CAREER ARENA PLOT Rematch (Marree)

R-day

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Sleeping was the last thing on my mind today. Being a sunday, I rose early and dressed. My brother still sleeps, but my father, I find up early like me. A cup of something steaming in his hands when I walk into the kitchen of our spacious house. Here in two, we live a lot more luxurious than the other district down the line. The ones that can afford the training and nice things. We still work for what we get, but we do prosper where others don't. With both of the men in my family working, it brings in more than enough to support us and our training needs. Especially mine since my training is still ongoing. At least until I turn nineteen and I'm free from the games, but I"m not too entirely sure that I will make it to that age. I don't want to pass the reaping age as my brother is barely at. The thought of it goes through my head.

He must not want it as bad as I do. I want the opportunity to fight. To win. To make a name for myself. Kyanite Ruze. District two victor... it has a nice ring, but I'm going overboard... why, if in the even that I die, and I willing to sacrifice all of my bruised and broken bones to shame by not volunteering? Surely, that time will come. If I'm not reaped, I will do what I was born to do.

I nod to my father as I enter, and grab a peice of some dried peice of bread that my father has laying out on a towel. The top of it covered in some sort of purple gel that is spread so thin that the color of the bread almost takes over. I know the flavoring will be there though. Our homemade jams are my specialty. I make them in spurts when I have time and am not at the gym. Normally, I train with my brother, but he's been slacking as of late, but me? I"m all too eager to get started.

"Bye dad. Love you..." I say, the words feeling empty that are thrust toward my father. He looks at me with a stern stare.

"Training this early?" He questions me. He sits his cup down on the table and I halt in my footsteps. My arms folding up in front of me as I wait to hear what he has to say.

"Yeah. Need to do some conditioning." I tell him.

"I heard about your display last week in the gym with that boy. That Matthew. Threw too many good hits at you. Your cheek is still bruised, you know? You're slacking. People talk. Talking is a sign that you're weakening. When people start to gossiping about failures, it looks bad on you. On me. Even your brother. You hear me, Kyan? I don't want to hear any more gossip. I want you to exceed and surpass. Surpass, Kyan. Go!" He demands so much out of me, but in reality, it's his meaning behind what he says that keeps me going. I plan on doing well today. I need to become stronger.

The walk to the career center wasn't as harsh as it was the morning previous, when frost blanketed the city. I felt my body shiver endlessly. I had yet to warm up, but once I got to the gym, I knew that I'd be warm soon enough. Another part of training for this morning? Endurance. Adaption. The chill is a superficial reaction that will just have to be overlooked. As I found my way into the building, I set straight to work. I sat in the floor, stretching out my muscles. I wondered what weapon I would use today. I've done sword fighting and sparring this week, but I need to keep up the skills with my throwing knives. it's been a while since I've done some one on one time with that particular subject, so I continue my stretch.

I pull one leg over the other one, bent. My left arm extending over the length of my arm and turn around , hearing the bone pop in my back. It felt amazing. The gym felt so quiet as I began warming up. I never expected that anyone would come this early. Not when the frost covered the rooftops of every house here. I let a yawn escape my lips when a voice suddenly rips through my concentration.

Apparently other people can't sleep long either.

I shot my gaze toward the one person that I never expected to see here this early. Only the truely dedicated ones are out this early and already training. I look around though and see no one. I smirk to Mathew. His name steps up just one time in my book.

"So, you caught me red handed. Surprise." I say, sarcasm dripping from every vein in my body. I smile at him though. I don't stop what I'm doing and in turn, he crosses the distance between us just to say, 'Hi'. I wonder about him. He doesn't seem to be that socail, but he seems to make it well enough. For me? I never had time to social.

"Hi yourself." I tell him and stand up, pulling my body into different angles and swinging from side to side. "What brings you out this early? Didn't you see the frost outside. Half of the town is covered as well. Most people stay indoors at a time like this. Come for that rematch, so soon?" I laugh a soft, gentle laugh. One of good natured fun, but in truth I was kinda serious about what I said.

"How's the knee?" I ask, looking straight for his leg, then back up to him.

Setting the bar

---

As I stretch, I watch him so eagerly. My eyes lingering on his face and eyes. I'm trying to see something gentle about his appearance. Today, he seems to be in a better mood than the other day so my previous comment to him seemed a little too harsh for the morning, but I don't bother with trying to reconcile myself for it. As I move to stretch the muscles and await his return answer, I feel my body start to warm up against the cold that I walked in. I would definately need to shed the jacket in a minute before I get started and I can only grin to him when he said he noticed the cold. I shake my head and pull my right leg up, bending it, stetching the muscles and repeating the action with my left.

"Well, your in luck, cause I had already planned out something for my training today. I've been neglecting my knife throws for quite some time. It's time I get back to my roots. So, that will be our challenge for today, if you think you can handle it?" I tell him, as I stop the stretching. Normally, I would start running right now and get my two miles in before I started on any kind of weapons, but special times call for special measures. Matthew seems more than eager to do this, so why should I make him wait any longer?

I take a few quick strides over to a chair and relieve myself of my jacket and come back with a light pink tank top that matches the color of the line that's decorated my black pants. I stare at Matthew. "So, shall we get started? Knife throwing.. you any good?"

Setting the bar

---

I carry myself back over to him with ease. My arms folded up against my body. My stance a little too stern. Eager. Then as I made the challenge, he accepted it with a little oddity in his words. He said that he could handle me... then corrected himself. I wonder what that was about? I question myself but don't carry the thought on any longer. I was more than happy to get started but I would have to get the knives first. Matthew can get his own though, since I'm no towel girl. I only do for myself and no one else.

"I'm one of the best... I told you when we first met, what my strong suits were, or was you not paying attention?" I throw my answer out to him with sarcasm yet again. Why am I this way around him? Is it just in my blood to automatically release sarcasm everytime to him? What's wrong with me? I nod to him, and get an answer that has me dying to know the answer to.

I'm not telling you. You'll have to find out for yourself, Miss Dynamite. I remember this conversation the other day when he called me dynamite. Is he teasing me or just forgotten my name? I quickly make a note and voice out the corrections.

"It's Kyanite... but you might want to be careful if you play with fire. I have a short fuse." I tease him, and walk off away from him. I reach the weapons case and pull out a handful of the deadly weapons. They are real. Nothing fake here. No unsharpened blades like the swords. These are sharp. Unwilling to participate in childs play. I like these. I turn to meet Matthew's gaze as I suspect he's getting his own supply of blades.

"Target practice... unless you'd like to volunteer for me to be a moving target?" I throw the challenge at him and I'm quite sure I wouldn't miss with him. I laugh softly and turn away from him, going to the opened dummy area.

Taking a stab at it...

---

I notice how he took to my suggestion at him being my moving target and actually laugh at the image that goes through my mind when try to invision anyone allowing themselves anywhere near his precious parts. I put my hand up to my mouth to conceal my smile, but it still shows through in my eyes. How much I just want to burst out with the thoughts going through my head to tell him, but instead of saying too much, I just rely on the next phrase.

"Too bad. No one will ever volunteer for me. It's a real shame. Just to let you know, for future reference, I promise to stay away from the family jewels. Don't you worry yourself about me. My aim is better than that..." I throw him that phrase, my voice taking the tone of someone teasing seductively and head off to the dummy area for the training challenge between me and Matthew.

"Hmm, I see what you mean. Though, I never will aim below the belt in an unfair fight." I throw him a sideways glance and hold the blades in my hands. The handles of the knives are light, but deadly. I perfer the silent kinds. The ones you can't hear coming nor when they hit. They will glide faster through the air and sink in deeper within in enemy. The images play in my mind as I stare at my opponents. I can't help but watch as he messes with his knives.

Ladies first...

I hear him say, and I almost try to get up to take my place to go but he moves me away, taking my place instead. I make a gruff noise and watch as he takes his place and throws his three. Then, I move up next to him, surveying the damage that his knives did.

"That's pretty good, but It'll be odd to say, but you throw like a girl..." I raise an eyebrow. My lips are in a line. No smile. I know where to hit him where it hurts, and it isn't in the family jewels. Perhaps, he'll step up his game after this. Practice or not, there's no time for playing games. I take my position next to him. Angle the knives and one after another, in quick movements, each knife plants deep within the head of the dummy. One through each eye, then the third happens to find itself deep within the nose area of the dummy. I turn to Matthew, still no grin. "That's how it's done." I offer no other prize but instead, show my arms in mock form of allowing him to go in front of me.

"Your next, Matthew. Try to aim a little higher... " I tell him, and fold up my arms in front of me. I look back at the dummies and revel in the placement of my knives. Next time, I need to aim a little lower... a little below the belt to show him that I mean business.

Pang of guilt for the enemy

---

I hear him mutter my name after the correction. I smile. He's trying to remember obviously and he should. It would be a shame for him to get beaten by me in my skill strength and not remember my name. So, it only makes me feel good to know he's taking the initiative to do that for me. I'd rather my name be known anyways. It's who I am.

So, as he throws his three, I take my punishment for what I said. I am only able to grin though out of facination that he let it get to him that much. Weakness is set. I learn more and more about him each time I meet him. Does he even realize that I profile his strengths. Weaknesses. Annoying traits? When my knives get stuck into the face of the dummy, i turn to him and notice that he seems a bit upset about something. What is his deal... I'm curious when he starts heading over to the dummies and how he glances back at me. Two more knives still sit beside me on the ground, but I don't bend down take them in my hands. Instead I watch him as he maneuvers the knives out of the dummies face and he collects his as well.

He takes his position on the line once again, and takes shots that I have to watch in order to believe. Rusty start.. but good non-the-less. Maybe he was just warming up.. but he probably shouldn't quit his strengths of fighting. He's got his strengths. I've got mine. If anything ever happens and we're reaped, I'll know to either partner up with him or steer clear. Either way, we are a deadly duo, I know that much. It actually wouldn't be a bad idea to get reaped with him, unless I have to kill him...

There's just a moment that I get so lost in my thoughts that his last attempt at throwing catches me off guard, making me jump, when the knife hits the wall an he hits the floor in an instant. I gasp and fall to my knees beside him. "Hey, you okay? I thought you said you're knee... Damn you, Matthew." I say without realizing what came out of my mouth. I glare at him as he tries to joke and then he gets up. I shake my head at him but admire the way he still gets back up. Now, I know for a fact that I screwed up his leg the other day. I feel horrible.

Can I try one of yours? He asks me and I reach down and grab the extra two that I had by my feet and hand them to him. I'm really worried about his continueing to stand on his leg, but my concern doesn't show. I can't let it show that I feel anything toward him and the situation about his knee. It happens, right? You aren't a career without injuries, I just wish he would have followed my advice about seeing a profession. I can tell he didn't. I fold up my arms, and watch him.

"Go ahead and throw, but there's no way that you can stand much longer, Matthew... Why are you so stubborn?" I throw it at him.

Pang of guilt for the enemy

---

I don't make that much of a fuss over him anymore when he stands. He's fine... the dolt. I think to myself and hold the knives in my hands as he takes his standing ovation and lets his mouth run a marathon of words into a phrase of hatred. A sarcastic and snide comment like always. I back off. After that display of emotion I just showed to him and all I get back is a cold shoulder, I vow that no matter how much I hate that I've hurt him, I won't show anything else toward him. AFterall, we are only that of competition. Why even bother trying to make friends with him when the ultimate outcome of this will only lead to heartbreak when one or both of us are reaped. Until I pass the reaping age, having friends or a boyfriend is completely out of the question. I've lost my mother six years ago and I refuse to go through that type of heartache again. All ties to Matthew are severed.

As he waits for me to throw, I handle the knives in my hand gently. I take a moment to refect on the blade. I look at the edge. The pointed tip. I see the thin sides of the knife that could ultimately cut deep within the skin of an enemy or a most hated competitor, but with a heavy sigh, I forgo any more conversation with Matthew. I feel extremely pissed for some reason that I can't comprehend. I hold the blade in my palm and let it sit there for one moment, before tossing it in the air, and catching it with ease on the handle and once again, like lightning, the blade rushes against the wind and is thrust deep with the heart cavity of the bullseye.

The next blade that I ready in my hand, I do the same ritual on. Then, as soon as I catch it in my hand, I turn a full circle quickly and throw the blade at an angle. It sinks its tip in a part of the kneecap of the dummy. I make a rough noise. It's lower than I wanted. I was going for the thigh, but the kneecap will work. The third blade, rests in my palm for longer than the other two and I suddenly switch hands. My left hand grasps the handle, and I take just a moment more before letting the blade leave my hand. It soars through the air and lands in the middle of the dummies stomach, just off a little though. A vital organ that lays inside. I stay in my mode. No words. No voice. I step off to the side and cross my arms infront of my body. Waiting to see what he is willing to do.

Ass... You're up now. Take your throws. What a way to start a morning... With this guy who is as about friendly as a cactus... I'm have no clue why I suddenly become silent.

Drowing in the flood

---

Did you really just throw with left? You're ambi dextrous?

The words that came from him didn't seem to impress me. I am too much in thought to really process his compliment, but instead choose to remail silent. There is a moment when I question myself what I became quiet after trying to help him, when it started to hit me that he didin't even want the help. Who wouldn't? What person wouldn't take the help when it was so freely given to them. I would have given anything to have been helped growing up. All the many times that the boy who made my life a living hell hit me or verbally assaulted me. Each time that I was overpowered by his weight or fist. To ask for help was forbidden from my father. To tell him what happened to me was forbidden, but each time I wished for the help that never came. Every time he advanced on me, there was nobody ever around to help, so the help was never offered. Suffer in silence. That was my sentence.

I do, however, nod to him when he asks that question in surprise. He doesn't need to know any more about me other that what I show him. To come out with why I feel so hurt by him not accepting my help is not allowed. Instead, I suffer in silence in more ways then one. It is my weakness, though, to help others when they need it. When I do something to cause injury without meaning to, it hits home. I'm not a soft hearted person. You piss me off and I will retaliate with no remorse. I am a complicated person, but I was molded that way.

What's wrong?

That's when I notice that he is suddenly asking me questions that I can't reveal. Things that are locked up tight within me that if I expell them, I will explode with emotions that I've been taught to keep under lock and key. I don't look at him, but instead I take a deep breath and walk toward the dummies. He didn't want my help a minute ago. I can't indulge in helping him out with why. I let the emotions mull over in my head as my gait is too tight. My body stiff when I reach the dummy in front of me and I jerk each and every one of the knives out with force. I collect the one knife that Matthew threw at the wall, and return to his side. My eyes hold a sort of malice in them, but it's not directed to him. Memories begin flooding my thoughts with images and movies that surface from the deep recesses of my mind.

Career mode: Kill.

"You're up." I say coldly, handing the knives to him that he had, plus the two lightweight ones that I had by my feet only moments ago. I use my right arm, to grip my left, holding the remaining three knives in my hand. I wait to see his results from his throws.