Pickles (ex_pickling617) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-02 11:18:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! 56th games, - capitol, escort: anita pickling, tribute: 56th ruth smithee |
Who: Anita Pickling & Ruth Smithee
What: Because Ruth should get to break the nose of at least one Capitolite before she heads into the arena!
When: After the interviews.
Where: 12’s floor of the training center.
Status: Complete.
Her knocks to Ruth’s door went unanswered. For a while, she stood outside of it, unsure of how to proceed. She didn’t want to leave Ruth alone, she didn’t want to send her into the arena the next day so full of rage and hopelessness, but she didn’t necessarily want to impose herself where she wasn’t wanted, either, and Ruth had certainly made it very clear that she didn’t want anything to do with her. It wasn’t something she took personally but it gave her a sense of helplessness that she had yet to accept with any of her tributes so far. So, tentatively, Anita opened the door and stepped inside, deciding to impose herself, after all. Tomorrow, Ruth would be in the arena and Anita might never have another chance to make herself useful to her. She glanced briefly out into the main area, half thinking maybe she should ask Haymitch to talk to Ruth instead, but ignored the notion. No. Anita moved further into the room a bit blindly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Truthfully, Anita wanted to be the one to make Ruth feel better, to offer her some comfort despite the fact that she was by far the most personally intimidating tribute she’d ever had. In the end, maybe her reasoning was a little selfish, too - maybe she placed too much importance in earning the approval of her tributes. Surely, she did. Her eyes scanned the room repeatedly until they finally recognized the small, nearly imperceptible lump under the heavy blankets on the bed as her tribute. So small. Her heart ached and she immediately felt guilty again for every time she shied from Ruth like she might bite her. She was just a kid. Just a terrified little girl. Her lips twisted into a frown, “Ruth?” The girl was deaf. Anita rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself for having forgotten, and moved to the other side of the bed and knelt so that Ruth could see her. “Ruth?” One side of her mouth twitched upward just slightly into a small sympathetic smile. Ruth was tucked up in the fetal position against the edge of her bed -- her ridiculously large bed -- with her doll. She had been holed up in her room all night in a form of self-confinement after the interview with Caesar. She knew how badly she had screwed up and when she thought about her training scores, it was like opening a pea pod on an empty stomach only to find that all three peas were rotten to the core. She had spent the night thinking back to her performance in the final training session with the Gamemakers. They were fucking evil. They hadn’t even bothered to look at her and Ruth’s little hands curled into fists just remembering their faces. She wanted to punch them in their red, puffy cheeks and fat bellies. She was completely oblivious to Anita’s appearance or her gentle calls. All she could detect was movement and like a cornered animal, she raised her arm and attacked. It didn’t even register to Ruth that it was her escort until she felt the crunch of cartilage breaking under her clenched fist. Ruth shot up, growling and angry. Her eyes focused on the person before her and her expression turned into puzzlement. “Anita…?” she stated, the word sounding like a question. She hadn't expected her intrusion to be welcomed with much by way of gratefulness but no part of Anita ever expected this. The sudden movement and initial flurry of fists caught her completely by surprise and then there was a sickening, audible crunch. She cried out more out of surprise than anything else and noticed the gushing of blood well before she felt any pain and, even then, the pain was nothing against the shock of having just been attacked by Ruth. Stumbling back, blood seeping between her fingers with her hands pressed to her nose, her eyes were watering from the impact. Anita Pickling wasn't the type who scraped many knees growing up. She was never very much of a physical risk taker and the worst of her injuries were always particularly nasty paper cuts or blisters from new shoes. Seeing this much of her own blood on her hands when she took them from her face was an absolutely stunning sight. Ruth said her name and Anita looked at her with confusion like she didn't even recognize what that particular arrangement of noises meant. Her breathing was shallow and fast with panic but she was quick to hold her nose again to cover or maybe stop or slow its bleeding or what do you even do with a broken nose? She remembered reading somewhere that she should tilt her head backward but coughed and nearly retched when the blood was redirected down her throat. Gross, gross, gross! Now she was feeling faint and light headed and she waved a hand at Ruth, "I - I," she shook her head, reading Ruth's expression as one not decidedly hostile, "It's okay, it's okay," she reassured Ruth in a breathless voice muffled by her hands, "Totally - just," She moved her hands in exactly the wrong way and felt a disturbing grind before consciousness fled her and she crumpled to the floor. Ruth leaned over the edge of the bed and stared down at the crumpled form. She should have cried out or tried to help but she did neither. Ruth just continued to watch and evaluate the situation with an odd detachment as blood seeped into Anita’s top and stained the carpet. Strands of her hair were sticking to her face and Ruth realized that she should perhaps get help after all. She moved gingerly and picked up her doll. She turned and paused for another moment, watching over Anita before stepping over the escort in deliberate and controlled steps. She looked back again at the door, and started running to get Haymitch. |