d9 . jules adroxis

[cass]

jules adroxis
district nine
female
sixteen

she's a badass, people tend to underestimate her because she's small,
but she knows a gun like the back of her hand. She prides herself on her aim,
and her ability to strip a weapon and put it back together blind-folded quicker than anyone else
she tried to shoot herself once, when she was younger
but she froze, she likes and can work with the idea when it comes to shooting others
but she doesn't think she has what it takes to be the heir or a leader
really fucking loyal and love her older siblings
she has a lot of energy 
she's loud and bc of it everyone thinks she's brave and strong-willed
but in reality she's trying to be brave and is hopin' to fake it till you make it
she believes she'll get there
throw in a touch of middle child syndrome

[cass]

I tried to shoot myself once.

The same way Night and Eve had suffered with a bullet after they had turned fifteen.

I chickened out once my finger wrapped itself around the trigger. It was supposed to make them stronger, deserving heirs to the family thrown. I don’t really see how that works, how suffering with a bullet in their flesh makes them any better than the rest of us. It could have killed them, it could create long, lasting permanent damage that means they suffer for the rest of their life. How does that make you a better leader?

Leadership is one’s ability to motivate and sacrifice, to be bold and brave in the face of danger and uncertainty. They have the power to hold a room and they make the people beneath them want to follow them. It’s not a badge you can slap against your chest, it’s not something you get to just choose to be. It requires respect, integrity, and more than a name. Yet, somehow my brother and sister are going to be the next leaders of this family.

I wasn’t sure if they’d be any good at the job, but I’d been raised to blindly follow behind. If I had doubts, I had to squash them, you’re not allowed to be uncertain or question the rules within this family. It’s not like I minded a whole lot, I wasn’t a fan of leading, I was happy to play with the weapons and paint myself as a warrior for them. I’m not stupid, but I understand the notion of loyalty that has been so deeply instilled within the family that you can’t escape. It feels like chains on my ankles, the Adroxis name the handler at the end.

The rifle in my hands is heavy, and I pull on the cocking lever, the magazine already sitting by my left knee. The calluses on my palms had stopped bothering me a long time ago, there was no use being pretty and delicate when your word was gun powder and blood. My long black hair billows around my shoulders, and I quickly tuck it away behind my ear as I work on the rifle. Pistols were my expertise, but a one-trick shoulder was not a useful one and would end up dead quicker than a tribute in a bloodbath.

The next step was to push down on the barrel locking stud and twist it sixty degrees to the left, before withdrawing the piece. It’s all a puzzle, stripping a weapon and being a pawn within the Adroxis family. I’m not sure what my family thinks of me, I’m another face in a mass of children. Father was always distant, he’s not a bad man, there’s simply a wall between where I stand and where he is. I’ve tried climbing it, but the wall just keeps getting taller and taller until I’m so tired I slip.

I once tried to tell father this story, and he’s really good at listening, but by the end of it, I felt silly, like I was spilling the secrets of my heart. He’d pat my shoulder and tell me that I’m just being silly, he loves me, Night and Eve love me.

The receiver and bolt group slip free, and I place them down onto the towel in front of me. The rooms cold, and I can picture my father scolding me, telling me to put on a jumper so I don’t get sick. How am I supposed to get stronger and stand at the same level as Night and Eve if I’m scared of catching a cold? Sometimes I wonder if he’s trying to hold me back, if he’s scared I’m too fragile. He’s soft and gentle and I know he cares, but I’m not on his side of the fence. I’m over here, with my younger siblings, watching as they turn away and chatter to themselves and I strain to understand what’s happening.

I can strip a pistol and put it back together faster than any of my siblings. My aim is close to perfect and I’m strong. I’m strong. I can handle myself. The butt of the weapon has a pin at the base, and once you pull that out you can pull off the butt plate and hammer mechanism. This is one of the trickier parts because it’s filled with all the little parts that are easy to lose and hard to clean. The last part to pull out is the piston, it’s tucked away and an integral part of the weapon.

I’d like to think of father as the piston, it the last part to be removed, but the first piece to be put back in place. It’s integral, and the weapon can’t function without it. I grab the pieces for the butt stock group and put them back into the butt. These pieces are like Night and Eve, the most complex and tricky part that everything is formed around. My siblings and I are the parts that are on the outside, covering it all and protecting all these little pieces inside. If we fail at our job, the parts on the inside get damaged, and then the weapon is useless.

So we protect those parts with our lives.

I slot the receiver and bolt grip back into places, twisting it until the piece clicks. The cocking bolt is the last piece, and I flick it the loud clang as it slides into place. Glancing down at the stopwatch beside me, I grin, three minutes and thirty seconds. Not bad. I pull the cocking piece back again, twisting the receiver with practiced ease.

I could do it faster.

[cass]

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[Python]