Conley Wellspring - D4 Conley Wellspring grunted as he moved his paw away from his nose and back down to his sleeves, pulling at the too tight wool. How did you make a sweater this uncomfortable? The stylist who had dressed him had told him that it would help show off his muscles underneath, but Conley thought that there was probably a better way to do that. What was he supposed to be, anyways? Some sort of fisherman conductor? Unfortunately--or perhaps, fortunately--he wasn't given much longer to think about it. As soon as the train was revealed, Conley and the rest of the tributes from his district were rushed into a car. Conley was pushed into a seat and sat there, blinking. After the train began to move, Conley shook his head and began staring out the window. Stormy skies, that was a lot of cats. His jaw began to slide open as he gaped, and he quickly snapped it shut. Rather than awe, he was soon consumed with anger at the cats who stared at them as if they were simply entertainment. Who did they think they were? They owed everything to the districts! How could they mock them like this, dressing their kids up in stupid costumes before sending them to their deaths? Ignoring the voices of the other tributes in the car, who were no doubt trying to make their own impressions, Conley stood up to make one of his own. He rolled up his sleeves and took a deep inhale before shouting as loud as he could. He didn't think of whether the cats of the Capitol could actually hear him or not, more focused on his anger. "Oi! Capitol serpents! Why don't you send your own children down here, eh? Think of how entertaining that would be, watching your own floundering around in an arena!" He thumped his paws against the glass to accentuate his words as he continued his rant. "Someday you'll wish that you'd showed us some more... Gratitude! Because I'm not going down without a fight, and I doubt--" Before he could finish his words, the train car rattled and Conley's muzzle was slammed against the window. Hissing with pain, he drew back, rubbing his sore jaw. Regardless, he kept glaring up at the cats watching him. He didn't care if he had made a bad impression or how badly he would be punished for his words after the parade. This had given him the will to keep fighting, to train for more than just an outlet for his anger. He wasn't about to let them make a coward or a minnow out of him. As the train slowed to a stop, he said, "You haven't seen the last of Conley Wellspring."
