We're Damaged People Drawn Together

[somegrimshit]

Who| Rochelle and Luke
What| Rochelle tries training, Luke comes over. Zombros chill and talk about zombro stuff
Where| The training room
When| Now?
Warnings/Notes| None yet



She isn't sure what she's going to face in the arena. She's tried watching videos of the old ones, but it's not quite the same, and she knows that each one is going to be different. So, she figures, it's time to try training. There's not likely to be guns in the next one--She knows that Nick had one, but she couldn't bring herself to watch him shoot anyone with it. And it seems like it's, in general, not common.

Luckily, she has some experience in melee, anyway.

She takes an axe, and mumbles to herself something she had aggravated her teammates with so long ago whenever she grabbed that weapon. "Axe me a question, I dare you." Giggling to herself, she went to one of the dummies, and began to practice. It was different, after all, with zombies. They had one goal, to get to you, and didn't bother dodging, or avoiding attacks. They were single-minded in their goal.

It'd be trickier to fight a real human, she knew that. She didn't like thinking about it, she didn't like thinking that these skills could go to killing someone in that arena. But if Rochelle had learned anything, it was that life wasn't fair, and you rarely got what you want. You had to take what you were given, and make the best of it.

So, that's what she's doing. Making the best of it. With each swing of that axe, trying to correct her posture, and figure out how to put more power into that swing, she tries to make her situation a little better.

Comments

[burningdaylight]

It’s never a good idea to be all too close to someone when they’re throwing so much of their energy and focus into training, and especially when wielding a weapon they could split his face with. And as he likes his face as it is, he makes certain to give the tribute a wide berth while he pauses a moment for breath, swiping a trembly back-of-his-forearm across his forehead. A machete is firm in his grip, its blade still half-lodged in a dummy’s head.

There’s only so much he could do to prepare for the environmental threats the coming arena could toss at them -- and to that end he’s gotten into the habit of burning a couple hours a day studying snaring techniques and refreshing his knowledge of edible and poisonous plants, committing new ones to memory. Honing his edge. It keeps his mind busy, and in a different way than the dark, restless patterns of thought it keeps gravitating towards.

At least when it comes to protect himself and his own against other tributes, he could work with the dummies, building stamina and strength and putting meat on his starved bones. He could familiarize himself with some of the competition, their strengths and weaknesses. Knowledge is power, as they say – and a little could go a long way in helping to keep his friends safe for as long as he could. All this small circle of survivors has is each other and they can’t rely on blind, dumb luck to see them through.

He wrenches the blade free of the wobbly dummy-head with a grunt and sheaths it at his hip after a moment, watching.