cato; career arena ] work it out

[анзие (Anz)]

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[atrb=style, background-color: dedede; border: ededed solid 0px; width: 420px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 30px 30px;] The food isn't all that bad, but J knows that she can do much better. Besides, she quite likes their pudding, even though they get very little of it. Almost none, as a matter of fact. But it's good pudding, if not for the lack of it. (She's been feeling strange lately, woozy and as though someone else was attempting to take control of her body - she hasn't felt this way in a couple of weeks and she's not looking forward to it.) J prods at her food silently. It's not inedible, per se. Just really unappetizing to look at - I really wish they'd give us something different sometimes, too. It wouldn't hurt them, I'm sure. (It might hurt their budget though.) She shakes her head. (What's going on?) Slowly she scoops a spoonful of food into her mouth. The bland taste makes her gag just a little but she tries to chew and swallow and smile before anyone thinks she's less than pleased by other people's attempts at cooking (which she kind of is - she could do so much better. I know you can, says a wicked voice that she tries hard to stuff back). It wouldn't do to hurt anyone's feelings, after all. It's only food, I can eat it. And besides, I'm sure I'll get used to it soon. The latter sentence has become a mantra of sorts for J over the past couple of weeks. She'll get used to it soon. She will - she'll get used to waking up ridiculously early for training, to eating complete gunk each meal, to showering with freezing cold water, to being pinned under triumphant careers as she gasps for breath and fear. I don't know how I'll do it but I will. It's for a good cause, isn't it? Learning to fight in case she ever gets reaped. But it's no wonder she thinks her sickness is coming back. (Her mind is all over the place, her hand shakes from something she can't identify, like the illness is lurking just under her skin and waiting to explode and take over - hurting people she doesn't want to, doing things she never remembers.) This is my body. Isn't it? J's hand shakes as she puts another spoonful in her mouth.

[/justify]

I'm thinking they'll know just about everything,
I bet they planned it all out,
Like the shows
Went everywhere I go.
Walked into the store right behind me,
Stood in line right beside me and followed me to my home.
I'm sure they figured it out early on
That I would never run.
That they could shoot but that's not fun,
Cause then they're killing their stolen son.

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[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

[th][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=000000] Doing "Saying" thinking "Hearing" I can feel the hunger inside me creeping up. The hunger is threatening to make me throw up. I'd need food in order to train at my best. My legs have a mind of their own. Both of my legs are guiding me toward the cafeteria for some food. I grab a plate and some sort of slop is served. I hesitantly take a bite. The taste isn't the best, but it serves my needs. I begin to scarf down the slop. Mouthful after mouthful, the slop enters my mouth and subsequently my stomach. I can feel my hunger being sated. I get ready to leave when I noticed someone else eating as well. I want to leave, but I haven't noticed this person before. That brought my curiosity to the forefront of my mind. I'd find out what I need to know from the person and decide what to do later. Here I thought I was alone. Guess not. From what I can tell, the stranger doesn't appear to like the food. I feel the hunger within slightly sated, but I want more. "Hey there. If you wont eat that, may I take your serving?" I cant help but to laugh at how funny the words came out. I don't know what to expect. Maybe the stranger will get up and leave without a single word spoken. I crack my knuckles waiting for an answer. I'd appear as intimidating as I can in order to make it clear that I'm the one with power. I want to get back to training, but this person is an unknown potential problem. Table courtesy of Ani

[анзие (Anz)]

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[atrb=style, background-color: dedede; border: ededed solid 0px; width: 420px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 30px 30px;] She's probably been staring into her plate for about five minutes when someone sits on the opposite end of the table, just a little bit away from her, and starts scarfing down his food. J peeks up at him through her hair, nerves bubbling up when she recognizes one of the larger male tributes there. Oh no, what if he talks to me? J self-consciously ducks down further. (She's only panicking a little bit.) He seems to enjoy the food, though. J pokes at her own serving. Maybe he'll eat mine? He seems really hungry. It's like killing two mockingjays with one stone (except that J will never do the killing): the boy gets his food, and the cooks won't be hurt by the fact that she hasn't finished her food. I'm not hungry, after all. She deliberates on it, peeking at him repeatedly. He might hurt me, but he might also thank me. And if he sneers at me, then... I guess he's just no different from anyone else. J's shoulders droop just a little at that. (He has no right to sneer at me, though. I'll smash his face in.) A slight shudder runs down J's spine, and she shakes her head in denial of that vicious thought. It's not hers. I didn't think it. It was just... what did they call it? Monstrous freedom. I wouldn't actually do it. Right? She sighs and stirs the meal despondently. She doesn't actually know. "Hey there. If you won't eat that, may I take your serving?" The boy's deep voice is followed by a laugh that causes J to flinch back and raise her metaphorical hackles at the same time, she's angry and she's scared and she doesn't know if he's going to hurt her. It doesn't help that he cracks his knuckles, the pop of air between bone like a gunshot in her direction. He's terrifying to J, putting it kindly. Something stirs in her head and she squeezes her eyes shut briefly, trying to calm herself. Was she breathing funny? She steadies her breath nevertheless. In, and out. In, and out. "If... you want," she tells him. If she played this right, she might make her first ally - or, and this is a long shot, friend. "Here." Scooting closer, she pushes her tray up against his and tries to smile at him. It must look funny because it feels funny, so she lets the smile drop. If she looks up he might just be sneering at her and she doesn't want to see that right now. He has no right. "I'm..." Her speech falters right there, and that's why everyone must think she's really shy, she can't even give them her name. She tries to force the words out. "I'm J." (It sounds like she's choking on her own breath but she hopes he gets it because it's so hard to give him her name, but is that even her name? Because people call her different. They call her Astra.) No right. I'm thinking they'll know just about everything, I bet they planned it all out, Like the shows Went everywhere I go. Walked into the store right behind me, Stood in line right beside me and followed me to my home. I'm sure they figured it out early on That I would never run. That they could shoot but that's not fun, Cause then they're killing their stolen son.

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