bad reputation- Adaira & Mystic

[moon(stone)]

And I don't give a damn bout my reputation 
Never said I'm looking to improve my station 
And I'm only doing good when I'm having fun 
And I don't have to please no one

The Games have never disappointed me. When I was little, I watched the District One tributes with awe. When I was older, I watched them with pride. Right about now, I watch them with envy. 
When I got back from school, I was rushed in to my room. "There's special guests over tonight," she said. "Some very important people. So you'll have to get dressed!" 
"Who's coming over?" 
"Well, it's just some of your father's customers... some Peacekeepers... and that boy you like! Won't that be fun?" 
Oh dear. I knew who she was referring to. He had a grossly inappropriate crush on me. I couldn't even remember his name. In my mind he was always that boy, and in my mother's eyes he was that boy you like. The last time he had come over, he had spent the entire dinner petting my hair. No, not touching. Not playing with. Petting my hair, as if I were a dog. The time before that we were having an Opening Ceremonies viewing party. The District Twelve tributes had been naked and covered with fake coal dust. It coated their emaciated bodies in a most unflattering way.  
He had, at that time, slid over to me on the couch, and whispered in my ear, "That'll be us if you like it dirty." 
Mother wanted us to be together because he was the son of a very wealthy business partner of my parents'. He was in my year at school. I constantly avoided him, but whether I liked it or not, he was always there for me to ignore. The only place I hadn't seen him was at the Training Center. 
Training Center... training center... that was it! "I apologize," I said. "I've just come back to get my training clothes. I forgot them. And today I have a really important practice. It's on hitting moving targets, and I only just made into the class, and if I don't I'll have to wait another year. I don't think that, should I be reaped, I would be able to afford it." 
I knew I was free then. My mother is deadly serious (pun not intended) on anything that has to do with the Games. I think she knows, secretly, my desire to volunteer, and she's terrified of me losing. I'm her only child. I'm the kid her future is riding on. And should I be thrown into the Games sea, the first thing she would do would be to toss me a lifeline and tug me to shore. 
"Well... Adaira, love... could you try to be back in time for dinner?" 
"I'll see if I can manage it," I said. 
"Good. Train hard. Come home soon." 
I ran up to my room. My training clothes were sitting in a bag full of my own practice knives. I grabbed it, tied my hair up, and made my way down to the Training Center.
I have a number of knives. I've got a target that I like to try and hit back at home. Some merchant was selling them on the street corners. It wasn't as well-made as the training targets I was used to, but it was better. 
The target did not bear the insignia of the center or of District One. It was a map. The rings on the outside were the lower districts- the disgusting ones, the really poor ones like District Twelve. The inside improved more and more until the nearest one to the middle, my district, and then the bullseye, the Capitol. 
It represented what I wanted to be. I wanted to be precise as possible. I wanted to outrank the districts so that my only home was among immortals of my own kind. 
I got to the Center. It was surprisingly busy. I changed clothes, checked in, and began to unpack my knives. There were other kids standing around. Most of them were there for a spear class. I laid my knives out on the table, picked a small one, and began to throw.

[Deleted]

There was buzz all around Mystic, the chatter of careless "careers" that were "training." It disgusted her. Was this really what the district relied on to win the games? No wonder they didn't win last year. Mystic rolled her bland gray eyes, then focused them on the weapon choices in front of her. She was familiar with all of them, but throwing knives felt the best in the teen's petite hands.

She grabbed a few without a second thought and turned to a target. There were only a few not currently in use, aka only a few that didn't have bored kids standing in front of them without really using them, just taking up space. She was tempted to throw one right at one of the trainees, but she knew she couldn't get into that kind of trouble right then. Soon, she assured herself in her mind.

The fifteen year old ran a hand through her messy dirty blonde hair, making it look even more tomboyish than it already did. In doing so, she turned her head to the right and noticed a girl who was also gripping throwing knives in her hands. Mystic was sure she had seen that girl somewhere before, but the other girl's vague familiarity was not what intrigued Mystic.

What did catch her attention, however, was that it was another person who seemed to actually.... care. Just from a glance, Mystic could tell she wasn't like the rest. She seemed to be looking forward to practicing, looking forward to being in the games. Of course, Mystic was just assuming this, however, and it could have just beeen Mystic's eyes playing tricks on her. Heck, it had happened to her before, and assuming things never turned out well for Mystic.

The only way for Mystic to know for sure was to ask, and she wasn't scared to ask. Mystic's lack of friends was not because she was shy, it was because she was too busy for friendships and not exactly the kindest person out there. Still, she wasn't going to let her rudeness make her a social outcast (even though she almost already was) and instead she confidently walked over to the girl.

She knew doing this would make her just like the chatty kids around her, but she didn't care. She could be the exception, at least for right now; after all, the training center being strictly for training was a rule she made up for herself, so she could break it anytime she liked.

"Well, look, finally someone who actually cares," Mystic said with a smile. The other girl was taller than Mystic, and probably a year or two older, but Mystic still put herself in the place of boss. She stayed a small distance away, as to make sure she wouldn't be looking upwards at this girl she was interrogating. Looking up at someone while talking to them gives the taller person dominance, and Mystic was always supposed to be the one dominant.

Mystic was happy with her line of dialogue and waited for a reply, hoping she had demanded enough respect as she analyzed her competitor. Everyone was a competitor to Mystic until they proved they weren't.

She's a rebel
She's a saint
And she's dangerous

[moon(stone)]

i don't give a damn bout my reputation 
I've never been afraid of any deviation 
And I don't really care if you think I'm strange 
I ain't gonna change

The Training Center was unusually placid as I stepped up to the target. The few kids who were here were chattering amongst themselves. In all honesty, I liked the steady hum of their voices. It trained me to work under any conditions. If the arena cannons boomed as it was time for me to make my final kill, I would have to aim nevertheless. The targets were all clear and empty. 
I got into proper stance and selected my favorite knife, a well-balanced one with a jewel-studded handle. I was aiming for the bullseye in the middle of the human heart. The cool metal brushed against my skin. This was infinitely better than being at home with that boy, making small talk around a dinner table. There was a time and a place for everything, and that was not here. 
Small talk didn't belong in the Games. Sure, you could use your words to ply an ally or appeal to sponsors, but you didn't go on about the weather or about fashions you disliked or hair. Each word had to be like a knife. It had to be tossed once, only to land in the victim's heart. 
I hit the edge of the target. In my peripheral vision, I caught a girl coming over. She was smaller than I, and younger, with dirty blonde hair. I pegged her for the type that didn't open up much. She was coming to talk to me. I figured I wouldn't be scared. 
When she faced me, I saw the unmistakable gleam of a true Career in her eyes. She was like me. She wanted more than anything to be in the Games and to win. I was like her when I was younger. Hair in my face, knife in my hand, vengeance in my heart. 
"Well, look, finally someone who actually cares," she said. She understood! She was smiling at me. It was someone who knew. 
"Hey," I said. "Great to meet you. I do care. So do you." 
She seemed to be sizing me up. I wanted to give her a taste of my abilities. I took a smaller knife in one of my hands and threw it at the target. It struck right at the eye. I was lucky that it had. She would likely have not talked to me if I hadn't posed any threat to anyone.
"I'm Adaira Lynsen," I said. "And you are?" 

[Deleted]

Mystic raised her eyebrows and made a look that was a mix of being impressed and being surprised when the knife hit right on the eye. A dangerous, probably fatal move. The other girl either had talent or a nice stroke of luck, but one fluke won't win you the games. Still, Mystic knew this girl -- Adaira -- was trying to impress her. Did she think that Mystic was a threat? Good.

Apparently Adaira also caught on that Mystic was a loyal career, and Mystic was glad she did. Mystic wanted a reputation, she wanted to be feared. She couldn't be a hundred percent feared, not yet anyway, because of her age. A little rumor going around was that the younger you are, the more idiotic you are, which Mystic strived to disprove.

Maybe that was why she wanted to win the Games so badly. To be known, to be respected. But then again, wasn't that why every career wanted to win? It was almost scary, that hundreds of teens, teens, would be willing to give their life to be recognized. It was not only scary but a little sad. Still, Mystic was aware of this, and she was willing to give her life for even a chance of this little sliver of respect that was promised to her.

As Mystic was thinking about these things, she was simply staring off into space in the direction of the target that had Adaira's knife embedded in it. As soon as she realized that she was, she snapped out of it. She did not want people to think that she was in awe of Adaira. Mystic could not be in awe of anyone. In case anyone was paying attention, Mystic made up an excuse for staring at the target on the spot. She would have to prove her skills to Adaira.

The career calmly strode toward the target and then continued to yank it away from the human shaped target. She walked backwards, her heartbeat beginning to increase as she picked up a few of her own knives. She took a deep breath, holding three of the knives in her left hand and the one she was about to throw in her right. She slowly pulled back her elbow, and without a word, chucked it toward the target. It hit only a few inches away from where the heart would lie if the target were a real human.

Of course, this fueled Mystic even more. She laughed as she pelted the other three the exact same way, except with a quicker speed. None of them hit the heart exactly, but none of them were more than a few inches away. Mystic was proud of what she did, and remembering what Adaira said to her earlier and immediately assuming that Mystic cared, Mystic replied sarcastically with, "Well, what a great revelation there."