Close but not Quite [[Aya]]

Donovan had never really payed much attention to anyone else in the Training Center. Ever since he'd begun training at the young age of nine, (his parents had realized right away that school was not one of his strengths) he'd focused on nothing else while training; all that mattered was him, his weapon, and the target. Even his various trainers (before the incident, of course) had called him 'distant'. He never trained with the others his age, never socialized because he had a habit of getting into fights, even as a child. If he was in a bad mood, anyone who attemted to interact with him would probably end up with a fist in his face. So Don kept to himself, and liked it that way.

Today, though, as he went to go retrieve the half of his spear that had lodged itself inside the shoulder of the sand-filled dummy in front of him, he took a second to observe the people who were sharing the Training Center with him. There weren't many today, for some reason. This was odd because the Reaping was drawing nearer; everyone would want to practice on the off chance that they did end up in the arena. Some were even preparing to volunteer.

On the complete opposite side of the gym there was a pair of children, twins probably, because they looked a lot alike, who were practicing shakily with fencing foils. They looked to be about ten. The boy looked eager, enthusiastic, ready. Somewhat like Don himself at that age, only less...absorbed in his fight. He looked...happy. Donovan could not remember being happy, not once, ever in his life. He could remember being satisfied, perhaps when he'd accomplished a great feat in training. But never happy. This boy was, though, there was no doubt.

He'd make a good Career.

The girl, however, looked much more unsure of herself. She was quick, and managed to dodge his sword when he jabbed it in her direction. But she wasn't as comfortable with her own foil, and her attacks were feeble. She cringed every time the two weapons clashed, as if she didn't like the sound. She could learn a thing or two from her brother.

Rather taken with his newfound activity of examining the people in the gym, he looked around some more. No one else seemed that interesting, though. There was a couple of teens over near the shooting range with some bows in their hands, but they were just talking, they didn't seem to be practicing at all. Don narrowed his eyes. Idiots. On the off chance that they were reaped, how did they expect to survive in the arena if they didn't even train while they had the chance? Disgusted, the eighteen-year-old looked away. He spotted a couple of boys who looked like they were around thirteen having a wrestling match over where the mats were set up on the northern side of the gym. Personally, Donovan thought wrestling was much more interesting when one had a couple of knives in his hands...but unfortunately most didn't seem to agree with him. That was was it, though. The Training Center was empty other than that, except for a couple of coaches.

Oh, and the girl who had just completely missed the target with a throwing knife.

The Career teen couldn't help but raise his eyebrows. If he'd missed that target so severely, not that he'd ever done that bad, but still, he'd probably punish himself by throwing it again and again until it hit the bullseye dead on, which could sometimes take a while if he was that angry. But this girl frankly didn't seem to give a crap. She did look like she was...fighting some sort of boxing match inside her head, but she wasn't even looking in the direction of the fallen knife. Instead she was looking at...him.

It wasn't unusual for Donovan to find himself being stared at, but mostly it was looks of disdain, fright, or anger. This girl, with frayed brown hair and dark eyes to match, was looking at him with an expression of curiosity evident on her face. She looked as if she wanted to walk over to him, but something was making her not. And she continued to ignore the knife that had clattered on the ground.

That pissed Don off more than anything, the fact that she couldn't care less about the weapon on the floor, nor about the fact that she'd so blatantly missed her target. Every muscle in his body longed to go over there and show her how it was done, show her how you had to concentrate, to focus only on the spot you wanted to hit and let instinct do the rest. But ever since the incident he'd had a strict policy of conversing with no one, training with no one, and picking up that knife and showing the frazzled girl who'd thrown it where she'd made her mistake would completely go against that. Besides, he'd probably end up getting so frustrated that he'd take it out on her, which was something he didn't want to do. He was the first person to admit that he got out of control sometimes...most of the time.

So, forcing himself to turn away and stay put, he wrenched his spearhead out of the dummy's shoulder and pretended to examine it, staring at the point, poking it with his finger as if there was something he could learn by doing so. And this was why he was not expecting the tap on his shoulder and the feminine voice in his ear.

"Heya." Get the hell away from me. "I think you dropped half your shaft."

If the circumstances had been different, Donovan would have had to supress a snicker. But the reason half of his spear was lying in splinters on the ground was not something he wanted to think about, and now images of that horrible training day three years ago were now once again running through his head. Get OUT. He pushed the pictures out of his mind with an extreme amount of strength and made himself focus on the unwelcome person in front of him. He couldn't force the sarcasm out of his voice as he spoke. "Yeah. I noticed."

Had she been saying that to mock him? He hated being mocked. But for some reason the girl had not had a mocking tone as she'd spoken. Was she serious?

this feels like fourteen karats but no clarity.