thecapitol | Stretching Those Post-Arena Muscles

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Stretching Those Post-Arena Muscles

WHO| Neeshka and Draco
WHAT| Exercise is important
WHEN| Day 9 or 10 of the arena, afternoon
WHERE| The training room
WARNING/NOTES| Kickboxing and arrogant snark

The novelty of television had worn off quickly, particularly since they all only seemed to be showing one thing: the arena Neeshka had spent a week inside, and found she really didn't want to look at ever again. There weren't any parties during the day, and it turned out Tributes didn't get money, so she couldn't go shopping.

She could go stealing, of course, but she wasn't quite comfortable enough with the level and ability of local security yet to be sure of eluding them. She'd get there, she just wasn't there yet.

For now, though, she was working off the overindulgence from her first big party since she'd been resurrected. There'd been so much food! Her street-rat self had been overcome with the kind of greed that wasn't necessarily a good thing, and she had sure eaten more than she should have. And with another arena coming up before too long, and the potential for picking pockets, she did at least want to stay in shape. So here she was, in the training room, attacking a sandbag dummy with feet, fists, and occasionally tail.

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Grey eyes snapped over to her, dark and glaring already; he didn't look like he was taking that statement all that well. "I don't think that's any of your business. I'm perfectly capable of punching a bag," Draco replied, haughty and defensive. His body language suggested he might have believed her on some level, but didn't want to acknowledge it. Not when it was so obvious.

He turned back away from her, huffing under his breath before delivering another swift attempt at a blow. That still didn't go very well, though he managed to suppress his pained cry.

It still looked like it hurt, and it was still definitely the wrong way to punch. Neeshka was pretty used to getting nasty comments of a superior nature, though generally they come with blatant insults attached, so she just sniffed at him, tail giving a sharp little twitch, before turning back to her own punching bag. "Suit yourself," she said loftily, her own self. It's more dismissive than his tone, though, and less defensive. "But it looks like you're just going to get yourself hurt, if you keep doing it that way. I guess that'll make you easier to get rid of next time around."

He pursed his lips, staring at her back as she turned back, first glaring then taking in the fact that she had a tail, of all things.

"What the hell are you?" Draco asked, the question incredulous and demanding as he gaped, leaving the punching bag utterly ignored at that point. Though he had little to not intention of getting taken out as quickly as he did last time, and particularly not as unfortunately. It had been painful, to say the least.

That actually wasn't a reaction Neeshka was so used to, though it was increasingly common around here. Back home, everyone knew what the horns and tail meant. She looked sidelong at him, tail flicking like a cat's and her ears skewed a little, as much as they could with their limited motion, while she steadied the sandbag.

"I'm a tiefling," she answered. "You know." She made a claw with one hand and pretended to swipe. "Part demon?"

"Part what now?" He demanded, leaning now against the sandbag before he realised it moved, and stumbled a bit. Recovering as though nothing had happened, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. Neither of those things were things they'd had back home; certainly, he'd have recognised if she were Veela, or pixie, or something along those lines. But not this 'tiefling' thing.

Neeshka stared at him skeptically. "Demon. Deeeemoooon. Don't tell me you've never heard of demons." Whether or not he thought they actually existed was one thing; but to never have even heard of them? Even the weirdo people here had at least heard of demons. Their mythos about them was kind of weird, but they at least knew the word and that it had something to do with evil incarnate.

He rolled his eyes hard, sneering at her, "Obviously not. And I'm not stupid; you don't have to repeat it three times. I think it's been made painfully obvious that we don't have your lot where I come from. Thank Merlin." He didn't even make an attempt to hide his disdain for her or that tail, no matter how much better she might be at fighting than him.

"Whatever." Rolling her eyes, Neeshka turned back fully to her sandbag. That was familiar again. Nobody liked "her lot". Back on stable ground, at least somewhat, she muttered, "Jerk," and backed up a step to give herself room. Then she graced the sandbag dummy with a quick side-kick, sending it rocking on its tethers. Her tail spun rather nicely with the movement, and followed up the kick with a slap which, while it didn't actually move the dummy further, still made a loud smacking sound which probably would have hurt if it'd been a person.

See? Tails are useful things, mister snooty-pants.

Tails are fucking weird, miss demon.

Draco's eyes remained on her, narrowed warily as he watched the combination of blows that would have probably snapped him in half if he had been on the receiving end of it. Not exactly something he wanted to deal with, either here or there or anywhere. He just wanted to be back in his snug bed back home, with his wand and his magic actually working.

"You know, if you're trying to show me how to punch properly, you're doing a terrible job of it," he huffed finally.

"You made it preeeeetty clear you weren't interested in me showing you anything," Neeshka said without looking at him, her tone obviously attempting to sound bored, but some of her annoyance with him was seeping through. He really was a jerk. As if he thought, after telling her "no" and being insulting, she was going to keep trying to help him? As if!

"So I," she finished loftily, "am just practicing."

"Of course you are. Not showing off in the slightest," he replied sarcastically, regarding his bruised knuckles for a moment before giving them a thoughtful rub. He wasn't going to delude himself that he'd be able to deliver a kick any better than he could a punch, and a kick would probably break his ankle. Just what he needed. "At least practice something interesting, will you?"

"I'm not here for your entertainment, mister," Neeshka told him, shooting him a glare and giving up on trying to sound bored. Really, if he wasn't going to be nice, she was tempted to do something rash. "I was here first. If you want to be entertained, go somewhere else. I'm trying to work."

If only he wasn't a Tribute. She knew perfectly well that none of them had anything worth stealing. She would love to slip something out of his pocket and keep it. And probably flush it down the latrine in her rooms, for that matter.

"Thank Merlin for small blessings. If you were, I'd have been bored to death ages ago."

He snorted, a most undignified sort of sound, particularly coming from someone as well-kept as himself. At least that kind of death would have been preferable to how he actually died. At any rate, scrutinising grey eyes were back on her, the sneer still tugging at his lip; it wasn't exactly the best look, but it was certainly how he felt, and it managed to keep people at bay well enough. "Obviously you need the work; you're here too, and I know I saw you in the Arena that last go around," he stated dryly, giving her a once-over of complete disdain.

Well, it didn't keep Neeshka at bay. Apparently reminders of the arena stung a little more than she'd thought-- or at least, insults based on it-- because before she'd even thought about it, Neeshka had shoved the sandbag dummy out of the way-- it swung back behind her-- and stalked over to him. "I've faced undead monsters, cultists, giants, and dragons," she told him, holding up her hand to shake a finger at him. Yes, literally shake a finger. "So don't you go telling me that I need the work! I lasted longer than you did!"

And it had been humiliating to go down because of a broken spear and a rock from a girl not any bigger or stronger or even faster than she was. Maybe that was why she was so angry, now.

Draco just met her finger-wagging with a dry stare. There was nothing quite like being six feet tall - it meant he could loom over virtually everyone without much trouble at all.

"Well, aren't you special," he drawled, smirking a little. "But really, you make it sound like I was fighting back. You were fighting back, and you still didn't stand a chance." He certainly wasn't helping himself, but at least he could acknowledge that he wasn't much of a fighter. That was why he was down there to begin with. But really, he had seen that fight - it had been broadcast everywhere, thanks to that brunette's notoriety.

"Oooooh you are a rude, arrogant little troll! I could kick you all the way to the afterworld, if I wanted to." It was tempting to hit him. It really was. Neeshka was a better fighter, obviously, and he could barely defend himself. She wasn't really any good at insults, no matter how clever she was about other things, and he was being awfully annoying.

But then she grinned-- knowing, superior. "And I bet you know it, don't you? You don't stand a chance against me."

He was still absolutely unfazed. He either didn't think much of her, or he just hid his fear very, very well. Draco merely blinked down at her, lifting his brows sceptically, "Is that a threat? You have met the others from my District, correct? I really wouldn't do that, if I were you."

Neeshka laughed. "You really think they'll care enough to come try and catch me, just because I beat you up a little?" she asked incredulously. "Other Tributes from your district aren't your friends, kiddo. They'll try to kill you as much as anybody else. We're not teams or anything, we just happen to have the same number attached to us. I mean, do you really think they actually like you?"

"I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand," he drawled, a smug smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he stared down his nose at her. "Someone like you, who couldn't ever hope to have friends who gave a damn."

It was funny how she actually expected to survive going anything like this alone. Draco might not have many friends to boast of, but the few he had were damned loyal, as far as he was concerned. He could count numerous occasions when Crabbe and Goyle had done exactly what he had needed without so much as asking a question. Doubtless he'd be able to find someone like that around here.

That did it. Neeshka half-turned, on instinct, and gave him a vicious slap across the cheek-- with the spade of her tail. "I have friends!" she hissed at him, actually, really angry now. And hurt. That one really was a sore spot, because for years, for most of her life, she didn't have friends. Stumbling in with Kehlgar and the rest had been the best year of her life, despite the monster-fighting and being under the eye of the Watch all the time.

The problem was, they were all back home, while she was stuck here. She stomped her foot, probably looking ridiculous, and finished with a growled, "They're just not here."

He remained stoic and unimpressed until clipped across the face. It wasn't exactly something he'd seen coming, and it threw him violently off-balance, forcing him to stumble backwards. One hand flew to his pocket before he realised that his wand was upstairs, and he cursed under his breath; realigning himself into some kind of decent fighting stance, despite the fact that he had no intention of fighting her.

"So you plan on what? Taking it out on everyone else around you? Brilliant idea; that'll make everyone love you," Draco spat, sneering more than before, lashing out verbally to make up for what he couldn't do physically. If this kept up, he was going to get his arse kicked into next week.

And besides all that, he could feel the side of his face that she had hit swelling up, probably in shades of purple.

"That is the whole point of this thing," Neeshka grumbled, eying his stance and resisting the urge to correct it. He didn't deserve it. Besides, if she kept talking, she might just cry, and then where would she be? She just stepped back and turned back to the dummy, not wanting to continue this conversation and risk embarrassing herself.

"Go find someone else to be a jackass to, mister. You've done a fine job already, here."

"That would involve leaving and finding someone else. And you're right here," he drawled, voice leaning on the condescending and simpering. He was absolutely not the nicest person in the world, and only itched to prove it, to prove to them that he was worthy of at least a little bit of fear out in the Arena. Even if it was a lie - both to them and himself - concocted in order to make him feel better about himself.

As if Neeshka was going to be afraid of anybody like him! Ha! Even if she did kind of still feel like bawling. Jerk. Jerk jerk Mask-bloodied jerk. She stuck her nose in the air and set about practicing again. A little more viciously than she had before, but she was pretending he wasn't there, so he couldn't see it. Even better, she was pretending she was kicking and tail-smacking and sucker-punching him.

"Oh, and now you're just not going to talk?"

Draco rolled his eyes again, sneering at her back. "Very mature of you. Well done. Well, here's hoping it actually helps," he amended, briefly peering around her to see how she was hitting the bag. Thankfully, he learned well no matter how the information was presented - he wasn't nearly top of his classes for nothing - and he quickly adopted a slightly better stance in front of his own bag, delivering a blow to it that actually didn't hurt. Admittedly, the bag didn't do much, but his knuckles weren't screaming at him to stop this time around. He preened briefly.

"Like you're being any more mature by talking?" Neeshka sniffed, despite herself, before biting down on her lip to keep from talking anymore. She turned away from the bag to try and find somewhere else to work.

Aha. Knives. Much better. She turned her back on Draco and stalked over to investigate the throwing knives. Never too late to brush up on one's aim, right? And it put her a good thirty feet away from him. The jerk.

"Brilliant comeback," he drawled, keeping his eyes locked pointedly on her back. No way was he letting her out of his sight, not with all of the potential weaponry around them, just waiting to be used. Draco wouldn't exactly put it past her to just stab him in the back.

"Is there proper form for that too?" He called over to her, still residing casually at his punching bag.

What a smart fellow he was. Best not to let her out of his sight, anyway, even if she wasn't planning on doing and stabbing just yet. She did glower, though, and started sorting through knives. She was done offering help to him, of any kind, even accidental.

Well, she couldn't do much about accidental help, but still.

"Oh, no," she said instead, somewhere between airy and sarcastic. "This kind of thing you don't need it. After all, you're not going to be hitting anything, so you won't hurt your hands."

"Are you always this much of a bitch?" Draco asked plainly, knowing full well that it was probably his fault. And not much caring. What should he care if he hurt some girl's feelings? "Really, it's no wonder you don't have any friends," he went on, rolling his eyes.

Her temper getting the better of her again, Neeshka hurled the dagger at-- not Draco, at least, though it was close-- the sandbag dummy behind him. Unlike her testing throw, this time she actually hit it. It wasn't a killing shot, but it did make a satisfying thud into it.

"I have friends! I told you that! You just shut up about them, they're all worth ten of you! Well, except maybe Elanee and Qara. But the rest!" Even Casavir, when he wasn't making her teeth itch, was at least kind of decent.

He did his best not to flinch when he realised that knife was flying straight at him; it was basically all he could do to not move, though he knew one of his hands, tucked into his pocket thankfully, was trembling like a leaf. It hid the dummy with a soft sound that only just made Draco feel slightly better: either she hadn't been aiming for him, or she had been and her aim was just rubbish. He wasn't sure what was better.

"Well, aren't we a little defensive? All right, say I believe that you have friends. You certainly won't if you act like that all the time," Draco drawled, pleased when he noted that his voice didn't hold any of the nervous waver that his hand did.

"My friends aren't arrogant little snipes like you," Neeshka growled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. She wasn't throwing herself after the knife. That was restraint, right there. "They're actually nice to me, so it's really easy to be nice to them. I'm wondering just how you manage to have any friends, if the first time someone offers to help you out you start insulting them and being a little brat!"

"I don't need your help!" He replied, voice hitching into the hysterical, and that right there seemed to be the problem in and of itself. Doubtless there hadn't been a way to win in the first place, but the fact that she had offered to help him like that didn't rank her very highly in his books. Perhaps higher than the people who ignored him to begin with, but he still had too much pride to accept even that.

"Oh right, sure you don't." Neeshka rolled her eyes. "If you didn't need my help, you could have just said so, you know, politely instead of being a jerk about it. I was just trying to be nice, you know! But if you don't like people being nice to you, then hey, whatever. That's your fault, not mine."

She unfolded her arms and started for the door. She was so done with this. She could do some stretches and acrobatics in her room, and come back to practice later. When the jerk was gone.

Draco levelled a dark stare at her, still sneering. As if it wasn't bad enough that he didn't have his magic for whatever reason, and he had to go back into that Arena at some point, he had people like this trying to tell him what he liked and what he needed. "Oh, do fuck off," he stated, tossing the comment idly after her, as if it was his idea for her to leave, rather than her own.

"In your dreams!" Neeshka tossed back with a flick of her tail that she'd wanted to look sassy. It just looked irritated. She gave up and scuttled out, furious at him and herself for being chased away.

She could at least comfort herself that maybe she'd scared him. A little. Right?

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Stretching Those Post-Arena Muscles

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