VIIII.

Meliodas Vergara, 18
Applicant #18

They're never going to have a normal meal here.

Dinner last night went... better than he had expected. Sneaking across the hall after curfew went splendidly, if you ignored how sore his back was from it digging into the floor all night. It hadn't helped that everyone had still been up when he had finally arrived; Myra was laughing up a storm at his misfortune, and so was Emmi.

It was better, still, than not sleeping at all.

Half of them wind up taking their second day's breakfast into the training center, him among them. There's just too much food to get through and not enough time to do it. No one wants to sit around for that long anyway, not when there's the opportunity to be let loose instead of being watched hawk-eyed by whoever cooked their morning meal.

The trainers don't even seem to care that much provided no one's getting a weapon pointed at them without warning.

And with them, as much as he loathes to admit it, there's probably a more likely chance of that happening than anyone will want to admit.

There's a lot of problems in the midst of them. Soran and Icarus and Trojan, who gives them a look through half-lidded eyes and walks off by himself. Nicator trying to keep half an eye on Percy at all times less something happen. One of the girls inevitably inserting themselves into the middle of it - this time it's Arwen, who looks around with one eyebrow elegantly raised before she saunters off.

Even Jay is lingering around, though he doesn't look particularly confrontational, and Gideon isn't far off as well.

"So, what are we arguing about today?" Faye asks. He blinks and misses her in the thick of things. Sometimes he forgets that there are people here half his size. It's easy to.

"Really?" Meris mutters, coming up to his side. She's not hard to notice.

Not to him.

"Apparently," he responds, and settles back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. No use in actually going off and doing something until he's certain no one's going to start anything. He almost expects Meris to walk away. That's what Jay does, after a long moment, before he meanders his way off to the weights. Mel doesn't want to imagine how that's going to go.

"Do you have a suggestion?" Percy asks.

"Maybe something... slightly intelligent? Something worth arguing about."

"I'm sorry, who are you again?" Icarus asks, and Mel scrubs a hand over his eyes, sighing. He's used to it already, is the stupid thing. Their quips and their arguments and their petty, dumb bullshit. It's about all you can expect from a group of teenagers, regardless of their gender or age or social status. You shove them all in a room together, it might as well be a school day.

"Do you wanna go?" Meris asks.

"In just a minute."

"You don't have to babysit them, you know."

He knows. He definitely knows. But for some stupid reason he feels obligated. If someone gets hit because he went wandering off, he'll feel responsible. He doesn't want anyone getting hit for no good reason.

It doesn't even really sound like they're arguing, either. Just their voices getting louder and louder like it's a competition of who can exhaust their vocal cords first. Right now it appears like Percy's winning, and even the trainers are starting to press their fingers against their ears, avoiding the possible confrontation and the noise altogether.

No one else is even close except for the girl sitting at the table five feet away, fiddling with something mechanical. She's hunched over herself, fingers moving too quickly for him to really make sense of what she's doing. She turns around at their commotion, and although she doesn't quite flinch at their voices raising incrementally her whole body goes stiff, shying away from it. It's hard to notice in such a baggy sweater.

"Sorry," he apologizes, because no one else is going to. She turns to him, instead. "You might want to... move until they're done. Might not be for a while. Just take it from me."

She nods, but that doesn't cancel her staring out any faster than before. She watches them like the cogs behind her eyes are turning. Someone's voice raises again - it's not Percy, this time, and she swings her legs over the bench and skitters away like a little blue-haired bug.

"Everyone here is so weird," Meris decides.

"I'm not," he protests, and she hums. He doesn't know whether that's agreement or a taunt. "I don't think you are, either."

"I'm appropriately touched."

"You're welcome. Why are you here?"

"In an attempt to convince you that you do not have to watch this pack of idiots like a mother hen at all times."

"No, I meant here in general. Why did you apply?"

She shrugs. Her shoulders nearly touch her ears. "To get the hell out of dodge. What about you?"

He doesn't feel like that's the whole of it, but can't bring himself to push the issue. He doesn't think pushing with someone like her is going to get him anywhere; there's a reason she's so adamantly kept him not only out of his bed, but away from it too. Everyone else in that room, if not obvious, seems like a ten piece puzzle. Easy enough to put together after a moment of studying.

She seems like a thousand, at least.

"I'm just trying to understand," he decides on, and she nods. He hopes that it's agreement that causes her to do it.

"How's that working out for you?" she asks, and when she looks up at him the corner of her mouth is pulling up. The beginning of a smirk.

He holds out his arm for her to lead him away. Acceptance. "Not well. But I'd like to change that."

Isperia Martorell, 16
Applicant #17

Her parents never argue.

She's not sure what their deal is, really. She's sure most normal couples argue. But not them. It's the reason why an argument is so foreign, why she sees the slightest bit of something stressful and clams up. That, and she never has to deal with it anywhere else, either. She's never involved in fights at school, no matter the taunting she's on the receiving end of. It just doesn't happen.

She knew Faye was a lot to deal with, sharing a room with her has proved that much, but she didn't think of it to the extent that the other girl would provoke and cause fights with many of the older people here.

Such a small, outwardly unintimidating person should not have such a genuinely intimidating mouth.

It's not a hard decision to eventually to skitter away from the immediate vicinity of whatever's going to inevitably happen over there before Ridge or someone else intervenes. She shoves her hands in her pockets, keeps her head down. She's not sure what to do now, or where to go. Sticking to the mechanical things seemed like the most comfortable thing to work at.

Her parents thought she would be working on getting more friends, surely. Not avoiding most, if not all people the same way she did back home, walking to and from places without so much of a word.

Maybe traps wouldn't be a bad idea. There's someone over there too, but his head is held down the same way she's been keeping hers.

There's not much else she can do, unless she wants to go back to the previous station and risk being caught in the middle of an inevitable firestorm.

In true Ria fashion she keeps her head down so well that she full-on walks into the bench just behind the poor guy and knocks into his back, nearly sending him into the table. He catches himself easy enough and holds out a hand. Ready to catch her if she stumbles, or warding her off? She can't tell.

She can never tell.

"Sorry," she manages. "Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he answers, the words crawling and forcing his way out of his throat the same way hers did. She presses her hands together through her pockets, willing something else to happen. Should she still sit down?

He slowly, painfully, turns back to his little project. She takes a deep breath and rounds the table, sitting down at the very end of the bench. Far away. Hopefully far enough that she can't do anymore damage.

"Need any help?" the trainer asks, hovering over her. Luckily they're not all that imposing, not very big. Young enough that she's not worried, voice low and even.

"Not for now," she says. Not ever, probably, but she knows better than to be inconsiderate to someone that's just trying to offer some help. That's why she listened to Meliodas when she did. He was only trying to help.

The trainer rounds back over to the guy. Sabre, she thinks. He was with Caiman briefly yesterday, and now she understands why it was so brief. Caiman can be a lot, at random moments. Not nearly as bad as Faye - at least she's on the happier, non-confrontational side of things. But Sabre seems on the quieter side just like her. Neurotic, if she had to bet. Again, the same way she is.

He seems to be needing more help than she does, and even though the trainer seems nice enough it doesn't appear that he's taking any sort of direction.

The same qualities in different bodies.

Ria scoots down the bench before she can tell herself not to, so she's directly across from him. She busies herself with pulling some supplies over. Pieces of a snare, a coil of rope, and instruction manual that she probably won't look at. She can feel him staring at her from the other bench, studying her. To be fair, she was doing the same thing to him just a minute ago.

So she lets him look while she starts tying a knot in the end of the rope. It's a simple enough trap. Just enough to catch someone's ankle and hold them taught, even if it didn't cut into their skin.

It seems a little morbid, but she thinks all of this is. She can hear someone shooting arrows into a target behind them, thunk, thunk, and the clash of two swords or a spear, the sounds of running feet on the gauntlet. They're walking in the same footsteps those kids did, nine years ago and beyond it. For all they know, they might as well be those kids. Clueless and trying to figure out their life, if they have one left to live.

"Is that how it's supposed to be?" Sabre asks finally, under his breath. She didn't think she was supposed to hear but finally risks a glance up. He's looking from the beginning of her trap to the half-finished design of his. There's a few obvious differences, but they're all too small. Not enough for someone not practiced in building or mechanics to notice.

He's definitely not a mechanic.

She reaches across the table and nudges one of the lopes of rope away from the mouth of the snare, winding it around the left side.

"If you keep it in the middle it won't work," she explains. "It'll just get caught. If you keep it there it'll be easier to work with."

"Right," he says, nodding furiously. "Right, got it."

She pulls herself back to her own side, starting on the other end of the rope.

"Thanks," he says, a minute later. He's not looking at her.

He doesn't see her smile when she nods, no matter how faint it is.

Faye Ackerman, 12
Applicant #7

She hasn't actually picked up a weapon in these two days.

Some would argue there's fun in fighting. She agrees.

Just not in the way that most people would.

For the first time she picks up a throwing axe nearly the length of her forearm. It's really not as heavy as she thought it would be. Maybe things are just heavier when you're incapable of believing you can use them. If someone else her age picked it up, maybe they wouldn't feel so blindly confident.

Often times Esma says that will be her downfall - how completely and undeniable confident she is in herself and her abilities.

But what's the point, if you're not?

The boys are still arguing within earshot, although now they've taken to shooting arrows at targets. She can't tell if it's some sort of contest or not, if they're seeing who can try to hit the bulls-eye first. Percy won't have the arm strength. Icarus might, with some practice. Soran's already hitting the edge of the target.

Much like her, Nicator is watching on as well, though he has no weapon in hand. Of all the things going on, somehow that's the least surprising.

What isn't surprising, however, is Ridge lurking beyond them, occasionally handing out pointers. She can figure out this much - Percy is at least half attempting to take the advice he's being given, shifting his stance and adjusting his arms. Icarus looks like everything being spoken is floating in one ear and out the other, as if the words are beyond his immortal status.

Soran doesn't even look like he's listening to begin with.

Not that she is, either.

She makes her way to the far edge of them; no way is she getting caught up in the middle of whoever's bad aim first strikes. The arrows are deadly sharp, flashing silver in the overhead lights.

Another arrow thunks into the target, in one of the middle rings. Must be Soran's, then.

"You may want to choose a smaller one," Ridge suggests, approaching from her left shoulder. She blinks, first at him and then down at the axe in her hand.

"Why?"

"It's too large a weapon for someone your size. Someone larger in stature, with more arm strength, may be able to heft it properly enough to throw it with some experience and practice. But you won't."

She stands a little taller and takes a deep breath. A very, very deep breath. "I think I can do it."

"You're welcome to try, sweetheart. It was just a suggestion."

She almost snaps, something along the lines of don't call me sweetheart, Mr. Know-It-All, but she knows it's genuine advice. It's just wrong, is all. It can't be anything but. The implication that she's not strong enough or not intelligent enough to figure it out is more insulting than anything she's heard in the last month.

She looks towards the target, instead, and ignores Ridge hovering over her shoulder. The target is approximately forty feet away, five feet off the ground. An easy enough distance for someone experienced in using a bow. An axe is a little trickier. She can't begin to estimate how many rotations it will take for the damn thing to get there. She'll have to throw it high for it to make it - higher than she is tall.

She hefts the axe back with one hand. Her foot lifts a little as she brings it forward and lets it go, sailing over her head.

It makes it maybe twenty feet before it clatters to the round, metal scraping over concrete. She winces at the sound.

Nearly in unison, both Soran and Icarus smirk against the line of their respective bowstrings. Percy frowns as yet another one of his arrows hits the ground. At least it went further than her axe, which he pauses to take in.

"Finally, someone who's more terrible than me," he says flatly. There's no amusement in his voice but she huffs regardless.

Two others are staring as well. Damas, who looks away the second she looks at him, and Verity, who looks nothing short of amused. She scowls and the other girl pokes her tongue out before turning around and skipping away, closer to the station that Sabre and Isperia are now occupying. All ridiculous, the whole lot of them. They're being ridiculous.

Like children.

"Words of advice, if you'll take them now," Ridge says. "Try two handed instead of one to get started. It's a more basic technique. You can heft it over your head. You'll get more power behind the throw that way."

She does not need a more basic technique. She just needs time to practice this one. You never saw a Career in the Games throwing an axe two handed, after all. They could send it sailing with just one, right into someone's heart.

She's not under any delusions she'll ever be on the same level as a Career, but she's not going to accept much less. There's still a few hours left in the day for her to get better at it. That should be all the time she needs.

Faye stalks out over the line and towards her fallen axe. Someone practically screeches behind her, the sound echoing off the walls and bouncing back a second before the arrow goes whizzing by, three feet in front of her. She takes a huge, awkward stumbling step back, nearly back across the line. Ridge catches her by the elbow and pulls her back the last few feet, into safety.

"Another word of advice," he says, voice more firm. His fingers are vice tight around her skin. "Wait until people stop shooting to walk."

She won't take much advice. Hardly any of it.

But that she'll remember.

Tarquin Vierra, 16
Applicant #4

"God, what a mess," Topher says. "I'm gonna go over there."

He takes two steps - two very excited steps, may he add, before Noelani grabs the collar of his shirt and drags him back like a disgruntled puppy.

"Your Mom will kill me if you come back home with an arrow in you."

"Oh, pfft," he responds. "As if. I'm too fast. They'd never hit me. It'd be like trying to hit a squirrel."

He huffs out a laugh. Noelani looks exasperated for a moment before she turns to him and smiles, and just like that the moment is over. Topher pulls away from her grip but stays resolutely in one spot, watching on as the mess happening over at the archery situation slowly dissolves.

It's maybe not as much of a mess as Topher believed it to be. A little bit of arguing here and there between teenagers can't even be considered a mess when it's happening every other second. He spends enough time backstage to know that. You round up a group of people with contrastingly loud personality in one places, you're asking for it.

The difference between this and a theater troupe is that at least in the troupe you spend enough time around each other that you're forced to get to know everyone around you. No one here feels obligated to do that outside of the few friends they've chosen from the masses.

He feels like he knows Noelani well enough. Topher too. Jay, because he sleeps over top of Tarquin's bed and because he seems to always be lurking around them anyway. Gideon hasn't talked to him much, and neither has Sabre, but Damas has at least been able to force a few words out when he's spoken to him. It seems like progress, when not much else is happening.

Besides, it seems like Noelani is the one that picked him up, not the other way around. He had been thinking about it anyway. They seemed like they fit.

It had been the two of them until Topher and Kidava had started snipping at each other across the table at breakfast yesterday morning, and now they had her little brother alongside when he wasn't off talking to someone else, which seemed common enough anyway. He was fine, besides that. A little sensitive at certain things, almost too much, but who was he to talk when he cried nearly every time his own character died in a play, even if he knew it was coming?

"I just want dinner," Topher says. "Do you think they'll let us out soon?"

Noelani shrugs, not paying all that much attention. She seems to do that a lot. When Topher's just asking a basic question, wondering aloud, it almost seems like she doesn't hear it at all.

"Probably," he answers.

"Alright. I think I'm gonna go try the gauntlet again, then. See you at dinner."

It's not until he's ten feet gone that Noelani notices him peeling away, looking up at his retreating form. "Be careful!"

He waves behind him, still zipping off. He nearly crashes into the traps table, and Sabre and Ria both look up as he goes by, moving along towards the gauntlet.

"Have you talked to Ria since the bus?" he asks, nudging her in the back when she doesn't look up from the camouflage paints she's messing with. "Noelani."

"Sorta," she huffs, smearing a streak of it up her arm. "She never really wants to talk to me. Or anyone. But I've been trying."

Well, she's talking to Sabre right now. Sorta. More like they're doing their own thing and occasionally she'll reach out and point something out, waiting until he murmurs something back to focus their individual attention back on their own projects.

He can't even say he really knows anyone like the two of them. Ria especially. At least Sabre seems driven enough in his own projects. Ria just seems to flit around to places escaping the chaos, choosing her paths to avoid the worst of it. He wishes he even had the forethought.

Everyone he knows is loud, playful, a booming voice in a backstage area, exaggerating their laughs as they rehearse in a mirror, twisting their faces to better replicate the character.

"We should go over and talk to them. Or just sit with them."

He feels bad, for no reason at all. Their introversion is not his problem.

It feels like it is, though.

"Sure," Noelani agrees. "Can you wait until I'm done, though? I want to finish this."

He's not even sure what she's trying to accomplish, at this point. The paint up her arms looks more like a sunset than anything else. Useful for if she's trying to blend into the sky and nothing else.

He should just go over there right now. Noelani will follow eventually. One person introducing themselves into their little world will work better than two, anyway. It'll be a better ice-breaker. He's the one that first got Ria's name, after all, and the one that distracted Jahaira long enough on the bus by waving his arms around, ruining her picture, to get her off Sabre's back.

He scuffs his feet and stays where he is. He should go. He probably will. Maybe.

A decision will come to him eventually, he's sure.

They always do, no matter how long it takes.

Let me know what you thought of this one, y'all. I'd appreciate it.

On another note, my friendo Sukkar has started an SYOT - a sequel to their first, and is looking for submissions. It's called Pro Patria Mori and it's tucked away in my favorites if you'd like to submit or take a look.

Until next time.