ghost in the machine | hal & lucky

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

For the second time since he stepped foot into the sword-fighting station, Lucky's sword was chipped! The first time was a coincidence, years of using the same weaponry can provide some wear and tear. But two? Lucky was two nickels richer but no closer to forming a smile on his face. A perfect sword glides through the air with precision and grace. His selections were uneven, like an old vinyl record or a sheet of pure metal—obnoxious inconvenience. Lucky tossed yet another shortsword to the wayside. Putting them back up on the shelf would provide an upkeep they did not deserve.

He bent down to the bottom shelf, thumbing through the selection. Lucky turned the blades to their thin side, estimating their straightness in comparison to the horrible swords he picked earlier. Hell, could he even call them swords in the condition they were in? Scythes, more like. Once the sword passed that part of his test, Lucky ran his hand through the long sides to test their smoothness. Any chips in the metal or wavy textures were automatically skipped. By the end of the line, he marked one quality weapon. Lucky settled, rising with an ounce of satisfaction.

Did the boy from Seven take the only good sword in the entire station? Lucky scoffed, making a mental note to chastise the trainer for their poor stock as he moved to the station next to the boy. Hal. He looked as if he could give a really, really nice hug. Xylia and Rita gave okay ones, but Hal had a coziness to him that Lucky's ladies did not. Lucky denied himself any warmth or affection for years now, despite hoping someone would spring it upon him.

The only part of Hal that kept Lucky from smiling was the way he held his weapon. Wrist placement, all wrong. His hips? Horrendous. With a sword that looked to be in pristine condition, too. Within a few minutes of resisting the urge to comment, his well of patience dried up. "You are going to cramp up if you learn to hold a weapon like that, you know. Really inconvenient, given your current position."

[Knuckles]

The weight of the world is incredibly heavy, yet Hal walks around holding his head as high as possible. It's tough being here away from home, but he knows it's important to train. It seems so easy, so unpredictable. Learning to fight, to hold a sword, to try to do everything right. Not that it'll matter in the end. Even now as he makes his way from one station to another, he finds himself alone. All that matters in this moment is the lessons the trainer teachers, but maybe they won't even help. Listening intently, Hal takes everything to heart as his shaky hands wrap around the sword. It feels so awkward, so uncomfortable, yet it brings a sense of relief. This sword can offer protection, a chance to escape, a chance to fight back in the face of danger, but he hasn't properly mastered it yet.

He tries to mimic the way the trainer showed him, and he tries to grasp it firmly in his hands, but it doesn't work, and instead he's stumbling around looking like some kind of fool. District seven isn't about swords and weaponry, yet he knows how to hold an axe. Here, it's about learning to control things that aren't familiar and are out of his comfort zone.

It doesn't help that people are watching.

Maybe they see that I am a failure.

It doesn't matter, though, because right now, the only thing Hal cares about is pretending the world around him is okay, but it all is far from okay. And right as he's about to give up, the trainer shows him once more how he's supposed to stand and the proper way to grip it. Yet the words go in one ear and out the other as someone else starts chiming in.

"You are going to cramp up if you learn to hold a weapon like that, you know. Really inconvenient, given your current position."

Oh. Yeah.

Mistake after mistake. Failing to understand, Hal looks and tries to understand what's going on. It's a joke. All of this is, and the weight of the world feels so heavy making it harder to breathe. Lucky has it easy, he's from district four, they're bound to know this already, right? Not that it even matters anymore.

Perhaps I should lay down and die.

Shaking his head, his eyes shift between the trainer's and Lucky's before locking on the ground.

Can't he see I want to be left alone?

No matter.

"What do you mean my current position?"

He's never been one to hold a conversation, but Hal knows it's rude to not respond. Deep down, he hopes Lucky will go away, yet he won't push even if he becomes uncomfortable.

Credit to Pogue <3

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

Hal's mannerisms told Lucky the boy from Seven was helpless with a sword. His eyes couldn't keep a gaze for more than a couple of seconds at a time. The trainer looked toward Lucky and shook their head. "What?" he mouthed, careful not to disrupt Hal's sulking. If anything, he was doing the kid a favor that harmed Lucky more than anyone else. The trainers were in the Training Center to instruct on technique, and this one was failing.

"What do you mean, my current position?"

Lucky mimicked Hal's stance with his sword. Now, Lucky preferred axes and spears to swords or knives, but there was no guarantee that either would be available to him in the arena, so he mastered both as best he could. They differed significantly from an axe, something a boy from Seven should be well accustomed to. Blade weapons required finesse along with good technique. That finesse would come from making his body as adjustable as possible. Lucky held the sword in front of him, rotating his hips horizontally and swinging the sword. The handle was much shorter than that of an axe, which made retraining one's muscles depending on the weapon an incredibly necessary skill.

"Your current position: in the arena, someone like me is running at you with a spike in my hand. You already look tense, but just imagine you start to swing and get a piercing pain in your wrist or your back!" Lucky played the part of Hal in this situation, dropping the sword from his left hand as his right clutched to the wrist. "I would walk up and stab you in the heart before you could say 'uncle'! And that would totally suck for you." Lucky minced no words to the point that the trainer raised a brow. He didn't intend for it to come across as threatening as it seemed to.

"Here." Lucky moved behind Hal, ready to give him a physical demonstration. Unlike the trainers around here, who probably thought the tributes carried the district rabies into the Capitol, Lucky didn't mind offering a hands-on crash course. His hand hovered underneath Hal's elbow. "May I?"

[Knuckles]

"Your current position: in the arena, someone like me is running at you with a spike in my hand. You already look tense, but just imagine you start to swing and get a piercing pain in your wrist or your back!"

It hadn't even dawned on him that he was doing something wrong, something that would get him killed, yet it's part of not being prepared, and in this moment, all Hal wants is to run away in shame. Being good enough, learning to fight, it's all so foreign, and it is so difficult to push aside the feelings of being a failure. Everyone has a chance, yet some people are far more likely to keep themselves alive - but can I?

It ruins his entire mood, and Hal can't help but shrink away. He's never been good at anything, why would anyone want to push that into his face and remind him? Why would anyone want to show that he's nothing but a piece of meat waiting for slaughter?

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense."

But it's hard to focus on anything else, and feeling defeated before the games truly begin is something he's unfamiliar with, and he wants nothing more than to run away and hide and never show his face again.

"And it would totally suck for me as I wouldn't even stand a chance."

Before anything else, it feels as though he's offering to help, and Hal would be an idiot to turn down some help. Perhaps it will give him more of a fighting chance in the arena when people are trying to actually kill him.

Yet it all crashes down.

I don't need help.

It's what he wants to say, yet his mind is racing, and why is it so hard to accept that he isn't perfect?

"Yes. You may."

And then he closes his eyes for just a moment trying to take everything in. It doesn't seem like much, but maybe this is a chance to learn, and maybe it's a chance to succeed.

Credit to Pogue <3