Talk:Auction/@comment-25341199-20151219202816/@comment-31779172-20151219205617

It will be your second.And it's yours!

'

Silver pierces the humid air like dragons claws, leveling everything in their path as a girl dances in a graceful sequence of strides, twirls, and twists. Pandora Vibius's blades are not weapons, but two extensions of her nimble arms - they are her limbs, her anchors, the feathers to her wings and the pride and joy feeding her swelling heart. I am a Career. No, she is the career, and she knows it, too. Brown strands whip her sweat-streaked face as she whirls and sinks her blades into the final targets. Heads plummet in every direction, thumping like insignificant artifacts against a concrete floor, and the career ceases only when all of her opponents have been slain. She exhales through glossed lips, pale eyes observing the limbless, headless torsos that stand scattered about the private training center, and holds the blades steady by her sides. A petite brunette girl is watching from the sidelines and the dark haired Career turns to face the pale figure known to be her younger sister. "What are you doing?" the Career asks, an edge of bitterness seeping into her tone. "Mom and Dad won't be happy if they you standing around doing nothing." And as she says it, she knows it's true, and so does her sister. Their father isn't just a typical father; he is a Hunger Games victor. No, he is the victor, and strives for nothing less than perfection in his family of wealth, luxury, and Career-training. Unfortunately, Astrid - sweet little Astrid, so cute an innocent and cowardly - did not inherit father's bravery or natural talent. She is crafty with knives, Pandora will admit that, but she is not a true Career, not like the Career father wants her to be. Not like the Career Pandora is destined to be. Still, she pities her sister for her lack of courage and motivation and vows never to force her into training again - at least when father isn't present.

"Stick those knives into some targets. At least make it look like you're doing something productive in here." Pandora returns her weapons to their proper station and begins to tie her long brown locks into a bun.

She no longer has an interest in teasing her sister for her weaknesses; insults and mocking don't exactly improve her skills or her confidence. She will admit to once bullying her sister for existing as such a contrast to their family name and teasing her until the tears bled out, but like every other phase she has grown out of it and learned to concentrate on more important aspects of life, such as herself. Astrid may not be the perfect Career daddy wants her to be, but Pandora is, and what she is doing is far more important than what little Astrid is doing. Call her selfish, she won't deny it, she'll just laugh at you and shrug as if the flaws are marble that mold her into the perfect Career statue. As she watches her sister gather a few throwing knives from her station, Pandora realizes that she cares little for what Astrid accomplishes and strives mainly for the satisfaction of her own goals. Sure, she might offer bits of advice if Astrid cared enough about her training to ask, but would she? No, Pandora may be selfish and careless but she knows her sister. Astrid is not a fighter, she never was and never will be, therefore Pandora is convinced that it is not her responsibility to stiffen Pearl up in case she is to be reaped in the future. As mother and father always say, "You do not take care of each other. You only take care of yourselves, because when it comes to the Games the only person you should ever care about is yourself." And that's how father won, isn't it? Pandora still remembers the tapes, the footage their father keeps locked away until he finds a reason to introduce them again. It was their father, a proud and ruthless Vibius, that had formed the Career Pack and dominated the Bloodbath. It was her father that had betrayed his allies and deceived everyone to wear his bloody crown in the Capitol. It was her father that had married a Career and made sure they won't go by his wife's last name to pass his family pride down for all eternity. Who was he here to please? Her father, of course. Well, not anymore.

Their father set a schedule for them. Pandora is supposed to train for this many hours with so-and-so weapons and only so many moments spared to take a well-deserved break. Train, train, train. That's all the man cares about, but while raising the perfect two daughters is his obsession this Career has a different schedule planned out. Astrid can fumble with her knives and scarred hands all she wants, but Pandora, while being father's star pupil and favorite child, decides that she does not want to remain as obedient. Why stay cooped up in the training center when there is a world of excitement and ecstasy waiting behind closed doors?

She enjoys training and the perks it offers, but it has grown to be such a boring, typical task, that it no longer enthralls her. Even the vast amount of pride welled up in her system is not enough to compensate for the lack of adrenaline and enjoyment. So, what does Pandora decide to do while her sister remains a caged bird, moping in the training center wishing she could doodle in that mysterious sketchbook of hers? She decides to do what all reckless teenagers like herself want to do - she is going to party. To celebrate for the sake of celebrating, to drown herself in toxins and summon the inevitable warmth and laughter, to perhaps find another charming boy or beautiful girl to suit her physical needs as her hips sway with the thumping music vibrating through every awakened bone beneath her skin.

It is an addiction, seeking the biggest parties with the most attractive people in the District just to form temporary friendships and make a complete fool of herself in a house of fools. Every party is a new experience, every night a hallway of open doors with new possibilities and surprises around every corner. She loves it. She loves the dancing, the sweaty bodies rubbing together, the alcohol, the music, the laughter, the sex, the friendships, the fights, the risks. She loves the thrill of it all, sneaking out after midnight to defy her mother and become the filthy thing she would never want her daughter to be.

Pandora may be Mr. Vibius' perfect Career puppet, but little does he know that perhaps Astrid is the one to favor, for she is not the one breaking her rules and slowly changing herself to become the opposite of expectation. Sorry, father, but perfection is too boring, and you're not getting it from me anymore.

Ignoring the cries of protest from her worried sister, Pandora walks out of their private training center and retreats to her bedroom. She showers to cleanse the sweat from her lightly-tanned skin and blow dries the long curly hair that bounces as she walks, wasting no time in pampering herself for something as rewarding as an afternoon of dancing and companionship. She adorns herself with the typical Vibius attire - earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and rings of practically every color and size pulled from the shelves of her own mother's jewelry store, along with a short dress, heels, and a mask of make-up to cover her blemishes and accentuate the grey eyes that resemble her sister's so closely. She stares into the mirror at her round face and curved, pink lips, noticing that she is due for another eyebrow trim, but shrugs this off and finishes her routine. She is cautious when creeping down the stairs, eyes darting toward every moving shadow and stirring speck of dust to ensure that her parents did not witness her disobedience. It is not that she is afraid of her own family; they aren't people to fear, just unpleasantly strict and demanding of too much, but to be caught like a criminal and treated severely as such will her impair ability to sneak out unnoticed. Their father is the type of man who craves control, always trying to tell her who she should marry, exactly how she should train, how she should dress, how she should act, and while Astrid tries her best to please mother without being a real Career Pandora does not desire this boring lifestyle. Sure, father is an ideal victor, but are all victors the same? And will Pandora ever be reaped? Because she sure as hell isn't going to volunteer like the rest of the idiotic Careers that carry their glory-seeking into death's door. She has faith in her own abilities and will step up to hopefully steal the crown if she is indeed reaped, but until then she really doesn't care if she carelessly skips a few hours of training to drink with her friends and forget life's burdens. Her sheltered lifestyle is too dull for her tastes, too bland of a flavor, and she's the only one in the family with enough courage to admit it.

Thunderous thumping beats against her lungs like drums, knocking pocketful's of air out of her chest as she approaches a house nearly leaping from its perch from the blasting music inside. A smirk creeps its way across her pink, glossed lips, as she anticipates the enthusiastic greetings and expressions of both irritation and admiration. Diamond doesn't have a "reputation" in the bedroom, per say, but nearly everyone knows who her father is and who Pandora is supposed to be. Sexy, elegant, strong, sturdy, sassy, spunky, interesting, a thrill-seeker - she considers herself all of these things, as does everyone else who meets her at parties and watches her slither across the dance floor like a hypnotized serpent. At home she may be a prim, proper statue of perfection in her mother's eyes, but in the outside world there are no rules to follow or expectations to meet, and with all of this freedom Pandora does not hesitate to take advantage of everything. She makes many friends and foes along the way, but has Pandora ever cared about a single opinion other than her own? Nope. And that's who she is, the girl who doesn't care - not about the insignificant things, at least. Opinions, reputations, relationships, all bullshit. They will never last, so why weep over the small things when there are more permanent changes to worry about? Why should a tattoo catch her eye when it is the scars (poor Astrid's little scars, decorating her hands as if she slipped them into a thorn bush) that are forever visible? That's the girl Pandora is, the girl who dwells on what matters, or what matters to her at least. She struggles with empathy and seeing through another's perspective, but she chooses not to notice her personality flaws and merely continues on without a worry over her pretty little head. And it is with this attitude that she clears her head of any troubling thoughts and walks inside with her shoulder held high, diving into a crowd she knows she will never want to escape. ' - For Audrey