Public Training Session's

s o l .

A breath escapes his lips for another one to enter his nose, inhale; exhale. A simple cycle that keeps his living certain. And if for more than several minutes, if his breathing were to cease it would all break the term of alive down into bits and pieces; for they would be no more a breathing body. They would no longer a person in harmony with all those other breaths of people in the world, they’d be claimed with their title of dead with a name etched in stone in a toast towards them. The hum of the room surrounding them is ever so lasting as the lights keep shining and illuminating the area for there is no point in a room without light. A room where nobody can see, a room that is filled with the hidden breaths of the soon to be dead.

A monotone name rings out through the small room, similar to the ones that had been called before. Quadrys, Scout, Andesite, Astrid, Atticus, Danny, Kite, Hettie. They had all been called out from the spots they had been stuck to in order to show what they were worth, to show what they had grown capable of. The name calls out, claiming his name for his exam. In a normal life, in the life he’d have back at home people would be asking if he had studied for exams. If he had studied for the things they were being tested on-

but in this test, there is no studying. Only the memory of what can save you from life or death.

Sol Shim was to be soon told his results, though only after the others had gone through the same exact test. Though for now, he was to focus on the test and getting the best score possible for his own sake. For the sake of District Five, perhaps?

Earlier that day he requested for a servant to be in there, not telling them why, but he had requested for a servant so he could do his plan.

His footsteps are a pitter patter as the male walks into the large gym, nobody else to be located in it besides the Gamemakers and occasional avoxes dotted throughout the training center that he had grown used to after all these days. The ballet has come to a solo, the soloist having the main job of making the best dance he could possibly do to impress their audience. To impress those who have possibly grown weary, to those who have possibly grown unknown to the possibilities people had within themselves.

Sol Shim was the soloist in this frame of the ballet; however, what should the solo include? Time shall tell, don’t rush the music of the forever waited for moments that result in hushed whispers as a number would eventually flash across his face to tell of how he had done. A voice would soon commend him to his new commitment, a dance where a soloist will turn into a duet but the duet will fall back into a solo. The male took what he remembered with trapping and knots, and the small skill of camouflage he had known to make his masterpiece. He would first grab the long rope that he would have to use in order for his trap to succeed, a hopeful event to make a snare in order to capture his prey; to kill it.

The male would capture, dive into the world of snares that would help him. He created a round circle very carefully placed on the ground; the circle was large enough to hold two feet and tightly tie them together to make it impossible to move out of it’s grip. Something that would make him wish he had a grip on Luna, he couldn’t let her go. He wanted her to be back, her fingers entangled in his grasp.

His knot would then be placed on the tree, tied as if it were to be a skill mastered by the gods but placed in a mortal’s body, all kinds of memories and lessons of the skill dancing throughout it. A harmony of the music forever stepping to the beat. The tree would start to lean as he tied it, making it as strong as it could to hold a person as it could hold its own leaves; bearing them for the world to see when shed. Sol was not one to waste his time, and if that was to ever happen, he’d imagine himself as a failure. Not that he was one, anyways.

The tree would let out a low groan, the tree moving voluntarily to the tie that Sol had placed, though his deed had not been done yet. He had yet to put in the trigger, the sensor that would realize that a tribute had stepped onto it and it would snatch them up to hold them by their feet; their heads able to see the cold ground as they levitated above it. Once it had been locked in the right spot as it should’ve been in, he made work to disguise the circle that was on the ground. It was quick work, for he was not one to let his plans go down easily. Or at least for today, that was his case.

Shuffling leaves this way and that, he made sure that the entire length of the rope on the ground was covered so he couldn’t be able to see it when he looked down in the dark. There was no bother trying to disguise the inevitable death of a lost soul.

As he finished the camouflage, he smiled at his work. Though he was not done, not quite yet.

There was a silence for a moment as he looked around the gym to pick a trainer, any one of the trained killers of the Capitol to pick but one that would fall to him. The male scanned across the crowd of servants and avoxes, the trainers too, however the male thought a fight against an avox would be too easy and that fighting a servant would be just the same. But, despite this, he knew that fighting a trainer would give him a struggle.

He wanted to seem powerful; victorious.

“Let him fight me, and turn off the lights. For a warrior chooses his battlefield.” And as the other male got into his stance, Sol grabbed the few throwing axes that were nearby. The trainer had a pack of throwing knives. He stood there, waiting for the call to begin which would be once their eyes had fallen into complete oblivion known as the absence of light.

They had fallen into the darkness, and a voice would commence the fight that he had already begun.

”Begin.” The voice was monotone, though it seemed that they had confusion buried deep inside that voice, for there was the slightest hint of doubt. The slightest hint of confusion. Both of them stood still, for a slight moment. Then Sol took his first movement of moving around the tree, making it seem as if he were to come for the male but simply trying to lure him. He heard rustling of leaves coming from the other side of the tree; signaling that the other had started to move.

The male would listen closely to the male bred from the Capitol, hearing the male going around the trap and trying to attack him from the side. His senses tingled as the rustling stopped, as if the other was to be listening for the slightest of sounds that would give away Sol’s spot. It was as if he were in Patricia’s games, though no life of biological life that was known as plants and anything of the sort, where they’d be enveloped by the caves that would never end as the games came to a close with the darkness crumbling around her; a cannon and the fate of Patricia Valfierno had been sealed.


Patricia was a fighter, not a person buried away by the Capitol’s thoughts and treatments of sin. Their rituals that involved the crop of twenty three youths all dying as if it were a toast to those ancestors they once had, a toast to the fighters that had once lived in a world with peace where a neighbor could trust their other that they would treat each other with praise, with harmony as they all rejoiced in the chorus that never changed.

Sol gripped one of the axes, ready to throw it at the very first sight of movement towards him. It seemed the male advancing towards him was fast, obsessively fast as it would come for he heard small advancing steps towards the very spot he was in that moment. The axe would fly, air-born as if it were a bird taking flight as it spiraled into the darkness wherever the hell the darkness would contain.

The male heard a grunt in response, had he hit the male? He was not sure. Though he definitely knew that the male would be getting advanced upon for Sol would see a flash of a silver metal whizzing past his ear. And then the increase of footsteps as they headed towards him. A grin plastered upon his face, he turned so he would have full access to kicking the male into the trap. The rustling of leaves confirmed the other’s suspicions, and right as he heard advancing footsteps he’d throw the next axe, causing yet another grunt and making the other slow down. Sol Shim remembered seeing a faint outline of the other male throughout the dark, and as his eyes searched through them he saw the male standing nearby him, trying to regain his focus.

Though it seems his attempts are useless, for he has one axe left of his bundle. After a step towards the male, he saw another silver white dash whizzing on past, leaving a shallow cut on his arm.

A grin planted on his face, he kicked the male back. The other stumbled. He fall backwards, leaving himself entangled in the snare he had placed. The other would be suspended in air, dangling as if he were a ragdoll.

He took a step close to the male.

”Be happy, for you now rest in a home away from this hell.”

The axe was thrown, and as the light turned on blood could be seen trickling down the male’s forehead as Sol Shim walked out of there.

A Sol broken from his past chains.

get dunk't on

c e l i a .

{{ i got the fire for the tank

i don't give a fuck about what you say,

im gonna do it anyway ;

. . .

There was a familiarity she felt within the frigid, solid concrete ground. The polished surface caught glimpses of face she'd eyed endlessly upon sneak, quick shifts of forbidding attention, and drowned emptiness that'd been caught by the heels once yanked- confined by the solid walls of an impenetrable  void. A travelling mind lost between the ruins of doubt- regret, and arrogance- bravado. She'd found herself leaning against a final tipping point where the only reaction to be sincerely made was from a trigger, though, mistakenly pulled by a loosely hinged finger tip when one couldn't simply determine how an immediate reaction was supposed to go. It was quick... reflexive, and by the time of realization she'd skewered a silver tipped bullet, deep, and at even the most subdued touch of cracked, frail flesh.

( "I'll miss you when I wake up!", Hyacinth ushered from parted lips and a broken chest where truths and secrets were spilled as its own immediate reaction. )

"Then don't wake up."

She shot a fresh bullet into each one of her siblings skulls, and watched as the blood drew lines alongside with the crooked demons that possessed over every single Mortuus member. First was Eirlys, the oldest, Celia placed pressure against the focus of her forehead and between her eyes as they watched in justly horror. It was the call of a prohibited name that clawed against both fragile eardrums, and a burn-lick sensation that coated throats before setting itself aflame with the involuntary help of open embers that soar through the air only looking to char all it touches and conquers. Celia laid her hand to rest, staring deep into the abyss of eyes that only gazed back at her in an immediate reaction. ( it's all just immediate reactions- what would one do in the simple seconds before realization? ) Languid- she stood there un-moving, untouched, for but seconds before clicking her thumb in representation with a casted bullet to her sisters frontal lobe. ( "She'll be fine.", her older sister knew from the start- you can't reap a reaper. )

"Celia Mortuus,
Please enter for your individual assessment."

Twenty-three down, one to go.
A lack of true emotion, unfeeling of nerves she rose from a cubed, metal seat without a back to lean on, growing an unsettling kink in her neck. Hours upon hours of waiting patiently, she remained collected and composed, for even though she originated from the poorest district of the poor, holding class and elegance- for she had never considered herself as such filth, only living upon them as ripred's condemning for their acts of greedily obtaining material riches. The heating sensation was all she acknowledged, though she refused to remove her beloved fur coat ( it was a birthday gift from Olive a few years prior, he'd skipped saving his money to purchase the finer things for her, and in return she proposed her love and affection- for he was always her favorite. )

( "You're not being civil! None of you are! You all treat us like dirt that you-- that you can just pave your way over and act like we aren't in existence!", bouts of glorified hatred burst in a conundrum against her ears, each step she took through the doors and into the training center reminded her of a haunting. The ghosts of the dead she'd killed in secrecy for organ harvesting had come back to take what the Mortuus' owe, and Celia had been made the first sacrificial offering. )

"I'm being perfectly fucking civil."

The thrashing voice of her mentor sounded like the hissing of a wild fire that set and sizzled right in her face. She was uninterested by his advice and wisdom, for times have changed since the 54th Games, she remained unimpressed at his skill, who was a Mortuus to wish and wait upon the approval of another on what to do? ( "You're going to do what!? No, no, that's a terrible idea, do you want a plate malfuction? Cause that's how you get a plate malfunction.", "Just do what you're good at, don't try to impress them with something you just picked up in the training center." ) Inherently, she shrugged off Arbor's warnings, his advice, everything he'd mentioned to her, and the uttered thought of thinking she made it out to impress them- the Gamemakers.


The temperature dropped dramatically, the chilled, icy air became a practical slap to the face and it sent her back, consumed by nostalgia to District 12. Her eyes darted to the warm body lying upon a medical bed in the direct center of the room, where both the game makers can witness a live "surgery" full on. Arranged at every side were smaller versions of equipped machines to test vital signs, as well as surgical, operating equipment- she took note of all the necessities, although everything was more advanced, and clean, she knew just what was what.

"Celia Mortuus, District 12.

I requested the severely injured, dying avox."

Taking note of the cube the gamemakers sat inside, she watched carefully at the smaller actions that played out between them and their own Avox. It was a suggestion to herself to not try to make anything risky, or rather blatantly obvious- notable. A shift in change, she took the approach of helping and saving the life of this poor avox, though she had other intentions in mind, though it wouldn't be so obvious to the ones doing the scoring.

"If you don't mind,

I'm going to get to work immediately."

Without waiting for approval or hesitation, no sign to reassure, she turned away from the game makers and to the X-Ray upon the surgical supplies table. Making note of the injury, Celia reminds herself to inform the two what she intends to do and what is happening. Slipping gloves on she then retreats her way to the plants station, grabbing a hold of berries and herbs before mashing them up within a small bowl and pouring two lethal concoctions within appropriate testing tubes labelled "anesthesia". Shaking the tubes, she holds one in each hand keeping in mind the required order to inject them in- right- anesthesia sleep inducer. paralysis inducer. ; left- anesthesia sleep inducer. damaged voice box.

"What I am doing now is injecting two natural anesthesia injections into the patients system.", guiding her way through the procedure, she then proceeds to place the needles deep within the veins, Celia injects the medicines one after the other. "This will only hurt a pinch.", she croons to the avox, wide eyes stare intensely at shock for the concoctions go into effect immediately. "These are meant to put them to sleep, and double the dosage for a more secure turn out-- as the remedies are all natural, and I'd like to ensure my patients get a pain-free experience."

"You know, back in District 12 me and my family run the main Medical Center-- it's where we treat people who come from all over the District.", without removing eyes from the current situation, Celia reaches over to the small surgical cart aside her, grabbing a precise scalpel from the variety that were laid out by the medical officers, meant to confuse her into messing up. "I'd like to note first that the patient has gone completely under." Starting with making small incisions into the side abdomen of the avox. ( She takes note that although to the Gamemakers the avox seems unconscious the avox is simply unable to move, or even create screams, thus mimicking such an effect, and can feel every second of it. ) "As I was saying-- As the operating surgeon in charge for the Medical Center, I withhold the knowledge of practically all vital organs, arteries, anything under the umbrella.", she pauses talking for a bit, concentrating on peeling back the muscles, tissue, and skin carefully as to not mangle the being. Clutching a pair of surgical scissors Celia begins to carefully make incisions throughout branches of the abdominal aorta, such as the right & left common arteries, right & left renal arteries. Surely the cause of death would be circulatory collapse, the lack of blood to sustain blood pressure. "As a family business, I work with my siblings that assist me in such operations, Olive, Annabelle, Ridley..."

"...I realize I must be running out of time, but I can assure you that we'll be done here... rather soon.", mere seconds pass while under operation before the heart monitor races with excessively repeated intense spikes ( she rushes to "figure" out the problem, though making more of a mess in the process, she cares not for the life of the avox, and it was never an intention to do so. "A usual spike increase, nothing very severe to worry about.", she assures the ones watching. "We'll have you out in no time.", she gently mumbles into the dying avoxes ear, a subtle smirk lacerates against her lips. ) before ultimately flat lining, thus marking the death of an avox who could've been saved. ( What's the difference between one of their own, and one of us? It'd only be a problem now, but where's the intentions when the first horn marks the start of chaos and death- of the Games? )

"Fuck!"

"You can't give up on me now!

We were so close!"

( "You sure know how to play pretend, Celia!", Crimson shouted out- mark 10 years old, we would dress up and put on shows for the patients before they were sent of to the sentence of death that awaited. I'd see him look over their shoulders- their cots- around the doors, and he watched them with a longing smile, and he whispered from time to time "soon enough." ) Taking off her fur coat, she laid it as a veil upon the dead avoxes face, "It's a folklore told throughout 12-- that if you left the dead revealed, their soul will haunt you for the rest of your life.", she told the gamemakers, looking them in the eyes, and she felt the shadows cling at her ankles-- the ones of those who the Mortuus' owed. Her time was ticking to the last remaining seconds, and she knew this. Quickly pacing to the fire making station, she grabbed a bottle of kerosene and matches, forming a circle ring or fluid around the patient, Celia then drew a line, before leaving the bottle beneath the surgical bed. Twisting around she heard the timer go off to put an end to this session, before speaking again.

"It is a sign of respect and final cast away

That for any lost patient at a Mortuus hands

We burn the bodies before cremating their ashes."

Lighting the match she walked away before tossing it to the fluid that lies upon the cold, concrete floor. She felt the heat of the flames lick at her, the sensation of singeing created goosebumps, and forced the the hair to stick up. Walking to the door, she looks at the contained man-made pyre once more as it spreads above all almost like a wildfire.

"Celia Mortuus, District 12.

I wouldn't forget it, thank you for your time."

. . .

i just performed on the stage,

and i tore it up, rip }}

table inspired by rook

Ba bum. Ba bum. Ba bum. The sound of my beating heart rings through my ears. Or maybe it's the tribute before me hitting the dummies with such force I can hear it through the walls. No, it must be my heart. Is it that loud? Can everyone else hear it too? It's so silent you can hear a pin drop. Some of them glance at me occasionally, they must be able to hear me, why else would they be looking at me? I begin twisting the bracelet on my wrist around and around, anything to distract me from this repetitive noise. I begin to look around the room, searching for I'm not sure what. There's a girl wringing her hands nervously, and someone else biting their nails. The tension of the waiting tributes fills the room, threatening to suffocate us all.

Ba bum.

Just a few more minutes. It can't be much longer, can it? A few more minutes to decide what I'm going to do. I have no talents, I'm not particularly strong, and I knew the basics of how to wield a knife, but I really just learned properly two days ago. I'm not exactly personable either, I'm not someone the Capitol citizens will like. I don't come from money, I'm rather quiet, and I'm terribly awkward looking. The only way they will like me is if I show them I can put on a good show, be someone interesting, be someone I'm not. The only hope I have to survive is to get a good score. Just a few more seconds. I have to decide. The only hope I have to prove I'm someone worthy. Something, anything. What will impress these people? "Delta Castley, District 9," My eyes shut tight and my breath catches. I hear the door open, finally breaking the silence.

My only hope, and I have nothing.

My footsteps echo loudly on the metal floor, an ear shattering noise. I have approximately 57 seconds before I reach the actual room and have to do something, before I have to perform, but still nothing. My mind has gone numb, and at this rate I will be left for dead. I reach the center of the room, their eyes fixated on my every movement. Ba bum. They must be able to hear it too. My feet are frozen to the floor, they don't seem to want to move until I form some type of an idea. So I stand there silently, staring back at them, examining them individually. Who would have guessed that they would be just as normal, an anyone else. My head tilts slightly to the side, trying to get a better view. They're just looking for entertainment, and it was my job to give it to them. It feels like I've been standing here staring for an eternity, but it can't be any more than three minutes. My hand automatically reaches for my bracelets, the nerves settling in again. But before my fingers can reach them a smile slowly spreads across my lips.

Just a show.

I turn around and quickly make my way towards the knot tying station. I was never very good at it, but Sigma had taught me how to make a few simplistic bracelets. She had always been way better at it than me, I could make do though. I take a few pieces of string and furiously begin tying the knots like she taught me. A few short minutes and I'm done. They're rather rough looking, but they'll work just fine. I loop them through a hole on my belt and inhale deeply, attempting to regain some composure. I slowly make my way over to the knives, taking my time, drawing out the suspense. I pick up a knife, and gently rub my finger along the edge. It breaks my skin, and before I know it blood is rushing onto the knife. I take it and rub it off on my shirt, the fresh blood staining my clothes. At least now I know it's sharp. I push the knife through my belt, and grab four more. Five knives. That's all I'll need. No more, no less.

Just five.

I spot two mechanical dummies in perfect position, one standing still, one pacing. A small smirk forms on my lips and I make my way behind a corner where I'm well hidden, my two targets still perfectly in view. I peek around the corner, and begin to line up my shot. I see the dummy standing there, not knowing its fate, and my breath begins to quicken. I quickly throw my back against the wall, out of sight once more. How am I going to do this? I can't, I know I can't. But I have to. I inhale deeply and fill my lungs with fresh air, trying to calm myself. The new oxygen seems to brought some sense back to my brain, and I look around the corner once more. The dummy is still standing there, still waiting to die. Once again I take my knife and begin to aim. My knife skills probably aren't the greatest, but they're at least slightly above average. I worked hard trying to become good at something, and I'm hoping some of it will pay off.

I'm also hoping for some kind of miracle.

I look at my target once more, and manage to hesitate for a second time. I stare at the dummy, and its face morphs into something familiar. My father's face is now staring forward, and the next thing I know the knife has left my hand. My eyes follow the knife as it flies through the air. It's beautiful almost, like a work of art, watching the knife whirl through the air. It's even more beautiful when it hits the dummy dead between the eyes. The dummy slowly falls to the ground, the puddle of blood taking no time to spread out around him. His friend hobbles over to him as quickly as he could on his mechanical legs, trying to investigate. I know I should hide, but I'm too mesmerized by the body. The puddle keeps getting larger and larger. Who knew a dummy could hold that much blood. Does a human have even more? There's no time to think because the next dummy has already spotted me and is running faster and faster in my direction. And it's too late to run, it's too late to hide. So I step out from my hiding place and hurl my knife at the figure coming towards me. For a second my father's face flashes as the dummies, and for that brief second I have no regrets.

Thud.

Dead. My second target hits the ground with a sickening noise, as if every bone in its body has shattered. The knife hit him directly in the heart, not exactly where I was aiming, but it gets the job done. I pause for a moment, making sure he's really dead before finally moving towards the two. I approach the first one, blood still pooling up around him and a line of it rolling down his face from the knife between his eyes. I unhook a bracelet, and tightly tie it around his wrist. A mark, a reminder, to show that I'm the one who killed him. These dummies wouldn't be going anywhere but the trash, but in the arena, they'll be going back to their families. I'll give them a lasting reminder of who it was. All they want is a show. I walk over to my second victim and tie a bracelet around his as well.

They'll never forget.

I see another one not too far away, staring into a shallow pound. He appears to be mesmerized, lost in the gentle ripples of the water. I grab another knife from my belt and twirl it around in my hands, picturing my next kill. I approach as silently as I can on the metal floor, crouching low. When I'm finally within striking distance I strike out swiftly at the back of the dummies knees. Blood splatters on the ground, and I can hear each of the tendons and ligaments give a sickening snap. The dummy begins to collapse, unable to support its own weight. Before it has a chance to react I quickly shove its face into the water. His arms start to flail as he struggled to get up and I flip his body over so I can watch his face as he dies. My father's features replace the dummy's once again and it only angers me more. I push down harder as he struggles to release himself, as he gurgles, begging for mercy. Silent tears stream down my face as the realization of what I'm doing hits me. I'm not sure if they're tears of joy, anger, or horror as I finally see my father's demise.

I think it's a little of all three.

The dummy finally stops struggling and I release my grip. The pond is stained red and my shirt is almost soaked through with water. I grab another bracelet and tie it tightly around his wrist. I stand up slowly, looking down at the dummy. I don't even make a move to wipe the tears from my face, they've already stopped. I continue on my way, imagining how I'm going to kill my next victim and an idea strikes. I grab some rope and head over to the camouflage station, where a large tree stands in the middle for practice. I quickly tie a few intricate knots in the rope. Not my best work, but I'm not sure how much time I have left so it'll have to do. I shimmy up the trunk of the tree and tie the one end of the rope on the sturdiest looking branch that I can reach. Before hopping down I grab some leaves and sprinkle them on the end of the rope on the ground. I hide in a nearby bush and spot my next victim. He's standing a few feet away, back turned towards me. I grab a rock and toss it around in my hand a few times before hurling it at the back of the dummy's head. It immediately turns around and starts walking towards me, walking right into the trap I've set. In a split second he's hanging upside down by one leg from the tree. I quickly hope out of the bush and make my way towards him. He tries his hardest to get free, but can't manage to loosen the ties. My father's face appears on the dummy's generic one and all of his harsh words come back in flashes. I grab one of my remaining knives and make a quick swipe across his neck. Blood pours out, splashing me in the face, pooling around my feet. The knife slips from my hand and clatters to the floor.

One knife left.

I grab a bracelet and tie it with hands slippery from blood around the dummy's wrist. A final mechanical dummy, standing about ten feet away. I decide to take this one head on, I'm through with hiding. I walk over slowly and right on time my father's face appears. A small smile appears on my face as I prepare for my final shot. The dummy stares at me, waiting for me to make the first move. I scan it's body, looking for my best opening and spot it. I lunge toward his neck, going for the quick kill, but he easily knocks me back. The wind is knocked out of me and it takes a brief second for me to regain my composure. I narrow my eyes, more agitated than ever. He aims for my head and I quickly dodge his attack. In that split second it takes him to recover, I'm already gone, diving between his legs. On my way through I take my foot and catch it around his right leg, taking it out from under him as I go, forcing his own weight against him. The next moment he's falling toward the ground and I quickly roll out of the way to avoid being crushed. Before he has time to react I'm sitting on top of him, pinning him down. I look into my father's eyes for the last time and smile. I plunge the knife deep into his heart, and feel his body go limp beneath me. I grab my final bracelet and tie it to the dummy with fumbling hands. I slowly get up and turn to face the Gamemakers. I tilt my head to the side and a smile slowly forms on my lips. I turn around silently and walk out, without speaking a single word the whole time. There's nothing to be said. I have no more words.

For what I'm about to do will be unspeakable.

table inspired by rook
rave owns my soul for this