mirrored issues [azaleah] {blitz}

I'd never been one to work with the knife. I've always shown a natural talent for the axe, ever since I started training. It's the blade and the way it fits in my palm, like it belongs there, like it is 'an extension of my arm'. When asked to train something else, I'd always shake a head and put my foot down fearing that if I betrayed the axe, it would betray me.

I was late this morning, and the axes had been snatched up. Early bird gets the worm, I guess.

So I take a knife from the collection and position myself a far distance from the dummies. An axe was my thing, a knife was only ever going to be an after thought. It's not a surprise when I barely hit the thing; a knife in the hand was just that. It would not kill.

Perhaps one day, I'd find myself in a life or death situation. Like Scout, like Pillar, like Justice—his name is what keeps my thoughts sane. It reminds me that there is a possibility of success even when nobody wants you to achieve it, and that matters, a lot. It leads to hope.

Which can be misleading, I know all too well, but it adds fuel to already burning fires. It keeps the strength.

I throw another blade, watching as it hits the dummy weakly in the stomach, before the metal falls to the floor. I roll my eyes; people know I'm better than this.

"Y'know, I'm not sure if you noticed or not but you're doing something incredibly wrong with the way you're tossing that knife." I turn to the voice, noticing his extended hand. "May I?" 

I place a knife in his hand, tilting my head towards him.

"Show me."

The blade falls perfectly between his fingers, gentle caressing the bones of his hands. It belongs there, like an axe belongs in mine.

"Well, first off, you're holding it fine which is all well and good but your release is well..." I prepare myself for the worst, crossing my arms and shifting my weight onto my other leg. "Laughable." He says. I can only smile to rid myself of the pain that comes with awkwardness, looking up to him in admiration. "Your form is all off and you're kinda telegraphing the throw, it's supposed to be more like this."

The boy takes a step forward, twirling the knife between his fingers before flicking his wrist and sending it soaring through the air. My attempt merely kissed the fabric across the dummy's stomach, but his takes it to a whole new level; it goes in, and it goes in for the kill. 

He's strong, he's tough—and he's got a good arm.

"Wow, you did that." I look at him, nodding my head. "So... I need... more power in the throw or what?"

"Yeah, but it's more complex than just 'more power'," I guess he's right. "And a lot more elegant than brute force." He forces a knife into my hand again, closing my fingers around the handle. It's so unfamiliar; knives are used to prepare dinner, not kill people. My mind drips with spilled sorrows of victims in the games. Scout and Pillar cross my thoughts for a second,

but I suppress it. 

"It should feel just," he pauses for a moment, his eyes drifting from the blade to my eyes, from my eyes to the target. "Natural." I smile. A natural ability would be completely and utterly difficult to match. Especially when he has his eyes on me, judging my every move. It's like the Olympics all over again: pressure, weight, expectation, except this time, the prize isn't a medal.

It is versatility, something a career like me fights for.

"You're a charmer." I tell him, before throwing the knife towards the target. I don't think about it, perhaps that is what he means by making it feel natural. Natural, natural—is anything in here natural?

I don't think about it.

I just look at the knife stuck in the dummy's thigh. "Huh. Might've struck an artery with that one."