, talking to the Gamemakers casually as if she has the right to, like they're old friends meeting up. Maryn has the thought to press a button and request someone to show up unprompted, to start throwing punches at the lazy brat, and then- ah.

Flattery. It'll get you everywhere.

"Maryn, I love you, by the way. You can call me a dog anytime." She smiles instantly down at the girl, a goddess receiving her wilted flowers. If Isolde wants to hold her cards close to her chest, hiding what she's capable of, it's in her best interest that she's at least shown some semblance of good taste. An ability to recognize her superiors for what they are. She playfully requests a 12, stating that she'll use it to her advantage, that she'll hype it up and put her competitors on edge. This intrigues Maryn, but she's mainly focused on the worship the girl offers.

There's an instinct to sink her claws into this one, to use her influence and power to warp Isolde into a secret weapon. She writes down a 12 on the page, all too willing to play along if the girl truly thinks she can back up the risk and reward that comes with such an impressive score. At best, she becomes a tool worthy to be in Maryn's arsenal, and at worst she'll die a humiliating, fun to watch death when the other tributes jump her. Maryn sees this as a win-win situation. But the boys are quick to disagree, causing her to sigh.

"I think a 1 would be funnier, for the comedy of it all," Ivan proposes.

"I don't think it's funny at all, Ivan. But I agree that a 1 seems suitable," Hades concludes.

Maryn erases the 2 from the 12 she's written down, willing to bend to the majority vote of a 1. "Where's the female solidarity, boys?" she teases them, her eyes cutting into them like a frozen blade. "If she wants to play pretend being a prime target, I would have loved to watch her deal with the consequences. That, and her taste is impeccable."