An Unlikely Pair
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By: DarkGiggle
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.
Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.
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PART 20
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Four "stations," just four stations to get through. Under the weight of their collective stares I don't give into the impulse to touch Madge's pin yet the longing is there. This is the first and the only time we will have direct interaction (on some level) and it's just surprising how creepy they are. It shouldn't be, these are the sick fucks that run this wretched game, but it is surprising.
"Don't waste time, proceed." Crane orders and that seems to be that.
Since he has not said otherwise I go in the order I want. The Knives & Dagger Station is being run by the same brunet instructor so it takes but a few words to get him to set up or throw my targets and I let loose on them. I can't do multiple blades in one hand like D2f, yet I'm equally good with either hand, my accuracy is impeccable, my force sinks the metal in midway up the smooth handles and on a moving target, dummy or small disks, four of my knives will hit their mark at a time. It's all going great, the instructor's cerise gaze is wide with surprise at the skill level and I'm smiling away, until the order to switch to throwing the daggers comes. Crap on a cake. I know Gale practiced some with throwing them, never know what will be on hand in the arena, however I haven't. It is a clear and glaringly stupid oversight. My performance takes a nose dive because of several reasons, they're heavy with thick metal to resist attack, there is crossguard, the leather handles are formed for grip, the whole thing is over a foot long, it's not built to be thrown and the tape on my hands isn't loose enough yet to allow a good grasp. I miss out right my first few targets and it takes too long to get decent hits. Eventually (why are they dragging this out?) I'm off by critical centimeters with my right hand, by whole inches with my left and still can only do one dagger at a time. By the time Crane does call it to an end, it's clear what the price for daring to ask for four stations is, they want to see me struggle, not shine with ease like the Careers.
Scarily the dodging is ordered to be next, I'd have rather put it off for last incase I get injured yet at least I'll be fresh for it. Then the bastard adds the order not to attack the trainer until I'm given say. What The FUCK?! Both middle fingers twitch and it's only with supreme effort does the calm I'm faking stay in place. The words, 'Crane, you're a lousy malevolent rotten boil! You're ostentatious power mad fingernail crud!' are on the tip of my tongue but they have to stay there… for now.
The knife instructor is all too happy to start without warning and hurl his pernicious stockpile at my vitals. Since I'm far from the wall (no bounce back) and he's aiming for my torso and head I very minimalisticly swivel, arc, side step, wiggle and weave between the blades. It keeps him in my sights, avoids me being cut to ribbons by mere inches and pisses right him off. It's nerve wreaking yet it shows my skill (which I'm determined to show!) and it saves me energy which I'll likely need later. It isn't until one whizzing by my temple shears the end off a bit of my bangs and I see the little blonde speckles floating in the air that I think about the rest of my hair. Uh-oh! My next dodge turns into a sprint to hide behind a trident stand for a moment to inspect my braid. Shit! In three places the braid has been nicked shallowly, the new abrupt ends spurt freely from the controlled pattern. Normally I wouldn't care but I'm sure the stylists will. I growl and shove it down the back of my shirt in time to hear a chuckle from above.
He's directly overhead, casually looking down and this time the liquid aquas hold a hint of amusement. 'So the diseased rat dropping thinks this is funny?' I think and though no glare is allowed my lips purse in anger. Before either of us can to anything more the trainer pops up silently next to me, knife swinging for my neck, causing me to duck under and flee on instinct. What The Hell?! But so starts the chase!
He's on my tail and since I can't attack running is my only option. I zip and zigzag through the other stations and around his flying projectiles. This isn't like before, there is something pulse racing about being chased. This being hunted is making my breathing pick up and adrenaline pump. Something about not letting him too close is frazzling my composure and concentration. Pretty soon I feel like a marble ricocheting wildly in box, rebounding from side-to-side and corner-to-corner. This fucker seems to have an endless supply. The lack of focus on the surroundings is how he herds me into the matted section of the gym. There's no cover and it's against the wall. Damn it! I run hard, thrusting my legs down on the soft surface to just get through it then have to jerk and slide under as five knives cut across my path. I jump up to continue my run when five more come, not the steady one after another he's been doing, not at me but in the route in front of me and I realize two things. One, he's been holding back, a lot. Two, he isn't going to let me leave the mats. No I don't want this! I turn, set my feet into high gear and run to escape the mats from the other side, where he'll still have obstacles between him and I. At the last second, just before I'm free five almost skewer me and I have to kick off my front leg ungracefully and land on my ass.
How the hell? I look for him and oh! The creep has found high ground, instead of going after me and maneuvering past several stations and pillars (as he didn't have time for) he's climbed to the highest hurtle on the gauntlet thus circumventing my plan. There he has an unobstructed view of the entire mat section and me. Padded wall behind, neither left nor right an option for me and I doubt he'll let me go forward. He wants this? Fine but I let my glare show there will be hell to pay when it's my turn. It doesn't deter him in the slightest and he sends what feel like a barrage my way. All of me is a target now so I lunge to protect my stomach, twirl to keep my ribs puncture free, wrench to move my shoulder out of the way, hop to have my knee cap remain functional, spin so as not to have my hip butchered, arch my neck to have it stay in one piece, jerk my arms from harm, yank my feet from potential impalement and dive to save my life. All that is good, is essential yet he is definitely holding back less. My clothes have slices appearing on them and every few blades my skin burns and strings with a shallow cut. The wounds aren't deep enough to really bleed so I don't let them slow me down worse yet with each new one my temper is steadily rising. I'm quicker on the hard floor but at least the mats and the wall don't let the knives bounce back at me, they get stuck in the padding. It's a trade off, I loose speed in the cushy surface yet I don't have to double dodge. Too soon the trainer sees my trick and begins throwing more knives randomly, littering the mats, imbedding them with the blades and making it impossible to move!
Just when I think of charging forward anyway the firing stops for a brief second and I look up to see him being handed more knives from an Avox. It's then that I notice the Avoxes around the room, diligently clearing up the embedded knives and collecting them for him. So there is a finite amount! Yet my panic brain reminds me there no real space to dodge now so… An idea blooms, I can't attack him but… When the next blade comes I snatch up a knife by my heel and send it flying. There's a high pitch cling of metal meeting metal in the air then a stunned silence as his ricochets into a pillar and mine drops to the floor. I have to admit the glare of triumph and glee I send him is by no means pleasant so it's understandable to see him stiffen. He shakes it off like water on a wet hen and so starts his second barrage.
Now is nothing like the first time, for each of his mine meets it. Sure it's hard to track the quick silver in the air, to judge the velocity and precise direction however I am very much properly motivated! Even as my eyes start to burn, longing to blink, as a small part of me prays that the drop of sweat running down my forehead won't trickle in and blur my vision, a grin is starting to develop on my face. I'm not dodging any more, I'm not running any longer and most importantly that sensation of being prey is lifting, which lets my focus refine. It takes only a short time for me to learn by feel how much or how little force to use to counter his projectiles so that they don't fly away. This means all the weapons drop between him and I, in the danger zone, where no Avox seems willing to go collect. He is going to run out but not me. When the number of embedded sharps grows scarce I just return to dodging and he seems to happily (stupidly) fill them back up. The grunted curse he lets out as he realizes too late makes me giggle.
That… maybe was too far… His face contorts into a hot red, nasty scowl and he stops holding back all together. Five shot from him at a time, three from his right and two from his left but my max is four so I have to weave around that last one blade and throw constantly. The off set in the time disparity in his single throws verse my multiple ones is made up by him seeming to have to put his knives very specifically in his hands for accuracy. Anyway, the pile of metal on the floor, clinking and clanging with each new addition is growing and this 'fight' coming to a close. 'And with it, his demise, the annoying fucker,' my mind thinks then supplies me with a plethora of lovely, violent images on just how to do him in.
The Gamemakers must sense that too because Crane abruptly lets out one beautiful, glorious word; "Attack."
Don't have to tell me twice! A smile splits my face and it's the only warning I give. Immediately I switch to firing at him, let's see how well this asshole fares! While he teeters and totters I grab three knives from the mat and run for cover, it's less useful now, with his high angle and the knowledge that I'm am coming for him makes my path limited but oh well! From cover to cover I move, following the curve of obstacles to my final target however he has chosen well tactically and there is nothing around that part of the Gauntlet. One pause for a deep breath and a second of my blood pounding in my ears, then I make a break for it, send two of my knives at him with the third kept in hand to block any incoming weapons I can't afford to duck or can't out run. I reach the base of the hurtle, collapse on the mat there, dig my fingers in and heave with all my strength. There is a roaring rip as it comes loose and as I haul the huge weighty pad up over my head I get the pleasure of seeing his eyes bulge in surprise while the rest of him freezes. I chuck it at him and though the satisfying double smacks of first impact then landing are great, now is not the time to indulge. I round on his splayed form, snatch up the mat and bring it down on him like an all-mighty flyswatter! Slam once! Slam twice! Slam thrice! And a fourth just for good measure and because I'm that angry! When I lift up all of his visible skin is as red as a freshly spanked bottom and he groans weakly.
The sound is quickly covered by a few laughs bursting forth. I guess that he does appear a bit funny however a look up to them eliminates any mirth I have. The drunk ones are laughing, maybe two or three are smiling but the vast majority look agitated and expectant, Head Gamemaker included. Haymitch's words come back to me and I realize they are waiting for something violent, some action of ruthless sadism. They don't understand the force I've actually inflicted on this instructor (it's pain and fear that more moving will increase it that keeps him still) and they demand the advantage be taken so more harm can be done to him.
It makes me sick. I've won, I've incapacitated him, true not as violently as even I was thinking about moments ago yet this is not the arena so what more do they want? Didn't they see my determination and glee at taking him down? It just must not be enough for them and that disgusts me. I want to walk away, go to the weight station and simply go on with my tasks… however it's not only me relying on my score. The image of Hawthorne's face, the fear he had this morning flashes before my eyes. Now is the time to change myself or not at all.
My feet take me over to the beaten man. I move to stand over him, feet on either side of his ribs and he flinches then flinches again and again in tremors of pain. This will not be like on the train; I need to make him scream. It does no good to be a wishy-washy wimp and let him tense more, that will just increase the sensation of this. I rise to my tiptoes, set my elbows then drop, my full falling weight coming down in one point on each of his biceps and he screams! Agony rips out of his throat and the guttural sound resonates in this huge space. I leap away from him as his body almost starts to convulse with the level of suffering his brain doesn't know how to deal with.
Nausea creeps into my gut as his screams continue and I'd like nothing more than to punch his lights out, send him into oblivion yet that's not an option. Though the Gamermakers would love the extra violence, he's already fallen, taken four hits to the head, might have a concussion already and putting him under could be life threatening. The only thing to do now is walk away, impassively face the robed pestilence controlling this session and wait for further instruction. I'm not hurting him further and I know just by doing this it's defying them however it's not in me to do more. Finally, damn finally a medical team comes out, they shot something into each of his shoulders that quiets him to harsh panting then load him on a stretcher to carry him out. Just before the door he starts spewing obscenities at me. I don't so much as twitch but each word feels like a lash across my back so I cling to Gale's face in my mind's eye.
When there is silence I dare to look up at Crane, not the others, only him. He has this measuring look on his face and I can't begin to know what is going on in that twisted melon of his (not that I want to). It takes much more effort to have my face and body devoid of expression then I really have to spend but he takes so long in looking at me. One of the purple louses next to him coughs discretely, it gets him to look up and around at his cohorts. "As soon as the mats are reset you fight."
The focus of having my face blank is the only thing that lets my eyebrows stay in place (instead of shoved into my hairline). He wants me to do nothing while we wait for the Avoxes to finish? My blues move to them, scurrying and scrambling to do so, but the mats are large and weighty, they've almost got the majority of the ruined ones out of the way though have yet to start placing a single new one.
I don't understand what we are waiting for, yes the recovery time is nice, yes it's nice not to strain my arms in going from throwing knives to throwing weights however I sincerely doubt this is for my benefit. A glance up shows even the others are confused on this pause… until they spot something over my head on the other side of the room and smile.
A woman is there; a medium sized, pissed off familiar looking brunette. She is glaring at me like she plans to demolish my ass into grass. Guess she's the hand-to-hand combat trainer I'm going to face, but it's odd because I remember all of them being men and I think she was one of the three in charge of the unpopular Savate Station. She looks (aside from enraged) a bit beat up and I have to wonder who did it? That makes me wonder about Mr. Anton, was it Gale that beat him up or was it someone else? Logically it would be better if it was my teammate that did all that damage. It would show he is strong and fierce while other tributes are not. However part of me hopes he didn't hurt Mr. Anton so, the man is too patient, too kind an instructor for me to wish it was Gale that hurt him. Yet that makes me curious as to who hurt her? Who was good enough to land those bruising blows on her face, neck and arms? Are the fires in her rosy eyes from a drive not to be defeated again? Un, no, it's not that… though again there's a sort of familiarity in her fury. As I look at her, her face contorts into a scowl and goes bright red, her anger seeming to intensify with this waiting and staring. Wait, that face, pink irises and light brown hair! Holy Burnt Bagels! She's his sister! And she looks exactly like him. She's his older sister and it is a sibling's burning hate that she has for me!
I look to Crane mentally asking, 'Her?! The order is to fight Her? But she wants to tear me into ity-bity-bits!' yet he just seems overly pleased with his wretched self. That's that then, he planned this and is looking forward to this fight. There is no arguing with this cur so I refuse to look at him again. Oh, I'll still have to obey but if he just wants to send me through the grinder of a vengeful fighter I'll acknowledge him the least I can.
By the time the mats are ready she is practically foaming at the mouth. Likely her brother as a knife throwing instructor doesn't get a lot of people creaming him, until now. When permission to start is finally granted he's waited so long she's staring to glare at him too. She charges in much faster than I expect, so it's instinct that brings my arms up to block her gloved double punch. Immediately I know her punches won't be a problem for me yet just as I get set to return the favor she pivots and kicks out my front weight bearing leg. The kick is so hard the second before landing on my back my feet fly above me. The crash blows the air out of my lungs so I can't cry out at the pain in the back of my calf and ankle tendon. The chance to collect my breath isn't even an option because already she's lifted her big booted foot up high to bring it down on my face. I roll and she follows, stomping after my head. This goes on until my braid comes loose and gets nailed under her shoe. As she raises her free foot I swing blindly and catch her standing shin. Pain lights up between the knuckles that tagged the bone but she screams and is knocked on her rear so it's worth it.
We spring up at the same instant and she again tries that double hit back leg sweep on my same leg. It's keeps throbbing so I stumble back out of range and hold back a grimace. That kick was really something and kicking seems her specialty as she launches into a series of high round house and reverse round house kicks, driving me back and forcing me on the defensive. My arms, mainly elbows and forearms take the hits (my arm bones are killing me! Damn those hard ass boots!) and it's the still tight tape sparing my wrists and hands from fracture. The strikes are just coming in from all directions, I've never faced any one that moves as much as her. She's barely in one place for a second, just enough to attack then move.
Out of frustration I try to catch her pounding feet yet she pulls back, pivots to change the angle of her attack or bends and tries to throat punch me while my hands are occupied. This bitch is relentless but she's not faster so I move to simply swatting the kicks away. It stings; there is either hard plastic or metal under the leather and stiff pointy spikes on the surface, however it lets me drive her back. Suddenly she switches to a low kick straight to my slightly raised thigh, the thick hard heel slams into the muscle, reverberates in the bone and wrenches at the joint. I scream and fall even as I thank frosting my leg wasn't planted and took the full impact of what could have been. Although my muscle is hollering unholy hurt at me, it's my knee that could have been taken out.
Again she is on me to try to stomp me into mush however this time I grab her foot and yank like hell! Even as she falls she sends a second kick with her free limb that I have to duck. Still the whack of the landing gives me time to set up a knee bar. She flails yet I can't keep her in the straight leg bar as my thigh protests too much to hold. Damn, damn, damn it!
She wriggles away quickly after that; still this is the first bit of good news since she was selected. She doesn't know how to deal with wrestling and grappling moves. I can't help the predatory grin that knowledge gives me. That in mind I rush her, take a hard one to my shoulder and try to get in her guard. She doesn't let me, spins and sneaks in a strike to my chest and kicks away. I puff and huff (and probably have a nasty heel print) however this time I have the free moments to; she doesn't want me near. Smirk.
After that she is hopping, side stepping and dancing around me more than ever. She's not even attacking, just never staying long enough for me to whack her full on. Jabs and crosses are useless, wide haymakers and recovering back fist are only glancing her (though I know they hurt some because she tenses after each one). But still, it's her brother all over again, with her leading me where she wants to go. That we aren't leaving the mats and merely ping-ponging back and forth across them is doubly annoying! Aarrah! Pick a spot bitch!
It isn't clear until several minutes later and then it's been there, done that, why do it again? This time as she leads we are far closer to the corner and the walls. It doesn't make sense for her to trap herself so this is all a long set up. Oh this crafty hag! She feints, I go after her and I end up facing the corner. Instantly I slam my hands into the wall, push and deliver a back kick that could make a mule proud! It rams into her stomach, launches her off those pesky feet and back. She's not the only one with strong legs.
She is curled in a ball on the floor, an odd mix of still painful still and writhing for air. She looks utterly vulnerable, a strike to the temple now would put her down and I move to do just that. I swing, and surprisingly she blocks with her fist. It doesn't matter, mine is hard enough to carry through and smash both our fists into her face. Uhn, that cheek is going to swell nasty. A second punch, this time to her temple, leaves her limp.
It's over, she's out, they can't ask me to hurt her more cause she won't feel it and maybe I should have waited for her to get up so I could have made a better showing but oh well, it's over. It's a relief I won't have to hurt her like her brother and I tell myself to focus on that as a nagging bit of doubt whispers of how a low score it no help. I sigh twice, pray I'm allowed to go throw weights now and it's almost a relief when the medical team comes out to collect her.
Almost, because they don't come out alone. With them comes another trainer. He's tall, well muscled, long limbed and another Savate instructor if those same boots are anything to go by.
So this is what the Gamemakers are really like. This is more then about trained score then, this is about hurting me before the arena, before I have to go live on camera with Flickerman. Can a single finger mean that much too them? They don't do this to the Careers right? I've seen them training with the Hand-to-hand combat instructors, D1m and D2m could likely handle this but the others really aren't any better than me, at least this. All the Careers are more weapon specialists (or are attempting to be) so why put me through the wringer of two?
I don't sigh, growl or groan, just drop into position. Though I'm tempted, to just turn and give a 'what the hell?' face to Crane I stick with my decision and think of my promise to do anything to help Gale. Maybe there can be some middle ground?
Part 20 End.
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Side Note: Double posting, so please go forward for part 21. Hope you enjoy it! Oh and as always, still looking for a beta. Sigh.