Not-So-Lucky Number Thirteen {Riven + Sage}

[kap]

Sage Scarborough

Thirteen knives, laid out neatly on the table when he entered the Training Center that morning. He didn't think much of the number thirteen. Some people saw it as unlucky, but Sage had bad enough luck that it didn't even faze him. There weren't very many other tributes in the room yet, as it was quite early, so Sage figured he wouldn't embarrass himself too much if he did terribly in his attempt at throwing knives at the targets that were lined up.

He picked up the first knife, trying to figure out just how to throw it. He'd never thrown any sort of blade before, so this was new for him. Lining up his sight, he aimed for the ten-point section in the center of the target. He threw the knife, and it completely missed the target. The boy sighed in disappointment, but grabbed another knife. Throwing the second knife, he managed to get it into the single-point section of the target.

One point it better than none at all, he thought. Sage's hand reached for the third knife, and again, he scored better than before; two points this time. As he threw each knife, most of them hit the target in some way, while just a couple of them missed. In the end, he'd scored thirteen points. Just as many points as there were knives. He didn't think about the number itself, other than the fact that it meant he hadn't done well.

Sage went over and collected each of the knives, removing them from the target or picking them up off of the floor near the target. He brought them over to the table that he had originally retrieved them from, laying them out again neatly.

Always leave a place in a better state than when you found it.

When he was about to walk away from the table, he spotted another tribute that almost seemed like they were worried about something. That was when Sage wondered if he'd done something wrong.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. "It seems like something is bothering you."

341 words

OOC: solo

[solo]

Riven Fowley

So far, I haven't bothered to arrive early at the Training Center. I've slept in as much as I can, arriving only when I need to, knowing full well that sleeping in the arena will be next to impossible for me. Oh, I'm sure there are those who will be out like a light. But I can't stand the thought of sleeping when I know I might never wake up.
I've swapped my forest green shirt for a deep burgundy one, loose-fitting and hopefully good for moving around. My shoes thump softly on the concrete floor. I keep my hands in my pockets, my grey eyes flickering slowly around the room. Not many tributes have arrived yet. There are, however, trainers posted at the various stations, and I can spot two or three Gamemakers up in the balcony.
I am tempted to go to the plants station again, or perhaps camouflage, almost hoping that Wylla will show up again asking to be turned into a tiger. But then I remember I'm here to learn. I need to visit other stations, I need to gain what skills I can before I'm pitted against the other forty-some tributes who will arrive here soon. My eyes land on a boy at the blades station, and without really thinking, my feet begin moving in that direction.
As I draw closer, I begin to recognize him. He's from Twelve, Scarborough I think is his last name. I remember because it was unique and had an interesting ring to it. I glance down at the display of knives on the table next to him, and my eyebrows knit together. Ten, eleven, twelve...thirteen.
I keep silent, watching as he misses his first shot. His hands are awkward, uncomfortable with a knife and not really sure how to hold it. To be honest, I'd be the same. I've never thrown a knife in my life. He eventually hits the target, but none of his shots are particularly good, and my frown refuses to fade away.
"Is everything alright?" I look up, surprised not only because he is speaking to me, but also because his tone is genuine. No sarcasm, no hint of mockery. There might even be a hint of concern. "It seems like something is bothering you."
He's caught me off guard, and I don't have an answer right away. I know full well that most people aren't superstitious. They don't think about about when exactly they should cut their hair, how many years of bad luck they will get by walking under that ladder, making sure they open their umbrella after they step outside and not before. It's just not a common thought process.
"I'd suggest not using knives in the arena." I say, my voice jerky and somewhat awkward. I haven't had time to think through this conversation yet. I pause, then rethink my statement, and press my lips into a thin line. "Actually, I'm not even sure if that'll help you. You might have bad luck no matter what weapon you choose."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 501}

[kap]

s a g e   s c a r b o r o u g h

When Sage spoke to the girl that he initially thought looked concerned, he realized that he had caught her off guard. She seemed almost surprised that he'd spoken to her. It even took her a moment to actually give him a response, but Sage didn't allow himself to think too much of it. After all, it didn't really bother him. He was just relieved that she wasn't ignoring him. Then, she finally spoke up.

"I'd suggest not using knives in the arena." She seems almost unsure of what she's saying to him, and then takes another pause before speaking again. "Actually, I'm not even sure if that'll help you. You might have bad luck no matter what weapon you choose," she tells him. He doesn't mean to sound rude, but he laughs at this, at least slightly.

Bad luck, he thinks. Ha. Clearly she doesn't know that I'll have bad luck with everything no matter what, not just weapons.

Then, he tells her something along the lines of what he'd been thinking.

"Sorry about laughing," he begins. "It's just that I always have bad luck. I bet you it won't just be weapons. That's just how I am. Nothing really seems to be able to change it, unfortunately. My sister even tried using a bunch of different good luck charms on me, and it's never made my luck any better."

Sage's explanation was one that he hadn't had to put much thought into. Sure, it was true that no one ever really told him that he was going to have bad luck, like they were a fortune teller or something, but he'd often thought about how unlucky he was in general, so when that particular conversation did come up, it wasn't hard to think of a response.

For this particular boy from Twelve, part of the reason he volunteered was because of how tired he was of all the bad luck in his life. He didn't want to deal with that along with how poverty-stricken he was anymore. Sage just figure that, if he won, he could bring back enough money to at least take care of that part of things, and if he didn't win, he wouldn't have to deal with it all because, well, he'd be dead. He wasn't even sure at this point if he was afraid of dying, or if it would be such a bad thing. Of course, he didn't want to ruin Affron by just letting himself die.

He also refused to just let himself die easily for as long as Affron was alive. If he was going to train, it wasn't for his own survival. It was so that he could protect his best friend for as long as possible. There was no way Sage was going to let himself lose that boy who'd volunteered simply because he wanted to protect him.
-
472 words

Table by Lancelot

[solo]

Riven Fowley

The first thing he does is laugh. I was expecting that. No one is superstitious, no one believes that thirteen knives could mean their sudden death in the arena. I don't mind. My belief very rarely comes out, and this is why. Everyone thinks it's ridiculous.
"Sorry about laughing," he says, and I shake my head with a faint smile to show it's alright. I had expected nothing more from him. What he says next, though, surprises me a little. "It's just that I always have bad luck. I bet you it won't just be weapons. That's just how I am. Nothing really seems to be able to change it, unfortunately. My sister even tried using a bunch of different good luck charms on me, and it's never made my luck any better."
So he does believe in luck. How interesting. I wait a moment, allowing this to sink in, tucking it away for later in the little box labeled Sage Scarborough. 
"It's alright." I say, voicing my thoughts. I shrug. "I'm used to the laughing. Maybe you did something when you were little, and that's why you have bad luck."
My gaze drifts down to the array of knives on the table, which he has put back exactly as they were when he arrived. I would've just left them in the target, or, more likely, on the floor. My brain my be organized, but the things around me certainly aren't. I'm not exactly a tidy person.
"You're not half bad," I continue, nodding to the knives. Then my eyes widen a little and I take it back. "I mean, uh, not that I was expecting you to be bad, I um..." I trail off and shuffled my feet awkwardly, my cheeks heating up. Great. I've screwed this up already. "Would you teach me? I don't have very good aim."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 306}

[kap]

s a g e   s c a r b o r o u g h

The girl that Sage was speaking with didn’t seem all too bothered by his laughter, which was relief. He hated having the feeling that he’d offended someone. Luckily, when the girl spoke next, she confirmed that she hadn’t been bothered by it, or at least not too badly, as she told him it was alright. Though, when she stated that she was used to the laughing, Sage frowned. He was used to the feeling of people laughing at him, too. Therefore, it made him feel bad that he’d put someone else in a situation like that.

“I’m sorry I laughed. I know you said it’s alright, but it just makes me feel bad. People do it to me all the time and I didn’t really think about that,” he apologized.

When Sage heard the rest of what his fellow tribute said, though, it made him think. She offered up the idea that he may have done something when he was little that caused his bad luck. He genuinely wondered whether that was possible. Sage tried searching his own memories to think of what he possibly could have done, but unfortunately, couldn’t quite grasp what it may have been. He shared this with the person he was talking to.

“Hmm. That’s an interesting thought, and I guess it’s possible,” he told her. “I just don’t know what I may have done.”

Then, his conversational partner seemed to have brought her gaze to the knives that he had so neatly set back on the table after he’d used them. She told him that he wasn’t ‘half bad’ with the knives, which actually kind of surprised him. Personally, judging by how many times he missed the target, and how poorly he’d done when he actually hit it, he didn’t think he did well at all. Regardless, he was grateful for the compliment. After she said this, however, her face seemed to be full of embarrassment. She almost seemed like she felt bad for how she had worded things, when Sage had actually taken it as a compliment. The girl shifts on her feet and her face seems to be reddening. Sage couldn’t be quite sure why she seemed like she felt so bad about what she said.

When she stated that it wasn’t that she had expected him to do poorly, her words sort of faded out, and he gave her a gentle smile.

“It’s not a problem. I didn’t even think of it as anything negative, so don’t worry about it,” Sage informed her.

Then, she asked him if he could teach her, which rather surprised the boy. He couldn’t imagine why anyone, especially someone he didn’t know, would think that he had enough skills that were valuable enough to share when it came to weaponry. Normally, if someone were asking him for help, he’d have expected it to be with something like first aid, not knives. Regardless, he gave her a nod.

“Sure. Come over here, and I’ll try my best to show you. I’m not the best at it, but I can try,” Sage expressed. He hoped that he’d be enough help to satisfy her, but not too helpful (though he couldn’t imagine how he’d be too helpful with his lack of skill). After all, if he gave another tribute too much help, they could use it against him in the arena.

-

554 words

Table by Lancelot

[solo]

Riven Fowley

He frowns at me. Wait, not, not at me. At my words. Something about them bothers him. Did I offend him? I don't think so. If anything, he's offended me, only I don't mind it.
“I’m sorry I laughed." My eyebrows lift a little bit. I start to remind him that he already apologized, but he continues before I can say anything else. "I know you said it’s alright, but it just makes me feel bad. People do it to me all the time and I didn’t really think about that.”
I pause a moment, letting that settle in. People don't laugh at me all the time. Just when I talk about my superstitions. And even then, it's not a lot. I never really thought about it that much, it's never bothered me.
“Hmm. That’s an interesting thought, and I guess it’s possible,” he says after thinking a bit about what I've said. “I just don’t know what I may have done.” I shrug, showing that I couldn't guess at it either.
When I start stumbling over my words, he's quick to comfort and reassure me. Kind words, a gentle smile. Things you won't find in a place where everyone is out to kill you. “It’s not a problem. I didn’t even think of it as anything negative, so don’t worry about it.” I force the air out of my nose in a half-hearted laugh. I don't mean to be rude, but I find it fascinating how concerned he is for my feelings. Making sure there is no misunderstanding. I wonder if perhaps he's just extremely sarcastic, but then brush the thought aside. It doesn't seem likely. Perhaps he's just like me and Wylla and Salome. Children fighting against the monsters.The boy seems surprised at first when I ask if he would teach me how to throw a knife. But then he nods. “Sure. Come over here, and I’ll try my best to show you. I’m not the best at it, but I can try."
I guess he's right. From what I saw, he's not exactly the best with knives. But, I dislike learning from the trainers, and prefer some for of trial and error. So far it's been working for me.
I step towards the table of knives, and feel a shiver run down my spine, fluorescent lights glinting against the steel blades. I have never been a violent person. I'm not sure if I could ever bring myself to harm another. But, I suppose I will have to learn, before the wolves come down on me. My hand creeps towards one of the weapons, small, pale fingers curling around the black leather of it's handle. It feels heavy, potential deaths weighing it down in my grip. I wonder if my family is watching me. What would they think?
I step away from the table and tear my gaze of the blades. "What now?" I ask, my voice weak, not really sure I want to this. But I have to. I don't have a choice.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 499}

[kap]

s a g e   s c a r b o r o u g h

As the tribute with a '10' stitched into her training uniform asks what to do with the knives, Sage approaches the table of blades. He picks one up by the handle, and looks at her kindly.

"To start, pick one up and follow me over to the target, okay?" he instructed. "Oh, and I thought I'd tell you; my name is Sage. I think it's a lot easier to be on a first name basis with one another." Then, he made his way over to the target with his first knife, and put himself in a ready stance. "Stand like this so you can get the best momentum when you throw it," Sage explained. Then, he showed her how to hold the knife. "Just make sure you don't cut yourself on the blade when you throw it. I did that the first time I tried."

Then, the boy from Twelve, hoping luck would be on his side for once, threw the knife at the target. To his surprise, he actually hit it rather close to the center, just one ring away. That had been his best throw so far. He smiled at his acquaintance.

"Now you try," Sage told her. He then proceeded to step back a little bit to make sure that she was in the right stance, and that she wouldn't harm herself with the weapon in any way. Now, more than anything, Sage was just hoping she wouldn't get frustrated with everything and end up throwing the knife at him instead. After all, he'd known people that have had anger issues, and often took it out on him. Luckily, that usually didn't involve weaponry. Now, of course, he didn't know what this girl was like, but he still didn't want her to get too frustrated.

Trying not to think about all of the things that could ever possibly go wrong in his current situation, Sage turned his attention back to the girl that he was supposed to be helping with the knives.
-

331 words

Table by Lancelot