challis hargrave. (unwoven) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-03-27 22:29:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ! 57th games, - capitol, tribute: 57th challis hargrave, tribute: 57th fannie pac |
WHO: Fannie Pac and Challis Hargrave.
WHEN: Training Day #3, morning.
WHERE: The Training Center gym.
WHAT: Some friendly ally-mongering at the Close Combat station.
WARNINGS: Teenage hormones, wooo boy.
STATUS: Complete.
Though she hadn't had much luck the first or the second days with her goals, Challis was undaunted: she only had a week, which was a terrifyingly brief period of time before she would be sent to die, but she knew from experience that some things couldn't be rushed. In order to make a good dress, one had to have a pattern: in order to make a friend, one had to start laying the groundwork somewhere. Spontaneous chemistry was always the best when it sprung up unexpectedly, but it was also the weakest, the most fickle: Challis needed to create something that could withstand the pressure of the bloodbath, the boredom of the hunt, and the distrust of dwindling numbers. If she could. She was resourceful. All she had to do was keep waiting, testing, trying. He was alone at the close combat station for a moment, and Challis's eyes lit up when she glanced around and saw the other tributes occupied. Careful not to rush over, she made her way to the stand of weapons and picked up one of the daggers she'd handled yesterday; she tossed it slightly in her palm and fumbled (a little more than expected — she almost grabbed it by the blade and sliced her fingers open). "Shit!" she exclaimed, just loud enough for him to hear, and looked up sheepishly at the handsome boy from One. "God, I'm so jealous of you," she sighed as she came over, holding the knife gingerly at the end of the handle. "It must feel so great to really know how to use your weapon." Challis tilted her head and glanced down — not, exactly, at the weapon in his hand. "I'm Challis, from District Eight." Her blue eyes came back up to focus on his face and she softened her smile. Fannie watched her approaching from the corner of his eye, always aware of his surroundings in case of threat or prey. He saw her mistake as soon as she tossed the knife and could practically hear his trainers back home yelling in disbelief. He had tried a similar move once granted, he had only been six at the time. Fannie raised an eyebrow at her amateurish mistake, but refrained from laughing out loud. “Careful there, those things are sharp.” She clearly wasn’t a weapons girl, unless she was trying to play up her ignorance in an attempt to fool him. Fannie smiled over at her, amused by her flattery. Say what you would about her dagger skills, she was braver than most tributes. With a few exceptions, the outliers were trying to avoid him at all costs, but not her. No, she was approaching him. “Fannie from One.” As if she didn’t know. “There are few things better than holding your favorite weapon, but it all starts with learning how to hold it properly. Here, like this,” he began, reaching over to place her fingers around the dagger’s handle in the proper fashion. Absolutely. There was so much tension in the room that Challis felt a palpable little shock when his hands made contact with her skin: she smiled to herself, watching as he adjusted her grip. She didn't bring up her guard or look wary. Quite the contrary — she shifted her weight closer to him, wanting to get a better look at what he was doing. It wasn't as though she thought she could learn how to handle a dagger in a few days' time. The lesson itself was a waste. But the fact that Fannie didn't roll his eyes and blow her off, or frown and glare? That was important. That was worth exploring. When he let go of her hand, she found he'd turned the blade around in her grip. Right: with short blades, you wanted to make the most of the edge, not stick it straight out in front of you. She vaguely remembered the instructor saying something to that effect yesterday. She didn't slash in the air or anything — the last thing she wanted to do was make Fannie step away cautiously to avoid getting cut — and instead tilted her chin up at him. "Now I look like a Career," she grinned playfully and laughed. "I mean, if one of you came at me, I'd fool basically no one, but at least I can pose like one of you and probably not drop it. Or cut off my fingers." She wiggled her free hand at him. "Which is good! They're kind of my best asset." “Almost, but a Career from which district? You don’t look slippery enough to be from Four. You don’t look mean enough to be from Two. I reckon you could pull off being from One, you’re certainly pretty enough.” Fannie wasn’t sure why this doomed little tribute was so eager to flirt with him, but he wasn’t about to complain. He intended on appreciating what fun the Games saw fit to offer him. Teaching her a proper hold on the dagger wasn’t going to put him in any real risk. If she managed to remember the proper grip he had full confidence he could still ward her off in a real fight. People got sloppy when their adrenaline was pumping, but fighting to him had been ingrained as second nature. “Hmm, you don’t have the fingers of a Career,” he observed. “Not enough callouses. I wouldn’t say they’re your best asset, but they’re not bad.” “Tell me, Challis from Eight, what is your favorite weapon?” "My favorite weapon?" Challis echoed incredulously. She wasn't sure if he really thought that tributes from Eight came to the Games with any kind of experience using a weapon or if he was just fucking with her, but she wasn't going to lose her stride. "The needle, obviously. Why do you think I chose this?" She waved the dagger slightly in the air. "I thought it was a really big needle." Turning the blade carefully over with both hands, she offered the short pommel to Fannie to take from her. "Really, though — I'm a seamstress. You should see my sutures. They were very pretty," Challis pressed her fingers to her chest, "if I do say so myself. My mother always used to say I should've been born in District One. I've always liked pretty things." And judging from the way she was studying him intently, she rather thought she'd discovered one right in front of her. “Weapons don’t have to be pointy objects, although if you’re looking for a really big needle I would suggest a rapier.” Fannie grabbed the dagger, expertly flipping it over in his hand before shooting her a wink. Fine, he wasn’t completely above showing off. It was probably better that he took it before she accidently stabbed him or herself. As she spoke his gaze followed her fingers to her chest, lingering a moment before returning his attention back to what she was actually saying. “There is no shame in enjoying pretty things. Life would be miserable without them. I try to keep as many of them around me as I can.” “I lack the delicate touch for pretty sutures, I’m afraid. I guess I’ll have to be jealous of you, won’t I?” He didn’t bother to tell her that he knew a few stitches. It would only matter if he was injured and if that happened he wouldn’t need them to be pretty. He’d rather keep the conversation as pleasant as the view. "I guess so," Challis teased, but she laughed again and reached out to lightly push his shoulder. "Though I don't know what a guy like you would have to be jealous of. You're good-looking, strong, talented…" Her fingertips trailed across his chest. "Did I say strong?" Hoping that she held his attention sufficiently, Challis tilted her head. "You can always come to me if you need sutures," she murmured. "Honestly, I'd hate for anything to happen to your face. I hear the Capitol likes to leave scars on Victors sometimes so that people don't forget their Games. Isn't that terrible? Can you imagine having to live the rest of your life with a scar because you couldn't sew it up right in the arena?" Her tiny shove wasn’t enough to move him, but he gave way a little to amuse her all the same. Fannie liked to think of himself as a bit of a catch, but the more she flirted the more he knew there was something else at play. He had to give her credit, she was working with every weapon she had. “You did, but I’m not opposed to hearing it repeated.” “Some girls like scars. They make a man look rugged, don’t you think? Now a scar on your face...that would be down right tragic.” Taking a step in closer, he leaned down to fill in the space between them, hand coming up to brush down the side of her arm. “So you’d be willing to help me, huh? That’s awfully sweet of you, but what if we can’t find a needle? Or say we can, what exactly would you like me to do for you in return?” Vaguely, she was aware of her heart pounding in her chest: this was exactly what she wanted, but that didn't make it any easier to have a boy who could easily — would easily — kill her standing scant inches apart. But that was the key to all of this. Vulnerability. Letting him see that he had the upper hand here, clearly, and that she was submissive. Not just weaker, but genuinely in need of someone to keep her alive if she was going to stand any chance in the arena at all. She didn't blink, simply let her eyelashes flutter slightly as she channeled that racing pulse into demonstrating how affected she was by his proximity. She even bit her lip at the edge, slightly. "You could protect me," she breathed. "From other people. And I'm very good at finding ways to be helpful. I've been trying to figure out ways to stay warm in the arena, and the instructors have all kinds of suggestions, but I just keep thinking how much easier it would be if I had someone else." The simple truth was he was going to kill her unless someone else got to her first. Either way, she was going to die because he was going home. He kept his smile even as he looked down at her as she tried to claw her way towards hope by any means necessary. There was no pity or judgment in his eyes, especially as they scanned her figure once more. Oh, he was sure she could keep him very warm. “I could,” he agreed slowly, tongue darting out to lick his lower lip. “But you see, while we’re keeping each other warm the others are going to want to know what you can do for them. They’re an awfully greedy bunch.” "I'll carry the extra supplies," Challis replied without missing a beat, looking up at him again in all seriousness. "I can help look for food and water. I'm very resourceful, too." Even if she knew next to nothing about either besides what she'd picked up yesterday at the Plant station, she could learn as much as possible before going into the arena and fake the rest. "I can be a lookout…" If they hadn't been in the middle of the training center, with tributes all around them and Peacekeepers ready to move forward to separate them at the slightest hint of trouble, she could have sealed the deal with a kiss — she knew it. He didn't seem easily swayed, but he'd remember a promise like that if she could give him a taste of what he could have. But they were in the training center, and Challis didn't dare move any closer, so she simply smiled at him again and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "What's the harm in having me around, on your side? It wouldn't be the first time a Career and an Outlier have worked together for their mutual...benefit." The Outlier usually always died. She was pretty sure he didn't need her to remind him of that part, at least. "I just don't want to get hunted down like some animal." She let the faint tremor in her voice be heard. "If I'm going to die, at least it doesn't have to be like that." He listened to her proposal with mild interest, knowing the others weren’t likely to be impressed. There was some value to what she was offering, but he wasn’t willing to risk his position in the pack trying to get her in. Fannie hadn’t missed the looks between Pompeia and Aeneas when he mentioned looking for potential members, but he also wasn’t going to be dictated by them either. He’d discuss it with the group, it wasn’t like she posed any real threat to them. Besides, depending on how things went there might not be much of a pack when the dust settled from the bloodbath. “Packs only work when everyone is lifting their weight. Once someone falls behind….Well, you’re clearly a smart girl, I don’t need to tell you.” Any immediate arousal was lessened by the tremor in her voice, but his face gave nothing away. He had always hated when people cried. “I’m not the kind to drag things out unnecessarily,” he said simply, as if he was discussing what they had for lunch. He’d happily hunt down everyone in this room, but until he was given a reason he didn’t see why he couldn’t be quick about finishing them off. Slow deaths were the result of sloppy kills. “Seems to me that those who enjoy that sort of thing are compensating for something.” “We might be able to benefit each other, Challis from Eight, but just how much is yet to be seen. Let’s keep this between us until then, huh? After all, we need to be able to trust each other.” All she could do was hope that he didn't mean she'd benefit him as the first kill on his list and he'd benefit her by making it quick. "Of course." Her smile was back, bright as ever. "Just think about it, that's all I want." She paused, opening her mouth for a moment, then flashed him a grin that was more wicked than sweet once more. "And trust me, Fannie from One," Challis backed away from him with just a little added swing of her hips, "I never thought for a moment you'd have anything to compensate for." She winked. “Oh, I’ll be thinking about it,” he added, stealing one last lingering look at his new favorite source of heat before heading straight for the pool. |