Eedun Naka // District Two // Fin

Despite being well passed Reaping age, Mr. Naka has created a living for himself entirely based in the Games. In a run down warehouse, near the edge of District Two, Eedun Naka has set up shop as one of the best games trainers. Or at least, the most eccentric.

Clad in red leather, Mr. Naka is hard to miss. Everything he wears, every movement he makes is to attract attention. Every flip of his long black hair, every wink at a passerby, every twitch of his fingers is a performance.

"He would have made a great tribute," they would say when he was still young and disappointed from being passed over by the Hunger Games. Charisma and skills to match, not a common duo. However, as the years passed and Eedun clung more and more to the idea of his tribute persona... well his antics became a little more sad.

However, people tolerate his odd quirks and outrageous costumes because he produces results. In his warehouse he has lovingly dubbed The House of Blood and Pain, teenagers work until they can no longer stand. Parents pay Eedun big money to train their children, but not every child is suited to the work ethic and the man often turns them away. He looks for something special in each child- a yearning, a drive, or simply something he admires about them. Body type has little to do with training- it's all about what's in your heart. Or at least that's what Eedun thinks, other trainers would disagree.

Mr. Naka wasn't always a trainer. Wasn't always living alone above his gym, eating dinner in silence. As a teenager he had quite the circle of friends. The man was always one to love hard, even now. His heart is just too big for his own good. Some people don't understand that. Or their frightened by it. So now he sits with a blank stare into his stew wondering what happened to end up here. Then the next morning he wakes up and greets his trainees like none of those doubts had ever crossed his head.

He needs this gym, this job, these kids. Without them, well he'd have already found himself in an early grave.

He's an interesting looking person. Stringy dark hair falls to his shoulders, with the left side of his head shaved closely to the scalp. Years of being used as a punching bag haven't been kind to him. His right eye twitches and is half closed most of the time. He always looks like he hasn't shaved in three days, never clean shaven but never any longer than stubble. He isn't afraid of looking ugly or stupid. He manages to contort his face into many unflattering expressions often to the amusement or terror of his pupils.

Eedun is more hands on then other trainers in his district. He'll scream, and yell, and even hit when necessary.

"What good is a tribute who can't take a punch?" he muses before kicking a teenager in the head. They never expect a kick. No on ever expects a man of his age to be able to get their foot that high.

Surprise, bitch- foot.

Eedun trains his pupils how he wished he was trained. He was never formally trained as a teenager. Just a poor kid running around the district and doing pull ups on lead pipes. However, he gained notoriety for being the kid who was always training. While most careers train inside, away from watchful eyes that might witness a mistake, Eedun was out in the open. If he tripped while running laps, the whole district saw. If he was sparring and didn't move quick enough everyone watched him get punched.

It was all for naught, though. His reaping years had come and gone.

A lot of things had come and gone for Eedun Naka. His mother, his father, his older brother- all gone.

A vision of dark hair and even darker eyes flashes behind closed lids, and he can smell lavender and sweat. But it's not real. They're gone too.

He should have pulled them all closer when he had the chance. It's so much easier to become an island, and that's what he was. Isle of Naka. Alone, marooned.

It's the quiet nights that hurt the most. When even the crickets are silent, and he's alone in his little apartment. It smells like a gym and he rarely cleans anything. He stares into his cold dinner and Eedun can't help but wish he was someone else. Someone who knew how to handle people. A chilly spoonful of spinach is all he can stomach before turning the light off and going to bed, but he doesn't sleep. He rarely does, and when he does it isn't well. His eyes are framed with purple and have large bags beneath them. He's nothing like the bright young man he used to be.

"AGAIN," he snaps, insisting on another lap, another round of sparring- another another another.

"AGAIN," he wonders what they'll become, these students.

"AGAIN," he wonders what he'd do if he were in their place. If he would make all the right choices.

"AGAIN," if he could do it all

"AGAIN."