How odd this girl is.
Isn't she from 8?
She is? Then why is she like this?
Like how? Don't you see it? The monster hidden in the deep?
Well this might be fun.
(I know, not the type of title you expect for a Hunger Games fic, but I couldn't hold myse...
She scoffed at the angered yell; what fucks has she still left? Oh yeah! None.
"The fuck do you want Valerius?" She had long learned to tone out his tantrums; all he could ever do was yell anyway. He should have been a singer.
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"Where the fuck were you?" He screamed at the young girl sitting.
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(ATTENTION!! All the images I will be using are AI-generated, so these are not real places or people!!!)
"Well, we always come here." She waved her arms up at the surrounding broken-down area. "So I thought I'd come here first."
"I told you to be at home!" But she just scratched her ear, looking to the side, bored.
"Hey!" She exclaimed when an impact came. "That fucking hurt!" She grabbed the boom thrown at her... Or more like the handle of it, lacking the boom head and standing with anger.
"That was the fucking point!" He lifted his arms, pulling out and priming his baton. "Now up and fight!"
She gritted her teeth but span the improvised staff once and held it in both hands; she wanted to push him out of a building... Preferably from the fifth floor and into the sewing rigs; she knows how hard those are to stop and how they can mangle a person.
She jerked up her hands, blocking an overhead strike of the metal baton before Valerius, with the rebound, swung lower and clubbed her hard in the side.
"Hey!!!" She stumbled back.
"You fucking think people will stop after one smack?! These are the Hunger Games, you waste of space!! You'll be dead the first day!! How can you not fucking defend yourself after training so much?!"
She hissed out between her teeth and snapped the wooden handle at him, but he quickly blocked with a counter strike, making the tip of the handle smack off the ground.
Her head wiped to the left, and her body followed.
Bera hunched over, watching the blood drip out of her face and into the dry dirt, even emitting a slight sizzle because of the heat of the summer days.
She lifted her head and grabbed the staff correctly again, her knuckles still hurting from the corporal punishment.
She parried another strike before jabbing the tip of the boom into his sternum, getting another smack to the head.
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She was glaring as the clothing piece in her hands.
She heard the whispers of fear and mockery behind her back from the other workers but she didn't care, them being about her attitude or the myriads of new bruises on her body, none retained her attention.
Tying a knot as she put the final touch on the disgusting frilly pink dress.
She doesn't care if her attitude drives others away, so what if she doesn't give a crap about the games? People die everyday but only dying in the games is that bad? Fuck that! Death is death. If that makes her a Capitol sympathizer then so be it, they are too dumb to know what that would even mean, spouting those words without meaning.
She didn't care how much people despised her, she despised them right back. Look around people, seriously, two deaths each year in the games but hundreds to machines and life goes on.
She grabbed a new piece of unfinished clothing and judged the worker and the buyer heavily, just who could like this hell of plastic feeling cloth, she should volunteer just to show these people how to actually behave around clothes instead of creating trends and ordering monstrosities. Her hands itch with disgust each time she sees one of these over the top fuckfests.
And well, She can't exactly understand their sadness either. Each time she thought of the games she couldn't help but roll her eyes, Valerius would dance on her grave if he could, maybe even piss on it that violent bastard.
No one would miss her nor await her return, those ugly dressed people would just judge her and nickname her something like piss face McKenzie for all she knows.
Eh... She still has... Five years to be chosen? It would a hassle in the long run, to run around and please everyone be looking pretty and proper... Or maybe she could just fuck with them? Playing their games right back at them.
She scoffed, what a bastard of a world she lives in.
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Hiss-pissy Valerius had once again locked her out of the house but she didn't care, it has been a while since she hasn't needed him for anything but he just can't bite the dust, that damned ancestry from that damned district of combat ready careers... Leave already! Peacekeepers can transfer away, she doesn't care about being left alone.
But she had the broom handle, her oh so important self defense weapon, something about it being 'just like a spear without the spear part' whatever that might mean.
"At least it was staff." She still admitted to herself, feeling the itch of her still healing wound on her arm, he wasn't going easy on her and never did, bastard would have let her bleed out from that cut she is sure, she got luck he even just threw her a roll of bandages.
No she wasn't a fan of knives even if to pass her boredom filled days she'd 'amuse' herself by seeing how many in a row she could throw into an old dead tree's bark and make stick into it, her record being four for now.
She heard little noises, the familiarity of it actually made her stomach growl, slowly grabbing the staff and inching closer to the ally, no longer aimlessly walking.
She inched and inched... Before stabbing down but missing the rat, damn, she could have trapped it an have something easy to eat.
She grumbled curses to herself, watching it scurry away into the shadows.
Both of them doing much better away from people, it is easier to survive like that.
