#a.2

It took her a minute and a half to realize that the arena truly was hers. Perhaps it was the glimpse she caught of Lola killing her district partner, perhaps it was the adrenaline kicking in and pushing her to a greatness she knew she already deserved, but there she was, walking with such confidence that it could make the floor split in two if that wasn’t the floor she was going to own so soon. All she needed to do was a little bit of cleaning up in the room. She walked to the core of the Cornucopia, where knives were waiting for her and took one out of its metallic case with a sharp noise that worked as a promise for what she was going to turn the arena into.

Regan didn’t count canons. She didn’t care how many more there were until she won and she was ready to kill ten, twenty or thirty if they thought to bring a few more tributes to the party. If the number was even or odd, it was all the same to her. A winner is a winner no matter how many stood behind him, losers by default. She eyed her district partner with cruel happiness, for once able to say that she was glad to see him, after he spent whole weeks ignoring how brightly she was shining. She was, without a question, used to attention, and the few people back in District Eight who couldn't offer her the one thing she wanted, at the end of the day, used to be insignificant, until one decided to join her on the journey of her life. Disgusted and outraged at the same time, she yelled his name, pitched voice turning it into a war scream. "Barrett! Barrett!" She seemed almost desperate, not wanting to admit that it did frighten her, the thought of fighting somebody who was her equal, or even better trained in the matter - her own teachers and trainers took care of him too, and for a longer amount of time.

Barrett looked with his impossible to crack indifference at her, though his curiosity was piqued seeing his district partner. Everybody knew about her pink alliance and it was the Capitol's favorite thing about the Games, so it was no secret that Regan wasn't going to ally with him. He had a spear ready, just in case, but he didn't attack straightaway, believing in honor enough not to want to kill somebody who had been born in One as well. After all, support and appreciation from the people watching from back home did not come from stabbing your district partner in the back. Regan begged to differ, except she didn't usually beg to begin with. Yet, hesitation stood by her side too, watching him oscillate between sticking his weapon in her pretty forehead or waiting for her to speak, to say something, to define a relationship after so much ignoring. So the blonde didn't wait. She had nothing to tell him, still sour about how he didn't even look twice her way their whole trip, not even during the Chariots where they were to be seen together. Who was he, and why was he trying his hardest to give her the cold shoulder? She didn't need him. His existence was unnecessary to her. So, without getting closer, because his weapon was much better at gouging out eyeballs than hers, and she feared scars more than she feared death, Regan tossed her knife, her only shot at being the sole person the people from District One could support.

The knife butterflied his chest, right in the middle, although he did see it coming enough to attempt to dodge it - so it went for the area in between his lungs, rather than the heart, as Regan chose while being melodramatic. It was not the mortal one shot she was looking for, but it did bring the boy enough pain not to be able to scream about it. Good. He wasn't looking forward to talk to her anyway, and that was merely a subjective karma she thought she was right to deliver. Regan didn't have any weapons while he had two, out of which one was part of his trachea. Surely it wasn't the best position to find herself in, but she was too stupidly confident to be taken too aback by the change of odds. He, of course, albeit stabbed, did not hesitate to wound her right back, the long weapon going for her throat as he did get closer to her. Yet, Regan was better at dodging the long, sharp weapons than she was at wielding them, managing to go around every one of his attacks, and getting closer instead of running away. Moving so close that stabbing her would have probably led to getting himself stabbed with the same weapon.

In a matter of seconds, Regan grabbed the handle of her old knife, stuck in him and forcing blood out, although not lethal because of a half missed hit. She twisted it inside him and then got it out, causing the blood to rush outside and him to cough some too, on her face. Disgusted, but more focused on the combat, she was truly fascinated by how different and how similar using knives to hole human bodies was from the old dummies she knew too well. Blooded, but luckily not injured, Regan used the lack of distance between them to her advantage, stabbing him this time in his throat, which surely made more damage than her first move. That was when her lance finally got to her, scratching her arm in a long, but thin cut she gasped at but chose to ignore, as she pushed her dagger in the boy's faringe.

"At least now I won't be so offended you refuse to talk to me," she explained, actually annoyed at the boy for daring to touch her with the weapon. She pushed him, already weak and losing his balance in an attempt to stabilize and hold the deep cut that most likely meant the end of the arena time for him, and he fell, choking on his own blood with his eyes widened and lost. Good. Regan simpered, satisfied with the outcome. Yet, she was refusing to let him die on his own pace, thinking to speed up things by grabbing the spear he so loosely was holding and stabbing him with it. It was easy to handle such a tall weapon when the target was barely moving. And it was even easier, and way more pleasant to walk away from a victim to the hear of a glorious canon that described Regan's victory. Pumped up and finally touching her wound, the blonde got slightly panicked. It didn't seem in any way more than a scratch, but she couldn't afford scratches if she wanted to come out of the arena as beautiful as she entered it. Running into the depth of the supplies in the Cornucopia, where people weren't fighting, she grabbed the skin disinfection solution labeled as iodopovidone and washed her arm with it, slightly offended that her suit got ruined, even slightly. Then, she bandaged the area and, on her way out to another fight, hopefully, she grabbed a new knife.

This makes me happy :3