I Wanna Buy Him! {Ivar & Chaos}

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Various criticism and lectures plagued my ears when alcohol became my best friend at the age of fourteen. Those damn hypocrites -that I’ve been doomed to tittle as my Parents- scolded me for my late nights of consumption, when training was forcefully due at the crack of dawn every following morning. They didn’t think I could achieve such. Yet here I am, days before entering my death location, carving swords into dummies with pristine focus as though my rage couldn’t fuel me more. Surprisingly the palms of their hands, or knuckles of their fists, didn’t punish me for my drinking behaviors. Perhaps it’s because they couldn’t, because I was turning out just like them- except better.

One after another the necks of these inanimate objects receive savage gashes from my practice blade, just as I’ve been trained for since the age of Nine. Maybe those brutal Breeders were actually curious if I could manage my routine; inhaling at least six beers a night, slumbering for a mere four or five hours, and dragging myself to Career training for the length of the Sun’s visit. It had became my cycle of a routine. But I did it though, even with bags decorating underneath my eyes. Sleep was for the weekend. It was when my idiotic success was deemed true, that the physical lashes began again- they were merely jealous. I refused to allow alcohol to destroy me entirely as they had. And their reaction only made me continue this more.

Even within the Capitol, with my deceased fate awaiting me in the near future, my habit refuses to alter. The poison of my beverages makes me feel more alive, even if I know it’s surely crumbling my health. Sweat of pure alcohol drips down every itch of my exterior, and still a smile controls my shape of my lips. The next target misplaces it’s head entirely with my final blow, before the call for lunch sings through the vast gymnasium.

The flask, I’ve been refraining from sipping too often, gets retrieved as I carve my path towards the dinning hall. It was a patient wait for lunch before I allow myself a significant reward. Elation devours me -practically providing a skip within my walk- until I’m greeted by the tables. Even still Lightning refutes conversing with me, which I’ve been attempting to avoid considering. My eyes scan across the other Tributes while I gather my meal, wondering if I’ll be dinning alone again.

A sturdy Tribute from Two catches my vision, and it’s difficult to forget him amongst these countless candidates. Within the reaping recaps he dragged himself to the stage with such determination. Even around here he’s rejected any transportation aid, as he hurls his lifeless bottom half around. It’s possible the majority already see him as half dead, while I view someone who’s beyond capable. I wouldn’t want to encounter him within the Arena. Here however?

Bravery from the alcohol controls me as I take a seat across from him. And with another gulp from my flask, the beverages master much more then just my actions. “Hi there, Handsome.” A wicked grin creases my cheeks. One downfall of even being slightly under the influence, is I become far too much of a flirt. Sober I would be beyond bashful. While with a few drinks… “I must ask, can you feel somethings down there… or should I say, something.” My words are vague, while my pitch certainly implies a deeper meaning.

[Knuckles]

Ivar Hammerfell
Seventeen | Male | District Two

Training was tiring. Every second of every single day he tried learning only focusing on what he knew. Learning the swords, knives, axes, throwing weapons became his priority. Making a fire. At the same time, he wanted to make himself seem weak. A sympathy vote wasn't needed, but the more people who fell into the trap of him being a crippled teen would work better. And after training, Ivar found the need to slip into the dining hall before other tributes arrived because it saved him from potential humiliation.

Eating was fun. Mixing around different flavors on different plates. Trying out all that the Capitol had to offer. Ivar wasn't a fan of the sweet potato pie. Last time he tried eating it, the entire pie splattered across the floor it wasn't worth trying again. But as he lifted his fork devouring a piece of meat from district ten, he learned that it was amazing. Back in two he had all that he could ask for despite the seafood. It was nasty, and maybe one day he'd get the chance to visit district four and ask why the eye candy tasted so nasty. All that was needed was a walk through the victory tour. Well, Ivar wasn't sure he would walk, but at least he would see it all.

Lifting another bite into the air, he noticed a tribute from four making her way over towards him, and of course she's a flit. What new? He thought with a roll of his eyes. It didn't matter especially as she smiled. His eyes locked on her's wondering what she would possibly want. His fork slid from his grasp landing against his place with a loud clang. But it wasn't enough to drown out her next question.

Loud bursts of laughter escaped his lips filling the air around him. She must be joking. Yet he couldn't control the laugh as he placed his hands gently on the table beside his plate. But he took it as an insult. He was used to his brothers laughing at him in a teasing manner, he was used to Sigurd bullying him, but now he was preparing for a death match, and this girl from four at the audacity to sit in front of him bullying him just like many had done before. She had marked herself as the enemy, and he yearned for the moment to destroy what little bit of time left she had.

Ivar wasn't going to allow her to torment him.

The laughter stopped, and his face went clear of emotion -

"I ought to bash your skull in for that." He snarled, "I can make your death quick and painless, or slow and painful."

His hands balled into loose fists;

"Your choice."

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Laughter erupts from the Strength sitting across from me. Did he truly understand my strive to humorously absorb these days within the Capitol? Or are his buoyant chuckles as sarcastic as my words just were? Gladly my eyes don’t budge away from his breathtaking ones, curious of the reply brewing upon his potential enjoyment of my comment. But of course my comedy is never taken as intended- a mere joke. Suddenly his snickers halt, and the amusement drops from his features. Oh boy, he didn’t take it as planned. I should have learned by now to only make jokes at my own expense. Even the powerful are a bit too sensitive.

A threat breaches from his next comment. He craves to carve in my head, and it seems a bit too early to be forming Opponents. What to do? Of course I remain interested, absorbing of his following words- providing me the choice of how I wish to be deceased. With the glisten of his alluring eyes, I instinctively consume it as a returning flirt. Fast and painless, or slow and painful. Well obviously that depends on the mood, and where this arousing action is taking place.

My chin rests upon the palm of my right hand, contemplating my decision. “That’s very kind of you to give me the option. I’ll really have to consider this. Usually one of us is supposed to by the other a drink first.” And to no surprise, my jokes play onward. Is it a poor idea to be continuing this with him- after the first response he presented me with? Only going forward will tell. Plus everyone becomes foes against each other once in the Arena. No matter the outcome, he’ll probably be after me once the time comes- and unfortunately, not in the manner I prefer.

“I’m just joking.” I reassure, hoping he’ll believe me. “I’m Chaos, and I love to create chaos.” A smile presses against me cheeks. “And you seem to be the most badass one here, so props to you.” My flask lifts in a cheering gesture, while my flirts refuse to subside entirely- at least they do become a bit more subtle now. “I’d rather not actually kill each other. But if you must, which ever option you prefer. Maybe make it pleasant? I do like pain after all.” Yep, my liquor will not allow for the flirts to disappear. And with that, I take another sip of this influence.