Heat of Life (Aya)

Heat of Life (Aya) May 25, 2012 22:04:51 GMT -5

Post by Snakebird on May 25, 2012 22:04:51 GMT -5

The first day of training is so much fun. I get to be let loose in a room full of weapons. Unfortunately, all of these weapons have been dulled down completely so that I can't eliminate any of the competition before the Games begin. I bet I could bludgeon someone to death if I hit them with it hard enough, but that could take some time. I run around the center, basking in the glory of the different stations. Some of them look useful, but others look just plain stupid. Who would take a station on being able to walk longer distances. All you would have to do is just walk farther, drink water, and keep going. If you aren't a little bitch, you should be able to make it across the arena in a few days. That's called being a tough guy like myself. I could do a ton of stuff that these other losers couldn't do. I'm so amazing compared to the other tributes.

I spend some time at the edible plants station, but I don't learn anything. I never really liked plants. They taste too bland. I like my food to taste seasoned, and I've never been able to taste that with vegetables. Meat just absorbs flavor, kind of like a sponge. Or is it a starfish that absorbs stuff. It has to be a sponge, thats what my mom uses to clean the table off. I end up accidently putting poison ivy in my mouth, and they send me away, because its obviously pointless for me to try and learn that. Instead I head over to a station that I might be good at: Hand-to-Hand Combat.

A girl is there, and she looks like a total badass, and a solid 8 on my scale. Tall for a girl, but she isn't as tall as me. Blonde hair falls down to around her shoulders, and it is accompanied by two very attractive eyes. I would like to see those eyes looking up at me while... Um, must stop trying to think bad things. She moves with purpose, and everything she does is going exactly the way she wants it to happen. She could be my ally. I could sleep with her too. Allies with benefits, like friends with benefits, except we're trying to not die while we have sex.

I strut over to the station, exuding my personal brand of manly confidence. I have the most swagger of anyone in District Two. Even the mayor can't match my confidence and sense of bravado. I exceed the mayor in the amount of confidence I have. I should be the mayor when I return. That would help me get bitches. Being a victor, mayor, and having devilishly good looks is the trifecta. Out of my good eye, I see the girl finish sparring. “Hey, blondie!” I yell, trying to catch her attention. “Watch this!” I jump into the ring, and face off against the trainer. I rush him, and throw a right hook to the jaw. It connects, and he flies backwards. I might have forgotten to call go, so it probably wasn't what people would call fair. In a real fight, no one calls go, so this idiot better have his guard up at all times. I circle behind him, and put him in a sleeper hold before he can recover from the punch. He's on the ground unconscious in a few seconds. I shout to her, “You should save those light hits of yours for the bedroom, this is how you really fight!” With a wink and a smirk, I hop out of the ring and walk over to her.

Heat of Life (Aya) May 29, 2012 16:19:29 GMT -5

Post by aya on May 29, 2012 16:19:29 GMT -5

Well, Cowboy Dan's a major player in the cowboy scene
He goes to the reservation drinks and gets mean
He's gonna start a war
He hops in his pickup puts the pedal to the floor
And says "I got mine but I want more"

Stark Harper —

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Compared to the facilities for tribute hopefuls back in District One, the training center for actual tributes was very top-of-the-line. It made sense, of course; the Capitol spared no expense when it came to the Hunger Games. They operated on a nearly-unlimited budget, and the better prepared the tributes were to deal with whatever wilderness lay ahead of them, the more entertaining the show would be. So why not order the fanciest training dummies — ones with the arteries marked or that put up the same resistance to blades as human flesh did — and let the tributes tear them apart in the meantime?

Stark, the avid career that she was, was delighted to see such an array of new toys. There were weapons like she'd never seen before, some odd combinations of whips and knives, spears and morning stars, swords and sledgehammers, and other combinations that she'd never even fathomed. Though she rarely felt or showed any sort of emotion, Stark saw no need to hide her genuine — albeit malicious — glee to have access to such incredible facilities. Let the others see. Nobody would accuse her of being weak just because she had a soft spot for weapons; on the contrary, they ought to find it intimidating.

Because she was never much of a people person, Stark seldom had the opportunity to train with her peers, and therefore much of her practical experience was gleaned from fights. True, she was occasionally invited to spar, but this was a rare occurrence; she hadn't trained one-on-one with anyone since her bout with Indrik Pantheon however long ago. That said, the blonde girl deemed it in her best interest to brush up on her hand-to-hand combat with the instructor at the respective station. She decided that she'd spend the day on unarmed combat and gradually work her way through the various weapons, with a day set aside for survival skills. Those couldn't be too hard; after all, for the most part, survival was common sense with just a bit of technical knowledge thrown in.

She'd just finished a sparring match with the trainer and was about to switch over to throwing knives to cool down before she called it quits for the day when the big one-eyed brute from District Two strutted into the ring. "Hey blondie, watch this!" he hollered. Stark scowled in response. This disapproval only grew as the other tribute hit the trainer who was looking the other way and then knocked him the rest of the way unconscious. He looked so proud of himself for such a cheap shot. She'd opened her mouth to voice her distaste for him when he only made things worse for himself by insulting her combat prowess and physical strength, suggesting that his sucker punch was better than her honest fight, and, worst of all, coming on to her.

She went from critical to livid in all of half a second. Spitting mad, she started shouting at him: "First of all, you don't have half a chance in the world of so much as entering my bedroom; secondly, if I did, I'd have my knife, therefore third, you'd quickly be castrated, so, fourth, you wouldn't be hitting much of anything and have no room to talk!" She spat out her entire tirade without taking a breath. Stark would be the first to admit that she had a short temper. She took another breath, then another, before dropping her voice to a normal volume and summarizing her thoughts: "You don't have a sheep's chance of living past Day One if all you can do is hit people when they're not looking. The bloodbath doesn't work like that. But hey —" she shrugged, showing her disinterest " — if that's what you want to do, fine by me. One less nitwit standing in the way of me and my crown."

"Oh," she added as an afterthought, "and don't call me 'blondie.' Cyclops."

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