Thin Flesh (Haymitch Abernathy X OC)

Training Score

🎶Simmer by Hayley Williams🎶

"How to draw the line between wrath and mercy?"

Today was a very important day. It was the day that we got ranked. Haymitch brought us to the training facility and after we had gotten our training attire on, he gripped my hand tightly, giving a gentle kiss to my knuckles before pleading with his eyes, and words, to, "knock them dead."

The line ahead of us was long. We were each called in one by one. I noticed Vaylor come out looking as bright as ever. Happy with his performance. After him came out Asy. She looked smug. Indicative that she had also felt good about how she performed.

The line grew nearer and nearer to Patrix and I, Patrix squeezing my hand tightly.

"Show them how incredibly smart you are. Or how fast you can run. You've been practicing for days. You've got this, okay?" I ask, kneeling down beside him and squeezing him tightly.

He nods into my shoulder, shaking a bit, and that's when his name gets called.

"Good luck. I'll be right here when you get back." I smile softly to him.

"Thank you, Tilula." Patrix says quietly before reluctantly making his way to the observing room.

Within about 10 minutes, Patrix comes out with his head low, waiting precisely for a moment away from the capitol so he can let a tear slip.

He shook his head and glanced up at me.

"I screwed up." He choked.

"Hey, no, Patrix. I'm sure you did great. Alright? Don't let-"

"Tilula Ovum, district 12."

"I'll see you back at the penthouse, okay?" I smile faintly.

I take in a deep breath before making my way into the observing room myself.

The capitol citizens were chatting amongst themselves. Game makers, apprentices and spectators alike, hardly caring to evaluate me.

I ignore this slightly and go toward the weapons, grabbing my trusted pickax.

With both hands, I bring it behind my head, gripping carefully onto its handle. Just as I am glancing over to see that they still were paying me no mind. All except one. A young man, probably close to my age, with intricately shaped yet faint stubble gripping his chin. He was very well groomed.

I blink slowly and look back over to the target in front of me, and with some focused breathing and a good stance, I throw the pickax through the air. It hurls straight forward, it's aim immaculate as it lands directly in the center, stabbing the bullseye.

I bite my lip to try and hide some of my smile, but as I look toward the crowd once more, no one was watching. No one even cared to peer in my direction. No one except for the well groomed capitol boy. He gave me a weak smile but... that was it. Was he their eyes or something?

Were they serious? How did they expect to evaluate me?

I clear my throat with a tiny bit of force, but not too much so to not offend. Still, nothing.