Hanging By A Thread [Gilly/Ale]

[Deleted]

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Gillian Imberline

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There was a point when you had to attempt physical activity, and in your own immortal words—

Ew, gross.

Yes, they had coaxed you not to wrap yourself in a blanket and sleep the day away, but that there were activities not only useful but fun in the training center, if only you applied yourself. Whatever those might have been had since eluded you, but this morning, you decided that the cargo net and obstacle course looked adventurous enough. There were warnings about the climb—set up so that there was a matt below in case of a fall—but the ropes were designed in such a way to not be as simple as they’d been at first glance.

You didn’t bother to stretch first, because that would’ve meant exerting more effort than you wanted, and today was about doing something fun. Left foot in to one hole and right into another, you reached up with your hands to grasp and go, and started on your way. Entering into a steady and repetitive rhythm, you were halfway up before glancing downward. To say that you were scared was an understatement. Perhaps absolutely gosh darned freaking terrified was better, as your whole body froze to clutch tightly to the rope wall. For a whole minute you didn’t move up or down, you simply contemplated how short twelve years felt in the span of a life.

“Oh shoot oh geez oh, oh no.” You whispered out. What would Shelby do? You thought over and over, hoping this would give you confidence. She’d probably laugh at me. But at the least your stomach stopped grumbling, and you felt the urge to try to go up. Which would have been a good idea, if you didn’t misjudge the distance between steps. As the world spun topsy-turvy, you slipped downward, ankle catching the rope and twisting up just enough to stop you before slipping out. As shock overcame your tiny body, you froze, upside down, staring at the floor below you.

“Crap!” The only word dirty enough in this situation to truly express your level of terror.

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[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

He'd left Fin at the plants station, no longer able to follow his explanations - or his silence. He understood that sort of singular passion, in theory. But for plants? No, that he could find no empathy for. Best to leave it to the expert.

For a time he watched Stella. She was graceful, precise, unhurried. Never vicious. He admired her for all of it. She should have been born to Careers - but then, she might have learned bloodthirst. Once, she caught his eye. Would he join her? Would he enjoy the feel of a weapon handle in his soft palm?

He shook his head.

He wandered, passing the javelin throw, the wooden sword fighting ring, the thievery gauntlet.

“Oh shoot oh geez oh, oh no.”

Now that did not sound like voice of a Career. It had the same sort of youthful pitch as Vesper without any of the precocious sass. He followed the direction of the voice, tilting his head back until the little blonde came into view.

"Crap!"

"Language," Ale warned. Why that mattered, exactly, he couldn't say, except that most of his mind was preoccupied her her precarious position. He took a few quick steps towards her, coming almost beneath her - but not quite. He knew he wasn't athletic enough to pull her down safely and if she fell atop him, she might give him a concussion. Truly, he was the worst person in the entire Center to help her.

He was no one, not a hero.

"Do you think you can bend at the waist and grab the rope wrapped around your ankle?" He asked, pushing his glasses to the bridge of his nose. "Hmm? Or just, hang there until I find a trainer?" He glanced around. No one. Just a few tributes, most looking more annoyed than curious. "Shit," he whispered.

[Deleted]

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Gillian Imberline

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For a moment, in the throes of swaying between life and death, you imagined that the world would wonder why district eight only had one tribute for the games this year. This was just the sort of thing that girls back home would have expected of you, laughing like you were some ridiculous child bound for nothing but ruin. To make things worse, someone had heard your potty language and rightfully called you out for it! Your eyes fixed on the boy from district twelve (you liked how his jaw looked upside down).

Do you think you can bend at the waist and grab the rope wrapped around your ankle? Shit.

You wanted to respond to his question, especially after his crude cursing, and did your best to do so. Except when it came time for actual words to form in your throat, all that came out was a piercing shriek that you could imagine could be heard back in district eight. You flailed your arms for a moment before realizing how that would shift your body—if anything, the more you moved, the more likely it became that you would wind up a district eight flapjack on the matts below. Or just, hang there until I find a trainer. If he called a trainer to save you, that would be all that anyone would ever talk about. Gilly couldn’t even get up the stupid rope ladder, you imagined Amy snickering with the other girls (in this illusion, Vesper and Mercy, and your wondered how could they?).

“I… I can do it.” In a few days, you were going to have to be able to save yourself. So, with as much strength as you could muster, you started to lift yourself at the waist, bending upward toward the rope. You reached and reached, pushing yourself closer and closer to the rope. Your hands moved to clasp the cord, and you froze. Folded up like a gilly-pretzel, your foot remained tangled, but for now, you didn’t think you were going to drop down to the ground. Well—at least, until you had to try untangling your foot to move.

“Ummm…” You closed your eyes. Was it against the pirate’s code to ask for help? “I think I’m all tangled up.”

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