22nd. 151D6M
As far as Zarim Highlander was concerned, it didn't matter why he was Reaped. Accident, bad luck, or rigging; who fucking cared? All that mattered was that someone was going to pay.
He didn't care who, either.
His mentor knew well enough to stay the fuck away. It took his district partner only one look to run for the hills. Why should anyone bother sticking around with him, right?
Right.
…At this rate, he'd die before he even got to see what all the fuss was about with these damn Games. It was hard enough to get to a weapon station without one of those idiot Careers lurking around the corner, leering. It wasn't like he wanted to be behind the blade that took some poor sucker's life; he just knew that he'd need to, sooner or later.
Zarim always preferred to err on the side of sooner.
Caitlin, to his irritation, seemed to disagree. All in all, the Eight girl made a good ally. She was clever, serpentine in a way the others hadn't quite picked up on, if a little too careful. But bowing out of the way of each and every Career at her insistence was starting to itch. The Two girl's glare burned as much as Caitlin's warning hiss in his ear: "Not yet, Zarim."
Some half-baked plan she has, of worming her way into their ranks. Honestly, Zarim liked the thought initially—use them to eliminate the threats, then take them out from the inside. She was insistent that they waited for the "right moment", which of course she couldn't say when.
(If she stuck around long enough to keep this up, he just might throw her to the wolves himself.)
(Zarim didn't like not having a say in when.)
As soon as the hand-to-hand station opened back up, Zarim sauntered over. Same shit with or without a blade, he figured; he planned on favoring a smaller weapon in the arena anyways. Settling into a stance, he faced off against the trainer.
That look on the Capitolite's overly-painted face—what a pitiful attempt of hiding annoyance. Seems like Zarim interrupted a conversation or something. Well, too fucking bad. They talked and talked like this was everyday shit for them—give the city district kid a quick enough training lesson and maybe you can get out early, grab a drink. Hit the parties downtown. Place some bets.
Nobody cuts corners on him.
Zarim didn't need this trainer, not really, but he could use an example. The minute he spotted an opening in the lady's punches, he took it—not a blink of hesitation.
And it felt good pounding his fist into that Capitolite bitch's face, again and again… Until that idiot District Four girl pulled him off and they locked him up for the rest of training.
Worth it. He'd made her weep.
And whether or not Caitlin stuck around, he'll do it again. This arena is mine, Zarim thought as he rose into the crisp air. The gong rang; he sprang towards the center, towards the Cornucopia just as planned. In and out, with or without an ally—
He hit something solid. A stray sword bit into his arm on the way down; Zarim tried to scramble upright, but it was useless, the screams, the chaos… And there was Caitlin, hand outstretched, dragging him away.
So she stuck around after all. Huh.
Too long. Zarim blinked; there was an arrow in her eye, and suddenly he saw nothing but that red-haired bitch from Four, felt nothing but pain.
Ah, shit.
Zarim knew the sting of a fatal wound when he felt one. It was only natural that someone like him would die as he lived—with more than enough blood under his fingernails.
𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝚉𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚖 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛
𝙸𝙳: 𝟷𝟻𝟷𝙳𝟼𝙼
𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝: 𝟼
𝙰𝚐𝚎: 𝟷𝟾
𝚃𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎: 𝟽
𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝟸𝟸𝚗𝚍
𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚖 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚛. 𝙲𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝟷𝟻𝟷𝙳𝟺𝙵 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. 𝙸𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝟷𝟻𝟷𝙳𝟼𝙼, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. …𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠.