Diversions ;;Ky&Ty (Anatra)

[*]

"Kyanite. Wake up, sis."

The voice of my brother wakes me up slightly as I turn over in my bed, letting my sore cheek rub against the fabic of my pillow. A groan instantly escapes me, my eyes opening, as I sit up in bed slowly and place a hand to my face. The gauze somehow pulled off in my restless night. I take to rubbing my eyes gently and escaping the bed, still feeling the stitches pulling on my stomach as I stretch and quickly stop.

"Kyanite. Are you up yet?" My brother's voice calls from down the hallway. As if he can hear my head nod, I give him the gesture. I begin my journey by walking to the bathroom down the hallway not far from my room. Although, it seems to take everything out of me this morning. I feel so tired and sore. The effects of the last few weeks really catching up to me since the aftermath of my fight last week. Though, my sleeping patterns has suffered some. The entire night, I kept waking up with nightmares of blood and screaming. Dreams of my own death by the hands of the one I've began to lov... like. One dream would be of me and Matthew fighting and I would fall, and another would be of him and Mark dueling it to the death and the moment I would try to reach him, he would fade away and his eyes would close. Each one would sent me into a shock, waking up without breath and a cold sweat to run down the back of my neck. I wipe furiously at my skin to reveal the dampness on it once again.

"Damnit..." I mutter to myself as I reach the bathroom door and shut it rather quietly. My shoulder moves against the door as it clicks, only to lean my back against it heavily a second later. I look to my right side staring directly into the one thing I've been avoiding since my fight; the mirror. Beside me on the wall, it screams at me to look for once. That's when I finally see my reflection for the first time. The mark against my face that stretches from just above my jaw line to be adjacent to my eye. Just seeing the redness that outlines the mark makes me want to cry. I had the stitches out just the other day, but today it shines bright red against my pale skin. The mark clearly defined where Marks blade took the first hit against me. The gash that took a part of me away. I shake my head and stare at my reflection for what seems like ages before my brother starts to pound on the door of the bathroom, making me jump.

"Breakfast is done, Kya. Come eat before you leave." He tells me, but I reply to him with a simple, 'No'. I can't eat right now. Not when the corners of my eyes begin to pool with salty tears at my reflection. The marks on my arm and stomach are nothing compared to the hideous sight on my face. Instantly, I begin searching for the supply of gauze that I've been having to use to wrap my arm with and neat square of the stuff and begin to cleanse the cut with the antiseptic. It stings like never before and not just because of the solution. I can't get it out of my mind how much this mark is going to mar me.

"Kya. Are you okay in there?" Once again, my brother's voice comes out to me and with a shaky voice, I reply to him vocally this time.

"No! I'm not." I barely get out to him as I open up the door to the bathroom to see his concern. His mouth dropping just slightly to see my face. Right before I opened the door, the tears had already began to fall. The redness around my eyes showing my dislike for my appearance. The one thing that has truely hurt me more than any of my other injuries I'd ever gotten before. "Look at me."

"Yes. I see. It looks like it's healing well." He states, but I shake my head at him and shove by him. Immediately, he grabs onto my shoulder gently, and turns me around. "It'll go away. Just wait and see."

"I'm going to pay Mark back for this. Until he knows what it feels like..." I hiss at him brother my brother pulls me closer to him to put a hand under my chin, raising my face up. I jerk to move my face away but he holds it quick and still in his grasp. I groan.

"It'll be alright Kya. It gives you character. It's shows you can move on after a fight after a defeat. You have proven yourself already... despite what dad says. YOu did good out there. Who cares what others think of the mark. It'll go away. Why do you feel you need to make Mark pay? It was just part of the fight. It happens..."

"Do you know what it feels like? To be marred for life? Permanently scarred... It'll never go away, Jeran. Every time I look in the mirror... You didn't even sign up for the pregames? You didn't even try. You have no right to brush this off as nothing. You have no clue what it's going to be like for me. You and dad..." He gives me a soft glare as he is trying to figure me out, but I don't give him another moment. I go straight to my room and change. I don't even care about the matching jacket to my pants, I just grab the warmest coat I can before I leave the house.

Walking seems to be about the only thing I can do without the use of my hands. Although it's been almost two weeks since my fight, my arms are still slightly useless. While my left arm is in the cast, my right has been through the ringer. Today though, I'm suppose to be getting the stitches out of my arm, and have the ones on my stomach checked. Halfway down the road, I realize I had forgotten to place a fresh bandage over my cheek, and while I pass several people in town, I try to hide the mark with the collar of my coat.

As I make my way into the hospital through the doors, I come into the hustle and bustle of a busy room. A few children sit with their parents while an older gentleman is the one that really looks the worst out of all of them. I give him a polite grin, still hiding the mark on my cheek and take my place waiting amongst them until my name is called.

"Kyanite Ruze." My name almost seems to make my a celebrity for some reason because two of the children instantly look to me and wave, while their parents stare at me. I know they had to have watched the games. As Gala had stated, I made myself into a celebrity but I hardly feel that way. The further I walk down the hallway, I keep my head down until the nurse leaves me on a chair in the hallway.

"I'm going to be right back for you, Kyanite. Let me grab the guy overseeing your care, and we'll get you to a room." She states, leaving me here in the hallway. I feel exposed.

[Anatra]

"You really shouldn't wander so much, Mr Orca." The voice echoes in the dull room, assessment charts pasted all over the walls. His tag reads 'Dr. B Charles'. "You know how bad it could be for you." I want to ignore him, and carry on. I want to get out of this hospital and do something productive. Sitting, lying and standing in the hospital makes me crawl with anxious nerves. The very walls are beginning to fade, even in their brightness. "I know." I utter. "Do you? Let me take a look at your neck wound." I lean forward, and to the right as he takes of the left bandage. I try not to show the pain. I want out of here. Next the left, and he places a hand to his chin. I can't even see what he is seeing, but I can feel his eyes on me - judging the very nature of the wound.

Half of me wonders whether he cares that I get better. There is a prejudice around some of the staff here that makes my muscles tense and my fists tighten. They don't even understand, I think to myself, trying to clarify their intentions as he looks on. "Optimal, for now. But you should stay in bed."

"I hate staying in bed." My eyes aren't pleased and nor is my face. I look irritated and I can tell he knows this. "Well by all means walk out the hospital and collapse. You're here to get better." I brood on his words as I leave the room, saying my dutiful goodbyes which are empty with no real meaning. I do go back to my room, because I know I'll have a visitor. Alex, my twin brother. Well, the twin that doesn't look like me at all. Brown eyes and brown hair, that's probably the extent of our 'twinship'.

"How're you feeling?"

"Like shit." I pause, only to beginning speaking again. "Doctor says I should walk around. It's ridiculous." I can admit that it isn't, but I don't like it. "It's alrigh-" I glare at him and he stops. "Fine, it's not alright. But you'll be out of here soon, and you can forget all about the pregames."

"I can't."

"Why not?" My glare sustains. "Because Mark is up against Matthew." He understands what I am saying. Mark beat Alex, and Matthew beat me. Now one will beat the other. "..." He says nothing, and I don't blame him. "Do you think Matthew's alright?" I nod to myself first, then to him as I take a seat on the bed. "Yeah. He came to see me."

"...He did what? When?" I smile. "Just after the fight, when I first came round. Then yesterday. He apologized, but he didn't have anything to apologize for. We knew what to expect."

After some time, Alex and I had ran out of things to discuss. I sit on the side of the bed in my room wondering, weighing the risk of walking around again. I have to, this hospital is empty. Devoid of anything to think about. Soon enough, I could go insane. I open the door and take some steps out. I admit to myself that my head does feel light and my steps are a little uneasy, but I doubt anyone will notice, nor will I after a little walk. There's a side railing on the walls in the corridors, to help people who can't walk properly get by. I'm not using it yet, but I keep it within distance. As I near the waiting room, where there is a door to the outside, I feel a sudden draft from the main door, where you can see the sunlight beaming in. Quickly, I realize that my neck is exposed and the scars are there for all to see. I have walked past a brown haired girl sitting on some chairs in the corridor, round the corner I can hear children playing with the toys laid out for them to entertain themselves whilst they wait for their parents. I stop at the corner, hesitant, and suddenly I find myself gripping the railing. I sigh.

I walk to a couple of seats away from the brown haired girl, and I sit myself down. I can feel eyes on me, but I can't be sure whether it is the paranoia of people seeing the broken Tyren from the arena, or maybe it's the girl. The girl, I look to the right, where she is. I know her face, I think. Though it is a little difficult to tell.

"Pregames?"

[*]

The seat beneath me is cold at first. The harsh, cold plastic chair that the nurse left me to sit in offers no comfort at all in the least. I slouch slightly though against the back of the chair but a throbbing sensation from my midsection makes me sit up straight again. Is it ever going to heal? It just seems like it will never get better. Never will get the stitches out. My training has become obsolete since my fight when it left me with two useless arms and wounds that have hindered me both physically and mentally. I have found that walking into the gym to train was going to be a big step. I know all the people in the gym because I used to be there every single day. Every single morning before the crack of dawn to run or throw knives. Now? I'm stuck sitting in the hallway waiting for a room to have my wounds looked at by the doctor. The peices of thread that keep my skin together only to leave marks upon my skin that will never leave me. Once again, I place a hand up to my face to cover the healing wound on my cheek to hide it from curious eyes.

That's about the time that I glance up to see the guy walking down the hallway, completely pale, as he passes me up. I recognize him immediately as the guy that went against Matthew. The guy that Matthew beat to a pulp and almost killed. The guy, at first, I could care less about because Matthew seemed to be the only thing important in my life the moment I saw all the blood on him. However, to see this guy for the first time since he showed up ready to fight with the bow in his hands, I see how truely horrid he looks with the marks on his neck. I turn my gaze away from him the moment I see him grip the railings and begin to wonder how much more worse off he was. It was pitiful what the pregames has done to everyone. It has done nothing but what the real thing would do. Turned friend against friend. Hurt others to the point of permanent scaring. Broken relationships and mended them as well. A second later, I hear his voice and it brings me back to what is going on. Apparently, his weakened state still takes him as he has found himself sitting a few seats away from me in the same cold, plastic chairs.

"Pregames? He questions me, and I keep my hand up toward my cheek to hide the hideous mark that mars my skin. I look him over though before speaking. The last time I saw him, there was nothing but blood all over his body. All over his face. I remember Matthew trying to push against his neck to keep the precious life inside of him when it clearly wasn't going to stay. He was almost dead when they got to him, yet here he is, sitting near me and alive. I give him a subtle nodd of my head.

"Yeah. Pregames." I state, but for some reason I can't think of anything else to say to him. I've never had a problem coming up with words before, however, Tyren baffles me into silence for a moment as I straighten up in the chair, a small grimace forming until the throbbing of my stomach stops. "Check up for me."

Once again, the words that come out is hardly anything to talk about, so the only thing I can think about to say is to ask about him. "How are you doing? They still keeping you here much longer?"

[Anatra]

"Yeah. pregames." She speaks back at me. I search my memory but can't seem to pinpoint where I remember her from. Her hair and eyes are what made me remember, because I thought at the time 'she's just like Alba'. Alba is my cousin, brown hair, brown eyes. "Check up for me." I wish my visit was just a check up. In fact, this isn't a visit for me. This is a second home, for now. It has been a week and a couple of days since the fight between Matthew and I, and still I feel like it was yesterday. I am constantly reminded that it isn't, however, by the immense amount of boredom and sleepless nights.

"How are you doing? They still keeping you here much longer?" I can tell the question is a custom for people, everyone seems to open with it. "I'm doing alright, considering. Just stitches to wait for, and then for everything to return to normal." I don't want to outright say that we're waiting for every drop of blood to return. She looks like she has been in a fight too, but I have a sensitivity when it comes to talking about such to people who look more... vulnerable. "It shouldn't be long now, though. About a week or something. Not too sure, I can barely remember the day let alone the last day here."

There it is, the memory returns. I remember watching Mark's fight. I had to, as it was close to the time of my fight with Matthew. She was there. It's her, Kyanite. Not like knowing her name tells me much, though. I find myself wanting to know more, I want to know what made her partake in the pregames - because I've been having doubts myself about my reasoning, maybe she has too.

"What did your family think about the pregames, then?"

[*]

"Stitches... I've got my fair share of those." I tell him with honestly. Although the ones on my cheek have been removed two days eariler, the many ones that decorate my arm and stomach still linger on. I'm not entirely sure when the ones on my stomach will be taken out, but there is still a great deal of pain with it. My arm seems to be healing nicely though, maybe because I have taken to babying myself with both of my arms, but the constant bending and moving agrrivates my stomach to no end. Those stitches may end up staying for a while longer until the wound heals more. I do give him a subtle nod though.

"I guess I should consider myself lucky. I checked myself out the next day. I convinced them I was well enough to leave. Whether that was wise or not, I couldn't miss..." I stop myself from saying 'Matthew's match'. The thought of what happened between them comes to my mind, the images flooding through when I remember the brutal lashing they were giving each other. The deep gashes on his neck that bled profusely and the arrows that stuck out of Matthew's arm and leg. My fight looked nothing as brutal as theirs did, but mine didn't lack the amount of bloodloss from my body. Weakness still seems to overtake me once in a while, and I find myself having to rest more often then I used to.

As I glance over at him, he takes the initiative to ask me a question about what my family thinks of the pregames. I shrug my shoulders and shake my head just slightly. "My father was all for it. My brother was too, although he didn't compete. They both backed me up for my need to..." What was I going to say? Prove myself worthy? Prove to all the guys out there wanting to hurt me that I can't be touched? The only thing it proved was that I able to be beaten.

"... well, I told them I was ready for it. Guess not though. Three rounds and I still lost without even going all the way through. My dad has done nothing but train me for years for this opportunity. So, you can imagine that his views still havn't changed. I image he already wants me to compete in the next ones already, although he's not said it to me directly. He can't wait until I start training again. As for me... I still wouldn't mind doing it again. After, I heal up though. Maybe..." I lean my head back against the wall for a moment before I throw the question back at him. "What about you Tyren... family hate what happened? Or are you rearing to go again once your all healed up?"

[Jack Lexington]

Yesterday was my first half day back at work. I'm lucky because I'm working for my father who's cutting me a lot of slack because he knows I'll have to compete in the grand final of the pregames soon and need all my might to recover and train at least a little before going up against a giant brute like Mark.
In his eyes I can see that he's worried about me during our dinner conversations but he doesn't say it openly. I guess he doesn't want to discourage me but he keeps asking about my health and whether I need more time at home.
"I'm okay, dad." I tell him and slap him on the shoulder even though I'm short breathed and hurting.

The pregames comission wants an assemessment of our health before we start the final fight. It's their job to make sure it's a t least somewhat even and nobody gets killed.
Therefore I've put on my training clothes today and made my way over to the training center sporting a hobble that would make a three legged dog jealous. My leg still hurts a lot when I put pressure on it and my left arm is pratically useless. I can't even whack my opponent with a cast because all they gave me was a splint to keep my fingers safe.

I find myself in front of the commission asking questions about the last fight. Mental assessment they call it. Maybe they want to make sure we don't snap.
Then they ask me to do a few laps around the gym. Holy am I ever out of breath fast.
Finally I'm asked to do a spar with one of the other trainees here. The guy who they asked is usually no match for me. He's two years younger and a boney lad with no muslces at all. His skills are also all over the place but today he gives me a good run for my money.
Somehow I end up underneath him with his chest resting heavily on my busted arm. For the first time I feel excrutiating pain radiate all the way to my fingertips. I scream in pain and he instantly lets go while I clutch my left arm to my chest and wait for the pain to subside.
I can feel all eyes on me. Ten minutes later the assessment is over and I'm asked to go back to the hospital to get and exam and provide the exam sheet to the commission. I can't do anything but glare at them and protest. "C'mon. Shouldn't it be my decision whether I want to fight?" They won't have it.

Needless to say I'm absolutely nerve wrecked when I get to the hospital. I've just been beat by a scrawny Kindergarten Kid. How do I want to go up against Mark? Maybe I really need more time....a lot of it.
But one thing that happened comes back to me. I thought I felt my fingers. Silently I wiggle them but can't feel anything, so I kick at the next best garbage can sending all the bags and trash onto the side walk.
Somebody calls after me but I ignore him instead I keep my steady hobbled path to the hospital, my second home.

[ table by anzie ]

[Anatra]

"Stitches... I've got my fair share of those." I can relate to this more than I want to. The stitches still in place in both sides of my neck are proof, as are the ones on my back, though that's covered by my black t-shirt. "I know the feeling." I tell her. "I guess I should consider myself lucky. I checked myself out the next day. I convinced them I was well enough to leave. Whether that was wise or not, I couldn't miss..." I fail to notice her voice slip off as she finishes her sentence, instead I simply reply with "I didn't even know you could discharge yourself. Doctor's kept that one from me." I smile a bit as I take my bottle of water and take a drink. I think to myself whether leaving early from the hospital is a good idea. To her, it seems more likely though I'm sure that her injuries were somewhat similar in terms of threat. Maybe it is possible for me. That would be great, finally escaping this place. My attention draws to her though. As a male, it would be rude not to notice her looks. Even in this state she sits there with a subtly that I admire. Defiant of her wounds and ready to take on the world again. I stop myself, because this is clearly a hospital and not a playground.

I listen to her answer to my question. I search my memory for any families that were set on having their kids in the Games this year. My family isn't usually the only one sending many into the Games as volunteers, but this year seems to be lacking. "What about you Tyren... family hate what happened? Or are you rearing to go again once your all healed up?" I take another sip of my water - Doctor advised that I take to that bottle as much as possible. "Mmm. Mum and Dad are set on me being a Peacekeeper. Twin brother is just as I am; wanted to go in the Games, now we don't because of this. I have a lot of cousins and they come and visit me often, young and old. It's almost like being the celebrity of the family but for all the wrong reasons. The younger ones think I'm some hero, while the older ones pity my mistake. Mum and Dad were shocked - I've never lost fights before. Our family is ... notorious for ruthless careers, I've never seen the point in not caring about others, though." I pause myself, having spoken a lot. I remember her last question, and go to answer it but find myself thwarted by indecision. I can't decide whether I want to go back or not. Matt wants me to carry on training, at least, while my brother and cousins want me home and safe. "I'm... not too sure yet, though. I think I want to carry on training. I'd never go in the pregames again though. I've learned all I can from it."

[*]

"I didn't even know you could discharge yourself. Doctor's kept that one from me." I shrug my shoulders lightly to his newfound escape pattern. I give off a slight grin. Even though I felt horribly weak and looked even worse, I put my my biggest front dying to get out of the hospital in order to get to their match. They had advised me to stay just one more night, but I just simply refused it. It also helped that my brother had come by early that morning and since he blood related and old enough to take care of me, I convinced them I wasn't staying any longer. So, I looked over to Tyren. "It helps when you can act like nothings wrong. Like there's no pain whatsoever. My brother was also there to convince them I was doing alright, too. So, I didn't get out without help. He had to support me once we got out of there." Still, I kept the part of me not wanting to miss their fight. Now, I start to see the evils of what happened. This is the guy that Matthew had almost killed. I'm glad you're going to be okay.

A nurse walks by wheeling the old man from the waiting room past me and takes him down the hallway even further. She locks the breaks on the chair as the old man quickly lets his head be propped up by his arm, and his eyes close. I grin at the sight of the old man falling asleep as I turn my attention back to Tyren when he starts to answer my question. Everything he says makes me jealous of him. His parents both want him and his twin brother to become peacekeepers. They want to give their children a bright future, while mine simply wants to send me off into the games to get killed, more than likely. It would be a rare occurence if I was actually able to win. Out of twenty-four... the odds of me making it out of the games should I volunteer, is low but I will not hesiatate to do what would be necessary to win and not for my father.

"You should continue your training, even if you don't go into the games as a volunteer or whatnot. You can always use that if, like you said your parents wanted, you become a peacekeeper. You'll have to be physically able to take control of whatever situation there is. You might even be able to become a trainer for some other career kids in the future. It's what you do with your training in the end, right? You wouldn't be training for nothing?" I let my gaze wash over him. Over the wounds that Matthew had inflicted on his neck. Instinctively, I raise my hand up to meet with my face and run my fingers near the still healing cut. It's still slighly swollen around the edges that I can feel, and I can only hope that they'll give me something to cover it back up since I left the house in a hurry.

"It's funny, you know. Training never really prepares you to lose though. Losing a spar in the gym is different than this. I hate it." I say this because both of us has had to endure it. I've have to endure it twice now. The only small victory I got was against Gala, but I hardly consider that a win. So, three strikes and I'm out of the pregames, indefinately. I let my hand fall from my cheek.

[Anatra]

There is a strangeness to the hospitals now. The noise inside is all numb and dull. Maybe it is the morphling. I hope it isn't; Hallucinations are the first sign of an addiction. That's what my Father said, trying to poke around a pun he had made about me suddenly becoming a morphling addict. I used to laugh at his jokes but this one was a little dark for me. Dark jokes in such a dark places don't bode well for the brain - it rejects them apparently. "It helps when you can act like nothings wrong. Like there's no pain whatsoever. My brother was also there to convince them I was doing alright, too. So, I didn't get out without help. He had to support me once we got out of there." My brother could help me get out. I could ask him to convince the doctors too - I'd have to cross my fingers that they'd fall for the same trick twice. But it's not a trick, we clearly both want to see the final fight. I may need support. Support from crutches, more like. I could barely walk without lingering next to the railing.

I take a sip from the bottle.

"You might even be able to become a trainer for some other career kids in the future. It's what you do with your training in the end, right? You wouldn't be training for nothing?" Careers. I wish we would all learn. The problem is, that is exactly what I want to do. I want to go out there and fight because it is an art. A deadly art, but still - the more I help our District in victory, the less of us die. I scratch my head, getting too wrapped up in my own ambition. "It's funny, you know. Training never really prepares you to lose though. Losing a spar in the gym is different than this. I hate it." I look at her cheek. As much as she seems to hide it, I can't help but find it lying there in my vision. I look straight from it, but I remind myself how we all have our scars from this event. Are they scars though? Or are they really accolades. Achievements that we can hang on ourselves like certificates. Certification of defeat, more like. But endurance is valued. Maybe if I am reaped, I would have dozens of envious children looking at my neck for inspiration in their fights. I don't want anything close to that life.

"I hate it too." Though I know I'm talking about something else, I leave that there. "Victory and defeat seem like miles apart. If only it was as easy as the TV says it is." I am quite proud of myself for once, though. Finally, I seem to have adapted the ability to take a defeat like a man. In other times, I would just feel down about it. Now, I seem to be picking myself up. "I wish I could train people, though. At least only our district. I could never teach all of the tributes or anything like that. I could not stare them in the eye knowing that I am aiding them all in their hit-lists." I feel far too noble after that little speech. I recollect myself as it brings me to the thought that I won't be able to look at the tributes at all, I will just see my friends in them now. Now that I have seen how normality can be cast aside, I feel that my feelings is vulnerable.

"At least it is almost done."