what's your's is mine // Larceny & Temple

[Arrows]

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Light wanes in the precipice of the sun's sinking soliloquy. Bodies hang heavy with the weight of exhaustion as slow steps scuttle through the center. Some figures fight, determination brightly burning in the spheres of their eyes. Others learn, a look lathered with concentration controlling the features of their faces. An entire stage filled with performers preparing for the rising of the curtain while the audience awaits in exhilarating anticipation. Soon they will be the stars of every screen and focal point of every pair of eyes. It brings a smirk stained with sinister intent across the curves of my cheeks. They are each apart of the plan, of the heist to come. 

For the moment one other inhabitant living within this world of waiting maintains my attention. Little is known about her other than a name and District. She, like most of the others, is an unknown variable. Dangerous if left unaccounted for. Potentially fatal if misunderstood. I hope to know more than a simple set of names and numbers by the time my skin enters the light of the stage, to do the current distance I keep cannot be upheld. The time for observation has concluded and the time of learning has begun. 

Despite the steps now walking me towards the girl between stations, I do not blindly step. Eyes cold, cultivated by years of practice, scan her structure, take in her actions. My focus finally settles on a small slip of yellow, a bracelet, an opportunity. A new smile slips over my face as with stealth and certainty my fingers take action against her. A moment later, they hold her bracelet and my eyes look towards her with increased interest. 

"Your token?" I ask with genuine intrigue forming the question, "What's its story?" My eyes flash with fires of interest and mischievous. 

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[sbeeg]

There is so much to learn and so little time to do it. I had woken early this morning and rushed through breakfast just to get a head start on stations. The trainers, however, are not early risers and I had to wait for most of them to filter in as the morning dragged on. They've never had to wake up before dawn in their lives.

I stare down at the flint, memorizing the motion of striking it against a blade to set off sparks. It wasn't nearly as easy as lighting a match, but I predicted that nothing in the arena was going to be easy. I needed to learn even the most difficult ways of living because inside the Arena there would be no luxuries. No pastel colored cookies, or kind-hearted tributes. There would be desperation and blood.

"Your token?" I turn around at the voice. A younger tribute is standing beside me, a three stitched into the black fabric of his shirt, and the scrap of yellow cotton hanging from his fingers. My heart leaps into my throat, my fingers twitching at my side. My first instinct is to reach out and yank it back, but I stop myself. "What's its story?"

The kid had a mischievous smirk that signified he was more than just curious. I cross my arms over my chest and decide to give him what he wants.

"It's from my sister," my voice comes out softer than I wanted, a weak answer from a weak tribute. However, it is the truth sweet and simple. i told my hand out to take the fabric back, itching to touch the rough edges again. "Can I have it back now?"