𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐒𝐊𝐔𝐋𝐋 | ꜰ. ᴏᴅᴀɪʀ | ᴅɪsᴄ.

𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞.

trigger warning:
panic attach in part two

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐓

❝            there are so
many    contrasts    in
this  world and that
included   how   well
someone might seem
at one moment and
how     unwell    they
were the other.       ❞

𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘭𝘭
𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘧𝘪𝘧𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴
𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺

"TO SEPARATE US AND THEM," Wiress said gravely.

"Or to prevent their pampered little heads from being cracked open," Agate chuckled darkly as she passed by, sending the chakram in her hand up. "But both work, don't they?"

Despite the sound that escaped her lips or the way she flung the blade, a real threat laid underneath her light tone. The expression in her voice was caught by all three of those who were in the fire-making station, causing Wiress to flinch away, Beetee to swallow his nerves, and Katniss to pull her eyebrows in.

"What? Too harsh?" she mocked the two from District Three.

"He took out six people," Katniss defended them.

"Without thick, red blood coating his hands," Agate shrugged, tilting her head and smiling tauntingly. She knew that they had not killed someone directly, only letting the other tributes in their Games kill each other with the help of their mind games.

The Grim Reaper sauntered away from them and towards the enclosed training rooms where Finnick swung his trident. Twirls and jabs, those were what his routine stood out of alongside kicks and maneuvers. Agate stared at his performance for a short while, noticing how deadly it was in his hands. His technique was swift and clean, though heavy as his muscles contracted more than they would if he wielded a sword.

Aside from tridents, the room's shelves held staffs and spears alike, a few kinds of longswords too. Slipping through the automated glass barrier, she stepped into the space and to the shelves. Taking various kinds of weapons in her hands, Agate weighed its compatibility with her, its weight, and effectiveness. Picking out two simple wooden staffs, she treaded on the dense foam. For her presence was not acknowledged by him, Agate took out one of her chakrams and readied herself in a stance. It flew by Finnick's head, missed it by an inch, and ricocheted off the concrete walls.

He stiffened for a second, not expecting a weapon to be thrown at him, before turning to face her, question in his mirthful eyes.

"I have questions and you're going to answer them," she stated, walking closer to him, her tone holding finality.

"Staffs?" Finnick walked to the corner and placed his trident on the ground, returning with a smirk, shaking loose his hands. He took one of the wooden weapons from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers meanwhile.

"Strike, you answer my question truthfully," Agate continued, now fully combat-ready as she put her supply of chakrams away.

Agate and Finnick encircled each other, knees bent and bodies leaning forward, each step taken was calculated and careful. Their fingers bloomed white from gripping their staffs tightly. Determination raged in her eyes and her heart pounded in anticipation, but pure giddiness burned in his. He was not taking the whole ordeal seriously, acting as though her questions were not a problem to answer, but Agate would ensure that his blood would simmer and boil slowly.