weapon of choice [quentin/krueger]

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kap
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last seen Apr 27, 2024 10:23:44 GMT -5

goomy goomy on the brain

weapon of choice [quentin/krueger] Jun 15, 2023 14:24:26 GMT -5

Post by kap on Jun 15, 2023 14:24:26 GMT -5

♛

The last name of one of the District Ten tributes; Gamble. It was familiar, and I knew exactly why. Bowie Gamble, a previous tribute from District Ten, shared the same last name. Surely there had to be a relation between the two of them. Krueger Gamble was this kid's name. Maybe I should get to know him.

I saw the guy near one of the weapons stations that was occupied by another tribute at the moment. It was anyone's guess whether he was observing, waiting his turn, or something else. I didn't know him at all, so I couldn't tell what he was after. Deciding to work up a conversation between the two of us, or at least try to do so, I approached him.

"Weapon of choice?" I asked him. "Wait, let me guess," I looked at him and tried to make a guess based on his appearance. It didn't tell me much, to be totally honest. "Javelins, maybe?"

Maybe now he'd talk, or maybe now he'd rather drive one of the aforementioned javelins into my chest, but I suppose that was to be seen.

[tag: pogue ]
[words: 183]

pogue
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1,811 POSTS

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last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

weapon of choice [quentin/krueger] Jun 15, 2023 18:29:18 GMT -5

Post by pogue on Jun 15, 2023 18:29:18 GMT -5

He's struggled to form familiarity with his fellow tributes, no, he's downright refused it. There's an age-old saying etched into his skin and poisoning the veins, a reminder that none if it was personal, that it was show business. He hangs it over his own head like a light in the night, guiding every step he takes in the Training Center and every whisper he pockets in the back of his mind. Little birdies fly all around a place like this, written on the tongues of trainers and tributes alike. The only ones innocent enough were the avox, and that was only because they couldn't do anything but sit tongue-tied.

But hey, that's show business.

Now he stands at the back of the ranged weapons station, curling his fingers softly into his palms to avoid the way they itch to gravitate towards the axes. The metal of 'em feels like home, or a lack thereof, flaming steel and the chants of a crowd long-since gone, targets thrown and targets hit, all of the ghosts he left behind. All of the ones that came with him.

"Weapon of choice?"

It's a voice that snaps him from his trance, his gaze snapping to the boy to his left. He'd seen him in passing but never in shadows, kept his eye on him but only casually. There are words that gather on his lips, but the tribute continues before he can respond. "Wait, let me guess,"

Krueger's eyebrow arches, following the boy's gaze towards the weapons table. There's a prayer that sits in the back of his mind, that his luck wouldn't run dry and the boy wouldn't choose the any of the ranged weaponry, "Javelins, maybe?".

There's a smirk that he fights back, maybe his under-the-radar act wasn't as fool proof as he'd thought. "Can't say I'm too used to 'em." It's a lie, but no one has to know that. "Axes are more of my thing." And there's a truth. He makes his way to the table and grabs one of the knives. "Trying to get an understanding of these babes, though." A lie, "Only a day until we go into the arena-" True. "Not sure I'll pick 'em up in time." Another lie.

He spins on his heel and sizes up his fellow tribute innocently. "Yours?"