petrichor — areto & emerson
Jun 11, 2021 14:01:02 GMT -5
Post by calla on Jun 11, 2021 14:01:02 GMT -5
A R E T O
► ► ►
During her week in the Capitol, Areto finds herself feeling irrevocably and undeniably underwhelmed. But she isn't sure what she expected. Competent trainers? Fearsome warriors? All she's seen so far are a cluster of scared kids who think that learning to put on a good show is more important than learning to survive.
And it disturbs her right down to her very soul. She hates this place and what it stands for. She hates way that everyone seems woefully underprepared. Is this what the rest of Panem is like? Bleak and hopeless and disgusting?
She spends most time near the training pool and the plants station just to pretend that she isn't where she is.
So it seems like a miracle when something draws her eye. Someone, maybe. The girl's blade is an extension of herself. It looks natural. There's a familiarity to the way Emerson Le Roux moves and Areto is stuck so suddenly, so harshly, with the sting of homesickness.
But over the span of the day, Areto watches Emerson ebb and flow and curl in on herself. She watches her fidget under the fluorescents and bare her teeth and change in a matter of seconds. Emerson stumbles without a weapon in her hand and bows underneath a force that seems purposeful. Her feet drag, her balance shifts, and her whole demeanour crumbles.
She's hiding, and it frustrates Areto. It boggles her. Areto isn't afraid to show Blade the difference between the dangerous plants and the safe ones. She has no problem showing off her aim and practicing her flourishes. It's who she is. She's never been on to hold back. The Amazons are proud women, and they cower under no one. If Areto wants to train authentically, with all eyes on her, she will. If the other tributes are intimidated by that, then they have the common sense not to say anything.
So why then, does Emerson Le Roux not do the same? She has the name, she has the skills, she could have the whole arena groveling at her feet if she wanted.
Fighting on the island is less spectacle and more necessity. There's no embarrassment in it. There's no self-consciousness. Areto was a teacher there. She was a mentor and a sister and a nurturer and she could see the potential in people. She didn't go easy on the girls, and they didn't expect her to. And standing there, watching Emerson fade into the textured rubber matts, she sees potential again.
She's heard the rumours and the stories of the children from One. She's had a taste of the ferocity - she wants to see what a so-called career can do with no reservations.
Her palms curl around the hilts of her falcatas. Areto crosses the room in a matter of second, beelining for the one streak of gold in the room.
"Spar with me." She says, simple and to the point, more demand than suggestion.
And it disturbs her right down to her very soul. She hates this place and what it stands for. She hates way that everyone seems woefully underprepared. Is this what the rest of Panem is like? Bleak and hopeless and disgusting?
She spends most time near the training pool and the plants station just to pretend that she isn't where she is.
So it seems like a miracle when something draws her eye. Someone, maybe. The girl's blade is an extension of herself. It looks natural. There's a familiarity to the way Emerson Le Roux moves and Areto is stuck so suddenly, so harshly, with the sting of homesickness.
But over the span of the day, Areto watches Emerson ebb and flow and curl in on herself. She watches her fidget under the fluorescents and bare her teeth and change in a matter of seconds. Emerson stumbles without a weapon in her hand and bows underneath a force that seems purposeful. Her feet drag, her balance shifts, and her whole demeanour crumbles.
She's hiding, and it frustrates Areto. It boggles her. Areto isn't afraid to show Blade the difference between the dangerous plants and the safe ones. She has no problem showing off her aim and practicing her flourishes. It's who she is. She's never been on to hold back. The Amazons are proud women, and they cower under no one. If Areto wants to train authentically, with all eyes on her, she will. If the other tributes are intimidated by that, then they have the common sense not to say anything.
So why then, does Emerson Le Roux not do the same? She has the name, she has the skills, she could have the whole arena groveling at her feet if she wanted.
Fighting on the island is less spectacle and more necessity. There's no embarrassment in it. There's no self-consciousness. Areto was a teacher there. She was a mentor and a sister and a nurturer and she could see the potential in people. She didn't go easy on the girls, and they didn't expect her to. And standing there, watching Emerson fade into the textured rubber matts, she sees potential again.
She's heard the rumours and the stories of the children from One. She's had a taste of the ferocity - she wants to see what a so-called career can do with no reservations.
Her palms curl around the hilts of her falcatas. Areto crosses the room in a matter of second, beelining for the one streak of gold in the room.
"Spar with me." She says, simple and to the point, more demand than suggestion.
