Trainers Tournament '87 | Round 1: McCoy vs Burman

 BANKS

Banks was one of the luckiest people in Panem.

Not in the sense that he could win fights, find change or bills on the road, or get the pleasure of being appreciated for his talents, but he's lucky in the sense of being from a background that wasn't always common in the Capitol. A poor boy from a poor family who worked in a café year round in the Capitol making little to no money when he was a child, but now he's made it all the way to the Trainers Tournament where the best of the best have made it. All because of a childhood dream to be apart of the games, wanting to step into the shoes of the tributes. Games of wooden weapons and laughs in the back of his throat as he stared at blood being spilled in a beautiful way.

Banks McCoy was here to make it all the way, whether the Capitol cared about wealth or not, he was here to break through the barriers his parents never could. Scholarships having been attached to his name after all these years because the poor kid from the McCoy family had to push through trials and tribulations to even make it here. A grin is all he gets from his opponent, the feeling of the air growing tense at the feeling of being watched beneath the cameras. Banks had spent an entire day before watching Ike O'Nyle from the Eighty Second Games, taking in any tidbits that he didn't already know, despite having trained heavily in advanced for this tournament.

"Sorry in advance about the bruises, can't be helped. I really hope you fuck up!"

The swing is quick, but sloppy, a smile almost breaking across his lips at the sight. Feet shifting to the side, curling by the swing with an even breath on his lips as he pulls back his own fist, reaching forward trying to take advantage of the movement. Momentum needed to be on his side, just like Ike O'Nyle floating through the red storm of blood and jetpack fuel. Words slip from his lips, burning fire in his chest.

"Don't worry, a few bruises won't kill me."

 BANKS

"I uh... meant to do that!"

The words make him chuckle under his breath, mixing like a faint fire of warmth that is blooming in his chest. Banks had always been ready for a fight as a kid, but now as an adult, he's enjoyed it even more. An easy way to get all of the frustrations and anger from his childhood out in a healthier format than before. Days spent smiling at the tv watching tributes bleed and bleed, but he always dreamed of being like them. Fighting in that way where there's meaning to the anger and frustration and knowing the world was watching you as a star.

"Oh yes, killing is much harder." His opponent nods in agreeance. A smirk pulls on Banks lips as he stares back with that same fire as before. Momentum had been by his side, but now there's nothing on his side, but his own fists and the years spent training for this. He's made it this far on his own accord, built himself from the ground up and beat out other adults who were better off than him. He's worked hard for this and he wasn't going to let anyone else stand in his way. "So nice to not be fighting to the death!" The words break through him, a chill to them that edges along the edges of his warmth. A reminder that he wasn't the tributes or anything like the district kids who were training for the games. He was a capitolite like his mother and father said. Proud people who believed in the capitol over everything.

He's naive.

He's known that for awhile.

Dreams were meant to stay dreams. Banks would always be just another capitolite trainer, but he was gunning for the top. He wanted to be the Head Trainer. He wanted to be in charge. Dreamed as a little boy of watching over the tributes with calculated eyes and perfect ease. The ability to bring out the potential in any pathetic excuse for a person, but here he was, staring another person who's older than him in the face as they spar for the Capitol to see. His parents were watching at the shop, probably had it on since starting the morning rush of executives and regular workers.

"But victory must mean something to you, right?"

The sound is an echoing crack of his arm. The feeling of fire burning through his bones and skin, leaving behind nothing more than pain. Banks has broken his fair share of bones, reset plenty of fingers and shoulders in his life to be considered an expert at it. A silence fills him for a moment as he eases his arm out, pulling back from his opponent, letting his arm feel the pain before snapping back into his stance, knowing that he has to keep himself steady.

"Victory means something to everyone."

The smirk on his lips continues as he can feel the sound of his own heart throb in his arm.

"Victory would mean everything to me."

Lifting his broken arm, he uses the fingers on his hand to crack his knuckles before pushing forward with a glare, letting the pain burn through his whole body. Adrenaline rushing through his veins and the sound of his own drum of a heart beating to the movement of his own feet. He didn't need an arm to win, his legs and other arm were enough to handle anyone. Even a trained individual.

"Next time, go for the leg. Leaves me much more vulnerable than an arm."

His arm feels like a fire, but he strikes with his leg, lifting up the weight of his body.

The thrum of his heart in his ears and the feeling of fire behind his teeth.

 BANKS

The smile is nice, but his foot goes wide and doesn't quite reach.

His vision blurs as he pulls back quickly, feeling the pulse of pain in his arm now. The flame licking at the wound, but he didn't have time for that. His dream of being a trainer was already coming true by just being here. He'll end up going to either a career district or the capitol and train kids to fight. Two was the only place he didn't want to go to. Shy didn't seem like fun and Cricket seemed like too much fun. A chuckle leaves his lips at the other guys words. A smile pulling at the edges of his cheeks as he steadies himself, taking a strike to the chest. A resounding puff of air as it hits, knowing the guy in front of him could actually strike pretty hard.

"That was cool! I'm not gonna miss this time. Worked too hard to make it only this far."

The smile on his lip stays, but he moves back and forth for a moment, loosing up again. The pain in his arm stays, but it's a burning fire that continues to push him forward. The blood in his veins pumping in his ears as he slides forward, feigning with his knee and strike forward with his fist. The air in his lungs held tightly before he lets himself go into the fight once more.

 BANKS

"Not that it's worth much," The strain in his opponent's voice makes him smile. Knowing that he's brought some strife to someone else who's fighting as hard as he is felt great. His parents would be proud no matter the outcome because he's made it here to be apart of the trainers in Panem. Everyone wanted to be on top, but Banks had barely clawed his way here and he's fine with not getting there the first time. There's plenty of years left in his skin. He's got time.

"But I hope you win your next match."

A smile bleeds out like a fire, the feeling of weightlessness on the edges of his stomach as he nods softly, letting himself feel the approval of someone who was also like him. "We both deserve a nice victory, right!" Exactly his point. They've both gotten a nice victory already, but Banks wanted more. Even if he was happy to be here, he wasn't going down without a fight. In a second, he feels his breath growing heavy as the pain in his arm throbs to his ears. It's loud and bright.

"Thanks, uhhhh man! I appreciate it. I'm Banks by the way. Don't get too cocky, it's not over until you take me down."

The words feel heavy on his tongue, but there's amusement in his voice. Teasing was easier to do when he was already on the downhill. Either way, Banks was feeling great to even be here, let alone fighting someone with just as much experience and skill as him. If only Banks could show him his talents with blades or his strength.

Maybe next time.