Public Training Session's

[Muffinface]

And I'm calling for my mother
As I pull the pillars down
It's a different kind of danger
And my feet are spinning around
Never knew I was a dancer
'Till Delilah showed me how

“Are you ready Amerika?” a voice whispers quietly, offering my hand a warm grip, like it’s already time for the bloodbath and my fingers are drenched in crimson, like my pretty, oval nails are torn down to the beds, drip-drip-dripping my life force slowly, like a vice or a shackle ready to take me back to my masters as if I were a dog-

No. I shouldn’t think of Star that way. Star reminds me a lot of who I used to be back in six, that excited go-to girl ready to do anything to get a step up or two. She’s just trying to do her job with as much passion as I have for acting. Besides, it's probably been rough on her over the years- pessimistic children force-fed to an arena bulging at the seams with lost souls already, knowing before they ever walk in that their days are limited, heartbeats, breaths assigned an arbitrary number.

This includes me.

My time here hasn't exactly been the most pleasant, but without a mentor nor a solid companion to lean on, I've found myself more lost than ever before. At least the few allies I've managed to make are willing to accept me, though weather it's as a living meat shield or an invaluable asset, I can't yet tell. Oh well- at least someone likes me I guess. I don't think I'll be alone when I die.

It's ironic.

The man my sister called 'Wolf-boy' has a brother,

who wanted to ally himself with me.

He's younger than me by a year or two, but like me, it's like his eyes have seen the entire world over and have found no sliver of innocence left.

It makes me think back to the things I'm about to do, while Star offers my hands another friendly squeeze before she dismisses me to the snapping jaws of the game makers, like sending a well-loved child to the dentist for the first time knowing its going to be painful for them, but better off in the end. What would they say about me? How would they react?

Jack's bloody arm and scarred skin foreshadowed exactly what she did when she left, but I'm absolutely certain my 'Talents' will leave no physical marks on my body and as I step into the large gymnasium, my heart catches. Which of these blades did she use to carve her own name into her flesh? Or did they confiscate the contaminated blade?

My jaws part like they have so many times before while the realization slaps me across the face- this is a fucking audition. I've done that before, this is something I can do!

"My name is Amerika Eckhart~!"

"Amerika Eckhart- District Six female."

Already the memories flood back to me, of that last audition.

"I'll be performing a monologue Eurydice as from Polaroid Pictures, by Naomi Iizuka."

...

My name is Disappear. MY NAME IS D I S A P P E A R.

My feet falter below me and I gracefully sit, stroking the small, black bracelet upon my wrist, a gentle breath escaping my chest as I slam my fingers against it until it vibrates five times. It's set then. I'm completely silent, but the words are echoed, screeching in my head.

I'm talking to somebody who knows how it goes- You know how it goes, I know you do too- see it in your eyes. So you tell me then, cause I want to know, tell me about the places I've never been to, tell me about all the places I'm gonna go to-

It begins.

My eyes are staring directly at the grey wall below which the makers sit, and it's my audience, my solace, my muse, my executioner. I count the seconds as they pass with my calm breaths, shoulders still, only parts of me moving my stomach, and my quietly blinking eyes.

"Amerika I don't see why you've come to me-

"Because you're the best damn director I know."

"It doesn't matter anymore, why does it matter?"

"You're letting her die."

"How dare you accuse me-!"

I'm not accusing you, it's just a simple fact Rio."

My hands tap tap tap against the manuscript I've laid across his desk, an old relic from less turbulent times. The main character is particularly boisterous and sarcastic, right up my alley. This is my play, this is my masterpiece, the creme de la creme of acting for me and he's just going to deny me! Who does he think he is, sitting curled up in his damn office all the time like a vampire.

He needs the air, the applause, the stress of theater, and I'm just the bitch to give it to him.

"It's been six months Rio and we haven't had a single production- no practice, no rehearsal, nothing. How can you ever start to make a new mosaic if you don't pick up the pieces first!?

He's silent as he watches me, fingers shaking. I've never talked to this man that way in my entire life, never have I been so insolent, but he needs someone to shake the grief from his bones and air him out like a shag carpet after a dust storm.

Still, with my shaking hands I begin to flip through the pages. "I'm holding auditions-"

"You're holding auditions?"

"Stop interrupting, it's rude. Anyway, yes, I'm holding auditions. You wanna come watch or hide up here and sulk and let her die in your memories? She lives in your songs, in your productions, you know that as well as I do."

That, and this game of pretend will help me too, in fragments.

"They're on Sunday and the flyer is out there. People are excited- they're coming out of the woodwork to work with you again. This is gonna happen, regardless if you're with me or not."

His jaw clamps shut, and I think for a moment I've done it- completely shaken him to his roots that he sits up in his chair, and glance down at the title. "I've... Never heard of this one..."

"It's a good one. Trust me."

I said to him, this town is too damn small for me. This town ain't good for nothing- I want to get out of here, I want to see the world, I want to see some fireworks in this life, is what I said to him.

I've counted over a hundred breaths in and out, in and out, my gaze forever locked on the wall. My heartbeat hammers heavy in my ears, nervous, and tentative. How is it going, what do they think?

I hear her voice before I see her, know that they decided to do an open casket after all even though I fought and argued and bit and spit at them, but they just don't listen. My core is shaken and battered and I can't handle it anymore but it's okay because we're all here, one last time. Her lying in her horizontal cage and the rest of us, an impenetrable garrison around her corpse.

She looks absolutely beautiful in a pale white dress, a wedding gown she'd never wear. No one teases Rio today, no one gestures playfully, no friendly banter. We're quiet and grieving and in pain. Her eyes are closed, and she looks so peaceful she could be asleep but we're all older and know this is no fairy tale- no one could kiss our snow white and rouse her from her eternal slumber.

We hold hands and hum old spirituals, and I'm about to completely lose it- I can feel the pressure building high in my chest as I sit beside my girls and I allow the words to form on my lips- I sung it once as part of an audition, but my trembling fingers rise and flicker with a length of my hair, and I sit straight up, my jaws parting. Though I can't recall the lyrics, they join around me in a chorus, but we only know the first verse and most of the repeating lines.

It makes me laugh when we stop and look around at each other, half expecting a wicked violin solo but it doesn't happen and I've got tears running down my cheeks and it's absolutely ridiculous but I'm so thankful we're all still here even though she's gone.

She didn't think it funny.

Her arms slither around my shoulders as her face meets my chest, an ugly sob building in her chest. I want to ask her what's wrong as my trembling fingers pet her hair, but she says nothing- at least not real words I can comprehend and besides, I know exactly what she'd say anyway. I've lived with her for almost ten years. She pushes me backwards and we're a mess together, all limbs and flailing mouths and she's sobbing and wailing into my chest and there isn't anything I can do but stroke her hair and whisper. "I love you Elvaina- more than anything. But she doesn't want me, she wants the girl in the casket and it rips me apart-

I want to be famous, I want to sleep in satin sheets.... I want to dance and dance all night long. I want to go someplace in this damn life, is what I said to him-

It's been too long now. I can't even comprehend how long I've been sitting here, and I'm starting to feel the itchiness of my skin, the hard concrete against my coccyx and I know already it's going to be painful to get up and stretch after sitting sedentary for so long. I don't even know if they're still watching, if they even understand that below every slated face they witness today is a lifetime of memories, of triumphs and defeat, and I wonder if they would do what I do if they were in the place that I am but it doesn't matter because in the end we are the sum of our words and actions and I don't think I've said or done enough to make me memorable and that absolutely horrifies me.

But I have because like Jack, I'll live on as long as they don't forget about me, as long as they remember-

It's about midnight, and I've just finished brushing my hair. The face in the vanity stares out at me, satisfied. It's been about fourteen hours on the job between rehearsal and travel, and I only got home two hours or so ago but it's an exhaustion that comes with a good days hard work, and I'm perfectly fine with that. Jack and I walked the way back hand in hand, excited. She earned first chair as always and I absolutely nailed the leading female. We're both excited, and with that excitement comes a gentle shiver as I picture my first role as something meaningful.

The light on my vanity flickers and I let out a yawn as I slip into my nightgown, putting my hair in a silk cap before slipping into bed. The sheets are cool against my skin and I'm eager to sleep if it means getting me one step closer to tomorrow.

My eyes are closed and I'm in that strange place between waking and dreaming when I hear the squeak of my door and a few hushed whispers of my curtains. I stay low, but my gaze flashes to the mirror and it's our talkative one, our Lucy. The ferocity in her gaze makes my skin crawl- where'd such a little girl learn an expression like that? But she isn't so little- she's a year older than me but still, I don't look like that.... Do I..?

She hovers there like a ghost and I can see the relief beginning to take hold on her face, roots pushing outward to relax her stature. She closes my door and creeps away and I sit straight up- what the hell was that? My legs swing across my bed and I follow suit, already moving to the closed oak door, ear pressed against the wood as I listen for her hushed footsteps and the tell-tale mouse squeak of another door being opened, then a minute later, the click of it closing. It happens three more times, then silence follows, and I allow my feet to carry me outside of my room, tiptoeing to a tall door mirroring mine.

My knuckles gently grace the surface of the wood but I don't know for certain she'd answer and I'd like answers now.

So I push it open with all of the confidence a newly granted lead could have.

"Whatcha doin?" I question as light floods the hallway, my eyes bright and curious, no trace of sleep or exhaustion on my countenance now.

She jumps, like she wasn't expecting a girl looking like me to answer and I grin and laugh. The door closes behind me and she's talking at that thousand-word-per-minute stream, and I can only ease myself onto the bed and listen.

I can't catch much- I'm not even sure if she's speaking English with the speed she talks but it makes me giggle and soon I'm doubled over on her bed, with a look of silent indignation on her face. "I'm sorry I just- It wasn't expected.... Mom." I tease, though my arms wrap around her shoulders. "I didn't know you cared so much Lucy."

"Of course I do what makes you think I don't, I tell you I love you like every day-" and she's off on another tangent, but my eyes fall to the hastily hidden notebook crammed below her pillow, and I let the giggles escape.

It has a solid black background on the page she was stroking, and I let my eyes wander to her face. "Can you draw me something?" The interruption jars her words from her lips and she gazes at me with an unreadable expression. "Draw me the Summer Country." I ask, and my eyes are alight and full of wonder. "I'll explain it and everything."

So I do.

The summer country to me, is an endless meadow with trees and a river and mountains and dogs and cats and horses, and it only rains when you want it to, and there are flowers and it's spring every day but the pollen doesn't make my nose run like the buds do here. I explain about the sun and the shimmering rays of liquid gold, and the amazing people.

We're up until the sun shines through her window, both of us tired, but staring down at a beautiful picture of heaven.

I hang it in my room and go to the theater for rehearsal.

But see, it's like this: I got a man like a bad dream, follows me no matter where I go.
And he's all 'Shut up,
you ain't goin nowhere, what are you thinking girl, who are you kidding?
and I'm looking at him
and all I can think is
who
are
you
to
me?
Who were you ever to me?

They don't understand- or maybe they do. They aren't immortal like we hold them up, their pedestals are only supported by our swiftly decaying bodies, swaying and bubbling with rot as we pass on our torches to the next generation, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to not look up at the two forms deciding my fate, and I know they've already chosen. I'm a useless girl, as determined as I am, but that's exactly what I want- for them to think I could be swallowed so simply by the sea, like I'm not a fearsome thorn to make it gag and retch, stained crimson by my life force.

Her hands push for my face and I'm completely stunned- none of the other Eckhart girls have been so aggressive towards my taunts and I swear to god I only called Frances that because I wanted to laugh and make her laugh with me but it didn't make her laugh, it turned her into a ferocious creature, with elongated teeth and claws stretching for my neck.

I'm too fast for her and dive below her window while her hands seize anything to pelt at me as she screams inhuman cantrips at me- "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU TO ME- and I've never been cursed at or screamed at by any of my new family but it reminds me so much of the ditch I crawled out of, of the raging inferno of pokes that were my siblings and the one time Marcus took a razor blade to my flesh when I was three to see if it would grow back pink, or black and I screamed and screamed and scream like I do now but I'm nearly full grown and the mirror lunges at my face and it cracks over top my skull sending me down down down down into an abyss of unconsciousness- all I said to her was to loosen up and talk to us every once in a while, but I caught her on a bad day and that's all it took for her to snap at me like a she-wolf with a bad tooth.

Like you matter to me
Like anything you say is going to make a difference to me
Like I want to stay in that nowhere town doin nothing all my life
Like I want to be with you forever
Like I want that

My fingernails dig into my wrists as I remain, stoic. I don't even glance at the clock but surely it's almost time? The reflection itself is almost too much to bear but I can handle it, I'm a strong girl, they always told me so. I'm so powerful I broke the fucking mold they tried to but me in, I clawed my way out of the very bedrock itself to be here. I chose to be an Eckhart girl, it was always my destiny to seize and I am not going to ruin it by moving now. I've committed to my role and I'm destined to play it out-

I spin and duck like she told me to but I'm already dizzy and I don't think I can keep my eyes on the wall like she told me to. My stomach is already bubbling in my throat and she stops me but only because I think my face actually turned green for a second.

"I don't think I was meant to be a dancer." I groan, allowing the world to spin me to the ground, my back pressing against the hardwood den, the light fixture overhead twirling and twisting like the ballerina I so desperately want to be.

"Maybe you're not." she answers rather thoughtfully, and I can't help but look up at her like a god herself dipped down on the earth. I'd never heard such insight before, but I prop myself up on my elbows. "You're only like... Eleven. Maybe your calling is something else. Have you tried drawing?"

I frown and allow myself to collapse to the ground while she settles beside me, he legs stretched in a perfect one hundred and eighty degree straddle-sit, her elbows falling easily onto the floor. "I did, and all it was was a bunch of blobs."

"That's because you didn't care about it." she explains with a knowing smile, while my head finally calms itself, and I sigh. She's right- I don't really care about dancing, or about drawing, or music, or anything really. I wanted so hard to be one of the porcelain dolls, but I forgot the one thing that truly sets them all apart from the rest of our district- they all have talent.

I don't. I'm just a girl with mottled skin, kissed by the devil himself.

"I've seen you read though, maybe you can write?" she suggests, and I know she's only trying to help me but I can't write anything worth a damn either and I finally scramble to my feet. "Yeah- you tell stories really really well. Maybe... Maybe you could be an actress? I'll take you to the theater tomorrow. They have an open audition."

This goddess-

She wants me to act? Like on the television screen, of all the plays and movies and things they show us? She thinks I can do that?

Okay, yeah. Maybe.

She helps me to my feet, and gets me out of the door.

You look like someone who know how it goes, so I'm going to tell you how it goes
I'm high, right, and this guy
he says to me, where are you from --bitch--
he wants to touch me, get inside of me, know everything about me
he wants to know how I got all these scars on my pretty little body
I tell him, sweet as I know how: baby I forget.
I drink from the river of forgetfulness.
I forget the names I forget the faces I forget the stories I forget all kinds of shit.

I wonder if they know who I am inside, if they've done any research into my life? Do they know me of the scared little girl from six who can barely hold a spear? Or do they know me as someone else, do they know me as ----- Do they know me as-----

DO THEY FUCKING KNOW ME-

Her hands are so small.

It's the first thing I notice, aside from the gentle curve of her dark hair, and her amazingly clean skin. She' seven, but could be an angel. Jack looks like the kind of child who grew up living a lavish life, while her pretty painted features listen so well to our teacher. In comparison, I look like a damn animal someone dumped in a trash can and left for dead, but I don't realize that yet, not until we're out on the playground and she walks so gently in her perfectly fitted shoes, not following, but leading a line of acrobats balancing on a bench.

I want to play with her but I'm afraid because I've already gotten too many stares and questions about my skin, about this body I was born into but I don't care, because she's so beautiful and I want to play with her and brush her doll hair and stroke her face and it's just so soft- but I hold myself back because my mother's words are in my ear and my face is crimson as I angle my gaze down.

We go back inside at the sharp whistles of our teachers, and I run my fingers though waist-high weeds as we travel back inside, and I sit across from her at our grouping of desks. The teacher has us practice cursive- Stay in the lines she hisses at me, but offers nothing but praise to the Eckhart girl and her majestic hand.

Her parents had time and love to give while mine hoarded everything they ever earned.

I smile at her though she doesn't look up, doesn't notice my stares and I think I was really rude looking back on it but I don't care because she's so nice and she finally looks up and smiles and says "Hello!"

But I just stare. I can't bring myself to say anything to her but she isn't uncertain, she promises to play with me on the playground tomorrow.

And she walks me home today, holding my filthy hand, but she doesn't shy away from my mottled skin, from my tainted body. She thinks it looks cool and unique and I want to go home with her instead of to my family, who birthed me but never loved me.

She takes me to school the next day and we play on the playground at recess and I'm invited into the open arms of her mothers, our mothers and I never looked back- not until now.

When he's asleep, I roll him, I kick his ass, take his cash, take his fancy watch
and I'm looking at him
and all I can think is
who are you to me,
like you know me
like you think I'm going to tell you the truth
like you think I'm going to give you that---

Do they even know that I'm not just Amerika Eckhart, but Maria Lee Smith? Did they even bother to look into our backstories? We are all a script with dialogue and notes, an actor upon a stage and we will leave and enter at our leisure, and we aren't just their puppets. We're living, breathing things, but that's the thing- when you shut yourself up in a tower for so long, you tend to forget living things sometimes don't stay where you put them.

Yeah baby, I got scars.

I feel the vibration on my wrist, and I stand without using my hands. Like a great origami crane unfolding, I stand without swaying and don't even offer them my bark-brown gaze. I've memorized every inch of that god-forsaken wall, and I can see all of the Eckhart's faces staring back at me.

I got scar all over, but I don't even know this story, see.

My feet turn as the hour passes, and I clack-clack-clack my way out.

Ain't no story, cause I forget.

[All character interactions approved by the following in order; tom , я𝑜𝓈𝑒 , gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕ , @rave, Avalon , @arx

I am not responsible for any feels

ok maybe a little]

[flyss]

[googlefont="La Belle Aurore:400"]

[attr="class","congrats"] Quadrys Lexig H E I R  T O  T H E  L E X I G  T H R O N E I ain't at home, home's where I'm going - I close my eyes to see. There is a heartbeat in my chest and a soldier's chorus in my head, but I do not shy away from the responsibility that dawn will place upon my shoulders. Lives will be taken, breaths will be stolen, and not even the most confident of the Lexigs can seem to shake what he has been prepared for since the mere age of five. But what type of career will I be, when the bloodlust has turned to bloodshed and the flickering thoughts of victory have been turned into the waning hopes of simply staying alive another day?  The capitol is the epitome of a golden ticket, after all, but as the servant who spotted me back in the Training Centre had said, "This place isn't so great." Simple words piercing holes into my skin, I couldn't help but glance at the way tributes would walk back to the elevators that night; their faces were a collective masterpiece of deceitful content, and when I reached my own housing floor, I let the peace ravage me in my bed. Deep, cultivated, mindless approaches to how I had been raised wrap themselves around my throat and choke me into submission, but I feel nothing. I feel no regret for being eager to kill, I feel no regret for being eager to survive, I feel no regret for being eager to live. And it haunts me that others possess this humanity when I seemed to have lost it five people back in my familial line.  But compassion is a void which is unmeasurable by means of human standards. What makes a person good? What makes them bad? What breaks them? What builds them up? Kindness is not given in its thorough without reward, and people argue what is humane by its definition. But if we are only born to die, what tells us what we can and cannot do in the inbetween? Law is not something that intervenes with the cruelty of a system whose creators have admitted to being broken. ("Internationality was a concept which was killed years ago, yet we divide ourselves into these cliques among the larger, greater Panem.") ("Some oblige, and they are rewarded for it. But there is always caste in every successful society.") ("District one kills district seven, not the other way around.") So why does the private training session leave me with the taste of shallow promises and the feeling of two tonne weights being pressed into my back? It's not like I'm dying yet, and I won't be. For a twenty four hours or so, to say the least. ~ When I arrive at the training room, most of the other tributes are already seated and sharing conversation quietly amongst themselves; if it wouldn't have been for the clock bolted to the wall beginning to tick almost annoyingly, perhaps I would have thought that I was late. But it was 6 minutes before I was due, not 6 minutes after, and I knew this. There was no denying that I knew this.  To the right of me is Scout. She's a terrifying career, and I'll give her that much, but I've known hundreds of those. To the others she's a threat, but to me- well, hell- she's a threat, too, considering she has to die for me to get home. But she's nice enough, and I can make friends with 'nice enough'. I nod her way, but don't really know if she sees me. I don't care if she does, for that matter.  I take a deep breath and focus on the wall before me, until I hear a hearty cough to my left and the room shifts to an ominous silence; I glance up to the clock, and sigh softly. It's time.  "Quadrys Lexig." I begin to move before I see him because like always, district one male goes first. I do not make a gesture at the peacekeeper when I walk past, and I keep my back straight as stone until I reach the center of the mat, my eyes scanning the length of the room until I know where each and every thing I'm going to use rests in wait.  I glance up to the gamemakers, begin to introduce myself, and almost choke when I see who's up there, ready to view my performance. "Quadrys Lexig, district one.. male."  It's the "servant" who spotted me here not even a full week ago. Sitting in the head gamemaker's seat. And there's two of them.  "Hi."  Smiling once at the man's cleverness- if no one has seen him before, then why wouldn't he take the opportunity?- I turn to walk to the camouflage station, wipe two fingers in the deep maroon berry mix- which was an example piece for when it was open- and wipe it along the top of my cheeks. I've practiced this routine since I was eleven, and I've trained for this moment since the mere age of five.  I know what I'm doing. But whether or not it will be good enough for gamemaker standards is left up in the air.  Jogging over to the weapons station, I grab a hunting sword and hold it in perfect form within my fist. It's heavy, just like I remember from the years of me learning it, and I toss it around in my hands for a short moment to readjust myself to the movements I would need to make to wield it. With a quick movement, I holster it against my side and grab two silicon dummies, placing them about six feet to either side of me. ("Make it known to the gamemakers what exactly the scenario is. It'll help them better know what you're doing.") I turn to face the kings up in their thrones and I smile, my hands held together behind my back and my feet planted still on the ground below me. I motion to the models on either side of me and open my mouth to speak. "I'm double teamed, taken on by two tributes within close proximity to either side." I nod to my left and shift my body to be the complete opposite of the "approaching" tribute. "I have to be quick or I'm dead." I charge him, closing the few feet that stands vacant between the mass and I, and duck where his swing would have been, wrapping my arms around his waist and flipping myself backward. I slam the body into the ground below and onto his "ally" causing both to fall and allowing me time to get out my sword and not be cornered by their combined force.  "So I use the force of one to take out both. Minor injuries and now I have the advantage." I nod once, and push one to the side, its mass heavy but not unmanagable for me, especially with the experience and knowledge I have on how to face it. Walking back over the dummy which still lies on the ground, I set it upright and position it to face the gamemakers. Quickly, I wipe some of the berry-paint off of my face and onto the figure, a makeshift smile as a defacto humanity to the inanimate object  "Now to if I were in a one-on-one fight with a melee object such as this," I motion to my sword. "Or a simple knife." I point to the throat with the tip of my blade and raise my voice slightly, in fear that it's too quiet for them to hear. "This would be the best place for an attacker to land a hit. Why?" Without waiting, I thrust my sword into the silicon and twist my wrist, creating a hole that would be bleeding profusely had it been on an actual human.  "Because not only will the victim be having a hell of a time with breathing, but will also pose the threat of drowning in his or her blood. The pain will be immense and will most likely be the most efficient way to take someone down. "However, this isn't exactly the easiest target to hit. When in the spur of the moment, it's often difficult to aim and therefore, anywhere on the face, the stomach, the mid arms, and the upper chest would serve fine. Especially anywhere where the inferior vena cava or abdominal aorta has a chance of being struck. At that point it could cut off circulation to the legs and possibly cause heart failure." Drawing a line in the silicon with my sword, I cut deep along the mid abdomen. "That rests around here." Clearing my throat quietly, I push that aside, too, and decide to do something risky. I had thought about adding it a couple years ago, but my instructor advised me against it- now, though, I feel would be the perfect time to present such- if I can do this, perhaps it would show exactly how strong I am.  Quickly, I walk over to the knives station, pick up a belt of fine black ones, pull the first one out, and cut a single mid-deep gash along the flesh by my middle forearm, a single regular gash on the meat of my thigh, and a quick and measured slash along the bottom of my stomach. Hell, it hurt more than I had definitely expected, but I knew that time was limited now- I needed to show what I had, then patch myself up. Five minutes. Let's go.  First I took a deep breath, and tried to concentrate, the blood flowing cautiously down my wounds and staining my clothes with the sickly maroon that came forth. Using the knife that I had injured myself with, I take a moment to aim for the board and thrust it outward, the point locking itself almost dead center despite the slight dizzy hue that had began to take over my vision.  Again, I pulled out another knife, and took a second to affix myself in a more proper position this time. Feet locked, eyes zoomed, fingers taut. I release the knife, it hits a hair off of dead center, and knocks the other weapon from its mark. I hear a shrill clatter as I prepare for the last- the third- and hope that maybe by some feat of luck, I can manage to get that exact middle of bullseye. I've already gotten close twice, and that tiny red dot in the middle of the already-trophyking black seems to mock me. I breathe out with caution, rest my weight on my back leg, and shift it forward. The knife flies out of my fingertips and lands only a smidge to the otherside. Still a bullseye like the two others, but not the mark that I could have gotten if it wouldn't have been for the pain across my body. With a sense of urgency, I walk over to the first aid station, strip myself of my shirt, and begin to suture up the wounds with the precision that I was taught my entire life. You have to be well rounded, they said. It's what you need to stay alive, they said. And that's what I'm doing. I'm surviving.  After I'm done with my arm and torso, I apply a hastily-made aloe solution to the stitches which should begin to heal it fairly quickly. I'll probably have scars there, but I shouldn't feel much- when I win, I can get those removed. That's how that works, right? A little reminder that I can become whole again if I simply try.  "All I'm doing is using a curved needle to stitch this up, then placing a mixture of aloe vera and honey over the wounds." After another six or seven minutes, I have my leg fixed, too, and I go to stand, the pain already beginning to simmer down into a dull throb rather than the pounding ache that it once had been. I make my way back to the center of the mat and look back up just as I had when I entered. I could only hope that I did well, but the scores varied from gamemaker to gamemaker. With these being new, there was no telling what I could get. I nod once in gratitude and smile, my eyes trained on the "servant" and who had to be his brother. "Thanks for your time and consideration."  I swallow hard and head straight for the door.  I'll take my throne- lay it on a mountain.

And I'll make myself a king.

Private training session - 72nd hunger games

made by remi of rilla go! & adoxography

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VEPAR AZRAEL.

and you
were always faster than me
i'll never 
catch up with you

Quadrys- I'd like to think I know him well. He is the arrogant one, the one who told me he was going to win within five minutes of our meeting. Now is his time to prove whether or not such a statement is warrented. I see nothing wrong with a little hubris have one has the skills to back it up. Hopefully the Quadrys boy will set a standard for the rest of these sessions- and a good one at that. I have no patience for petty creatures itching to push my buttons, ones that will stroll this concrete chamber with their chests swollen like the feathers on a finch's chest. (And as impressive as the fragile birds, regretfully. I can see right through their faux bravado.)

I lean forward in my seat, splaying my fingers across the table and watching with interest as the Lexig boy begins his speech. He must have taken his training seriously, paid attention to every class that they put the poor things through. Knowledge spills from between his lips, calculated movements pulling off what seem like the most difficult of maneuvers. (Though I'm sure my brother will have something to say about all this, I am scrawny in comparison to him and ignorant of such physical feats.)

I hope he is shocked to see me seated here upon my cloth throne- how interesting it must have been to meet his god before all hell breaks loose upon a bloodsoaked battlefield. Before I am truly the puppeteer to his flimsy marionette strings.

"Now, I'm no expert Venus but that seemed impressive."

"This is exactly what I expect to see from a career." Venus' expression is - unsurprisingly - hard to read. "Other than the self harm, but that was an interesting twist." And I grimace, tugging at the gloves currently plunging my palms into an overwhelming summer- a price to pay for my ignorance. Not that the Lexig boy will have to worry about that scar, it won't stick out like a sore thumb dare he make it out of the arena. Our injuries were not exactly the same type of painful.

"Hurting yourself takes little to no skill- I would know." I get the sinking suspicion this is not the last tribute who will injure himself to prove a point. They can survive pain- stitch their own wounds. A useful skill certainly, but that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. "I'm tempted to take a point off just for that." My bias is showing already- fucking fantastic.

"No need; he was showing us that he can fight through pain and blood loss, then stitch himself up afterward. He'll need all of those skills." His tone is even, setting my head straight upon my shoulders.

"Good point, cliche nonetheless." I mutter- more to save face before continuing. "An eight?"

"I'd rather give him a nine."

I suppose my brother knows best- he's the manly man here anyway. A nine for the first session of the day- not bad.

oh i
can feel them
coming for me

[gamemaker kelsier]

K I T E.

"Hello, my name is Kite."

He knew that he was supposed to be nervous for this. A few of his new friends had told him that they certainly were at breakfast this morning. Kite had listened to them carefully while buttering what he dearly hoped was orange marmalade on his toast. The problem with orange marmalade though was that it wasn't very good for storing in his coat for later on. He could take a jar of marmalade he supposed but it wasn't really as good without the toast. The taste was preserved only when the preservatives were spread with perseverance on the toast, that's what made it orange marmalade on toast.

He wasn't nervous.

He'd politely asked how large the room for the skill testing was but had been told that he was not allowed to know. Kite was uncertain as to why this mattered. Those with eyesight would know as soon as they stepped into it. If Kite had the ability to complain, he might say it was a little unfair.

It was okay, Kite had a way of testing his surroundings.

He'd found that it was possible to guess the width and height of a room by listening.

When his turn came after Hettie and after they'd set the room back up for him, Kite placed his hand on the doorframe and entered, listening carefully for the sound his shoe made when it hit the flooring.

Plastic tiling?

No.

He tested the floor again with his foot, a small smile of amazement lighting up his features. He had never felt this type of ground before. It was squishy but firm. He stepped fully onto it, bouncing a little bit on the balls of his feet, enjoying the tiny movement. A laugh of delight left his lips and he stepped forwards, cocking his head slightly to the side to listen to the bounce of it. His laugh hit the walls far away to both sides and smashed into the ground to be soaked up by the strange flooring.

What a wonderful thing.

What a terrible thing too. He crouched down and felt the flooring, fingers catching on ridged pieces. The flooring was made up of a bunch of squares made from a strange material. They could be detached- he tested it by hooking his finger under one and tugging- and switched out for clean pieces. He wondered how many they'd had to take away after Hattie. A lot probably.

He stood then and stepped forward somewhat confidently. Kite had developed a strange type of walk over the years, one that was strangely cautious as if he was forever stepping in front of a ledge. that led to a very steep drop.

As he moved, he listened.

He stopped in what he suspected was the center of the room and turned his face towards the exact opposite spot that he had entered from. If he was being watched, it was likely that this is where they were watching from. He bowed carefully at the viewers, uncertain of how much respect was needed. He could vaguely recall Leon telling him that those watching him would help decide his games future but he could not remember why this was.

Display your skill.

Kite still hadn't quite decided what that was. He was known well for his singing but that wouldn't do well in the games. Different pitches and notes helped him place himself in a room better.

Oh well.

He listened quietly for a moment, waiting to catch the sound of another human being on the floor with him. Leon had told him that there might be a trainer or a few Avox.

"Hello," he said softly, "I know that you're there, would you please come here? I cannot see you."

He waited patiently, marvelling at the way the mat flooring shifted slightly as someone moved forward as he had asked. That was interesting, people tended to ignore Kite, he didn't take up much space. It wasn't often that people actually listened to his requests.

"Thank-you," he said, a note of surprise in his voice as the person stopped in front of him, waiting silently. "Is it alright if I feel your face? I would like to see you."

He raised his hand slowly in front of his own face and waited. If the person was ok with it then they could move into his hand. He knew that some people did not like to be touched, that was ok. It was good to ask. "If it's okay, you ca-"

He was cut off by the person carefully placing their face in his hand. "Oh, thanks," Kite said, gently using his fingers to paint an image in his head. He felt a slightly pointed nose and large lips, a mouth that was used to smiling but hadn't for quite some time. High cheekbones and hair that fell loose over the person's ears.

"What's your name?" he said, "My name is Kite."

He waited for a moment.

"Oh here," he said, holding his hand out, palm up, "Spell it if you like."

He waited carefully, concentrating hard on the letters being written into his palm. Kite had only just been learning how to read when he'd been blinded. He was alright with brail but reading had never been important to him.

N-O-V-A

"Nova? That's super."

Nova's hand sagged in his and Kite laughed at his pun, taking too much enjoyment in having another person's hand to hold. People often took him by his elbow to lead him, or herded him forward by pressing on his back gently.

Despite the fact that maybe this was an Avox and he was speaking to, and maybe he had to do as he was told, Kite was glad for a moment. To speak to someone equally senseless was somehow like finding a light in the dark.

Now that he'd done this he wasn't certain what to do next. He didn't want to just turn around and leave his new friend. He also didn't want to waste anyone's time. Still, there was something he'd always wanted to try.

"I was thinking," Kite said softly, "Would you like to play a game?"

Nova squeezed his hand gently and Kite took it for a yes. He thought carefully for a moment, letting out a long low note, almost questioning in it's nature. He listened quietly. The note hit the left wall and bounced up to the rafters high overhead and then crashed back down with a thud into the mat flooring. It took all sound.

"Okay," he said, "It's tag. You're it." He pushed off of Nova gently and turned and ran. His feet hit the floor loudly now with muted thuds and he felt a strange giddiness that he hadn't felt since he was younger, playing tag with the other street kids. His smile grew when he heard Nova chasing after him. Kite was good at tag. Sometimes he'd be chased from his street corner by Boss's rivals.

He was good at slipping away. He'd been shot once when he was twelve, the bullet had gone through his leg and he'd felt the warmth spread over his leg and drip down. He'd fallen on the cobblestones of four. He'd never wanted to feel that pain again so he'd become a better listener.

It had paid off.

He slid to the side, just out of reach of the Avox. He could feel a slight dip in the matting and spun out of the way of a table set with equipment a few moments before crashing into it. It was half luck, half skill. He heard the slapping sound of the Avox's feet stopping and beginning again, coming back for him.

Kite laughed, exhilarated, and placed his hands on the table in order to put it between the two of them. He broke away from the table and ran back towards the viewers.

Nova's balance changed, he felt it in the shifting of the mat and the way his footsteps sounded. Kite dived forwards, just out of reach of the Avox and the scrambled back up to get away.

After a few minutes of this, the Avox' footsteps stopped and Kite stopped too, placing his hands on his knees and turning to face where his sounds had stopped. He let the Avox catch his breath. "Ah," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an apple from breakfast that morning, "Would you like some?"

He took a bite from the apple to show that it was safe out of habit, a practice Boss often had him do back home, and then tossed it in the direction that the sounds from Nova had stopped. He heard it land with a satisfactory thud in his hands. After a moment, the sound of Nova taking a bite followed.

Kite was careful with his food but it was only fair he share with Nova after making him play with him. He'd sacrifice his apple for his new friend.

"Okay," Kite said, "I'll chase you next. Go!"

He lunged forwards but Nova was ready for him. He heard his feet take off on the mat and the game was afoot. Kite concentrated hard this time, listening for a shift in Nova's running. If he even veered off a little bit and Kite wasn't listening well then he would lose him. People often underestimated Kite; it was easy to. He was a blind beggar from a career district.

They were wrong to do so, Nova was already catching onto this.

After a few moments Kite was able to trick him. Nova veered off to the left but Kite continued to run straight, knowing that Nova would believe he'd lost him because Kite couldn't see. He listened though, and heard Nova come up behind him. Kite continued to run straight for a moment or two before swivelling and lunging behind him, talking Nova to the ground.

They lay in a heap, panting, for a moment before the Avox beneath him began to shake violently with silent laughter. Kite dissolved into giggles as well, trying to catch his breath. He disentangled himself from Nova and then reached down to help him up, patting him gently on the back.

"That was fun Nova," Kite said, voice hopeful, "Maybe one day we can play again?"

Nova took his hand gently and squeezed before letting go and stepping away from him. The game was over, Kite's time was up.

He turned and left, whistling softly to find his way out the door.

VEPAR AZRAEL.

and you
were always faster than me
i'll never 
catch up with you

I grow anxious whenever they draw near to the avox. My heart stops, climbing up into my throat, I dig my fingers into the fabric of Sun's sweater and pull him closer as though to try to shield him from any atrocity that might take place in the here and now. He doesn't deserve this- to see his brethren so abused by these awful tributes. Rude and selfish and evil things that I am coming to despise more and more with each passing session. (And to think I once hoped for them to be better than all of us- Sun had hailed from the seventh district after all.)

But this one is blind- what is the worst he can do? I hope that the avox is smart enough to flee if he tries anything, if he so much as makes one violent gesture toward the poor thing. (She won't, I know that all too well. It is Sun who would stand there, head bowed and docile as a pig raised for slaughter. The thought makes my blood boil.)

"Would you like to play a game?" I press my face into Sun's neck, whining softly as I wait for what's to come. I'm tired of real bloodshed, the reaping of innocent souls. This is some twisted sort of game, no doubt. One that will end with a knife in her gut or-

Running. I hear running. I rest my chin upon the smaller boy's shoulder, near captivated at the childish nature of this session. And still he shows skill, eyes burned and malformed but he can see the girl better than I, his agility like that of a doe. He will hear his enemies from a mile away. Impressive.

"That is how to collaborate with an avox successfully." I mumble, placing a kiss upon the base of Sun's neck and turning my eyes to my brother. "They are not lives to be toyed with- what did you think?"

"His disability does not hinder him, that is for sure."

"What would you score him?" I tap my pencil upon the table, biting the inside of my cheek. There is a sort of fondness in my heart for him- for the kindness that he has shown. And yes, that could damn well be a weakness in this arena but I would rather see it a strength. He does not have the look of a tribute who has given themselves over to death. I look forward to seeing him devolve within the arena. To leave behind such philosophies once they become a hindrance. For now, they will help him.

"Not high." I frown, tucking a stray hair behind my ear and raising my brows. Does my brother only see point of practical survival skills? To befriend an abused servant is no easy task- to be likable is a boon in the games. Of course he is not worthy of say above a six, but the skills he showed were not as useless as the simple slaughter of a docile servant.

"A five then?"

"All he did was play a game of tag, I think we are being too generous." I think you are only thinking in blacks and whites again.

"And you wonder why tributes come in here thinking that senseless slaughter is the way to impress us. Is charisma of no worth? There is no victor that comes to mind that did not have the help of another."

"That's what sponsors are for."

"Look, I'm not saying we give him a ten but to score him the same or less than a tribute who murdered an avox is ridiculous."

"A four then?"

I suppose that was better than nothing.

oh i
can feel them
coming for me

[kap]

PRIVATE TRAINING SESSION

The young, blonde, career boy watched eagerly, wanting his name to appear above the door to the training center as soon as possible. Andesite Obsidian wanted to get in there and show of his true skills to the Gamemakers. He didn't have any idea what sort of score he would get, but he wasn't going to try to figure it out. Andy would simply show off his abilities, thank the Gamemakers, leave, and await what they thought of what he had done.

Having sat there for quite a while, thinking, Andy was sincerely hoping that he'd be able to do what he wanted to. If what he needed wasn't available, he'd have to come up with something else on the spot. Waiting for the person before him to exit, he tapped his foot impatiently.

Can't they hurry up already? I need to get in there. he thought to himself.

After a little while longer, the lights displaying the name over the door changed to read 'Andesite Obsidian' and a mechanical sounding voice called him in. He was prepared. Wiping any bit of nervous sweat off of his hands and onto his trousers, Andy headed through the doors. They closed quickly behind him with a loud slam. This almost made him jump, but not quite. He managed to keep himself calm and collected. He was prepared.

Immediately, Andy had spotted what he needed. The avox standing near him had a necklace around her neck. Quickly, Andy managed to unclasp and grab the object. He was discrete about it, and the avox hadn't even appeared to notice at first, until she saw that Andy had it. He had held it up for the Gamemakers to see. He had now shown off his skill of thievery. Necklace still in hand, Andy then headed over towards the dummies that were lined up in front of one of the long walls in the room.

Placing the necklace in his pocket, the avox looked frantic, clearly wanting her piece of jewelry returned to where it was before. Andy ignored this, however, and readied himself for the next thing he was to do. He charged towards one of the dummies and in one swift motion, slammed his fist into its head. This caused the neck of the dummy to begin to break, and look as if it were going to fall off if it were so much as touched. He had delivered quite the powerful punch.

Next, delivering another punch, the small career had decapitated his target dummy. He then gave a forceful kick, slamming the dummy into the wall. Had the wall been concrete, it's likely Andy wouldn't have done as much damage to it, but since it was like the wall of a usual home or building, he had caused a rather good sized hole to form in it.

Following this up, since he still had time remaining, he decided he may as well show off another skill he had had for quite some time. Due to the training that his caretaker, Flynn, had given him back in District Two, Andy knew what he was doing. He swiftly made his way over towards the knives and another dummy. Using one of the knives, he quickly slashed a large gash in the chest of the dummy, and then proceeded to forcefully jam the knife into its face. The knife had gone very deep, and Andy was rather proud of himself.

As his training session concluded, the boy from District Two looked to the Gamemakers and gave a powerful grin.

"Thank you for your time. It is much appreciated. I hope you enjoy my feat in the games even more than you may have enjoyed this." he said. He winked at the female avox and tossed her necklace back to her, then exiting the room where the private training center had been held.

Andy began to think to himself again when he left the room and the doors shut once more.

Wow, I feel like that went better than expected. The dent in the wall was a bonus. I got this. Bingo.

He was confident.

WORD COUNT: 676

VEPAR AZRAEL.

and you
were always faster than me
i'll never 
catch up with you

It's cold. The district one female's performance still burns bright, blood pouring from the gaps between my fingers and-

the thick iron is painful. It smells foul, toxic fumes wrapping themselves around my throat and I can't breathe. I can't think. I certainly cannot pay attention to the boy who shambles inside so soon after the poor thing's corpse was taken away. (Does he know a dead body sat right where he now stands, head held high as-)

An avox starts to panic, grasping at her body and my fingers wrap themselves around Venus' wrist. It's coming. I know it is. I wait for blood to fill the room once again. The stench, the fumes, the poison; I wait for them to overwhelm me. I can't do this again. Not so soon. To feel the grim reaper's breath upon the skin of my neck would drain me of any remaining vitality.

These mice think that they are kings.

Alas, I am their god.

The avox calms down after a while, no visible sign of injury upon wrapping-paper skin and I can feel the tension fall from my shoulders. The fates have cut their marionette strings sewn to my veins. And there is nothing but relief as I skin back into my chair and return my hand to my lap. Good. He punches a dummy- nothing so impressive but better than that Fray girl. Most anything would be better than what she did to that poor, poor thing.

Oh, it must have been afraid. Shaking without arms to hide within. Sun was near inconsolable, clinging to either me our Venus while they cleaned the gore that was all that remained of the avox. A kindered spirit laid to rest.

And I know that I am weak, I know that any other gamemaker would spit in my face had they the ability to see into my mind. To see just how sympathetic a fool I am but I cannot change myself. To them I will prove even the weakest of character can prevail with enough determination.

I am a genius, after all.

Oh- the boy. My eyes fall to him and his rather lackluster display. He decapitates a mere toy, unfortunate as a real human's anatomy will not be so easily severed. (Was the dummy faulty? They were supposed to be carbon copies of a human body.)

Upon his exit he chucks something at the avox, a gift? She certainly seems relieved.

"Well... that was boring." I murmur, burning the back of my throat with the black coffee sat in front of me.

I get the feeling I'm going to need it.

"It wasn't that bad." Venus takes a sip of his tea- his love for the drink rivaling my love of bitter black liquid "it was short at least."

Short and pointless. "What did he do with the avox? It didn't seem he hurt her."

"He stole her necklace." Was that some kind of odd fetish? I furrow my brows and give a confused hum. "He's probably a skilled thief," Venus continues, not needing me to state that I needed a further explanation. (He never does.) "and wanted to show us."

That makes more sense. "A five, nothing more nothing less."

And I am already jotting down the number before my brother agrees.

oh i
can feel them
coming for me