hit_girl_mindy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hit_girl_mindy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2013-11-22 11:46 am
hit_girl_mindy) wrote in thecapitol2013-11-22 11:46 am
Entry tags:
I'll win the next.
Who| Mindy, anyone from district nine who aren't in the arena for the room thread, training room is a totally open post
What| Processing and coping, pretty much.
Where| Training room, her suite
When| Several days after her first death
Warnings/Notes| It's Mindy, so...talk to death, talk of gore maybe, and of course lots of swearing.
Three days it took for her to wake up. Four more for her to get out of bed and stop hating everything about this place. Process, swallow the feeling of drowning, the hatred like bile settling in her stomach. Dad was gone, normal life, home, world, gone. All that was left was her in a new place, existing because of her skills. No explanation, no hope, no way to leave it. facts were facts. So she had to adjust.
Mindy had to do her best to take it in, all of it: in her world, dead was dead, and last she checked getting your leg sliced off and then your throat slit was not something that you came back from, Lo and behold, what she'd been told was real: she was alive, back where she started before they threw her into the arena, and her leg never felt better. The temporary relief in this was discarded immediately, realizing everything else that was said about this place had to be true too. They were hamsters on a wheel, having no other option but to work at the bidding of the capitol.
If what had been said was true, eyes were everywhere, even now.
So Mindy did what she told herself she would do anyway: contemplate the other reality of her current situation. She LOST. She lost to some uppity bitch who couldn't even face her properly, had to go and work the situation to her advantage. Even taking out her eye was no real sense of accomplishment for her. She was still in the arena, and she wasn't.
Mindy got to her feet. She didn't need to be told there was a training room: she knew it was here. No one would just have them run the arena without a place to prep, and right now, Mindy needed to hit things. She rummaged through her room until she found a scrunchie, putting her hair in a ponytail and donning some loose flowing shorts and a sports bra and was off, asking until she was lead to the place she was looking for.
Weapons. Punching bags. Those stupid things you climbed on. Yup, this was just what she was looking for. She walked over to get some grip gloves and was already clambering up a wall, stopping every now and then to practice her kicks, ignoring everyone around her for now.
Those bastards wanted a show? She would not disappoint. If she was going to make them remember her, it was time to get back to the place, that place that once had dad in it. Killer instinct.
---
Mindy came back from several hours training and took a shower before settling onto her bed, flicking through coverage of the games. Time to gather some information.
She wondered when the people from her district would pop in.
What| Processing and coping, pretty much.
Where| Training room, her suite
When| Several days after her first death
Warnings/Notes| It's Mindy, so...talk to death, talk of gore maybe, and of course lots of swearing.
Three days it took for her to wake up. Four more for her to get out of bed and stop hating everything about this place. Process, swallow the feeling of drowning, the hatred like bile settling in her stomach. Dad was gone, normal life, home, world, gone. All that was left was her in a new place, existing because of her skills. No explanation, no hope, no way to leave it. facts were facts. So she had to adjust.
Mindy had to do her best to take it in, all of it: in her world, dead was dead, and last she checked getting your leg sliced off and then your throat slit was not something that you came back from, Lo and behold, what she'd been told was real: she was alive, back where she started before they threw her into the arena, and her leg never felt better. The temporary relief in this was discarded immediately, realizing everything else that was said about this place had to be true too. They were hamsters on a wheel, having no other option but to work at the bidding of the capitol.
If what had been said was true, eyes were everywhere, even now.
So Mindy did what she told herself she would do anyway: contemplate the other reality of her current situation. She LOST. She lost to some uppity bitch who couldn't even face her properly, had to go and work the situation to her advantage. Even taking out her eye was no real sense of accomplishment for her. She was still in the arena, and she wasn't.
Mindy got to her feet. She didn't need to be told there was a training room: she knew it was here. No one would just have them run the arena without a place to prep, and right now, Mindy needed to hit things. She rummaged through her room until she found a scrunchie, putting her hair in a ponytail and donning some loose flowing shorts and a sports bra and was off, asking until she was lead to the place she was looking for.
Weapons. Punching bags. Those stupid things you climbed on. Yup, this was just what she was looking for. She walked over to get some grip gloves and was already clambering up a wall, stopping every now and then to practice her kicks, ignoring everyone around her for now.
Those bastards wanted a show? She would not disappoint. If she was going to make them remember her, it was time to get back to the place, that place that once had dad in it. Killer instinct.
---
Mindy came back from several hours training and took a shower before settling onto her bed, flicking through coverage of the games. Time to gather some information.
She wondered when the people from her district would pop in.
no subject
She grinned. "Nice taking to you again, Sandy."