i'm fighting gravity [ike&jacob]

[Tom]

There's no quiet corner to hide in for them.

Not that Ike would hide away from this whole training. He's born to train for the big moments in his life. Running for hours and hours to build up the endurance he needed to last longer in matches. Hundreds and hundreds of punches into punching bags to build up the core of his strength and technique that best works for him. Push ups to build his chest up to survive punches and crunches to stop the breath from escaping his lungs. Bruising fading away to a mere light brown that doesn't ache anymore. Healthy enough to create some more bruises on him in a spar or two.

In Eight, Klein would be telling him to spar with him, but in the training center, no one wants to spar. At least, none of the trainers who he's talked to. All of them had glared at him the moment he spoke the question, until he had to walk away. Silence in his voice before he looks to the others. The other tributes who are in the same situation as himself. Fight or die. Live now or never. Fly or fall. Lips turn up in a smile as he notices Jacob Fel, the District Eleven tribute.

"Hey! Eleven!"

Klein was alone back home. The world felt much larger without him around. Klein's always had his back, but now he's alone. Alone in this world of the capitol. Extravagant and luxurious things lingering around them. None of this place looked like the dingy training area in the basement of the boss' place. A smile on his lips as he holds his hand up waving before approaching closer to the guy.

"Spar with me? please!"

A moment.

"I could help you out, I swear."

[lance]

There's too much to do and not enough time.

I was never built for the ways of war. Never even dreamed of it, to be honest. I was just an unlucky child born to people who never wanted me who just so happened to get a lucky break for the first eighteen years of my life. Then at number eighteen, Ripred was just like "haha just kidding you're gonna die now" and well, here I am.

I've tried my hands at half a dozen different things right now, and have basically come to the conclusion that I'm useless. Spears? Sure, I mastered one thrust on an unmoving target. Throwing knives? Sort of? Plants? For a kid raised in Eleven, I'm just glad you don't get exiled for failing to memorize your flora.

A distraction arrives in a tall and handsome boy from Eight. One thing leads to the next, and suddenly I'm in the middle of a sparring ring, sleeves rolled up and hands raised in what I hope is some sort of combat stance.

But let's be real. I probably look like an idiot who knows jack shit about what he's doing.

"Not sure what you're hoping to get out of this, Eight," I say, my tone every bit as confused and mildly panicked as the rest of me. "But uh, come at me, bro?"

Somehow that sounded less badass than I imagined it.

j a c o b   f e l

[Tom]

The stance is all wrong.

Ike decides not to tell him though. The guy would need to learn how to handle himself, even if he were to go against the brick wall that was himself. The handsome guy's stance is up with those rolled sleeves and the confusion on his face says it all, but Ike doesn't let himself smile the friendly way that he usually does. After all, he needed to be seen in this place.

"Not sure what you're hoping to get out of this, Eight," Ike doesn't know either. "But uh, come at me, bro?" The smile falls onto his face now as he stances up to approach the Eleven male. Fists up blocking his face as his shoulder width parted feet hold him steady. Sleeves rolled up to his shoulders as he flexes his biceps, just a tad bit in front of the handsome guy.

"You don't know what you're asking for, Eleven." A smirk. "Get ready, bro!" The swing is fast and heading straight for the stomach, eyes watching intensely for Jacob to move in a different direction, the weight of Ike's body going into the punch towards the stomach, meant to knock the wind out of those lungs.

"Think fast!"

[lance]

There are many things I can handle, honestly. People make me out to be a soft coward, which is partially true, but I'm tougher than I look.

One thing I can't stomach though? A punch to the gut.

Too late, I realize that ogling this dude's biceps - and how does one get so buff from a place that builds itself around clothes? - isn't the best course of action, for the next thing I know the wind is knocked out of me and falling over to handle the pain sounds like a great idea. Thinking fast isn't the problem - getting my body to react at the same speed is a different story.

But I can't show weakness. Not here, not now.

"You don't know what you're asking for, Eleven." "Counterpoint, Eight. I was fully expecting you to punch me."

My own counter is sloppy, no doubt. Weak. But I flail for his pretty face regardless.

j a c o b   f e l

[Tom]

Ike's been told since he first joined the boxing scene.

He's too nice. They tear you apart for even one slip up, just like now. Distracted by the worry in his stomach at his hit colliding with Eleven's stomach, he didn't notice the counterpoint, until it smacks him int he face. He's worried that it'll hurt more than any other hit on his face. The strike comes at him as the brace for impact hits him.

Except, it hits.

The strike doesn't hurt at all. For a moment, he almost dares to laugh, but he smiles back as he pulls back from the hit. "Counter counterpoint, if you're gonna hit me, do it right." Fist pulled back, he swings slower than before to give a little show of his movement. Slow and steady, just so Eleven could possibly get a hand on it's movement.

"Also spread your legs like a tad bit more, you'll lose your balance faster if you don't."

These are supposed to be his enemies.

Supposed to be people he'll have to kill in order to go home.

Why did he have to pick the hottest guy in the room to beat up?

[lance]

Yeah, that went about as well as I expected it to. Which is, to say, not at all.

I can not only see the amusement in Eight's face, I can feel it. But instead of decking me as he probably ought to, the next words out of his mouth - well, after the taunt, anyway - contain advice.

Spread your legs more. Phrasing aside, I do as he recommends. Not that I see the point, because my balance was just fine to begin with, thank you very much, but I'm not going to pretend that I know more than the boy who clearly has been doing this since, I don't know, probably the womb?

Do it right.

I'm not that conformist, so this time I lash out with my left, towards his chest. Sloppy? Yeah, it still is.

But for the second punch I've ever thrown, it's not terrible. I think.

j a c o b   f e l

[Tom]

The hit collides.

Harder than he had expected it to. The fist pushing him backward, almost sprawling him on his ass, except Ike doesn't. He's pushing back now with a smile and some sweat on his brow as he strains his chest a little and pushes forward. Eyes focusing on the attractive man as he moves a little quicker than before. Arms up as he moves forward, until he can feel himself falling forward.

Colliding together hurts more than he expected. They're sprawled out on the ground as Ike pushes himself up and looks back down to see eleven under him. Red spreads to his cheeks for a moment as he curses whatever he did to deserve this awkward moment.

"Uh, guess I need to take my own advice."

Why did he have to trip over his own feet?

He just had to pick the most attractive guy.

Stupid.

[lance]

Damn, his chest was solid.

But regardless, there's something to be gained from there. Not only does he not shrug it off like he had the first time, but he almost stumbles, too. For exactly one second, I allow myself to feel triumph.

And then the grin gets cocky, and I realize I fucked up.

His arms surge forward, as well as, well, the rest of him. And suddenly his full weight is crashing into me, and balance be damned, I fall flat on my back.

And then Eight falls flat on me. A curse, followed by "Uh, guess I need to take my own advice."

It's taking all I have to not notice the fact that he's practically on top of me, toned biceps and toned body on top of me, and give a laugh that's about two octaves higher than my normal voice in response.

"Yeah, maybe." That wasn't even a normal sound. That was a squeak.

Well, fuck me I guess.

j a c o b   f e l