Though not entirely my tactic to shake her up but I suppose it’ll benefits me. I can see it through her uncomfortable body language and her inability to make eye contact. However she manages to grasp at whatever calm appearence she has and snaps back into it. I chuckle amusingly at her before she even start speaking; the anticipation just too much to handle.
“Why wouldn’t I get sponsors? I can actually use weapons. I’m a hell of a lot more attractive then you, and in case you didn’t know, I volunteered. A beautiful, strong, eighteen-year-old from an almost-Career-district. And one who volunteered, at that. I’m sure I won’t have a sponsor in the world,” She says says proudly.
At this point, completely over her lack of modesty and humbleness, I tilt my head back and roar so loudly it turn heads. My chest rattles with thickly laced laughter. I can’t believe how much she talks herself up! Sure people talk about them selves but I bet this girl can’t go two minutes with finding her reflection somewhere or making her self seem more ‘beautiful’. My laughter continues as it unnerves her further. Yet I didn’t expect her to be eighteen, but now that I look at her I can see her age. She’s older than me but that doesn’t mean she’s had more life experience than me. To be honest, I’ve probably been through more than everyone in this room put together.
My laughing only quieting down as I begin speaking, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! But you’re just too funny,” I roar again this time a little quieter than before, “Your sarcasm is inspiring, sweetheart, but I think it’ll take a lot more than just looks and volunteering to get you to win. If you’ve forgotten you don’t just have to fight —you have to survive. And it’s a well known fact that pretty girls —like yourself— don’t make it past the bloodbath,” I put on a face fake sympathy and sadness and lean back on my heel waiting for her rebuttal.
He tilts his head back and roars with laughter. It’s a loud laughter that turns heads, the last thing I need in training. It shakes me up even further, which is the last thing I need right now. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! But you’re just too funny,” he tilts his head back in laughter again, slightly quieter, but still loud enough to turn heads. “Your sarcasm is inspiring, sweetheart, but I think it’ll take a lot more than just looks and volunteering to get you to win. If you’ve forgotten you don’t just have to fight —you have to survive. And it’s a well known fact that pretty girls —like yourself— don’t make it past the bloodbath,” with that, he leans back on his heals and puts on a fake face made up of something around fake sympathy.
It’s not until he tells me that I’ll have to survive that I really get fired up. He doesn’t know my story; he doesn’t know all the surviving I’ve had to do to get here. Sure, I don’t know his story either, but he’s not the one in question, anymore. After my mother died, my father grew pretty distant. I basically raised my brother and sister alone, and we’ve survived together for the whole twelve years they’ve been alive. I’ve dried their tears, made their meals, and helped heal their woes, all while making my way through school myself. I think I have an idea how to survive.
“You don’t know a thing about me,” I respond pointedly. “I’m a lot more than pretty, sweetheart,” I growl, putting an extra amount of venom in the last word. “I think I’ve proven with this spear alone that I can make my way out of the Bloodbath. Don’t believe me? Ask around. The other tributes? They fear me. One of them had a nightmare about me in the commons,” I hated using Nya’s nightmare in this setting, but it made my point so much stronger. Unconsciously, I was getting into the other tributes’ heads.
“And do you. Know. What?” I say, stepping closer to him, my finger stabbing his pec with each word. “Twelve years ago, my mother died giving birth to twins. My father left us only a few weeks later. So I raised myself, and I raised them too. I did everything that a mother would have had to do, and everything that a teenager would have to do, too. I kept us hidden and I kept us happy,” I say, growing angrier and angrier with every word. “We survived for twelve years under my leadership. I think I can survive a few weeks in the woods.”
Though I know I should be scared I can’t help but have a little respect for this chest poking girl. She’s been through some tough times there is no denying, since she was —what?—12? or was it younger. Numbers have never been a strong point. She had siblings though. Though her parents weren’t there she still had a family; had people she cared for and cared for her back. That’s the biggest difference between her and I. She had people that cared for her. She survived sure —but people weren’t trying to kill her.
Content with her answer and slightly amused by her exaggerated response— to be honest the viciousness wasn’t needed. I could tell her everything about her about my up bringing, tell her how I strike fear in people. Tell her how that for years I have been seen as nothing more than an inconvenient piece of dirt under the soles of the Capitol’s feet to my District. How my sister died in the games. How my parent disappeared one day. How each and every Foster home I went to I was abused. How I have had no family or friends. How only a few weeks ago did I burn a house down with no less than 6 people inside. And no one —and I mean no one— had any substantial evidence to say it was me. Only empty guesses and rumours.
But no. No. I will not tell her. I will allow her to feel as though she has had a rough life. She had a life which will aid her in the games. When in fact it’ll probably only help her with the food and shelter stuff. Looking at her now, Strong and stunning, makes me wonder if she left someone behind; someone she loved.
I take a step back and cross my arms. We’d make a perfect alliance but of course she won’t. ”Well, Sweetie. We may have more in common than you think,” I wink and tap the side of my nose, “We’re both unbelievably attractive and scary,” I smirk at somewhat clever attempt to shut down and ignore her last comment. Let her think she’s big and scary. When in fact the people who are the scariest are the ones you least expect.