the last game { opal + orion }

"Is this yours? A nice throw if I do say so myself. Missed my eye by about an inch. Want another shot?"

Awww shit. So she hadn't intended for the dagger to actually hit someone. She hadn't even really known there was anyone in the room still. What was wrong with this guy? Why was he still in here? Why was he so quiet? She'd gotten slack, her honed in instincts had faded a touch, her ability to sense another presence clearly wasn't functioning anymore. It was because she had grown complacent, it was because she didn't have any reason to sneak around and fear for her life. But she should. Potato was dead, she was still strutting around the Capitol. She had a child now, who knows what could happen to him.

Raising an eyebrow she reached forwards, snatching the dagger from the tributes hand. "Eager to get yourself hurt, aren't you?" She drawled, twirling the dagger between her fingers. There was something familiar about his tall structure, broad face and dark eyes. He was big and muscular, so clearly one of those careers, he had to be, he looked as though he trained all the time. But in thinking that there was something off about him. Then all at once it hit her, the familiarity in his movements, in his speech, in his looks. Her lips parted, forming a small 'o' as she recognised him. But this couldn't possibly be the brother of Mason Hamerfell. Could it?

"Orion Hamerfell." She mused, her eyes giving him a quick once over. He was certainly as tall as Mason had been, but with none of that intimidating aura. "Ya know, your brother and I fought last games," she gave him a wry smile, as she remembered how Mason had destroyed her in their boxing match. "What do you say? Wanna give it a crack?" This Hammerfell would not beat her.

He agreed to her challenge, but there was a lack of drive, there was no eagerness, no want. He wasn't hungry, he wasn't anything like Mason, and as she spun around to step over to the sparring mat she couldn't help but feel as though fighting him would be more of a let down then what it was worth. He was quick to accept the offer, but he looked... scared. He looked legitimately frightened at the notion of a friendly spar with her. She doubted that is was because of her, she was hardly fearsome, she had a number of deaths tattooed across her skin, but she wasn't scary. If anyone had of watched her games they'd have seen that her first kill had been an accident, her second had been intentional, after all, Drace had betrayed her. But they'd have seen that her third had taken part of her soul and torn her heart.

How could anyone fear fighting her? She'd sobbed and pleaded whilst she had fought Xanthus, and when it had come down to Yaa her only wish had been to return home. It had taken everything she had to not cry in that fight. Her victory had been a series of miracles. It was only by luck that she stood here. If this boy wanted to fear someone he should turn his attention to Cricket, or Julian. Not her, it was wasted on her. It was ridiculous. With growing frustration she paused, before spinning around and giving Orion a cold glare. She raised a hand, pointing a calloused finger at him. "You need to stop." She growled, taking a step closer to him, her eyes narrowing. "You can smell and see your fear from a mile away." Her words were almost tainted with disgust.

"We aren't going to fight, it'd be a waste of my time." She spoke harshly, her ability to care for another persons feelings had been washed away. "Get it together, Hamerfell. You're not in a game where you can let your fear consume you. It's pathetic." She snapped, turning away to quickly step upwards and into the small boxing ring that sat to the back of the arena. Moving to the edge she picked up a pair of boxing pads. "Get up." Mason had been leagues above this kid. But then that had been the same for her. Every single one of her siblings had been leagues ahead of her, she'd been the one that had never trained more then once a week.

"Get some gloves on. I'll be on the pads. I want you to get angry. I want you to show me that this isn't a waste of my time." Moving into the centre of the ring she raised an eyebrow, "show me that your life is worth something."

At first she was pleased with his response. But then as he finished speaking the anger that had echoed in the first few sentences had faded and once more he was a shell of something that could have been. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, instead she pursed her lips, reading herself into a boxers stance, right foot sliding on the ground to sit slightly behind. Orion Hamerfell had enough to create a presence, he had enough to put fear into others, but here he was, this big, strong thing that was as intimidating as the district eight female tribute. Bottled up anger was both a good thing and a bad thing, if it built up too much and burst it'd unleash a storm, but storms like that weren't dangerous if you were fighting someone experienced. When anger took over and you saw red you'd lose to someone like Opal. It had been a long time since her games, over six years. Six years and she was twice as strong as she had ever been.

"Attitude." She said. "You need that. What you don't need is a stuttering end, that way, when you threaten someone you own't sound like your about to pee yourself. I'm sure that baby from district eight could have made that sound scarier." Provoking him didn't seem like the best option. She wanted him to get angry, but if he had as much bottled up anger as he said he did an outwards lashing wouldn't be too good.

"We aren't going to fight," she raised her pads, indicating with a nod for him to get himself into a fighting stance. "Fighting me will do you no good, at the moment. Instead we are going to work on your technique." She readied herself, focusing her attention solely on Orion. "I want you to give me ten straight punches, okay?" She could clearly remember the first time she started boxing, it was a great release. You could drive your emotions into each hit - all your pain, suffering, everything. It helped her heal, maybe it'd help him in some small way.

"When you're ready."

The rhythmic bam, bam, bam of hand glove on pad was soothing. It had become her daytime lullaby. When she was angry, or upset, or feeling an overwhelming urge or pain she'd hop into the ring, calling along one of the trainers. There they'd both slip some gloves on and they'd pound away, ducking weaving, skipping. It was a beautiful dance, elegant and twisted. Just like any dance you shifted on your toes, feet light and graceful, and you swung your body with speed and timing. It was a lot more bloody, sweaty and cold, but it was a beautiful thing to watch. There was always relief in each swing, especially when it caught the jaw of your opponent, sunk into the soft skin on their stomach or clipped the side of their face. Likewise, there was some small measure of comfort, a reminder of sorts, when the glove clocked you on the head and you were sent stumbling a few steps back, eyes watering. It was just another reminder of how breakable you were.

The hum of the ring forced a small grin onto her lips. She nodded approvingly at Orion, taking each punch on the pads, feeling the jarring jolt travel up to her shoulders. She loosened her back, tightening her arms with every hit. "Good," she hummed, he was strong - just as she had expected. He knew how to land a hit, but there was anger simmering in every strike. She could sense it, after the tenth his she moved to the edge of the ring before dropping to the ground. With her legs hanging over the side she leaned backwards until she was lying on the cool surface of the ring. She threw the pads off, before gently patting the open space beside her. "Come on, talk to me. What's wrong, kiddo?" She asked.

She didn't know people, she didn't like people at all. But even this oblivious adult could tell that there was something wrong with Orion. Incapable of figuring that out by herself, she'd have to be direct and ask. Her poking and prodding and relentless jibs would only make it worse. "Maybe I can help." She turned her gaze towards the roof, "you know, I never wanted this. If you think you have expectations on you, you don't. The only person that can put that kind of thing on you is yourself. Others can say things and want things, but your you, and that means that you know what you're capable of, you know what to expect from yourself."

"Everyone wanted me to be amazing, I was a Shore for Ripred's sake. I was the outcast of the family." She let on a dry grin, "my sister, Pyrite, said goodbye to me by yanking the hair from my skull and saying some awful stuff."

It turns out there was a lot going through Orion Hammerfell's mind. There was a lot of things, for a lot of different reasons. Some of it she could relate to, some of it not so much. It turns out he had hated his brother, she had hated her sister. He had wanted his brother to die because he liked to kill and hurt things whereas Orion had liked to heal. She had wished for her sister's death, but she hadn't wished for her sister's return either. She couldn't have given two fucks about Emerald. On terms of that, her entire family had been almost completely built on careers, children who wanted to win the victors crown and take a place beside the other over-gloroified bastards. She hadn't wanted that. Opal Earnest would have been at peace with the entire world if she could have just been left to play with her garden. Never in her life had she wanted to pick up a weapon and kill someone with it.

It was so easy to answer the question posed here. She knew exactly why everyone in that arena picked up a weapon and chose to kill another person. She knew exactly why they hacked and slaughtered. Granted, she would never be able to understand those sadistic minds that wanted death, that hurt and plundered and murdered for pleasure. But, no matter what she'd always understand why anyone in the arena killed. It was for that same reason, that she knew that Orion Hammerfell would kill as well. "You don't follow him." She said, staring unblinkingly at the roof. Orion was not Mason, yes they'd both be in the arena, yes they'd both kill and bleed, but Orion wasn't Mason. Just like Mason wasn't Orion. "If your positions were reversed and you had died and Mason was now entering the arena he wouldn't be following you. You don't follow someone, you're you. You'll do things differently."

She looked over to him. "But no matter what you do, it'll be the same. You'll kill, you can't escape that fact. If you didn't want to kill you shouldn't have volunteered. If you don't want to kill you step off that plate early and be done with it." He was a silly boy. She couldn't understand his reasoning behind stepping up, and now trying to back out. If he didn't want to kill he should have let that other boy die. "But if you don't, you are choosing to live. Choosing to live means you choose to fight and that means you kill." You can't win without spilling blood. Opal raised a hand, splaying her fingers in the air, and she stared at them. She could see the blood, curling around her skin, and winding its way down her wrist. Pooling in the palm of her hand.

"Killing is for survival, Orion. If you fight, you fight for life. If you don't, just get yourself killed and be done with it. It's your choice." She mumbled. "So, the question is, Orion, do you want to live?"