A Day At The Career Center. [Dom/Topher]

As if on cue, at 5 AM white lights mounted to the ceiling palpitated, crescendoing into a blaring force within my shoebox-sized dorm. At the academy, few housing was offered. Usually the higher the pay, the better your keep. Unfortunate for me, after leaving Thrax three months prior I lost my source of income and payment. After dad died, anything worth salvaging Thrax kept, so it left me with only my blood sprinkled clothes that day. Staff had noticed my disheveled state and rushed me to the headmasters’ office before others found out. I remember little from the rush of it all, but I do remember the disappointed frown lines and an echoing call that rang all too familiar, “what have you done now Dom?”

For my short life, I've lived fully in all the worst ways. I had felt I had no one and truth be told, I still feel alone daily. It’s hard to rest at night not knowing what the next day brings. What if Thrax returns and finds me; he knows where I am. What if the headmaster tires of our deal and refuses to let me live here? Worrying gets you nowhere I've learned, so as after momentarily bundling the blue and white comforter over my face, I kicked it off allowing it to fall messily over the edge of my twin framed bed. I rolled over to the edge and stretched, cracking my neck as my hands traveled to my hair and undid the hair tie. Since late March, nearly every morning has been the same, with the same goal lingering over me. Work hard, train harder, and you’ll get to live to see the next day. At least, that's what I was offered. Turns out, one benefit to having started at an academy early in life was a built reputation. That reputation spoiled over the past four years, as Thrax’s clutches tightened on me. After twelve, he thought I was old enough to help out more. In his words, “if you’re old enough to die for Panem, then you’re old enough to die for me if need be.” Such kind words to be left with by someone who supposedly was a father figure. Whatever, it’s not like any of that matters.

Now I get to live the life of a career, since training to die is my career; gotta admire the wordplay on their end. And so, I took the time to make myself presentable by throwing on a pair of grey sweats with a tank top, grabbed my toiletries, and toed soundlessly to the public showers. I try to get in and out quickly and as quietly as possible to avoid anyone knowing I was there. Typically, those who stay here are rich snobs or ones with behavioral issues. Mommy and daddy pay a big fat check to have them eat, sleep, and shit this kind of life so they can go die and fail publicly on national television all for the sake of glory. It’s been over a decade since we’ve had a winner and I’m sorry, but none of my new neighbors seemingly inspire me to think that streak will change. Although, if a few of them were to go, I wouldn’t miss them. Only time my peers caught me, they unsurprisingly didn’t seem to like the idea of a street girl like me staying here. It’s not like I’m here for them.

I remind myself that after I change into high waisted black leggings, sliding on a matching sports bra, a flouncing white tank, and worn running shoes. I remind myself of my purpose as I slink down the halls, side-eyeing any who look at me. You are here for no one else but you; just survive somehow Domitia. Fingers enclosing on a glaive I toss it to the center of the matted room, my hands latching onto a dummy carelessly while dragging outward. After kneeling down, I smile mindlessly to myself when feeling the cool metal against my skin. Some favored gloves to avoid calluses formed while training, but I live for rush now. I become entranced as my hands grip the body firmly, twisting and swinging upward to stab the hollow plastic husk. Enraptured I become while my free-flowing hair bounces with excitement, trailing behind each movement. Closing my eyes momentarily, I center myself on the feeling of my muscles shifting in line with my weapon so much that as I strike the dummy several times more I hardly notice Topher Valentine’s approach. I toss my head briefly his way, grinning with peppered beads of sweat rolling past my temple and jawline as we make contact before continuing on.

Overeager early risers were common, but ones who chose weapons such as the glaive or whip weren’t as common. Few times before have I recalled running into Topher. Previously, I arrived at whatever hour I felt like, coming and going like a cat without commitment. Now that I was early enough to see waning dawn through passing enlarged windows, I too became early enough to run into Topher often enough. It was hard to miss his presence, as he commanded his weapons with a calming and reassuring confidence not many have. Men tend to be brutish and short-tempered as careers, cockiness being a second nature as if miniature peacekeepers in the making, but Topher was refreshing. My mind wandered once the session began, tuning out the typical vibrato of Ajax’s words until I realized no one had been talking. Silence never wore well on me, and once my eyes flickered to the opponent within Ajax’s grasp I couldn’t help but smirk, raising my hand as I spoke with a calmed yet playful ease that had been taught to me long before. “I’ll do it.”

I chuckled a tad seeing Ajax’s confused expression as I motioned forward, “Domitia ever the surprise but kind of you to step up.” Amber eyes flickering his way, I turned disinterested as I made my way to the weapons nearby. I reached upward, grabbing a whip and tossing it over my shoulder, ignoring Ajax’s protests. Voice talking over, I absentmindedly inquired, “glaive, isn’t that right?” Pulling it off with ease, I let the elongated weapon lean on my shoulder, thumping somewhat painfully against my collarbone as I sauntered over. Once closer to the crowd, some stepped back in shock while I spun the weapon like a baton. What’s wrong with them, they’ve never seen a blade before? “Domitia, that isn’t how you should handle a weapon. If you refuse to behave accordingly, you won’t be allowed to spar.” Ajax silenced as I speared the tip of the glaive into the foam, leaning on the staff’s body lightly as I chided back. “Now, don’t be such a tool Ajax. A girl is just tryna have fun.” Rocking backward at his annoyance on the balls of my heels, I pulled back and corrected my posture before coyly shoving the glaive towards my opponent. I made sure to look up, studying Topher’s posture; it is important to size up an opponent after all. Cocking an eyebrow, I mused at his comfort. “Let's have some fun, shall we?”

Silence permeated the room after the glaive grazed foam. It wasn’t what I was expecting, and somewhat disappointing. Topher’s eyes betrayed nothing, nor did his tongue. Fair enough, it’s early enough for people to still be sleeping and not everyone is a talker. My smile sunk back into a playful smirk with a bemused hum once I realized this conversation was going nowhere. I tucked my hair behind my ear before my eyes and hips swayed away. My thoughts cascaded down my body as I carefully strapped on the armor set before me, hoping the material could bar the intrusion. It felt smooth with a sturdy yet flexible weight to it, offering comfort for any opponent. I was hoping to gauge some reaction from him other than his polite smile, something which Topher seemed infamous for as my eyes returned to the quaint boy; ever kind, poised, and adapt to his surroundings, that’s who Topher is. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to it, but politeness bores me Valentine.

I never grew up in a quiet home, and I didn’t grow up in a world where manners mattered. Surely they did here, and when younger I tried, but after dad passed Thrax despised it. He’d strike me for politeness, then punish me for callousness. A person of my pedigree isn’t made for manners, at least the conventional kind. Thrax felt whenever I showed him kindness it was a double-edged sword. Kindness is an act done out of responsibility to save face; usually, a polite man is a calculated farce. I think it’s because I reminded him of a time long gone, one where that was expected of him, perhaps. Yet if I mirrored Thrax, I could expect a bruised cheek in return. I existed for so long in entrapment; I don’t know how else to be. And so Valentine, it isn’t your aptitude that scares me but your empathy.

Empathy can seek out weakness, something I can’t afford. As I stepped up the stairs, and onto the platform, each step guarded me. At the end of the day, his blade is dulled and so are the stakes to him. What does he have to lose? A bad day means loss of respect, but for me a bad day can get me kicked out and killed. We’re all in an arena, some of us just take longer to realize that until we are actually there. I slid the whip off my arm, letting the leathered unravel, thudding loudly against the ground. These were games ultimately, just an elegant performance. It was an art form to hone, and so was my whip. Many think of whips as chaos, flashy and all for show. I prefer being the ringleader and holding control. Flick your wrist and gait in a certain manner, and you can control even the most unpredictable and unreliable. I had controlled my gait, my gaze transfixed forward until we crossed onto the same landing. Like defrosting bark, my eyes warmed to his presence, and I chuckled at his manners; was that a tear he wiped away? Relax Topher dear, save the tears for Flickerman if we ever cross his stage. I’m not Caesar, they don’t impress me.

Cocking my head, I teased innocently, trying to lighten the mood. “Come on Valentine, don’t get soft on me.” Although nothing had happened yet, the crowd’s anxiety felt smothering as their eyes bore into our sides. His words offered sportsmanship, and so I nodded in return, reflecting with ease “may the odds be in your favor.” My left foot skimmed backward as Topher moved forward, encircling me. Cautiously watching, my heart pumped in anticipation, body purring from the rising adrenaline. The whipping of air as he twirled the glaive alerted me to his position.

Although shifting behind, I thought if I swiveled quickly I could have given his dance a run for his money. As I readied to strike, his blade curved along my head, flicking upward past my left ear. I swallowed as I felt my scalp wetted, eyes glaring poignantly in annoyance. My lips betrayed my gaze, as I beamed, “looks like you caught me. Now let me have a crack at it, hmm?” Jutting my right arm upright, the long rope swirled upward, cracking in a coachman’s stance. It alerted the onlookers as did my slight blood, but the noise was music to my ears. The excitement entranced me, so I lifted my forearm upward and inward, the whip wailing towards the boy’s right cheek. The leather sliced deep into his skin, trailing blood across his thin mouth then onto the floor. It shocked me slightly, yet I tried not to let it show. Play stupid games, win stupid scars. He wasn’t hard on the eyes after all, a cut like that wouldn’t do him poorly in the wrong run.

As blood trickled down my opponent’s cheek, I couldn’t help but cringe at the sight of that flaring gash. I politely smiled in return sheepishly, hoping he didn’t notice my shyness. The shock that crossed his face made me want to laugh instinctively, but I knew now was a bad time. Speaking of bad timing, prodding and picking at the wound won’t help, yet I doubt he’d hear me. After all, he wasn’t much of a talker but a boy of action instead. I can admire that. And so, I nodded and flashed my teeth in a proud grin at his praise. “Likewise, although Dom is just fine.” The boy’s wording struck me perplexed. Why was he being so formal, did he have more to lose aside from his pride? My eyes scanned his body up and down. Well-groomed hair and a well-spoken tongue didn’t dissuade my opinions. Based on his physique and movement, I could tell he was well trained too. “No need for formalities, this is just a game.” My voice echoed daintily in the open air, yet I could tell to a degree he wasn’t listening to my banter. Topher seemed present yet distant, pulled back in his head. Don’t you know Topher, that’s a sure-fire way to lose.

My lips curved in satisfaction, seeing his mirror the same. Show me what you’ve got. After all, a glaive wasn’t a common weapon for several reasons. It stands at seven feet tall with an eighteen-inch blade traditional for one. Although not too heavy typically, an opponent would fare better in height to maneuver it with ease. The length takes precision to maneuver around, and years of training to understand. Any user of a glaive demonstrates an understanding of their weapon, something to be admired. Glaives are fun to toy with since they require me to move in delicate accuracy. Yet, I enjoy playing rough. Maybe I had played too rough, I should perhaps settle down before he loses an eye. Moving my arm back in a neutral position, I awaited for Topher to strike. He lunged forward with intent yet with a mere sidestep, I was able to have it graze against the soft exposed portion of my right hip causing me to wince. It felt like a deeper and longer paper cut, stinging too as with a dulled blade it still sliced through my clothing. Even so, it was nothing a trained career can’t manage. I still have a lot to catch up on though, so I can’t get too overconfident with just one lucky strike.

Seeing Topher bounce back, I giggled seeing him lose footing waiting with a calm smile as he readjusted. I felt bad for the others laughing at him too, but it certainly helped penetrate the stiff air so I appreciated him for being the martyr. I extended my arm backward, lifting my head in doing so to give a show to the audience. Keeping him in my line of sight through my eyelashes, I jerked my arm downward harshly, my cruel whip lunging forward to his virgin jawline. At least I was kind to not strike the same side twice, although I doubt he’d find my action to be as gracious.

With every crack I made, I chipped at Topher’s exterior. Blood trickled down exposed lesions with earnest, a sight painful to anyone yet worse for the wearer. His pale skin had two fountains of crimson youth licking at an inviting cheeky smile in between; a fissure that seemed ever-growing and permanent. Had this been the smile Topher Valentine is known for or did he simply have a pension for masochism. I couldn’t help but soften at this display, both proud of my performance yet mesmerized by yours.

It only took two months for me to learn how to hone my strength. If only before I knew how to. I would have pressed my blade deeper into Thrax’s neck with incomparable brutality. A brutality earned after the kind he’s put me through. He stole my life, and yet I was a coward for not stealing his. I was fifteen then, and at sixteen I knew better. This power is unnerving if you think closely. How far will I unravel by nineteen? What will happen of me if I survive until then? Survival can turn the most kind-hearted into hollowed killjoy husks in this center. Yet a year older you stood before me, smiling with a tactile kindness to your blade yet unmatched discomfort in tune. My name sounds strange rolling off your lips. It makes me wonder if you weren’t used to knowing your opponents, if that wasn’t preferred. Fuck it, how about we change that. “Well Topher, perhaps I can teach you a thing or two. It looks like you could use it.” I leaned away effortlessly from your blade. At the rate of your accuracy, I felt more of a ballerina, with your glaive a prop to my performance.

Circling into a full spin, I made sure for the rope to follow. When ceasing, my arm flicked outward, releasing another crack into the open-air impishly to my side. Mischievousness purred in my tone, as my hair swayed into place like fire trailing behind me. “Let's make things interesting.” I may come to regret this proposal, but no game easy-won can be inspiring. Humiliation in front of a crowd after being praised so fondly isn’t my style either, that is unless deserving. Sorry Ajax, this may go on longer than needed.

As if loudly stating a riddle, I declared to the boy before me “I’ll go first.” I swung my right arm under then forward overhead, the dripping black leather careened towards, licking what would be the right of Topher’s calf had it not been for the armor. Its snap movement grazed it, leaving a faint mark yet one that would have stung on the boy’s skin. Looks like there won’t be any more battle scars for now, fortunate for you; scars don’t suit you Topher. As the rope swung back to its position with the guidance of my arm, I tilted my head with a curiosity briefly before tentatively stepping closer. My voice rang invitingly “and you’ll go twice. That is if you’re done warming up.” Your move, Valentine.

Something had changed in the boy’s demeanor. The glint in his eyes seemed different, his tone bordering on excitement. A grin plastered on his gushing face, Topher’s words sent a shiver down my spine. What did he have in mind? I was too caught in my thoughts to dodge properly. Previously, he opted to swing at my sides as if trying to bleed me from mere cuts. That gentleness seemed his favored style, but one outright? Now that was something unexpected. Even as the blade pierced through the training armor, pressing into my stomach, I couldn’t help but gasp, the force knocking me backward. I grasped the pole with my left hand for support as my back foot adjusted. Espresso curled bangs shadowed over my face. As I lifted my head from the piercing weapon to my assailant, my left hand tugged the pole forward, plunging it further into me gently to pull my opponent closer. I matched his grin, looking into his mossy eyes in doing so. He may have gotten lucky, but he surely won’t win this battle. Muttering to myself more than he, I commended “well played” smiling as I released my grasp.

With my scalp having an uncomfortable mixture of sweat and blood, my stomach knotted in discomfort. Severity unbeknownst to me due to armor, I was sure based on the feeling that there surely would be blood staining my white cloth underneath. As his blade retreated, the crowd cheered seeing the spill they wanted. Their favorite had a winning shot finally, and it was anyone’s game now. I coughed from the released pressure, bringing my hand forward to catch the blood dotting my inner left hand. My grip tightened in frustration on the whip’s handle, yet loosened at the amount of droplets. It was less than what I was expecting, yet the sight was enough for concern. I wiped my shame onto the armor, eyes narrowing as I licked what crimson remained timidly off my mouth. Time to continue our dance.

My foot stepped backward, removing the distance I had closed earlier just as his elongated claret tipped blade thrust into view. The wind from motion brushed past my exposed skin, causing me to shiver from the missed impact. It was a motion with rigor, his demeanor that of a well-trained warrior. Now wasn’t the time for flashiness and overconfidence, I need to rein it in. Jerking my right arm in a thrust extension, the rope was sent backward, letting out a loud crack from behind towards the audience. I leaned to the side, aiming to get back at him equally. Instead, the leathered extension clapped against Topher’s exposed right bicep. It was another shy attack, but one at least in a forgiving spot. Although at the state we both mirrored, I doubt either could last more of any. The question is, was the boy reckless enough to fight a losing fight with a slim margin to win or was Topher aware of his limitations. As a career, we are taught confusing messages often. One conflict of contention was to be a courageous warrior; you should fight till your dying breath. Alternatively, an honorable warrior knows when to concede. Was Topher Valentine an honorable warrior, or a courageous one?

My body collapsed somewhat into itself, clutching my stomach and leaning forward in response to a pulsing pain that shuddered throughout my body. I braced myself for support, my palms on my knees as I focused on the ground. Movement proved much harder after my stomach lesion surfaced, and maybe that stunt wasn’t the smartest move. Sure it had worsened things, and sure the crowd made groans of disgust. Their reaction made me laugh, after all this was all an act. Death is a performance for a career. Who am I to deny them a show, even during training? Sure they may not be capitolites, yet isn’t that what they all came to see as they crowded around us curiously. It wasn’t to learn how to spar but to learn of our weaknesses. To ready themselves if they were to go against Topher or I. I wasn’t about to let them see my vulnerability, even if my blood betrayed me. And so I laughed at their disgust, chuckling to myself as I tried steading my breath.

Maybe Topher and the others had thought I was crazy. After all, I did go from scarcity to being a present force while training here rather rapidly but I wasn’t in the business to care. Neither was Topher I believe as I hushed, lifting my eyes to find the boy off in his own headspace. Although I only have watched him closely as of recent, especially now as we sparred for our initial time, this seemed to be a habit of his. Retreating to thoughts, I wonder where they took him.

Rising deliberately, I stretched and flexed my wrist and right arm with caution. As this was my first spar with such an audience, I could be cheap by taking advantage of this stilled moment. Yet, what good would that do? Sure this would be over with, yet my audience would lose respect for I and he for me. I’ll show him the same respect for me as he has shown, unless he thinks to test me. I’d like to see him try. His demeanor calmly recovered, and with it, a new side to him emerged. A vision I’ve never been graced before of desperation plastered on his face, it glinting in his grin. It looks good on him, and yet unnatural. I’ve seen the face of killers before, that menacing gaze glossing over their humanity. Yet, this wasn’t an arena, and it wasn’t necessary to resort to such pathetic hostilities. This display caused me to laughed outwardly, loud enough for the others to hear unlike before. Smirking coyly, my words teased the career ahead. "What are you going to do, kill me?”

Watching him bounce away like a frog, I titled my head, striding forward gradually with lethal confidence, whip primed for damage. “Feeling shy now, are you? Run all you want but my whip won’t hide” I chided at the retreating boy. His arm readied itself, tilting his body in a manner that resembled Olympians of an archaic past. It mesmerized me to see the tall, handsome, bloodied warrior before me try something out of his bounds. Yet it would be something that proved out of the bounds of my patience and literally, the only thing left mesmerizing me being his audacity.

Oh, okay. So that is how it is going to be Topher Valentine. You really went there, didn’t you? Body heaving forward, the elongated glaive reeled towards me. Combined with his force and its length, little time was left for me to dodge. The makeshift spear spliced into my left bicep, knocking past the armor as I crashed downward. My body fell onto my right forearm and knee for support, not falling fully yet enough to feel blood squelch and surge forth within my abdomen. My jaw tightened hearing the shock of the crowd, anger swelling as I stood and strutted forward. “Are you fucking kidding me, Topher? The hell is wrong with you?!” I demanded, voice raising at a broiling volume loud enough to silence a room.

Flexing my wrist once more, I closed the distance to the boy. If looks could kill, he certainly would have died on the spot. My eyes narrowed at the sight, the boy kneeling as if offering humbly his face. Topher’s words were a spit to my face, practically. They were foolish words, ones that deserved a foolish response. Thrusting my right arm across my body, whipping inward then pushing outward, the roped leather followed suit slapping Topher ferociously on his laxed left forearm. How dare he mock me in front of everyone, and how dare he mock the safety of everyone here. A large, diagonal slash would welt on his left forearm just as Topher Valentine collapsed to his side. I tossed the whip to my side from shock, dropping and sliding forward to offer feeble support. As he passed out, I cradled the bleeding boy and called for help from our useless instructor. I whispered shallowly, hair veiling around as I leaned forward to smooth the disheveled hair out of Topher’s bloodied face. My vocal range was depleted and softened, as my gaze was of malice. “Don’t be such a fool.”

Discord ensued after the faux javelin careened through the crowd, as Ajax and several other students helped carry my slugged over companion and I. My vision slurred as well as my balance, forcing me to rely on a shoulder to move. The walk to the infirmary felt delayed, each step accompanied by a radiating pain surging from my core. A hand clutched my stomach together as I breathed through gritted teeth, my breath catching on my hair as it rhythmically pushed a strayed strand to and fro. Annoyed at the sight, I raked my left hand through my roots with my right arm dangling around a fellow student’s neck. Blood had painted the side of my body and I discarded the soiled scarlet tainted armor slowly throughout the hall, despite Ajax’s protests. He was carrying an unconscious boy, yet civility and courtesy were his concerns. “Fuck your stupid armor, and fuck you for not stopping that sooner. You saw what that idiot was going to do,” I spat towards Ajax, leaning over towards the man to my side while the career accompanying me did little to disrupt aside from pulling my weakened body towards his; as if I possibly posed a threat in that state. Although, punching Ajax would have felt good in that moment, and thinking back I definitely wouldn’t have been opposed. Ajax stared ahead, sauntering towards the rearing clinic door as we turned a corner. “You knew the risks, you both did.” I knew what was at stake when I stepped on that stage, and I knew the pain that would come with plunging the glaive further. The unsaid message hung heavy in the air as Ajax kicked our destination’s door open; there are no limits in a game where blood was rewarded, and death cheered on.

As it was early, we were about the first to arrive in the room. The room had an enormous window towards the end, boasting a decent size and were the several infirmaries of scampered about the large facilities. About seven beds were aligned on each side, totaling fourteen yet held room for more easily. A nurse sat on a swiveled round at the noise, as did the attending assistants' heads from their two occupants. Two students were there, a young curly-haired boy feigning a stomach ache to get out of sparring and another girl had somehow managed to dislocate an ankle before 10 am while attempting an ambitious obstacle course. Topher was the first treated, the nurse radioing for backup amongst the several infirmaries. I shoved out of the arms of the assisting tribute, who scoffed at my rudeness as he left. After Ajax had laid the unconscious boy on his own cot towards the end of the room, a large separating, dividing curtain was drawn up. I languidly stepped to my own bed on the opposing wall and towards the door, biting the inside of my cheek to withhold a cry of pain as I sat down on the bed, rotating over to lay. Sweat rolled down my temple, blood already staining the pillow from behind. Heaviness held my limbs down, and although I only weighed 123lbs, I felt as if I weighed triple with the chest plate still on. I feebly tried peeling the sides, garnering the attention of the blond stork nosed nurse, who abandoned the whining curled child nearby. The sight must have been bad as he cut the side straps away since I heard his distressed voice piped for help. I couldn’t care though, as a sweet slumber took hold.

My eyes opened to creped pink dividers hovering over, with a soft light shining through my right side, still evident amidst the fluorescent lights. A chillness crept up as my gaze shifted to an air vent above. It blew directly onto my bare stomach, my soiled shirt, and futile armor evident in the trash bin by my side. Large cotton bandages were wrapped around my torso as if a makeshift champion belt to celebrate my victory. I slowly sat up, straining the fresh stitches littered about my body. A makeshift shoulder pad of gauze danced its way up my left bicep, restricting my movement slightly. For a second, I was grateful Topher had spared my dominant side. Topher… how was he? Was he one of the voices that strum at a low tone throughout the room?

I tried standing only to find IVs stuck in my arm, which I pulled off with a slight wince initially. Pushing the curtains aside, my eyes strained at the sight of the poignant orange starting to dominate the skyline. Stepping with caution, my eyes scanned the room against a raised forearm to protect my vision. Damn fluorescent lights. The occupants too busied to notice my presence, I relied on memory for guidance as two curtained beds laid side by side before me. I padded over at the noise of disgruntled movement, moving towards the side facing the windows that were calmer compared to the rest of the room. My left hand sat on my banded hip as I stood behind the curtain. Fingers reaching forward, they curled around the curtain cautiously before yanking them open. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty” I sang half-heartedly in response to the boy's call, my gaze settling on the startled Topher before me. He stared blankly in return, I unsure if it was towards the sunset washing in from behind or at me. I scanned his skin, searching for familiarity, only for my amber eyes to lock onto his that was framed by a swollen gauze mask. Mustering a light-hearted smile, I declared “wow, you look like shit.”