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VOL. ONE; CH. FOURTEEN ༄ ————tennis match
The projector bulb is the only thing casting any light in Amell's dining room; all of the entryways are covered and lights turned off. The dining room itself is the room of choice as it doesn't have any windows and it has enough space for the three Creole children to spread out.
Standing behind the projector itself is Wolf, prepared to queue the next clip or stop the current one at a moment's notice. Amell is standing next to the projector's image, pointing out the stances and jabs of the tributes in the clip with the pen he's holding; unironically, a blue one. Cadman, Maddyn, and Elodie are dispersed around the table—each of them sitting differently.
"Stop, stop," Amell commands in a whisper, though he has no reason to be quiet. It's six o'clock on a Wednesday, you could hear the water traffic from the docks down the shoreline as fishing boats come in with their daily quotas. Wolf does stop the clip, which now appears to show a male tribute from district one wielding a spear mid lunge and a male tribute from district five wielding a long-sword attempting to block.
"Maddyn," Amell singles the girl out, pointing the pen he's holding at the boy from one, "what's wrong with his form?" A fourteen-year-old Maddyn leans forward in her chair—which she's sitting in backward and facing the video footage to her right—and crosses her arms over the chair's back. She tilts her head to the side from her place at one head of the table almost condescending, and her lips tilt up in a smirk.
"He isn't prepared to be on defense, he invested too much into the lunge. The tribute from five can just kerwhip-" Maddyn runs her thumb along the front of her throat, "-and he's in the final two." Wolf let's put a chuckle at the gesture, but only Elodie seems to catch it.
Amell sighs and does something between a nod and a shrug, he's about to comment when a grunt comes from opposite the table from Maddyn. The girl whips her head to her left in time to see Cadman, sixteen, finish rolling his eyes. Cadman's chair is set up at the opposite table head. He's leaned forward as well, his legs crossed at the ankles and his weight is on his forearms which rest on the table in front of him.
"What, Cadman?" Maddyn says her brother's name as if that in itself is an insult, and in this situation it probably is.
"Well since you asked," Cadman clasps his hands together, "you're wrong."
"Really?" Maddyn narrows her eyes, causing Cadman's smirk to grow. "Okay then, dipshit. What's really wrong with that lunge?"
"He didn't go for any of the major arteries. If he makes contact he'll hit the tribute from five's hip at best." Cadman looks pretty proud of himself, and Amell looks ready to now respond to both observations when Maddyn scoffs.
