walls come tumbling down {tom}

[Knuckles]

Ivar Hammerfell

Dinner was his favorite time of the day. It involved devouring food from different districts and learning what they were and how they tasted. So far he had found many that he loved while other type of food he hated. Eating seafood all year around was impossible. The fish were slimy, and he hated the texture of them all. Perhaps if he had seasoned it a little bit more everything would come together, but even then it was highly doubted. This time Ivar wanted to try something from district ten. Sweet potato pie caught his eye many times, and he wanted to see how it tasted.

First he had to grab a plate, but instead of grabbing one from the stack on top of the bar, he grabbed one from beneath it since it was easier to reach. Blue eyes scanned the food as he slithered from one end to the other. It simply amazed him how the districts were so different yet similar at the same time. Perhaps he would stack some of the district eleven food to the side to see how the peasants ate.

It was always harder than before trying to reach to the bar in order to place the food on his plate. He had made a couple messes before, and now was his chance to prove he didn't make a mess every time he tried to do something. A reputation he was working to build was slowly crashing down around him. But what could he do? In order to fix what was destroyed, the crippled teen needed to prove that he was capable of helping himself, and that he didn't rely on anyone at any time. And this was the perfect chance for him to do so.

He stopped in front of the sweet potatoes, and he lifted himself into the air, but he, once again, found it difficult to reach the dish. Mumbling to himself, and keeping obscenities under his breath, Ivar reached as high as he could finally grabbing the side of the cart. But that was his first mistake. His hands slid, and the pan of sweet potato pie came crashing down nearly on top of him. Pie splattered in every direction. The plate he was holding broke.

The boy lowered himself to the floor, embarrassment flowing rapidly through his veins. He stood no chance in the games, and Ivar was slowly beginning to realize it.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[Tom]

r i o r d a n   e i n f a l l e n

Dinner wasn't his favorite time. He's had too many dinners alone, that eating with other tributes feels weird. Almost like he's back in school again with the bullies that used to pick on him and send him into panics. When the training center feels full to the brim, it's like he's back home. Locked up in his room, until school comes around. His only breath of freedom from his overbearing parents. School wasn't his favorite thing, after all, he quit it shortly after finding out about Tempus. He was smarter than everyone in his class anyways. Even if they disagreed with him, they were wrong. Running a business at a young age had shown him he was smarter than most.

Dinner wasn't his favorite thing in the world. Lonely nights of eating something that he could barely even cook and only feel the whispers of the dead as his selfishness eats away at his soul. An unsheathed knife, stabbing into his gut as he thinks of the dead with his meal in his hands. Or that's how it typically went. Picking food out from all over Panem was different. District Six had some rather bland food compared to the rest of the districts. Pies and desserts of all sorts lay out in front of him. His stomach grumbles for a second as his eyes swoon over everything that could make him plump again. Bits and pieces were placed on his place as he went and sat down, contemplating his next few meals that he would call his last meals.

He heard the sweet potato pie fall after setting his own plate down. Eyes flicker to the Hammerfell. Ivan or something of the sort. He could barely remember with the army of tributes that there were. The mess was awful and probably more of an embarrassment for the Hammerfell man. A sigh of relief as he realizes the guy is alright. Body moves to the Hammerfell, as he feels the kindness that he has swell up. They would be fighting for their lives and yet, Riordan was still being nice for some reason. As he stood next to the man, his voice escapes from his throat. He regrets it, but at the same time, someone should at least remember him. Even if it's only through an event.

"Need some help?"

He didn't bother waiting for a reply, as he reaches for napkins to try and help clean up the mess that Ivan or whatever his name is caused. A smile on his face as he leaned down to wipe at the mess on the floor. Memories of cleaning the Tempus House popping in his head. Days alone with nothing more than a scrubbing sponge and a mop to make the place shine. A sigh of relief comes from his lips as he speaks again, politely with some worry in his tone.

"You're okay, right? Like you didn't get hurt or anything?"

[Knuckles]

Ivar Hammerfell

Throughout his life, Ivar built walls high around him protecting him from the world itself, yet those walls were slowly tearing away as he set out on a mission to prove he was a force to reckon with. But those walls couldn't save him from the humiliation of the games. Many were watching, and yet Ivar wasn't sure what he could do. All of it was working against him. Eating was hard. Reaching the tables in the different stations were hard, but it didn't stop him from trying. But look where it got him now. It wasn't like living at him where his brothers assisted him, but at the same time it was the same. He saw how people looked at him back in district two. He heard the words of Sigurd. Dying would fit right in with his brother's plans, however, Ivar didn't plan on dying. He would survive the games, but first he had to survive the stay in the Capitol which was proving difficult.

What was the use? Nothing would matter. His life was screwed up beyond repair, and right now Ivar didn't care what anyone thought. It was all an act. Something to do. Something to show them that perhaps he volunteered because he did have a death wish. But that was far from the truth. Sweet potato pie covered his face, it was spread throughout his hair, all over the nice clean outfit, and not to mention the mess scattered across the floor. It was the perfect chance to figure out how it tasted, yet the idea of trying a dish from the floor only made things worse. Father taught him manners, and now wasn't the time to break them.

"Need some help?"

The words reached his ears, and Ivar turned looking in every direction until his eyes rested on one of the volunteers from six. He didn't know his name, and he didn't need help, but the man decided to help anyway. It was definitely a first, and it was much better compared to his lifestyle at home. Yet it was different, and it showed him that he was weak. That he would probably become the first death of the quell. Maybe volunteering was stupid, but at least it would give him the chance to prove himself. And who knows, maybe Ivar had what it took to actually win. It was what he wanted, and now it was what he would fight for.

"You're okay, right? Like you didn't get hurt or anything?"

It was a question he didn't want to answer. While on the outside he wasn't hurting, his pride took a big blow. Everything was collapsing. The walls were crumbling around him, and he didn't know how much more he could take. Soon they would fall, and he would fall with them. He curled his lips back, but soon he forced himself to smile. Remaining calm was hard, and he wanted to lash out. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't. Not yet anyway. It wasn't time.

"I'm okay." He stated simply keeping his voice clear of any emotion, "But I do have a question for you. Why are you helping me?"

Sigurd would've laughed at him, but Ubbe and Hvitserk would've assisted him which made this man from six similiar to the two who genuinely cared.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[Tom]

r i o r d a n   e i n f a l l e n

Walls were meant to be destroyed.

The cement and rock smashed to it's place within the earth. Hearts worn upon sleeves for everyone to see, hoping that a heart can finally feel alive again. Riordan's seen the walls, he's been in the walls, he's destroyed the walls, but they always were there. Somewhere far away. The look in eyes of the ones who hide themselves from the world around them. Careers who didn't know what it was like to feel instead of fake. They were all liars in a mad game of life that had taken them upon a path of nothing more than rotting bones and monsters only children dream of.

Hammerfell had the same look in his eyes as his father had. Emotions gone. Nothing more than distrust and anger of some sort. If anything, Hammerfell was fooling everyone else with a strong act, but there were whispers. Rumors that Riordan was good at getting ahold of. The man that was Hammerfell was not what he expected a Hammerfell to be. There was no difference though. They were all humans, created by the stars or the false god that had become popular last games. As he watches the Hammerfell, hands cleaning the mess before him, words escape from the other man's lips. If Riordan were in any other situation, he would have prodded the Hammerfell with questions, trying to be friendly, but this was a man who could end up killing him in the end.

"I'm okay." No emotion. No curiosity. Only a blank stare that was both readable and unreadable. The question came next. Words that fall from the lips of a man who Riordan could see the walls surrounding him. A mystery of what was truly behind the walls that humanity built up to protect themselves from being broken by others. A front to seem strong to anyone and everyone, when really they were all weak in a way. Fragile creatures, meant to prosper and also die. The question was interesting, especially from a Hammerfell.

"But I do have a question for you. Why are you helping me?"

Help. A four letter word that Riordan had screamed out for years to nothing. There was no help for anyone and that's why he needed to be the one to help. Otherwise, who else would have done it. He was selfish for sacrificing himself to see her, even if it meant losing everything he left behind. His time upon the earthly plains weren't going to last much longer. Bones shaking, blood leaving, body shivering, and he'd fall into it with open arms. A small smile pulls along his cheeks as he speaks. Calm and friendliness upon every word.

"I learned long ago, it's better to live a life that you would look back on and be proud of. Helping people seems to have been my calling. Wish I had learned it sooner, before throwing my life away."

Silence and the buzz of the lights hanging above their heads provides the only comfort to the room. Strangers who wouldn't know him, until he either died or he told them himself. Hammerfell could be waiting for him to let out his personal information to crush him in the arena. No matter what, they couldn't do that. He's seen his sins and past from his own eyes. There was nothing more to hide, his walls had come crashing down long ago. Years before he even knew of Jequirity Eckhart or Tempus Opera House. Times were rough for everyone. Death looms over them all like a plague, ready to strike them down with any sickness as they rot from the sins crawling across their skins. Hands move to his sides as he speaks more of his reasoning.

"Though, I'm sure you could of handled it yourself, sometimes.. It's just nice to have someone there to help you. I haven't been there for so many people, so why not? Would you help someone if they needed help? Or are you like the rest of the careers? Ready to slit my throat with no remorse?"

[Knuckles]

Ivar Hammerfell

His question hung in the air as silence tore through his ears. Why would anyone help a person in this position? It was the beginning of the hunger games, and while people made friends, Ivar was looking for enemies. Acting wasn't his strongest point, yet he felt like he was doing well. Pretending he was a weak crippled kid. Easy pickings when the games truly began, but why would anyone target an easy target in the very beginning? Why not go for a threat, or someone who had the ability to stand upright and walk with ease. Many took advantage of him, and perhaps knocking the sweet potato pie over was a mistake that he didn't want to happen, however, in the end, it added to his wish.

Listening carefully, Ivar took in every word as he continued mopping up the mess on the floor. Helping someone was this man's calling, and it was one the crippled teen never understood. What was the purpose? The point? Why help someone who could barely help themselves? Learning was important, and maybe helping would release him from the grasp the world had on him, but even then it wasn't worth his time.

Silence. It was deadly, yet it radiated through the room, infiltrating his ears as the world looked on. Sigurd would've laughed at him the moment the sweet potato pie fell over, and it destroys his soul slowly. Why would anyone hate a fellow brother when family was all anyone ever had? Volunteering and coming the Capitol was a chance for Ivar to escape the constant torture. He loved his brother regardless of what his brother thought of him. He was just tired of being a shadow.

"I can be proud of my life for all that I have accomplished. It hasn't been easy."

A snarky grin twisted across his face. He didn't need the help, and he didn't want the help, but why through it away? Why make this man feel unwanted when in all reality Ivar needed someone to mess with. Someone he may care for. Someone to push him further when nothing was working. Yet his eyes were locked on the mess. This man helping him stated he hadn't been around helping many people, and now he wanted to help. Ivar took a deep breath taking in every word wondering what the purpose was.

Would I help someone or turn away?

The question bounced through his skull over and over trying to figure a way out, but Ivar didn't have an answer to it at this very moment.

"Or are you like the rest of the careers? Ready to slit my throat with no remorse?"

All his life he wanted to hurt someone. He wanted to wear the crown rewarded at the end of the games. Would killing someone destroy him? Would he enjoy it? Would it be worth wearing the crown of blood? Was it worth ruining families of the victims who volunteered? Everyone understood what they were getting into, and now he had the chance to finally accomplish his ultimate goal;

winning.

"Why help someone when very few people have helped me?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, "I don't know how killing feels, and I'll never know until I'm thrown into that situation soon. Will I feel remorse? Maybe. Will I enjoy it? I don't know."

Time ceased to exist, his heart skipped a beat -

"But I do know I'd have to reach your throat in order to slit it."

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]