Just To Toss A Few Knives... [Meghan]

Scratched arms cross ever-so-casually over themselves as the bored hunter stands among the always focused careers. His unlit cigarette is perched between chapped lips, its stale taste whispering promises to its still owner. He lights a match and emerges from the shadows, ignoring any protest a stray trainer or two may have sent his way. A girl stands between him and the wall where he had initially intended to introduce to a sharp knife. Whatever. This new target was just as mind-dulling as the blank slate of cement would have been to him, what difference did it make to the boy?

He takes a hit from the now blazing chemicals, and turns the edges of his cracked lips up in a sure smirk. Still inhaling, his hand reaches into his belt and he extracts the random blade he had grabbed on his way into the large center. He throws it, hard, towards the wall and watches it sail past the girls head. Laughter falls through his core as he watches for the girls reaction.

"Watch out, sweetheart. You could get hurt."

The drone responded with a typical spurt of sarcasm and bite. All it accomplished was to further the hunter's stark laughter as he observed her shaking form. "Maybe you should look in a mirror, dearie. Aren't we all idiots around here?" He took another drag of his addiction and closed the heavy lids of his dark eyes. It was best to not interrupt the calming effects of an especially strong spurt of nicotine. He stood complacently as the knife whizzed past his head with surprising accuracy. She was a good career, even if that was the only thing he could credit to her at the given moment.

"I don't believe in common sense." He responded about a minute later. "You either use your brain or you don't. Simple as that." His cigarette was all too quickly disappearing.

"Really?" The hunter laughed again, a short staccato chuckle, like dripping ice.

Inhale. The static flow of polluted air flies into his chest and expands, one puff closer to his inescapable death.

Exhale. Cool death fills the circle of air in the quiet training room. Only the sound of the steady whistle of thrown knives can be heard in the claustrophobic corner the pair shared.

Inhale.

Exhale.

The hunter raised an eyebrow as the drone rambled on about living life to the fullest and other similar foolishness. He only half listened, more focused on the glance of silver metal as the knife soared, as well his steady consumption of his death. The girl turned herself to face him once again, a stupid smile plastered on her stupid face.

"That's why I get ready to try and volunteer for the most daring adventure in life . . . The Hunger Games."

The boy snorted then doubled over in the craziest laugh yet. He laughed so long that his ribs shook and his throat was raspy from exhortation. When he finally finished, albeit the occasional chuckle the girl was still standing there.

"What?" He asked her in genuine surprise. "You were lecturing me on cutting my life in two and then you go and suggest that volunteering for the Hunger Games is a good idea." A splutter of his sheer amusement escaped his dry lips and he smacked his free hand on the smooth wall behind him. "Oh, darling, thanks for giving me a laugh."