Just Push the Start // Valerie

I'm a slacker, go whichever way the wind blows
Those just tuning in I'm just letting' you know
That I'm a slacker

Matador pushed the door from the boy's locker room into the training center proper, grateful for the blast of cold. They didn't have good air conditioning in District Two, but any energy that could be spared went to the training center. Not the locker rooms though, which were not only suffocatingly windowless, but also constantly damp from the showers. He had been tempted to walk out naked, but that wasn't his angle for the Games. He left that stuff to the girls, who seemed to get more sponsorship from such antics. He wasn't above it, just didn't seem worth his time.

Matador turned his sharp chin up, catching the blast of air right in the face. It felt like the beads of sweat on his forehead crystallized, which was damn near heavenly. He drew in a deep breath, his roman nose flaring, before he opened his eyes.

In the middle of an afternoon on the weekend the center was busy, but not bursting like it was right before and after school. Presumably some people - even Careers - had other things to do. Not Matador. If he wasn't strong, nimble, and able, he wasn't anything at all. He would never be massive, and he would never be the fastest, but he just might have the best combination of skills in the center, and at eighteen, this was his chance. He left the complicated rules and bribing for that coveted position to his family and mentor. This was all he needed to do.

Matador started at the cardio section, pumping his legs and his heart through a grueling series of intervals. It was numbing, which was all he wanted. To be blank, to be empty. He ran and he ran, the miles passing in minutes, his body in perfect alignment, up imaginary hills and down. Nothing could touch him there, and he forgot all about the training center until the machine reached the cooldown period and beeped at him. He grabbed his towel, scrubbed his face and neck clean of salt and sweat, and moved onto the next station.

He wasn't alone here. That's why he liked the cardio machines; only one person could use them at a time. He eyed the girl, who certainly had a lot of hair. From the side, he couldn't quite decide if she would be considered attractive or not. It didn't strictly matter to him, of course; his mentor wouldn't allow him to date, and Matador had never met anyone who would've been worth the hassle and distraction. Still, he thought about it, because he didn't want to associate with anyone beneath him.

In the end he decided they could share a station. Matador dipped his hands into the chalk, pressing the white puffs into his palms as he watched the girl, unabashedly sizing her up. "What's your name?" He asked after studying her, wondering if her family would measure up as well.