Rabbit Heart // Windy

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=000000] Here I am, a rabbit-hearted girl Frozen in the headlights

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To a girl in District Two, the world is vast and strength is rare. That is, unless she happens to be one of the Careers: a frisky, charming blonde who can cut your throat before you even notice the blade wrapped firmly inside her palm; a bloodthirsty brunette who doesn’t take anybody’s bullshit; an 18-year-old, quiet and cunning, glaring at you from across the District Square as if your weakness is a stink and they can smell it on you from a hundred feet.

Eve wanted to be one of them. She wanted to be the kind of girl who could stand tall, a girl who could spit into the faces of those who deemed her unworthy. Someone strong, someone dangerous, and most importantly? Someone who wouldn’t stutter two words into a sentence.

That’s how she left the house that morning: pulling a winter coat over her shoulders and stumbling over her words, hardly whispering ”I – I’m going out, I’ll be back later,” but really speaking to no one but herself. The sun had only just begun to peek over the horizon, meaning that her entire family would still be curled up in their beds, toes warm while the numbness spread through her fingers. She took to the morning with a caution in her step, but still determined, still curious, stepping in all of the footprints of previous days to keep her feet dry.

In just a matter of minutes, she found herself standing in front of a formal building, one of the nicest places in the entire District, all built up nice and fancy for the people that District Two celebrated most: their Careers. Even with frost-covered windows obscuring most of the view inside, she could just feel the activity moving within the place. Even then, in the earliest time of the morning, those powerful teens were settling into their training routines. Eve could hear the weapons slicing through the air with a whoosh sound every so often, but she couldn’t see. She wasn’t even sure if she wanted to see beyond the doors, or if she even dared to step inside the building at all. Meekly, she pressed her nose up against the cold glass of the window and stared through the gaps in the frost, wondering what it might be like on the other side.
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[wimdy]

My joints are aching today. The cold is starting to seep into my bones and rattle me for spare life to give to the wind. I don’t have anything to share with it, however, pulling my sweater tight around me as I begin my walk towards training. My breath fogs up the air before me, climbing in swirls of heated steam from my lungs. Little by little, my own warmth is sapped from me. I’ve always hated winter. The chill of frost against my fingers and toes and nose is too much for me to want to deal with. I look down at my fingers slowly, noting the sudden lack of color from the second knuckle up. Frowning down at my hands, I break into a slow job towards the training center and try not to slip on the ice that has compacted overnight. I’ve never been the best when it comes to training. I’m no wonder child of District Two. My family’s reputation isn’t nearly as tough as the Morenos or the Lightwoods of District One. You learn the names of those families that have tough as nails kids going into the Games year after year, even if they’re from other districts. (Especially if they’re from other districts.) One can only prepare so much by knowing one’s own district. Knowing all others is just as important. I like being informed about everything as a result. I don’t have the same strength and peak physical form as my older sister and brother. I’m not everything a sponsor would want in a Career. My body is somewhat leaner than most brawny boneheads and there’s a certain litheness to my movements that’s missing from my counterparts at the center. None of that matters, though. What does matter is that I’ve got the mind for the Games. I know the tricks and skills of survival rather than hold the sheer might of a sword in hand. I prefer weapons that keep me distanced from a fight. They’re easier to handle when you’re sliding across solid ground to miss a swish in your direction. It’s more practical when you’ve got to hide up above in the trees or down within the foliage. Distance and precaution are key. (I know how to use them to my advantage.) By the time I finally step inside, there are already fifteen or so others training. It’s early, but it’s never too early to be the best. I let out a quiet sigh, shucking off my sweater and shoes, leaving me in a plain t-shirt and sweats and bare feet. (There’s something grounding about direct contact to the floor.) Stretches are easy enough to go through, bending, bending, reaching up and down. I can still feel the cold lingering in my bones as I step up to the rope hanging from the ceiling, looking up its length before curling my fingers tight around it. My eyes flit about me for a moment, catching everyone in their practices, before meeting the eyes of someone on the outside looking in. For a moment, I pause, eyebrow lifting in curiosity at the sight, before shaking it off and starting my climb.