Kaiser Fray -- D1

Pale eyes fixed themselves on the alcohol sloshing inside of the shot glass as Kaiser's head bounced gently to the beat of the party music. He lifted the rim to his plump lips and tipped it back, wearing a disguise of indifference as the liquid scorched his throat and slithered into his churning stomach. The sweaty bodies surrounding him were swaying unevenly to the music, evidence of the poison working its magic on the spoiled miscreants of district one. Career parties never failed to entertain. Place a handful of good-looking, arrogant adolescents like himself in one house, and what do you get? Angry sex, drinking contests and laughable idiocy. It made partying one of Kaiser's favorite pastimes. He was one of the assholes, though - the type who cackled at others' pain and humiliation when they tripped in a drunken stupor or passed out on the nearest sofa. And why shouldn't he? They were the ones unable to control themselves, not him. He should be allowed to snicker at their misfortune without judgement.

As he tossed the glass over his broad shoulder, too occupied to care where it landed, he stretched his hefty arms above his spiked brown hair and browsed the crowd for familiar faces. In the word of careers there were too many names to memorize and too many faces to recognize, but each had their own unique reputation. Kaiser preferred to organize them into categories; first, there were the good, loyal careers, the ones who followed parents' orders and focused only on their training to become the golden boys and girls of Panem's proudest district. Next there were the naughty careers; the cocky, nasty bastards who bullied their way to the top and played dirty for attention. They were just as powerful as the good careers, except their levels of ferocity and confidence turned them into savages when they entered the arena. Depending on the situation, it either led to their demise or paved the road to a blood-spattered victory.

Then, there were people like Kaiser and Scout, his twin sister.

They were murderers. Not assassins, mind you, but twisted between the ears. Their vicious tendencies left the training center and followed them into the streets where their beatings hearts craved stranger's blood and their hands wrapped themselves firmly around tainted knives. Career training just wasn't enough. Who wanted to slash at dummies all day and night? It wouldn't matter unless one gained some real experience in the art of killing, and what better way to do that than by slitting the throats of ignorant competition? Murder was not unheard of in district one - hell, by now it was hardly a taboo. It was just something that happened, because there would always be some naive girl or overconfident boy with enough foolish bravery to walk the streets in the evenings. Most careers knew better than to wander the streets alone; unless, of course, that career happened to be the prowler himself, like Kaiser. With all of those impressive family names battling for fame (Moreno, Shore, Lightwood, Dempsey, etc) there was bound to be bloodshed within and between families. But when they weren't at each others throats they were here, gulping alcohol and acting like fools. It was a hell of a good time, if you asked him. Especially when all of those arrogant boys and girls lost their sense of dignity and stripped themselves clean.

Speaking of idiots losing their dignity, a boy suddenly came stumbling away from the dance floor with a drink spilling in his hand. As soon as he was out of range of the flailing limbs his foot caught a wire and he went crashing to the floor, forehead smacking against the corner of a table in the process of his awkward tumble. Blood trickled from a slash above his eyebrow, and Kaiser was very fortunate that he had finished his drink beforehand or else he would've sputtered. He roared with obnoxious laughter and slapped his hand across his thigh, evidently tickled by the cruel hilarity of the boy's predicament. Naturally, the victim did not react kindly.

"Do you have a problem, asshole?"

Wow, asshole. How original.

Kaiser smirked in response to the boy's petty glare. It was like a puppy yapping at a full grown lion. "Yeah," he said, folding his thick arms across his chest. "Your head isn't bleeding enough." When the intoxicated runt stood up Kaiser realized that he was only an inch taller, but definitely a lot broader. It was another quality besides his handsome visage (other than that irritating square jaw) he could take pride in.

"You wanna go, punk?"

Punk, seriously? Kaiser's bicep was thicker than the boy's waist. And he was supposed to be the punk?

"Go where?" He mimicked a baffled expression and looked around, obviously trying his best to be a colossal asshat and rile the kid up. Judging by the boys flushed cheeks and scowling face, it was working. "You must think you're fucking hilarious, don't you?" The boy continued, trying to wipe blood on the back of his sleeve. The mere sight of the oozing red delicacy made his fingers twitch. "Don't forget good-looking," he said with a white smile, tone thick like poisoned honey. The retort wasn't just any witty remark; he knew he was handsome. The prominent cheek bones, the pearly whites, the chiseled torso, the toned legs - he was obviously a very fit career, and he was pleased with his physique. So maybe the Frays were not as famous as the Shores (probably because they're named after fucking stones, just like Topaz), but that didn't ban his right to feel vain about his progress as a career. His family was fairly large; seven siblings (Kellan, Sterling, Labyrinth, Scout, Justice, Pillar, Sophie), eight children, all aspiring to be careers. But Kaiser and his twin were the only real killers. The rest of their siblings were just like everybody else: Boring.

"I bet I could take you."

This kid wasn't all that boring, though.

"The only thing you need to take is a seat, tiger," he said, finger tapping patiently against the skin of his bicep. "Before you hurt yourself again." The way he said it was challenging. He wanted to boil the boy's blood so he could spice up his night with a little career-on-runt action. He wouldn't kill him - there would too many witnesses for that, and it wouldn't be fun if he couldn't take his time watching the boy bleed out in the privacy of a closet (and then there's that whole "discovery and evidence" crap. Yeah, gotta keep this a secret, you know?). He would just rough him up a bit, maybe break his nose, watch a little blood dribble out of his nostrils. That was the problem with Kaiser and Scout: their blood lust was unique, to say the least. Their victim's blood was like a pyromaniac's fire, and they could never get enough of it. That was usually why Kaiser slashed arteries. It was a bit too quick (Scout complained about that. She enjoyed screaming, apparently), but very satisfying in the long run.

Why, you ask?

That's a stupid question. Moving on.

"Oh yeah?" said the haughty little bastard, and that was it. Kaiser knew he was about to lunge, and when he did it was almost comical. With the alcohol coursing through his blood stream he was in no condition to be challenging him to a duel at somebody else's party. That would end with an embarrassing loss, he would make sure of that. As soon as the kid swung at him he side-stepped and shifted his foot forward to trip him. The boy fell for his little trick - literally. He stumbled into the nearest wall and collapsed before he could say another word. Kaiser just laughed.

A few loitering teens had caught sight of the commotion and were now his audience. He could tell some of them were already judging him for taking advantage of a drunk's weakened senses, but it wasn't his fault the idiot couldn't get a grip. "Trust me, he was asking for it." But that was the problem - one couldn't really trust Kaiser. It wasn't as if he were dishonest - he definitely isn't afraid of telling the truth - but he was irresponsible. Obnoxious. A bully to his very core, and when was it ever safe to trust a bully?

To his dismay, the boy passed out before he could retaliate. Oops. It might've been the alcohol or the thump to the head, he didn't really care, and neither did anyone else. They merely shrugged their shoulders and returned to their states of ecstasy and tranquility. Kaiser decided to do the same because hell, that was why he was here, right? He may be a career but a career with no social life was completely boring.

Plus, he needed to make more enemies. More enemies meant more victims, and more victims meant more blood.

That was all he ever really wanted.