Boneass OOCG Non-Tribs

Ethan Taurus.

I'm about to eat some bitches, let's be real here. I'm drunk as all fuck and I don't care who knows it. I'm lit. Even if they laugh at me like I'm not serious whenever I order my steak so raw it's still mooing, they'll still bring me all the absinthe I ask for, and that's better than nothing.

Ethan Taurus. someone repeats, and bitch please, I'm on my way already. Seriously, hop off my dick, I'm coming.

The training center is different when it's not full of people, but that's for the better. Eating bitches is frowned upon when everyone is watching. Apparently. For a minute I'm not quite sure what I ought to be doing, since eating _avoxes_ is apparently frowned upon too.

I stick a thin knife with a wicked curve in my back pocket. It's serrated and sharp as my wits - a filet knife, perfect for slivering meat from muscle. I can do some real damage with that, slice some bitch down to a filet mignon. Though there's nothing cute about these assholes watching me. Filet de laide, more like.

(Speaking of laid, this one mentor is totally after my D. The pound train is totally leaving the station as soon as I finish impressing these bitches with my mad skills.)

Honestly, even with the knife in my pocket I'm not super in the mood to stab bitches, and to be fair, this isn't the right knife for stabbing them. I do know what I'm all about, though, so casually I swagger towards the semicircle of training dummies on the far side of the training center. They're right near the Gamemakers.

I give the first one the evil eye, gesturing I'm watching you, bitch with my pointer and middle finger. I do the same to the actual humans that are staring at me from behind the buffet table that's piled high with sausages and tacos and eggplants and clams and the like. I'm not about that. Give me something that'll scream when I sink my teeth into it.

Without warning, I roundhouse kick the first dummy in the chest. It clatters to the ground several yards behind where it was standing originally. Before the clunk even echoes off the walls, I uppercut the bitchass dummy to the immediate left. Oh yeah, I'm skilled with my fists, you Gamemaker bitches. Watch this.

One by one I throttle each and every dummy, their plastic bodies dropping to the ground like pathetic corpses. Uppercut. (Drop.) Jump kick. (Drop.) Left hook. (Drop.) Sweep kick. (Drop.)

The last dummy I square with has a real nasty look in its beady little plastic eyes. Fuck off, dummy, Ethan Taurus is about to end you. I wrap my arm around its stupid neck, squeezing my headlock like a constrictor against its polyethylene trachea. Choke on Ethan, bitch. He's too much man for you to handle.

The stupid dummy head popped off eventually, spiraling through the air. I let the dummy torso drop to the ground and catch the head with my left hand. With my right, I whip out the filet knife. I force its stupid mouth open, squeezing the side of its jaw until it presents a rubber tongue. With one swift motion, I pare tongue from PVC skull, and chuck the empty shell behind me. The tongue, I display for the Gamemakers: I put it in my own mouth, let it dangle down past my chin. Then I stick my thumbs in my ears and blow the table full of officials the most epic raspberry they've ever seen.

I strut from the training center with the rubber tongue still dangling. That's one for Calliope. By the end of the games, that bitch will have a full bouquet.