A Try to Be Normal {Royce & Red// Mattio}

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The extent of reserved Tributes is beyond expectations. Surely within all clusters for every Game, there’s a sprinkle of the shy and bashful - but it almost appears as if this is the year of the timid. The boy spared from the 80th, solely to volunteer for this Game, is not so much on the shy side while still quite reluctant. The girl from the District of strength and wealth appears to be as secluded as a small child selected from a poor district. Hell, even my District Partner seems rather quiet for his tittle of a Victor’s kid. It was imagined that this center of training would be consumed by egotistical jocks puffing up their chests in a sea of loud chaos; while instead everyone’s surprisingly distant from one another, as if we were training for the Silent Games instead.

Boredom quickly spices me in my routine I’ve personally set for training - that is, until the guy from Ten swiftly catches my vision. Broadness reigns him, like he’s spent many years choring on a farm. Attractiveness graces him, like he’s been gifted with pristine genetics. And of course, quietness curses him like conversing with someone may plague him. A soft inhale sucks through my thinned lips in disappointment. Without a bat of her eyes, Mycelium would reject a timid client like him from us. And though payment’s not expected from these helpless souls, another reward burns at my core. Not even the timid can be passed.

While exploring the weapons I never believed I’d need for this purpose, I study my fresh target as he slams his knuckles into a punching bag. Frustration sounds to coaxes him, as if furious with his lack of instant perfection. Memories flicker of spotting him in the recent past, always practicing and training - never accepting a break, as if he’s as scared of having fun as he is of talking to someone. The practice blade, I’ve been studying already, is set back down. A sudden determination overtaking me to veer this guy away, if even only temporarily, from the sternness that’ll just leave him with wrinkles one day.

“I think the bag of sand is long dead, Tribute.” A mockery tone of the Trainers weaves through my voice, as I stand with crossed arms beside him. “Or it at least has severe internal bleeding that’ll kill it in a matter of days tops.” Instantly my normal voice returns with a hint of sarcasm tracing it. “You don’t look like the type to have fun.” Or perhaps he is, but he certainly doesn’t have my sort of fun by the looks of it. “Need to change that? Hi, I’m Red - the bringer of fun.” A cheeky grin spreads across my expression, as I extend my hand like we’re two normal people, on a normal street, within a normal day.