Move Like a Butterfly; Sting Like a Wasp

The sound of a man's voice startles me. At first, I think it is a Capitol citizen, but I quickly dismiss that idea because, when I look up, the man is obviously not one of the frilly, overly-dressed, pigeons of the Capitol. The only thing that makes him even close to a Capitol citizen would be his modeling personality. I reach into my left pocket and pull out one of my shuriken daggers, holding it next to my left cheek with my right hand. I smirk and my eyes narrow to slits that examine the boy with intense annoyance. "And what is it that you think I'm doing?" I ask, my dagger glinting in the sunlight. "Because, if you do know what I'm doing, I would suggest that you run away screaming to your mother as I sink my daggers into your ugly skin."

I smirk as I listen to him speak. I notice his body language as plain as day. His smirk, still plastered on his face, shows his cockiness. His legs, spread slightly apart, indicate that he is ready for a fight. His eyes looking away from my own, probably going unnoticed on his part, showing that he doesn't know what to think of me. Good, I think. It's nice to be in charge once in a while.

"My insecurities?" I laugh, mockingly. "Are you, perhaps, talking about my threats? Even though our parents and government encourages us in some way to train, doesn't mean I'm going to blatantly tell someone that I'm training. I mean, it should be implied, but either way it is illegal." I stand up and deposit my dagger into my pocket again. "But what made you think I was a career? I ask, walking slowly around him, examining him.

I grunt after he corrects me. "If you're a career, I am truly surprised. Most of us know not to anger each other. Especially over something as juvenile as a grammar mistake." I leap next to his ear, behind behind him, and whisper, "I really don't care for know-it-all boys and neither do my knives.... if you know what I mean."

I slowly walk back around to where I can see his eyes baring into mine. "You couldn't have really come here just to see who was throwing stuff. What do you want?" I ask, a hint of anger in my voice. My arms cross over my chest and my left knee bends slightly, showing my annoyance at him. Men....how unpredictably stupid.

My eyes dart back and forth. I feel water pushing against my eyes, but I blink it away fiercely. I don't know why, but this entire encounter is making me upset. Calm down, you idiot. I tell myself. I bite my bottom lip. Did I really hurt his feelings? I wonder. I want to apologize, but if I did that, I would be admitting I was wrong... and would that make me a liar? No.. surely not. I insulted him....when he complimented me. I bit my lip harder, trying not to show expression. The realization hit me that I looked incredibly stupid in this moment.

Finally, I decide to stand behind my words. Or try to at least. I breath in a large intake of breath and then let it out, hoping he doesn't notice. Then, I cockily smirk again and look into his eyes, hoping he doesn't see directly through mine. "Yes," I choke out. The words are like a whisper in the air, barely audible. So I repeat myself. "Yes!" My eyes glitter with tears. What is wrong with you?! I ask myself furiously.

My eyes dart from his outstretched hand to my jacket. My right hand reaches cautiously into my left pocket, grabbing for a weapon, but then I quickly take my hand back out. My hands both fall limp at my sides, my eyes downcast. I sigh and reach out and shake his hand. Once I let go of his hand, I look up and fake a smile. "My name's Delilah." I say. I sit down on the ground and lean against the tree once more. "So now it's your turn to make a choice," I say, reverting back to my smirk and arrogant attitude. "You can either leave me where you found me, or talk to me for a while. Either way, I'm almost positive I will end up hating you once you do it." My eyes widen. Did I just say that him leaving would upset me? I wonder. Oh shit.

I nod, smiling. Even though he is probably just a player or idiot, it would be nice to have some company for awhile. Well, until he screwed it up, which most boys did. I look into his eyes and see right through him. A genuine, caring guy. But there's no point in friendships when one day you plan on being thrown into a Bloodbath. Unless, of course, he could go in with me.... "How old are you...? I ask casually. I cross my fingers and think, Please be young, please be young, please be young. I don't know why, but the thought of him going into the Games with me seems rather reassuring. He seems nice enough and strong enough. And definitely gutsy enough. After all, he had stood up against me.