welcome to the lions den // cor v storm day 7

The boy is faster than he looks. He reacts almost instantly, avoiding a dangerous whack to the face. Disappointed, I regain my balance as my club bounces off a non essential part of his body. The corruption that ate was eating away at my insides groans its disapproval, escaping my lips in a sigh. I had planned to use his body as a tee and to send his head flying... a move that was ambitious, but exciting enough to send a frenzy of emotions through me.

Quickly, I turn to face the boy, my club resting casually on my shoulder. "As fast as a rat, did you learn from the sewer rats back in nine? You look like they type," I say with a tilt of the head, a smirk pulling back the corner of my lips. But the boy is focused on ripping his sword from its protective sleeve, not taking notice of my petty little insults. His are lips moving, but the rain drowning out his words. "Sorry, kid, gonna have to speak-"

"-I'd say that was a mistake, but truthfully, you're not gonna live long enough for that!" he snarls and I almost laugh. I couldn't help myself. The boy had the youthfulness that reminded me of a puppy trying to face off against the great dane in the yard. It might have been adorable expect for the fact he lunged, swiping at my neck with his sword.

I duck to the right, but not fast enough. The movement causes my back to scream with pain, as consequence I catch the tip of his blade with my shoulder. It seemed that my little puppy had claws, hell they might even be sharper than Cachi's.

Briefly I wonder if he had managed to avoid a conflict like I had insisted. If past patterns were something to be taken into consideration, well, then I was sure the boy was in a situation similar to my own.

Thunder fills the arena, the rain washing away any blood that tried to form over the scratch, refusing to allow it to clot. Dragging my gaze from the cut to the boy I allow my club to fall from my shoulder, swinging it around in an easy loop as the anticipation of what was to come begins to grow. I take another step towards the boy, and the corruption that festered within me began to surge, begging me to slam my spiked wood into his small body. To hear the break of bones. Not once in my life had I ever felt the unnerving need to hear a bone snap, to know that it was because of me.

Call me pathetic, but where most people became squeamish at the sight of blood... Broken bones were my trigger. It made for plenty scoldings during training throughout the years, and, too many to count, disappointed sighs from my mother. I wonder if she would be sighing now. She would definitely he cursing me for the condition of my hair, you maybe me fighting for your life, miss Cordelia, but that doesn't give you an excuse for not running a comb through your hair. Its the simple things darling, she would say, looking me at me with that smile that screamed: do better!

"Big words from such a little boy," I say as I re adjust my hold on my club, preparing for tee off. "This is the part where my coach would call "batter up,"" I position my bat high over my shoulder, twisting at the hip for optimal power. "Ready. Set. GO!"

Look, I was never good at base-ball- or was it tee ball? It would probably be both, seeing as they both revolved around the same concept of smashing a round object across a field.

In this case my bat goes sailing clear of his head, and I give an angry growl of frustration, my body following through with the momentum of the powerful swing. I must have looked like a fool, rumbling around like a toddler grasping a bat that was to big got them to handle. Much like Cachi yesterday, who claimed to have killed a boy with one strike, and yet struggled to hit a GIGANTIC mother fucking bird. I'd been spending way too much time with him, his lack of skill in the offensive position rubbing off on me at the worst time possible.

Pull yourself together, I demand silently, trying to shake off the jitters that had began to make my fingers tremble, the toxin in my veins igniting at the smell of blood.

"Little boy?" he almost spits like the insult itself tasted like dirt in his mouth. I mean, I guess he wasn't exactly little. the crown of his head did come close to reaching my eye-line, but it thrilled me that such a petty insult could get him so riled up. "This 'little boy' has already killed two other boys who underestimated me just like that," he laughs as he draws his thumb across his throat and I felt my brows raise almost doubtfully.

What was it with the kids in the arena this year? First Cachi insists that he managed to kill a boy by stabbing them clean through the throat, and now this beanstalk is trying to convince me that he- he- had killed two tributes. He was a mere child playing sword fighting. How old must he had been? 13? 14?

"And I didn't even need a stupid coach to teach me how to do that." Okay, thats it. This kid was determined to sell me on his story and it had begun to irritate me, more than when Cachi re-hashed the story of his own successful murder.

"Look, kid, we all know you didn't do shit," I start, my anger creeping up on me so fast, encouraging me to use it to strike him down where he stood. "Stop telling lies. You don't scare me. Your a fucking kid- but don't think that will stop me from ripping your head off. Your mummy can't protect you in here-"

Suddenly pain erupts from the back of my leg and I curse, I had been distracted by my own thoughts that I had not see him move. A rookie error that has my blood spilling onto muddy ground, my lips pulled back into a snarl. "You little shit head," I hiss, despite myself, impressed by the speed in his movements. Maybe he wasn't lying. Maybe I did have a really tribute slayer on my hands, someone Cachi could learn a thing or two off.

"Not bad, little boy, but try aiming a little higher," I place my hand over my heart briefly, before I strike, no warning, no taunts, just the need to see him dead.

I click my tongue in annoyance, the flimsy armour that was fitted snuggly on the boys arms shatters in the way his bone should have. I was just having the worst luck this morning, my batting skills making it seem like I was not very good at sports. I mean sure, I was no super athlete or anything, but I knew what I was doing. I knew how to play ball, and how to strike hard when it counted.

Except today it seemed. Maybe it was the rain, or perhaps it was the thunder and the lightening, or maybe it was the overwhelming power of the corruption that ran through my veins.

Whatever it was it was, it was going to get me killed.

And Cordelia Bardot was not about to die to a child from the pits of district 9. No fucking way.

Though, if I did, then at least I wouldn't be around to see it, and believe me, I would rather be buried six foot in the ground with bugs eating through my skull, than have to live with the fact that a kid from the lower districts took me out. Thats worst then Opal Shore marrying that Potato kid from 11. Talk about an embarrassment.

"Do you really think I'd lie about somethin' like that?" The boy shouts over the pounding of the rain and rumbling of thunder. "I killed a kid from Seven and one of your own Careers with nothing but my own wits and this sword and you think I'd make that up for what? Clout?"

Wellllll, I think, raising my brows and shrugging slightly, I mean, isn't that exactly what he was doing?

Wait, hold up, did he just say he killed a career? Oh please, when would the lies stop- "Oh, you mean that flower boy from 4? Well, I guess I could see that. Though I don't know if you could even call him a career, I'm pretty sure a strong gust of wind could of knocked him on his scrawny ass." I couldn't recall too much detail on the boy from 4, I had not considered him to be a threat. "But if you mean mr silent and his stupid fucking hammer, I am almost certain that you could not kill him." He would have knocked this boy and all of his arms and legs all the way back home.

"But fine. Don't believe me then. I guess I'll just hafta show you." He aims for my throat, I knock his sword to the side, the tip grazing my cheek.

Not my damned face again. Why was it always the face? Hadn't it gone through enough? Growling I carefully touch the new laceration, feeling for the extent of the damage. I pull my fingers back, the rain washing away the blood. "Well, thats gonna leave a scar," I sigh, wiping my hands on my pants, "but not to worry, nothing some concealer and some top tier make up skills won't be able to cover." And possible some surgery, the Capitols shout of course.

"That 'flower boy' was stronger than any of you psychopath wannabes could ever hope to be in your entire lives! And he...and h-he..." It was seem that I had struck a nerve, an outburst that made the boy look like a stubborn child had my lips pulling back into a grin. I shouldn't be grinning, I shouldn't be enjoying myself this much, I knew that. It was wrong. It was disturbing that I felt a rush of enjoyment in the hurt that was painfully obvious on his voice.

And silently I screamed at myself to drop the smile, to force the feelings of pleasure from my body at the thought of his head smashed onto the end of my spiked club. But with each passing minute they grew, uncontrollable and demanding, I could do nothing but obey.

It would seem that similar feels rushed through him as well, as he rushed at me, scolding me for worrying about the condition of my face, quickly followed by an insult about my beauty. And maybe that would have hurt someone who was insecure about themselves, but I knew that he was just trying to get under my skin because I was stunning. Scars or not, there was no denying that I was beautiful and I had more than enough testimonies to prove it. Not that I needed them.

With ease I step out of his line of attack, he was getting sloppy with the rain and the fatigue and no doubt the days worth of injuries. Hell, I was too, my body struggling to keep up, torn and broken from days of fighting for my life. "I think I will pass. I prefer my surgeries to be performed in a sterile environment. With professionals." Wound infection was no joke, people lost limbs to that shit. "But thanks for the offer," I say circling around him, my club positioned defensively between the two of us.

My eyes travel to the wound on his bicep, blood running down the length of his arm. "You should probably apply pressure to that, you're looking a little pale." And it was not a good look on him, it clashed with the darkness of his hair, making him look sickly and weak. Or maybe that was just how people from district 9 looked. Their bodies lacked the muscle growth that was sustained through a healthy diet rich in protein.

Once again, the iron spikes of my mace rip into the flesh of his arm, determined to rip muscle from bone, a satisfying cry of pain forced from the boys lips. It was fascinating to watch as his hate for me grow, consuming him. I had never seen it up close. Sure, I had experienced trolls and haters online, as well as the hate from unwilling participants on my flop of a show where I gave makeover to those who didn't ask for it, but definitely needed it...

But this was different. This kid hated me. I could see it in the way he looked at me, the way his lips curled with disgust, he made no effort at all to hide it. Was this how I had looked at Cachi the first couple days in the arena? The more I thought about the less I wanted to know the answer. I had judged the boy too quickly, shoved him in a box and decided that there was no way he was going to be able to climb out of it... Until he had, forcibly removing himself, it had even surprised me that first time I had realised that I had not wanted him to leave.

The sound of the boys voice against the angry sky pulls me from my thoughts, and I give myself a mental shake, silently scolding myself for getting distracted once again. "But honestly? I've had worse.'sides, we're in a storm. That's literally my namesake, and my element to boot." Storm! Thats right! I knew that I knew his name. I just wasn't sure, you know? I had thought it was Thor or something. Naming kids after the some ancient mythology gods were a vibe here in Panem. I swear I knew at least 3 Medusa's, and one was the devils spawn, an absolute gremlin.

"As for you? You're just another piece of plastic, destined to get swept away by the deluge."

Plastic? Oh hell no.

Nothing on this body was plastic. Not my nose, not my boobs and certainly not my ass. Cordelia Bardot was all natural, and proud of it. "Oh honey, there is nothing fake about this body," I grunt, hands tightening on the handle of my club, my mouth forming an annoyed pout. "And there is no way I am getting swept away by some brat from 9."

Filler before work