Put it in your heart - WHERE TOMORROW SHINES!!! :D [Open!]

[Raeoki]

(ooc: *takes this moment to encourage everybody to reply to this thread cause I really want to RP with practically all of your characters*

Moment over. :3 <3 )

BIC: Initially, when his mentors suggested an appearance at the training floor, Caritas was reluctant, as he was afraid his presence and lacking ability in weaponry would distract the trainers away from the other tributes, for they would be too busy helping him – and that would be selfishly cruel, and certainly against Caritas’s demanding morality. However, because he had a very strong, passionate hatred for insubordination of any sort, Caritas trudged away from the breakfast table that morning, his feet going at a leisurely pace. He leaned his body backwards slightly as he strode through the apartments, his small hands held behind his back, his elbows bent so that the back of his wrists were pressed against the center of his spinal column; his thin, rosy mouth was curved upward into a quietly satisfied manner, as one might smile when they walk through a flowery park. He knew no fear then, no panic, and no acknowledgement that next week he would surely die. It wasn’t till the arrival of a certain prep team member that Caritas – in the first time in his life since he was assaulted by that demonic rooster back in District 10 – knew fear.

It had only been an abrupt meeting of chance. He had been strolling around a corner, when in a flash, he found himself before Melpomene, and green eyes met black eyes. They were dull and lifeless, as they had been when Caritas had noticed her at the Opening Ceremony – so without joy that it was hard to see Melpomene as an existing, breathing person, but, rather, some enigma; a messenger of the damned, perhaps. For a breath, neither moved, but only stared: Melpomene in slight surprise, Caritas with a terror that was absolute and spread a winter within him till everything, even his fingertips, believed themselves frozen. It was not Melpomene’s presence, exactly, that caused him such fear, but rather those eyes of hers, and what they represented; for they seemed to hold a very strange sadness, one that was so powerful that Caritas believed – for that moment – that it could topple over the president’s buildings, free all of his pets, and destroy the utopian Panem as he knew it. Perhaps, if he was older and wiser and braver, he would have made it his duty to destroy that sadness, whether it meant terminating the bearer of such grief or somehow pleasing her; but in his youthful, foolish form, it did not occur to him, and he remained still like a statue.

Melpomene’s mouth began to twist and part in a slow, jerking process, as if she was a machine that had long since rusted over. It twitched higher and higher, moving at a sloth’s pace, till at last a very small, almost gentle smile was upon her purplish face; however, there were no smiles in her eyes – the grief was tenacious in its fight for survival against this would-be symbol of affection. “Caritas,” she murmured, and her voice was coarse, like the creak of a door with all its hinges rusted over.

He didn’t say anything; he found that he could not say anything. His mouth was as fixed as cement; there was no possible way for it to stir, or want to stir, or even attempt to stir. It was absolutely stationary, permanently set into a disgusted, frightened grimace. It was the winter within him that had done it; it froze ice upon the muscles in his face, on his tongue, and on his lips: the only possible chances for movement at the moment were for some heat to come forth and melt it. And how ironic it was, that the very woman who had initiated the freezing, icing blizzard that raged within Caritas’s little body would be the one provide the flame that would melt the ice; for she then reached out her hand, in the same slow, unnatural style as she had grinned, and gave him a very small touch atop his hair, one that any other person would have hardly noticed, but Caritas – finding that terror improved upon his senses – felt it as if she had suddenly clubbed him with her fist. He flinched beneath her fingers, and his palms slapped his chest, for his heart had suddenly underwent a series of painful palpitations that he feared she would hear, and he cringed, all in a lone movement. He soon found that his grimacing lips were no longer iced, and so they leaped forth, moving rapidly to form words: “What – what’re yah – yah doin’ here – Comrade Melpomene?”

Melpomene withdrew her hand, and let it dangle listlessly at her side, as if there were no muscles in it – just a draping strip of useless flesh. Her sad little grin twitched a little larger. “Oh, don’t you know, Caritas?” she replied, her creaky voice not daring to stray over a well-enunciated whisper. “I’ll be living here for the following weeks, till the victor’s interviewed.” A strange, heavy feeling of doom metaphysically flattened Caritas, as if Melpomene’s words had set a large atomic bomb upon his shoulders; and a rather strange, squished appearance came all over Caritas, in the way he suddenly pressed his arms to his sides and hunched his shoulders and wrinkled his face. Melpomene, however, did not notice this, and added: “Jupiter and Thalia are here, too, if you’d like to see them.”

Abruptly, some chord snapped within Caritas, unleashing an instinct new to him: the instinct of prey animals. Run. Run. It’s here. It’s close. Run. His body jerked erect from its cringing position, and his arms flew from his sides, becoming bent and lifting his fists to his chest. It’s here. Run. It was a remindful, cautionary, tense mantra that crept on its belly in Caritas’s mind, constantly whispering: Run. It’s here. It’s close. Run. It made him shed his care for altruism, his care for the other tributes, or his reluctance to attend a training session during his stay at the training center (for that had been what was covertly and subconsciously manipulating Caritas to move at such a sluggish, indolent pace); now, he only knew this words: It’s here. It’s close. Run. Run. Run. He had never truly known insubordination in his lifetime, and thus he could not think of any reason to disobey the urgent commands; he proceeded to skirt around Melpomene, keeping his front towards her, never letting his gaze dart in a separate direction than the one she stood in. “Ah – ah, yeah, comrade ma’am – mebbe later – ahright?” he inquired, with a polite dip of his head, as he started to walk backwards, and thus entering the corridor that led to the elevator.

She nodded her head stiffly; her smile vanished in a swift, fluid motion, most incongruent to the manner in which she had raised the grin. “Alright, Caritas. I can see that you’re busy.” She turned her back on him. “See you later.” She then proceeded to shuffle away, her body huddled over and her face turned towards the ground.

Caritas waited till she disappeared behind a corner at the far end of the hallway that he had just come out of; then, with the agility of a cougar, he turned around, and a blur that streaked through the corridor, not stopping, not thinking, till his body crashed into the elevator’s doors. There was a jolt to the impact, as well as a sharp pain, but adrenaline numbed it; he slapped his palm upon a button with an arrow written on it as if he was swatting a fly. The doors slid apart; his body promptly leaned forward, for all his weight had been supported on the doors, and he crashed onto the floor. Once again, with no acknowledgement that he was no longer on his feet, he lifted himself upon his palms and knees, and scuttled into the elevator. The doors clicked together behind him; there was a light chirp of the bell; Caritas turned his face skyward, his eyes and mouth wide open, and he let his body remain rigid. There was a very strange feeling that the floor was no longer beneath him, and that he was now being lifted into the air; however, this was only a feeling: Caritas was still very much grounded and stationary. The sensation was only a clue that the elevator was gradually dropping.

At first, Caritas refused to move, refused to relax; then, gradually, as if someone had taken him by the shoulders and was helping him to his feet, he rose, and the adrenaline seeped out of him, as did the sense of oncoming death. However, is body did not relax, for the Question was within him, lurking in his heart and mind like an evil, flickering shadow: Why is that comrade so landin’ scary? No one should give someone the willies like that. Then why – then why – Then a new Question entered him, like how knuckles impact skin: What is she, anyway? His mind thusly became blank; he had no answers: just those questions, which tortured him and clawed him and made his mind numb and stupid.

When the elevator dinged again and opened its doors, he walked through them promptly, his legs moving without him wanting to, as if some hidden programming were making them move, not his own will. He know not where to go, but he did not quit moving, and instead walked about in circles, whilst his eyes scanned the perimeter, eyeing the various stations and what they held. He couldn’t think any longer; the urge to consider and analyze actions to expel any sense of selfishness was gone. And it was all Melpomene’s doing; those evil eyes of hers had been like knives to a wrist, slitting the soul and bleeding dry the altruism and humanity. Now, all Caritas knew was instinct: the instinct to move, the instinct to look, but not approach. However, one station soon caught his eye; a place with strange equipment with some curving stick with a thin string strung to its tip. Caritas had seen many of those items appear in many Hunger Games, but often their names escaped him – bows, he believed they were called, though he wasn’t certain (for he was never a very bright, quickly-learning boy, even when he wasn’t in states where only instinct guided him). This sudden, random fascination entranced him and stimulated his dulled mind, and he marched over to it, as dutifully and stiffly as a soldier. Caritas halted before the station, and peered inside, his body leaning to the right, and then to the left, his frosty green eyes wide and examining everything – however, he found that the blankness was still very much within him, and this created a confusion about the place, one that he – without thinking – voiced: “So – uh – golly, what’re we supposed to do here, huh?”

(ooc: Not very observant, is he? x3 Sorry that some of the descriptions get a little rushed at the end; I kinda found myself in a race against time while I was finishing this. :/ )

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WC Stands for Water Closet: 1,808

[Elletnah™ The JabberJay]

Despite her hunter tendencies Achlys hated mornings, she had always preferred nocturnal creatures to hunt and this just was not helping. The not so lovely escort awoke her by very roughly banging on her door, she guessed he did not appreciate her outburst on the train and he had barely said two words to her sense. She didn't mind though, she didn't like the man too well anyway and she didn't mind the rudeness, she did mind being woken up at an ungodly hour though.
Slowly dragging herself out of bed she clamored into the shower and turned as cold as she could stand it, and seeing as she was pretty used to ice cold showers she could stand it pretty cold. After quickly bathing she threw on a bath robe and waltzed back into the insanely spacious bedroom they had appointed her for the duration of her stay, lying across the already made bed was a pair of black pant that were made out of material that felt odd when she rubbed it between her fingers, a dark green cotton tank top under clothes and a pair of odd looking shoes. Achylys shrugged and dressed as quickly as possible so she could grab a bite to eat before she had to go down to face the other tributes. Pulling her hair into her famous sloppy bun she gingerly opened the door to her room and poked her head out, no one was around so she headed in the general direction of the dinning room the had eaten in the night before. Sitting around the table was the brightly attired escort, for the time being her tribute partner was no where to be seen but that didn't mean he wasn't around the enigmatic and quiet boy had the instincts of a hunter and knew when to pick his fights.
After eating a strange looking fruit that had a orange skin but when you cut it open was pink, a surprising find to the amusement of her fellow table mates, Achlys headed down the elevator, with or with out Cescil mind you, to the training floor.
The 22 other tributes looked daunting and all seemed to have arrived before she did, she swallowed hard and took her place among the others as they gathered to hear the man in charge give a lecture about safety and the rules, honestly Achlys didn't listen to half of it because she was too busy looking over her opponents. After what felt like a life time they were set free to explore and do some learning within the massive training floor. The one place that caught her eyes were the targets, a simple table was laid out with deadly looking knives and axes and Achlys ran her hand over a knife before she caught sight of the bows. There were so many to chose from, silver ones and black ones, ones with pulleys and ones with triggers. With awe her hands hovered over the daintier black one, one so much smaller than her one back home but looked like it was made just for her. She smiled and picked it up plucking at the string and smiling at the sound it made.
"You're from nine aren't you?" asked a trainer, Achlys smiled and nodded.
"I thought so, do you know how to shoot?" Achlys nodded again and the trainer gestured to the targets along the wall. "Would you like to show me? I could give you pointers help your shots." Achlys nodded enthusiastically and grabbed a quiver off the table.
Taking a place behind a white line Achlys steadied herself and drew and arrow, she tried to forget where she was and imagined the far target being a large five point buck, drew the bow string back and fired. The arrow missed its mark by mere inches and Lyssy narrowed her eyes and drew again quickly adjusted for the difference in tension and fired again, this time hitting her target.
"Nice work! I was a little worried after the first shot but you recovered quickly, you are a fast learner." The trainer said leading her away from the bulls eyes. "Lets try it on a target more human shaped." She gestured to a series of six foot tall human shaped targets. "The points indicated on the target are what are more commonly know as kill points, you hit one of those they will be down in minutes if not seconds. People are a lot like animals, hit an artery and they will go down, it may take a little while though so they may be able to stop and fix themselves up and continue on, try aiming for the neck in what is called the jugular shooting for the head could be tricky because the arrow may break instead of pierce the skull so try for the heart if the bow is powerful enough you can hit it through the side of the rib cage much like with a deer because puncturing the sternum is like trying to get through the skull more difficult. Try a few times with the stationary targets and then I will get them to move." The trainer instructed as she started to walk away to another tribute that had approached the area.
Achlys drew a deep breath and aimed again this time for the bright red target on the neck. She hit the target almost dead on and she aimed at another and did it again. With several in one area she decided to have a bit of fun with it and began to move, using the tables and other stations as cover she treated the targets like people and ducked and dodged invisible weapons, she was rather enjoying herself when they started to move and she got lost in the movement she didn't stop until she ran out of arrows. Finally she made her way back along the target stations getting looks from the other tributes and she just kept her eyes down ignoring the others, she also failed to notice that the game makers who were in the perch had stopped to watch her as well. When she got to the trainer she pressed a button and all the targets were brought forward, most were hit in the key 'kill areas' while others were hit in random areas that wouldn't kill but would wound bad enough that she could circle back and finish the job.
"Not bad, go take a breather and we'll go at it again in a little while." The trainer said extracting an arrow from a target.
Achlys approach the original table she had saw and saw a young boy inspecting a bow, she laid hers gingerly on the table and watched him amused when he said something rather funny.
"I would supposed we are expect to shoot or throw things, hopefully something that would do some form of damage." Achlys said letting one hand rest on her hip while the fell to her side.
"Achlys district nine." she said extending her left hand in greeting.


Word Count: 1181
Tags: EVERYONE!! I have muse!!!

[Raeoki]

(ooc: xD :DDDDDDDD YAY ELLE!!!! <33333 *tackleslothhuggleglomp* Thank you so much for posting, and what a fab post it is!!! :33333)

“I would suppose we are expected to shoot or throw things, hopefully something that would do some form of damage.”

Caritas could not halt his body from flinching slightly as a female voice very readily answered his query, as if she had almost been waiting for Caritas to inquire as to the purpose of the station. His head whipped around so he could face her, and his eyes were quite wide with surprise; however, it occurred to him that the girl before him had been rather rude and inconsiderate of her, to simply pop out of nowhere as a ghost materializes out of thin air, and act all amused, as if she believed herself to be the wisest of all women, and he the most oafish all men, and he had just made a particularly oafish question to her. An eyebrow proceeded to lift itself upward, and his eyes flicked up and down as he observed her: she, with the golden hair with a slight touch of red in it, all bunched up together in some hurried bundle, with a particularly slight, not very pretty figure. His scowl grew as he noted the openness of her stance, with her hand atop her hip and the other dangling at her side; it was one that suggested easiness, as if she hadn’t had a care, as well as possibly conveying sassiness, which was a child of Selfishness and Pride. Yet, as Caritas kept his gaze on her body, he could not help but find himself appreciating its gauntness, for he thought it a symbol of starvation, and starvation, a symbol of suffering, and suffering, a symbol of a virtuous person.

“Achlys, District Nine,” she greeted, and extended the hand that was not perched atop her hip.

Caritas paused for a moment, looking down his nose at her thin hand, his mouth a small frown and his forehead furrowed in contemplation. As Caritas was a person who thought highly of first impressions, and was still not quite certain of his very first impression of this Achlys girl, for there had not been enough time for him to truly consider her, he wondered if he ought to extend his own and take her hand with his. It had been very inconsiderate of her to randomly appear and act all cute and amused, and assume such a relaxed stance; however, as he continued to stare down at her hand, it occurred to him that she was actually being quite friendly towards him, by answering his question when she didn’t have to, and giving him her name and offering him her hand when he didn’t ask for such a greeting. Gradually, his face became less tense and disapproving, and his scowling mouth became a slight, thin line across his mouth. It then popped into his mind another question, but this was not one he voiced the moment he thought it: Why’s she bein’ so nice tah me? Was she a hyper-altruist, like he was? For only hyper-altruists could be so friendly to another human being…but, yet, it had always been of his opinion that he was the only hyper-altruist (aside from the president) to have ever roamed the Earth! And yet…clearly, at the very least, she was not an individualist, for they were selfish, petty introverts, who spoke to no one and only thought of themselves. Thus, clearly, as this “Achlys” (now that he considered it) had actually been rather kind to answer his question at all, and rather friendly to introduce herself, he decided that she was – at the very least – a post-individualist, and perhaps a regular altruist, not necessarily a hyper one. And so, with this in mind, his hand moved from his flank and took her hand and lifted it upward, then lowered it, and the thin line on his mouth curved and became a beaming, pleasant, very welcoming smile.

“Weeeeeeeeell, nice tah meet yah, Comrade Nine!” he chuckled warmly, and he gave her hand a small, friendly squeeze, as was customary of District 10 people upon meeting and greeting of people, new or otherwise. “Name’s Caritas Karl Devhish – ‘course, it ain’t as honorable as ‘avin’ yer name kinda like one of the districts, but yah know…A name’s a name!” Caritas beamed at her, and his eyes were blank and stupid but warm, and his small shoulders lifted upward in a small, innocent shrug.

His very pleasant – if not a little clueless – grin faltered slightly as he noticed the bows out of his peripherals. For they reminded him of his mentors, and how they had insisted on him training prior to his arrival – but how he to do that now, now that he was currently in a conversation with a possible fellow post-individualist, one that could be very stimulating, for all she would be doing would be agreeing with him all the time (for only the most important philosophical discussions were the ones where the most brilliant of all the philosophers was constantly agreed with). However, it would have been selfish of Caritas to forget his subordination to his mentors, and thus, his rightful bondage to them – but it would also be selfish of him to simply shrug off Comrade Nine! Caritas pressed his lips together, and fidgeted slightly as he considered this new crisis; but, fortunately, Caritas had been born with enough sense to come across the conclusion that it might be possible to cocktail the stimulating conversation with some training. After all, Comrade Nine looked to be about sixteen or fifteen – certainly too young to be one of the trainers – and seeing as how they wore the same dark green and black training uniform that had been all assigned to the tributes, Caritas thought that perhaps that Comrade Nine might benefit from the mixture of physical and philosophical sharpening.

Caritas lifted his hand towards the table and reached for a small bow that had a thin, rectangular plate beside it that marked it as a “shortbow”. His fingers curled about the bow, and he brought it down. “You – ah – don’ mind if Ah shoot, do yah?” Caritas glanced up at her over his brows, and a very small, thin, sheepish grin stretched across his young face. “Ah – uh – Ah kinda need tah, err my menterrs won’ like it much, yah see.” He turned his body around, and extended his hand towards a small, oblong sheath that was attached at the very corner of the table that contained several arrows, and he grabbed one by its feathers and slid it out of its sheath. Caritas then reached downward, and put the notch of the arrow to the front of the bow (not, mind you, at its string). Immediately, Caritas found this rather strange and uncomfortable, and he cocked his brow, and his timid smile became a very dissatisfied, very confused scowl. “Now what in tarnation…,” he murmured to himself, whilst he removed the arrow from the face of the bow; and, in doing so, from the top of his gaze, he saw Achlys, and remembered that he was supposed to be training as well as having a philosophical discussion on post-individualism. Caritas’s body flinched a little as he remembered, and his face flushed crimson at his selfishness, and he turned his face downward, and mumbled quickly: “Uh – uh – sorry – Ah – Ah didn’t…ahem…So, uh…You a post-indahviduahlist, ain’t yah, raht?”

(ooc: Ah hah…Sorry if Cari’s accent gets a little hard to decipher at times. ^_^; Just tell me if you need a translation!)





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Water Closet: 1,226

All together now!: 3,034 water closets! (This ought to exceed the cap for the first day of training. x3)

[Elletnah™ The JabberJay]

Achlys watched the slight boy with curiosity. He looked at her in almost complete distrust which almost immediately turned into a grin as he shook her hand. She smiled slightly as he assumed her last name was District Nine, she decided not to say anything and watched as he talked on they proceeded to pick up a short bow put the arrow on backwards, think better of it and try it the other way.
His accent was thick and at times hard to understand but Achlys caught the gist of it, "I'm sorry, I'm not even sure what post individualism is." She said shrugging picking her bow and strung a freshly refilled quiver over her back. Stepping back up to the line the trainer from before set the targets moving again and Achlys decided to stay put for the duration of this practice. She managed to 'kill' a few more before turning her attention back to the boy. "You can call my Lyssy if you want, everyone else does." She failed to mention her parents that generally ignored her.
"I'm gonna go back to practicing, probably avoid some careers while I am at it, the trainers are pretty good so I am sure they can teach you something about that there short bow you carry. I'll be over there." She said gesturing the area she had been in before.
Gathering another quiver she added extra arrows before going to where she had been before starting at the other end she strung an arrow and nodded to the waiting trainer who set the targets moving again, this time faster.
Achlys moved quickly and managed to badly injure three before ducking below a three foot high barrier and standing quickly to shoot again. It reminded her of when she first learned to shoot, her father had been impatient as ever and got angry at her when she didn't hit the bird on the first try, she was ten at the time. She learned fast after that and he had left her to her own devices. With practice she got good and she also learned an easy way to make money, she sold her game directly to the merchants including the butcher. Gave her family the bare minimum what they expected a little half wit like her to make and hid the rest.
When she finished her quiver she finally looked up to the balcony where the the gamemakers sat. Most of them where watching a career girl diving into the swimming pool but quite a few had their eyes on Achlys and the long range weapon station.



total Word count= 1616

[Raeoki]

(ooc: I just wanna warn you that this post is gonna suck. I'm sorry. I got tired, and I got tired simply writing it, I don't know why, my muse just kinda bled out of me. x( I'm sorry! And I'd also like to apologize for making you wait so long as you did, too!)

BIC: Her declaration of her own philosophical ignorance made Caritas feel a sharp shock, as if she had thrust her hands into his face and had clapped them right before his eyes. His mind had been blown out like a candle against a breath; he could not grasp what Comrade Nine had just admitted. It was not possible – it simply was not possible! No one who was not knowledgeable of post-individualism could ascertain such friendliness, such alacrity to answer a stranger’s question! For there had to be a philosophy for a person to become something; a pathway, laid out by another, and dragged by that other to a more perfect state being. Benevolence could not be implemented unless there was another who had injected it; it was not congenital; aloofness, sarcasm, immodesty – those were the human attributes that all members of the humanoid species were born with! They could not be shaken off by the hosts of those sins; they had to be brushed off a philosophy that had been spawned by a higher being, for human beings are not independent fellows that can think however they wish and act however they please, but are merely fleshy marionettes, to be manipulated by a wiser and kinder creature, and those who thought otherwise were evil and deserved death. So, really, if Achlys District Nine spoke truth of her ignorance of post-individualism, how was it possible that she could be so friendly, and deny much knowledge of post-individualism so politely and apologetically? Was she trying to trap him and manipulate him for her own selfish gain? Or was she truly an altruist, as he was, but was too modest to proudly bear the name and all its holy inventions?

As his mind had been boggling, the girl had stepped away from him and was presently nocking an arrow to the bowstring. She aimed, and the arrow went through the air rather like lightning; the sound of its small, sharp head thumping against the target as it bore into it promptly cleared Caritas of the small swamp of confusion that had contaminated his mind. His head moved back once, and his eyes darted in the direction of the sound, and his gaze moved quickly enough to see Nine metaphorically slay one of the targets. The strike was quick, clean, with very little signs of effort; it was as if the motions that she performed had been ground into her muscles, into her bones – as if she had been born shooting an arrow. As he bore witness to her preparation for another assault against the deadly target menace, Caritas’s face became quite open in surprise and unstoppable admiration, with his eyes very wide and glassy, more like a pair of marbles than actual eyes that was capable of seeing and revealing emotion. Again, it was the swift thump of the arrow digging its fangs into its prey that cleansed Caritas’s of his current thought process; as he looked upon it, and saw that each target had been hit perfectly, Caritas felt a hot and angry lash of scorn strike at him and scorch him and irritate him. The shot had been so perfect, so direct, and so bold; she had shot without hesitation, without repentance for her evident skill – he wondered if she had even bothered to aim; if her hands somehow simply knew where to shoo, without her eyes to help in their direction. Such deftness was unnatural, was inhuman, and was unorthodox! It opened Caritas’s eyes to the truth behind the strange monstrosity before him: Achlys District Nine was a selfish, introverted, proud, disgusting rebel who thought she was better than the president because she could shoot a bow adequately (the highest performance rating Caritas was willing to give anyone). And all those attributes that Nine had recreated for her interaction with Caritas, such as her friendliness and politeness, had all been tricks – attempts to lure Caritas into some twisted, fiendish, selfish trap! But Caritas would nott permit her cunning to enthrall him; he would fight her, indeed, he would, and not for himself – but for the name of altruism; in the protection of the utopia that was Panem, Caritas would defend himself from her wily and egotistical tricks!

His young features hardened into an austere resolve, one of such solemnity and unhappiness that it was absolutely incongruent to his youthful face and developing body, and any who might have spotted it – if they had a wise, considerate heart toward children – would have felt a keen pity for Caritas, for finding himself in such a position where undertaking such a mature, severe countenance when his face ought to be lit up and pleased with himself and life and knowledgeable of no grief. But none of such a nature looked upon Caritas and thought those things about him, nor would he want them to; to him, expressions of great gravity were perfectly fine, perhaps even essential for a soldier of altruism. It was a badge of honor, to reveal your innermost pain on your person, so long as the pain was for the altruistic cause.

It was then that Achlys District Nine withdrew from her enemies, triumphant in her conquering of the dummy menace. She must have recalled that Caritas existed and that she had a trap ready to snatch him by the ankles, for she promptly returned to him, and said: "You can call my Lyssy if you want, everyone else does." Caritas did not reply; his eyelids only dragged a little downward over his eyes as he looked up at her, and his upper lip contorted upward, transforming his mouth into a contemptible sneer, as if he was not looking at a girl, but rather some ugly, fiendish thing that oozed a green bodily fluid and smelled of rotting flesh. Achlys gestured to the targets she had recently defeated, and added: "I'm gonna go back to practicing, probably avoid some careers while I am at it, the trainers are pretty good so I am sure they can teach you something about that there short bow you carry. I'll be over there."

Again, Caritas kept his mouth still, his upper lip locked in its contorted position. As if he was only staring at her with some dumb, glazed look in his eyes, Achlys turned from him, gathered some arrows, and departed from Caritas, to return to her battle with the dummy menace. As she left, his upper lip gradually straightened itself again, and pressed itself against his bottom lip. His eyes remained upon her, narrowed and hard, and his glance did not waver once, as if he feared that if he looked away, she would take the opportunity to whip around and shoot at him with the bow and one of the arrows that she bore in her hands. However, when she did actually string her bow – and not for him, but for a target – Caritas could not stop himself from turning about quickly, his teeth gnashed in distaste; for he refused to permit himself to be the audience for some attention-lusting, selfish little fool like her. She did not deserve attention, from either him or anyone else; let her be all alone, in all that she did, all throughout the Games – let her die alone and unhappy and with no one to take care of her, with her face stained red by perpetually flowing tears and her belly whimpering for food. That was how she wanted to die, surely, after all? Like all rebels, who wanted to die an individual, far from all other human contact, so pleased initially that they could take care of themselves, only to falter and wail with anguish when they realized that they were not strong or adequate enough to do so. Let Achlys District Nine have the rebels’ fate – let her be alone in all she did!

The bow rubbed against his thigh as he turned, and the slight caress caused him to glance down, and truly see for the first time the weapon he held in his hand. He was holding it incorrectly; he could tell by the way it felt in his grasp that it was all wrong. He currently held it by its bowstring, with his palm pinning the arrow to the string; that certainly wasn’t how he had seen the various Hunger Games archers do it on television, and he was quite sure that Achlys District Nine had not carried her bow that way, either. The disgust that had brooded within him began to dissipate, gradually evaporating with each heartbeat that went by, thinning and clearing like a departing fog. Finally, contempt died; it was usurped of its host by befuddlement, which made his brain feel fuzzy, like fur had suddenly sprang from it. It seized his face and began to contort, turning shoving the eyebrows upward, making one go higher than the other, and twisting his mouth about as Caritas tried to fend it away with his slow, confusion-numbed mind.

As Caritas did not hold enough metal strength within him to remain independent in his learning of this new, strange art, it was very much fortunate that one of the trainers that Achlys had just mentioned turned away from a departing tribute whom he had just given aid to, and notice Caritas as he boggled over his bow and arrow. Being a sympathetic fellow when he wanted to be, he naturally smiled a very sympathetic grin when he identified Caritas’s confusion, and proceeded up to him. Caritas noticed the fellow approach from his peripherals; promptly, he lifted his eyes from the weapon, and surveyed the trainer as he strode up to Caritas at a quick, but not hurried pace, as if he knew there was a job to do, but that he had all the time in the world to do it. He halted before Caritas, that sympathetic grin still brightening his ruddy face, and his warm eyes glinted brightly as he offered him aid. Caritas flinched a little, and his eyes dilated, as if the trainer had asked Caritas if the tribute would prefer the trainer’s existence if he threw himself off a bridge for him. “Oh – oh, Ah’d be much obliged, sir!” Caritas breathed hoarsely, for his surprise made his voice very ragged sounding, as if he hadn’t had any water in the past few days. “But – but Ah couldn’t – there’re other tributes that’d need yer ‘elp, and…”

“No need to worry about it,” the trainer interjected promptly, in a hurried fashion, as if a time limit had suddenly descended upon him. “Let’s just worry about you for now, alright?”

It was a very poor choice of wording on the trainer’s part, for immediately, the bow fell from Caritas’s fingers, and he lurched back, his hands held up to his face with the palms outward and the fingers shaped like hooks, and he reminded the trainer of a vampire shielding it’s face from the sun’s cruel rays. “Oh, no! I ain’t gonna do that! That wouldn’ be raht!” he whimpered, and his voice had a strange, subjugated meekness to it, as if he had just been stabbed and was begging that the knife would no longer come close to his flesh.

Now it was the trainer’s to turn to have puzzlement take control of his features and distort them. “What? But…but, kid – don’t you want to learn how to use a bow?”

This seemed to sedate Caritas’s initial panic, for he lowered his hands from his face, and his muscles gradually relaxed. His face remained pale and stretched in the pleading panic, the only change undergone on it being the lifting of his eyebrows in a timid question. “Well – yup, but – but the other people…”

“Nah, nah – they’ll be fine; I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who doesn’t have a trainer on him. Just let me help yah, alright, kid?”

Caritas pressed his lips together, and his eyebrows moved further upward. “Ahraht,” he decided. “Ahraht – but do it quickly, if yah please, sir. Ah don’t wanna distract yah from any of the other tributes.”

The trainer consented with a small grin, and he then proved to be quite an honest man, for he proceeded to teach Caritas the ways of archery at a slightly brisker pace than he often did with most tributes. He almost pounced on the tribute, really; maneuvering his hands, commenting on various parts of the bow, waving his finger around the weapon as a wizard might wave a wand. Yes, it was a swift lesson, but the trainer managed to perform it with a great delicacy and efficiency, somehow causing his words to flow into Caritas’s mind easily, though Caritas had never proved to be a very fast learner. But that did not matter; Achlys had been correct to praise the trainers there at the long range weaponry station. Promptly, Caritas found himself aiming at the targets, peering down the side of the arrow as his trainer instructed (at least I assume that’s how you aim a bow), pulling the string back with all the might in his arm and back; which wasn’t as tiring as it might have been for other tributes when they had first attempted archery, for Caritas had become elusively fit from his life as a chicken keeper, and being a shortbow, there was not as much tension between the string and the stick as it would have been for any of the longer types. Aiming was more or less easy; Caritas’s aim had always been commendable, though it pained the young boy to admit it, though he found it slightly awkward to do so with a bow. His first shot with the weapon had not been worthy of praise by his trainer, who promptly insisted that Caritas attempt again, and continue to do so, until he felt better suited to the weapon. However, Caritas did not obey the trainer’s order immediately; instead, he paused for a moment to insist the trainer go forth and discover some other tribute who required more assistance than Caritas did at that point. Twice the trainer disagreed, once as a simple denial, the other being an inquiry into Caritas’s certainty; Caritas insisted each time, and with a rather disgruntled look on his features, the trainer skulked off.

Caritas turned his head to watch the trainer depart, and as luck would have it, it happened to be in the direction of the area where Achlys trained that the rainer went in, and thus Caritas’s eyes found themselves straying in that area. She had just concluded whatever training had been done there quite recently, as Caritas found, for the trainers had yet to free the arrows from the targets, and he could see that each projectile had been perfectly executed. And he thought of how poorly he had just shot his own arrow, and in his mind he juxtaposed his target with the targets of Achlys, seeing the differences in quality immediately. This irritated him to no end, more out of embarrassment than anger this time, for he was ashamed to be outdone by such a proud and egotistical introvert such as Achlys. However, he did not turn his face away or tried to hide himself, as he usually would have when in times of embarrassment; instead, his shame bubbled and ascended within him, like boiling water, the trembling, round protuberances growing and climbing atop each other until they finally burst past the lip of their container in a white and hissing foam. And this grunt of resentment that Caritas could not hold back was the sizzling froth of his boiling shame: “Show off…”

(ooc: I got really tired at the end. I’m so sorry!!!)

__________________________________________
Water Closet: 2,623

[Gav]

(Room for one more? )

Carther had just gotten out of bed when they were to meet at the training center. He quickly ran around his room, fixing himself up and putting on the required clothing for the event, and just caught the elevator on the way down. He didn't say much to his district partner, they hadn't even talked this entire time. She was probably feeling just as nervous as he was. Hopefully. When the doors to the training center opened, he saw that most of the tributes were already pumped and ready for action. Carther and his district partner came in just in time to hear the talk about safety and rules, so that none of us got hurt before the games. Like it mattered anyways.

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Carther had a tough time deciding what activity/station he was going to go to. He thought he was alright with swords and knives, but had never taken a try with a bow. So it was decided, Carther made his way over to the Archery station and picked up a bow. The feel of it wasn't right in his hands, it felt almost.. wrong. Like he wasn't supposed to use it. Carther shook these thoughts out of his head and then noticed a girl and a boy who were also at the station. " I better not make a fool of myself, but I should also try not to be a showoff." Carther said in his head. He didn't pay much attention to the girl and the boy, other than how close they were to hitting the bulls eye. He notched the arrow in the bow string carefully so that it his shot didn't turn into a complete mishap, pulled it back and let the arrow go. His first shot landed on the outer most ring on the target. He swore under his breath and picked up another arrow.
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He took a deep breath and focused on the bulls eye. Carther then pulled the string back and let another arrow fly. It landed just above where the last one hit. "Without the right training Carther, that bow and arrow won't be hurting anyone but yourself in the games" Said someone behind him. He quickly spun around to be met with a pair of hazel eyes. He backed up a bit and looked at the man in front of him. He was about 3 inches taller than Carther, give or take an inch. "Now look Carther, If you're going to survive the games longer than the bloodbath, you need to start practicing on human targets, not these big fat ones. Do you see any obese children around here?" Carther observed the area and then shook his head. "That's what I thought, now wait here while I get the target." He walked through a pair of blue doors that lead deeper into the Training Center. "Storage Perhaps?" Carther thought to himself. Carther took this time to observe the other tributes in the station. The boy seemed to shoot alright, but not as great as the girl did, where each arrow was notched close to the center, or around it. "Maybe this is my chance to make some allies" Carther thought to himself. He walked over to where the two tributes were standing and said "Wow, you guys are pretty great with a bow! I couldn't help myself to come over and have a quick chat before one of the trainers comes back with a dummy. Maybe the dummies are trainers who sucked. Who knows right? Anyways, my name is Carther, District 5. And yours?"

Sorry for the bad post! Haven't slept in two days. I still wanted to post though!

WC:596

[Elletnah™ The JabberJay]

Achlys smiled to the as he walked by and looked over to Caritas. Her smile faltered as she heard his comment, "Show off." It made her wonder, was she a show off? Archery was the only thing she was good at, save for taking up space and eating too much. Archery came second nature to her, and many of her fellow district mates. It was the one thing that was their, that they were allowed to do that others weren't. Yes it was regulated and almost everything you caught was logged at the justice building, but it was theirs. The kids were the only ones who could actually make money doing it, they weren't burdened by family or responsibility.
Achlys decided to not let it bother her, obviously there was something odd about this boy and she wasn't going to let it bother her.
Her smile brightened when another boy approached. She took his extended hand and introduced herself, "Achlys, District Nine." She said slinging the bow over her shoulder.




(I told you I had muse block, and you're all good so no worries)

[Raeoki]

(ooc: I AM SO SO SO SO SO SORRY IT'S TAKEN ME THIS LONG TO POST!!!! Shan't happen again, I swear! ((((((

@gav - Son, you know there's always room for one more.

Oh, and I'm gonna start fiddling with coding now. I'm just gonna do this for the characters that are involved with the Games, so don't start accusing me of code-whoring yet. xP <3333 Just take note that these first posts are probably gonna look really amateurish, because I've really never done this before.)

Caritas felt as if he was made of gold as he realized that he had managed to ram a dent into the girl’s obese ego. It was good, to destroy the egotistical; it was a gift to the collective, a tribute to “we, we, we” – the only things that mattered. His upper lip twisted into a snarling sneer, and his eyes sparkled with the cruelest of hatred.

Long ago, long, long ago, in a flurry of ice, a business staggered to its knees and died. The owner watched progress slip through his fingers. The party chained his eyes and made him watch.

His mouth opened, and he looked like a snake when its jaws are ajar to catch a meal. The denouncement was a dark night of a veil that hid all morality, all grace and forgiveness. To Hell with that, was the layman’s term of Caritas’s thinking. To Hell with that! Let’s give her a broom and make her sweep the streets! Let’s throw her into the ground and make a ditch there! To Hell with compassion! To Hell with that! To Hell with pride! To Hell with progress! For the sake of the we – for the utopia – for the sake of the future of the Games…

In that instant, his face washed itself of all vileness and spite. The Games! How queer that he should forget that the Games was approaching; an bloodied eagle soaring through the skies, nearing, nearing, nearing to join its prey and smile at how eagerly his darling little rodents danced around him, pleased as punch that their time had come – except for one; the most selfish of them all – the one of pride…Caritas’s eyes suddenly became lusterless, clear, blue marbles as he looked at the creature before him – and his mind turned from the collective, and without realizing it, discovered the individual.

Now, it was Caritas’s personal opinion that all victors were selfish. That was not a product of resentment; in reality, it was a decision of his philosophy that that was so. They had refused to give to the tributes their bodies, their souls; they had decided that they would be the one to win, the one to destroy all others. And to have the emotional capacity to do this, they had to be the proudest, the most selfish, and the most emotionally unbendable of the twenty-five children. Whether or not this made them evil, Caritas was quite certain, but the president seemed to have quite an amount of respect for them, so he assumed that – in those instances, for the sake of the victors – their repugnant attitudes on survival and its worth was quite forgivable, even for Caritas Devhish.

He had not been searching for the “victor apparent”, nor had he been thinking about seeking him out. Caritas had not considered weighing the others’ selfishness, their pride, their likelihood of being that unconquerable individual. He had naturally assumed the moment he stepped onto the stage at the reaping that he would be the most altruistic of them all, the most willing to give his body for the sake of the others, so that they may win and live, and – thus – the least likely to survive. That was all he had done, in terms of measurement. But now – as he looked upon the girl – he realized who the victor was. You. It’s you. You egotistical showoff. By golly, it’s you!

The moment Caritas had prematurely declared Achlys Triffon victor of the Twenty-eighth Hunger Games, Caritas thought all those sadistic notions about making her ego squirm beneath his righteous, altruistic superiority. Now that she was “victor”, and thus a hero in the eyes of the beloved president, she could be as prideful and narcissistic as she wished. She had a right to, now, as the sole survivor.

Caritas considered reporting to her the declaration of her most likely survival, just for the sake of being agreeable; however, all considerations on the matter were suddenly wedged by a voice, one that had the pleasing ring of an amicable, extroverted fellow (the best sort of fellow, of course): "Wow, you guys are pretty great with a bow!”

The boy turned from Achlys, and cast his eyes on a blond boy, that Caritas thought was rather short for his age (he looked around sixteen or seventeen), for Caritas was only an inch shorter than him – or perhaps Caritas was simply lanky, as the folks back home had so often reported to him? As his mother had always praised him for, with a large, cheery, raspberry-colored smile? (Oh, yes, he remembered those days; he had always wished he had been born short and fat, every instance Mrs. Devhish had mentioned his length with a pleased smile on his face). Well, that no longer mattered. The boy seemed nice and humble enough; good enough to praise them for their apparently deft work with a bow (though Caritas could not help but cringe at the very thought himself being exemplary), and admit that he was an extrovert on impulse – the best sort of extrovert. However, when he cracked that silly bomb of a joke about the dummies actually being poor trainers, Caritas could not make himself grin much longer – the reason why shall be explained soon. However, when the fellow introduced himself, Caritas’s mouth sprouted into a friendly grin once more – again, his reasoning shall be noted in a moment.

“Weeeell! Lots of folks runnin’ ‘round named after districts!” he chuckled in that hearty manner of Texans[/i] District 10 residents. “Name’s Caritas Devhish; pleasure tah meet yah, Comrade Five!” As Achlys withdrew her hand from Carther’s, Caritas promptly usurped the friendly gesture. “Only – only, lemme tell yah somethin’ real quick,” he said hurriedly – and he felt he had a right to rebuke Carther for his joke, for he had to fight for the mediocre, who were really not mediocre, but simply pathetic mistakes of society that deserved pity, “and now, don’t take this the wrong way, comrade, but yah really oughtn’t tah be makin’ fun of bad trainers like that – it’s unmerciless. Ain’t there fault they suck. So, we all gotta be nice tah them and be all sensitive-like – yah hear?”

(oooc: I’m sorry I had to rush at the end!!!! Meeeep! And no coding for you cause nobody got time for that, LULZ!!!

Also, apologies for being a little abstract at some points. Just the way I am right now. Sorry.)

[Gav]

As Carther withdrew his hand from Achlys' grasp, and shook this other boys hand as well. The other boy introduced himself as Caritas Devhish, from district 10. Carther chuckled as Caritas told him about how even if the dummies (trainers) did suck, we still have to be nice to them and all that B.S. Carther didn't believe in any of that, frankly he thinks they're just training the tributes to be better at murdering one another, but who cares at this point, no turning back now, Carther thought to himself. Carther finally remembered one of the main reasons he had started talking to these two anyways. He needed to befriend them, hopefully form an alliance out of the three of them, Carther, Caritas and Achlys. Carther was somewhat hesitant to do this at first, because before he walked over, he had barely heard any of the pair's conversation, it would be too soon to just assume that they were friends. Carther decided to try to keep training and make conversation with the two. Here goes nothing, he thought to himself.

"So with the fact that we're still here in the training center, I say we all should probably get our practice in and converse with one another at the same time, if that's alright with you two?" Carther gave them both a sheepish look and smiled, half faking it, half of it being real, Carther was nervous at this point for some reason, he didn't know what to make of these two. Carther eventually picked up a bow again and got back to practice. Carther looked at the two, still trying to make something of them, hoping they could be potential allies rather than potential threats. He slowly notched an arrow to the string, and pulled slowly and lightly on the end piece of the arrow. Carther looked right at the target, and only focused on the center circle of the target. He let the arrow fly and it missed the center by.. what seemed like just a few inches. "Damn" he muttered to himself. "I never was the best shot, hopefully I can handle myself in the games with a blade better than I could with a bow." He said to the two others. He then chuckled and said " Who's turn is it now? "



OOC: Sorry for not posting in so long, and it resulting in a weak post!

[Elletnah™ The JabberJay]

Achlys smiled at the new boy, "I suppose I could go back to shooting." She said looking around the floor. She realized that she had drawn attention from other tributes and turned her attention back to the targets in front of her.
"I think I should try something else, I already know how to shoot." Lyssy picked a small deadly sharp knife. "I could learn to throw these..." Show off less, draw less attention if that were at all possible seeing as she just made mince meat of a group of imaginary opponents.
Achlys looked at Carther, "Not bad, try accounting for the distance seeing as it is a little further away aim the bow a little higher than the target, stationary targets are the easy ones, its trying to account for distance on the fly that will prove to be difficult when you are fighting a moving target. Birds are the worst cause many of them move very quickly. I would assume a person would be the hardest seeing as they are intelligent and would know to look out for someone hunting them, I guess you could say they are the most dangerous game because they are the ones that can think." Realizing she had just attempted to start a philosophical discussion she went back to examining the knives in embarrassment.
Picking up a small and lethal looking knife Achlys aim with one arm, thinking of it like the arrow and holding the knife by the blade flung it at the nearest target, missing her mark by nearly a foot.
"I think I may need to rethink my strategy on this one...." she said quietly to herself examining the other long ranged weapons on the table while the boys continued at target practice.
It was now more than ever that she wanted to be home, not in the stifling house in the poorest part of town, but in her woods, surrounded by familiar trees and sounds, maybe she would spend the night in that tree in her mind watching the moon as it made its journey accross the night sky, or watch out for shooting stars. If she had known it would be her last night in her home she would have spent it there, not in the house where she was unwanted, but in the trees where it seemed like even the trees stopped to listen when you sang.
She thought of all of this while she ran her fingers over the many weapons waiting for her to try to throw or shoot or sling.
Maybe the sling shot would work better for me. she thought as she picked up the crudely made object and small projectile. Thought better of it and put it back down.
Achlys closed her eyes and breathed in the chemical smell of the training room to try to calm herself but all it seemed to do was make her sick to her stomach, it didn't help that the long range weapon station was located close to the large pool the reeked of an unfamiliar smell that made Lyssys eyes and nose hurt just being near it. Achlyss sat at a bench against the wall and watched her two new buddies attempt to hit the target with varying degrees of success with a little bit of help from the trainers.
Achlys rubbed her eyes, partly from the ridiculous time she had to get up coupled with the fact she had a hard time sleeping that night, and partly from trying to hide the fact that she just wanted curl in a ball and cry, which would definitely solidify her status as the scared girl from District Nine who just happened to be really good with a bow.
When she realized that the gamemakers were probably watching her she took a steadying breath and turned her attention back towards Carther and Caritas.