Raging Storm [Thundy]

She felt the knife slide into her palm and cut the skin right open.

Crap.

Oh, Carrica Tinkham didn't mind the pain, nor did she mind the feeling of seeing her own blood fall from gentle fingertips onto the floor. Pain was something of an old friend, and she had all the bumps and bruises (and blisters) that were typical of a Career who had trained incessantly for years.

Well, maybe she didn't train as much as some people..

There was a dude hacking away at a dummy with a sword in another section of the room, but she was trying to ignore him. Not because he was bothering her, not really; people were always there, doing their own thing, but she tended to notice this guy more than others because he never seemed to actually leave.

(I mean, she had to wonder – did he have a life? Was he okay, even?)

Not that it mattered, because she tried not to acknowledge his existence whenever she saw him. That was the way of the Careers: most people could be considered a threat, and they often had a tendency to be rude and standoffish either way.

Then again, she always did her best to avoid being noticed herself. If rumor started to spread that miss Carrica Tinkham, biggest ditz in District One was actually training? Her entire strategy would be ruined. That's why she practiced with the throwing knives that day; they were quieter than the other weapons, and in a completely different section of the building, hidden away from prying eyes.

Bleeding all over the floor, though..

She tried to sneak over to the first aid area to bandage up her hand, but that put her too close to the hulking Career guy with the sword.

As a rule, Carrica tried to avoid guys when they were violently brandishing sharp weapons.

Not that she was afraid, of course. She wasn't. Hers was a strategy based on defense first, offense later, and the first rule (or maybe the second or third – she couldn't remember) was to avoid the possibility of confrontation altogether.

Try as she might, she couldn't take her eyes off of the other Career's movements. It was in her nature to watch other people and judge their form while they were training, and this guy looked too exhausted to even hold his weapon up, let alone fight with precision. She watched him while she plucked bandages off the table and wrapped up her hand (wondering if she should stitch it up later) but then he was looking at her (shit) with an expression that seemed.. annoyed? (Fuck.)

She might have turned to look away to feign insignificance, but it was too late. He may have already seen her a dozen times before, so the jig was up - it didn't really matter anymore if she was considered weak or deadly; he could think whatever he wanted of her.

So she spoke up.

”You look like you need a nap or something,” she said matter-of-factly, glancing for a moment at the blood droplets staining her arm.