{ between } > two < { lungs } [Lei]

It's no secret that I'm a pompous prick, standing myself up on my shiny pedestal of a high social status and sharper wits. I'm not exactly an arrogant person, as I certainly don't gloat and sing my own praises for all of District One to hear. (That is, in fact, one of the qualities that characterize the stereotypical Career- which I am most definitely not, mind you.) The average Career is vile and barbaric and frustratingly unenlightened- traits that thankfully don't constitute my personality in the slightest. I find such people intolerable and frankly not worth my time, and so I try to distance myself as much as possible from them as if their mere presence has the power to suck away brain cells. (Of course, my preferred company aren't exactly the most savory bunch I could associate myself with, but I have my reasons.) However, having been born into a Career family means that you have to meet certain expectations, and spending almost all of your free time training for a Game that you only really have a one in a thousand chance of even participating in is unfortunately one of them.

The training center, in my mind, is the place where children too weak-minded to function as anything else but mindless killing machines go to waste their time. (It has its exceptions, of course- the select few that actually have their wits about them and just all-around enjoy the prospect of murder and avidly train just for the hell of it.) There are also those who have no other choice, like me. My parents have been feeding me and my siblings Capitol bullshit for years, desperate for the fame and glory they never got a shot at, and I'd be kidding myself if I thought that they wouldn't throw me out on my ass if I didn't comply with their demands of spending almost every waking moment out of school in vigorous training. And I have no desire to become one of the sad, piteous low-lifes I spend my nights crowded around poker tables with, thick clouds of cigarette smoke perfuming the air in contrast to the dank smell of sweat that clings to every inch of the dreaded training center. Though I much prefer the former.

A frown twists the curve of my lips downward as my fingers close around the polished brass doorknob, the thick metal wall of the training facility before me doing well to mask the grunts and shouts of the Career trainees that are sure to be going on inside. I really don't want to be here. It's not that I'm not a formidable fighter, or that I don't like the thrill of the fight. (On the contrary, the surge of smug triumph that comes with victory is too sweet a feeling for me to not relish in it, but my battles aren't won by swinging fists or the sharp edge of a sword.) The door swings open easily as I pull- too easily, in fact- and a skinny blonde form comes tumbling to my feet, causing me to take a step back and quirk a questioning brow at the girl on the ground. At first, I don't recognize her, but then she lifts her face to bark out some insult and demand me to explain why her clumsiness is my fault, and ah- I'd know that face anywhere.

"Aqua, what a nice surprise." The frown previously etched across my face curls into a smirk, sea-green eyes flashing with with a teasing glint. "I'm a little shocked to see you here, sister. Aren't you worried you'll chip a nail?"


[ooc: sorry this took so long, heh.]