Golden Morale {Mohs/Rhythm/Rena}

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Renaissance

Calbor-Morales

There’s no expressing my gratitude that a new Game has arrived and sped by. Finally her name is dwindling from the lips of others, along with the resemblance we shared. Again I can capture a room without the distractions of her remains gracing the eyes of each stare. A mere mention of her ceases to exist as the Panem has moved on to the next year, and the next hurdle of Tributes. Perhaps some minor physical similarities may linger, but I am evidently much more then Rhyme Morales.

Indisputably I scout for my next victim, as the rest train with other tactics. The Career Gym is cluttered with potential, yet no one else is aware of the wiser strategies at our disposal. None of them have Ms. Claudia as an instructor. Arenas are not constructed for soulless killing machines; they’re unfortunately smothered with emotions. If only she was aware of this. But rather she aligned herself to two girls, and a mere boy from Eleven whom defied the rules of the Game. And this year’s Chick was smart enough to seek the power of a strong Man, just too stupid to actually use it to her advantage. Why must some believe it’s logical to place others before themselves?

Weights clash against weights as they continue their routine of what they think is best. A grin bites at my cheeks as I observe my still mortal half-sister, who’s training nonetheless along side the rest. It’s been so eerily easy to ignore her. The only business I have with the Morales Family is proving that I’m better then their deceased eldest daughter. Obviously my concern doesn’t reside in the little one of the household. I’m nearly prepared to call it a day; until my gaze catches the Instructor the small Twerp’s managed to gain.

Instinctively my left eyebrow rises with curiosity. How did she receive the attractive Trainer of a current Tribute? Not that it truly matters, as it unravels a pristine opportunity for myself. With his influence perhaps I could gain the admiration of many more. As always my focus glides over to the mirrors walling a side of the gym, and my appearance is touched to supremacy before I dare approach the familiar strangers.

“Well hi baby Sis.” I greet as if we keep in contact occasionally, while a warming smirk dissembles my expression. “It’s nice to see that you’re following in Rhyme’s footsteps, I’m sure she’d be proud.” As per usual there are no boundaries I’m hesitant on skimming past. A more pleasant first impression probably would have been preferred, but getting this diversion from the picture is top priority.

Casually my shoulder leans against an unoccupied dummy, itching to get closer to her instructor unintentionally. “But shouldn’t you be training someone a bit more older?” I tease as though I truly meant it in a humorous manner. But undeniably I will always highly suggest that the attention be upon myself. And by any means necessary, I’ll achieve that.

Amazing Table by Arrows <3

[*]

"Professor Aurum, can I take a break, please?" I question him, looking at him with that sweet, yet subtle pout from my lips. I stand there pushing my lower lip out just slightly whilst tilting my head down just a little in order to give him 'the look'. It doesn't last though becasuse there is no way that he'll allow me a break. Only when he's good and done with training will he release me from this but I signed up for this torture - well, training. After the realizatino that Rhyme had died, this was the only thing I found that actually helped me cope with it all. For a while, I was mentally unstable. Her death was hard to swallow and to this day, I still feel like she'll still walk in through the front door but I have to remember. I have to realize that she's gone. Rhyme... Rhyme... No! Grounding. Five things you can see... Wall. Floor. Mohs. Spear. Lights. Four things I can touch. My breaths become quick, yet even as when i close my eyes and try to focus on what I've been touch. Grounding keeps these horrible thoughts away and I use them on a daily basis. If only Mohs understood... He does. Septys. My fingers latch on to the spear, feeling the timber beneath my grip and one hand slides off to then touch my hair. The ponytail that encircles my hair is tightly wrapped around my hair and today it feels frizzy. Then the collar of my shirt and then the sweat pooling on my cheek. Spear. Hair. Band. Sweat. Three things I can hear. Weights clashing. Mohs' breathing... "Rena?" I verbally assault the air as my method is interrupted so suddly by mere mention of her calling me her 'baby sis'. I shake my head unknowingly as I keep my gaze away from her face. I still see Rhyme in it and that's the last thing I need and want in front of my trainer. She can't hear my thoughts or she'd walk away instead of staying and trying to associate herself with me. You can't pick your family, right? "I'm following in my own foo... footsteps, Rena." I look at Mohs pleadingly as she doesn't just leave well enough alone. My grip tightens around the spear and I plant it firmly on the ground, leaning on it. "I AM old enough, thank you. If you don't mind... I have... have training to complete." My heartbeat. Blood rushing through my ears. My breaths... I recount the things I hear now.

[Muffinface]

Give me love like her

"No way Morales, I've been gone for almost six months. You can't stop now, gotta make up for all that time lost." he states, raising an eyebrow at her pout. Not even four days back, and this little girl thinks she can just push him over like that- oh fuck it's working no no nooooo; He's found himself with a particular soft spot for the kindred spirit. "Yeah, keep going. best to keep going." He offers a nod, his eyes closing as he does so just so he doesn't have to look at her puppy-dog eyes.

Ah shit. His fingers stretch, catching her palm as it pushes into her pale locks, offering her hand a gentle squeeze. Mohs is well acquainted with the concept, a frown gracing his lips. He absolutely hates that this little thing has to cope in such a way, and gently strokes the knuckles of her hand. His cheeks lift in a gentle smile as for a split second he meets her eyes, until a piercing voice hits him.

Shit. Her. He's heard about her from the other trainers though he's speculated them to be simple rumors, just as ruthless as Ruthless herself, and a low groan echoes in his throat. It's an obligation- as long as he's earning a paycheck from the 'Up and coming training center', he absolutely must train whomever requests it of him, unless they specifically pay for a private session, which Rhythm very much did not.

Though he wishes to god she did.

His warm timbre towards the thirteen year old quickly slams down, reversing into something else, regressing back to that angry teenager; the hard-ass, no-nonsense professor. Impatience, impertinence, it laces his words, heavily coated in something intangible already. "I can work with whoever I feel needs my help the most." His fingers again, grip the youth's firmly, a confirmation that yes, I'm here, and I'm not leaving you behind this time. The feeling of deja-vu filters through his veins, and he glances down at the girl below his fingers, barely coming to his sternum and then back to the one oh-so-casually using his training device as a piece of fucking furniture. Ugh.

His own appearance looks so different than it did less than a week ago. An untamed mane now rested calmly against his head, and a loose flannel rests against his chest, pressed nicely with an iron he'd never used before. It's hard not to look nice when you're trying so desperately to impress someone. Lately, his thoughts wander freely to a companion he'd only met a handful of times before, yet he couldn't seem to shake the gut feeling that it was supposed to be something more, not that Mohs had ever thought about anyone in that way before, really.

"Do you need anything Calbor?" he finishes, allowing his dark gaze to rest once again on the small girl, offering a slight pressure to her hand and skull.

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Renaissance

Calbor-Morales

A single word stutters from her innocent tongue and fuels the angst I’ve been craving. She’s desperately trying so hard to separate herself from the definition Rhyme has created for us, just as I used to struggle with only a short time ago. The younger qualities that consume her appearance detaches her from the affinity to Rhyme that I hold, while her more prominent last name results in a deeper scar. But already she desires to dispose of the debris Rhyme left among her path. Am I not the only one ashamed of Rhyme’s performance? If we didn’t share the same interest on diluting our enemy, just maybe we could intermingle.

“Don’t mind me, I’m only observing.” Instantly I’m declining Rhythm’s desire to rid of me. As if she can dispose of me that effortlessly. “Please continue.” I insist while my attention impatiently waits to speak solely to the irresistible Trainer beside me. Why he’s wasting his time on a child is beyond me, but apparently he has reasoning behind his decision.

Subtly a gentle laugh seeps from my lips. He’s yearning to train the ones in most need of his support, noteworthy. “Well the Morales family most certainly does.” Again comedy masks the truth that seeps from my words. Now how can I use this to my advantage?

Is there anything I need?

For a moment I ponder, purposely attempting to appear appealingly wondering. “Ms. Claudia, as spectacular as she is, mainly concentrates on the mental techniques of the Games.” I explain surprisingly truthfully, though my voice is laced with my irresistible fake sweetening. “And I could really use some assistance in the physical department.” Oh so softly I flutter my eyelashes before him in a gently flirtatious way. If he holds a sensitive card towards the Morales family, I can use that to.

Amazing Table by Arrows <3

[*]

When all things start to seem to be falling apart, Mohs is there to show me that he's here. The moment I go to touch my hair, grounding myself, the touch of his understanding gives me strength. That is, until her voice comes around and then that feeling of being grounded leaves. No. Don't do this Rena. "I do... mind, though." I wonder if my voice is laced with sarcasm or hate. I wonder if my voice rattles with the nerves that are making my fingers tingle. I didn't know that someone could do this to me so much but even her voice, even in the slightest, sounds like her. Rhyme. Where are you? I shout in my mind and let my hand fall from Mohs comforting grip. I'm doing my best to seem confident but I feel I"m failing miserably. Especially, when I find her eyes and her reason not to leave. Observing? Please don't. No judgements. No harsh cristism. Your voice is laced with poison... Again, I look at Mohs with an expression of uncertainty. If she doesn't leave, then must I? Should I try to decline the invitation and reverse it? Though, to leave her with Mohs, it seems like she wants that. "He doesn't train with weapons. He. He trains first aid." I bite out. Though, a hint of a smille somewhat forms on my lips. "Guess... you'll have to look elsewhere." And the way my eyes can't disband from her face takes effect and I see nothing but Rhyme. Rhyme's last moments play in my head. Rhyme's smile... "Rhyme, where have you been?" I question and cover my eyes. Out of sight... out of mind.

[Muffinface]

Give me love like her

Oh beautiful girl... his heart bursts as his hand withdraws from Rythm's head, a frown gracing his lips. He wants to pull her close and tell her it'll be alright, just as he did with Fault when he was young and stupid and dumped. But she's smart- she can take care of herself, and that frown turns to a singular snort, as he struggles to hide the grin on his lips.

"She's right, sweetheart. Sorry, my legs aren't what they used to be anymore." A fist drops to his right knee, knocking roughly as a hollow sound shatters the semblance of him being normal. "Normally I do train in first aid- which is why I'm actually out here." His gaze flickers to the bleachers where said kid cousin stands alone, tank top and synthetic track pants clinging to his skin. A lovely bruise spiderweb-blossoms across his left cheek, vanishing deep within his hairline, and extending all the way down to his jaw.

Mohs' is pretty sure he broke Fault's left orbital when he knocked him out at the reaping, but Fault and his stubborn pride refuses to allow his cousin to look at it not like there was anything Mohs could really do to help it heal faster anyway. But he doesn't spar like he usually tries, and instead has his own dark gaze locked on the trio with a hint of animosity digging deep in his corneas.

Still, he says nothing, eyes turning slowly to face the newcomer. "If you actually wanted to fight with weapons, there are plenty of other able-bodied men and women to show you how to use whatever it is. I'm truly sorry, but I'm just... Not the man I used to be." There, that sounded nice and professional. It worked.

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Renaissance

Calbor-Morales

Oh so slowly a sentence stumbles from Rhythm’s vocal cords. Clearly her word structure doesn’t pertain the beat that her name implies. But with the impression Mohs has placed thus far, he’s clearly close to this girl. She may initially dislike me, yet that’s still nothing I’m unable to alter. “I only want to make sure my new little sister is receiving the proper treatment.” I explain with a sincere voice that I’ve originated over the years. Honestly, I wish that I had more reasonable siblings, as Rhythm appears to be. Though still, I must appear to be the best.

Unwanted information is delivered to me with quite ease, and it carves a hole into the pit of my stomach. Despite all my flirting, he’s going to support the Rugrat’s perspective that he’s unable to teach me? Rejection has never affected me as so. Though as much as I’m deterred, I refuse to cave. There’s obviously a strong Man before me, even if he doesn’t witness it himself. “But maybe I can help you discover that Man again.” I offer as seductively as I have displayed this entire time, unable to transfer from anything else. There’s no denying the despicable qualities I’ve gained from my Mother.

Perhaps Rhythm is the lucky one.

A simple word, misconception, mistake catches me entirely off guard. That name alone sends chills down my very spine. She’s not over it, just as I probably never will be. But it’s her tone that has the thin hairs on my skin standing upright. “I’m not Rhyme…” Erupts from my voice as if a gentle volcano could exist. My tone is shallow; disturbed by the name I’ve been given & whom it was given from. Then my pitch entirely shifts.

Like that my calm leaning position has dissipated. “I was never even given the privilege of being apart of the royal Morales Family! So fucken rid of our similarities already!” I scold from the pent up anger I’ve held hostage. Without a second thought I’m removing myself from the event, regretting the position & emotions I’ve set myself in.

Amazing Table by Arrows <3

[*]

Rhyme is dead. Rhyme died in the games. Rhyme was my full blooded sister and I have none. I have only brothers. This girl has been nowhere in your life. This girl just showed up. Why does she suddenly care who I hang out with? The thunder that erupts from her throat shocks me like lightning. Even though my eyes are closed, making myself remember that this isn't the Rhyme I remember, she's showing me it isn't either. Rhyme was never mean to me. "I know. I'm s-" I pause to listen to her words and that's when I fully face her, staring at her and the shifting face allows me to see the 'real' person behind the mask I just formed. It's definately not my sister and I remember her very well. Instead, it's this girl, who barely looks like Rhyme as I remembered her. "You know, it would have been an honor to be called Rhyme... At least she did something honorable! At least she tried to protect my family! She tried to protect me..." The words come tumbling out, and out comes the uncertainty that I've had months of therapy to come to terms with. "If you wanted to be part of the family, then you should have been around in the last year... not just showing up whenever you feel like I need to be watched..." The spear in my hand leans outward, challenging her. I'm not afraid to fight you, half sister... "If you want to be part of... of my royal family, then fight me." I don't dare look at Mohs because I know the look I'll be getting if I do and I don't want that. This girl has no right to show up after so long to try to replace my only sister. "This is your... chance."