tryna detonate ya | anari & neysa

"Ten! How many times do I have to tell you to get your ass up?"

Anari turned his head, cheek flattening against the cool floor. "One more time?" he called to the trainer, who merely rolled his eyes and turned away.

He shifted, propping himself up on his elbow with his hand pressed to his face. He'd been laying on the floor for about two minutes - maybe five, he wasn't really counting anyway - as the routine of the training center had become a bore once again.

He should be training. He knew that. But Anari had never been particularly good at doing what he was supposed to do, and evidently being in a life-or-death-but-most-likely-death situation wouldn't change that, nevermind the pounding that began in his chest whenever he picked up a weapon. He absently watched as the other tributes floated around the center, flashes of silver ending at plastic abdomens and fabric swishing as they moved.

Someone from his family would be better suited for this. One of the tough ones. Hell, even the weaker ones would probably fare better than Anari. What was he even doing here?

A dark blur in his peripheral vision distracted him from his musings, and he glanced up to see a girl standing a few ways away. Ah. That's why I'm here. Anari pushed himself to his feet, strolling up beside her and pressing his back to the wall.

"So," he ventured. "You come here often?"