our words are { g o l d } // Ele, blitz

[Stare]

chapter ( the sixth )

I'm going to lose a bloody finger.

I respect steel and its power to tear apart the human body, but everything feels so awkward and wrong in my grasp. I've never used a sword or dagger before in my life, and I keep wrongly estimating their landing points, too used to using only my bare fists to fight. Dad preferred the bottle as his weapon of choice, and one or twice I deflected it with something like a lamp or picture frame, but this is far more advanced. After a while I throw the sword down in frustration and walk away with my hands up, tired of embarrassing myself.

Isn't this supposed to be where I prove myself to my fellow tributes? Where I intimidate people? Instead, I've only succeeded in making myself look like a complete idiot. Thoroughly annoyed, I storm over to the area reserved for hand to hand combat practice. They have special gloves that are supposed to protect one's hands, but I ignore them. I've bruised my knuckles before. Surely I can handle doing it again.

The dummies are lined up neatly, so it's easy enough to take my pick. The victim immediately begins to feel the full force of my frustration. I remain light on my feet, shifting between stances as if expecting the inanimate object to hit back. Every punch is a relief, releasing some of the tension in my back and shoulders. I feel my body temperature begin to rise, muscles eagerly greeting the chance to strain and stretch themselves. Everything focuses in on the dummy and I finally, finally feel relief.

After a few minutes I pause, stepping back and wiping some of the sweat from my forehead. From the corner of my eye I spot another tribute. Not bothering to spare them a glance, I stretch my arms back and lace my fingers behind my head, breathing deeply. They may just be waiting for their turn, but I'm not feeling especially considerate at the moment. "Stop staring, idiot. I'm not in the mood."

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto]

THEY AIN'T GOT NO MUSCLE, NO HUSSLE.

[/presto]

I don't think that I can really remember the very first day I started my training. I know that it was some time ago, and that the first time I met my master I was very young. I remember tasting dirt in my mouth and anger, so much of it that it electrified me, burning it's way through my system and making me get back up no matter how many time I fell to the ground. Anger is what fueled my fire, it's what made me want to better myself. I didn't have much to be mad about. I have a mother who loves me, a father who's proud. All I had to be mad about was the way letters would shift themselves on the page and the fact that people thought it was okay to beat up a cripple.

I suppose I have more to be mad about now. You know, my brother is dead. There is also the fact that my mother hasn't really seen a reason to be here for the past year. I mean, she started getting out of bed and moving about finally, but she's never there. It's like talking to a corpse and expecting a response when there can be none. I guess I could be mad about my dad, who looks at me with theses eyes, you know? He knows that there was nothing I could do, that there was a quell and the rules were that I couldn't volunteer for him. My dad knows this, I know he knows this. It doesn't stop that flicker every time he looks at me directly. I can see it, how I've failed him. I can be mad.

That's why I can appreciate a good rage beating.

I've been beating at this dummy for a good five minutes when some chick walks up to one with this evil look in her eye, like she is going to push her dummy into the dirt and then rub it's face in it. Her technique needs some work but man, I can't see it mattering much in the arena. If I wasn't at my prime in martial arts I'd be pissing my pants if she came at me with that look on her face.

I've always enjoyed the comradery of training. IT feels good to know that there is a girl and a boy right beside you, trying to accomplish the exact same thing that you are. It's easier to work longer and harder when there is someone watching you. I can't help wondering what makes her so angry.

Oops, possibly me.

"Cool your jets, princess, I'm not interested," I drawl out. I let my eyes wander over her for a few slow seconds, "Not in you." I've got a girl back home.

[presto]

T I C K TICK T I C K I N G

[/presto]

[Stare]

chapter ( the sixth )

My immediate instinct is to spin around and snap out an angry what's that supposed to mean loud enough to make people stare, but I hold back. No need to inspire a grudge when we're all about to have permission to kill each other in a few days. "Whatever," I mutter instead, taking a few more punches at the dummy. "You have my blessing to hit on the more attractive tributes."

After a few moments I try to discreetly glance at him, and it's enough to throw off my rhythm. My fists falter, causing the next few hits to be somewhat awkward. I draw away from my target and fold my arms over my chest in a way that is both annoyed and self-protecting. I recognize him but I wish I didn't, because he's just one more person to add to the list of people I'm beginning to feel sorry for. "Eye Saw," I comment, scanning him once over. Yet another tribute defined by their sibling. A pause, and then I grudgingly add, "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your brother."

It's worth crap and we both know that, but instead of acknowledging that fact I turn back toward the dummy. It gives me some kind of distracting. I flash back, and for a moment I am standing in my own home, blood dripping down from my nose while my father sneers down at me. "That's what you get for misbehaving." I reconnect with the present quickly enough, but the memory has me hitting slightly harder, my eyebrows furrowed. Who will take the pain now that I am gone? Olivia? I can't imagine her with bruises all over her pretty face. Someone has to protect the rest of them, though. Someone has to be the sacrifice. After so many years of having held that burden on my shoulders, it hurts to think of another one of them taking it from me.

"I've seen you practice with these things," I say after a beat of silence, suddenly unsure of what I'd rather concentrate on. My options are limited to the boy without a brother and the family without a sister, and neither are very appealing. "You're good. How long have you been training?"

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto]

THEY AIN'T GOT NO MUSCLE, NO HUSSLE.

[/presto]

I open my mouth up to make some sort of witty response, to say anything really. I don't have anything. I could go hit on someone but to be honest, my heart wouldn't be in it. I could do whatever I really wanted right now but that doesn't mean I should. I want to tell her that I have a girl back home that I'm trying to remember the way her kiss felt against my lips and to forget the way it felt when she left without a word. I want to say that my heart is a jumbled mass of ropes and chords that I can't untangle all because of this girl. I don't have any room to be into anyone else. there is literally no capacity left to think about anyone but her all the time. The reason I know for a fact that I wasn't looking at her like that is because there will never be anyone as beautiful as Calypso Leto.

I decide to ignore that jab.

She goes back to attacking the dummy like it's her job and I go back to watching, completely comfortable with staring forever if it gets her this off guard. She glances at me again and falters. I wait for more words that are meant to hurt, wondering what she might come up with next. I wonder if there even is anything left that can actually wound me other than a fist or a blade. There is nothing left to be tender about, everything that I had or have seems to be common knowledge. My name isn't Eye Saw, it's Ewe's brother. Everyday I am reminded of my failures when I am called at from across the dining room with his name. Do they know how much it hurts?

I look away from her when she gives her condolences. I don't need her pity. I don't need anyone's pity. Opal said that killing takes a piece of your heart out, that it hurts more than dying. I don't think she's right because I feel so numb that everything seems to burn in the most intense of ways. It's all amplified and I can feel so much hate. After a couple beats of silence I nod at her and take up position again in front of a dummy. "Yeah well, he's dead. It happens." My voice is too nonchalant, too uncaring. The edges of my mouth burn with my white lie. It shouldn't have happened, I'm not okay with it, I'm not okay with her saying anything about it, I'm not okay with seeing images of his face next to mine, I am not okay with any of it. I miss my little brother way too fucking much.

So I begin my own therapy session and begin an assault on my dummy so practiced that he's dead three times over within seconds. "I must have been six or seven," I say, "When I started training. So about ten years. I had a good teacher." I pause for a moment to stare at her again. "You aren't bad yourself, although your technique needs a little work." I don't know why I say that, why I offer that critique. It's not like I want to be doing her any favours. She's on my list to kill, they all are. I can't be getting chummy with the enemy.

[presto]

T I C K TICK T I C K I N G

[/presto]

[Stare]

chapter ( the sixth )

My lips tug up into a humorless smile at his comment. I've seen the way he fights, trying to kill his personal demons just as I'm trying to kill mine, but he does it with more speed and flair. He's pampered in the worst of ways and I'd pity him if it weren't for the fact that he doesn't need it. Eye Saw can kill far more efficiently than I can, and I'm not about to feel sorry for someone who could very well be the death of me.

He was taught by a master of the art, no doubt. I was taught by a man with some very dangerous habits. Silently, I wonder if he is stronger than I am despite this. Probably. Just because my pain is more obvious doesn't mean it's worse. Willis is only ever steady when he's drunk. Laila is the youngest of eight reapable orphans. Luke is taking the hit for a girl who had half her hair ripped out by a machine.

We've all got problems, I guess.

"Yeah, well," I take another few hits, narrowing my eyes as I do so, "not all of us get fancy teachers. Some of us have to learn the hard way." I feel the taste of blood surge into my mouth along with the memories, the screams, but I force them back. I know what people think of abused little girls. They're weak and fragile. I only told Luke about my father because I needed him to understand my urgency in making him promise to take care of my family. As far as I can tell, as nosy as they are, the reporters haven't discovered the truth yet. I don't need the world thinking I'm someone to feel sorry for just as I'm about to fight to the death. Another punch. "Through practice."

I shoot him another glance, trying to kill off an idea that's suddenly bloomed in my mind. When I asked Willis to show me how to play darts he'd scoffed at me and given me a sarcastic reply. I can't imagine what Eye will say to this proposition. Still, it's worth a shot. "If you're so high and mighty, why don't me show me how the real fighters do it?"