Annie Cresta | Victor of the 70th Hunger Games (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
treadswater) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ten_fwd2015-07-05 09:58 pm
treadswater) wrote in ten_fwd2015-07-05 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
Gym - OTA
There was a time when Annie was in a gym at least six days out of seven. Ages eleven to sixteen, during her time at the Career Academy (a slightly grandiose name for quite a glorified school club, but it wasn't until Annie was a victor herself that she recognized the self-depreciating humour in the name). Before school and after school, training and training and training. After that, when she was washed out, no gyms, but she kept up the physical activity - and exceeded it, fishing being what it is. As a victor, she ran most mornings, or swum. Worked out. Sparred with Finnick. She'd noticed if she didn't, her mind got worse, her fits of hysteria (anxiety attacks, Beverly had called them) more frequent.
But it's been six months since she's done anything properly physical regularly. When her mood's been stable, she's turned the holodeck into a running track, but that hasn't been nearly anything like five or six days out of seven.
She's twitchy, which goes a way to explain how she winds up in the gymnasium, trailing her fingers over the bo staffs in their rack. She'd been good at spears in the Academy, and although the idea of stabbing now makes her uneasy, she's still good at wielding a staff. She can get her fiancé (tall, built, twice her size and lethal) on his back.
Annie picks up one of the staffs and hefts it, giving it an experimental twirl. It's well-balanced, and she smiles, quiet and shy and delighted.
But despite that delight, and how practically she's already dressed (boots, trousers, simple blouse under her loose jacket, hair braided), she doesn't make any further movements towards any of the practice mats.
But it's been six months since she's done anything properly physical regularly. When her mood's been stable, she's turned the holodeck into a running track, but that hasn't been nearly anything like five or six days out of seven.
She's twitchy, which goes a way to explain how she winds up in the gymnasium, trailing her fingers over the bo staffs in their rack. She'd been good at spears in the Academy, and although the idea of stabbing now makes her uneasy, she's still good at wielding a staff. She can get her fiancé (tall, built, twice her size and lethal) on his back.
Annie picks up one of the staffs and hefts it, giving it an experimental twirl. It's well-balanced, and she smiles, quiet and shy and delighted.
But despite that delight, and how practically she's already dressed (boots, trousers, simple blouse under her loose jacket, hair braided), she doesn't make any further movements towards any of the practice mats.
no subject
A little bit.
She's still not entirely sure what she thinks as a whole.
"I guess," Annie says, slowly. "It seemed logical to me. But." She doesn't want to explain her world. She doesn't. She's sick of it. But this, at least, is nothing to do with horror. "My, my country is made up of a number of different districts. And then the Capitol. We all have a bit of our own culture. If you just extrapolate from that, and..."
This time, her expression is wry.
"Things are very different here. Culturally. So. Again, you extrapolate. Maybe most people just don't have to try and understand, so they don't."
no subject
He reaches the holodeck here, and pauses before the control panel.
"Know anything about jazz?" he asks, an eyebrow quirked. "Swing?"
no subject
Seas rose, countries fell, and all of that.
"So, no. Not by those names. I know harabe. That's one of the District Four dances. Although that's probably changed to, if you had it."
There's a certain amount of resignation in her tone: working out that different cultures are different isn't hard when so very many of your bearings have been taken away.