blood in the water [safina x circe]

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

[googlefont="Cinzel Decorative"]

Safina Roy

blood in the water - I

Learn how to be a killer.

As I gazed around at the various stations, filled with state-of-the-art weapons and tools that look as though they've never felt human touch before, I repeated the goal she had set for herself. I only have a matter of days left before I'll be thrown to the unknown along with the other bodies pacing around the room, sizing up the stations and each other, all with the same goal.

Be the one who survives. Which means the rest have to die.

If I want that to be me, I need to learn how to kill.

Looking around at all of the other tributes steering themselves towards the same goal, I realize just how monumental this task will be. I can see the tributes who have clearly dedicated their lives towards this very moment, the strength rippling down their muscles as they warm up with their favourite weapons. The ones who already know how to kill and just need to warm up. Some of them are already eyeing the rest of us like wolves circling a particularly large deer.

It's no easier to look at the others too; the younger tributes who remind me of the younger siblings I've left behind, who haven't lived lives long enough for this. The guilt I feel when I think about what my own survival means for them is overwhelming. There are some who look lost as they walk around, unsure of what they should be doing, or perhaps still in shock from being here in the first place. Then there are some who just seem so… normal. If I really push myself to forget about where we are, I could see myself wanting to be friends with some, getting to really know others. It would be so much easier if they were more cruel or evil or… or… something! What crime have they committed against me other than having the misfortune of being here?

I'm not thinking with the mind of a killer though. I'm thinking with the mind of the girl back in District 3, in her comfortable home, who had the fortune not to have to think about others being against her or having to fight for the things she needed. I'm thinking like the deer busy grazing in a nice patch of grass, too wrapped up in the warm feeling from a way of sunlight to ever notice the sets of eyes that have me surrounded.

Learn how to be a killer.

I need to leave that girl behind. She is too naïve, too trusting, to be able to take on the monumental task of staying alive in these Games. If I want to stand a chance I can't look for the features of my family in the faces of my enemies. A wolf doesn't stop to think of the beauty of the deer shining under the sunlight peeking through the forest canopy. I have spent so much time shaping one thing so that it can become something entirely different, with a new purpose, a new use, a new life. I can do the same for myself.

I take a breath and close my eyes, centering myself. Just as I settle in on where I need to begin, a voice from behind jolts my eyes open, and I turn to find that I hadn't noticed the eyes of the wolves starting to circle me.

[WC: 569]

[d11a tsiuri dermott ☕ minie]

[TW: Mentions of physical and psychological abuse]

Circe held the gun straight out in front of her, arms locked out with a steady breath following the pace of a heart beating a mellow rhythm. The weapon an extension of who she was, trigger friendly in the face of an enemy.

As she closed her eyes, allowing her mind building an array of those who had wronged her, their faces merging with the target in front of her.

A memory replayed: her arms tied behind her back, rope digging into her skin causing red burns to appear. Small fingers reaching out behind her body, searching for the hands of the one person in the house she had learned to trust. Unable to reach, she gave up…whatever hope had been built between the two of them had shattered in that moment as Circe became numb. Not even the cold waves crashing against her body was able to shake the overwhelming feeling of nothing as water began to fill her lungs filling them with resentment. The oldest of the family may have regretted his decision but Circe would never know if he felt any pain.

Her father, Nicky, Blyth, Cade, Rafferty, Darcy, Hudson, Lottie, her mother -the faces of her family….the ones she hated the most. Always feeling other, the child of one of her father’s worst mistakes. The daughter of a woman so damaged she would never know the meaning of love. Circe was the worst of them both but blamed everyone else for her misfortune. Her siblings, the very ones she had thrown under the bus countless times on her search for approval, her misery was their fault. Circe knew she would never have the advantage they had; she would always be other.

One more name on her list – Era.

The older brother who had tied her only for their father to drown her until unconsciousness. His face burning in fury behind her shut eyes destroying the last light of humanity. If she could not be the prefect person, then Circe could become the perfect killer. The face of the eldest Murdock solidified as she opened her eyes with a distorted image of her family.

Bang.

She fired the gun hitting the target close to the heart.

It was not unusual for the past to catch up with the young girl from four. It was those moments when flashbacks preyed on her mind, she would lose control of her thoughts. Certain everyone was out to get her, questioning the intentions of the good-willed and falling victim to her abusers, mistaking their cruelty for caring. At the end of the day, the haunting paranoia was what would make Circe the most dangerous.

Her emotions unidentifiable in her body language, she had built up walls only two had managed to break through. Stuck in her paralyzing moment as she truly thought the world would revolve around her, a silhouette of a girl had ripped her out of thought. Unaware that Circe had been unintentionally staring at her, she held out the weapon for her to take. Better for her to think Circe was judging her, than to let someone from three catch her in fluke (again).

“Go on, take it” she demanded with a coy smile on her lips grabbing the situation by the collar. As if the nothing had happened, the cold arrogance returned to her eyes. “Show me what you can do.”

Circe was not asking a question.

Would the girl fold under the pressure of having a career breathing down her neck? Circe needed to know if she could get under her skin before she would have to kill her.

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

[googlefont="Cinzel Decorative"]

Safina Roy

blood in the water - II

My eyes travel from the icy smile painted on the girl from Four's face to the gun she's extending towards me. I pause as my mind rapidly works on the course of action to take. There's an air of coldness to the interaction, a hostility hanging in the offer to take the gun. It's clear this Career has no intention of making an ally out of me. So why extend the gun? Why care at all about whether or not I can use it?

A test.

The answer pops into my mind without warning. The girl is testing me to see whether or not I'm worth giving a thought to. Am I a threat or am I cannon fodder, waiting patiently for a quick death at the sound of the gong? Will I be an opponent of substance or will I sign myself off for a meaningless slaughter? Does she have any reason to learn my name?

My pride takes hold and I grab the gun. The moment of hesitation was already longer than I liked. I'll show her what I'm capable of, I'm thinking to myself as I let my hands get a sense of the weight of the gun. I've never held one before, though. How impressive could I really be with it?

Then another thought hits me: why do I care to impress this girl? What does it matter to me if she sees me excel or fail? I have my doubts a successful hit would lead to any sort of allegiance. Even if it did, staring into those piercing eyes gives me the sense it wouldn't be any alliance I could trust. No, I think I'm marked for death no matter what I can do here. I pause. Perhaps there's more to this test than just my level of threat; there's other ways to be dangerous than just whether or not I can shoot a gun.

Control. As soon as I think the word I know that's it. I meet her eyes again, keeping mine unblinking and neutral, as I consider this. She's trying to see how much control she could have over me. If I cower under her eye, she knows she can control me by my fear. If I take aim with the gun, she knows she can control me with her words. She's trying to cage her lamb before she takes it to the slaughterhouse, and I feel the walls sliding in place around me. I'm already failing her test.

Unless I refuse to play her game.

Without breaking eye contact, I point the gun straight up into the air and pull the trigger. The bullet wedges itself into the concrete above, tiny crumbs of it showering over the pair of us. Recoil stung a little bit, but nothing that won't wear off within the hour. I don't look at anything else but the eyes of the girl in front of me. Later tonight I will make the effort to learn her name.

"Oops," I say with a tone that indicates there was no mistake made, "I guess I'm not much of a shooter. Thanks for letting me try though." I extend the gun back out to her. She's not the only one who can play games.

[WC: 544]