and you thought the lions were bad {pearl & barney}!blitz

[[nyte]]

B A R N A B A S   S T R O U D

His heart was not heavy. A deep stirring within his chest forced his head  high, his shoulders square and a smirk upon his lips. The boy no longer felt alone, no longer felt the need to force himself away from others for fear of his mortality as well as theirs. They were no longer twenty-three opponents but twenty-three people. Most of which were likely just as scared as he. Asa had proven such, Finn had and he was sure all  others would do the same. Not evil, just condemned. The soldier had accepted that his fate lay in the palms of others and that he faced an impossible end. 

He didn't care. At least not now. 

His station lay only a few paces in front of him. Barnabas was in no rush, instead regarding his fellow tributes with eyes akin to an owl's. They were all so intricate in their own rights. Before arriving to the captiol, he'd had no clue so many varieties, so many shapes and colors, could exist within only twenty four people. It was surely  magic, so captivating he could almost forget why he walked these floors. 

His hands are calloused, wrapping around the bright white gauze with little thought. He had often cleaned cuts and scrapes when learning the trade, clumsy children wandering into his grandma's clinic with teary eyes and bloodied knees. Barnabas always loved children, telling them stories of grandeur while wrapping their legs with the fabric now clutched within his hands. They were so thankful, so kind, wrapping their arms around his waist and promising they'd be more careful next time. 

The gauze started around his thumb, snaking its way up his arm. It was excellent for burns and clotting wounds, the sponge-like texture leaving enough room for natural air to stimulate healing but not enough to allow harmful bacteria. One would have to clean the wound first, or else risk trapping bacteria into raw skin. His lip curled imagining the stench of infected skin, patients who were unable to keep up with treatment. 

She was pretty and blonde, hair bouncing in the corner of his eye. A career, he thought, one named after a gem. Perhaps he should have feared her, but his confidence was struck anew after Asa Reau.

He didn't think, thrusting his hand outward.

"Hi, I'm Barnabas." there was a smile forced upon pale lips. 

{these are the days that bind you
t o g e t h e r ;

[Python]

Pearl Millison

First aid was one ability mother had neglected to acknowledge during Reaping boot camp. Pearl’s skills were rustier than an old lead pipe, and she refused to admit it to her. The last thing I need is her coming in here and – Her cheeks burned at the mere thought of it. Mother lecturing her in front of all twenty-three tributes, a nightmare to end all nightmares. No, this was something she would have to learn on her own. She could teach herself how to do it, right? The memories of the mechanics were lurking in her head somewhere, she just had to find them. Practicing the hands-on activities would be the best way to refresh her memory.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t faring well so far. She could flush wounds, apply antiseptic, and wrap gauze – but that was the novice stuff. It was utilizing the needle and thread that required efficiency. A heavy injury could be reversed of its mortal effects if it could be stitched properly, preventing both excessive blood loss and infection. There was an artificial appendage in front of her, already wrapped with gauze and somewhat damp from the antiseptic. Problem was, when she started puncturing skin with the needle she struck too deep, and her hand started to quiver.

She chewed the inside of her cheek and walked away to retrieve more thread, having already wasted enough on the poor appendage. As soon as her hand reached for the tiny spool a boy’s voice piped up beside her. ”Hi, I’m Barnabas!” he said, thrusting his hand out to her. She blinked and stared at him, somewhat stricken with awe. Barnabas Stroud of District Seven had – for some odd reason – bothered to speak to her.

”I know,” she blurted, and what a weird thing to say! She quickly tried to correct herself. ”I-I mean, I memorized all of the tributes' names and faces, so I know that your name is Barnabas.” She took his hand and shook it politely, hoping he didn’t think badly of her. Not that it would matter when twenty-three of these people would be dead in a week, but she liked to make decent impressions whenever possible.

”I’m Pearl.”

[[nyte]]

B A R N A B A S   S T R O U D

Blood rushed to his face, cheeks flushing a deep red as Pearl Millison returned his handshake. "I know." Who would know him? An insignificant boy from District Seven. No one should have, let alone Pearl Millison, daughter of a victor. He had been foolish to believe his newfound confidence would stay for long, his heart began to climb into his throat, choking the words he attempted to speak. 

"Thank you." he managed, like the polite boy his father had wanted him to be. The smile he flashed was full of teeth, his surprise turning into flattery and then guilt. Wasn't it selfish to revel in the fact a girl like she had taken notice of him? Selfish to want others to know him because when he took his final breaths he wouldn't be gone forever.  Barnabas hated the imperfections the games had dragged out of him, disgust rising like bile, burning his throat. "I'm not that important, really, it's flattering." Tearing himself down allowed a weight off of his shoulders, his parent's disappointment disappearing just as they had. 

Desperate to distract himself, he grabbed a silicone hand, a deep gash lining the ulnar vein with coagulated blood leaking out of the sides. It didn't disgust him, blood was something he'd seen a million times over, and given where he was going it was nowhere near the last time. Cautiously reaching across Pearl, he snagged a needle and thread from a nearby jar, sticking it into the thick flesh fearlessly. He caught the tip of the skin, the least painful area he could, and began his work. His hands wound around the deep gash, creating black dashes across the skin, cleaning the blood as he went along.  It was more of a nervous habit than of nessesity to practice, perhaps he wanted to prove to Pearl he was useful in some fashion, that it'd be unwise to kill him right away. 

After all, in a week's time they would be enemies.

{these are the days that bind you
t o g e t h e r ;