defusing a bombshell | kahinta & cyro

Kahinta Jones is definitely not a fighter in the way that seemed to count in the Games.

Training had been going alright, but she'd been spending a good amount of her time trying to get comfortable with weapons in her hands and nothing quite felt right. Maces felt clunky, and swords left her feeling too exposed when she'd swing wide and a trainer would catch her off guard. Nothing had felt very right back in Ten with Libertas and Orcus either, so it seemed fairly clear cut that she wasn't going to be a physical threat to most of the tributes in this Games.

That's not to say she wasn't putting in the work to make that change, even when the others couldn't see it.

She preferred them not to know anyhow.

Sleep doesn't come easy in a building that seems to hum louder than her pa on a perimeter walk. What sleep she was getting was fitful at best, so Kahinta had found herself training even when the night grew cold and dark around her. She was sore, her thighs a little tight from doing squats, and her knuckles a little raw from squaring off against the wall in her room one too many times, unable to draw her hand back in time before the collision. It leaves her feeling raw in the mornings at breakfast, and she's careful to keep her eyes on her plate to avoid what little scrutiny she can from the victors of District Ten.

Not that any of them care. They've seen their fair share of gallows walks.

Beyond what little she trains with weapons, Kahinta spends her time cementing skills she wishes were already solid, like trapping and identifying plants and working with explosives, Libertas. There's still a part of her that sings bitter, fingers working over wires and carefully weaving things together as she remembers Libertas telling her at fourteen that she was too young to learn, and then sending her to deal with arms trading weeks later. If she was responsible enough to ensure trade with Bette Sublino of all people for weapons, she should have been considered responsible enough to learn how to use and make explosives.

With a frown, she lifts her eyes from her work, thumbing idly at a loose wire as she mentally tallies up where the few Careers and promising outliers are she's been trying to be aware of, including one Cyro Krane, of tribute and trainer rumor alike. A horrible father, wanted to dump his son, and so he volunteered. It doesn't sit right, and her eyes stay trained on him until he returns the contact and she nods him over.

"That's interesting. Think I had a cousin who made bombs."

It's quiet, and Kahinta looks up at the boy sitting next to her with a raised brow at his careful tone.

Strange.

"Had… Sorry to hear that. Explosive accident?" she asks, trying to keep the curiosity a little more tame in her voice than she feels it. Her fingers run quickly over her work again as she looks back down, addressing the first thing he said as a frown twists deeper onto her face with every word. "Fairly… new to it. They don't give you enough here to actually do anything with, obviously, but who knows what we'll be able to find inside, yeah? Could be- could be useful once we're... Well, once we're fucked, you know?"