Misses are Fatal // Lightning x Atlas {blitz}
Jan 31, 2017 21:06:47 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on Jan 31, 2017 21:06:47 GMT -5
District Four Male of the 75th Hunger Games
Everything was so fragile within the vortex of glass known as the Capitol. Its citizens were pale and porcelain as though dolls to their serpentine President. Their buildings were glazed with glass begging to be shattered by a single sinister flick. Even the Training Center was small in a sense of strength, the weapons were average and the trainers tediously useless. All around me the bodies of berated souls swiftly scatter to various stations struggling for sorrowful survival. Their fingers fiddle ferociously with whatever they can wrap themselves around in order to prolong the death sentence they have brought forth upon themselves. It is far from amusing, but still I have to admit their is a sense of respect I hold for them for even volunteering in the first place.
From my sister's side I enter the swarm watching while other competitors endlessly dive for something new to develop. While I watch I can't help but yearn for someone to entice my attention. To yearn for someone to demand that I be worried about what weapons they will yield. To yearn for someone to be a threat to every living being in this Center. Alas despite my dearest efforts I am forced to fall upon the measures of a challenge I know only the truly prepared would enter. A challenge made for those bred from the streets of the career districts and forged in the art of war.
Calmly I walk to the spear station, a land which I have lived for as long as I can recall. Within my hands I lift the slender spear as I let it spin like the tides through the sea. With a subtle surge I send it spinning above me as I roll forward several steps. From their like a snake striking a suffering secondary surviving creature I lunge forth securing the spear in my hands for just a second before it sails straight forward. Then as I stable myself the sound of it slipping through the skin of falsified flesh rings through my ears mirroring the song of success. I smile at its venomous touch has scarlet seeping from its place in the dummy's forehead.
Turning from my performance I spot the figure of a boy I have been dying to meet. His hair is blonde and his irises illuminated by the icy identity of death. I throw Atlas Lumiere a spear from my side and step out of his way to throw.
"Alright Lumiere, lets see what you've got."
LIGHTNING O'HANA
Sometimes our heads slip beneath the sea, and sometimes there's no way to breathe
