Round 1: Cordelia vs Carly [91st spar]

"Well, this is a splinter just waiting to happen." Carly stares at a baseball bat adorned with makeshift nails, grouped together on the training room table with various playground recreations of classic Games weaponry. Her gaze considers something a bit simpler, a dagger for example, but even a casual sparring match is enough to get the gears in her mind turning. Every choice matters. What she says, what she does, it's all just another scene in the film of her life. Another trauma to turn into a business deal. The lights go out in the cinema, and there is no sound.

Maybe that's what she's fighting for. She wants to live long enough to see the end credits, the roar of the applause, the validation that the things she has chosen to do are the right things. She doesn't want to have any regrets, as much as she wants to see her eighteenth birthday. Desires are funny like that. She wants the whole world, and it's trying to plot her death. If you look deep enough, if you call her actions out for what they are, Carly is a selfish person who wants selfish things. Her grip closes around the bat, ponytail swinging over her shoulder as she turns to face her opponent.

It's picture perfect, enough so that she deigns to flash their host an approving smile. Gamemaker Saber Bancroft speaks to them in a warm, engaging tone, but Carly can see the fire in him for what it is. She will not mistake ignoring the fact that he is a dangerous person, and more than that, a danger to her prolonged survival. Like a dancer on his stage, the Capitol's stage, she plays the part she's been cast for and quietly convinces herself that it's not a betrayal / that ultimately, it doesn't even matter.

Twenty-three possibilities must be severed. She searches for the bravado to back up the belief that she deserves to be the one to go on, to succeed. Carly wants the wanting; when she finally has all the things she dreamed of, she knows that the inevitable will happen. She'll just reach for something new, invest all of her energy in another gamble, another chance, to immortalize herself in a society that wants nothing more than to erase her. All of them. Brandishing the weapon, she wonders what it would be like to play the hero for once.

She frowns softly, for just a moment, before greeting the girl from One with a bright grin. Immediately, she feels distrust towards the other tribute, at the very least from a career district and most likely trained, though there's a languid grace to her movements that makes Carly wonder if they might be evenly matched in a physical standing. Waifish as she might be, her brain works as quickly as her feet do, and even now she races through all the best potential outcomes. She rolls the dice, and she picks their plotline.

"Are you kidding? The pleasure's all mine." She's aware that the blonde is something of a social media mogul, but despite her best efforts, she has yet to find access to a device that could grant her the ability to tap into the treasure load of information posted to Cordelia's profiles. Even now, after getting a head start not afforded to anyone else but Lux, the Capitol is still something of a culture shock to her. Patiently, and with wicked cool, she adapts. That's the thing about her. She jumps into the deep end, and she figures it out.

"I remember people talking about you when I was on the show, how your feed is legendary. But, well, I couldn't afford a phone before getting cast, so I kind of missed that window of opportunity." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, not at all embarrassed to play the part of the lower district girl seeking pity for all the privileges she missed out on. If people wish to underestimate her, she highly encourages it. As much as she wants the entire country to know her name, she doesn't want anyone to know when she's coming. She strikes like a rattler under the rose thicket. "When we finish here, how about we have a lunch date so you can show me what I've been missing? Is it true you have a selfie that broke a likes record?" She's speaking nonsense, but it's all about playing to their interests.

And, really, if there's a chance at learning a few secrets, she will always take it. "Show me what you've got, Nine." A bell chimes, the match begins, and quicker than she can parry, Cordelia strikes with her wooden glaive. Carly leaps backwards only in just enough time to hiss as the surface of it drags across her abdomen, a friction burn blooming there in its place. Her grips tightens around her bat, and she smirks at the challenge looming before her. "I'm an open book, One." She will rise to the occasion, as she always does.

"Read me."

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