[Day 2] Foil Round 2: Whitman vs. Krearns

There's a slight hum of adrenaline coursing through my body by the time I'm changing into the white uniform for the match. I've gotten somewhere on my own. Daddy didn't have to pay for me to make it. I was able to do this by myself, to prove myself to myself. Even making it this far was a good feeling.

Stepping up onto the platform makes my nerves return however, especially as I pull my mask down over my face. The girl opposite to me calls out just before the beep sounds to tell us we can begin. I settle myself down, shoulders slumping as I hold my foil steady.

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

2YpFDLxv1-4
[total points: three]

I wish I was in archery. The thought repeats in my head over and over as I'm struck with the foil. I was never quite comfortable with pain, or discomfort for that matter. I was always one for long range, no contact training. Archery, knife throwing, survival skills, climbing. Those were the things I was good at. It took a bit more effort to be good at it, but it was worth it in the end. We plastics had to be diverse. We had to be the best at everything.

There's a shake to my hands as I ready myself for the next few points, hoping beyond anything that I don't make a fool of myself. As long as I can hold my own in the match, I'll be alright. I just don't want a shut out.

3cwSMCTu1-4
[total points: four]

I grumble under my breath as I go back to the starting line, rubbing at my chest with my left hand. My clavicle hurts where she hit it straight on, the bone throbbing a bit. I drop my hand to my side again, trying to ignore the subtle aches across my body. She shouts out after me, taunting me to do better.

The elitist in me is pissed.

I shrug my shoulders to relieve a bit of tension, steadying myself and stretching out my sword arm. "Shut up," I mutter, shaking my head and trying to settle my mindset back on task. Don't fuck up, Gretchen Nell.

qviLDdhs1-4
[total points: seven]

Why would I want to go to the Games? I go to the training center for one reason and one reason only: the Plastics. Had Oslo not chosen me to be a part of their group, I wouldn't be anywhere near the place. Daddy never did like me playing with the kitchen knives growing up anyhow. He especially doesn't like me going and training to kill other people in a game of life and death. I can't say I blame him. Only crazy people actually want to be in the Games.

I don't dignify her with a response, too fed up with her bull to warrant any kind of reciprocity. There's no purpose to it. It's a tactic and nothing more. If there was one thing I learned being with Oslo, it's that manipulation is key. Flattery, taunting, it's all the same. It's a means to an end. It puts a person off guard and prepares them for an attack. Nothing more, nothing less.

EkUiEaCt1-4
[total points: nine]

The longer this match draws out, the more I just want it to be done with already. Ms. Seawater O'Sand is wearing on my already frayed nerves. I never liked traveling. I'd prefer to stay at home all day, if I could. Training makes that a bit impossible. Traveling to an entire other district, however, is exhausting. I'm not used to the climate, the humidity and heat. I feel sluggish and tired. My limbs feel too heavy and I don't feel as if I'm moving quickly enough to actually do any damage. I heave in a breath, hoping for it to be over, as I start forward on another approach.

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[total points: eleven]