[OPEN]

[showbizpanache]

Who| Kurt Hummel and YOU.
What| Kurt is blowing off some stream and trying to practice using a bow, perhaps in vain. Come bug him.
Where| The training center.
When| Earlier in the day.



[He's getting better at this, he thinks.

Or he wants to believe that, anyway. His arrows never fly straight, and half the time his wrist cramps up and he can't let them fly at all. Still, he wants to get good at this so badly. There's no way he'll use a knife or a spear or something that would require him to feel someone die, feel their blood spill, not if he can help it. No, this is better, distance is better, even if this is so impractical and he feels like giving up a little more every time an arrow bounces limply off the opposite wall.

If there's any skill he's always been good at, it's perseverance. And there's no way he's going to stand around and wait to die like Eponine had suggested. He doesn't want to kill people, but he has to survive. It doesn't take a genius to do the math.]

Comments

[polyturtle]

[It probably didn't help that the expression on Don's face is simply one of unfeeling, almost robotic coldness. There is hardly any warmth in his countenance, though, perhaps on good for Kurt, the aura Don seemed to let off also lacked any true emotional cruelty. If anything, it was more like barely-restrained despair, which he had little intention of taking out on others again.

Yet. This was not the Arena, after all. Any hostility or anger that might exude from him could be unleashed there, where it could be put to better use. For the sake of the entertainment value he brought, of course.]

Your fingers. Their placement is too tight on the grip, and your grip is too tight.

By doing that you're putting too much control into the wrong hand.

[showbizpanache]

[Okay, getting advice from a giant talking turtle is even weirder, but Kurt decides to just roll with it.]

Er, all right. So-- Like this? [He demonstrates, holding the bow and tentatively showing Don.]

[polyturtle]

[His response is neither in the positive, or the negative.]

Is that your dominant hand?

[showbizpanache]

Yes. I was told how to hold it already, I just...

[He sighs, then sort of babbles a bit, frustrated:] I've never used any sort of weapon before, unless you count swinging my sai swords around, but I can only twirl them, I've never actually used them, and that was all showmanship, not homicide...

[polyturtle]

[Whoops, sorry, Don seems to have disappeared. Wait, no, he's around. He's got his own bow now, with an arrow nocked.]

Its only homicide if you let yourself believe it is. If you don't believe it to be condoned by the powers that be.

[Quietly he brings his own bow up. The way he holds it is...well, its unusual, mainly in how he draws the string. He draws it behind where his ear is. The bowstring looks like its threatening to snap.

...Of course, Don himself has no illusion that he's even going to hit the target, much less the bullseye. He...the true he...had been given some instruction, but it had been some time since he'd taken up a bow this way, not since he'd chosen the bo as his weapon of choice.

This wasn't to show off. Rather, it was for part of his point. Whatever his point was.]

As its approved by the Capitol, clearly, then, its not a crime against another Tribute. So... when the time comes...you have to just do it and get it over with.

[At this, he lets the arrow loose. As he expected, it barely scrapes the arm as it flies past, lodging in the wall in the end.]

Your dominant hand should be the one holding the bowstring, controlling where the arrow goes, how accurate your aim is and how hard and long your projectile flies. Not your conscience. The more you practice to allow your hand to decide how to let loose the arrow, the truer your arrows will be.

[showbizpanache]

[Kurt watches intently, getting past the big green turtle of it all surprisingly quickly. Donatello seems very earnest, and a bit troubled, and Kurt remembers how the turtle had reacted during the broadcast of Ariadne's death.

He understands. He thinks.]

Thank you. I'll keep all of that in mind.

[polyturtle]

Good.

['Troubled' was an understatement.]

Your conscience doesn't matter. Only that you give the crowds a show. The sooner you discard that, and anything from your mind that don't matter here and would impede you, and focus simply on what you're meant to do in the Games...the better off you'll be in the long run.

[Friendship, loyalty, kindness. Hope. Honor.

Pointless.]

Not just in the Arena. Here as well.

[showbizpanache]

I don't know if I can do that.

[His heart falls.]

Not yet at least. I believe in integrity, and being there for your friends. I don't know if I can throw that away just yet. But thank you. Your advice is very much appreciated.

[polyturtle]

[He doesn't respond to that. Those words....hadn't he said them before? Hadn't he vowed he wouldn't abandon his integrity, his morals, his beliefs? The words and ideas which had guided him, the ethical stars he'd followed, they'd been there, full of hope and confidence that maybe - just maybe - there was a way to make things all right in some way.

Well. It was Kurt's choice to make the same, stupid mistake. He'd just make a bore while he died until he got it.

And so, after a moment of simply staring at the boy but how much younger was he really? Was he even younger? Don is suddenly gone, as swift and as abrupt as he'd come, without another word.]