Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a brand new chapter for Sheep Led to Slaughter, Chapter #14: Mind Torn in Two, where we get to meet another four tributes on the Hunger Games warpath, something I am very excited about. Last chapter, Calhoun brought some issues forward to Lewlyn about the problems with this Quarter Quell twist, and it looks like there is something brewing in the midst with Rennie and Pollux a la concerning our Head Gamemaker? Things be a-brewing, ladies and gents. Training Day 1 is nigh upon our tributes, so I hope you all enjoy Chapter #14: Mind Torn in Two.
Victoria Armstrong: District 10 Female P.O.V (15)
"Good morning, Hero," Victoria greets cheerfully, waving at her district partner as she lounges out of her room, dressed finely in the training outfit laid out to them by their Avoxes earlier in the morning. Hero is sitting at the counter, hands fidgeting back and forth with a cup of water that he has been drinking for a while, he looking over at her with the sound of her voice. He gives her a small smile, a small gesture loaded with emotion.
"Morning, Tori," he says back, a bit of his light lacking.
She frowns, sitting up at the counter with him, nodding at the Avox who gives her a plate of eggs, they bowing wordlessly before disappearing off into the wild of the rest of the floor. Arizona and Hector Merviere, their victors, weren't up yet, which Victoria finds quite humorous actually, given that they need them to sort of, well, help in winning the Games.
Victoria looks at Hero, her heart pumping in her chest, blood roaring in her ears, and disappointment flowing in her veins. She's seen the way he looks at her, with wide eyes and a sweet smile, gentle hands against her arms and a playfulness in their mock fights, but she is unable to feel the same way… she is unable to look past that this might be her brother here, and now that he's volunteered himself, because she's reaped, there's no way she could ever dream of bridging a relationship between them now. Maybe months and months ago, when they're much younger, perhaps, but she's not so sure now. She wants to go home. She isn't quite so sure if Hero wants her to go home too, or if he'll be selfish and want himself to go back to District 10 instead.
She finds Hero to be her brother more than anything else, out of everyone else in the world, simply because she's an only child. The way her mother sobs, when it should be Victoria as the one crying, that her mother is going to lose her only child and it is the fifteen year-old who has to step up and be the adult. Victoria places one hand up against her mom's face, cold fingers touching an even colder cheek, and she places their foreheads together.
"I can do this, Mom. I know I can. Sure, I might not be as strong or as trained as a Career from 1, 2, or 4, but I can do this. Besides, I have Hero…"
"Can you trust Hero?" her mother asks, looking at the corners skittishly as if her newly found district partner is going to pop out at the walls.
"I think I can trust him. He volunteered to be here with me, after all…"
Her mother wraps one bony hand around Victoria's other hand, the one by her side, placing it back onto her daughter's chest. Victoria can feel her heartbeat under her skin, under the clothing, the way her breath matches in tandem, in rhythm, and it is beautiful. It is glorious. "Listen to that, Victoria. That's your heartbeat. You have to keep fighting to make sure that keeps pumping," a pause, on her mother's end, while Victoria closes her eyes, the drumming calming to her anxious soul. "Do you think you can do it, Victoria? Coming home over Hero?"
She nods. "Anything to stay alive, right?"
"Right."
Hero nudges her out of her thoughts, Victoria breaking off. When she looks at him, her heart does skip a beat, but not because she finds him drop dead gorgeous or anything like that – she cannot lie and say Hero isn't somewhat attractive – but because it means that eventually, she is going to have to betray him, to betray the trust they've had together for so many years. Neither Arizona or Hector have sat down with them and have had the talk about only one of them making it back alive when they were to volunteer for the 103rd Hunger Games, instead ruining it by having her reaped, which is a nagging thought in the back of her mind. Perhaps it isn't just mere chance that the reaping bowl draws her name for a Quarter Quell… and Victoria's heart is immediately saddened, but she doesn't say anything. It is her turn to make a downcast face, which Hero notices.
He frowns, resting one hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you okay?"
She looks at him in the eyes, causing him to jolt. Her eyes, whenever she starts to get sad, whenever she starts to get upset, they begin to shine brighter than usual, illustrious emeralds in a haze of white, in a sea of nothingness, where all is revealed to her. "Yeah… I just- I just had a thought."
"Does it pertain to today?" Hero asks.
"Not particularly."
"Then maybe we should focus on something else," he suggests. "It's the first day of training, remember?"
She completely forgets this when she wakes up, wondering why there's this random outfit on her bed when she wakes up, a pretty two piece black and gray outfit with long sleeves, her number emblazoned in red on the back, and it fits her pretty snug. They, however, do have a plan, an idea that her mind brings to light, causing Victoria to smile. It is an easy one, however, but it is also possible enough that it could get them both killed if they aren't careful and Victoria Armstrong is not planning on dying right out of the gate. She prefers to not die at all, of course, but she knows the odds, in the back of her mind, the odds are always there.
"We impress the Careers and hope they pick us."
"We'd be some pretty young Careers," Hero whistles.
"Finnick Odair was younger," Victoria shrugs.
"Neither one of us are like Finnick Odair, Tori," he points out, and then even admitting it, his face blanches.
A seed of worry digs itself into her skin, but Victoria knows that Hero is right. They aren't anything like these ole Careers and yet they're trying away. It is her ambition, the part of her that wants to build higher and higher and higher even knowing that when people tried reaching God with the Tower of Babel, God dispelled them to the great beyond with the language dispersement. Victoria is sure that if she tries climbing the ladder to ascertain some sort of Hunger Games excellence, the gods of the Games, the Gamemakers and President Calhoun at that will shoot her down with lightning bolts, that the part of the world she is trying to reach is not for her and it never will be.
She locks her jaw, nodding. "You're right. We aren't," she knocks Hero in the shoulder lightly. "Doesn't mean we can't certainly not try. The worse thing that happens is that we end up not impressing the Careers and we end up making fools of ourselves."
"No," he deadpans back at her. "The worst thing that could happen is that they decide to kill us if they see us a threat. You think the two of us can combat all six?"
"I can't see that," she admits honestly. "However, if it was us two versus one or two of them at a time, perhaps, I could see that." Victoria straightens her back. For some reason, and she wants to know why, but is too afraid to ask, usually it is Hero giving her the rallying speeches and she trying to calm him down, to correct him with the truth, but now the roles are reversed. He is reaching for stars that aren't there, and she's bringing him back to Earth, back to Panem, back to their apartment, because that is all that matters, that they remain humble, that they remain with their old selves long enough to realize when the future rips them away from the past. "The worst that can happen is rejection."
"The worst that can happen is death," Hero says wisely, drinking the rest of his water, putting the glass in the sink. It is so eerily quiet on the floor, with no one being up, it seems, besides the two of them.
Victoria gets off of the stool, going back to her room, looking at it. Part of her doesn't want to go down to the training floor, as all training is, besides learning what you aren't good at is a period of time where everyone tries sizing the others up, failing miserably, and already having shot your confidence of winning.
She closes her bedroom door behind her, keeping her arms crossed.
However, this is not the plan she has in mind for herself. There could be a presumable victory in mind on the horizon, she is unable to fully count herself out, but she is ready to put forth the effort to make sure she gets out alive.
When Hero sees the change in confidence in her, he sits up straighter.
"C'mon Hero," Victoria smirks. "We've got some Careers to impress."
Edwin Bishop: District 5 Male P.O.V (15)
He has no idea exactly why his district partner is so messed up in the head, just from the way he observes how she goes about doing her 'thing', but all fifteen year-old Edwin Bishop knows is that she is not going to be much help in the arena more than likely. He's sat in the back, in the invisible shadows, training one eye on her, on Annabellina, while tending to himself, licking his wounds, and crying in his sleep.
Of all the cruel jokes the world could play on him, getting picked for the Hunger Games is one of them. Life seems good to him, before yesterday morning, where he's on track to become one of the smartest engineers and chemists in the district, better than a majority of the adults already that he knows. He's met Calhoun once, just a year ago, shaking his hand and smiling like the idiot that he is with the most powerful man in Panem. All he has to show for himself, Edwin realizes, is his brain. There isn't much to it, more than likely, that he'll be able to do any physical damage.
Currently, he's standing on the fringes of the outer rim of the training center, where everyone, all twenty-four of them are whacking away at someone, not doing much of anything damage wise, which is quite funny. He and Annabellina are over in a corner, but he's been much more quiet than she has, Annabellina cursing every few seconds when something goes wrong. Currently the two of them are over by the fire making station, something that Edwin finds sort of ridiculous, as he can make a fire out of pretty much anything he can get his hands on – thinking quickly on his feet is his specialty – so he is wasting time just watching Annabellina fail over and over again at starting it.
He wants to go and try grabbing a sword, but then reality hits him, he looking down at his thin limbs and even frailer legs, and knows that is not happening. There is no way, even if he stands there and tries eighty calculations, that he's going to be able to lift the sword up and swing it effectively at something. Effective is the key word here. Edwin Bishop does not try anything or attempt anything if it is going to be ineffective, he doesn't want to die expelling all of his efforts into something that won't help him, it just isn't going to happen.
Annabellina curses again, a slight spark coming from the twigs she has assembled, but then that is that, there's nothing left, and she swats aside the materials. "Screw this!" she snarls.
Edwin rolls his eyes, placing a hand to his forehead, running his palm down the front of his face. "You're doing it wrong, that's why," he steps over to her, leaning down. "Let me help you."
"No!" Annabellina roars this time, causing him to jump. "Abe doesn't need your help!"
He furrows his eyebrows. Who's Abe? Abe? Edwin does not know an Abe, but he sure as hell isn't liking the fact that his consciousness is weighing heavily down on him. Annabellina not learning how to create a fire could kill her, due to the cold, and he is not about to have her death hang over him like a noose in which he can slip through it anytime time he wants.
"It really isn't that hard. You're making it difficult on yourself."
Annabellina's eyes soften. "What do you mean?" Her tone changes completely, the rage in her eyes recedes, and Edwin looks at her with a strange distance between them, he scooting back. It is as if there is a switch inside her mind that could flip any second and absolutely annihilate him. He notes that for later. She's mentally unstable. Perfect. "Belle would like to know."
"Belle?" his face contorts into a weird frown. "Who's Belle? Whatever… doesn't matter…" and then Edwin sighs, hands feeling the ground. It is damp to him, the leaves wet and soggy underneath his fingertips. "First problem. You're using wet ground. Fire needs oxygen to breathe, but throwing water on it or using damp materials causes the flame to extinguish," he instructs, sliding over to a more dry patch of ground. He notices the way Annabellina's eyes follow him, but she isn't looking at his hands, or his feet or his body as he moves. She's staring at him, a look that pierces his soul, chills sliding down his spine. The ground he touches is much softer, leaves dry, the sticks and twigs rougher on the hands, which he notes by holding it in his hands. "You need to use dry ground. Have you ever heard of a wildfire?"
Annabellina nods, but he's not so sure which name she might say whether it be Abe, Belle, or someone else... but he knows that her name, the person he is talking to, is named Annabellina Circuit and the girl is going to know what a wildfire is. "Lina likes wildfires," Annabellina says, chuckling. "It is how she came to be, with fire and pain..." a nervous laugh comes from her, and Edwin starts to sweat.
"Well, anyways..." Edwin drawls out, scooting over some more, but Annabellina takes it as an invitation to continue sliding, and he knows immediately that this is not the person for him, this is not what he should be doing. He should be learning about a weapon, since he has never picked up one before. He's never felt the cold iron of a handle to a blade before, or the heaviness of an axe weighing down his palms... Edwin begins to sweat even harder now, thinking about how, just behind him, the Careers are using all sorts of weapons to hack dummies to bits, and eventually they'll train their weapons and their fire on innocent, little meek tributes like him. He shudders at the thought, but then looks at Annabellina who is studying him with a face that is most peculiar. His skin turns to ice... how long has she been staring at him? "So... anyways, with wildfires, they're really common in District 10, for example, because dry leaves and nature and wood is very flammable, and once they start blazing, they usually don't stop." He points back at the old makeshift fire she first created. "With your wet ground, it didn't do anything. Wildfires can continue on for a long time and burn themselves out, in essence, if there isn't any way for them to stop burning, usually when there's no water around."
However, it turns out Annabellina, and as a result, Lina, Abe, and Belle, which Edwin adds mockingly in his thoughts, aren't even listening to him. She's focused on the action behind her. He turns to look, and she's doing as he expected, she's watching the Careers. There's one at the archery station, Edwin is sure his name is Marcus - damn, he is beautiful, he thinks, lustrous and filled and wow... - but he gets lost in the thought as he watches Marcus load his bow with arrow after arrow, firing at the targets in the dead center and seemingly not missing a beat. Next to him is someone else, Edwin is sure that the Careers' name is Carrion, biceps the size of Edwin's head, lugging spears at targets down the lane with the might of a triceratops – Edwin is pretty sure that simile does not work, but he's going to let it slide as he's too exhausted to try and think of something clever while he is watching them work amazingly at these practice targets – where the sounds echo along the training room. He gulps.
What is a nerd to do?
He shrugs his shoulders, waving his hand in front of Annabellina's face. "Hey, look at me. Annabellina, focus," he says, his tone getting sterner, in which she snaps her gaze to him, mouth lipped slightly downward in a frown, eyes wide, and it is because there is nervousness racing through her. Edwin can sense it, and practically feel it, the way Annabellina is shaking and tremoring so terribly next to the fires. "Don't pay any attention to them. They're just doing what they always do."
"But they do it so well…" Annabellina whispers.
"That's because they all trained for it," Edwin nods sagely. "They volunteer like idiots and get themselves all killed. I guarantee you all six of them, from Districts 1, 2 and, 4 volunteered." His mind goes back to the reaping, when he is holding Annabellina back from vaulting off of the stage at the Peacekeepers that are drawing her father back… and the way strength resonates in her. He isn't so sure of his angle, but he is even more confused at Annabellina's angle, because it looks like there's a lot more strength in her body than what she admits.
She stands up, he still being confused by every single one of her actions – God, she is unpredictable, his mind complains – keeping himself as quiet as he can however should any of her strength come back and she snap his neck. "I want to do what they're doing. I want to train." Without another word, Annabellina jogs over to Marcus and Carrion, Edwin watching her go, words of protest dying on his lips.
"I don't think that's a good idea Annabellina, I-" but he stops himself, it looking like he isn't enough to stop Annabellina, Abe, Lina, or Belle and whoever else from these decisions. He groans to himself, frustration sinking down into his socks.
He stands, dusting himself off from the Earth of the fire making station. There's nothing else to do, he already knows how to create a fire, and it sure looks like Annabellina isn't going to return for any more of his teachings.
"Oh what the hell…" his mind throws its hands up in the air, and Edwin gives a slight chuckle. Doesn't matter anymore, he might as well.
Throwing caution to the wind, Edwin Bishop runs after his district partner. It is time he brought himself into the fold.
Persephone Castor: District 2 Female P.O.V (18)
Never being one to really ever lie, Persephone Castor is going to admit in full-fledged freedom that she has absolutely no idea what she's doing, but that, however, has been most of the case throughout her entire life. This is a fact she can say and have a good laugh about a bit later. However, and will admit this, she has no idea exactly how she's a tribute in the Hunger Games as Career Academy volunteer. She doesn't have an affinity towards hating violence, and not necessarily an affinity towards violence, but perhaps an indifference that simply ends up with her being discombobulated along the way.
As she stands in the circle of the other tributes, trying to eye each other and weight their weaknesses against her strengths, or rather lack thereof, Persephone notes how young everyone seems. When asked by the head trainer, a woman that Persephone forgets the name of, the common age is fifteen, which is surprising to her, but a lot of seventeen and eighteen year-old's as well, which would include her. Persephone raises her hand, the group is disbursed, and all she can keep thinking about is yesterday on the train ride, with Hale Cornerstone looking at her, the sweet victor she tries to be, making the largest frown she could muster as the poor Career leans herself over the bowl still trying to be 'sexy'.
It takes ten minutes to wash the whip cream from her bra strap. She does this, grumbling to herself at Milor's recent comment at her, the way he tries so hard to keep himself quiet about her body, the way his cheeks burn a bright and furious red out of shame, and that is because little Miss Persephone Castor can see right through the sleazing scumbag this boy tries to pretend to be. She'll dangle his secret over his head till the cows come home, but for the time being, as long as there's nothing else bad blooded between any of them, she's fine with being his friend. After all, they're district partners, they've trained together for years, and one of them is definitely going to become the next victor of the Hunger Games.
She is now standing in front of the knife throwing station, one hand encircled around the bone-handle of the blade she is about to throw, the line lined up nicely. Looking over to the left of her, Milor standing beside her, is Marcus and Carrion, and their performances causes her to swallow. Marcus is practically hitting bulls-eye every time, and then there's Carrion who is throwing his spears so hard at the target, they're flying back against the wall. What is she going to be able to do?
Persephone remembers that eventful day, five years ago, where she's dressed all girly like in frolics and cute uniforms, bows in her hair, long ebony waves down to about mid-back and the sun shining over her chocolate colored skin, when Hale points her down and asks her to come to the stage. Persephone is doing decently in the training, nothing all too effective, nothing all too lethal, but Hale singles her out as is. She becomes her protégé, Milor becoming Ellison's, the old weathered man from before the 3rd Quarter Quell's infamy - and though the normalness of Persephone not knowing where she's heading, there's been an improvement. Not the best improvement to compare herself towards Marcus or Carrion, or even Valencia, as the girl from District 2 watches her fellow female Career combating Maisey in the fighting ring, the two woman dancing in a passionate tango of blades, blood, and hair, she swallows. She might be the weakest one after all.
"Hey," Milor's voice breaks through the silence, beads of sweat starting to trickle down her face. She can do this. It is no different throwing it at a target in the center with Hale standing over her, it is no different and it shouldn't feel any different, but to Persephone, it does. He rests a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she turns her neck back at him, but doesn't look at him. "You can do this, Persephone. Block the rest of them out. They're just trying to prove that they're better than us."
She nods. He's right, Milor Drusus usually ends up being right. Picking up the knife, she steadies herself, turning a bit side-face, then vaulting herself forward, the blade goes flying out of her hand. With precision practicing, which means Hale telling her over and over to throw the damn knife, it careens down the brightly blue lit lane and embeds into the shoulder of the target with a loud thunk.
A coo of disappointment rises from her throat. With the other Career males making bulls-eyes... shoulders are not enough.
Persephone turns to give Milor a turn when he stops her. She looks up at him, expecting a sharp retort. "What?"
"What's with the glum face?" he asks.
"I didn't make bulls-eye," she looks back at the target, and then back at Milor. His peppiness in speeches has yet to really rub off on her. Here she is, trying to always perform, trying to always do what everyone else wants her to do, and not what she wants to do. Persephone tries recalling the names of the other prospective Career girls that she's managed to triumph over, but ends up short, because comparison land is not where she wants to be. "I usually do..." Naturally, almost instinctively, her head begins to float back towards the other Careers who are seemingly doing a much better job than her.
Milor presses a hand against her cheek, pushing Persephone's face back towards him. "Don't look at them. It doesn't matter what they're doing. What matters right now is you and I, and those knives, and," he points behind her, "The targets we're throwing at. I'm probably not going to get bulls-eye either. I usually use swords instead."
He steps up to the mat, Persephone falling back behind him. It looks like only the Careers have been using the weapons so far, the girl from District 5 wanting to shoot archery alongside Marcus, but the privileged king of District 1 quite rudely moves her away from his peace and quiet. She turns her head back around, and is surprised to see that not all twenty-four tributes are out around the stations training. Somewhere throughout the process, they've moved on and she hasn't even noticed, Persephone is too caught up in making she makes the target feel the pain of the blade.
However, as her mind scans, she does notice something. Milor is prepping his throw, he fixing his stance, breathing in and out.
She blindly reaches behind her for his shoulder. "Milor..."
"What?" he asks annoyed.
"Look behind you..."
Persephone is staring at the District 10 couple - she uses the term as loosely as she can - remembering their names to be Hero and Victoria, names, to Persephone, that sound very Career-esque. The two tributes from District 10 are standing in the circle of all the training dummies, short daggers in their hands, but moreso a gladius or a dirk in size. A trainer blows the whistle around their neck and the two spring into action. Victoria vaults a good foot or so over the dummy, one blade in her left hand taking its head clean off. Hero tackles his own dummy to the ground, stabbing in its face several times. The girl is back at the circle, ducking underneath arms and diving in between legs while maneuvering her blades in whichever way seems the most fashionable. Hero grabs a dummy's head, and with the twist of his hands, rips it clean off, an exuberant show of strength that Persephone is pretty sure a guy as bulky as Carrion would be even unable to perform. All that power in such a tiny little body fascinates her.
When the damage is done and the dust settles and the carnage is cleared, Hero and Victoria finish their spectacle by swiping the blades behind them to behead the last standing dummies in the ring, the rest a collapsed mess of blue Styrofoam and plastic. Persephone realizes that she's been holding her breath, and when she exhales, quite loudly, it occurs to her that the room is completely silent... everyone left, which is just the Careers, the District 7 pair, and the male from District 12 besides Hero and Victoria, they're all looking at them. The male from District 12 even gives them applause, but Persephone is pretty sure there's a lot more she could give them.
"Did you just see that?" she says.
Milor drops the knife, he had dropped it a long time ago actually, seemingly being the only other one truly impressed. Valencia, over in her corner, rolls her eyes, going back to wiping her hands with more chalk dust. "Yeah... I did. They're ruthless. Bloodthirsty," he shudders.
"I think we're going to need a bit more ruthlessness and bloodthirstiness in the Careers, Milor," Persephone says, turning to him. "Don't you think?"
He picks the blade back up and settles it in its old place. "What do you have in mind?"
Her eyes are sparkling and twinkling, and she's pretty sure that Milor's pretty sure that she's sure that no one but her is going to go along with this idea of hers, this fledgling that has taken flight. "Let's broaden our horizons."
Corvus Raynott: District 6 Male P.O.V (15)
There isn't much he thinks he knows, but if there's one thing for certain out there in the world of vast knowledge, his district partner is one gigantic bitch, and Corvus Raynott cannot believe he just swore inside his own mind.
He is standing with Lowelle back in their apartment, he holding in his hands the notebook that he found by snooping in her bedroom after breakfast. Part of him, deep down, through his reflective diamond stare at his pale complexion, feels ashamed, guilty, even remorseful that he's had to go and intrude on her belongings, but it is no secret that he'd love to know who and what he's dealing with here if he is going to try to get out of there alive. Lowelle's face goes completely red when she steps back into the foyer, and he's holding the notebook by one of its pages, it threatening to tear itself away and commit suicide by dive bombing onto the cushions of the couch.
"Gimme that!" she snarls, marching over to him, snatching the notebook out of his hands.
"You think you're so clever, don't you?" he mocks her, keeping an eye on her. He's heard of her, unbelievably, back in District 6. Of this incredibly terrifying sea witch named Lowelle Sable that learns of your worst fears and largest secrets and compiles them into a hitlist. As far as he knows, someone with the name of Lowelle doesn't sound all that scary, and with it being the absolutely furious tribute standing in front of him on the other side of the couch, he isn't all that too intimidated. "Having a game plan in the arena? Newsflash, sweetheart, but agendas change."
It is quite ridiculous, he wants to say to her out loud, but he's pretty sure he's already pissed her off so now it is just riding the wave of damage control. Something about her, the way she carries herself, bothers him. Corvus is able to admit to himself and the rest of the known world that he is easy to get along with, and doesn't usually have trouble making friends even if their friendship is just on the surface level of all things. When he sits on the train, or in the chariot next to Lowelle while they're dressed up like railroad tracks, something that makes Corvus with his tiny, muscular frame, feel like an absolute idiot, there's a certain smell to her, an odor that pervades off of her skin that is similar to curdled milk, to bread with mold, to a dying person from cholera left out to dry in the sun like a dry corn husk.
This Lowelle Sable may think she is so smart by designing game plans and alterations, and alternatives, but she is setting herself up for failure and the girl is too smartly witted to know the difference from self-sabotage, and revenge.
"It's better than winging it," she grumbles.
"You don't seem like the very best person at keeping everything together, though, are you? You can be read like a book, so people will know you're trying to gain their trust just to backstab them," he gesticulates back at the page. "The list of weak tributes to kill... was I on there? Were you going to add me to the list if I wasn't?" He gets as far as reading the headline of it, then she notices and unleashes the second coming of Christ on the apartment. As he begins to talk, Lowelle paces into the kitchen, and Corvus smiles stronger and harder. This means he's getting under her skin, good, good, very good.
Lowelle gets a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it up with water and taking a drink. "God, listening to you talk is insufferable."
"Because I'm right, and I like to figure you're usually never proven wrong," Corvus ganders. Training, earlier in the day, he makes sure to go over and grab a club, dancing with an instructor around a ring of mud, and falling into the mud clearly meant you lost. He's surprised at the fact that the trainer definitely does not put up a weak fight, and yet he is standing over the man triumphant, nearly covered in mud. Lest he hope Lowelle never sees this side of him. "Let me give you some advice. Not everyone here is going to be as foolish or as dumb as you think. It just isn't going to happen. Learn how to actually fight, and maybe I'll consider joining you as allies."
Whatever is contained in that statement must be so hilarious to her, as she pats down the counter and begins laughing her heart out, a laugh so full that Lowelle tilts her head back, hand on her stomach, a cawing crow noise rising from her throat. "You and I as allies? That sounds so funny!"
"It's that or you die in the bloodbath. The Careers don't want bitches in the arena when they're already like that," he wisely points out. He's seen them, he's stood in the shadows and watched the ways that the Careers behave.
Lowelle locks her haw, turning to him, glaring. "You know, Corvus, everything you say is absolutely bullshit."
He feigns an expression of mock pain, lifting his hands up in the air in the form of 'I surrender', before turning away from her as Lowelle finishes her drink. "Alrighty then, have it your way Lowelle. When you get a one in training because you don't have any physicality to your plan, don't come begging to me to support your ass because I got a higher score."
Corvus makes his way to the elevator, pressing the down arrow as in fact, the training center isn't closed even if training is 'closed' for the day, he can still go down there and spar with more dummies. A sound of rage, most likely coming from Lowelle's throat, emerges from behind him, she picking up her empty water glass and chucking it at him directly.
He isn't looking in the direction of her beeline fast ball when Corvus catches the glass a few inches from his head. She makes a croak of surprise, not expecting that, Corvus locking eyes with her. He crushes the glass in his hands, fingers clenching down, and shards falling to the floor. He cuts himself somewhat on it, blood mingling in, but he doesn't care. Corvus gives Lowelle a sweet smile. "Another thing, sweetheart. Don't provoke me..." the elevator dings open, he stepping in one foot, the other outside, and he sighs exuberantly at her. "Look at you. Your mind is torn in two, isn't it? You've never experienced failure before, have you?" A pause, but before she can say anything, "Don't worry, alongside failure, you'll also get to experience death."
With that, Corvus Raynott steps fully into the elevator, minding the shards of glass everywhere on the ground. The doors shut, and he departs.
Standing back in the kitchen is Lowelle, speechless, and wondering what in the flying fuck just happened.
Well, there we are ladies and gentlemen! That was Chapter #14: Mind Torn in Two, for Sheep Led to Slaughter, our very first day of training, and another four new tributes down. We've met the other half to our Hero, Miss Victoria Armstrong (D10 F), then following that is Annabellina's best side, Edwin Bishop (D5 M), we've met the last of the Career pack with Persephone Castor (D2 F), and it looks like Lowelle might meet her brute strength match in Corvus Raynott (D6 M). So, Romeo, how is Corvus stacking up against my man Jerry? Who would you say wins that fight?
Beyond that, this means there are four more tributes left to meet, which will happen with Chapter #16, because first, we're going to step back into the Capitol scene with Chapter #15: Pit of Vipers. I did some statistical data findings, and with Persephone's comment being half from my curiosity, this was how many tributes per age we had.
18: 6 ~ (Marcus Pharadane, D1 M), (Persephone Castor, D2 F), (Milor Drusus, D2 M), (Carrion Bastion, D4 M), (Blake Hanley, D9 M), (Colt Sheppard, D12 M)
17: 6 ~ (Valencia Shale, D1 F), (Maisey Rovneay, D4 F), (Lowelle Sable, D6 F), (Marissa Herdier, D9 F), (Alexandra Quinn, D11 F), (Caiden Grove, D11 M)
16: 2 ~ (Annabellina Circuit, D5 F), (Peri Florence, D7 F)
15: 6 ~ (Rochelle Pascal, D3 F), (Edwin Bishop, D5 M), (Corvus Raynott, D6 M), (Galiant Rushmohone, D8 M), (Victoria Armstrong, D10 F), (Hero Slade, D10 M)
14: 1 ~ (Linden Hazel, D7 M)
13: 3 ~ (Deacon Fincher, D3 M), (Marina Penweather, D8 F), (Gaia Whisp, D12 F)
12: 0
So, surprisingly, there isn't a single twelve-year-old tribute, Linden is the only fourteen year-old, and the Careers all make up the 18 and 17 year old's, as well as the fact that they're all even numbers of 6's for the 18/17/15 category... just interesting facts that I found. Also, I want to mention, I have created a forum for Sheep Led to Slaughter, and currently I sent all you submitters, all you lovely people, a PM detailing that very fact about joining said forum to become moderators, and to just participate in it, so refer to the PMs I sent you for more details!
So, anyway, digressing too much, we're back to the Capitol storyline with Chapter #15: Pit of Vipers, and then Chapter #16 we'll be meeting the four remaining mystery tributes that are the D3 Male, D8 Female, D9 Female, and D11 Female, which I am very excited about. I hope you guys do review, and I am so excited about all of these evenly laid out published chapters (hoping to do one every three to five days, so try and keep as up to date as you can)! I'll see you all very soon. Love you all! Have an amazing day! Bye!
~ Paradigm