Author Games: Trial By Fire

Becoming a Winner - Circe Landers#66th

"This is my favourite moment, that moment a tribute... becomes a Victor," ~ Ceaser Flickerman.

Name: Circe Landers

Age: 21

Personality: Circe is quiet and reserved, not wanting to talk to anyone, and often lost in her thoughts and memories of her games. Before them, she was a sweet girl, small and charming, but the games have twisted her, changed her, like so many others. She is silent, and has almost no recognition of emotions on her face when being talked to. She only speaks when absolutely necessary, and even then few words. Her presence tends to make others uncomfortable due to this fact, as well as her being a victor. If she would open up a bit more, she would still give off a vibe that made you want to trust her, but that's far overshadowed now. People think she may be slightly insane or so far back in her memories there's no hope of talking to her in the present, but she is ever alert, taking things in with a watchful eye.

District: 6

Physical Description: Quite short, with a slight build and rounded features. Her hair is a dark brown, which has grown to her waist, with noticeable split ends, as she has not bothered to cut it in a long time. It usually hangs over her face, obscuring her features from view. Her eyes are large, and a dull brownish-green. They used to be bright, but the lively spark is gone now. Her skin is fair, and now pale as she doesn't leave her house in the Victors Village enough to get sunlight.

Celebrity Look-a-like: Kittrell Caroline

Games that they won: 66th

Weapon of choice AND skills: A small knife is her weapon of preference, as well as an element of surprise and sneakiness. In her own games, she used other's trust against them, and avoided actual enemies like the plague. She has an element that makes you want to trust her, a certain charm and innocence that she uses as well. Although in these games, it will be a lot harder to gain the trust of fellow tributes.

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Circe of District Five - UsernameNotFound

I jolt from sleep, woken by a loud cannon blast. Beside me, Birch wakes more slowly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Another one gone,” he says, “How many left, do you think?”

 He hasn’t asked me for a while, but I know. “Five, I think,”

 Not yet, just a minute...

 “Oh,” the sadness in Birch’s voice is evident, and I feel a bit sad myself, “I guess we should part ways then.” I nod. Out of Birch’s view, I stretch out my hand, fingers closing around the hilt of my knife. The metal is cool against my skin as I bring it behind my back. Birch stands up, and I glance at him.

 Goodbye Birch...

 I stand too. Before I strike, another cannon shot rings out. His head snaps up, and he opens his mouth to say something. I choose this moment to act. I swing my knife, jumping at him and driving it into his neck. It feels like a stab in my own gut, but a stab of guilt. I try to shove it away, but Birch’s choking and strangled sobs are enough crush my mind.

 When the cannon sounds for Birch, I stand up dead. We were almost friends... Almost. Friendship is not a word these games know.

 Lost in thoughts and memories, I barely register another cannon. Two left. One more murder to go home. I walk, my mind on putting one foot in front of the other.

 I keep walking until nightfall, because if I stop now, guilt will overcome me, and I have to deal with that later. It can’t get in the way now.

 The arena is alight with moonlight, making everything shimmer. A twig snaps behind me, and I whirl around, knife in hand. The tribute knows I’ve spotted him; he’s hard to miss with all his bulk. He steps out from behind a tree holding a sword.

 “May as well kill yourself now, it’ll save you a lot of pain.” He drawls. His arrogance is insulting; as though it’s sheer luck I made it this far. He raises his sword with a challenging smirk, and it infuriates me.

 I channel all the guilt I felt with Birch’s death into anger, gripping my knife. What right does he have to say I’m weak?

I can feel the adrenalin coursing through my veins, and with a violent yell, I take off at a run towards him— Then turn swiftly to the side as his sword swings through empty air. It buries itself in the ground, and he tugs on it a few times to pry it loose. But by that time, I’m already behind him, driving my knife wherever I can reach. He straightens up, ripping the knife from my hands, blade lodged to the hilt in his back.  He coughs blood as I back away. He falls.

 Cannon. It echoes loudly, loud enough to drown out my words.

 “I’m sorry, Birch.” I say. The games have been played.

 I won.