The air at any given time was wrought with a peculiar tension that most tributes couldn't shake. In just two days they would be experiencing every teenager's greatest fear, broadcast live to instill and perpetuate that fear. For most, it was punishment, but for Nike it was her reward. Handed a knife right out of the womb, the chance to participate in the Hunger Games, and not just sit and critique tributes' shortcomings, was accepted readily.
Nike never let anyone forget that.
Wes and Glitter, noble and proud District 1 tributes, often kept to themselves their focus poignant. Similar to her, they were counting down the hours remaining until the gates were opened to release them. She hardly ever spotted the District 6 team, but she assumed, well, hoped really, that they were spending their time getting stronger. As for Fen, communication was strained. It didn't phase Nike in the slightest; she wasn't going to share her glory with the mop-headed man. A partner in this scenario would only serve as a hindrance.
That said, Nike strut about their pen like she owned the damn place. Humming quietly under her breath, it was frightening how unfazed the thirteen year old female was. On the first day, this fooled most to thinking she was some sort of approachable character. Upon speaking, this facade was shattered. She was always guaranteed to spit out something condescending, rude, or down-right nasty, all laced with an pronounced innocence that had everyone buzzing. Just what was going on in that girl's head?
It was towards the later half of the evening, she had completed her training for the day, refueled, and even bathed to relax her sore muscles. She was yearning for a massage of some sort, she thought to herself as she rubbed her still sore legs. The training facility was at an adequate level of difficulty that pushed her well beyond the limits of her girlish physique. Sitting before a large, floor-to-ceiling mirror in the main lobby, she stared at her legs with what appeared to be irritation.
``Dammit," she cursed quietly. Even Nike, an effective fountain of brazen confidence, had her moments of doubt. Why hadn't she been born like Glitter or those muscular eighteen year old boys she had seen in past years? They had so much potential with their larger frames. They had so much more latent strength that they had access to with the proper training. Then there was Nike, a girl who had just started to shed former child-like features as her body began to transform. Such an awkward period, she was terribly envious of the other, older female tributes.
Absolute wastes, she thought bitterly.
She sighed, an attempt to flush out these negative feelings. She started running her fingers through her hair, nails gliding over her scalp gently. The feeling was nostalgic, comforting. Before volunteering, Bia, arguably the monster's only true friend, used to do this to her. Every pass through her hair made her feel a bit more calm as she allowed herself to lose her focus from the game and focus on the fond memories of the past.
As there weren't many, this didn't require much thought whatsoever.
``Mmm... Can I help you, maggot?" With eyes closed at this point, it was Nike's sixth sense that informed her that someone had entered the space quietly. Where they trying to avoid a confrontation with the little terror before the mirror? With keen senses and the aforementioned sixth sense, trying to avoid Nike was like trying not to step on a crack in a dilapidated sidewalk.
