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the people's elbow - {xov + marcellus}
Jan 31, 2024 15:30:00 GMT -5
Post by xov thao 12b [Bella] on Jan 31, 2024 15:30:00 GMT -5
X O V t h a o
Xov had slept like a baby in the softest bed she had ever felt, a plush, feathered nest that was three times bigger than what she slept in back home. When she settled in the night before, her body aching from travel, she remembered wondering if anyone actually needed that many pillows—there were easily eight of them. But she woke free of pain, with a new appreciation for this one particular luxury.
Breakfast was a fragrant spread of fresh bread, scrambled eggs, jam, fruit, and some other things she couldn’t quite put a name to. Her favorite was a thick brown spread that looked like peanut butter but tasted like shortbread cookies. Four pieces of crusty bread slathered in that stuff—it was so good she had to close her eyes to hold it in. All her life, she had heard constant warnings about the sin of gluttony--always leave one bite on your plate to tell the gods you received more than enough!—but she was tempted to sweep it all under the rug here and now. Still she left a bit on her plate for good luck, never able to shake the feeling that she was being watched by someone.
The expectant gaze of her ancestors followed her into the training center. She was used to that feeling, like a light breeze on the back of her neck.
It was almost like walking onto the set of a horror movie, although the place seemed to have been remodeled since the last Games. She pictured a quick change, like in a play, lights out as the stage hands moved the equipment and changed the backdrop. It just added to that feeling that every step she took towards the arena brought with it the necessity to perform. All the world’s a stage, said an old poet in her head, whose name escaped her. The audience, clothed in the garish regalia of the Capitol, stood on a protected mezzanine above them—the other side of the fourth wall.
There were so many stations, so many unfamiliar skills, that it was overwhelming and a little daunting. Xov didn’t know what half of these things were called, let alone where to start—only that she had much more to learn than she already knew. At least she had plant identification under her belt, thanks to her mother. She thought maybe she would take a combat class, since her only experience with fighting was the wrestling she’d done with her siblings in the backyard.
Xov felt herself drawn to the weight machines with their complex system of ropes, pulleys, and metal. Fascination pulled her to the station, and she stood there watching a tall, muscular-looking tribute with a buzz cut as he lay supine on a padded bench, holding a steel bar with two heavy circles of metal pinned on each end. Bench pressing was familiar enough—she had seen her older brother doing it once or twice with makeshift weights fashioned from wood and cement.
Remembering something Alang had told her, she dared to step behind the bench where the crown of his head was. ”Hey. Benching without a spotter?” She held out her skinny hands beneath the moving bar and found herself smiling at the irony. ”I might not look that strong, but I will definitely give this bar a strong talking-to if it falls on you.“
Xov had slept like a baby in the softest bed she had ever felt, a plush, feathered nest that was three times bigger than what she slept in back home. When she settled in the night before, her body aching from travel, she remembered wondering if anyone actually needed that many pillows—there were easily eight of them. But she woke free of pain, with a new appreciation for this one particular luxury.
Breakfast was a fragrant spread of fresh bread, scrambled eggs, jam, fruit, and some other things she couldn’t quite put a name to. Her favorite was a thick brown spread that looked like peanut butter but tasted like shortbread cookies. Four pieces of crusty bread slathered in that stuff—it was so good she had to close her eyes to hold it in. All her life, she had heard constant warnings about the sin of gluttony--always leave one bite on your plate to tell the gods you received more than enough!—but she was tempted to sweep it all under the rug here and now. Still she left a bit on her plate for good luck, never able to shake the feeling that she was being watched by someone.
The expectant gaze of her ancestors followed her into the training center. She was used to that feeling, like a light breeze on the back of her neck.
It was almost like walking onto the set of a horror movie, although the place seemed to have been remodeled since the last Games. She pictured a quick change, like in a play, lights out as the stage hands moved the equipment and changed the backdrop. It just added to that feeling that every step she took towards the arena brought with it the necessity to perform. All the world’s a stage, said an old poet in her head, whose name escaped her. The audience, clothed in the garish regalia of the Capitol, stood on a protected mezzanine above them—the other side of the fourth wall.
There were so many stations, so many unfamiliar skills, that it was overwhelming and a little daunting. Xov didn’t know what half of these things were called, let alone where to start—only that she had much more to learn than she already knew. At least she had plant identification under her belt, thanks to her mother. She thought maybe she would take a combat class, since her only experience with fighting was the wrestling she’d done with her siblings in the backyard.
Xov felt herself drawn to the weight machines with their complex system of ropes, pulleys, and metal. Fascination pulled her to the station, and she stood there watching a tall, muscular-looking tribute with a buzz cut as he lay supine on a padded bench, holding a steel bar with two heavy circles of metal pinned on each end. Bench pressing was familiar enough—she had seen her older brother doing it once or twice with makeshift weights fashioned from wood and cement.
Remembering something Alang had told her, she dared to step behind the bench where the crown of his head was. ”Hey. Benching without a spotter?” She held out her skinny hands beneath the moving bar and found herself smiling at the irony. ”I might not look that strong, but I will definitely give this bar a strong talking-to if it falls on you.“
