luciana hyacinth / d2 / fin
Apr 14, 2019 19:15:38 GMT -5
Post by goat on Apr 14, 2019 19:15:38 GMT -5
luciana hyacinth
18
they/them
district 2
18
they/them
district 2
”It’s just Lucy,” they say, taking a deep inhale of cigarette smoke.
“Could you please not smoke in the training center?” One of the trainers asks, leaning forward from behind the judging table.
Lucy rolls their eyes and puts the cigarette out on a nearby pillar. They hate when the center makes them do these mock private training sessions. They know what the trainers think of them, knows that they purposely give them low scores as punishment for their “shitty attitude”. They figure they may as well make the trainers as miserable as possible if they’re going to fail them anyway.
They rock back on their heels and tie their long black hair into a ponytail. They hate having to tie their hair up, preferring to let it fall all over their face so they can peer through the strands with their dark eyes like some sort of monster. It makes them laugh. Their skin is pale, their jaw sharp and set. Their thin eyebrows furrow at snide comments and their lips curl up in the occasional cruel smile.
They hate the restrictive clothing that they have to wear when they train. Stretchy clothing that lies close to the body isn’t for them. They prefer to cover up with jackets and dark fabrics. When they’re in their training clothes, you can see that Lucy is small, but built. Muscles make themselves at home among their arms and thighs. They stand tall, their arms usually crossed over their chest. Defensive. Everything about their appearance says, I know who I am, and you wish you knew.
The weapons rack awaits, all the metal polished and shiny, the blades dull and covered. One incident where a certain somebody goes for the throat of a trainer and all the blades are filed down for these mock sessions. Lucy selects a spear and moves to the floor. The trainer waiting there is one of the newer ones, still round-faced and excited but not new enough to harbor any positive feelings for Lucy. The world is always going to be against them, they figure. Word spreads fast about Luciana Hyacinth— no-nonsense, mega bitch. They can’t control what people think of them so they lean into it, wear it with pride. There’s nothing wrong with being a bit of a bitch.
Still, Lucy doesn’t think they have an “attitude”. They just don’t let themself get pushed around by assholes who think they’re better than them. They hate people who are full of themselves, people who think they know everything. Nobody knows everything. People grow, learn, make mistakes. They see no point in trying to stay stuck in your ways.
Call them a hypocrite, if you must. They scold other people for thinking highly of themselves and then think they are higher than those people. They stare disapprovingly at kids who act out at the training center but think there is no problem when they act out. At least they know that they are. They have a high level of self awareness, but even though they know the way they act is wrong, they have no intention of changing it.
Lucy was given their name under a Scorpio sun, born into a family of tough people who raised them in their image. Their older siblings were careers, and their younger siblings would be too. Their parents were the type of people who’d peaked in their youth and lived vicariously through their children. They had been careers too, the best of the best they always said. Lucy was never sure if they believed them. They were a skeptical child, questioning things even when they were told they shouldn’t.
They never questioned the expectation to train, though. They were excited for it. They saw how fulfilled their siblings seemed as they became stronger and more proficient with their weapons. Up until their twelfth birthday, their life had been standard. Boring. They didn’t make friends at the training center, and the trainers were less than fond of them, but it was something. Some sort of divergence in the midst of their boring life.
The years went on. Lucy trained hard, embraced their reputation, laughed at their parents and swapped secrets with their siblings. They never let themself get beat down by other people. They knew they were a good career, even if nobody wanted to give them the recognition they deserved. They were good. Nothing bad happened to them.
Had it?
Well. They’d never tell you.
Their mock training session ends. They return the spear to the weapons rack as the trainers quietly debate amongst themselves. Lucy takes their place in front of the table as they’re presented with their score— a “3”.
They scoff. “Okay. Eat shit.”
“Could you please not smoke in the training center?” One of the trainers asks, leaning forward from behind the judging table.
Lucy rolls their eyes and puts the cigarette out on a nearby pillar. They hate when the center makes them do these mock private training sessions. They know what the trainers think of them, knows that they purposely give them low scores as punishment for their “shitty attitude”. They figure they may as well make the trainers as miserable as possible if they’re going to fail them anyway.
They rock back on their heels and tie their long black hair into a ponytail. They hate having to tie their hair up, preferring to let it fall all over their face so they can peer through the strands with their dark eyes like some sort of monster. It makes them laugh. Their skin is pale, their jaw sharp and set. Their thin eyebrows furrow at snide comments and their lips curl up in the occasional cruel smile.
They hate the restrictive clothing that they have to wear when they train. Stretchy clothing that lies close to the body isn’t for them. They prefer to cover up with jackets and dark fabrics. When they’re in their training clothes, you can see that Lucy is small, but built. Muscles make themselves at home among their arms and thighs. They stand tall, their arms usually crossed over their chest. Defensive. Everything about their appearance says, I know who I am, and you wish you knew.
The weapons rack awaits, all the metal polished and shiny, the blades dull and covered. One incident where a certain somebody goes for the throat of a trainer and all the blades are filed down for these mock sessions. Lucy selects a spear and moves to the floor. The trainer waiting there is one of the newer ones, still round-faced and excited but not new enough to harbor any positive feelings for Lucy. The world is always going to be against them, they figure. Word spreads fast about Luciana Hyacinth— no-nonsense, mega bitch. They can’t control what people think of them so they lean into it, wear it with pride. There’s nothing wrong with being a bit of a bitch.
Still, Lucy doesn’t think they have an “attitude”. They just don’t let themself get pushed around by assholes who think they’re better than them. They hate people who are full of themselves, people who think they know everything. Nobody knows everything. People grow, learn, make mistakes. They see no point in trying to stay stuck in your ways.
Call them a hypocrite, if you must. They scold other people for thinking highly of themselves and then think they are higher than those people. They stare disapprovingly at kids who act out at the training center but think there is no problem when they act out. At least they know that they are. They have a high level of self awareness, but even though they know the way they act is wrong, they have no intention of changing it.
Lucy was given their name under a Scorpio sun, born into a family of tough people who raised them in their image. Their older siblings were careers, and their younger siblings would be too. Their parents were the type of people who’d peaked in their youth and lived vicariously through their children. They had been careers too, the best of the best they always said. Lucy was never sure if they believed them. They were a skeptical child, questioning things even when they were told they shouldn’t.
They never questioned the expectation to train, though. They were excited for it. They saw how fulfilled their siblings seemed as they became stronger and more proficient with their weapons. Up until their twelfth birthday, their life had been standard. Boring. They didn’t make friends at the training center, and the trainers were less than fond of them, but it was something. Some sort of divergence in the midst of their boring life.
The years went on. Lucy trained hard, embraced their reputation, laughed at their parents and swapped secrets with their siblings. They never let themself get beat down by other people. They knew they were a good career, even if nobody wanted to give them the recognition they deserved. They were good. Nothing bad happened to them.
Had it?
Well. They’d never tell you.
Their mock training session ends. They return the spear to the weapons rack as the trainers quietly debate amongst themselves. Lucy takes their place in front of the table as they’re presented with their score— a “3”.
They scoff. “Okay. Eat shit.”
