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Archer 4444444444444

Giovanni almost looked disappointed, unsure of if the comment had gone over Archer’s head or just…been quickly brushed off. “Definitely.” He intentionally kept his gaze on the target. Giovanni had always been flirtatious with practically everyone, but he supposed it didn’t have the same effects when you were doing it with people who were either expecting you to die or expecting to die themselves.

He gave the other a grin as the knife finally hit the mark, becoming even more satisfied that he had chosen to ally with the tribute. “How does Distirct 3…handle that, anyways? How do you guys treat victors?” Giovanni already knew how victors. were treated in his own district. Like some sort of weird Roman war gods, wholeheartedly congratulated for doing what was already expected of them the moment they were picked for the Reaping.

His own mentors had been rather…plentiful, considering District 2’s large win pool. He didn’t learn much that he hadn’t already known. The only reason for that was because many victors already participated in the training of careers.

At Archer’s statement, he paused thoughtfully, biting his lip. “I would hate being in the Capitol. It sounds nice and extravagant, but if anyone expects me to dye any part of my body some bright blue or pink, they’re going to die. And I expect none of them are very keen on fighting, because they’re too busy doing weird shit to themselves to think about lobbing a punch or stab at the person they dislike.” He curled his lips in disgust. Giovanni, now wanting to throw even more things, picked up the spear that he had been inspecting earlier and launching it across the room to hit a further away target. A nearby peacekeeper turned their head in what Giovanni assumed was a glare. Probably worried that he’d get too cocky and accidentally hit someone.

Rules had been quite strict on whether they were allowed to “accidentally” kill anyone before the games began, unfortunately.

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Archer swept another gaze across the room, ignoring the thrown objects that now littered the targets. There wasn't much else to do besides throw things around and press buttons.

Or argue, he noted, observing that the three who had previously caused sudden uproar had now parted.

He watched in fair amusement as a peacekeeper shot Giovanni a glare. "You could always ask him about Capitol experience," he suggested halfheartedly, cocking his head towards the peacekeeper. "I'm sure he has a lot to share."

Idle conversation became a bore rather quickly, but it was certainly better than pushing wires together. Even if Archer was good at it-- made him wonder if he'd be doing exactly that as a victor. The thought displeased him, lips contorting to a slim frown.

"Our victors...." He paused in thought. "A couple work for the Capitol, a couple lock themselves away in their houses. We don't usually see much of them." Until now, of course. There weren't very many, and none of them had been very enthusiastic about being dragged back out to coach new tributes.

"I'm going to get a drink. Or something." He led himself over towards a nearby vending machine, leaving the other behind him. The selection was...poor, to say the least, but the machine had been painted a nice shade of blue.

...Was it paint? He couldn't really tell.

He pressed in the numbers that would give him a bottle of water, but found himself slightly frustrated when the bottle got stuck halfway through it's drop. How poignant. Weren't Capitol machines supposed to function correctly?

Well. Whatever. They'd probably have dinner soon enough anyway.

pinkpyromania

capitalism: no

communism: no

anarchy: yes

gayvanni

Archer 4444444444444

gayvanni

Giovanni shrugged. “I personally would have loved to see your face,” he breezily responded with a raised eyebrow and a subtle simper. Quickly clearing his throat after a few seconds, he began pulling out one of the spears carefully, trying to figure out whether it had been used in past games or not. It gave him an odd sort of thrill to face the possibility that he was holding a weapon that had already killed others before he even laid hands on it.

Good to know Archer wasn’t one of the annoying rebel-types who thought they’d make their way to the top of life by openly spitting on the Capitol. He watched Archer’s stance with great interest, head tilted observantly. “…I find them fun to watch and probably even more fun to participate in, especially since they’re my only shot at having a life even close to what the Capitol lives,” he finally said after a moment, absolutely not disguising any of his eagerness to get into the arena.

Even Giovanni held some sort of suspense when the knife was thrown, shrugging in only slight disappointment when it hadn’t hit the mark. Although he already knew his own skill in something as simple as throwing a knife at a static target, he picked one up himself anyways, quickly standing next to Archer, taking only a few short seconds to aim, and nearly hitting dead center. It may have looked impressive, but it was just the result of some vigorous past training. Trying to get so accurate with anything that wasn’t just sitting there in place (unlike any real target ever would) was far, far harder. “At least you actually hit close to the center. I’ve seen some of the other tributes not even touch the target itself at all,” Giovanni snorted.

"I don’t like the idea of how gleefully the Capitol celebrates the Games, but then again, that makes me a hypocrite."

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Coldly determined to pierce the center of his target, he nearly missed the remark. He stared blankly at the other for a second or so before directing his attention back towards the target. He couldn't really confirm if it was another attempt at flattering, or if it was a genuine statement. "It's better anyway that you see my face now, rather than illuminated by tasteless lights."

Well. Alright.

Though Giovanni only took a few moments to perfect his stance, it was enough time for Archer to check and correct his own mistakes in his previous throw.

Right. Next time. Next time for sure.

"Winner does get shrouded in luxury of course, but anything beyond that is nothing more than a rumor. You'd have to get a good lot of information out of your district's victors. And even then, it's always questionable." No way to find out other then to win. "There's only so much they're allowed to say."

He imagined his district's own victors were only around for moral support. Their advice had been quite bland-- not that he really relied on any of it.

"I'd prefer to hit the center of the target, but the support is appreciated." Copying the stance Giovanni had taken previously, he threw another knife at the object.

Ah. How satisfying.

The Capitol's celebration of the games was indeed rather...odd, to say the least. He supposed that when you have nothing better to do than wonder about what color you'll dye your hair next, your life would ache for a bit of excitement. From what he'd observed, the games were treated as more of a drama of some sorts rather than a handful of people murdering one another.

"Who's to say neither of us wouldn't gleefully celebrate the games as proud Capitol members?" he questioned, voice dry. "Gleefully ignorant. Wearing... whatever it is they wear."

whta if i started using chihiro icons. where is your executive now

gayvanni

Archer 4444444444444

gayvanni

"I use trust loosely here. It means I believe you’re far less likely to slash my throat in the middle of the night than the aggressive pink hair squad over there." Honestly, he hoped he was using his judgement correctly. His smirk widened, though, nodding in Giovanni did better around quiet people anyways, oddly. Gave him more room to effectively state his own ideas on thing

"I tend to find everyone approachable." Mainly because he felt more intimidating than everyone else. He tilted his head, humming thoughtfully. "Flattered is good." Giovanni, apparently getting rather bored of just standing there, easily stood straight up again, browsing in mild interest through the different spears.

"What do you think of the Games? Out of curiosity." Idle conversation, since it’d be best to establish a sense of friendship with his new-found ally. "I mean, I watched your interview, but…you didn’t exactly say much." He had looked nice, though. "It was hard to see you through all of the lights, too. That was kind of a shame. Seemed like a waste of an outfit if you can’t even see the tributes faces." A soft upturn of the lips as Giovanni’s hand idly traced one of the tips of the spears, noting with contempt that many of the edges were dull and not up to par.

Giovanni himself had been given a design rather typical of District 2—warlike, bold, intimidating. A stark contrast to Giovanni’s smooth, confident, charming interview, giving a smile and giving a false act of friendliness. Just as he had been trained to. Not like acting friendly and socializing was difficult for him. Giovanni just had to be less obvious about how little he cared about most of the lives around him.

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Less likely to slash his throat. I suppose I'll take that as a compliment.

A frown tainted the tip of his lips as their costumes were mentioned. He had tried his best to not care for the duration he was forced to wear it, but one could not help the itch to shield one's face should one be unwillingly decorated like some sort of unflattering Christmas tree. "Perh+aps it's better that our faces weren't seen," he muttered, silently cursing the design team under his breath.

"As for the games..." He echoed the question aloud, his tone shifting cooly. "I think it's a very...exaggerated method to assure power. But it works." He picked a knife from the rack, throwing another gaze towards the target he had previously been drilling at. "I cant say I like the idea of being forced into the arena to fight to my death, but there's not much I can do about it now." He mirrored a stance he had seen a previous tribute take in the games afore their current one, which had ended up piercing the neck of another tribute. "And yourself? You spend the majority of your life in preparation for this, after all."

His aim had improved-- but sadly the knife was not a spear, and he had misjudged the distance between him and his target. Archer let out a faint breath of irritation as his knife ended up pricked a hair off the target's midpoint.

Dammit.

Next time. He'd hit the center next time.