kill your darlings (andromache and eulalie)

Naturally, Eulalie throws herself into her training as soon as they're given the all clear.

Free from the tribute parade and the silly costumes, away from the screaming crowd of Capitolites vying for a glimpse of this year's cast, Eulalie feels the most at home with her workout clothes on and her hand around the hilt of an axe. No one dares to bother her in this element; no fussing fans crying out fake pleasantries, no boring officials droning on about rules that she does care to follow or break. Her attention is focused on honing her body and her craft, chopping away at the dummies before her until the repetitive thudding of her blade washes out all other sound. Even her thoughts settle down into a static buzz.

Swing. Swoosh. Thwack.

Sweet, sweet silence.

She ceases her workout with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and still so much restless energy to burn. Her head is held high as she moves through the assortment of tributes gathered to train, most of them in a futile effort. She is confident that her showcase will lessen the odds of being bothered by the more lackluster strangers. And if not that, at least her stern expression is there to carry the slack. She takes hold of her water bottle and chooses to sit near Andromache, leaving a respectful amount of distance between them but still sitting close enough to suggest that they are on a level playing field.

They're not, of course, but they do come from the same home. And to a girl like Eulalie, that counts for something. At least the girl has a recognizable surname, even if the taller blonde isn't yet convinced that she'll be able to handle the, well... grittier aspects of this game. But as far it concerns her, her district partner is just another potential target she could easily take in a one-on-one fight. No amount of good manners can stop an axe from caving your skull in.

Before she has the chance to break the silence, a shock of platinum hair cuts across her vision as the sharper of the girls from Four takes her place snugly between them. Eulalie tightens the cap on her bottle, glancing at this stranger with narrowed, impassive eyes. Her features are still and patient as she drinks in Florentine's playful and cutting words. For all she cares to notice, this career at least speaks like she comes from a similar upbringing; her comments remind Eulalie a lot of her pedigree classmates back in One.

Most of all, judging the density of the intruder's muscle and the shape of her body, Eulalie is just cocky enough to consider this another person she can easily triumph should the need arise. If Andromache is willing to play along, she doesn't see why she shouldn't, too. "They're only going to continue embarrassing themselves." She says this dryly, not even bothering to look at the lower district crowd she's insulting. "There's a reason we train for years. No one learns how to win the Hunger Games in a week's time."

At the promise of advanced training, Eulalie smiles at both Florentine and Andromache. "I'm always looking for sparring partners that can give me a challenge." She quickly rises to her feet, rolling her shoulders before reaching to tighten her sleek ponytail. "Let's just hope you both can keep up. I don't want to feel like I'm pummeling another plastic dummy."

With an expectant smirk, she nods at the exit doors, signaling to Florentine that it's time for her to get on her feet and follow through with her idea.