carving your own path; Trost
Aug 7, 2020 1:41:43 GMT -5
Post by charade on Aug 7, 2020 1:41:43 GMT -5
M E R C E D E S .
The buzzer sounded.
“Good match,” Mercedes said to her opponent, grasping the other girl’s hand in a firm shake. “Blessings be upon you.” It had been a close one, the points staying even right until the end when she’d managed to tag her opponent twice in rapid succession. After that debacle with Petra, she was putting a lot of work in on her hand to hand combat training. She didn’t want to be caught off guard again.
It was the weekend, which meant she had some free time to herself; she’d dutifully worked through the mountain of homework in the early morning, wanting to get as much time as possible to train. The screens in the center were showing the fights currently taking place in the 85th quell, and she said a silent prayer for the soul of Will Johnwayne. He might have been a little rough around the edges, but the district was placing all of their hope in him after he’d had to mercy-kill his district partner.
If he didn’t come home, it’d be the twenty-second straight year that their district had failed to live up to its once stellar reputation. The disappointment year after year could be felt on several strata of society. Every year without a victor, the Academy, and many other schools ramped up the training another notch. Districts one and four continued to outshine them, even though they were the district that trained future peacekeepers.
The public training centers tended to be a nice fusion of gym and weapon training. Not quite up to par with the academy, but pretty close. Even though they hadn’t won in over twenty years, District Two produced some of the most fearsome tributes to ever grace the games. She aimed to be one of those, with the grace and elegance befitting someone who’s family was well off enough to afford tuition to the Officer’s Academy.
She chugged a bottle of water and wiped off her face with her towel before flipping it over one shoulder and heading over to the seating area where several other careers were milling about or resting. She spent all of her weekends here, testing her mettle against careers from other schools or poorer citizens that were looking to improve their lot in life. There were a few she’d seen around a few times, but none of them attended the academy. Like that brown-haired boy, Crius.
He had to be a year or two younger than her, but he carried himself with that quiet confidence that many older careers did. The last time they’d sparred she’d noticed a few distinct scars on his hands. She’d also learned to watch out for his left hook. He packed a lot of power in that punch. She took a seat next to him, with a great view of the careers currently sparring on the mats and gave him a friendly nod of acknowledgment.
“Hello again, Crius.” She set her water bottle down. “You just get done with a match, or are you waiting to get in one?”
