James doesn't turn to look at the newcomers, but he sees the flicker in his opponent's eyes. His sword rings against Beckett's, blocked momentarily but James' body is already shifting, weight moving to bring the blade down again on an exposed side. The grunt as the blunt edge smacks against his partner's ribs is soft, almost lost in between James' own deep breaths, but not completely.
"Cutler! What have we said about your guard?"
"Not to let it down, Lady Barbara."
James pretends he doesn't see the glare Beckett sends his way, stretching his aching limbs before hanging the sword back up in its place.
"Remember that! Now, take five minutes."
The respite is a blessing James knows they will not have in the arena, and he intends to make the most of it. He moves to the side of the training room, picking up his water and taking several swallows as his eyes move across the rest of the Tributes. He knows them all by sight, but has barely exchanged more than a sentence with most of them.
It's easier not to get to know them, Lady Barbara had said. Not as people, just as opponents, with strengths and weaknesses. As people whom he must kill, or be killed by.
The two new figures, under Sir Pellew, catch his attention. One looks capable, cunning. The other... well, you could hardly get two tributes more different.
James knows that he and Beckett were well prepared for this before they arrived in the Capitol. They had grown up with blades in their hands, with spears and bows; taught from a young age the posture and movement of a fighter. Neither of them was particularly bulky, but that was more often a hindrance than a benefit in battles. They were quick, they had minds that worked tactically, the ethos of the Games had been impressed upon them. They were the prime example of the Tributes sent by their District.
Of course, James had not been drawn originally. It had been Cutler and Elizabeth. Cutler could hang, in James' opinion; a vile and cold creature, with no sense of honour and all too pompous. But Elizabeth? She was a child, several years their junior, her own training was far behind their own. She was quick, yes, but Cutler was quicker. And James had seen the sadness in her father's eyes.
And so he had volunteered. His own father was proud of that, at least, even if Elizabeth didn't understand why her own adventure was being curtailed. James hoped her time would never come, but if it did, she would at least have more time to train and spend with her father.
He realises that the younger figure with Sir Pellew is probably the same age as Elizabeth. Moreover, he's been staring at them, unseeing, for several moments. He swallows another mouthful of water and glances away, at least before Sir Pellew notices the stare.
The two are dismissed a few minutes later, allowed to try their hands at the training facilities the Capitol provides. The cunning one makes a bee-line for Beckett, and James is grateful for that. He does not like the look in the young man's eye.
That leaves the other, who seems to be lost, or maybe dazed. James recalls that not every District likes to prepare its youths for the realities of the Games, and this may well be the first time the young man has seen a training room with its racks of blunted weapons, its climbing wall and rigging, all the tools a Tribute may need to hone their skills. Perhaps it's the size and number of the other Tributes that have stupefied him.
He should, he knows, confirm that the young man is as helpless as he looks. He doesn't like to, everyone should at least have some skill, some hope.
"I'm James." He says, as there seems no official protocol for meeting someone you will soon be expecting to kill. "How do you do?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-07-29 06:45 am (UTC)"Cutler! What have we said about your guard?"
"Not to let it down, Lady Barbara."
James pretends he doesn't see the glare Beckett sends his way, stretching his aching limbs before hanging the sword back up in its place.
"Remember that! Now, take five minutes."
The respite is a blessing James knows they will not have in the arena, and he intends to make the most of it. He moves to the side of the training room, picking up his water and taking several swallows as his eyes move across the rest of the Tributes. He knows them all by sight, but has barely exchanged more than a sentence with most of them.
It's easier not to get to know them, Lady Barbara had said. Not as people, just as opponents, with strengths and weaknesses. As people whom he must kill, or be killed by.
The two new figures, under Sir Pellew, catch his attention. One looks capable, cunning. The other... well, you could hardly get two tributes more different.
James knows that he and Beckett were well prepared for this before they arrived in the Capitol. They had grown up with blades in their hands, with spears and bows; taught from a young age the posture and movement of a fighter. Neither of them was particularly bulky, but that was more often a hindrance than a benefit in battles. They were quick, they had minds that worked tactically, the ethos of the Games had been impressed upon them. They were the prime example of the Tributes sent by their District.
Of course, James had not been drawn originally. It had been Cutler and Elizabeth. Cutler could hang, in James' opinion; a vile and cold creature, with no sense of honour and all too pompous. But Elizabeth? She was a child, several years their junior, her own training was far behind their own. She was quick, yes, but Cutler was quicker. And James had seen the sadness in her father's eyes.
And so he had volunteered. His own father was proud of that, at least, even if Elizabeth didn't understand why her own adventure was being curtailed. James hoped her time would never come, but if it did, she would at least have more time to train and spend with her father.
He realises that the younger figure with Sir Pellew is probably the same age as Elizabeth. Moreover, he's been staring at them, unseeing, for several moments. He swallows another mouthful of water and glances away, at least before Sir Pellew notices the stare.
The two are dismissed a few minutes later, allowed to try their hands at the training facilities the Capitol provides. The cunning one makes a bee-line for Beckett, and James is grateful for that. He does not like the look in the young man's eye.
That leaves the other, who seems to be lost, or maybe dazed. James recalls that not every District likes to prepare its youths for the realities of the Games, and this may well be the first time the young man has seen a training room with its racks of blunted weapons, its climbing wall and rigging, all the tools a Tribute may need to hone their skills. Perhaps it's the size and number of the other Tributes that have stupefied him.
He should, he knows, confirm that the young man is as helpless as he looks. He doesn't like to, everyone should at least have some skill, some hope.
"I'm James." He says, as there seems no official protocol for meeting someone you will soon be expecting to kill. "How do you do?"