defusing a bombshell | kahinta & cyro

defusing a bombshell | kahinta & cyro Jun 8, 2020 1:31:30 GMT -5

Post by Tom on Jun 8, 2020 1:31:30 GMT -5

Cyro Krane isn't much of a fighter.

He shouldn't believe that, but compared to people like Emmett Le Roux, Will Johnwayne, Perdita Leto, Jade Morin, and Meredith Strauss; he looked pathetic. Cyro Krane's been in more than a few fights from school, but other than that, he's been a fairly gentle soul. Xander had mellowed out the need for fists when he was born, leaving Cyro feeling much more normal than before. His hands weren't meant for fighting, despite what the hard labor had done to him, showing a roughness that only surviving could show. Fingertips rub against his ribs, reminding him of the hunger he had been dealing with for the past few weeks, no longer there anymore.

The capitol had fed him, which was a benefit, but not one that'd come kindly to him. The training center feels like walking on landmines, avoiding triggering any sort of event to blow up in his face. Eyes seem to follow him around the room, which makes his skin crawl in a way he didn't realize. Echoes of the same scrutiny Katelyn Persimmon had put onto him, mixing with his chest until he's just frozen for a moment, avoiding eye contact with many of them, keeping himself still burning with that same resolve as before. It's moments like these where Cyro Krane feels the most like an outsider looking in. Of all the tributes, he didn't expect Kahinta Jones to catch his eye from the trapping station; wires standing out to him reminding him of Sampson's attempt of blowing up the justice building.

The bomb that had gone off and left many feeling the reprimands of District Eleven. Staring for too long, Kahinta is the one to nod to him as he gulps down the fire, stepping calmly over, holding his arms across his chest to protect himself, but stand out as a little more intimidating to the other eyes appearing around him. Silently, he sits next to Kahinta Jones remembering the Eightieth games and her sister from games past. It's almost comforting knowing there's expectations of them, built on the past, except Temple Jones was alive. Levi and the rest of the Izars were dead in a graveyard full of familial bonds and broken hearts.

"That's interesting."

The words hang heavy in the air as he peers over the wirings, remembering the shrapnel of the bomb that Sampson had gotten his hands on.

"Think I had a cousin who made bombs."

The words are quieter than before.

The capitol could know.

Not the tributes.

No need to paint a red and white target to his back.

defusing a bombshell | kahinta & cyro Jun 10, 2020 17:32:23 GMT -5

Post by wimdy on Jun 10, 2020 17:32:23 GMT -5

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?"