{Can't} Hold It In // Kirito + Rhyme

There's a lack of sleep that flutters me through the long hours of the night. My mind is trapped in a whirlwind of what has to be, get, and thoroughly done, with no room for a second of rest. I feel as ready as ever for the next few days ahead of me; yet also in a desperation to yank every benefit they might hold for the 70th Game, like when I plucked each hair on my Barbie's head when I was younger to make sure she wasn't as pretty as me. Have I fulfilled my obligations as a Career over the past few months? Or did I spend too much time in the dance studio? Am I going to be a failure to my family, or finally prove myself? Guess I'm going find out.

As soon as I notice that it's ten minutes till five in the morning, I give up on my slumber and decide that preparation must begin now. A healthy, protein consumed, breakfast is calling for me, along with spending as many hours as I can training. Nothing different from my normal routine back in District one, just surrounded by the breathtaking Capitol. An array of aroma-filled food greets me in the dinning room; though I stick to my usual career made diet, while observing the quiet atmosphere. It's even more silent then the room I was assigned here, given my mind is concentrated on the eggs and fruit on my plate rather then listing all that has to be completed. Might be the only peaceful moment I'm granted here....of course that doesn't mean I soak in it any longer then I have to, urgently leaving my remains for someone else to deal with, before traveling to the training center.

Even at this hour, there's the hustle and bustle of the living waiting for me downstair. Already some kids have been working ruthlessly to achieve their best. Have to guess that they're careers, especially given the environment they add to the vast room. It's nearly identical to the Career Gyms back in district one. And oddly enough, I find a sort of comfort to it. With only a few glances, and no spoken words, I start my basic workout of cardio, stretching, and weights. No point in training if those things aren't aced to highest potential first. So many neglect the simple, though effectiveness of this routine. Hardly seems logical to gain skills if the body can't keep up with it.

Now to put this to the test. Once completed, I immediately head for the sparring section. Unfortunately I can't show my talents against a potential, future opponent, but I can at least show them what District One's Female is made of. A female trainer, whom seems to have the widest muscular disposition, is who I choose to demonstrate this on. Her hair is sloppily pulled into a ponytail, and her uniform hugs her toned body in an unflattering way. With how quickly I form these insulting assumptions, I know my fist can cause just as much of damage. "Don't worry, you're an easy match for me." I attempt to convince her, and continue to until she caves and we're firmly upon a sparring matt. Draw a crowd, pull all watchful eyes.

Turns out too easily. As predicted, she goes easy on me given my petite complexion. She only gets a single, wimpy hit in before I go complete batshit crazy on her. Though small, my knuckle do maintain a knock behind them. And when my built-dancer's legs decide to get a kick in? Let's just say the spar doesn't last as long as I wish. She's furious with how my undermining appearance has tricked her, making her features burn up in not pink, but bright redness. I want to laugh, and of course I do. The way her fists are balled up so tightly, her obvious desire to prove how much stronger she is then me. But she can't. Because I have to stay beautifully intact for the games. I continue to giggle loudly.

"Toddles." I taunt with one of my princess-waves, turning my back to her as if she didn't belong in the higher Capitol above me. Damn, do I feel powerful. Too bad it doesn't last very long. That overwhelming highness, is replaced with a need to gag as I witness a boy puke a station away from me. Have to assume he's stressed out his body too hard, as I've witnessed many new careers do in the past. Easy prediction that he's not from a career district, or any wealthier district for that matter. Yet there's this overwhelming attraction about him, even as he's hurling out his guts. I should walk in the opposite direction, but of course I don't.

At first I make it seem as though I was heading for knife training anyways, until my feet quickly veer me towards him. Well there's a waste of a breakfast, my rude attitude wants to force it's way out. "You okay?" But somehow it gets gulped back in. Now that's truly a first. I bend down to his level, despite the fact that my shoes are slightly touching his outburst. That's when I notice he couldn't of been physically pushing himself too hard, he's fiddling with blades. Hesitantly I touch his back, feeling as though it was Ruckus or Rhythm that had gotten sick. Only then do I cave just slightly, except for now when either siblings are hundreds of miles away. What is it about this kid? Taking away my bitchiness like it belongs to him. Yet I find myself not budging from his side.