;First Aid Blitz; {Xanthus/Florence}

I've never quite understood the prospect of healing. People paste things to you and then it happens. I suppose that's why I'm here then, learning about why pasting things to skin works so well. I can see the other so called 'careers' nearby, tossing blades at targets and looking tough. All of them amplify their own prowess, act strong. I look to be the soft idiot, quietly working on the prone body of a dummy. Still, Peridot Myler's words seem to echo around my head, "Ally with a lower district, don't be all high and mighty, trust me, it's worth it," he said. He looked pretty upset about that fact, so at that point I got as far away from him as possible. This resulted in my being in the basement, leaving him to look sullen and tragic somewhere far from me. I am meant to be the tragic one. Besides the fact that I was beginning to question if his victor's blood would give me more power? He was beginning to look too delectable. However, I do believe it is in bad taste to drink your mentor's blood.

Still, looking at this group, I cannot fathom what he meant. I look across the group, at skeletal weaklings, tiny children from underfed districts. I feel like a giant among men, if I took a step, I could accidentally kill them all. Last I measured I was somewhere over six feet; I think I saw someone who came up to my waist. I still want to taste the force of their life upon my lips. I want to drink them all dry, to attempt to quench this insatiable thirst. My fingers clench, wrapping around the bandage I'm working on, crumpling it, twisting it. I twist everything. Where I come from, it is something to be proud of. Where my mother came from, it is not. I am a boy of mixed confusion, unable to understand where I am going and where I have been. I only know my thirst for life, and my hunger for vengeance. I cannot die before I kill the men and women who killed my father and mother, and if that means allying with a nobody from the lower districts, then so be it.

In annoyance at my emotional outburst, I straighten the bandage carefully, pressing it back into shape. My tools lay neatly lined up outside of the box, and everything, as far as I can tell seems orderly. That calms me. I also quite like the bottle of sanitarian that comes in the first aid pack. It makes me feel more comfortable, safer. Perhaps I missed my calling.