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Post by Jules on Mar 25, 2009 23:01:48 GMT -5
Fitz threw her fist into his jaw. She would've climbed out but to be honest it felt really good to hit something and although it wasn't right and maybe Djali didn't deserve it, she felt her other hand come up almost with a mind of his own and hit him in the other side of the face. And before she knew it, she was pummeling him, and for some odd reason, crying.
"I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"
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Post by Miss Jack on Mar 25, 2009 23:27:42 GMT -5
The first hit hurt. Mostly it was the unexpectedness of it, but Fitz was no paperweight either. The second one was less damaging because his jaw was already flexed in anticipation. He didn't believe it was only him she hated, but he also didn't want to be her convenient scape goat.
Instead of attempting to catch her flailing fists, he rolled over (she was light enough, it wasn't hard), and stood up, stepping away from her. He ran a hand over his mouth, working his jaw to make sure she hadn't broken anything. Djali was no fighter.
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Post by Jules on Mar 25, 2009 23:34:37 GMT -5
Fitz didn't come after him. She stayed on the floor, hands hurting. She was no fighter either. Struggling to gain control of herself, she stood up and moved into a corner of the elevator. She didn't know what floor to press, or what to say, so she simply faced the wall, arms crossed. But the elevator started moving of it's own accord. Someone else must have pressed a button some where below them.
Fitz remained silent, and when the doors pinged open to reveal a frustrated looking Katniss and a worried Petra, Fitz finally didn't storm away. "Where am I sleeping?" She demanded, instead.
"On this floor, just around the corner, your name should be on the door." And she attempted to stalk off, but Petra caught her arm forcibly and hauled her back into the elevator.
"Not this time, we need to talk."
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Post by Miss Jack on Mar 26, 2009 16:36:55 GMT -5
Usually, Djali tended to agree with Petra, and didn't mind taking his side over the apparently hot-headed girls. This time, though, the last thing he wanted to do was talk. This was hardly the enjoyable last days before the game, meant to be cushioning and fattening. So, he crossed his arms and waited for the talking. He definitely wasn't going to encourage it.
He didn't look at Fitz, not intending to say anything about what she'd been doing on the roof, or how she'd attempted to pound him into mush.
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Post by Jules on Mar 27, 2009 18:21:26 GMT -5
Petra pressed the close door button behind him and crossed his arms. "You cannot give up this easy either of you. I don't want to hear any excuses. This is a gruesome game but it's even worse if you don't play it and if you can't find the motivation just try to think of the brutal death you're avoiding. No one's nice in the arena. Get over yourself Fitz, sure it's unlikely that you win, but it's not impossible if you stop being such a baby."
Fitz was so taken aback, she remained silent for once. Petra looked at both of them, trying to bore in his points before exiting the elevator with anger in his stalk.
"Well then."
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Post by Miss Jack on Apr 1, 2009 22:09:19 GMT -5
Djali lifted a brow, opting for silence. Given the look in Petra's eyes, it was probably the safest option.
The elevator doors closed and hovered, waiting for a button to be pushed. Djali pressed the open-door button, giving Fitz a quick glance. Maybe she would buck up and actually listen to Petra. Maybe not.
His jaw still throbbed a little.
He decided he didn't care what she did anymore.
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Post by Jules on Apr 1, 2009 22:26:33 GMT -5
Fitz stood still, rigid even, fighting with herself. No one had ever talked to her like that before, gotten mad at her for being who she was like that, or made her reevaluate the way she was acting. It was a slap in the face she had not been expecting and even after Petra was long out of sight, it still smarted.
Speaking of which. She jolted out of her internal conflict to reach out and grab Djali's shoulder, to keep him from running out before she could say what she had to. And if she didn't have to, she wouldn't be saying it at all.
"I'm sorry about hitting you...about everything. I can't deal with this. I don't know how." Her voiced was choppy and awkward like each word was too big for her mouth and so she had to push it out.
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Post by Miss Jack on Apr 1, 2009 23:08:17 GMT -5
He stiffened as she grabbed hold of his shoulder. His lips pressed into a hard line. I don't need this, he thought. It was stupid to get involved in the first place. But despite himself, the hard lines of his face smoothed out and his eyes softened.
"It's okay." With gentle fingers, he took her hand off his shoulder and touched her arm. "Don't sell yourself short. You could come out of this."
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Post by Jules on Apr 1, 2009 23:18:21 GMT -5
Fitz had to nearly bite her tongue off not to spit out a sarcastic 'Ya, right' as was almost second nature for her. She was quite for a long moment as she tried to hold it in, and finally she was able to swallow the bitter and nod. "Maybe." She still sounded less than hopeful, but it was a start.
"But you shouldn't either. I'll try hard if you do and we'll deal with the killing each other part when we get to it." She stuck out her hand and gave a smile that was not of hard, mocking kind. It did a lot to soften her own features and bring out what might have been attractive in her had she not led such a hard life with a miserable attitude.
"I wonder if they'll have insulin available while I'm here..." She said, mostly to herself.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 4, 2009 22:54:53 GMT -5
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "They probably do. The idea is to fatten you up before the slaughter-- they'd have everything needed to take care of you."
The elevator doors bobbed, continuously trying to close and then bumping into Djali's shoulder and opening again.
"I'm tired," he said after a moment. "I'll see you around." And with that, he put his hands in his pockets and walked off toward his room.
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Post by Jules on May 4, 2009 23:43:24 GMT -5
The next morning, a stoney-faced Essie was on the the other side of her door, knocking loudly. This was after Fitz had taken an hour-long shower and came out pruney to order herself a breakfast and find insulin laid out in a cute little pouch. She took her blood sugar levels and injected a needle into her stomach, something she was so used to it barely even twinged anymore. When she answered the door she was wrapped in a towel, although it was hardly provocative, since she had big fluffy slippers on and a towel wrapped around her head.
Her usual sour puss expression didn't help, either, especially when she opened her door and saw Effie Trinket looking almost as displeased, standing there.
"It's time they fixed you up." She muttered, not bothering to let Fitz get dressed before clutching the girl's wrist harshly and yanking her with her. If only Fitz knew it would be the least of the indignities she would be forced to suffer through. Apparently her interview was fast approaching and she needed to be somewhat prepare, although as Effie spoke, it really didn't seem like the woman had much hope. Fitz couldn't really blame her.
The stylist was nice enough but she still screamed and hissed and scratched so much they had to sedate her while they plucked and washed and waxed and cut and shaped every inch of her. They relaxed her curls, slathered make up on her face, dressed her nicely and it all drifted by in a haze because the only way Fitz let any of it happen was because she was drugged.
Although when they were done with her and she was aware enough to realize the girl in the mirror was her, even she had to admit they'd done good work. She was not even close to being beautiful, she was Fitz, she couldn't be pretty, but the theme they had come up with this year was pretty amazing too.
It wasn't the skanky miner's-wear that had been overkilled, for which she was thankful, nor was it the spectacular flames of the previous year. Her costume had taken a long time to put on, and when she'd seen the color, she'd been afraid it would be way too gaudy, but the man was a genius. She was done up like a canary, the one's they often carried into the mines to ensure the safety of the workers. She was wearing a bright yellow dress that fit snugly. The train that started at the small of her back was supported with wires and was coated obssesively with varying shades of yellow feathers.
Strictly, she looked more like some kind of phoenix, but Canary was the official story. The costume and makeup caused her to practically glow, and if Katniss had been the Girl on Fire, Fitz was the girl who had lit said fire. When she was finally done, and finally sober, she was ushered out. Being from District 12, they would be the last, so she wasn't so worried that Djali wasn't at her side yet. Although she was more curious then she'd admit to see how he had turned out.
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Post by Miss Jack on May 31, 2009 19:15:45 GMT -5
Djali stood, very self-conscious, as the stylist looked over his naked body. But he seemed to be the only one perturbed. The stylist, and the handful of women helping him, were unimpressed by his nudity.
"You're skinny, of course," the stylist said. "But then they all are from the higher Districts."
One of the women grabbed his chin, turning it side to side. "What will we do about his face? It's so... harsh." She squinted. "Try and smile for me."
Djali tried.
She winced and sighed. "Well, maybe if we had more time to practice..."
"It's fine. We'll work with his angles... What are they doing for the girl, does anybody know?"
Djali stood as still as he could as tape measures were looped around every possible place on his body. Lotions and exfoliants came next. Piece by piece, he began to be clothed again. Several times, the stylist muttered in frustration, cursing everything, mostly Djali's lack of attraction, probably.
At last, the team stepped back, and a unanimous sigh relaxed their shoulders.
"Well," the stylist announced, "If you're not beautiful, you are at least scary as hell."
Djali turned to the mirror and looked. A tight gasp escaped before he could stop himself. He did look scary as hell. They had taken his rather severe features and magnified them. He was dressed in an array of black and silver and smudged coal. He looked... taller, and very in control of himself (which he wasn't). Sharp black paint came from his temples to mid-cheek, and more was on his eyes. God, he looked... mean; he looked dangerous.
"If anybody asks," the stylist continued, "You're the dead tree the canary lives in."
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Djali entered where they told him to, but paused in confusion. They said, 'Go stand by Fitz', but... Fitz wasn't anywhere. It wasn't until the girl in yellow turned slightly, and he got a good look at her face, that he recognized her.
He took his place by her side and tilted his head to more fully appraise her outfit. "You look... nice."
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