if the price is right; katrina/jack

With eyes on no one in particular, you navigate the Training Center with as much dignity and grace as a rhinoceros in a glass house. By day three, you've already gotten into three different altercations - two of them with staff - but listen, if those two assholes yesterday hadn't antagonized you, then maybe they wouldn't have ended up with their legs crushed by the entire rack of medicine balls. 

It causes a boy to laugh. Unfamiliar, conventionally attractive, and as tall as the day is long, you make a mental note. He seems sweet and that's rare. It'll probably get him killed rather quick, you thought to yourself as his smile faded and the crowd that had gathered started to disperse. That's useful, though. You knew one thing to be true: you were going to need help. 

You've never thought of yourself as a team player, but if you were going to last more than the damn Bloodbath, you would need people on your side. No one that was too weak, or that couldn't keep up with you, obviously, but someone strong and not afraid to sweat or draw blood were a must. But just as you decide to close the distance and approach the boy from Ten, a voice sounds behind you, close and determined.

Been watchin' ya...

"Have you now?" With a slow roundabout, you turn to face the person attached to the near compliment they'd just offered, and are pleasantly surprised to find a career on your six. And one that seems interested in what you can do. Interesting. "Can't say the same, but you are hard to miss, I'll give you that." 

You look her up and then down, taking in her toned muscles and imposing stature. A goliath of a woman, you're a bit taken aback for a moment at the sheer size of her. Granted, you're all of what, five-foot-two and barely a hundred pounds? So it's not hard to cast a shadow over your own. What you lack in height and weight, you make up for with dexterity and swift feet. You've always been quick, and you wonder absentmindedly if you'd be faster than her. Probably.

"Kind of a prerequisite in Nine if you're not well off. And who is, really, in Nine, you know? Actually, you probably don't." You gesture vaguely at her as you speak, nodding at the fine shoes and matching outfit she dons. "I'm sure you're used to all this fancy shit," you turn away and change course. You don't approach Andal, not yet. There would be time to convince him there's no better place for him in that arena than by your side. Instead, you grab some of the cloth scraps you'd scavenged from an extra t-shirt you'd been given, and begin to wrap up your hands, threading the fabric between your fingers and around your palm.

"Me? I prefer my hands. What about you?"