Maybe it's just me, or do I intimidate you? [Lei]

[Meghan]

- Adrianna Devlin; District Four -

- BIOGRAPHY -
- PLOT WITH ME -

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Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

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The cruelty of the two-toned, blue fluorescent lights is unforgiving to the pale spheres of my eyes as I march into the training center on the chilled morning of the sixth day of the sixty-second hunger games. I blink back the shock of the sudden exposure to the artificial rays and let the obedient muscles in my face fold back into a sinister leer of welcome. I’m home at last, my feet glide across the concrete floors to the haven of my upbringing. On the wall farthest away from the brightly lit entrance is a large display of metallic weapons, and I find myself drawn to the jagged contortions of the sharpest knives. They whisper to me in a song of lust, their silver bodies standing proudly upright, just waiting to dawn a cloak of red. I am the big bad wolf and they are little red riding hood. We embrace with joy as I coo the sharpest into my outstretched fingers. You’re a good little girl, you greet grandma like an old friend.

The color of today appears to be the stark opposite of my pale companion. The trainers have set up gray blue figurines in a haphazard display on the practice field. I take my stance and pick a girlish figure in the middle of my arena as my target, my lips pulling up in its usual wild sneer. I’m about to pull back my shoulder to throw when I spot him. A boy who stands a whole head taller than me, situated right in the path of my blade, unaware of my presence or of the danger of his location. I toy with the idea of embedding the razor-sharp tip of my weapon in the back of his neck, but change my mind, aware that killing him would likely get me arrested, defeating my chances of going into the games. Instead, I let out a long and obnoxious huff and jog over to him. I tuck my weapon safely up my sleeve and use the freedom of my empty hands to my advantage by grabbing his shirt and pushing him in an attempt to knock him over.

”Move, loser! You’re in my way!” You don’t mess with Adrianna Devlin’s morning ritual and get away with it, that much I am certain of.

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Word Count: 384
Sorry that it's so short, I don't have much time this morning!

[Lei]

Look, listen to my voice
If you're making the choice
Tell me all the girls and the boys
Either scream or rejoice
Let's make that noise

Actions speak louder than words, or so I’ve been told. I guess that’s a good thing, since words have never come quite as easy to me as simple body language has. A sharp glare does more than any “stay away” ever could, (though I do admit that a simple “fuck you” hurts a lot less than the usual swing of my fist and the white-hot flash of pain that comes with it as it collides with the underside of some poor sap’s jaw.) But some things just can’t be said with an eloquent turn of speech, and sometimes words are just harder for some people than they are for others. And then there’s me. I'm not exactly what one would call a social butterfly, not do I have any desire to be. I may not have the most articulate of tongues, and not only is a hard punch in the face easier for me than a clever turn of phrase ever will be, but it’s also a helluva lot more satisfying.

The sharp crack of bones breaking that echoes through the high-vaulted ceiling and white-washed walls of the training room is a testament to that.

The boy cries out, stumbling backward a few steps before tripping on his own feet and crashing into a rack of weapons, his hand flying up to his ruined nose as blood spatters the floor at my feet. (I ignore the sting in my knuckles from the hard contact, the pain dulled by the slowly dissipating fury that still boils at my core.) An endless stream of curses and profanities stream through the rage-muddled haze of my mind, the words I can never seem to stop from bursting from me in a quick swing of a fist, even as the red fades from the edges of my vision and that familiar fire rampaging through my veins flickers out in a flash. The boy (I don't even know his name, but he chose the wrong person to pick a fight with.) curls up on the cold metal floor, blood seeping from between the fingers of the hand clasped to his nose as tears seep from the corners of his squeezed-shut eyes. He looks like he's in a lot of pain- sometimes I forget my own strength- and I don't know whether to be smug or guilty, so I settle for cold indifference. I don't say anything, of course. I think he got the message, because who needs words?

"Ripred, Phoenix." My trainer is eyeing me from a few feet away, not impressed but not moving to help the boy, either. "Just because someone laughs at you when you miss a target doesn't mean they deserve a broken nose. Learn to control your temper, son - before you blow up on the wrong person." The barest breath of a laugh escapes my lips at that, one corner of my mouth curling up into a smirk for a mere second before it quickly morphs back into its usual straight, inexpressive line. I'm a formidable opponent when it comes to battle, and I have yet to meet my match in the training room, (Nor do I think I ever will.) but I don't point that out to my trainer. Instead, I cross my arms over the broad expanse of my chest - I don't like it but I'll do what you said - and give one last glance to the groaning boy on the ground before stalking off towards the other side of the training room.

I barely take three steps before I feel the collar of my t-shirt tighten around my neck, sharp nails digging straight through the fabric to prick painfully at the skin at the nape of my neck before a hand shoves me hard from behind. I stumble forward a little (not unlike the boy I'd just beaten to the ground just moments before), but catch myself before I can crash to the floor in an ungraceful tangle of flailing limbs. Loser, is what they call me, and the rage that had just recently faded from my system comes roaring back to wash over me in a crimson wave. I whip around, fist clenched and ready to smash in another nose if I have to, and am only stopped by the sight of full, pink lips and steely blue eyes that could freeze lava. A girl. And a particularly pissed off looking girl at that. I've hit a girl before- and it's not something I'm particularly proud of- but gender isn't going to stop me from showing someone who's boss. It is, however, enough to stop me from immediately driving my knuckles into the delicate slope of her jaw. For now. My anger is only boiling hotter and hotter by the second.

"Watch who you're shoving, little girl." I straighten up to my full height, towering at least a head and half over the girl and glaring down. "Else you end up getting your pretty little head smashed in." Words. My fingers itch to cause pain, my arm tensed and ready to swing, and it takes all I have just to keep from unleashing the fury building up inside me on the girl who dares to stand in my way.

She has to pay.

Move and show me what you can do
When you step into the circle and shake like we do
Move when you just can't take it
And move if you just feel like breaking it

[ooc: idek what this is but okay.]

[Meghan]

- Adrianna Devlin; District Four -

- BIOGRAPHY -
- PLOT WITH ME -

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Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

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I can see the cold mist of anger radiate around the boy with the dimpled chin and the red-hot stare. He pulls himself out of the low, crumpled ball that the surprise of my push had left him in, his fist catching itself in the air at the sight of my crystal orbs and my classically attractive features. I take in the moment with a royal's grin and a devilish raise of my left eyebrow. So the boy thinks he can play with his food,

[/color]The manic chuckle of satan himself throws itself out of my lips as our eyes lock in the awkward linger between life and death,well, son, your feast has learned its tricks.

My manicured hand finds its opposite equal as I stare tantalizing into the deep pits of his eyes. I admire his anger, but it is rash, uncertain, and can certainly be used to my advantage. Soft fingers trail into my sleeve as I draw my dagger. The moment is over, and I flash the blade into the light, angling it towards the oaf of a man before me, shining the rays of his hope into the furious blue orbs. "Oh, I'm not too worried about my own sight, sweetheart." I drawl almost lovingly, and so the beast launches in a harefooted display of agility and grace You ought to be more afraid of me, Khan. You never know when I'm prowling in the night, watching you sleep.[/i]I often watch my dearly beloved brother as he rests, protecting him from evil or worse, weakness. Like the girl I disposed of so many drum-beats ago, his distraction, his motive. I would drive out all impure thoughts from our sanctuary or kill trying. There was no force that could stop me besides the Capitol of course.

My fist flies out before the boy could possibly have time to respond, squaring him in the gut as I raise a knee to send his most valued possession a little wake up call, right between the legs. "It's you I'm worried about." And the devil laughs again.

Word Count: 344
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[Lei]

Look, listen to my voice
If you're making the choice
Tell me all the girls and the boys
Either scream or rejoice
Let's make that noise

Have I seen her before? I try my hardest to keep the anger at bay, if only for a moment, and sift through the slowly rising, fury-muddled jumble of my thoughts for any remembrance of the icy girl standing before me, the vaguest of memories flashing through my mind but none featuring white-blonde hair and disturbing grin (like a sharks', I decide with rising animosity towards this girl- I don't particularly like it when someone looks at me like I'm something to eat.) and eyes that look like they've been carved out the side of a glacier. The coldness in them almost seem to be sending frosty waves over the steadily rising tide of rage that flicks red tendrils at the edges of my vision, her chill attempting to snuff out my fire with a frozen stare, but I push it back with a flame-fueled glare of my own. I stand tall and imposing before the girl, fists clenched and knuckles white with the strain against my palm and a muscle jumping in my jaw each time I press my teeth together in an attempt to keep from snarling at her like some barbarian. (I like to believe that I am capable of maintaining at least some semblance of civility when my temper flares and anger fogs my mind, though needless to say I haven't quite gotten to that point yet.)

Her words confuse me, (I've never possessed the sharpest of wits, but I'm far enough from being a dumbass to understand from what she says that she's not afraid of me.) I'm generally nice enough so that nobody really cowers in fear at the sight of me, but I'm known for my temper, and newcomers to this training facility usually learn pretty quick when they need to run for cover to escape my infamous wrath. This girl's no exception. I've only just opened my mouth, about to give her a rare earful as to exactly why she needs to be worried about herself, but before I can utter a word she darts forward too fast for my eyes to even register and delivers a blow to my abdomen that wrenches a pained grunt from the back of my throat and sends the upper half of my body curling inward on itself. Her knee comes up - dear Ripred, not there - and the shriek that comes out of my mouth is about nine octaves higher than could be considered dignified.

Shit, that hurt.

For a moment, I can't even see straight. Or speak, for that matter, my mouth opening and closing like an over-sized fish and tears springing to the corners of my eyes that I quickly blink away before anyone has a chance to see them. Shock and pain flood my senses in equal doses, sweeping away all traces of anger and replacing it with just oh my Ripred what just happened I can't even feel my own just as some of the other Careers take notice as well, pointing my way and snickering at my predicament, and I'm in too much pain to even feel angry about it. Instead, I'm mortified.

In some distant world, I hear her laugh.

Move and show me what you can do
When you step into the circle and shake like we do
Move when you just can't take it
And move if you just feel like breaking it

[Meghan]

- Adrianna Devlin; District Four -

- BIOGRAPHY -
- PLOT WITH ME -

[/font][/size]

Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

[/color][/i][/font][/justify]

My set of "lush legs" and "curvy figure" (or so say the many assholes who've set their perverted sights on me) stands upright and proud, like an ancient mythological goddess darned in robes so similar to the flimsy coverings of the 62nd tributes, my stature significant even compared to the toned muscles and towering height of the frequenters of this idiotic training center. My burning jealousy of this years careers blatant strength quickly fizzled as I watched several of them get slaughtered or outshone by the bravery of the lower districts (and don't even begin to tell me about the unworthy piece of shit libertine that had stolen my place this year). At this very moment I reflected both the stately-majesty of Adonis and the looming, supreme form of the king. I was God and this boy was my pawn, his burly form curled on the floor in his outright submission. Yet I wasn't done, there was still a few lightning bolts to throw, and I intended to enjoy them.

It's time to teach this kid a lesson.

As the sickly figurine recovers I take my opportunity and punch him again, my 'delicate' fist welcoming his full jaw with its loving embrace (the air echoes with the sound of his weakness). "You're so weak, you think you can just run around like you own this training center, but you can't even defend yourself against a lowly girl." I shove him again, and then stand back, my head held high like the goddess I am.

"Show me what you got, loser." The beast in me challenges as I bore my chilling stare into the watery eyes of my hopeless opponent.

ooc: responded a million years later enjoy!

Word Count: 255