Bleeds You Rough {Tori}

Bleeds You Rough {Tori} Jan 14, 2012 21:16:44 GMT -5

Post by Morgana on Jan 14, 2012 21:16:44 GMT -5

Pettissa Arnold

The weight of the world
Has pushed me to the wall.

In all honesty, I'm getting a little tired of this. I'm sick of watching little brats try their best to please me, when such a thing isn't possible. They try so hard, but it isn't enough. The one thing I want is to be there, training with them again. Usually, kids don't bother me so much. I actually really like them. But lately, I've felt rather vicious. I don't know who to blame for all of this. Myself, I guess, for not volunteering when I had the chance. This was my choice, to stay here and be part of this world. I didn't give up being a Career completely. I'll always be one, somewhere in my soul. I just started training Careers instead. It isn't all bad. Sometimes I get to train someone who really wants to be in the Games. Someone who tries their hardest, and doesn't give up at the first sign of hard work. But I also get stuck with the new recruits. Like I said, kids don't bother me that much. What does bother me is spending more time keeping those kids away from the swords and preventing them from cutting each others limbs off than actually training them. At one point, I ripped off my gloves and showed them my pinkie finger - or lack of pinkie finger, I should say - just to remind them how dangerous being a Career can be. It's not all fun and games.

Downstairs, I can hear my mother at the stove, something sizzling in a skillet. The smell of bacon wafts up to me, mingling with the scent of scrambled eggs. It's times like this that I'm glad I haven't moved out yet. I get fed much better here than I would if I lived alone. I roll out of bed and brush my hair flat, whipping it back into a pony when I'm done. Stripping off my pajamas, I dress in a pair of well-worn jeans that still allow for a full range of movement, and a t-shirt Dad got me four years ago. It's white with black letters that says, "I could kick your ass, I just don't want to." The letters are faded and the fabric is thin, but it's always been one of my favorites. My dad thought I would like it because of what it says, but I like it more because of the looks people give me. Lastly, I slip on a pair of thin leather gloves to hide my missing finger, then open the door and head to the kitchen.

My mom smiles at me when I enter the room, taking in my outfit and nodding in approval. Without even asking, she sets a plate down on the table, laden with bacon and eggs. I thank her, then take a seat and begin gobbling it down. Today is my day off, but I'm planning on going to the training center anyway. It's been too long since I've sparred for my own enjoyment, or taken a swing at a punching bag for any reason besides a demonstration. I'm looking forward to spending a whole day exercising. After I finish my meal, I tell Mom I'm going out. Once I'm outside, I start off with a light jog. Even though it's the middle of winter and snow coats the ground, I don't wear a coat. I figure my jog will warm me up. It's not that far to the center anyway.

When I arrive, I'm breathing hard, but am happy to report that I'm not sweating. That'll come later, when I really get into it. It would have been disappointing to learn that I'm so out of shape that a simple jog made me break out in a sweat. I wave to a few people I know, some of them acquaintances, some of them my students, as I head for the mats near the back of the building. They're set up for sparring, either hand-to-hand or armed. A few couples are already out on the floor, going at it as their trainers look on. I join the crowd of spectators, trying to judge if anyone fighting is worth taking on. In the end, I decide just to head over to the are where they have dummies set up so you can practice individually. I select a nice lightweight spear and find a dummy that isn't taken, then begin practicing. I fall into the rhythm of it right away. It feels so good to be practicing again, I'm not sure I'll want to stop when the time comes.

Bleeds You Rough {Tori} Jan 15, 2012 10:28:45 GMT -5

Post by Tori on Jan 15, 2012 10:28:45 GMT -5

Callidos Mason
eighteen . single . district 1

View his bio.

speaking // FF7256
roleplaying // D98C8C

I woke up to the sound of my alarm in my ear. Robotically, I hit the snooze button and then laid in my bed staring at the ceiling. It was one of those days where my father had decided to take some interest in my life. He had scheduled the whole day for me. Last night he had never actually gotten around to telling me what he planned. So, I assumed it would be hanging on my door once I decided to move myself from the bed. Which I didn’t plan to do. I glanced to my right, almost expecting Jerica to be lying there. Perhaps that was motivation for finally getting out of bed, I didn’t want all those memories to come hurling back just because I looked somewhere in my room.

My jeans from yesterday were lying on the ground with my belt still securely fastened through the hoops. I stepped in and pulled them on. The less effort, the better. My closet was lined with several tank tops dangling from hangers. Maybe my mother decided to do some laundry. Whatever. I grabbed a black one and threw it on. There was a pair of old sneakers on my way out my bedroom door. I slipped my feet in, not bother to tie them or to put on socks. You would never be able to tell I was a Victor’s kid. As promised, there was a note on my door:

9:00 AM – Training
12:00 PM – Study the government of Panem
2:00 PM – Make some kind of food
4:00 PM – Because we are going to a Victor’s banquet

I ripped the note and shoved it into my pocket. Asshole. My house was empty of movement. It was empty of life. You’d never be able to tell someone actually lived in this house. All the houses in Victor’s Village came already furnished, but ours looked like no one had even moved in. It was bare, except for the furniture it came with. My parents had added nothing of their own in all the time we lived here. I opened the fridge. My eyes searched the length of the fridge for something to eat that did not require cooking. I sighed as a grabbed an apple and hit the door with my foot to close it. Without another look back, I jogged out my door.

The training area was not far from the Victor’s Village. It was just out the gate and then to the right. The sun was not as hot today as usual, but still warm enough to comfortably wear a tank top. My mind wandered aimlessly as I jogged. Jerica. Father. Fucking banquet. I turned right and stopped running as I entered. There was already a good number of people there, which surprised me since it was so early in the morning. It had been eight-thirty when I left. I started off with my usual routine. That meant heading start to target practice. I grabbed my spear of choice from the table and a few throwing knives and started right away. The spear entered the target in the thigh. Shit. This early in the morning, maybe I better try my luck with the knives.

I threw the first and it missed completely. Four left. I threw them all consecutively. Arm. Chest. Miss. Head. There we go. I slowly walked over to retrieve the weapons. I was not in the mood to jog anymore. On my way back, I noticed that a girl about my age had taken the target slot next to mine. She’d chosen to use a swear and by the looks of it, it seemed to be a weapon she was skilled at. I threw my weapons to the ground and watched her for a moment. The spear hit the same place consecutively. “You know how to do that with any other weapons?” I was leaning against the weapons table because standing required more effort than I planned on using. Her form was amazing.

[ooc: oh my gosh, I'm so sorry for how bad this is. This is actually the first place I've written first person. I'm strictly a third person. I'll get better, I promise. Haha.]

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