My Name Is [Barfs]

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

	ORION HAMMERFELL
	Brothers. Mason and Leon. The only difference between Michel and I would be one brother made it home while the other died. Does Michel also face constant reminders of his brother like I do? Being compared to his brother? Every movement, every little thing, any and everything compared to his older brother? If anything, I think Michel has it much worse than I do. On a level I can't begin to imagine. Its why I've made the choice to approach him. Whether or not we become allies is irrelevant. I won't pretend to know what he's going through. We're both in completely different situations. I volunteering while he had been reaped. What I can do is let him know there's someone out there that will not judge him for his family name. "Michel? Michel Krigel?" Hammerfell. Krigel. Two family names. While one will live on in fame the other will barely be remembered one year from now. It's a shame what the games can do to people. Those who die are lost forever. Families never mention them anymore. Friends eventually find new friends and move on. Those who become victors are celebrities. Their families always living in fame. Always getting the attention. People greeting them wherever they go. Sometimes it sounds like a life many wouldn't want to live, yet to the victory comes a downside. Bringing tributes to the Capitol for years and years watching them die in the games while families cheer for them to return. Can't imagine especially when it involves siblings. Would it be wrong to talk to him? Would he even talk to me? The only way to find out is to ask. To figure out what this kid is like. We're all kids here, some are just more grown up than others. Sighing to myself, I stand tall and brave. I never wanted to make friends or allies here because I planned to die alone, but maybe I can have one person to talk to. One person that may understand the pressure resting heavily on my shoulders. To live up to the name of a career brother, and that's what draws me forward. That's what keeps me going until I'm finally there. Ready to speak. I just hope it isn't a mistake.
	district 2 male of the 70th Hunger Games

[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Arya:400"]

	NAT KRIGEL
	"Michel? Michel Krigel?" Nat sits cross-legged and weaves rope, his hands moving with a sense of surety that comes with being raised by the ocean and a district of fisherpeople. Hold, fold, twist - his fingers tuck and weave, his hands moving closer and closer to his abdomen as the intricate braid grows longer. He's bored out of his mind. Leon told him that this would help, that remembering his knots will calm him, or help him somehow in the Games, or something that Nat isn't quite sure about. "Practice your knots," says Leon, and Nat has to do it. It feels like superstition, like trying to walk in Leon's footsteps when he's only two years old and can't quite run that fast or far. Of course, he wouldn't cry now, not like he did then - but still. Still. If this is how Leon did it, then Leon clearly did something right. And Nat... Nat was walking in his footsteps - or trying, legs too short and he can't run that fast or far, Leon stop, wait, Arissa wait! He's walking in his brother's footsteps. No. He's trying. Always. "Michel? Michel Krigel?" Yet... what if it doesn't work that way? What if he needs some other damned way to get out of here, his own way - personalized, perfected on his own terms? Patented by Nat Krigel. What if Leon's way doesn't work for him? What if I die? But Leon's alive. Leon must have done something right. Whatever it is. His braid looks wrong, two sequences back. Nat pulls the oddity free, and starts from there. He can afford no mistakes. No mistakes. "Make no mistakes," his mother said in the brief moments she came to visit him before he left. Her hand is cold on his cheek, and her breath smells like the sweet drink she's taken much of a liking to since Leon came back a star. "Maybe we'll be better off when you come back. Do it the way Leon did it. Make me proud, Michel, darling. Make us all proud. Make no mistakes." Not a single one. How am I supposed to live up to that level of... whatever you are? He's shadowed by a giant. That sentence was meant both figuratively and literally - the light he was braiding by is now covered by a large shadow standing over him, staring down at his curled self. Nat looks up squinting at - well, the guy wasn't hulking, but if this were the arena he's pretty sure he would be shitting himself. "Do you mind?" he says dryly, adding with a subtle roll of his eyes, "I'm supposed to get to my happy place, and you're kind of in the way." Looking back down at his sad-looking braid, Nat heaves a breath and continues weaving. Patterns twist and turn and he tucks them neatly into place in the little light he has left. The shadow doesn't quite leave, but that's... He's been the mayor of the area his brother's shadow covers since he was Michel, since fucking forever, and that's not going to change anytime soon, but he's... he going to be okay with that one day. Maybe. He says, "It's Nat, actually." Because Nat now is so much different from the child that Michel was before. "Don't call me Michel." It's worth a shot, anyway.
	district 4 male of the 70th Hunger Games

[aya]

[googlefont="Arya:400"]

	ELYA JOHNWAYNE
	For all the interruptions she'd received from the lower tributes, Elya hadn't interacted much with the other career-districts. Save for Gunner La Torre, with whom she found herself interacting with some frequency. And save for Circe, of course, who'd all but glued herself to the one-eyed girl's blind side. She hadn't even spoken to the District Ones, hadn't seen much of the other Twos since they shared a train ride, didn't even know the name of the last District Four. Hell, she'd exchanged more words in her lifetime with the first Krigel than the one who camped at the knot station. With that realization, it occurred to Elya Johnwayne that she didn't know a damn thing about the other careers. This was disadvantageous. She tucked the knife in her hand behind her ear and strode over in the second Krigel's direction. Orion Hammerfell got there first. Elya stopped herself mid-stride, laying in wait two tables away to see what unfolded. It wasn't good. She swallowed a snicker as she watched Orion finding himself on the receiving end of a tremendous amount of sass. "Do you mind? I'm supposed to get to my happy place, and you're kind of in the way." Amusing as it was, that wouldn't do. That would not do at all. Little as she cared for the oversized teddy bear that lacked the zeal he'd shown on Reaping Day, Orion Hammerfell was still from District Two. As such, any impudence he took lying down reflected poorly on the district, which reflected poorly on Elya in turn. She did not care to wait and see if he was willing to defend himself. She resumed her saunter and showed up behind the sitting District Four. "It's Nat, actually," she heard him explain. "Don't call me Michel." "Okay, Gnat," she said, wrapping a hand around the collar of his shirt and roughly hoisting him out of his seat, "get up." She turned to her District's sole male representative and offered him a shrug, half in apology and half in warning. Perhaps interfering hadn't been prudent, but Elya only had so few rash decisions left to make in her life. Better to flex her temper in the climate-controlled confines of the training center than out in the life-or-death wilds that awaited. After a few moments, when she was sure his feet were beneath him, Elya released her hold on the back of his shirt. Her arms returned to their resting position, folded across her chest in disinterest and challenge. "Drop the string," she ordered, nodding at the pathetic twist of plant fibers. "Nobody won the Games by tying a few knots. You're wasting your time." As if anyone in the room wasn't.
	district 2 female of the 70th Hunger Games

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

[googlefont="Arya:400"]

	CIRCE LYON
	Circe flicked the dagger, letting it spin beyond her fingertips. In the last several months she had gotten especially good at not just hefting the dagger up and down, but rotating it, so that it spun and glinted before the hilt found her palm. It didn't improve her aim or strength the trajectory of her shot. It was all for show, and of the many skills she had acquired over the years, it was becoming her favorite. Up, spin, fall. Up, spin, fall. She caught the last dagger at an angle, twisting her wrist and tucking her body into it. She dropped it into an open sheath at her hip, ghosting a few steps behind Elya. There was a pulse of relief as their path led them to the boys. Whatever Elya wanted from them, it probably wasn't intimacy, which was good for Circe. Already she was scrambling to step up her game, provide more creative evening sessions. It was exhausting, and thrilling, and she didn't need any additional competition. While Elya wrangled the Krigel boy - who, like his brother, also had an identity crisis - Circe sized up Orion Hammerfell. He'd spoken maybe two words in the train, but she didn't need him to talk. "You're quite the big boy, aren't you?" She asked, smirking. She walked a little half circle around him, careful to never leave his periphery. She wasn't totally sure her daggers would pierce the training kevlar, and his arms were easily twice as long as her own. "Think you can lift me?" She asked, squaring her gaze to his. In a rare show of trust, she unclipped her belt and cast aside the daggers who had become her closest friends. She lifted her arms, coming en pointe. "Well?" She demanded. "I haven't got all day."
	district 2 female of the 70th Hunger Games

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

	ORION HAMMERFELL
	All I wanted was some alone time. When I say alone time, I mean me and another tribute. Someone who understands the pressure resting heavily upon my shoulders. Maybe his pressure is different than mine as his brother won the game he was in, and my brother died, but in a way it's the same. Both of us have a name to live up to, and I was hoping to talk to him without anyone else bothering us. At first it seems like it's working because it's just us. And I watch him never miss a step in tying this knot. In fact it's kind of interesting. "It's Nat, actually. Don't call me Michel." Well, I have respect for the guy, and I'll call him Nat. Maybe we can become friends or something, but making friends right before the arena isn't on my to do list. "Apologies. Nice to meet you Nat." Maybe Nat is someone I'll ally with, but right now I'm not sure as I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do. I'm about to speak when Miss One-eye comes walking over immediately poking fun at Nat. It's a distraction for me. I can finally move away, but what happens next completely catches me off guard. Circe stands before me. She's probably one of the careers I don't want to be alone with, and she automatically starts taunting me. Asking if I can lift her. Maybe I should. Maybe I shouldn't. I try ignoring her, and go to Nat's aid, but Circe now has my full attention. I wish I could hide from her because there's something about her. Something different. Something that makes me want to try because it's like she thinks I can't do it. Like I'm some weakling who she wants to pick fun at. It wouldn't surprise me if that's the case. I don't even know if I could lift her because I'm not Mason. I never spent my entire life training. Healer. That's what I've always been. Everyone else thinks I'm some sort of career. All of them do. I mean hell, I volunteered for the games. I made my name known at the reaping. Is it really worth it right now? To keep going? To try to live up to Mason? All I can hope right now is that my face remains clear of all emotion while a war rages on inside me. "I have no doubt in my mind I could lift you Circe. I CAN lift you. Thing is I don't think your girlfriend here would like that though would she? Miss one-eyed shit here."
	district 2 male of the 70th Hunger Games

[анзие (Anz)]

[googlefont="Arya:400"]

	NAT KRIGEL
	The word was unceremonious, used in a context such as this: 'he was unceremoniously yanked into the air by his collar and dropped onto his feet'. And, okay, it wasn't the worst feeling in the world, being pulled up by the theoretical scuff of your neck, but it definitely was weird. Especially since a glimpse over his shoulder revealed the glare of the deceptively strong one-eyed girl, Elya Johnwayne. And her name sounds so familiar, god damn it I feel like I should know her. He can't think of any reason he should. "Okay, Gnat, get up." Baring his teeth theatrically, Nat kicks backwards and struggles in vain to get the girl's hand off his collar, but too soon she lets him go. He almost stumbles, then realizes that his feet are flat on the floor. What is wrong with you? Tight in his hand he grips his braided rope, brows furrowed as he scowls at Elya, her eye narrowed as she surveys him. Jeez. "I didn't think you'd have a problem with me already," he snips, maybe a touch too sharp (cold, bitter) for the effect he was going for (exasperated, dramatic). "The string's for 'stress-relief'," he adds, marking the quotation marks with his fingers with a more obvious roll of his eyes. "I don't really see how, though," Nat mutters to himself, spinning the string beside him. "Besides, I do what my mentor tells me to do." Nat squints at her, Orion Hammerfell ("Nice to meet you, Nat.") then at the girl who has apparently loyally followed Elya (Circe Lyon?) to their little... group therapy session. He smirks to himself at the thought, the smile turning genuine with the subtle curve of his eyes.  "What brings all you district Twos to this part of town, anyway? If 'tying knots' is wasteful?"
	district 4 male of the 70th Hunger Games