sniper's nest / inga + gunner

The best vantage point in the centre was the top of the climbing wall. Inga's morning routine is to hoist herself up early so she can watch the rest of the tributes trickle in one by one.

It turns out to be a useful perch for people watching. She detachedly observes one of the lower kids accidentally tying themself into their sailor's knot. She sees another eye up one of the trainer's soon to be empty pockets. She scoffs at the rest of the careers scattering.

The point is that it's a good spot. It's her spot.

So when the guy with the swagger and the too-cocky grin starts to climb up to her, the guy being mentored by the guy who killed her cousin, who she still can't seem to track down? She scowls. Looks away. She does her best impression of ignoring him.

When he grabs for one of the holds by her foot, she's all too tempted to reach out and stomp on his knuckles. That would be frowned upon though, it's too early.

Even when he looks up, expectant, adjusting his grip as the seconds tick by from polite to awkward, Inga doesn't move over.

She doesn't make room for him to reach the top. She barely even glances down.

"I was here first."