deadly arrogance [ xov x lionel ]

deadly arrogance [ xov x lionel ] Feb 1, 2024 8:47:37 GMT -5

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Post by lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah on Feb 1, 2024 8:47:37 GMT -5

l i o n e l .

* * *

I, Lionel Estrada, was a natural born charmer. No, correction, I had to work my ass off to become the charming specimen that I was today. Through trial and error I had learnt the perfect smile, the perfect phrase and the perfect gesture required to win people to my side. I had made sure that I was the perfect tool for my father to wield, so desperate for him to notice me. Really notice me. And I had believed that one day he would. That he would finally shower me with the recognition that I truely believed I deserved.

And yet, it would seem that I would die chasing after something that I knew deep down my father would never relinquish.

So from the moment I had walked into the training center this morning I had thought screw you all, and all good intentions of becoming the charming perfect little tribute from Five that would have made daddy Estrada so fucking proud, not that I knew what that would look like, had been shedded like a second skin and for the first time in years I felt a weight lift from my shoulders and I could breathe.

And I think for the first time in my life I had a glimpse into the lifestyle that Wren had embraced for freely and I suddenly felt like I could understand him. Which annoyed the fuck out of me, because all my life I had resented him for his carefree nature, and desire to do whatever the hell he wanted, knowing that I could never be free like him.

But it would seem I was free from my shackles and as I strutted through the training center with my shoulders pulled back like some arrogant fool, I felt that freedom embrace me and it felt amazing and so very dangerous.

From the corner of my eye a flash of movement catches my attention and I turn to watch the pretty, if not a little scrawny, tribute from twelve tragically fail to land her dart on the board a few feet away. Brows raised I casually lean against the bench beside the station where sets of darts had been arranged for tributes to use. She throws another dart and it sails past the board, cluttering useless to the ground.

A low whistle escapes my lips, my eyes studying her carefully. "That was truly pathetic, sweetheart." Pushing off the bench I close some of the distance between us as a grin tugs at my lips, "I believe that the aim is to actually hit the target. Though I could be wrong... But thats unlikely, because I am never wrong." Leaning forward I gently pry her fingers off the dart that she had been clutching, a little too tightly if I was being honest. "Your holding it wrong," I start to explain as though I had all the experience in the wold with the game of darts. Which I didn't. But how hard could it be? Surely not as hard as the girl made it out to be.

"Its all about the grip, darling, you gotta hold it like you mean it. Let me show you," I say as I turn to face the board. With a flick of my wrist I send the dart flying, and to my god damned relief it its the board, not a bulls eye but on the outer edge of the second ring. Not perfect, which irked me because after years of trying to be perfect, it was hard to let go of the need to be just that: perfect.

deadly arrogance [ xov x lionel ] Feb 1, 2024 20:00:44 GMT -5

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Post by xov thao 12b [Bella] on Feb 1, 2024 20:00:44 GMT -5

X O V t h a o

The closest thing Xov knew to target practice were the slingshots she used to make with her father and Alang, flimsy faux weapons made of forked sticks and rubber bands that they would use to pelt each other with smelly gingko fruits at the end of summer. A sweet memory, but totally useless in the arena.

She had approached the ranged weapons station, maybe a tad jealous of the measured grace of the career tributes as their knives pierced the wooden targets like soft cheese. They all made it look so easy that she started to picture herself standing where they were, readying the knife, then letting it soar with the precision and accuracy of some hunter-goddess. Instead, she almost murdered the instructor.

After she missed the target by a large margin and the instructor’s neck by a narrow one, her knives were confiscated and she was hurried away from the station by her shoulders.

“It might be best if you start from square one.”

Xov could tell the instructor was being courteous. Her shoulders hunched up, then fell with a resigned sigh. ”If you say so.”

It turned out “square one” didn’t involve knives at all. She was handed three pointed darts with feathered ends and directed towards a colorful target that looked like it belonged in a children’s game. She vaguely remembered one of her relatives—an uncle, maybe?—having one of these in their basement as a drinking game. How embarrassing. She stole a furtive glance at the mezzanine that held the Gamemakers, hoping they were busy eating and chatting rather than watching her fail miserably.

Well, maybe the instructor was onto something. It was a target, and these were pointy things. Having little to no experience with ranged weapons meant that she had to start somewhere, so she decided try and look as dignified as she could, like it was all part of the plan.

Square one it is then, she thought, standing a little straighter.

Widening her stance, she turned her left hip towards the board, weighing one of the darts in her right hand. Her eyes zeroed in on the target as she pulled back, exhaled, and let it fly.

It flew towards the target…then missed, skittering across the floor. It hadn’t even landed on the pointy end. Xov cursed under her breath.

Okay, no one gets that on their first try, she consoled herself.

Second try. Dart held in a slightly different way, she tried to draw an invisible line from her right eye to the target. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

Miss.

From behind her came a breathy whistle. ”That was truly pathetic, sweetheart." Her head spun around so quickly she almost got whiplash, fingers tightening around the third and final dart as the boy from District 5 walked towards her. Where on earth had he come from? And why was yet another person calling her sweetheart?

"I believe that the aim is to actually hit the target. Though I could be wrong... But that’s unlikely, because I am never wrong.”

What a thing to say. Xov's cheeks ablaze, he wrenched the dart from her hand and explained that she had been holding it wrong. ”Hey! I—“ She had… no words. She had been steamrolled by this sudden display of masculine arrogance, and now stood there immobilized, mouth agape, not sure what was happening.

“It’s all about the grip, darling, you gotta hold it like you mean it. Let me show you.” There was no question of letting him or not letting him; he was showing her alright. The dart soared through the air in an arc and landed slightly off-center. Not bad, she had to give it to him—although it wasn’t exactly good enough, either, to be wrenching darts out of her hand.

Xov crossed her arms over her chest. From the look on his face she could tell he was way too proud of himself. ”Bravo,” she offered sardonically. Usually she would have been a better sport, but she was deeply irked by her inability to hit a single target today, and then on top of it all, she had been shown up by a boy who seemed to have no more combat training than she’d had.

She cocked her head sideways and squinted at the board. ”But—and correct me if I’m wrong—I think the real aim is to hit the bullseye, darling,” she mimicked.

Stepping towards the target, she plucked his dart back out and clutched it in her fist, hovered its point over the bullseye, then pulled it back towards her ear. BAM! She stabbed it right into the diametrically perfect center, where it sunk with a satisfying smack. ”There, fixed it for you.” She turned back towards the other tribute with a triumphant smile.

”Ranged weapons are for people who are too afraid to fight face to face. I am not one of those people.” Okay, she was making this up. But she needed to sound tough enough to balance out making a fool of herself in front of him. She would not want to die by the hands of this soft, pale boy.