Drunk but (s)he never miss a target // [85th Mer & Helle]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

Like pretty much all the other tributes, arriving in the Capitol - the Capitol - had shocked Hellemine out of her mood. She'd spent the day oscillating between genuine awe, radiating anxiety and a stupefied sadness. There was so much to take in, so many people to meet, so much to learn. But at the end of the day, she found herself fixated by the canvases on the walls, the incredible training technology, the luxurious furniture in the District Seven apartment. Something both solid and hollow settled in her stomach. How could so much beauty exist in such a horrible place?

Hell is lovely too.

Helle bolted upright, not just sitting, but leaping beside her assigned bed to stand. She'd not heard the voice in some time. She was not naive enough to think he'd left her, but neither was she a pessimist: she had hoped.

Grabbing a thinly woven blanket for her knobby shoulders, Helle slipped out of the room. Only a few dim lights illuminated the rest of the apartment. It was late, or early. She always liked the liminal space between midnight and dawn, and only lately wondered if it was really because he liked it.

He, the demon who tugged at her heart strings.

Earlier, when she'd settled sufficiently in to be back on her bullshit, she'd approached Mackenzie Pryce. "Mack, Mack Daddy - no, it needs to be shorter. M.D.? I've got it: Doctor Daddy," which had nearly gotten her thrown out of the apartment. He probably would have done a lot more to get rid of her, but she only wanted one teeny tiny little favor: something to take the edge off.

Now, bare feet padding across the clean floor, she found that her mentor was actually halfway decent. Helle inspected the thin, clear bottle for half a second (what did she really known about booze, other than its potent effects?) and called the elevator.

She wasn't about to drink alone.

In the bowels of the Training Center, she got lost several times before finally stumbling upon the equipment room. Bottle still corked, she slowly eased open the door, her not-so-spidey senses tingly.

"Helloooo?" She called into the room while hugging the bottle a bit closer. If it was a trainer or Keeper, she didn't want Mack Daddy's gift to be confiscated. Helle cleared her throat, "tribute roll call! If you're a tribute, state your name and district. And if you aren't - " uh, where was she going with this?? "you suck!"

Nailed it.

Title lyrics from "Heartless" by The Weeknd

[cass]

m e r e d i t h .

Hallowed, but hesitated
Shallow, but full in all your veins
Shadowed by every other weight

She’d been trying her best to avoid the training rooms. There was no need for her to be in them, she felt no desire to try and stand out and no need to show off the fact that she could swing a sword around. Instead, she’d decided to disappear into the equipment room, fingers picking and pulling at all the different sorts of items tucked away. Their house back in two had a room similar to this one, and she was familiar with the time and skill it took to take care of so many weapons.

More hours then she had ever desired had been spent in that room. Victor enjoyed making the kids he didn’t like clean each and every one of them. It was a good task for discipline, it’d teach you how to care for the weapon, familiarising yourself with every inch of steel. He had been wrong in some aspects, but absolutely correct in many others. She knew the intricate details of every weapon there was, she knew how each of them worked and how they felt in her hands. It was no easy feat, being able to compare the weight of two swords, and knowing which one was better just by the way it felt in her hand.

Practice makes perfect. The rumble of the world outside had faded a long time ago, everyone had come and gone, returning their weapons to their homes before disappearing. She’d remained, burying herself in a back corner as she’d played with a few knives. It had become a game, how many days could she go before the fear that sat in the back of her mind overwhelmed her. It didn’t matter that the death sentences had been branded into her skin before the reaping had even happened.

There was no way to move around the notion that she was scared to die, even if she somehow survived the games, she was sure Victor would kill her when she got home.

The door opened, and Meredith put the knife down, turning to see who had entered. Unlike her district partner, she felt no need for hostility, there would be time for that in the Arena.

“Hi,” Meredith replied, puzzled for a moment as the other tribute demanded to know her name and district. Her blonde hair was frazzled, and the girl looked as though she was a ghost, sunken face, and a frail structure. “I’m Meredith, you can call me Mer, I’m from district two.”

She found herself smiling as she stepped closer to the other girl, in the light of the room, she was sure that it was the district seven female, Hellemine Cauchemar. She had also volunteered.

“You’re Hellemine, right?”