careless // rook // Victory Tour
Jan 5, 2015 19:22:12 GMT -5
Post by ali on Jan 5, 2015 19:22:12 GMT -5
♤ Canaria Grey ♤
I let out a heavy, unnecessary sigh as people talk quietly around me. I look round at all of them, as we wait for Patricia Valiferno to appear on stage, and I frown slightly at them. Why does anyone even come to this stupid thing? I wonder to myself absently for a moment before my mind reminds me – Oh right yeah, cause we have no choice. Just like I have no choice in whether I got to Ballet after school Monday through Friday, only if I don’t attend ballet I’ll only get a scolding and possibly a grounding. Fuck knows what’d happen if you didn’t attend this; I’d rather not find out. It’s something that isn’t taught in schools, its just widely accepted by the mass population but I wonder if people question it. They must? Right?
I am bought out from my train of thought as a low rumble of clapping begins. It’s a pathetic round of applause as the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games appears on stage. She is a tall, pale thing but not the sickly pale my skin is. No, her skin has a soft pinkish hue to it and its almost as if someone decided to smother her in blusher to make her skin appear more alive but put it in all the wrong places. Her arms are long, almost as long as her skinny legs that carry her body up the steps and to the podium where she stands still as a statue; the wind blows but her amber red hair remains untouched and stays perfect. Her face is also, perfect, of imperfections such as sits and scratches she may have received in the arena- they are all gone. It’s a shame they couldn’t have hollowed her cheeks out, it would make her look less like a skull with skin and some- but very little- muscle stretched over the top.
She smiles falsely, like I do during my Ballet recitles, and begins ‘her ‘ speech. Yet as she begins, I hear the words rolling off the top of my head before her lips even move to make the next sound-
"Thank you, District Two, am pleased to be standing here today as Victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games."
People clap, out of courtesy, but they themselves are few. Mainly Careers who dream of being in her position. I despise them greatly- they say the have passion for fighting but what they do in the training centre isn’t fighting; they hit dummy’s with sticks and occasionally spar with blunted swords but that’s about it. They wouldn’t know how to take someone down with their bare thighs if they fucking tried. They may know how to punch and duck but do they know how to analyse someone’s movements to suit their next attack? Probably not- after all, they’re just angry kids looking for stardom.
"But my Victory is not without sacrifice. Your District lost two Tributes,”
Boohoo, I think to myself as she speaks again
“Valerie Leotos and Asa Reau were both strong fighters, and did your District proud. However, we must not forget why they had to be sacrificed. We all owe a debt to the Capitol, and this is how we pay it."
"Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever." She says, and I say it with her, mumbled and under my breath as I roll my eyes. As the anthem plays I am first to turn to leave- all I want is to get home to my room and lie in bed thinking about boxing and more boxing and more boxing but someone grabs my arm.
“Where do you think you’re going young lady?” my mother raises an eyebrow at my questionable actions
“To the dance studio” I lie through my teeth, biting my tongue in the hope that she'll believe me.
“Alright-“ she begins, a big and ugly smile forming on her face, “-I will be heading home. Have a good time, do you know what time you-”
Her words trail off as I head off through the crowd of people who are stilling milling around like idiots. I pass a group of people, huddled around and they all seem excited and, again, most of them are Careers or family of Careers or rich business owners who have little Career children. It sickens me that some of the kids that stand in the circle, aged 12 at the youngest, are training to fight in a games they’ll probably never get to see or die anyway if they do get curse with the chance. What a waste of someone’s life.
And yet, after retrieving my holdall from the house, I find myself walking up the glistening marble steps of their shrine- the Career Institute. A sleek, glass building that seems to have been cleaned for the arrival of the Victor. I snort. My District is so far up its own arse that it practically kisses the feet of any Victor who happens to step foot into the District, whether it be one of our own or some lowly District. I never really got the appeal of murders, if you could even call Victors that.
More Careers are buzzing about busily, like bees, inside their huge glass hive. They throw limp punches, kick punching bags weakly, wack old and smelly plastic dummy's with 'swords' which are (in reality) just heavy sticks. I roll my eyes at them and their blindness to reality. How does that girl think she's going to take someone down with that throw? I stare at some tall, blonde, atheltic bimbo who is trying to punch a dummy so it goes down but her hits barely make it wobble.
I find my way to the changing rooms, where I get changed into a tight fit sports bra and leggings, and then head out onto the floor. The rest of the Careers barely notice me, they are to busy pretending to be Mace Em- whatever his name is- or some old forgotten female victor who strangled all her victims. I find a dummy who isn't being used- funnily enough I don't think he is ever used. Bob, or so I call him, is quite sturdy and takes a fierce kick to knock him down. I'd say he weighs about three or four times my weight but I can knock him down if I really try.
Tossing my towel to the side, I get into my stance. Fists are clenched and I hold them in front of my face. I hop on my toes, backwards and forwards as I imagine that Bob is a real person and that they're coming to kill me. I breath in, hold, and then roundhouse kick the thing in the head.
"HA!" I yell as I push my whole weight into the kick.
Bob wobbles and I smirk. I repeat the process, kick then punch then block then duck then punch. Again and again and again. Sweat quickly forms on my forehead, but I push through it. If Ballet has taught me anything, it is to never give up until you are perfect. I am so absorbed in what I am doing that I don't even notice how the other Careers have begun to get jittery as the door to the training room opens.
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