#docstarters

[thebabyboyofdistrictnine-blog]

edges of the world || open

Skene already knew he was up for a sleepless night before he had even gotten into his bed. As he curled up under the thick blanket, eyes trained on the enormous window that took up the entirety of the wall, he reached out towards the side table near him to find a small piece of metal. He ran his thumb over the surface of the metal, surprised to see the image on the screen shift, between a moving video of Capitolites wandering to a forest, then a view of the ocean, something he had never seen before and was fascinated by, watching the waves lap at the sand. Somehow the remote slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, switching immediately to a field of golden grain, wind ruffling through the shimmering wheat.

A gasp caught in his throat and he stood up, the thick comforter falling away from him. Skene slid out of bed, his bare feet padding gently on the floor as he reached out, as if hoping he could jump through the window back into his home, opening his eyes because all of this was just a terrible dream.

A cold shock of reality hit him as his fingers were met with the cold glass, and he felt his eyes line with hot, disappointed tears as he pulled his hand back, swallowing hard as he blinked slowly, turning to leave the room. He walked through the apartment, and was about to crawl onto the couch and cry when he realized that he didn’t want to be found by his district partner or his stylist or anyone at all, so Skene headed past the main room to the elevator, hitting the button that had an L imprinted on it.

The doors opened to a room with large windows lining the walls, couches and drapes and carpets-- the sitting room where the tributes could rest between training hours. Skene crawled onto the closest couch and curled up into the smallest ball possible, eyebrows furled tight as he forced his sobs down. The small boy squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he heard soft footsteps along the carpet, clenching his hands into fists and hoping that they wouldn’t take notice of him.

[novaesox-d10-blog]

Archery. It had never seemed that hard, at least not when Nova had watched others try their hand at it. Now however, her arrow never quite wanted to rest against the bow, and when it finally did, she could never let it soar without it falling to the ground barely a meter away. Sighing in exasperation, she picked up the fallen arrow, squinting at the target once more, only to find someone standing in the way.

         “Um- Excuse me, would you mind moving?”

[4xhonora]

     Body aching and dried sweat making her scalp itchy, Honora was in high time for a break, though a part of her wanting to keep pushing herself. Calluses had grown over calluses on her able hands, and muscles she hadn’t realized were there throbbed. Any more and she’d collapse. Training had become a coping mechanism for her as of late, working too hard to think of anything but continuing to breath. Moments of silence and stillness, such as the one she was trying to enjoy now, were when the fear about the Games set in. 

     Heaving a sight, Honora ran her hands over her face, letting them rest over her eyes as she hunched, elbows on her knees, on the couch. Exhausted, and duly so. The day was nearing an end, both to her relief and disappointment. “At this point, all I have yet to try is the hand-to-hand combat,” The girl spoke up, letting her hands fall from her face to give a weak smile at the other sitting off to the side, enjoying just watching for a minute. “But, then again, I think that everyone got to see more than enough of that to last a life time.”

[thebabyboyofdistrictnine-blog]

soften the blow || open

The hand to hand combat station looked interesting. From his vantage point sitting atop one of the trees in the forest and peering over to look at all the different stations, Skene could see one of the trainers coaching a tribute he didn’t know through a series of blows-- kicks, punches, and the like-- and from the looks of it, the dummy was getting rather beat up. After the other tribute had left, Skene clambered down the tree and over to the station, looking up at the trainer. “Can you show me how to do that too?”

After what seemed like forever of going through forms and the trainer adjusting the tightness of his fists and the angle of his fists and how to block and protect himself (which the trainer insisted would be best for Skene’s...particular body type), he was pushed into the small area designated for the tributes to fight, and another tribute entered the ring at about the same moment. He put his hands up the way he had been shown, trying his hardest not to back out of the circle. 

“Hello,” he said with a weak little smile. “Are you gonna punch me?”

[silviadanby-blog]

“‘s really pretty simple,” Silvia said in a friendly tone after watching the other person reading the instructions on the fire-making station. Since Silvia’s younger brother lost the (expensive) lighter the Danby family had always used to light their fireplace, she had become a pro at lighting fires. It was different here, but the idea was the same, and she’d adjusted in no time at all, just finalizing her technique. “I can show you some tricks if you want?”

[silviadanby-blog]

After probably at least 45 minutes at the hammock station where Silvia had decided to take a mental break (it was easy and the weaving reminded her of home), she thought it was finally time to try her hand at the knives. She’d been eyeing them for a while, but now since most people had moved onto swords or something much bigger, she had taken this as her chance. She stepped up, fingers grazing the handle of a small one as she watched the person in front of her picking up theirs, presumably done or preparing to start again. “You’re not bad,” Silvia spoke in a friendly tone, though she hadn’t actually seen anything they’d done.

[erik11wyse-blog]

--   Erik flicked another almond into his mouth. He’d been sitting at the top of a tree in the interactive forest for twenty minutes now, and people had yet to notice- he wasn’t sure if it was because they were all busy or if they genuinely had the observational skills of a toddler. He vaguely recalled when his brother was a year old. Moving too fast in front of him- which meant anything along the lines of taking more than one step every five seconds- had the poor child losing sight of Erik.

      Amused at the imagery of twenty-four one-year-olds fighting over nothing in particular, Erik threw another almond in his mouth. The battle of the century. Or the battle that’ll take a century, considering how bloody fast-paced babies were.

      A tribute walked next to the forest, inspecting it. Erik flicked an almond at them, which struck straight in the centre of their nape.

      “Good morning,” he said, watching them from seven feet up. He held his palm towards them. “Almonds?”

[thebabyboyofdistrictnine-blog]

cut me open || open

It was the first day of training, and, in both an attempt to avoid people and build on something he was actually good on, Skene was hidden in the back of the Training Center, clutching a scythe and examining it quietly, the cool metal strange and light in his hands as he swung it in a slight arc, testing the weight before quietly slipping into the glass chamber, watching as the trainer set the difficulty levels to easy, then give him a thumbs up at the holograms started running towards him.

He darted out instinctively, fear tearing a veil over his senses, the weapon swinging like a natural extension of his body, slicing each of his holographic attackers in half, letting them crumble to bits at his feet. His blade hooked around ankles, sending bodies toppling, behind kneecaps, in the soft, fleshy bit between rib age and hipbones, around gleaming golden necks--

On and on they came, and Skene could feel himself crying, hot tears spilling down his cheeks as he lashed out desperately at the humanoid forms running at him. His vision was going blurry and wet as he shoved the end of the blade through a chest, ramming the end of the handle against someone's head as he did so. Both bodies crumbled away, and before Skene could even wipe his tears, the trainer upped the difficulty level, and now the golden, faceless bodies came swinging holographic swords and shooting arrows and the small boy ducked away, weapon clattering to the floor at his feet as he curled himself up in a ball on the small pad in the center of the room, feeling the heat of the holographic sword swing down on his neck before dissolving away, the glass door swinging open as he sat up shakily, rubbing at his eyes.

God, of course. First day of training and here he was crying on the floor, Skene knew that he looked completely pathetic to the tribute coming in to talk to him. "Did y-you need the room?" he asked in a small, shaky voice, still facing away from them as he got to his feet."I can go."