Dreams // Open

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/mj66bPy.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca Italics = optional read He shovels over slowly onto the other side of the single bed, now facing the wall. His eyes are closed yet he sees tall buildings and mountains all around. In the distance there are birds, and smoke. Not that of fire but of labor. Hard graft and man power put to work. The tall buildings are smaller from far away. But somehow the city looks bigger. He moves across a track on train. Fast yet slow, smooth and effortless. An archway overhead begins a tunnel that darkens the atmosphere. The chanting of the crowd begins to seep into the tunnel like poison. Was it poison? The words are famous and the hairspray can be smelled from within the darkness. Suddenly the lights flare and the cameras jump with excitement. The train slows for all to see. Tributes and Mentors, this girl and he. But the mentor is faceless and so is the girl. Suddenly they all are because they simply don't matter. The darkness returns and he's in a tube. A countdown can be felt, not heard. Seen but not smelt. All around him is fire. Heat and ash. The smog covers his pedestal and he can't see the faceless tributes around him. But then he sees the countdown and all he can feel now is his heartbeat. His feet are heavy. Were they trapped? No, they were slowly being covered in ash. He can't move unless he wanted to join the fire. He catches a glimpse of something in the darkness. A light face, and the number two somewhere on the faceless dummy. A bow is in front of him. But so is fire. A sacrifice? He reaches for the tool, and the fire moves for him. Suddenly a quiver is on his back and arrows collapse into it like sticks from a tree. His bow is in full stretch and his arrow is notched. The fire clears and suddenly he is in District Two. The face is not longer mysterious but exact. His name was Mark, and he could of been killed yesterday. The arrow loosens ... Into the air. His bed jumps and his top half is alert. His head sweats until he wipes it drier. His grey tank top and jogging shorts weigh on him so he changes. His tired self is clumsy and reluctant. All he wants is to sleep once more, but it is no longer an option. He is already in the bathroom and flying through his routine. The second to last routine of two. Waking, training. His brain is moving slowly, slower than the train from last night's shenanigans. As he comes down the stair, which don't creek as much anymore, his newly worn black jacket and black t-shirt seem to contrast the rest of the white house. A district two house, that is. His grey jogging bottoms tell his Mother that he is going out, and his Father didn't need reminded because he was in the yard making sure the garden doesn't rebel. Maybe he should hold a Hunger Games for them. Tyren's pace is slow. His brain is probably faster. In the distance he sees the same people who get up at this time, which is early enough for the birds to be out but late enough for the sun to be nakedly watching everybody. Creepily as if it were a camera with luminescent vests wrapped around every part of it's body. He sees the Hall of Labor, which overlooks the District Square. It is there that Beatrice Birch, one of Tyren's favorite tributes, was reaped. It will be there that later this year they mourn for her in the face of her killer, who will be reading from a card. Tyren agreed with the Games. He just hasn't seen a decent person come out of it yet. The door gets thrown open just as he approaches it. A pair of overly-eager Careers barge their way past Tyren. He trips in his mind and so his mouth is allowed to work first. "Fucking idiots." It says quietly to him. He hears them stop as he gets a grip on the handle to the double door, brown and full of mahogany. He stops too. One turn later and they get a chance to rebel against his fact. "Excuse me?" one of them says. "You learned that quickly." Tyren's accent is a mix of Capitol and District, making a strange child of Southern English. The face of the left one seems red. Maybe he's a little angry. It doesn't look all too appealing with that round head and blonde hair. The other seems more defiant to the situation. Black hair and a stubble. Brown eyes and a scar somewhere Tyren doesn't fancy finding. Tyren rolls his eyes and goes into the Career Training Center as planned. He hears them shouting something but he doesn't care. He is closer to the weapons than he is, so if worst comes to worst... He enters the main hallway and his T-shirt and Jacket come off. Apparently he was hiding a white tank top underneath them. His muscles are finely tuned but nothing over the top. He looked a bit more in shape than most careers but nothing full-on brutal. Good for an Archer Boy, anyway. His hand meets the bow, and the bow meets the arrow. Not their first date, by the looks of them. The arrow-head is pathetically blunt and looks more like a love-heart than a lethal weapon. How romantic. He tries it out. The bow string is stretched back - some part of him assumes it to snap. It doesn't, but the arrow does when it hits the target pinned up a distance away down an alley made for archery in the hall. He takes out a knife. Five strokes later and the next arrow looks more like a spear-head than a rusty spoon. Clearly, this one will hit on target. Suddenly, somebody else enters the hallway, just as he fires it. It hits the center of the dummy target. He turns to see who it is.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

Word Count: 1051

[Dreams]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 822 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame I blink the severe brightness out of my eyes. For a second I'm confused as to why I need to. Ugh, I must have left the curtains open. Stupid me... I let out an irritated moan. I didn't want to get up. But I wanted to get out of the house earlier, so all of the stations wouldn't be all taken when I got to the academy. I sit up slowly, shoving off my light blankets. My arms are outstretched above me and I let out a yawn. Touching my feet to the warm carpet, I leave my bed, even though I want to stay. I put on the arm warmers I always wear to hide my scars from last night. They still sting, but I don't dare take a glance at them. Having a breakdown in the morning before training is that last thing I need. Most of the careers already hate me because I don't think like them but I'm still good, and looking weak will just make things worse for me. I slip on a black v-neck and leggings and drum down the stairs. Mother and Father are at work and Valencia, I assume, is already at the academy. She always has the head start. She's older than me by 15 minutes, but older is never necessarily better. But I never say it aloud, it would be rude. I can be as loud as I want. I can take as long as I want. But I make a quick piece of buttered toast and head out the door. My sleepiness has subdued and I want to move around now. That's what happens. Once I wake up, I just can't go back. I never want to. I pull on some black leather boots and fashion my hair into a high and long ponytail. Swinging open the door, I'm out, without a jacket. I like being cold. It wakes me up more. And it soothes the wounds I've made on myself. No, don't think about that now, Tina. Don't lose yourself again. My breath makes small clouds in the air. I like it. It flows away, like a little part of my going home. The academy is a ways away on foot, but I still walk. My footsteps makes soft taps as my slow pace quickens. I want to move. I need to move. I need to run. So I do. I sprint there, and I'm happy. My footsteps are quick and strong, my legs forming long strides. It's wonderful. I'm alive. I feel warm but my skin is invaded with goosebumps, I'm shivering but I feel like I don't need to. I am strong, I am strong, I am strong. I stop abruptly. I'm almost there, but I don't want to move. She comes back to me, whenever I think of it. I almost cry. I almost cry. But I hold it in because I don't want to let her down. "You are strong, Tina. You are strong." Grams told me. She was dying and she knew it. So she brought us in one by one and had a talk to us. It ended with tears for all of us. I was so sad, so scared, I didn't want to lose her. I was with her last. She died with me, I was the last one she saw. And for many years, I always thought it was because of me she died. There was no comfort to tell me I was wrong. I lived in guilt until I had grown some common sense into me. The last words she ever heard were mine and only the two of us know. I could barely get them out. "I-I'll be. I'll be strong. I'll be strong for y-you, Grams." And then she closed her eyes one last time and fell into an eternal sleep. I ran out crying. I open the door. My footsteps echo across the walls of the center. It’s odd, it’s never really this quiet. Here, it’s usually filled with laughter and snide remarks of competition. I walk forward and glance at everyone but no one staring at me. Then I look forward with contempt. I pretend I don't care, but the pairs of eyes are making me particularly self conscious. It takes all of my will not to look at everyone. And somehow I trip on nothing, nothing at all, and land with a loud thud. Then the laughter started. Many people already hated me. The teasing was going to start soon. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... "Ha! Look at the arrogant little bastard! Finally screwed up, didn't you?" Other things were said. "It takes skill to trip like you did!" I strode forward, pretending not to mind. I did. But pretending was easy for me. I look at the knife and pick it up. I threw it, hitting the dummy on the heart. We'll see how they like me now, the idiots.

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/mj66bPy.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca She walks in, looking forward. He sees her, acknowledges her and then looks right back to his training. That's when she tripped. He turns back reluctantly at the sound of some jests being thrown around. Then the ending joke is the knife she ends up throwing around. "Such fire", Tyren thinks to himself. He keeps looking at her as she is by the other long-range booth, a little bit of a distance away. For the brief moment he looks he sees how she is completely physically ready. Hair back, body in shape. Clearly apt in throwing things. Then he realizes he is doing exactly what all the rest of the careers do. Analyzing. He looks away, the reluctance returning. He didn't smirk earlier, he was just a little curious. Somebody tripping isn't exactly funny unless it's a friend, or foe. I guess to them they seen her as a foe. Tyren didn't, not yet at least. But he doesn't plan on making enemies. Thankfully, most of the careers were indifferent to Tyren. There were only a couple that don't like the lone wolf attitude he sometimes portrays. That is, when he isn't with his brother, Alex. Alex is his counterpart. Like a counterpoint they both play different melodies aiming for the same sound. He shoots from afar when Alex shoots when close. Without Alex, he is just a sniper. Just a lone wolf with no pack. That is how it is this morning. He feels lonely enough to talk to this girl. But that is an awful reason to talk to somebody. Because you're lonely. He has to find a better one. Within his mind, he smirks to himself. He knows exactly what to do here. He accidentally drops an arrow and it rolls down near to her lane. Casually, Tyren wanders over to retrieve the clumsy arrow. He takes it, and holds it between two fingers of each hand at around waist height, now looking at her. "They givin' you some bother?" He felt like he sounded too casual. Not enough career in him to make it sound anything close to dramatic. His voice is low so the others don't pay as much attention as usual.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

Word Count: 365

[Dreams]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 492 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame It's the boys with the swords that tease me. That make fun of me and pick at my mistakes. They're the ones who have too much muscle to look attractive, too much pride to be decent. They do it because I'm alone, I don't come with anyone, I'm vulnerable. I don't like them very much. But I don't hate them, because I know that they can change. And I'm not one for grudges. I keep on throwing the blades, stretching my wiry frame back and fourth, back and fourth. I feel like a machine. I don't want to be one. I stop, I take a break. I don't like that I'm in a pattern. I don't want to become a ruthless killing machine. I want to stay me. I want to stay true to my Grandmother. And something catches me out of the corner of my eye. A boy, occasionally staring at me, probably thinking I don't notice. I pretend to, too. I keep throwing, but it sort of sends crawls down my spine. He's larger than me with slightly toned muscles, but nothing as monstrous as other careers. He holds a bow and arrow. I decide to ignore him, I know he's there, but I'd much rather keep throwing than spend all of my time here wondering why. But there's still an itch in my brain, wanting to know. There's a small sound, like wood on wood, coming closer and closer. Footsteps. I don't look to see who or what it is. Someone's trying to distract me, trying to bring me out of focus. Not this time. But it's hard to believe. The last person how did it to me nearly had his ear sliced off. And then a low, not friendly but no unkindly voice breaks me out. "They givin' you some bother?" The same boy, holding an arrow at his waist, looks at me. I raise an eyebrow. Nobody ever talks to me here. I've been outcasted here by all of the careers because I don't approve of the Games. I'm not a diehard. I almost want to ask him if he's been here before, if he's seen me, because he would have the common sense not to converse with me. Then I finally start to talk because it would be rude not to. "Pft, they always are. All because I have skill and I don't want it. I guess it's not exactly an attitude valued here." I sighed, glancing around. Everyone is still continuing doing what they're doing, not taking any notice of the two of us. I decide to get a better look at him. Young stubble creeps across his face and his big brown eyes stare at me as much as mine are staring back. I don't know what else to do, so I set down my knife, looking at all of the ones I had already launched at the moving targets. It's scary, how I can do it.

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/mj66bPy.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca His head tries to get around that. "All because I have skill and I don't want it." He doesn't quite understand it. It is clear in his face, though he doesn't look at all ready to disapprove. The arrow remains between his two fingers. Though he doesn't find himself impressed at her ability to throw the knives. It is common for District Two girls to train with knives. She's probably the envy of them all. Maybe that's what she meant. It clicks in his mind as the moment passes. He stops looking into her eyes. Maybe it was an act of nervousness, or maybe he thought he was giving the wrong signals. He looked at the arrow instead. "Skill ain't a gift. You must come 'ere for a reason." He thinks on what he said. It made more sense than he thought at first.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

Word Count: 144

[Dreams]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 242 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame I have a slight feeling he is going to walk away because of what I said. Confusion laces his face and, if he notices, he isn't doing anything to stop it. He looks down at the arrow again, as if to get away from me. It's what I'm used to. Once people know I hate the games and the only reason I train is because of pressure and being eager to please, I'm a disgrace. But he speaks. "Skill ain't a gift. You must come 'ere for a reason." His slang slightly annoys me. I'm good with grades and one for grammar, and this certainly is not music to my ears. And I know a thing or two about music. I hope my slight irritation doesn't show anywhere. I am good at hiding emotions. That's not necessarily a good thing though. "I come here for one reason and one reason only. That's to make my grandma proud. It does not mean I like doing it. It means I'm driven by something more. I don't want to hurt anyone. But no one here really understands that." Valentina replied, trying to stay calm. Her voice broke for a second and then she smiled, taking a deep breath. "Sorry, I just... I just lose myself in words sometimes. If you're weirded out by me feel free to turn around and leave." I say, studying my feet and waiting for footsteps to start and then fade away.

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/mj66bPy.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca "I come here for one reason and one reason only. That's to make my grandma proud. It does not mean I like doing it. It means I'm driven by something more. I don't want to hurt anyone. But no one here really understands that." He looks back at her. He could feel his eyes squinting as he gets his figuring of what she had said finished. He doesn't realize that his slang has a different affect on people. He just assumes it to be his presence in general if there is a reaction of any kind. This time, though, he doesn't see any reaction. His mind runs around for brief moment, wondering what to ask now. He feels slight guilt since he was the one who came over first. "The others ain't proper careers." He points his head covertly at the group of careers, messing with weapons and laughing. "This lot couldn't manage a real challenge." He places the arrow slowly onto the counter next to him, that divides the many long-range lanes. Almost instantly, a larger boy picks it up and walks into the neighboring lane, a bow in hand, quiver on his back. His hair is a little lighter than Tyren's, and he is quite taller at around 5"9. He's wearing a thin black jacket and a t-shirt underneath. He notches the arrow quickly, Tyren now looking to see the result. The arrow gets fired and his hand is immediately searching for another in the quiver. As the arrow hits the target, accurately, the next one is already notched. A brief aim, and it is fired. And it happens again, and again. The last one sounds like it hit harder than the rest. The brown eyed boy looked over at Valentina, but then to Tyren. A small smirk is on Tyren's face as he takes his gaze back to Valentina - "We're the real careers." He pauses, looking over at his non-identical twin brother.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

Word Count: 325

[Dreams]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 474 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame Still waiting, still waiting. But his voice tells me this boy is still here. "The others ain't proper careers." And you don't have proper grammar I reply back inwardly. He looks to the main group of careers, the ones screwing around with blades. I follow his gaze and then stare back at him, having nothing to say. "This lot couldn't manage a real challenge." I nod, trying to smile, but I'm not one for insults, whether it would be supporting, being a victim, or being the one who starts it. It always end with someone being hurt, physical or emotional, but people, I think, are just too scared to show it. Too scared to let weakness show through. But I welcome feelings and weaknesses and those who admit them, because they are brave. They should be everyone. But people don't want to become unpopular, that don't want to be like me. An outcast. I don't really blame them. My lips open and then close, wanting to say something but having nothing to say. He sets the arrow down on a dividing counter, and, as if waiting for him to do so, an immediate hand snatches it. It belongs to a larger boy, much larger than the one I was conversing with. It intimidates me even more, but fear doesn't show in my eyes. I hope. His hair is a shade lighter than him, a black jacket dusts his shoulders and a quiver is slung around his back. The arrow notches and the string is drawn back and it is fired. The boy in front of my sees where it lands, but I don't. He's trying to impress, he's trying to make us feel scared, I'm pretty sure. So I just stare at the boy with the bow as he immediately reloads and fires, with surprising speed and limited aiming time. Even I can't go that fast. He looks at me with the same brown eyes as the other boy. "We're the real careers." I stare at him for a second and then he looks to the boy beside me. I don't have anything to reply back at him until it would seem awkward to say it because the response has been waiting so long. But I still let the words fall out because I'm a person who doesn't like to see a conversation die on my hand, no matter who it is. And, this time, it happens to be a large stranger with a bow. "Good for you. But are real careers real people?" I ask him. Most careers I've asked were speechless. Most of them didn't know what I was asking. I've been waiting for one to admit no. Real careers aren't real people because they think killing is okay. Because they think that the games are okay. Because they think that hundreds of dead kids is okay.

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/mj66bPy.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca The question makes his face light up a little. He almost sees it as a joke, he looks like he may actually laugh at it but his mouth opens with words instead. "Real careers don't enjoy the Games. We do it for our families 'n our District. For our friends. Those over there-" He nods his head once more. "-don't understand any of those concepts." His gaze finds his Brother hoping he could explain it better.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/jER2Qnt.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Alexander Orca Alex wasn't smiling quite as much. Though he is usually the one who takes things less seriously, this is a topic that he things highly of. His voice is a little more authoritative and manly - and the accent isn't as obvious. "The killing is a necessity to show the other Districts, the ones who rebelled, that rebellion will never be possible again. Me 'n Ty here don't get to decide whether that is right or wrong. It isn't our place to. It is our aim to minimize the suffering that happens for our District. None of us see outside of here anyway." He puts the bow down and leans himself on the counter dividing the two lanes, Tyren still on the other side. "The reason we train is so arrogance doesn't make it into the Games. We've had too many brutal killers who parade off on their Victory Tour bragging about how heroic their actions were. It isn't heroic when you have the blood of, practically twenty-three other children on your hands." He pauses a little, just in case she wanted to say anything. He rarely has these smart moments. It is usually Tyren making all the sense. But this time it is Alex, simply because of the topic at hand.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

[Dreams]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 491 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame I wait. The first boy's face lights up a little, as if I said something funny. My eyes harden as well as my face, hoping to get the message around that I was being serious. e. He almost sees it as a joke, he looks like he may actually laugh at it but his mouth opens with words instead. "Real careers don't enjoy the Games. We do it for our families 'n our District. For our friends. Those over there don't understand any of those concepts." I look over at the sword boys. I cross my arms, giving him a you do have a point there look. "I can believe that." I say, staring back at the cocky careers again. "Look at my sword!" One said, waving it around like a wand. I turn back to the both of them with a raised eyebrow and laughing eyes. "So, what do you enjoy about being here, then? You must come here for a reason." I say, echoing a response he gave me minutes ago. I look to his, um, friend I would assume, and see his smirk is somewhat faded. "The killing is a necessity to show the other Districts, the ones who rebelled, that rebellion will never be possible again. Me 'n Ty here don't get to decide whether that is right or wrong. It isn't our place to. It is our aim to minimize the suffering that happens for our District. None of us see outside of here anyway." He says, in a more serious tone than before. My lips purse with slight disgust. Real careers are ignorant. That's what they are. "Why would there be a rebellion to stop if there is no reason for it? People in the other districts, you've seen them on TV. They're starved. They say we have the good lives. I can't imagine what the Capitol does to them. But I can guarantee it's not good. There was a first rebellion because they're unhappy. And if others are unhappy, I'm most certainly unhappy along with them." I snap back. My eyes soften again, and an apology laces my face. Dived too deep this time, Tina. Too deep. "The reason we train is so arrogance doesn't make it into the Games. We've had too many brutal killers who parade off on their Victory Tour bragging about how heroic their actions were. It isn't heroic when you have the blood of, practically twenty-three other children on your hands." I stare at him. He's waiting for me to reply, to see if I have something to say. I do. I've argued about this topic several times. "If we didn't train, there wouldn't be so many arrogant killers. It would be fair. But, I suppose life really can't be fair. It can't be perfect. I should know that by now." I don't get how I do it. I hurt myself in the argument I want to win. I'm actually beating myself.

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/jER2Qnt.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Alexander Orca Alex retakes his bow - "Sounds deep. Nothing I can do for broken hearts, love." - He goes to notch another arrow, slowly now, clearly not showing off. Actually practicing. As he continues he thinks to himself a little... "I wonder what this girl would do after training. More training? If she doesn't like this, then surely she must like other things." He contemplates mentioning it, though still practicing. He keeps relatively quiet as Tyren seems to speak up.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/mj66bPy.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 333px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: black; border: e6b000 solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca Hearing "Nothing I can do for broken hearts" makes Tyren feel a little guilty. And "love" just tops it right off really. It wasn't very polite, considering they were having a decent conversation. Tyren and Alex disagree on few things but the way they address others is usually different. They both learned to restrain themselves in serious conversation, maybe that is what Alex was doing. "Brother's a bit rusty when it comes to bein' polite." He raises a brow, actually thinking similarly to Alex when he askes; "What're you doin' after this?" The way he says it almost sounds casual. If it were written, it may appear like a flirtatious thing to say. Maybe it was, but he didn't really imply it that way. Or a least didn't seem to want to. "I mean," He begins to clarify, feeling as though his question may not get the right response. "what're your hobbies n' such."

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

[Dreams]

Dec 3, 2013 20:52:39 GMT -5 Dreams said:

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 356 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame I don't get exactly why the two of them are talking to me. Both of them just walked straight in. "Sounds deep. Nothing I can do for broken hearts, love." The larger boy replies. I almost want to get angry, I almost want to say that I wasn't broken, just cracked. I can heal. But my weaknesses have already shown through. There's really nothing I can do to cover them back up again. I let the frustration boil down. This is a sketchy subject, pain and broken hearts. Around me anyway. I hope the look in my eyes tells him that. "I haven't met a doctor yet who can." I reply flatly. "Brother's a bit rusty when it comes to bein' polite." I let shock come across my face for a split second. Of course, they're brothers. They somewhat resemble each other if you look hard enough. And that's why the second boy came up to us as if we already met. It makes sense now. I smile at him, amusement rushing into my eyes. "I don't mind, really." I say, taking a quick glance at his brother and then back at him. "My own sister doesn't have any manners, either." I look around, trying to find Valencia, but she's nowhere in sight. At least, not where she usually is. "What're you doin' after this?" I raise a brow at him. A lot of guys have flirted with me over the years, and this was a common line. I think he realizes this and corrects himself. "I mean, what're your hobbies n' such." He adds. Part of me, for some reason, doesn't really want to tell him. Why should I? He doesn't really need to know. But to leave him hanging would be rude. "I usually just wander around, thinking," Of all of the mistakes I've made. "Or read books," Or sing, or dance, or do stuff that careers wouldn't do. "At night, I like to stare at the stars... But nothing really exciting. Just things that for some reason only interest me." I say with a shrug. It's true; my life is quite boring apart from training.

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/nzfWgRw.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 250px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: CAC8C8; border: black solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca She was quite mysterious. It was clear to Him that she was very opinionated. Her hair was just as brown as his eyes were, and his hair was as brown as her eyes were. Fortunately, Alex had already finished his brief training. Only a couple of shots, then off he went. He didn't need to say goodbye, because it isn't really a goodbye. Tyren is leaning a slight on the lane counter, using his hands which are on the counter itself, behind him. His usual standing stance consists of him having his head up a slight. Not necessarily looking down at people, since he is short, but more or less a mannerism he was been brought up with. He doesn't keep eye contact all the time, he finds it awkward for anybody, even Valentina. The eye contact isn't sparse nor stare-worthy. It is simply brief, and in the times that he does not look into her eyes he looks elsewhere, such as now - the untied lace on his trainers. Though each time she talks he does look, and keep attention. "I haven't met a doctor yet who can." - Something he can't really relate to. His medical care, in the occasional times he has needed it, have simply been impeccable. He has only ever broken his arm once. And it was his left after he was pushed from a fence as a joke with his older friendship group. "My own sister doesn't have any manners, either." - She says it and he looks up at her like he usually would. A brow briefly raises subtly as he ponders who she might be. Maybe he knows her. Likely not. Her reaction to him asking, initially, wasn't what he wanted. She looked a little imposed, which was altogether natural hence why he corrected himself. A little smile is present on his face, the stubble allowing the smile to move just this once. "I usually just wander around, thinking," Thinking. Something we have in common. Alex usually just barges in - bow blazing. "Or read books," He fins himself wanting to know what books. He seems interested, keen to know more about her. "At night, I like to stare at the stars... But nothing really exciting. Just things that for some reason only interest me." Not only you. His mind tells him to say. He doesn't. "Peaceful." "Still dunno what a girl like you is doin' in a place like this." Maybe it wasn't his business. Maybe he should tell her why he is here first. His mind trips and he already starts speaking before he can think about it; "I'm here to make sure they don't get in the Games." He says it, looking straight towards the Careers. They have the boxing equipment out and are training on each other without padding. He looks back, eyes rolling once. "What about you? What's your deal with the Games?"

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

Word Count: 526

[Dreams]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://25.media.tumblr.com/b3e43cc9009b15f8b561e2abcb09542a/tumblr_mwzxmle5JF1qbb7qqo1_500.png); border: white double 0px; width: 500px; height: 580px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] ▲ √ålεη†inå ƒεrrεr ▲

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 3d785a; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; height: 5px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] - biography - 529 - D2 - female - 16 -

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: white; border: white double 0px; width: 490px; padding: 5 5 5 5px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Help, I have done it again I have been here many times before Hurt myself again today And the worst part is there's no one else to blame "Peaceful." He says, flatly and simply, just an open book. I can't tell whether he means it, or, like most, is just trying to rid the topic. My life is boring, and people aren't really that sensitive about acknowledging it. His brother walked away after a few quick shots with his bow. It seems so brief and short, to come here for that much time. Unless he was present longer than I had noticed. But since the long distance booths are fairly vacant, it would be quite easy to pick him out when I first stumbled in. Unless, of course, he's skilled in other things. I always try to over think things, I see all the possibilities. Sometimes, it can be useful. But usually, the answer is right under my nose and I can't see it because my mind is just away. I don't pay attention to it, I just need to overcomplicate things to make me seem smarter. A bad habit I've been trying to get rid of all these years. "Still dunno what a girl like you is doin' in a place like this." I snap my head alert. I nearly forget he was still here. But I do have an honest answer. Or, at least, I hope it's honest. "I don't really know either." I admit looking away and back at him and then looking away again. Right now, my boots are really appealing. My fingers tap the edge of the counter, making a swift, soft beat that I believe only I can hear. It started out slow but is now fast, as if I want this conversation to change rapidly like that. "I'm here to make sure they don't get in the Games." He averts his gaze to the boxing Careers and I follow it. Then we both look at each other. A small smile curves my lips and he rolls his eye. "What about you? What's your deal with the Games?" My smile fades away. Isn't that an answer enough? I don't stop the disgust from creeping on my face and a hard look invades the warmth in my eyes. My fingers tap faster, faster. I hate the games. I absolutely hate them, the way they just send kids out to a death sentence. And this very Training Center houses the pigs raised for slaughter. I hate them. But hate is a strong word, even though I do hate. It isn't me, really, to feel so much loathing for something. But I have a good reason, don't I? Death. Death of the innocent, death of the helpless, death of the weak. Death that never should have happened. Too much blood has been shed. 1,491 deaths. All children. Every single one. I think that's a perfectly sensible reason to hate the Games. "I highly dislike them. Kids dying every year? It's so sickening. Especially this Quell, picking from the youth. All of the fallen were too young. Much too young." I reply in a serious tone. "And yet I still come here because if I were to ever get reaped, I would know what to do. I just wish I had never started in the first place."

[Anatra]

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/nzfWgRw.png); border: 000000 solid 0px; width: 500px; height: 250px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: CAC8C8; border: black solid 1px; width: 498px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px;] Tyren Orca He lets his foot rest on a box that was under the counter, after pulling it out quickly. He then begins to tie his lace as if he'd only just noticed it were loose. He listens to her talking about the games. Words like "sickening" and "too young" stand out from the rest like unwilling reaped children. As much as he feels compelled to argue his point, naturally, he doesn't. His mind seems to work in such a way that he actually considers what point there is in saying what he thinks; Most people just continue arguing. This girl doesn't need to hear another Career rattle on about how amazing their big shot will be, because in reality; it is children that die. Not men, not women. Children. People have a tendecy to have Tyren rethink his morals. Would he be able to kill potential twelve-year-old tributes? No. His mind tells him as he contemplates. Unless I had to. There was a boy earlier who's family was suffering. Here - in the second best District second only to District One; Practical Capitolites anyway - there was suffering. It made Tyren realize, and this was recent, that the world isn't a good place for all of the people in District Two. To those outside, that would be obvious. Inside, you are basically brainwashed until you witness otherwise. Maybe that is what brings Tyren to the Training Center, where he doesn't do much as talks more than trains. Tyren had finished tying his laces. "And yet I still come here because if I were to ever get reaped, I would know what to do. I just wish I had never started in the first place." It makes him think. There's the reason, then. Survival in event of swift troubles. He admired this to himself. There would only be a smile that would befit a normality to his face to prove this, though. "That's a better reason than the rest of us. Sometimes I question my own reasons." He lets himself pause. "In fact, I rarely think of my proper reasons." He thinks for a brief moment. The moment is spent deciding whether to tell her. It lasts a literal moment, where his eyes squint for as brief as the moment itself. "I like fightin', I find it fun. I like being able to win against people and all that. But fightin' is different from killing. If I'm honest I'm not sure what to expect when I volunteer. I'm assumin' it will be just the same, with a bit more tug n' pull. But anyways. I'm sure you've had this conversation a million times and more." He feels as though he should probably draw the conversation to a close. Doing it is easier than thinking it, and thinking it is much easier than saying it. "If the time comes that you need some help 'gainst the bad guys - " A brief nod, like earlier and earlier before that, is posed against the Careers who seem to be packing to go on some kind of lunch break. " - I'll just be a click away." If Valentina does not reply, Tyren continues to return to his lane.

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]

[/td][/tr][/tr][/table][/center]

Word Count: 530