talk me up [frankel]

[solo]

Riven Fowley

I was never that great with plants. That's probably why Mama and Dad put Kennedy in charge of the horses, and not me. They didn't even let me take the cows out that often. When they were grazing, I was supposed to be careful and watch what they ate, but I'd get distracted. I suppose then it wasn't because I knew very little about plants. It was my mind's fault, the way it drifted and carried me with it to realities of a different dimension. Places where time didn't past and I could sit and create and make something out of nothing. I could claps my hands together and the colors would appear, bursting out from my small fingers, spreading around me like the rays of the sun. Then I'd come back to the world and one of the cows would be stumbling around because it got into a patch of nightshade. I never caused a death, but I sure did cost the family money. So they started sending Jasper and Wiley out with cattle instead of me.
This is why I've been spending so much time at the plants station. I suck at trapping, but I need some way of getting food in the arena, so I spend most of my afternoons here instead. I was at the same table yesterday, learning by trial and error which plants I could eat and which ones would kill me in seconds. That was when I met Ivar. Not a very talkative person, but it was an interesting meeting.
Today, I stand at one of the electronic tables, testing my memory. I swipe at the silhouettes of plants with my fingers, sorting them into their respective categories of edible and poisonous. Nine out of ten times I get it right. I smile, pleased that my work from yesterday has paid off.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 307}

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

His brother had never forgiven him for that day. Accidentally killing his girlfriend with a trap, well, she should have looked where she was going. His brother had always depicted the story differently to him but in recent months, the story had suddenly began to match Ronnie’s. He still doesn’t understand why, the swift change of heart about the tale that took a lover. He never understands does Reggie, the purpose of it was the protect him, too bad the girl got in the way. The voice always assured him on that fact, he didn’t purposely kill her, never intended too anyway. If the girl was the one that is out the harm him then, then he would be thanking you.

Trap making, a bizarre skill that Ronnie accidentally picked up in the training centre back home, but he hasn’t really been adapting it to fit game survival criteria, focusing on one station was just…boring. In his short time here, he had been through everything, even if he truly did not understand or succeed in it, if he got bored, he just moved on. Fishing, dull and slow. Projectile practice, just so repetitive for him, even wrestling the trainer with bulging abs began to drag on.

He only found one way to cheer up his time here, adding a hint of excitement to the replica yet drawl of a training centre compared to the one back home, and that was observing the other tributes. Of course it came with its positives; he could pick up on their skills, learn from their mistakes and store his memory with their weaknesses.

A girl occupies the electronic station, something he claimed to be the most useless of training apparatus in the room. ”You know, if you smoked any of those plants, it’ll give you a more…wilder ride.” He hovers over the girl, his face above her shoulder as he stares at the flashing images on the screen.

[solo]

Riven Fowley

A spiky plant into the edible section, a round one with berries into the poisonous section. My hands glide across the shiny screen with ease, and for a moment, I marvel at the technology. There's nothing in District Ten that could even compare to this. Coming up close to Eleven and Twelve, we're one of the poorest districts out there. I think the most electricity we have in one spot is within the fence that surrounds our entire home, supposedly keeping out predators. The rest of our electricity is put into heaters for the animals, occasionally some in our own homes, and a somewhat unreliable lighting system. I've heard it's better than Twelve's, but still, it's known for going out with next to no warning. Here, they have electricity to spare. Enough that they've used it for a show in which twenty-four of us fight to the death. No, wait. Fifty-two. The number has changed this year. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and wonder silently why they don't just let us volunteer every year.
My thoughts are interrupted by the presence of another person, one who I sense first rather than see or feel. I force myself to take a deep, slow breath, and my hands continue moving smoothly and quickly. The last thing I want is to appear surprised. At first I think it's one of the trainers, but then I get a glimpse of his clothes, and I realize they don't match the trainers' uniforms. He's a tribute. Watching me. Why the hell is he watching me?
"You know, if you smoked any of those plants, it’ll give you a more…wilder ride.”
I catch a glimpse of light brown hair, but I can't see his eyes. For a moment, I'm silent, wondering how to approach the situation. He hasn't moved an inch from behind me and I suddenly realize how close he is. Either he has no concept of personal space, or he's a flirt. For now I assume it's the latter. I wish it wasn't. I couldn't flirt to save my own life.
"I take it you've had experience." I respond quietly, my grey eyes still focused on the screen in front of me, hands never stopping for a break. "Good luck getting your hands on them before you're in the arena." I nod my head to the side, indicating the tables where the real plants are. At least two trainers are there at all times, from what I can remember.
Finally I'm unable to resist the urge, my hands pause, and I turn my head to look at him. Too close. I force myself not to move. Messy brown hair, icy blue eyes, obviously a lot taller than me. For a second I wonder if he thought I was a child, but then I realize he wouldn't have said what he did. Or would he? I can't judge this soon. "District Four. Ronnie, I think." A tiny smile pulls at the corner of my lip. I'm pleased I've remembered his name, but I hope that's not what he pulls from my expression. Perhaps I can turn it into something else. My head twists back to observe the screen and I allow the smile to grow a little bit, amused. "Nice to meet you too."

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 546}

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

It is an all singing and all dancing training centre, the one in the Capitol, very much more equipped than the one back home but Ronnie dislikes it. Too much. The majority of the apparatus available are useless, more of an entertainment source than survival training, even though Ronnie would much rather be entertained, they are just too complicated for his slowly functioning brain. It is probably why he has decided to bounce from one station to the other. He knows that eyes are watching every step he takes but if that is how they would prefer to spend their day, watching him, well then he wants to make it as boring as possible for them to experience. He is certainly not flexing his muscles and sharing is trap making skills.

His head remains close to the female; he is yet to identify her alias but concludes she is of a lower District and not from a big name, for he would have remembered. Oh well, just another name and another face. This girl is probably just as special as the Morenos or Frays, it is just fortunate for her that none of her relatives have been plucked from the reaping pool, that’s Ronnie’s philosophy on the matter anyway.

"I take it you've had experience." A smirk prances across his face while his eyes dance through the screen, everything displayed being foreign to him. "Good luck getting your hands on them before you're in the arena." His eyes jolt towards the plants station, a chuckle following them as his hands move to his pocket. ”Who says I need plants anyway.”

He steps back slightly, his hand still deep in his pocket and the smile remaining on his face. She mentions his name, obviously he is more memorable than her, and thanks to the abomination that was Henrietta Cheyne. A greeting is delivered, one of the most formal he has received from any of the tributes but the welcoming smile on his face is masking a wicked idea. He pulls out the item he has been rummaging for, extending his hand out the girl, grabbing one of hers with his other. ”Nice to meet you too and you know, it’s not that hard to get stuff here you know.” He forces the golden wrapped trinket into her hand, keeping hold of it for a few seconds. ”But don’t worry, that’s just a toffee.”