I'm terrified (but I'm not leaving) [Kou and Zoe]

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DISTRICT TEN[/b]

“but there are some things, child, that you should steal. that you must steal, if you have enough love and courage in your heart. you must snatch freedom from the hands of the tyrant. you must spirit away innocent lives before they are destroyed. you must hide secret and sacred places.”

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This room reeks of potential. Scrambling for skills that take years to master in the space of a week doesn't seem worth the effort, but every minute spent learning here is another minute I could stay alive, fight through it, go home to Paige.

It hurts to think of her, watching me on a beat-up old television set, miles away from home and trapped in the glass casing beneath her fingers. Does she touch the screen when I appear? Does she see me being brave? Or can she see through my attempts at staying strong and just see a silly little girl trying to take on the world, no longer her valiant older sister who treks off to abandoned homes and brings home souvenirs? I blink away tears and the thought of her and walk quietly around the training centre pretending I'm on my best behaviour.

Really, I am, sitting and watching and listening and soaking everything in that I can. But you see, I've got a plan. A plan that sparked in my head as I trekked around the building, catching alight with twitching fingers and fuelling my gasoline ideas with every passing moment. It's not stealing if they don't belong to anybody I tell myself as if I were telling Paige all those years ago. It's just borrowing. I'll give them back later. Into my pockets goes a small knife from a pile of discarded weapons and a roll of masking tape - just enough to stay concealed and away from prying eyes. With the satisfaction of secrecy twitching against my lips and my precious treasure safe and sound, I carry on forward and force myself to learn. For Paige, I think. Do it for her.

An itch inside of me tugs at my strings and I let it guide me towards the nearest station. Instinct, I presume, is what will get me out alive. And it's all well and good if you can land a hit, but if you can't fix yourself up afterwards you've got no chance to survive - and up against Careers (even if they are younger than most, they're still more experienced than I'll ever be) I need every chance I can get. Hesitation refuses to exist whilst I'm here, so I take a seat beside a familiar face - Mantel, how could I forget? - and pick up a needle and thread to begin stitching up the broken body, forcing myself to forget that the real thing will be bloodier, scarier, and far more painful than this.

"Hello," I begin, not altering my line of vision from the needle and thread as I speak. "Up-chucked on anyone else yet?"

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DISTRICT TEN[/b]

“but there are some things, child, that you should steal. that you must steal, if you have enough love and courage in your heart. you must snatch freedom from the hands of the tyrant. you must spirit away innocent lives before they are destroyed. you must hide secret and sacred places.”

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I have never needed to stitch myself up, to mend the torn fragments of my skin or tend to an open wound. Despite Paige's frequent insisting I had thought there was nothing that a splash of water, a little plaster and a brave face could not fix. Images of children being sliced open by swords and struck down by arrows couldn't even twist my stubbornness to at least learn how to tie a bandage properly, yet now I'm in the firing line I scramble at knowledge and helplessly grasping at whatever I can learn.

Ignorance, in this place, is not my friend. Mimicking a previous demonstration my hands weave string through the leather-flesh of the dummy, cross-legged with the tip of my tongue sticking out in concentration as strands of orange hair fall against my face. Estimated amounts of pain rattle my thoughts as the needle pierces the dummy - in, out, in, out - simple enough, but I wonder how easy it will be when I'm stitching up my own skin instead. The thought settles grimly in the forefront of my brain and I shove it roughly to the side. When I get to pain I will get to it - but for now, my memory is the only tool I've got to get me by.

"N-no" Mantel stammers. I've almost forgotten I sat beside him and the blunt conversation starter I'd thrown into the air. He apologises, fighting words and nerves all at once. I don't think he's afraid of me, more of the memory I've just kick-started, but as much as I want to be sweet to the kid I know it's better to have more afraid of you than the alternative.

Regardless, I smile. "It's ok" I reply, pausing my handiwork to respond. "At least you'll be memorable. Nothing bad about that, right?"

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