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Whoever reblogs this by Christmas Eve at 8 pm eastern time will get a Christmas message from me based on their blog. I’ll do every single one, which probably won’t be a problem since I expect this to get like 2 notes. If it gets 52724181925 notes I’ll still do them all though. Sooooooo… reblog the thing. It’ll be nice to have a nice ask on Christmas morning, right?
(A) Disappearing Act Done Poorly ❦ Bittre & Laexus
It happened slowly at first, the completely unaware Career only trying to inch his way through the pressing house one step at a time. He slipped, falling hard on his back once before the tilted hallways caught him, allowing him to stand to his feet once more. Grabbing for balance once again is when he noticed the thick, warm substance creeping over his limbs. With its putrid smell of burning iron and decaying flesh, his mind registered the liquid right away; he’d been all too acquainted with its presence while growing up.
Blood.
Spouting from every crevice of the edifice Laexus wasn’t sure that it would ever stop. Through pitch black darkness, his brow started sweating in sure terror. This would be the untimely end of the Career from One. The disappointment was inevitable, a shame to his District that it was impossible to survive another challenge.
And while he didn’t particularly care what his District thought of him at this point, he knew that this couldn’t be the way he died. Not now. Not when he had so much to fight for, and so little to return to. This couldn’t be the end.
So when the blood finally halted its slow ascension to horrifying power, Laexus held his head high and plunged through the dense liquid. Not sure of where he was going and losing all sense of direction being caught off guard by the unknowing of his surroundings. So he waited, his breath heavy and his mind churning with fiery passion to survive this.
As he waited, his mind flashed to Elina, how terrified she must be without him right now. It was bad timing on his part, but he knew that she had to be protected. The only way to protect her would be to start taking out the immediate threats…
Threats that he once never thought he’d fight willingly.
So it passed, finally, the grimy filth returning to wherever it once came from and his mind staying in a constant state of alert. Adrenaline was still pulsing through every inch of his body, and Laexus was certain that anyone could hear his heart beating through his chest. With each furthered step and drawn breath, he trembled in the silence.
Silence that soon welcomed the attendance of another. And that was when Laexus was sure that his heart would stop.
In no time, puddles oozed into rivers into lakes into waterfalls. Swimming never issued the boy in every day life, yet even so, blood was no simple task to conquer. Flailing around as an angered fit of unprofessionalism, muscles soon became sore; all he could do was go with the flow. His fleeting thoughts were of his ally, his counterpart. "Ne-Nephon? Nephon?!" His longing screams of overcoming loneliness only drifted underneath an ongoing current of panic. They'd clearly been split up, and to the boy it just seemed so...so soon. As soon as he'd grasped an image, an ideal to cling to, it was pried from his cold, pale white, vengeful knuckles.
As scarlet water diminished, receding simply back into it's original habitat, the boy became dizzy, doused with a sudden urge for sleep. He couldn't sleep though, not yet. There was absolutely no telling where the boy had been forced too, or especially how far away from his, er, "ally" he'd landed. PATHETIC. YOU'RE ISOLATED. YOU'RE GAME IS OVER... "St...stop." As crazy as it seemed, Bittre was starting to believe the voice, wherever it was coming from, whoever it was. Is this what depression is like? Because if so, he didn't think he could handle it.
Out of nowhere, his thoughts had blinded actions, the boy ran into somebody else. Quickly his mind switched into trust mode, as it could go one of two ways. One, this could be Nephon, catching back up, ready to start anew. Or two, this could be a new enemy, somebody who could potentially slaughter the boy tribute. I refuse to go with the latter. "N..Nephon? That you?" His voice didn't build up as much courage as he'd hoped. I can't stand these chills. Almost instantly, his hairs on the back of his neck shot up. "No. Who...are you?"
Let Blood Arise || Bittre, Nephon (Challenge #2)
Images flashed in his mind his friends, family, the Capitol. Everything he held dear, and then he saw himself in front of President Snow himself being crowned as victor. Aleks was by his side and he could tell all of Panem was watching he had been the first career victor since Aleks. He turned towards Aleks and held out his hand, but Aleks did nothing. And in a flash Aleks had pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest. Blood seeped from the wound and all Nephon could do was watch his mentor laugh as he crumpled to the ground and began to die. Snow was also laughing and the crowd around them roaring at his pain his ignorance, it couldn’t be real. How could this happen?
Nephon’s eyes flew open he was drenched in sweat, and his heart was racing. He ran his hands over his face and over his chest, he seemed to be alive at least for now. He took a long deep breath savoring his moment, he had to get a move on. Standing up he tried to get his bearings, where was the door?
He started to walk forward then he heard shouting, Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Who is that?! That didn’t sound like the house messing with him this time but another living thing, another tribute and it sounded close. His hand rested on his mace that was still strapped to his hip and he held his shield in front of him just in case. He took a few cautious steps forward, and his head collided with something else and it moved.
Nephon’s hand shot to his head, “What the hell?!” He vaguely heard the other tribute’s challenge to fight. His instincts kicked in he took his shield arm and swung in the general direction of the voice and came into contact with flesh knocking the other tribute to the ground. He drew his mace and took his fighting stance, “And that my friend is what I call a bitch slap.”
Ouch. All thoughts circumstanced onto a singular moment, how he'd been too dumbfounded as a fighter, and thus lacked proper ability to avoid a ridicule known as, a "beat-down." Events spiraled out of control faster than expected, now Bittre was laying on the cold, hard ground. He'd lost a prime opportunity.
Seemingly in slow-motion, his body sank down, grinding shoulder blades betwixt slats of wooden pain. His limbs fell into their slots before the boy gripped reality: he'd lost to an unknown, pathetic tribute, and now all that would be left is a death-cam/cannon combo. Simply...he'd lost the perfect war.
Already, Bittre could hear the voices. YOU'RE PATHETIC... "Stop." YOU COULD NEVER WIN ANYWAYS... "Stop." ALL HE DID WAS PUT YOU IN YOUR PLACE... "STOP!" Apparently, the other boy assumed these were tactics, shown by confusion drawn upon his face. Raising his voice, Bittre yelped out an answer meant for clarification. "You don't hear that?! How! It's so...so...loud!" But there was no explanation to provide. Indefinitely, a combatant struggle would've ensued had the Gamemakers decided against their foolish trickery. Raising a bony hand lit by his eyes, something quickly became apparent. Had the other boy expected this; could coincidence be a true factor?
"Do you see this?" Bittre whispered, unsure emotions throbbing at the seams inside. "This blood...it's not mine." Scrubbing blood from his nose, from a specific "attack", onto a rolled up tee sleeve, his thoughts proved faultless. His blood resembled a scarlet pool, crimson drenched. However, what was pooling up just under their foothold, resembled something lighter, more vibrant. "Would they really..."
Before the sentence even shone light of finale, tiny cracks as though you'd see eroded into pavement traced rigid lines across the floor, even out back into the hall. Obviously, the cracks didn't leave room for a boy to fall in, though they brought with them a worse fate. "Can you swim?" He shot a quizzical look at the new face.
Let Blood Arise || Bittre, Nephon
For a good 10-20 minutes, the boy dreamt of winning, become the true victor of the games. Oh how glorious he believed it would be, outlasting all those fools unworthy or unfit to even be here. How could e possibly lose to such dimwits? Few of them actually wanted to fight, and the ones that did weren't so well at it. His ideas also went back to training, why hadn't he gotten any sponsor packages? Could he possibly find some way to make a bomb? Oh how absolutely fabulous it would be, but Harrison was slacking, and that could prove disastrous.
Out of nowhere, he was jerked awake, so violently that he'd only imagine somebody was about to kill him. Though, nobody was there, not even in his sights, and he heard no breathing. Ultimately, the boy had laid down far too long and he needed to catch his bearings.
In fact, as he stood he couldn't see far, seeing as how dark the hall was, though he was able to feel around for a doorknob. His only problem with this was that the last door he'd opened almost killed him without a second thought. What would be in this one?
Huffing in a deep breath, the boy slowly twisted the knob, pushing the door inwards and taking a leap of faith forward until....he stepped onto land, not air. YOU GOT LUCKY THIS TIME. WATCH YOUR BACK... The voice came in stronger this time, but more of a hiss than a human voice. It sent extreme chills up Bittre's spine and forced him to shake his head, keeping on forward. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Who is that?!" The words had barely left his voice when he cracked heads with a stranger. Bracing himself, the boy curled his hands up into fists and let out a growled warning. "I'm ready to fight if you are....and I always win." His smile curled into a vicious grin as he prepared to survive.
Thoughts Instead of Friends || Challenge #1
Shaking his head over and over again, the boy could not remove the presence of that voice from his mind. Where had it come from, and who had it belonged to? To him, it was nowhere near familiar, neither belong to tribute nor family member nor schoolmate. If that was the matter, how could it possibly come out so clear, so passionate, so....tempting. When he'd heard its command to move forward, his mind forced him on without a second's hesitation. Was there possibly something in the dark, reaching out to him, calling him towards it, to feel its desolate instructions?
"No, stop. Just clear your mind." Talking to himself was the only way for him to keep his calm. Right now his mind was a deadly place, picturing all the possible ways he could go out; there were some dangerous tributes still alive that would leap at slicing his throat simply for the pleasure it brought them. Clearly, he'd need something to defend himself with, but there was nothing he could think of turning into a weapon at the time being. Where was Harrison right now? ALL THE OTHER TRIBUTES HAVE BEEN RESCUED BY THEIR MENTORS... "So why has mine abandoned me?" Bittre finished the voice's sentence.
Just as soon as he reached the top stair, a rumbling paralyzed his body and mind, overcoming the voices and instead vibrating every bone in his body. As he searched back behind him into the hallway, he couldn't see others in sight, though he heard screams off in the distance; human screams or masked screams released by the Gamemakers, it was hard to tell. However, unlike the sheer luck of the snake pit, this time there wasn't much to hold on to. As one side of the house increased in height, one side dipped down.
Bittre held on to the door frame surrounding the stairs on either side, but the bumping was vicious, so disastrous that the boy could no longer see straight. Of course, he closed his eyes and hoped for it to be over as fast as possible, but slowly the event continued, ceasing to stop anytime soon. "Come on.." His knuckles gripped white and his teeth clenched, the boy was giving it all the strength he could muster not to fall down the stairs, as it was a long way down. Trying to catch his balance, the boy pushed off, in hopes that his legs would be enough to support him.
And for a second, they were...until something attacked him.
As if possessed by the Gamemakers, a chair came rushing down the hallway, towards him. He could've sworn the chair hadn't been there before, he'd never even seen it. Though, before he could even wonder where it came from, it slammed into him and caught his butt by surprise, spinning the chair and forcing it to reel backwards down the stairs. Now, the boy's hands had moved to the sides of the chair as it tipped back and slid on it's back down the stairs, his head bobbing only inches off each stair. If anything, he'd soon have a concussion.
LET GO...WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN..."Stop..stop...STOP!" Just as he yelled the chair caught itself on a step, launching him down towards the bottom of the stairs and into a doorway. As he sank out of consciousness, he could feel the shaking stop. Where was he? "Ughh..just a couple..minutes..." He whispered as the boy dozed off.
Seeking Refuge in Close Calls || Self
"Ah-Ah-ACHOO"
As he tumbled faster up the stairs, dust caked his face, his hands, everything. It was easy enough to tell that the Capitol wanted this place seemingly as deserted as possible. His breath transitioned into gasps, practically choking on the dead bacteria that was slowly attacking him. When it seemed as though he'd reached the last stair, the boy stumbled into a corner of the hallway and hacked for a good while. What a positively beautiful way to start my reign of terror. On his knees, hunched, the boy hacked for another minute before turning and taking a relaxed, short, rest.
Quickly, the boy's perspective of his surroundings vastly distorted itself. When he'd first rushed inside, the place seemed hardly large enough for a family of four, though now it suddenly seemed much larger, more...lonesome. Where had the other 23 kiddos manage to find themselves? Well...15 others. Pre-Games, he'd tried to assure himself that there was no way anybody would die in the Cornucopia this year; even though they were all dimwits, they all held an extreme passion to win. However, it had taken 8, slightly precious lives. In just under a few minutes as well.
So why had he survived? Not by his own wit or doing. He'd barely had a clue as to what was going on, there was no way he should've escaped the death-pit. And yet, here he was...alone...deserted...left to fend for himself. Have people already teamed up? I can't be the only one without a partner...can I? Interrupting his thoughts, the boy heard footsteps echo throughout the hallway. He wasn't alone, was somebody planning on ambushing him? It was too early, he couldn't go out like this. Just then he realized how intensely long the hallway was...and wide. There was no way to even see the end of it.
In no time, the footsteps increased to two pairs, then three, then four; there was no making him stick around. His mind jumped to the conclusion that it'd be best, of course, to take refuge among one of the, hopefully, desolate rooms scattered on either side of them. Standing up and catching his balance, the boy tried the room across from where he'd sat down. Shaking, his spine was chilled to the bone with suspense, wondering what the Gamemakers had planned. Slowly, he shifted the doorknob, pushing the door quietly open, listening intently as the hinges squealed like lonely demons.
GO ON...FIND THE PRIZE... A voice lured him forward. "Huh, what? Who's here?" As the door opened completely, the boy tried to take a step on, completely losing his balance. His open ended question was met with a flurry of hisses as he fell into the pit...or so he thought. Just in time, the boy had wrapped his fists around the doorknob, holding on so tightly his knuckles turned snow white. Just about 2 feet under him, something seeming like pythons and cobras hissed and jumped at him. "Nononononono!!!" He screamed out, not even caring who heard him.
Closing his eyes, Bittre swung his body up and used his feet to practically push his body up the wall. Stumbling out on the ground, he fell into a nervous sweat. His knees and elbows shook, his palms became drenched. The trap was clearly meant for somebody in a hurry, they'd run in, not giving it a second thought, and be left for dead. Bittre's luck was at an absolute high, but it would have to give out soon enough. HOW DID YOU POSSIBLY FALL FOR THAT YOU FOOL... "Wha-what? Who is that?!" The voice was remarkably clear, but nobody was there.
He stood up, brushing the dust off his pants, and started flexing his hands, taking deep breaths. Somebody was trying to drive him crazy, but he wasn't falling for it. "Follow me if you want, but you'll be sorry." As much as he tried to sound fierce, his voice came out shaky and shallow. He'd already almost died...twice. Those were not the types of people who won the Hunger Games. "Just keep moving forward Bittre..." He whispered under breath as the boy traveled toward the stairs. He was having nothing to do with this floor.
Tell the World I'm Coming Home || Cornucopia
Unfortunately, the poor boy's reign in the Capitol had come to a close. Of course his fleeting fame and spotlight was only temporarily leaving him. As far as he was concerned, nobody else deserved it. He'd seen the competition this year, personally conversed with several of them, and it had been enough to tell him who the real winner would be. In all honesty, you had tributes like Trinton and Zarya that wouldn't even be bothered to hold a weapon. If he happened to lose to one of those sorry saps, well he wouldn't even be bothered to think about that for now.
This day seemed relatively similar to the past few weeks, in regards to hows organized the day was. Peacekeepers made sure he stayed within the confines of his boundary lines and made sure he ate, washed up, and prepared his uniform for the arena. It was time, and he was just oh so excited. Every day images of what could possibly lay before him raced through his head. Every year was so different, yet so exceptionally...deadly. An intense grin plastered his face throughout the whole day, especially as he arrived in his desolate room, filled only with a bench, a pipe large enough for a human, and his thoughts.
Relaxing on the bench, his spine was shivering with pure joy at what was about to go down. Ultimately, he deemed it best to run straight into the arena, skip whatever Cornucopia the Gamemakers may have set up, and find a strong place to camp out at. He decided that if any of the other tributes did pick something up like a weapon, odds are they'd have no idea how to even control the thing. The competition this year would be practically nonexistent.
Before too long, two Peacekeepers as well as his mentor came in to see him off. Bittre hugged the two men and thanked them for making his stay in the Capitol bearable. "As for you Mr. Addams, I simply ask that you have a warm bed and meal set up for me at my triumphant return. A rather small task to accomplish, can you possibly remember that?" With a simple nod to set him on his way, all the boy could do is hope for some sort of sponsor package to come his way. He firmly planted both feet upon the glassy pedestal, and was rapidly launched up, his fate awaiting him.
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Exasperated sighs locked perfectly into place; 24 platforms serving up prey for larger, ravenous predators. Worrisome eyes scattered about, analytically surveying their Hell away from home. As each pair slowly came to a disgusting realization how unordinary this cage was. Unlike past years, there existed no sun, no fields, and seemingly no sustenance. All food and water would be received through Sponsor packages, hopefully generously scored for the poor boy by Mr. Addams, though they hadn't exactly left their waters on perfect terms. His only hope rested upon ending this cagematch soon. He'd be home soon enough, after he proved himself worthy.
Suddenly, his thoughts collapsed as the countdown released 24 children into a revamped horror story. Racing, racing racing, rapidly they proceeded to stumble into the ever expanding mansion, leaving behind 8 acquaintances, mere colleagues rewarded simply by asphyxiation. What a frightening way to go, though he'd escaped, quite fast as well. Bittre had barely seen another tribute near him when he slammed his shoulder into the door and pounded it open. Several at a time, the tributes flowed inside, trying, and failing, to catch their bearings. Practically breaking his neck, the boy quickly searched for a place to catch his breath.
Before he could even blink, a crumbling, sketchy stair set lay before him. As each tribute slowly caught their grip on what was occurring, he saw several of them branch off towards other staircases, sinking into the dark depths of the mansion. Soon, the boy was alone in the lobby, wondering what he could possibly do. A green gaseous substance quickly made it's way towards him, a trap easily recognized to be Gamemaker material, and before he knew it he was sprinting, climbing the winding staircase 2 to 3 steps at a time. Where it would take him, only time would tell.
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A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Real Competition || Private Training
Stillness infiltrated within an interminable hallway, seemingly ending miles further through metal double doors. 11 tributes remained, fully determined in stupefying several elderly gatekeepers, guarding borders between reality...and eternal embarrassment. Each boy, each girl, left wondering just what gave them the right, nay, freedom to judge betwixt life and death. As much hatred each tribute stockpiled into it, how much more Bittre grew with envy for such a role. How easy it'd be, denying reject tributes a ranking which would boost miserable chances. A smart man would not raise an unworthy teen's spirit, only to let it wither away into ash.
Over a several second span of time, crackled voices slithered from a speaker far above the boy, pounding two words inside his eardrums: "Bittre Restrin." Time to shine. He'd not thought about strategy yet, though it was time to form a lasting impression. Slamming the doors open, a delicate stride towards center stage was all the boy needed to inhale a lingering dash of victory. Instead of introducing his talents, a twinkle in his eye, illuminating a menacing smile, would tell the Gamemakers what sort of treat they were in for. "Bittre Restrin. Male Tribute of District 5. Enjoy."
Almost immediately after his venomous words caught the scraggly men off guard, Bittre B-lined towards his favorite station: knives. One in particular, he'd save for last. Using slight of hand, 4 throwing knives suddenly appeared among his palm, catching the men's shock, as well as the shock of what future opponent he might face. Turning his back clear towards the dummies, the boy lifted his arm and swiftly spun around, rocketing each knife towards its target. Two latched themselves inside foreheads, one stuck in the heart, and the final stabbed into the foot of a dummy. A foot wasn't menacing, but what came next was.
If this were the real Games, a stab in the foot would catch whatever opponent he faced off guard, giving him plenty of time to perform his next trick. Wasting no time, Bittre ran past the maces, picking up his favorite spiked club, and raced towards his peer. Now, he would perform the same trick he'd introduced to Trinton of Distirct 7. Swinging it over and over his head, the boy belted out a final battle cry. In no time, the club had stuck inside his opponents head, concaving it in. All he wished for was that real brains could be put inside, to make it realistic.
Finally, after murdering 4 tributes, he went for a fifth, marking his District number. Releasing the Bowie knife he'd picked up, unbeknownst to the Gamemakers, he made his was towards his next target, walking slowly for dramatic effect. He tossed the knife back and forth between his hands, catching the blade, and reached out for his opponents head. Slicing the throat with the knife, he grasped the head in his palm, cutting out a hole in the top of the head. Reaching his fist in, the boy pulled out handfuls of stuffing, hollowing it out. Funny, a hollow head. Reminds me of some of the dimwits here.
Next, the boy went for the opponent's face, carving out an X over where each eye should be, and a devious grin from ear to ear. At this point in time, he was just playing with his food. Quickly, he pulled out a few ketchup packets he'd collected from lunch earlier, and poured them inside the hollowed out skull. Placing the top of its head back on, Bittre dropped everything else except the head. Slowly, he stood up, and proceeded to chuck the head at the glass from which the Gamemakers sat behind. In a beautiful array of fake blood, the head splattered across the glass, dripping down slowly and painfully; marking his territory. "Thank you for your time." He whispered enough to be in slight earshot, and turned and strode out the door.
Caesar Flickerman: Ladies and gentlemen, let us welcome to the stage Bittre Restrin from district 5. Everyone give them a round of applause. To start off, what motivated you to volunteer?
Bittre: Thinking about it, now that I'm here and have actually seen what the Capitol has to offer, it seems better than I expected. If I die, I was able to live a life of luxury before it, and if I survive, the luxury continues! I always wanted to experience what it is like to be waited on hand and foot. It's exceptional. While that's not my full reason, I also feel as though District 5 has not been...appropriately represented. We've had some strong fighters, but we needed someone to win, not to snag second place. I'm gonna be that winner for us. It's about time we had one.
Caesar Flickerman: How prepared do you believe you are for the arena?
Bittre: I'd be willing to bet I'm far more prepared than you think, Sir. If anybody knows yet, the other day in training, I basically created a bomb that could've been detrimental. But, I didn't use it. If I could get the right materials in the arena, I'd be set. I mean, I've seen some of these other tributes, er what is her name....I believe Zarya. Heck, she's afraid to even lift a weapon. I handed her a knife and she told me she could never imagine hurting another individual. So yeah, I'd say I'm prepared.
Caesar Flickerman: What are you feeling at this very moment knowing that the arena is just a day away?
Bittre: Hmm. I mean, I can understand that most of the tributes are probably scared, but me? I'd say I'm actually....excited! Each year the Capitol brings us such an amazing arena, and to take part in whatever you've concocted this year makes me feel grateful. It's like living out your dream. It doesn't get much better than this, does it?
Caesar Flickerman: Is there anyone special back home that has been in your mind since arriving at the capitol?
Bittre: Well, let's see. Nah, I mean, I'm not so much for the lovey-dovey kinda person. I guess my parents, though, they're not really....around so much anymore. I haven't seen either of em in weeks. I guess, I just wonder where they are really. They kinda, were in a rush to leave.
Caesar Flickerman: To end on a touching note, if that person were here right now, what would you say to them?
Bittre: Touching? Nah, no thanks. But parents, if you really are out there, and I do win this thing. I'm telling you right now, I'm not sharing any of it with either of you!
Caesar Flickerman: Thank you Bittre Restrin and may the odds be ever in your favor!
Gambit || Bittre, Eudocia
Spiralling her apex at the sound of a voice that wasn’t her own, waves of iridescent copper swayed in unison with the girl’s brusque movement. Scrutinising the taller physique stationed before her, Eudocia drank in his features. Executing the habitual wrinkle of her nose she cleared her throat, erected her spine, and elevated her head just a bit. “It was a good one," she reacted drearily. “There’s still time to salvage it, however. Leave.”
A tart expression absorbed her features, the man’s compliment singing more execrable to the maiden than it did amiable. What was he playing at? Compliments were seldom dispensed throughout the various inhabitants of Panem’s various districts, even less so amongst tributes such as this very dyad happened to be. Who was he, this newfound entity? A dauntless, foolhardy boy with nothing left to lose? A calculated killer attempting to gain the upper hand by instilling himself within her psyche?
Longing for an answer, Eudocia retorted, “Watch out now, handsome. Whilst I may in fact be ‘bright’ and ‘beautiful’ it’s my duty to warn you that I’m capable of shit that’ll turn you pale in the blink of an eye." A derisive grin painted itself upon her features, the girl’s speech pausing for a second or two before it resumed, “I’m on the same page as you. Haven’t seen my partner and mentor since the train ride. Might have scared them off. Eudocia’s the name, though. Eudocia Edevane. I’d ask you what you’re called but, quite frankly, I couldn’t give less of a shit. Oops.”
Chuckling irrevocably, the boy inattentively attended to her speech, noticing mockery behind words meant to inflict wounds. Noting her simple jeer against his compliment, nothing but a hearty laugh deemed an appropriate response. Quickly, her fiery attitude lashed out, only interesting his senses greater. Her lips spoke insults softly, yet ridiculously, confusing the boy. He was clawing underneath her skin, a provokingly curious angle for him; one he'd played constantly before. Raising a smirk, plus an inquisitive eyebrow, he soon began to speak, slowly at first.
"I assure you, miss, I meant no harm. Among this valley of maladroit teenagers, your beauty stood out. Beside that, a woman strong with deadly weapons as she is with her looks..." Leaning in close, just delivering a whisper into her ear, he continued "well that's just sexy." At this angle, the warmth practically reverberated off her steady composition. Her facial expressions refused to give in to her feelings.
Taking a step back, his eyes analyzed the weapon before them, though they couldn't cipher its code. He'd used an array of militia, but nothing before appeared as such this did. "How purely...interesting. I must say, it has peaked my curiosity. Your eyes tell me what I need to know. So, I bet you've used this before." At this point, he needed to know if he could use her. "Well then, show me what you can do, hm?" He teased, taking yet another step back, providing plenty of space.
Age Differences || Bittre, Zarya
I’m not as scary as I come off, promise. You just caught me off guard.
The whisper only made Zarya want to crouch even further into a ball. That was safe, it was the easiest way to hide…though she was in the middle of the room and she knew that she could be doing a much better job somewhere else. But the girl wasn’t even sure how she had caught him off guard…she hadn’t done anything, she had just been walking, minding her own business and then before she knew it there was a knife thrown at her. That didn’t seem like she had caught him off guard…it was more like it seemed like this other tribute wanted to kill her and now couldn’t get away with it with the Peacekeepers watching. And the girl made a mental note to stay closer to them from now on….they were probably the safest place to be.
That was when Zarya noticed what he had put in her hand. They were shiny, fancy, just like everything in the Capitol seemed to be. But they were knives. Razor-sharp pointy knives. Her eyes widened in fear as she stared at them before instinctively dropping them on the floor, listening to them clatter rather loudly on the floor. There was just something so wrong with this…something that Zarya didn’t know how to put into words.
"I…I don’t want to kill anybody," the girl stammered, hoping that was enough to make the scary boy go away, “or injure them, or hurt them. That’s too…….horrible."
With each increasingly peculiar tribute he met, his thoughts of how the Capitol ended up with such a screwed up batch this year skyrocketed. He'd only met a few, yet each of them had such odd characteristics; traits that were definitely unusual for tributes reaped purposefully for murder, for survival. This girl was housing away her security, keeping herself worried and trying to latch onto the aspect that if she could simply create shelter and stay healthy, she wouldn't have to kill to win the games. However, "Even if you make it to he final 2, you still have to kill. One of you will die, and if you don't kill, it will be you."
Accidentally, he'd voiced his thoughts to the girl, though some distinct part in the back of her mind had to know this; it couldn't be some sudden newsflash to her. "I'm sorry, but the Capitol makes monsters of people, and if you refuse to kill, you will be killed. Whether it be by the Capitol's own hand, or another tribute's." Was he even getting through to her? "Look at the past victors. Aleks Ethon, killed 6 people! The year after that, Eileen Clover killed 3 people. Magnus Whishart, 3. Cassia Hunt, 3. Just look at the numbers." Her face was still sullen.
There wasn't much he could do now, so he decided he was going to try the same thing he did with Tipper, minus the holding hands part. "Look, I'm not even asking you to kill, nor hurt somebody, yet. It's just a dummy filled with stuffing. It won't hurt you, and you won't hurt it. Watch me." He picked up one of the knives she'd clattered to the floor and aimed steadily at the dummy, lodging it within the middle of his forehead. "Not bad, though the heart is ideal. Just try it. I'm only trying to help you." He held up one of the knives again, waiting for her to grab the handle.
(L)ittle Power Surges in Big Things ❧ Bittre & Laexus
A cutting glower mantled Laexus’ typically loose expression as the boy from Five spoke as if he could so easily dispose of someone. If he was correct, this guy knew nothing of killing. Coming from Five, the raven-haired monster probably worked in some factory producing power for the Capitol and the other districts. Not dismembering someone with a bomb. Though the chances of blowing things up were abnormally high compared to his own experience, the Career’s stomach churned in bitter distaste.
“I don’t believe you.” Laexus simply responded, averting his attention back to the pieces in his hands. Fingers wrapped tight around packs of phosphorus and salt, he finally laid them down so that they wouldn’t burst under the pressure he was exerting. Being so mad at another was uncharacteristic, and yet it was so easy to be angry with the high ego, the speech that floated high away from the realm of empathy.
By the end of the boy’s spiel his hands were shaking, his sea colored irises storming in violent volition. Storm brewing behind his emotions, Laexus could no longer bite his tongue. His otherwise calm, shy demeanor melted away in deep wounds inflicted from simple words. This child knew nothing about him. Nothing.
“You cannot read me like a book. I am not a book to be read. You know what you want to know, automatic presumptions aiding in some twisted way of making an ally. So what if they call me a Career? That means nothing. For the past three years my kind has passed away into the dust. They’re imprudent labels given to us that centuries of training could not properly prepare anyone for. Just because you come from Five doesn’t mean that you know nothing, unless my instructors were correct in saying that you’re no threat.” Laexus hissed, his gaze still on the table to avoid looking at the other in the face. “If you ever want to find help in me, you’ll have to try harder.”
As he listened, he couldn't help but note the fact that Laexus was entirely too...passionate about the subject. All he'd asked for, not so subtly, was a bit of an alliance. Wasn't as though he'd asked for him to commit suicide or become a kamikaze or anything extraordinary like that. Yet, this boy was so angry, so invigorated about the whole subject, Bittre almost felt like apologizing for asking. Instead, he simply cocked his head to the side, raised an eyebrow, and stared with a questioning gaze. When would he finish his petty spiel? was all he could think.
"Mmhmm. Well. Alrighty then. No need to get so worked up there drama queen. It was just a question. I'll probably win without an ally anyways, I was just offering you some help." What more could he say to the kid? This obviously would not work out to be an effective duo, as Laexus seemed kinda....scared of Bittre. Is that it? He can't be scared, can he? Not a Career. He turned his back to the District 1 male and thought for a second, noting to himself that the boy could not see his crooked smile at the moment.
"Like I said, I'll give you a while to decide, though it's a decision you'll have to make eventually." Picking up the explosive ingredients yet again, he set work on crafting something small enough to not be noticed, yet fiery enough to tear a limb or two off. He really hoped somebody could bother to sponsor him with a few of the necessary ingredients, though he couldn't be only reliant on that. Feeling the other tribute's eyes still bearing into him, all he could think of was to say something. "What's on your mind partner?" He asked without dropping his gaze from the gunpowder.
Disturbed Chaos || Bittre, Trinton
Trint stumbled backwards as a weapon was forced into his hands. It was small, but the spikes protruding from the end did nothing to soothe his nerves. He knew nothing about brutality. He knew nothing about harming people. He looked at the dummy in front of him, with the concaved head, and his vision swam. He could never cause that kind of damage to a person.
“Pretend I’m not even here.”
Trint glanced sideways at this boy. How had this come so easily to him? How could he look at a humanoid figure and willingly… destroy it? Trint’s eyes fell to the weapon in his hand. No… he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The stress began to well up in his throat, restraining his breath. The air came in short gasps through his throat.
“I… No I don’t think I can… I just cut trees that’s all… I really can’t…” Sentences were not working for him. Breath was not working for him. Black dots swam in and out of his vision, and his strong hands began quaking. There was no way he was going to attack this dummy. There was no way he was going to attack another person.
There was no way he was going to win the Hunger Games.
Without a doubt, Trinton, male tribute of District 7, would not be winning these games, and he could easily tell. While the boy seemed to be a strong and worthy adversary on the outside, he couldn't hurt a fly. He'd been around axes all his life, very lethal weapons if used correctly, so why was a mace different? Didn't he know where he was? There was no way any tribute could expect to win without killing somebody. Even if they made it to the final 2, it was either him or the opponent. "You really are pathetic." Bittre voiced his opinion.
"Ack, I didn't mean it like that, just..." He could tell at this point that the younger male was most likely going to black out. His breathing got heavier and he got this dazed look as he glanced around. "Come on, kid. Don't fail me, you have potential." If this boy passed out now, it would make Capitol headlines that's for sure. District 7 would get a disgusting reputation from it, so Bittre had to do something. Grabbing the boy on both his shoulders, he raised his voice. "GET YOURSELF TOGETHER!" And he shook him rapidly. If Bittre smacked him, the Peacekeepers really would remove him from training.
A few people were staring now, but there was nothing Bittre could do at this point to keep them from it. "Fine, listen, I'm gonna help you. Just follow my lead." Grasping his hands over top of Trinton's which were holding onto the mace, he helped the boy raise it up over his head. "Stay with me Trint." Together, they slammed it into the skull of the dummy rapidly, splitting the head in half. It was pretty cool really. "Now, see, that wasn't so hard was it?" He asked smiling devilishly.
What Do You Have to Offer? || Bittre, Harrison
Almost immediately, Harrison got an answer from the tribute, Bittre. It didn’t seem like he was willing to waste anytime, but there was more to him than meets the eye. He was not a simple man wanting to win. His theatrics and how he interacted with people shown through the facade that he put up for himself. Harrison usually could find out how to deal, or at least tolerate, this type of behavior. Hopefully, it would not get him killed before his true colors shown through. If the arena could do anything, it is able to break down the strongest people down to their core. Usually before they even realized it.
Keeping his composure, the mentor listened and heard a few things he liked to hear. Bittre was making use of his time and making sure that he was learning something, not just making friends with the other tributes. Only one tribute comes out of the arena. Making alliances helped many get to the end, but at the end of the day, the training done made all the difference.
Harrison nodded as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and poured himself juice from the refrigerator. He left the flask on the counter and kept his distance from the tribute. Surely, Harrison did not want to make him any more uncomfortable than he seemed to be. “Well, it looks like you are doing quite well out there. Time is always of the essence, especially during Training." Harrison’s mind went to Reaping Day, and wanted to ask the obvious question: why he had volunteered for such an endeavor?
That question confirmed that there was more to Bittre than met the eye. And, whether Harrison found out what that was, Mr. Restrin would have to allow that. Harrison never liked being pushy, but he would like to know. “Any questions you have? I’m sure you have something you would like to ask me." Harrison smirked as he took a drink. How Bittre would react determined how he, as the mentor, would go forward with him.
Obviously, it did not take an expert to know that Mr. Addams was trying his very best to figure out how to handle his, er, interesting tribute. Sadly enough for him though, if he thought Bittre was just going to be an open book, then he was sorely mistaken. Even if the man was supposed to be his main lifeline, there were about a billion things he was more than happy to keep under wraps. Heck, as far as he knew he could be dead in a about a week or so, which would ultimately result in him taking his secrets to the grave.
He had no problem with that, but Harrison kept asking questions. Bittre really didn't want to talk about anything with him right now, nor ever. His character as a mentor had been pushed several times over the past few years, and this boy had noticed every bit of it. How could he not when the Capitol practically forced all of their dramatic gunk onto the districts every waking moment. It was bad enough they had to listen to the Capitol during the Hunger Games, did they really need a constant update feed on the mentors and their actions 24/7?
Interestingly enough, as Bittre sat here and thought, and thought, and waited, Harrison never left the room. He was determined to help this boy out, or at the very least give him some corny advice that would probably result in District 5 taking second place....again. "What about that, uh, one chick you split up from. Lila, was it? I want to know the story there. If she is still a distraction in your life, I deserve the right to know. I need you focused on keeping me alive, not some star-crossed ex lover of yours. Didn't you two have some children? I need your word that you will remained focus on the Games. Though I can't trust your word unless you tell me the story. At least brief me. Go." He aimed stubbornly at the mentor. It was an odd, out of nowhere question, but it had been digging at his mind since he'd seen something about them on the TV during the train ride.
Gambit || Bittre, Eudocia
Leather boots met an abundance of steel as the tribute trekked about the Training Centre, her inherently steely leer darting to and fro, lingering about the abundance of mediocrity laid out before her. A fumble here, a fall there — gods, the lot of them were incompetent. But hell, what was the spitfire to expect? An armada of fit and ready assailants? A Praetorian Guard?
No, she was much too wise to anticipate such asininity. This was guerrilla warfare — nothing but cheap and dirty tactics utilised in unison with one another to abolish a greater power. That power, in the eyes of the malignant tribute herself, being Eudocia Edevane. She was to be the fiercest competitor this year, the one to reign supreme. They were all but pawns in her intricate contention with the Capitol; spindly digits tainted with droplets of blood guiding each and every one of their moves. Eudocia was no different, however. She was not the chessmaster in this game, instead being but another negligent constituent of the Capitol’s gambit. She was a tribute; a sacrifice.
Thus the collateral found herself standing before the ranged weapons, her eyes trailing after an object in particular: a halberd, and a finely polished one at that. Latching onto it with a voracious hunger, she relished in the weight of the blade, beholding it with a deific regard. “Hello, old friend," she spoke softly, regaling in the weapon’s occupancy. She was content — overjoyed, almost. That was, until another entity made its presence known.
Further and further time stretched on, leaving behind what little time they had to themselves for training in its wake. Days sped off into the past, leaving the boy awkwardly aware of just how near they'd come to utter slaughter. Only 1 survived, resulting in a bloody canvas of 23 soulless bodies, crafted only for the sick entertainment of about a million twisted individuals. What kind of disgusting thrill did they really seek from such a retched idea. He'd forced himself to sit through it each year, searching for what truly excited them, never closing in on a sure answer,
Displaying such thoughts verbally would only bring harm and disruption, leaving behind a restless boy who would no doubt be slaughtered by the Capitol and whatever they'd schemed up for the children. For now, his focus would lay upon training with any and everyone, leaving his mark upon other tributes in hopes of an alliance down the road. One beautiful girl caught his eye as he surveyed every moving life form. Fiery locks sprawled down her shoulders as such a waterfall would. Beautiful light grey eyes pierced through the room stampeding chills upon his spine. He'd never seen such remote beauty before.
Inching a path towards the station she'd rested at, some sort of mix between an axe and a spear, the boy mustered up pounds of courage as he released a verbal acknowledgement. "Good afternoon, beautiful. Your bright and encouraging face is the most I've seen of District 4 as of late. I can't say I've seen your partner nor mentor around much. Might I ask you your name? I'm just trying to get a focused gaze at what my opponents are like personally." Igniting a genuine smile, his passion focused onto somehow getting to know the girl.
Age Differences || Bittre, Zarya
Zarya was slowly starting to get used to the training center, as scary as it was. Everyone was pretty much ignoring her, which the girl didn’t mind, everyone pretty much ignored her at home too. And if that was the case, maybe people would ignore her in the arena and if she found a really, really good hiding spot, then maybe she’d survive. Though the girl refused to get her hopes completely up. Everyone else was so much better than her.
Slowly she looked at some of the survival stations, trying to decide if she should go to one of them. Ivory had said something about camouflage, but there was also a place with plants, and one with bugs. And a place where it looked like you could learn to put up a tent. All of those were probably important and Zarya knew it was probably better to stay by those because…
A knife whizzed over her shoulder and the girl shrieked and dropped into a ball on the ground.
She wasn’t sure who had thrown it, or if they were throwing it at her, but she slowly peeked up to see if she could find who did it. And quickly she found the scary looking boy from District 5. Zarya trembled as she looked at him, almost hoping that he was going to just walk away and not talk to her after, especially since he was throwing knives at her. That wasn’t supposed to be happening yet, and suddenly the girl wasn’t sure if she would even be able to survive training.
Longer and longer he stood there, hoping that at some point in time the young ragdoll looking girl would pick herself up; stand up and defend herself. He had to admit, even though he'd terrify her further for it, he'd have some dully noted respect to provide her if she could stand up and poke him in the chest. She couldn't possibly have much to say anyways except "You big meanie." Or "You stupid buttface." And let's face it, he'd heard much worse than that in his lifetime, especially with the gruff, menacing guys he used to work with as security guards.
After time stretched on for a good couple of minutes, Bittre eventually decided something would have to be done about the girl. He couldn't just leave her there, and he had absolutely no intent on making her look cowardice. She had to have a fighting spirit somewhere within her and somehow that tiger would bust right out of its cage one way or another. Though it sure would be nice if he could be the one to bring it out of her. Sadly, just like poor Trinton, it seemed like there was a lot to be done here.
Walking over to where she sat crouched up like a potato, Bittre plucked a small set of three light, slick throwing knives and reached for her hand. He curled her fingers around the stack and patted it gently. "I'm not as scary as I come off, promise. You just caught me off guard." He whispered to her. Of course, to the Peacekeepers it had to look quite sketchy. "I know you have potential and I want to help you harness that. These games are not just about hiding, they're about surviving. Killing, or at the very least injuring your opponents is a large part of that. Would you want to show me what you can do? I promise with all my heart, not to hurt you."
