{push / shove} ;; north

[aya]

And I recall
The push more than the fall

Owen Rook —

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Back in District Seven, Owen Rook was an entirely different person than he was in the Capitol. He wasn't entirely sure if it was suddenly being in a room filled with weapons or if he was merely reacting to the ever-present feeling of his impending demise pressing down upon him, but years of pent-up aggression that the mild-mannered family boy didn't even realize he had seemed to be the only thing that Owen was capable of exhibiting. At first, it was nothing. On the train, he'd fumed silently, cursing himself, cursing Alexander who'd made the same journey before him, for her errors in the arena, for the family standard that she'd set. Cursing the fact that he'd be expected to measure up, that he'd be required to uphold the clan name, that the entire time, the Capitol — and, worse, District 7 — would be comparing him to the killer of three that had abandoned all notions of her previous life to traipse across that frozen tundra with the boy who would become victor.

Worse, he'd willingly accepted the grudges, the prejudices, the rage and hatred that hailed from Alexander's lifetime. It wasn't fair for him to hate this year's boy from District Three, but the loathing was inherent, unshakable. After all, it was that year's boy who'd snuffed out his sister — betrayed her, really — and Owen Rook was not lucky enough to be Viridian Harper, to be thrown into the 63rd wildlife deathtrap with someone who shared murderous blood, and thus had settled for the much more dubious district relation. It was enough for Owen, enough to make him despise Ezra Argrow before he'd even locked eyes with him, before they'd exchanged a word.

It was enough to compel the seventeen-year-old, who was growing more impulsive, more rash by the day, to sneer at him as he sauntered towards him in training, and, beyond that, to summon a massive gob of spit and launch it at the other boy's face.


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[School is the bane of my life]

Im standing in Brooklyn just waiting for something to happen

I can't help but love thinking that everyone doesn't get it
To my left there's a window, where did I go?
My reflection just blends to rows of clothes
And bad ideas, ideas nonetheless, in a song[/center][/color][/size]

My ride here was comfortable to say the most. I still felt like a alien on a different planet when I stepped onto the train but I had all I wanted; every luxury that I could never afford. Truffles, Hot chocolate, roasted ducks, oranges and much more that I stuffed myself with three times a day. Every night I spent my time lounging around in the main cabin car, flicking between channels. I admired the most recent gadgets advertised for a hefty price, but in the spirit of the game I got caught up in tv recaps,polls,interviews,reapings and more. It was easy to get drawn into each of the shows and before I knew it I found myself watching the best death recaps of the Hunger Games (I hope that my death will never be shown on that show)

When I arrived in the capitol, the rich food had finally caught up to me and I felt sick. For the rest of the day I stayed quiet and silently went through the torture of the tribute parade. With the ideal chit chat here and there. That night I slept, shifting around in the unfamiliar bed. In the morning I was thrown into the training center even though I teetered on the edge of sick and healthy. My resistance to bile shone through and I managed to keep the vomit down in my stomach, managing to make my way down and take a spot in the edible plants station. My mind easily memorized them all in half the time it took the others and then it was time to switch. Steadily, I got up, focusing on not making eye connect with any soul. That was my downfall, I never noticed the lob of spit hurling towards my face. It hit with a wet smack, the gob already started to slide down my face within moments of its arrival. My blush painted red streaks down my cheek, pushing the embarrassed rage boiling down in me. I scanned the room like a hawk on the hunt. And then there he was, just standing there, I stared him down with the courage I could muster up and forced myself to speak through my trembling lips.

“You.. who are you? What did I do to you?”

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ooc: Opps, sorry. Computer deleted my other one and made this one up quickly so you would not have to wait^^

[aya]

And I recall
The push more than the fall

Owen Rook —

[/i][/color]

More than anything, it was the way that the District Three boy trembled that brought the cruel smile to Owen's face. His target's face flushed pink, blushing like a schoolgirl with a crush, adding another layer of weakness to his demeanor. "You... who are you? What did I do to you?" Ezra Argrow's speech mirrored the shakiness that Owen had picked up on, which only bolstered the District Seven's cocky resolve, only amplified his cruel smirk. The first question was easy enough to answer. "Owen Rook. District Seven." He pondered the second part to the boy's stunned reaction. What had the befuddled boy who stood in front of Owen actually done to him?

The short, simple answer was nothing. Ezra Argrow hadn't done a thing. His crime was hailing from the same district as the treacherous Sawyer Monaghan. The two boys were entirely unrelated, as far as the brash Hood-clan boy could tell, save for that similarity. For Owen, however, that was enough. His smirk twisted into a snarl. "Your district betrayed my brother," he hissed, drawing his face into Ezra's — so close he could see the small chunks of his breakfast in the spit that ran from the boy's face — as menacingly as possible. "You get to pay for that. Watch your back, Argrow."


ooc — sorry it's late, my computer's been in the shop.[/size][/blockquote][/justify]

[School is the bane of my life]

Im standing in Brooklyn just waiting for something to happen

I can't help but love thinking that everyone doesn't get it
To my left there's a window, where did I go?
My reflection just blends to rows of clothes
And bad ideas, ideas nonetheless, in a song[/center][/color][/size]

“Owen Rook, district seven,” Owen answered back with a cheshire grin. His words sparked an image in, the hours of watching the recaps on TV came back. Screams, death, torture but alongside the yells was a boy from District 7. Staying beside his alliance, a strong fighter in the bloodbath. Alexander Hood. There was another of him? A knot grew in my stomach, the streaks of my blush burned harder. Sawyer had killed Alexander and he wanted revenge against District 3.

The target has already drawn itself on my back, it was the first day but I still had one boy wanting to kill me. My spot in standing was less than preferable, he was bigger than me, stronger than me and he wanted to kill me. Was there a way out of the hole I never dug? “I’m sorry about your brother,” I whispered back, trying to inch my way into his good side,“I really am, but I don't want bad blood to linger with us.”

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graphic credits to Zoe!