the fist and the bully {aya}

[Meghan]

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It's funny how easy it is to fall into a routine. Wake up, take your shower, do your daily meditation, and take in your daily nourishment. It had all become a blur within the walls of this prison, and I had forgotten what it meant to be free. I no longer felt a sense of calling here, nor did I feel any need to stray from the pre-paved path. Not today, at least.

Or so I told myself as I pulled my tired feet from my warm bed and prepared myself to face another long span of routine. What fiasco would unfold in the coming hours? Which tribute would be so kind to set me off today? I shuddered as I thought about poor Shadow and his fit of tears. The poor bastard had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Storm had done no better. His brother's death was not his fault, yet it was that moment that had caused me to lose all sense of self-control. Could I keep it in for just one minute? Or would yet another tribute learn what it meant to get on the bad side of Beatrice Birch?

I longed for a moment where I could be normal. Where I didn't have to act like I was tough, where I could be sincere. But those days were probably gone. The arena had assured me of that much. Still, was fate so cruel, as to take away my chance for a quiet life? A friendly smile? A good intention?

Yes, yes it was. That was my life.

It didn't do me well to dwell on these things. Instead, I pulled myself into the routine and took each step with all the care I could muster. Let the day pull me by the hair if it had to, for damn't, I was going to talk to somebody like they were normal. Ripred, I am only fourteen. I can talk to somebody without feeling butt-hurt, can't I?

Somehow, I find myself in the dining hall. Face-to-face with one of the younger ones. Cerise, I believe to be her name. She'll do. I wordlessly invite myself to her empty table and extend a hand of skeptical friendship. Let her take it. Let this be normal.

"Cerise, right? I'm Beatrice." Let her not think me to be crazy. Please. Let this be my one chance.

I bite my lip and stare at her. Please.

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Word Count: 403

[aya]

I'm already born
I'm already wise
I'm already worn
I'm already wonderin' what am I

Cerise Mephistopheles—

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In general, Cerise spent the time that she wasn't harassing her fellow tributes as alone as possible. She preferred the company of her own thoughts to whatever irksome conversation anyone thus far had approached her with, and, at this point, was fairly confident that the trend would continue. As a precautionary measure, she glared away the more skittish of the tributes, and stared down those who did not startle so easily, daring them to engage her. Normally, her tactic was successful. Occasionally, however, it was not.

One of the career girls glided over to the secluded table where she'd sat down for lunch. Nothing about Cerise's hard brown gaze was inviting. She snapped her head up, out of her thoughts, and fixed a steely scowl on the District Two, who introduced herself as Beatrice. Birch, she recalled, having previously mused that the name was better suited to a lower district. Seven, perhaps, Eleven, Ten. Twelve. Cerise raised an eyebrow at the girl's outstretched hand, not shaking it. The Fist was seldom so charitable as to offer the long-standing gesture of peace.

"And this is relevant to my interests because...?"

ooc - keeping it short, cutting out the fluff. Lo siento~
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