miles rhodes; mentor, district six (milesperhr) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-17 16:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 56th games, - capitol, victor: 31st stitch weaver, victor: 49th miles rhodes, victor: 51st brutus roach |
WHO: Brutus Roach [D2], Miles Rhodes [D6] Stitch Weaver [D8]
WHEN: Day 8, afternoon of the Hunger Games
WHERE: At the Capitol basketball arena
WHAT: Plot slot: The guys have been invited to a play 3 on 3 basketball game against an all star trio of 13 year old super athletes.
STATUS: Complete
Thirteen-year-old super athletes. Even knowing Panem's Capitol was capable of producing genetic muttations and death labyrinths every year for 56 years and counting, it struck Brutus as an anomaly. Sure, Capitolites could tint the pigmentation of their skin and inject enough synthetic material into their faces to reduce their visible age a few decades, but engineer a super athlete? Or possess enough drive to train and be a super athlete? It didn't seem possible. If the Capitol was capable of that, they wouldn't need District 2 to do Peacekeeping for them anymore.
He was telling himself this not only because it made sense, but because he'd found out the team to which he'd been invited consisted of him, Miles, and Stitch. Neither victor was someone Brutus would have chosen. It was going to be more like one on three, he thought. But the three were just kids, and if they expected mercy from him, they had another thing coming.
"You two ready for this?" he asked his sorry excuse for teammates. "I can trust you to guard a couple of Capitol kids, right?" He was looking at Stitch, but then his gaze shifted to Miles. "I don't want to go to pass the ball to you and find out you're somewhere licking a wall."
Stich was wondering how he’d gotten himself into this, especially with someone like Brutus and Miles. Well, Brutus, as a career made sense. Oh well, he’d sighed and hoped this would be beneficial somehow. Maybe they’d picked him because of his height. If so, they were going to be sorely disappointed. Stitch couldn’t help a small smile, thinking about Brutus losing to a group of thirteen year old kids. Then he outright snorted about licking walls comment. Oh, now he wanted to see that. This was going to be hilarious.
He tried to straighten his amuse face and nod seriously at Brutus and only succeeded somewhat. “How super can ‘super athlete’ mean anyway?” he asked.
Miles shot Brutus a dirty look and bit back the urge to respond to the taunt. He was a little confused about why anyone would want to see him out on a basketball court but had jumped on the invitation when it’d come. Now that he was here, and had given his team mates a moment’s consideration, he figured they were either suppose to make spectacles of themselves, or were suppose to make Brutus look even better.. Either way, he found he didn’t care, so long as the promised donation came in at the end of the day.
Eyebrows raised, he looked at Stitch sideways. “Don’t discount a kid,” he said; though his thoughts had turned to Halle rather than their competition. “So we just put the ball in the hoop?” he half asked, eying the contraption that was hoisted several feet above any of their heads. Brutus, he knew, had made a speciality of throwing things, but he was less optimistic about his or Stitch’s chances.
"They're Capitol kids," Brutus said, not bothering to lower his voice. "If this was a nail painting competition, I'd be worried, but it's basketball." A sport that Miles knew nothing about, apparently. Brutus' eyes widened fractionally before narrowing. Great.
"Yeah. You throw it through the hoop. Unless you can jump high enough to slam it in." He looked doubtful.
Behind him, the kids from the Capitol came out. They were taller than Brutus expected, with muscle definition he hadn't expected from kids too young for cosmetic alterations. Truthfully, they weren't all that different from the kids who trained in District 2, which was interesting. He looked back at his teammates, unfazed. "I am not losing to a bunch of thirteen-year-olds," he announced flatly. Don't fuck up.
Miles’ eyes followed the kids as they entered the gym. He was taken aback slightly by how big they looked, especially when his own idea of a 13 year old was of the faceless kids back home who were all small with thin hungry faces. He rolled his eyes at Brutus and tried to grab Stitch’s attention, making a face he hoped the older man would recognize as comradery against the Two.
“They’re probably better than you,” he breathed in Brutus’ direction as he bent down to tighten the laces on his tennis shoes.
Well, after seeing how huge these kids were, Stitch began to realize that yeah, they were probably pretty super. Still, he wasn’t going to let on that he barely knew how to even dribble a ball. They’d find that out soon enough. It was going to be even worse than he thought. He grinned at Miles, hoping the other man knew what he was thinking. And that was: if you can’t beat ‘em, don’t really bother trying.
“Oh, yeah, we’re definitely going to lose this,” Stitch said. “But the important thing is that we have fun!”
Brutus didn't even register what Miles had mouth-breathed in his direction, but he shot Stitch a look. "Losing is not fun."
After giving both men a threatening glare, he rolled his neck around, cracked the muscles there, and strode over to where the Capitol boys were standing. They looked at each other, and Brutus was vaguely astounded to see something like smugness across their faces. He snorted, then drew an index finger across his throat.
"You kids are going down."
***
Was it half time? A time out? Miles wasn’t even sure, but the whistle had blown and he was breathing heavier than he had in some time. It took him a sorry amount of time to move off the court as he dragged the rubber soles of his tennis shoes across the floor. The squeak they gave off caused him to duck his head a few times, grimacing at the sound in his ears.
“Well, we’re not losing by much,” he wheezed, brushing a wet strand of hair from his eyes as he glanced at Brutus, who he was sure would like nothing more than to kill everyone in the gym at that moment. He offered a bit of a grin and added, “and if it wasn’t for you, we’d be down...” he glanced up at the red 32 on the scoreboard, “30 points.”
Brutus was not amused. He narrowed his eyes dangerously but he didn't reply. Miles and Stitch's sorry excuse for effort rankled. If his team had consisted of other Careers - Char, even Maalik - he wouldn't be losing. Usually he didn't mind the exertion behind a workout, but there was nothing satisfying about getting your ass kicked by three thirteen-year-olds.
It had been satisfying body-checking one of the smug kids to the floor, but that had resulted in a personal foul (pushing) and added free-throw points on the scoreboard. The look of astonishment in the kid's eyes was worth it, though.
"So we're going to close the gap, nancies?" he asked, ignoring the sweat rolling down his temples. His words were separated by pants for air. "They are not winning this."
Stitch was way too old for this, he thought while trying to catch his breath. He was pretty sure he’d passed the ball to the kids at least as many times as he had to Miles and Brutus. But he hadn’t knocked any of them down. “Maybe you should stop fouling them and just giving those points away,” he said between pants of breath. “How much longer do we have anyway? Is there a surrender option?”
Miles couldn’t help but snort with a chuckle at Stitch’s suggestion there be a surrender option. Immediately his eyes darted to Brutus’ face in anticipation of his reaction. Basketball wasn’t his idea of fun, but he had to admit, seeing the big guy get so frustrated was a good time in and of itself.
“I don’t know,” Miles replied, “Maybe we should give it another go.” The wheels in his mind had begun to turn with an idea that was likely to get him body checked, or worse, by Brutus.
"You're damned straight we're giving it another go." Brutus' eyebrows knit together and he shook his head. He deliberately ignored Stitch's jab about the points he'd given away. "Surrendering. We do not surrender. We're victors."
The whistle blew again and he trotted out to where the ref stood with the ball, waiting for the others. "Don't get content with winning, kid," he told the boy he was guarding. The kid barely had a sheen of sweat across his brow. "We're not going to make this easy for you."
Miles waited impatiently for the referee, but took off a split second before the shrill sound of the whistle in order to dash after the ball. The sprint was the biggest burst of energy he’d shown all game and his fingertips just barely touched the rubber before he felt the impact of Brutus colliding with him.
“Gimme!” he grumbled as he attempted to steal the ball from his own teammate.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Miles practically appeared out of nowhere - probably because Brutus hadn't worried about his own teammate coming at him - and before Brutus knew it, the ball was swiped out of his hands. "What are you doing?" he bellowed. "I've seen you try to shoo--HEY. NO!"
Once he had the ball, Miles threw it frantically in the opposite direction of either Brutus or Stitch and had just enough time to watch with satisfaction as one of the kids intercepted it. He turned to give a grin to Stitch but caught Brutus’ eye instead.
Brutus glared daggers at Miles. He was already puffing hard from the energy it was taking to run back and forth across the gym floor, but the grin across Miles' face had him steaming. "You think that's funny, huh?" he asked, ignoring the swish of a basket made by the kid Miles had assisted. He pointed his finger at Miles, dropped his chin to give him a look that clearly meant, "You're dead," and trotted off to get the ball from the referee.
When he did, he didn't pass it to Stitch. He passed it to Miles' face, only it was less of a pass and more of a hurtling missile.
Miles had no time to react to the ball and barely even saw the whiz of orange. The sick crunch of bone and cartilage echoed in his ears. He felt the impact immediately - the black spots in front of his eyes and hot warm blood that oozed from his nose and dripped down his face. The lightheaded feeling was offset by the thundering pain that spread from the center of his face and into the deepest parts of his brain. In the seconds following, he had melted to his knees and his hands were stained with blood and tears as he clutched his nose and mouth. Miles heard a gurgling noise somewhere beyond him, unaware that the sounds were actually his own.
Stitch was happy to just sit back and watch the other two guys bicker amongst themselves, slightly amused until blood was drawn. He gave Brutus a look, not unlike the one he gives to his cats when they’re doing something bad. “Well, I think we’re done here… finally,” he said, a little too brightly. “These kids have proved an excellent point but I don’t think Miles here is any shape to play any more.” He didn’t care that they’d lost at all. He’d won a much more important competition in his life already and that was quite enough for him.
Brutus watched Miles long enough to see him double over. He sighed heavily, throwing his head back to stare mournfully at the ceiling. "Oh, come on. We can finish. It's not like he was doing much aside from assisting the other team."
The Capitol kids were standing together, looking like they were observing a really pitiful trainwreck. One of them shook his head. "Nah," he said. "We'll call game. It was...fun." His teammates snorted quietly.
Brutus shot them a black look before turning to the ref. "So that doesn't count as a forfeit?" he asked, thumbing the super athletes.
The referee, who was in the middle of offering Miles a towel dangled between two fingers, lifted his eyebrows and stared at Brutus for several seconds before answering flatly, "No."
"Damn it!" Brutus' head jerked as he swore. He spun around, just managing to channel what was going to be a filthy and angry tirade towards the super athletes into a fierce kick at the basketball speckled with Miles' blood. It flew high into the air and bounced off a wall. The sound of its bouncing across the gym floor after it ricocheted resounded. Brutus, unraveling into a pathetic show of sportsmanship, turned to his teammates.
"You SUCK!" he thundered. And then he stalked off, heading towards the locker room.
Miles had the towel pressed up against his nose, feeling his eyes still burning from the pain and liquid. That didn’t stop him from feeling triumphant when Brutus stormed out though. For whatever it was worth, he counted it a victory.