friction { opal + gunner }

The district one reaping had been a disaster. She wasn't going to lie, the female looked like as though she was twice Opal's age (perhaps, if she won, she'd ask for her youth to be restored). If the chance of more then two tributes was anything to fear she was not disappointed by the display produced by them. The first male to be reaped screamed something about being a king before vehemently denying that he was ever going to step foot into that arena. He made a great show, calling the citizens of district one his peasants. Then, to top it all off some foolish child actually stepped up and volunteered for him. A derisive snort had quickly followed that barbarous exchange, before she'd turned and made her way to the train.

Part of her had hoped that her district would be spared. With the number of careers in the games jumping to the amount it would most likely reach she knew that these two would not make it. Even though she came from a career district she had little faith in their skills from the start. Experience had taught her a lot. The training centre was full of them, however, the other two career district outweighed her own, district two seemed to have pulled up a stupid amount, all of which blood thirsty and ready to kill without hesitating. But even upon seeing the catastrophe that awaited the tributes of district one she couldn't stir up much more then a sympathetic look their way.

Yet, there were times when she couldn't help, but intervene - after all, she had not been the picture of perfection, the career with the word as a title only. Even then, it was difficult to muster up enough kindness to actually help. With a weary sigh she slipped past the fire-making station, her dark eyes surveying the centre, no one talked to her, a few tributes looked up at her, but none seemed to keen to ask her for advice. Perhaps it was the glare, or the stiff soldiers, or the icy air that seemed to cling to her that simply said 'don't'.

She was ice, and this room was no furnace.