Stranger Danger {rosetta/shrimp/zori}

[Deleted]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,1,true][atrb=style, border: 5E7D7E solid 2px; width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px 0px;][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=000000] Honestly, the Capitol does an awful job of accommodating Career tributes. I’ve spent enough years of my life throwing knives at dummies and piercing targets with arrows, and now I have to stand around and do it all over again. Then on top of that, I have to wait for all these stupid District Eight, Nine, Ten kids to catch up...why? Why not just throw us all into the arena right now and see what we can do? We would all die some petty death from starvation, but at least it would be early: quick and early. The games are long enough as is – who actually wants to sit in front of their television and watch a month full of games footage? Get on with your lives, people. I wouldn’t give this place a five-star rating in a million years, and right now I am highly considering filing a formal complaint regarding the the poor treatment of Career tributes. I only agreed to this tribute thing because I thought it would be a nice eternal vacation, but if had known they were going to make us do all this hardcore training all over again, I might have done some major reassessment. Anyways, at least I have one thing to look forward to: food, which I do have to say I am quite impressed with. Having filled my plate, I scan the room full of tributes, looking for an empty table. However, there are only six circular tables, each which fit four people, as if the gamemakers want us to really get to know our killers. I roll my eyes at the thought and find the nearest and least populated table. There’s some boy sitting on the other side of it, but I pretend like he doesn’t exist, placing my tray in front of me and hoping to god he doesn’t try to start some idiot conversation.

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I a g o
I z a r – M c C l a i n e

•••

{ I feel numb most of the time }
{ The lower I get the higher I'll climb }
{ And I will wonder why }
{ I get dark only to shine }
{ And I light up the sky }

•••

I can barely hold a sword to save my life. With a single step forward, the trainer had disarmed me and sent me to a bruising fall on the mats. I should not be jealous of the children—maybe they have a natural talent. Physical affinity wouldn’t be the only thing that wins these games. Still, I need to be able to slice someone up into pieces if I’m to have any chance. I think of my cousin for the briefest of moments. Yes, the boy that got a two and lived to day 5

[/color]. How had he managed not to fall apart like his district partner? It’s a thought that sits with me all morning. My spoon swims circles in my oatmeal, and I let out a sigh when the fluorescent light from above becomes blocked.

It is the girl from one. I had thought I would be more afraid of the careers. On screen they tore throats out with knives and flexed muscles I could never hope to have. They had won the past two games, and each year we were reminded how from birth they were taught to kill. I think of them like machines: devices designed to do a job with minimal effort. Machines, however, are just as easily outwitted when one figures out what they cannot handle. The Birch boy had fallen in the bloodbath, hadn’t he? No one is invincible.[/color] Especially from those that are willing to see both fail rather than to have one win. If anything, careers were all show and no substance.

“You can’t sit here.” I say. I have no time to waste eating with a career, much less give her the satisfaction of intimidating me. I clear my throat and put down my spoon. I give another glare. “Or did I stutter?”[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[shrimp]

ewe saw~

I'm not getting far with this leg, that's a fact. It won't bend the way I want it to, move as fast as I need it to. I'm a cripple, after all - Mum told me never to use that word but she's not here now, none of them really are - that's why people looked down at me, some in pity, some because they felt smug, some because they were literally taller than me (if you haven't noticed, I'm kinda short). Cripples don't win the Hunger Games, and if they do they're broken beyond repair. I can't swing with a sword or a knife very well, so I suppose to even get past the bloodbath I'll have to get my hands on something longer ranged, something that I can hide, somewhere I can hide - I don't know. The only thing I can do is tie knots well and make a fire, which won't help much if I'm dead before that's needed.

Frustrated, I head over to get food. The crab isn't what I thought it would be; no longer is it in its pure glory, glistening scarlet. The meat has been scooped out and turned into crab cakes, dropped in soup, stuffed into dumplings and while they taste amazing I know that they're never as good as the pure thing; the Capitol will never respect it as much as we do. I take mashed potatoes and noodles swimming in a creamy sauce (and vegetables, of course. I mean I'm probably going to die in like four days but at least I'll be able to say that I've eaten a balanced diet all the way through), heading towards a table when I suddenly see someone else sitting there, much taller, much stronger than I am. It's not like I want to annoy him or anything, so I sit farther away, sipping my cola (Eye always said to add lemon when I would get the chance so I did; it's great) as I watch another girl sit down only to be rebuffed.

I'll admit, I haven't done my homework. I don't know where these people are from, I don't know who they are or if they're Careers or if they're scary, but the girl's confidence just radiates upper district and the boy just seems tough. But why he isn't letter her sit there I have no idea and while I'm pondering it whoops words just pop out of my mouth and I can't stop it as soon as I ask "Why?" and I freeze, staring at the both of them, hoping that they won't mark me down on their death list. Then again, it probably wouldn't matter much anyway.

[Rosetta]

Matilde"Scout"Watson

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I am standing in the dining hall. It is filled with faces and voices and yet I feel alone. I can’t pick up distinct words of conversation, but I can pick up on the air of the conversation: it’s polite. It’s forced. Each bite carries a plan for murder. In the dining hall, my stomach aches, but not for food. For Ardal. For Bertie. For Carlos. My shoulder droop forward, my back aching from the lack of sleep acquired last night. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable or anything-in fact, it was more comfortable than my pallet back home. Yet, it smelled too crisp, to clean, not musky and a bit unclean, like soil is lodged between the sheets (which is probably is). Carlos wasn’t snoring in the corner. I wasn’t throwing my shoe at him. It was silent.

When Bertie left to go live with his girlfriend, the absence of his snores had left me uneasy. Each night, I was plagued with dark dreams, ones where I couldn’t run nor scream, not until I woke up. Eventually, Ardal hung something up over my bed, something webbed, that he called a “dream catcher” which had been designed specifically to keep the bad dreams away. Well, it worked well enough. But here, in this feather bed, and the lavender-scented pillows, there is nothing to trap the bad things and so they grip and grab me. This morning, I arrived at training still drenched in sweat, my hair awry, but I didn’t care. I trudged on up to one of those instructors-one in unarmed fighting-and began to fight the way I did best: fists and all. The instructor asked me if I had older brothers.

I am standing alone in the dining hall. I’m swallowing hard. There are butterflies in my stomach. Then, I spot a familiar face. Iago. My district partner. He was sullen, but manageable. I knew that much from personal experience. However, as I approach, I see him glaring at another girl, one who had just sat down across from him. “You can’t sit here.”

My eyebrows shoot up, but before I can speak, another voice intrudes: “Why?” I glance around and now there’s another boy and my jaw slackens and drops. The way he’s moving. He’s something different…maybe he’s hurt? My knuckles are still bruised and achy from my last fight, but there’s something different about the way he walks. Like he knows this is the way it’s going to have to be. A permanent acceptance. An unwelcome ease. Now, I frown and look back to Iago. Why was he acting so rude?

When I speak, Ardal stands next to me: “Iago Izar-McClaine!” I sound out his name long and full, cocking a slim hip. ]“I’m sitting down next to you and you just gotta deal with it. Like you gotta deal with her,” I point at the girl, “and him!” I point at this newcomer boy. I move forward, arms crossed and take a seat, rolling my eyes at my district partner. “See, not so bad?”

[please disregard. Written at 2 o’clock in the morning. My eyes have begun to glaze over. The walls are moving!!]

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For god's sake, all I want to do is sit down and no, this farm boy wants to pick a fight. “You can’t sit here," he says. “Or did I stutter?” For a few seconds, I remain seated, glaring at him with an immeasurable intensity. I search his face for something to give him away, some sort of weakness, some vulnerability I can latch onto. Even as another male voice sound from behind me -- some boy asking "Why?" -- my gaze never falters.

Then a girls' voice cuts through, scolding the farm boy and telling him to deal with it and suddenly everyone's sitting down, and I can't plain take it anymore! Still ignoring boy and girl who have just come to the table, I stand up without taking my tray. Putting my hands beneath the circular table, I push up, and with all the strength and anger I can muster, flip the table forward so that everything tumbles toward Farm Boy. Only then do I look to my side to see the girl I recognize as Farm Boy's district partner and the District Four tribute...what was his name? I remember it being something odd. I don't need them bursting in to play referee here. Is there a referee in the Hunger Games? I don't think so.

The games have already started and these new kids are acting like this is some sort of picnic. At least farm boy knows what's up. "Mind your own damn business," I say, looking from the other boy to the girl. "Just wait. You idiots are next." I'd like the count the number of death threats I've made this week. They've been more of a joke than anything else, but I guess I'm the only one that finds it funny.

ooc: bleh sorry this post seriously sucksss. I hope angry table flipping is ok

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[Deleted]

I a g o
I z a r – M c C l a i n e

•••

{ I feel numb most of the time }
{ The lower I get the higher I'll climb }
{ And I will wonder why }
{ I get dark only to shine }
{ And I light up the sky }

•••

I don’t bother looking at the gawker from four or at Scout as she tries to insert herself into my business. What the two of them need to learn is to mind their business, unless they want to get caught up in a war not of their choosing.

[/color] I hardly have a second to react when the bitch from one flips the table, and my oatmeal comes tumbling into my lap. I let out a yelp and stand, my face flushing red and my fists clenching. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway?[/color] I push the table back and give a hard glare. All careers were just a bunch of idiots with their hormones running wild. It would explain why none of them had half a brain or why they came up short for so long (ignoring the previous year, which was obviously a fluke.[/color]). I begin to wipe off the mess on my pants and click my tongue.

“Back off,” I growl at Ewe. He was already a cripple and I didn’t need someone like that coming to my aid. Scout was too dumb to know any better, but a sidelong glance should’ve been enough to let her know not to chide me. “She’s just delusional is all—and apparently hard of hearing.” I was not about to be cowed by some stupid career throwing her weight around. I was far too clever and pulled together to be worked up over a spilled bit of oatmeal. Taking this lying down, however, was not something in my repertoire.

“I wouldn’t expect any more from you Moreno.” I know her type. I’ve seen her brothers on the screen, from the time that I was too young for the reaping until now. I remember the beheading of Reyes and I recall Jae bleeding out. She wasn’t any hardier and she certainly hadn’t the brains. Why she wouldn’t have stepped down and saved us all the trouble was beyond me. “Tell me though, aren’t you—what, number ten to go into the arena? What’s the matter,” I say, leaning over the table, “Are they trying to go for the full dozen with you? Is there some kind of deal with the gamemakers that you all get to die and then there’s some payoff for your family? I mean, it makes more sense than you thinking you have a fucking chance in these games…”[/blockquote][/size][/justify]