Private Training~Ignacius Kauri
Ignacius awoke to a feeling of dread. Today was private training, and although he had figured out what to do, he wasn’t looking forward to it. At least it wouldn’t hurt anyone but himself.
The night before he had met up Marcus to ask him to tattoo something else on his body that was crucial to his plans working correctly in the training center. Marcus had done as he asked, but he was also concerned with Ignacius’s eyes, for it was the first time that he had seen him since the whole incident had occurred between him and Pearl on day two of training. By appearance they were a bit cloudy, and he was partially blinded, but he wouldn’t let it get him down. Even without perfect vision he was sure he could still survive.
Making his way down to the outside of the training center, he joined the waiting tributes, anxious for when his turn would show up. Overall, today he felt the best since the incident on day two. The pain was all but gone from his body and he wasn’t having problems with his balance or having uncontrollable muscle spasms. His head was clear, and he ran through his plan for the hundredth time.
One by one the other tributes left the area where they were waiting and went into the training center for their private training with the gamemakers and the president. He jiggled his bad leg anxiously, wondering how they would react to his presentation. The only two things he was really good at were first aid and melee weapons. And his combination of the two would be interesting, to say the least.
Before long, he saw the girl for District Six-her name was Kendall-leave the training center and he stood up and walked into the training center with a straight back. Looking up at the high balcony, he made eye contact with each of the three adults before starting the countdown in his head. He had fifteen minutes to impress them. And it wasn’t going to be easy.
Walking over to the first aid table, he grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a square out of his pants, revealing his old scar and the x that was now tattooed around it. He took a second to collect himself, remembering why he was doing what he had planned. He didn’t want to hurt anyone in order to demonstrate his first aid skills, and it would show them how resilient he was.
Turning to the peacekeeper nearest to him, he said one simple phrase,
“Shoot me in the leg; right at the heart of the x.”
He saw the peacekeeper hesitate for a moment, not immediately pulling out a gun to do what he said.
“C’mon, we’re wasting time here.”
Seeing that he wasn’t going to back down, the peacekeeper brought his gun up and in one fluid motion shot him. The force of the bullet was enough to make him stumble, but only slightly. Sure, it hurt, but he had gone through much worse in the past few days, not to mention the first time he had been shot.
Grinding his teeth, he limped over to the rack of axes and dragged them to the middle of the room. Grabbing the mannequins, he lined them up in a line parallel to the balcony, and picked up the first axe, readying himself for what he was about to do.
Two more minutes were gone from him because of his little act of setting up the stage. To demonstrate his melee skills, he wanted to showcase his efficiency and ability to hit with spot on accuracy in more than just a few more places. And he wanted to show that if he was going to harm someone, it would be because of a reason, a flaw in their character or something they had done against him. He didn’t like senseless violence, and would only partake in it if there was no other way. And then he would do it his way.
Placing himself in front of the first mannequin on the left at the end of the row, he found that place where he could be numb, and get through what he was about to do without breaking down. He reminded himself that they weren’t real. They were just pawns in his game. He cleared his throat and began.
“Charles Harrington. Denial.” The axe moved swiftly through the head, through the mouth, cutting it off completely. The blood began pouring from his head, but Ignacius ignored it. He had to keep going, or else he wouldn’t make it. Dropping the axe, he reached for another one. If he was going to harm multiple things, he wasn’t going to bring himself low enough as to use the same instrument for more than one murder. It would be like saying that the two things were no different for each other, and were identical twins. Which they weren’t. If somebody had to be harmed, there was a unique reason for it to happen.
“Juno Woon. Fear.” The mannequin feel to the floor after the axe cut its way through both of its knees, leaving only bloody stumps standing. It wasn’t like he didn’t know everyone was scared of death. It was just something that everyone ignored until it was too late. This act of harming the mannequins did not become easier for him, but that of reaching for a fresh axe while letting another fall to the floor was.
“Everest McKinley. Ignorance.” Similar to the first, a part of the head fell to the floor. It was much smaller though, since the axe had gone straight through the brains. He felt a twinge of guilt as the nickname of “Tree” came to mind. He ignored it. Felt some of the fake blood on his shirt. Or was it fake? It smelled like iron. Like a machine dropped the old axe and grabbed a fresh one, moving on.
“Seraph Sinclair. Disabled.” Blood sprayed some of the mannequins towards the right that he hadn’t been to yet while the left arm fell to the floor in a fluid motion. He felt bad about the reason he gave for his violence to her. She wasn’t the only one here who was disabled in some way. She was just the one that was the most easy to pick up on with the naked eye. Reloaded his axe. Moved on.
“Shepard Gaspinadov. Cautious.” More blood splashed onto the Seraph mannequin, drawing even more attention to the area where the left arm had once been. The right wrist fell to the blood and bounced to Ignacius’s feet. He stepped away from it. Being cautious wasn’t a bad thing, but one had to known how to react in the spur of the moment as well. Reload. Move on.
“Lola Liu. Cancerous.” Blood hit Ignacius in the chest following the swift strike through the chest to the voice box, rendering the axe lodged in the mannequin. Her words brought others down, and he wasn’t okay with someone that tried to make others feel bad about the way someone was living their life. That was why he had left his family after all. Reload. Move on.
“Dory Murdock. Oblivious.” Two swift strikes. The lungs were punctured and Ignacius watched as blood ran down, puddling around the mannequin's feet. Dory only cared about himself and didn’t do anything beneficial for anyone else. Which caused him to miss crucial things happening all around him. And that wasn’t how you made the world a better place. Reload. Move on.
“Tillie Hull. Unforgiving.” The sound of the axe hitting the mannequin was halted as Ignacius stopped the strike halfway through his hit. He kept the axe lodged in the skull, where the eye sockets usually were. Her gaze was always filled with venom for those around her, and she wasn’t able to forget the past and keep moving towards the future. And if one can’t keep moving forward, they can have no hope of finding peace in their life. Reload. Move on.
“Jared Luminel. Narcissistic.” The familiar thunk of a mannequin hitting the ground accompanied the strike of the axe. The stumps stood, similar to Juno’s but much smaller, as only the feet remained. It was a dangerous thing to put one up on a pedestal before checking to see if you deserved to be there, and ignoring all evidence that suggested you weren’t as perfect as you like to believe. Reload. Move on.
“Enna Christensen. Lackadaisical.” Legs became separated from torso as the top half of the mannequin fell to the ground. She hadn’t even cared enough to come to training in order to make sure that she had better chances in the arena. It was sad to see people abandon perfectly good opportunities to improve themselves and their lives. Didn’t they see it would make them better off for the future? Reload. Move on.
“Alu Cinatio. Variegated.” In one motion, Ignacius brought the axe down, and from the top of the head to the feet split the mannequin in half vertically. It fell to the ground and, luckily missed the remaining mannequins so they wouldn’t fall over. His vision blanked out for a moment, and he ignored it, allowing himself to move onwards. He had to keep going. After all, it was okay to show the world only parts of yourself, but you can’t reveal part of yourself and then pretend like people don’t know or care about it. Reload. Move on.
“Kendall Carter. Coward.” Two small swings ensured that the achilles’ tendon was completely ripped apart. The mannequin wobbled, but didn’t fall down. Which was good. You couldn’t always run away from your problems, and sometimes you had stand up to whatever had wronged you in the past. You also couldn’t avoid training and expect that it would simply make the arena go away. Reload. Move on.
“Emily Graham. Unfiltered.” Again, a duo of swings were exact in precision, causing two ears to fall to the ground without causing the shoulders of the mannequin to spit blood. Although one could be as smart and pay attention to what was happening in their environment, it didn’t mean anything if they paid to listen a bit and learn what to say. The best way to avoid conflict is to make sure you don’t offend the people around you. Reload. Move on.
“Ratsis Montgomery. Convolved.” Ignacius sliced open the stomach of the mannequin, watching some of the fake intestines spill onto the ground. Rat was twisted around just like them. His jokes would contradict his statements, his movements contradict his facial expressions. He wondered what Rat was hiding that required so much effort in order to please almost everyone around you. Reload. Move on.
“Pearl Rosier. Poison.” A head bounced off the wall of the balcony, smearing it with blood. The axe had easily cut through at the neck, at the exact place where Pearl had stabbed him with the needles both times. She wilted everything she touched, and if there was one tribute Ignacius wanted to harm in the arena it was her. What had made her so cruel? Reload. Move on.
“Clovis Costello. Hallucinatory.” In a similar fashion to Alu’s mannequin, Ignacius tore his way through the mannequin, separating it in half horizontally. He grabbed the right side of the mannequin’s body and leaned it against Pearl’s headless mannequin so only on part of the body fell to the ground. Clovis seemed like he wasn’t there all the time, like he was floating through life, waiting for some future moment that would make everything better. He conformed his words to your statements, almost like you incented him yourself. Reload. Move on.
“Pé Ruboi. Isolation.” In four swift strikes Ignacius removed all of the limbs from the mannequin. The amount of blood coming from the mannequin covered his shoes, filling them with the liquid. From the moment Ignacius had seen her reaping, he had known had separated she was from everything. Even if you don’t like society the way it is, you have to put up with it to give as many people a chance as possible. Reload. Move on.
“Parker Yim. Day dreams.” He cut off the nose of the mannequin cleanly. He stopped the axe from hitting any other face features, and a small bit of blood landed in Ignacius’s mouth. At the reaping he had been slightly, distracted from the world around him. Ignacius had seen him around the training center in a daze. It was almost as if he was living in other world that didn’t involve death. Sometimes you just needed to wake up and smell the roses. Reload. Move on.
“Kyla Every. Algid.” In one motion Ignacius turned the mannequin around and cut through the spinal cord of the mannequin. It only made sense to have one of the parts of the body with the most nerve endings in it be severed in the mannequin for Kyla was cold. Sure, she had been kind in conversation, but unless you prompted her she was silent. Sure, it might have been because of her past but everyone had their own drama. Their own tragedies. You had to keep moving forward. Ignacius felt his numbness break for a second, and he struggled to regain it. Though they were just mannequins, they represented real people. And most of them had never done anything against him. He became a machine again as he reloaded and moved on.
“Nico Boateng. Betrayed.” Chop. Chop. No hands means he couldn’t get caught red-handed anymore. Not that he was ever the one who had done anything as far as Ignacius knew. He had seen the look on his face when he was reaped. As if someone had taken the world out from under him. He was simply the one holding the smoking gun at the end of the day. Reload. Move on.
“Apricot Thompson. Psycho.” The axe went clear through the mannequin, so far that part of the blade was sticking out of the back. It had gone straight through the heart. Even since she had jumped up and been excited at the reaping to her exuberant bits of training Ignacius had seen around the center he was certain that she was insane. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Unpredictability had to be kept in check for things to stay in order. Get too crazy and you might have a heart attack. Reload. Move on.
“Hilarian Delacroix. Drugged.” Swipe. Swipe. Two forearms clunked to the floor, chopped off at the point of emission where most druggies chose to insert the liquid concentrations into their veins. Lars, with his dark circles, his drug detox, his love of fighting. He dulled the world around him and found the thrill when he was most close to death. A love of disorder could never produce anything positive for the world. Reload. Move on.
“Tobias Ether. Bitter.” Ignacius used his axe like a sculpting brush, cutting a slit where all of the ribs would have been in a human on the mannequin. Seeing her at the reaping, he detected her hardness towards the Capitol. Her anger at the way society was run in Panem. But it doesn’t help to preach something and then not do anything about it. Then you’re nothing better than a snake.
Ignacius reached to reload, and realized with a start that he had come to the end of his demonstration of his melee skills, and his defenses began to come down and he started to realize that he had just harmed twenty-three people. Sure, the actual things that he had cut up weren’t people, but the feelings he had put behind each swing were. He was disgusted with the reasons he had gave himself that justified harming someone to the point where they died. But he had shown the gamemakers and the president what he had in him. But he wasn’t done yet.
With the recall of his senses came the blinding pain from his injured leg. He looked down, and couldn’t tell his own blood from that of the mannequins. Telling himself to get a grip, he limped over to the first aid station and started fixing his wound.
Eight more minutes had passed by. He had three left to put himself back together.
First he grabbed the pair of tweezers, and removed the bullet from his leg. Grabbing some gauze, he mopped up the blood around the wound, and grabbed some of the antiseptic. From there he went through the motions of fixing up the wound, trying to get it to clot as fast as possible, coming in with the antiseptic and the gauze every once in a while. Once it stopped bleeding, he patched it up before placing a bandage over it all. Standing up, he ignored the pain, not stopping to grab some of the painkillers from the table. From what he had gone through the first time he had been shot, as well as the pain from the poison, this was nothing. It was almost as if the pain was natural. Now, with the bullet removed, his leg felt as it always did-like it was protesting against the fact that his body wasn’t perfect anymore.
Thirty more seconds before his fifteen minutes were up.
Walking with a mild limp over to the center of the room (he was adjusting to the pain as time went on), his eyes locked on the bloody massacre of the mannequins before him. The blood from the twenty-three was slowly seeping to cover the floor of the room and he felt it wash over his toes as he tried to regain his numbness and act like he didn’t hate himself inside. His eyes went blind as he looked at the scene.
Tilting his head upward to where he knew the balcony was, he said one message to the gamemakers and the president,
“Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful rest of the day.”
Ignacius’s tone had been sincere, for he really wanted them to have a good day. His eyesight returned, allowing him to see the blank faces of the adults. He had no idea what they were thinking.
Turning, he made his way out of the room, following the river of blood. Opening the doors, he stepped out into the hallway. Leaning down, he took of his blood-soaked shoes and socks, so he wouldn’t ruin the carpets on the way back to his suite. He smiled at the remaining tributes waiting outside the training center, and began his trek back to the suite. No doubt Margaret would freak and send for Marcus right away. But it was fine. He had fixed his leg up himself, and it would be fine by tomorrow. With every step he thought about the mannequins, and wondered if what he had done in there to demonstrate his first aid and melee skills was going to be worth it. He certainly hoped so. After all, he had left quite a big mess in the training center to be cleaned up.
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