I think you missed some / [nan/coach]

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

The mask I wore was sturdy, ever since exiting the train I had been sure to make sure that it did not slip. Already I had allowed Turner to see too much of me, so much so that he had been almost able to read me like a book. His assumptions and statements so close to the truth that it scared me. I hated that he had so easily seen pasts my guards, I hated that I had allowed him to glimpse me without my shields. It was dangerous mistake, and one that I was determined to not make again.

I sit at one of the tables in the eating area, my hand picking out an apple that was pink and green. I take a bite, and the moment my teeth sink into the apples flesh my mouth is filled with juice that is sweet yet sour. I nearly moan, my teeth pulling away a chunk with a satisfying crunch. Even being from Four I could appreciate the freshness of the fruit, a crispiness like this was hard to find. It was damn good  apple.

Chewing carefully I allow my gaze to sweep the room. Most tributes had vacated the dining hall, eager to test out the stations, the ones from the lower districts attempting to learn as much as they could, in an attempt to catch up to those of us who had studied the games our whole lives. I liked to think that being in four gave me a huge advantage... but looking into the pages of the past, having the title of 'career' seemed to paint a target bigger than most can handle.

My eyes come to a halt on a boy with hair has dark as Callan's, and eyes just as bright. For a moment I feel as though my breath has escaped my lungs, my throat going dry. I blink once, and then twice, and suddenly Callan's face fades and I notice that apart from the colour of his hair, and the piercing blue of his eyes, he looked nothing like my brother.

Quickly I shove back my walls, my lips pulling into a smirk as I noticed the dried sauce on his top lip, and the trail that had landed on his chest, tarnishing the pristine condition of his uniform. I move like a predator, prowling towards him until I stand before his table. I press the palm of my right hand onto the hard surface of his table, the other reaching forward to smear the last of the sauce across his upper lip. "You're quite the grub, aren't you?"

[kap]

The food in the Capitol was even more delicious than what Coach ate as a wealthy individual in District One. He wasn't afraid to admit that. He'd very much so enjoyed the pastries he had on the train on the way to the Capitol, but the food in the Capitol was still even better. He'd piled his plate high with a wide variety of food, with a bit of a focus on the chicken wings that were doused in hot sauce.

He brought his food over to one of the empty tables, set it down, and took a seat. As he ate, he took in all the flavors, thoroughly enjoying the experience. As he finished up the chicken wings, however, he was interrupted by one of the other tributes. It was one of the girls who he mentally noted as being from Four, which he only knew because of her uniform- he hadn't paid much attention to who was from where.

Before he could take in much else about her, though, she was leaning over him, her hand coming toward his face. This is when he realized there must have been food on his face, and he started to try to back away from her hand, only to feel the food fall away from his face and onto his clothing. He was far from happy now. She'd called him a grub, and now he looked like one, hot sauce staining his uniform top.

"Look what you did!" he exclaimed, standing up quickly and grabbing a napkin to try to dab the stain off of his shirt. He knew better than to rub it in- he'd always hated getting stains on his clothes so he knew how to take care of it.

He felt panic starting in his mind. Surely he looked ridiculous right now, which just made him insanely uncomfortable.

"How about you mind your own business next time, blondie." he suggested to the girl.

table credit to Tom!

[k!ah]

N A N E T T E   Ψ   C A R T E R

It would seem that he did not appreciate being called a grub.

In the next breath he is on his feet, accusations on his lips as he stares down at the slops that had landed on his clothing. Instantly his hands reach for a napkin dabbing at the soon to be stain. The smile on my lips grows as I watch him flustered and panicked by the situation that he had found himself in.

Judging from the boys reaction, I came to the conclusion that that he had to be some sort of neat freak- or something of the sort. Any images of my brother that many have lingered, vanish. Callan was many things, but clean? No. He was one of the messiest people I knew.

"How about you mind your own business next time, blondie."

Blondie.

Ugh.

It was not the first time I had been referred to by that affectionate nickname and I was sure it would not be the last, but that didn't stop the annoyance that began to simmer at the pit of my stomach. I hated the undertones associated with the name. Something about the way it falls from the tongue just sets me off.

Pushing down my agitation, I wipe my hand on the leg of my pants, not caring for any stains that may result. Clicking my tongue I give him a wolfish grin, "be careful, Grubby, if you dab that too hard it might stain." I pick up a spare napkin, moving around the table so that I stand directly in front of him.

"Looks like you missed some," offering him the napkin I gesture towards his face, my eyes dropping from his to the remaining sauce just above his lip and back again. 

[kap]

Coach wasn't happy with this girl, to say the least. First she'd gone and caused him to get food on his shirt, and now she was calling him Grubby. What right did she have to do either of those things? Clearly she didn't like it when he called her blondie, but if she was going to be annoying, she should have expected to end up with a nickname she didn't like.

Then again, he now had a nickname he didn't like, too. Perhaps he should try to fix things. It really wasn't a good idea to go into the arena with people who already didn't like you to begin with. She's got a devious grin on her face, but perhaps there was still a way to fix the problem.

"Be careful, Grubby, if you dab that too hard it might stain." She tells him this as she hands him a napkin, goes around the table and stands in front of him rather than looking at him from across the table instead. "Looks like you missed some," she informed him He knew both of these things. Unfortunately, his slight panic state had caused him to stain his shirt rather than prevent it from staining. He'd just have to give up on that part of things, to his dismay. He took a deep breath to calm himself down a bit.

He took the napkin from her.

"Thanks, I guess," he said to her, using the napkin to get the remainder of the food off of his face.

"Look," he continues, "I'm not in the training center to make enemies. I'm saving that for the arena, if you don't mind."

He pauses for a moment.

"Sorry. Maybe we could start over? I'm Coach. District One." He tries to give a slight smile to her, but it's forced. He's trying his best.

table credit to Tom!