Hello People of the World!
I must say, I am a bit disappointed in your reviewing skills. It took me much longer than I thought to reach 42 reviews, but I won't plague you with complaints. Instead, I'm going to give you guys a nice, decent-sized update to inspire you to type me a little message. :P
Anyways, lets begin. At the end of the chapter will be another important Author's Note with two big announcements, so please read that! Without further ado, the final part of the Private Sessions! *wipes sweat from forehead*
District 1
M: Luster Blackwell
F: Topaz Barton
District 2
M: Warrior Fantao
F: Quarry Jacobs
District 3
M: Fuse Browning
F: Circuit Fleming
District 4
M: Tide Watson
F: Marina Welch
District 5
M: Buzz Diomede
F: Surge Hallow
District 6
M: Engine Franklin
F: Road Nelson
District 7
M:Fell Marshal
F: Sap Martin
District 8
M: Fray Jennings
F: Thread Simon
District 9
M:Husk Rockwell
F: Grain Kingsley
District 10
M: Bull Oakley
F: Shear Casper
District 11
M: Plow Adams
F: Orchard Bentley
District 12
M: Dust Zakowksi
F: Meadow Welsley
Private Sessions: Part 4
Husk Rockwell- District 9
Seconds turn into minutes, and minutes turn into hours as I wait for my turn. The whole time, my fists and jaw are clenched, making it easy to see my nervousness.
What have I learned in a grain district that will impress the Gamemakers? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Finally my name is called. Robotically, I stand up and enter the room.
"Husk Rockwell." As I face the stations, an idea pops into my mind. At home, it was always my responsibility to cook our grain quota and the tesserae. I will show them my ability to cook a nutritious meal out of meager ingredients. After all, it isn't called the Hunger Games for nothing.
The edible plants station contains some wheat and rice, which I immediately put into a pile. Next, I take some rocks from the shelter station. Finally, I carry all of my supplies to the fire-building area. I pause to grin at the Gamemakers before starting a fire. As the flames begin to catch, I grind the grain with the rocks.
In a few minutes, I start to warm my ground up grain over the fire, adding water periodically. I end up with a mushy meal of grain, which I present to the Gamemakers.
My face reddens as I hold my creation up next to their gourmet food. A few people wrinkle their noses at me. Determined to save myself from embarrassment, I shovel some of the mush into my mouth, uttering an enthusiastic "Yum!". Within a few minutes, I have eaten it all.
Self-consciously, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Turning my back to the Gamemakers again, I extinguish the fire. Giving them a winning smile, I bow and leave.
I just hope they didn't hate me too much.
Grain Kingsley- District 9
Anxiously, I twirl my braid and tap my toes as I wait. I count each minute, my eyes flickering to the large clock constantly. I want this to be over. I want this all to be over. I don't want to die.
Unfortunately, my name is soon called. Tremulously, I stand up and scurry into the room. A flood of dread fills me as I enter. This whole time, I've been focusing on the time. I haven't thought of anything to show the Gamemakers.
Instinctively, I walk over to the station of weapons and grab the tiniest knife. The small blade is similar to the one that Mom uses in the kitchen. A few times, she let me cut an onion, but I ended up with a bleeding thumb.
Pushing away that experience, I tighten my grip on the blade. Now, what do I do with this? I think stupidly. It's definitely too small to fight with, but I'd probably make a fool of myself if I tried to throw it.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to throw it at a target. Out of nervousness, I drop the knife as I face the target. Laughter comes from behind me, coloring my cheeks. Ignore them, Grain. Gritting my teeth, I heave the knife as hard as I can.
It lands several feet short of the target, bringing an onslaught of giggles. Ready to cry, I pick up the blade and throw it again. I get the same result, but end up slightly closer to where I was aiming. The laughter has become a constant background noise by now, making my vision blur with tears.
Only one more shot, Grain. Then you're done, I promise myself.
"How old is this girl? Six?" a Gamemaker hoots, draining his glass, only to have it immediately refilled by an Avox. The tears that I've been trying so hard to hold back surface all at once. The hot droplets blind me, washing my cheeks. One more shot.
With a small grunt, I chuck the small weapon, not bothering to aim. My ears pick up a soft thunk, letting me know that I've hit something. Not daring to believe it, I wipe my eyes. A proud smile creeps onto my face. It wasn't a bulls-eye, but the knife is buried in the middle ring.
Almost laughing with glee, I yank it out of the fabric.
"Grain Kingsley," I tell them, curtsying before I leave. Hopefully, they won't forget me.
Bull Oakley- District 10
To pass the time as I wait, I focus on making my grin as confident and brutish as possible. I make eye contact with several weaklings and crack my knuckles. Sure, it's cliché and unnecessary, but it makes my self-esteem soar.
"Bull Oakley," the person with the clipboard calls. I bare my teeth and flex my muscles, replying, "That's me."
Making sure my smile is in place, I stride into the room. Nobody bothers to even glance at me. Thoroughly insulted, I bellow, "Bull Oakley!"
Several pairs of eyes look at me. Good. "Which one of you wimps is ready to go down?" I roar, knowing that I'm overdoing the whole "macho and touch" act. At the moment, I really don't care.
The Head Gamemaker gestures towards five or six trainers standing off to the side.
"Why don't I take all of these losers at once?" I suggest daringly. Not waiting for them to come to me, I rush towards them. I barrel through the first three, knocking them to the ground. The fourth one steps out of the way, but one punch in the jaw brings him down. The last two attack me at once, and to my surprise, they manage to subdue me.
With a growl, I rip one man off of my body and kick him powerfully in the stomach. I hit my last attacker in the nose, causing a red waterfall to flow from it. Before I can celebrate my victory, one of the trainers I knocked over seizes me from behind.
Deciding on my trusty technique, I grab his ankles and slam him into the floor. Not wanting to wait until he is unconscious, I throw him like a bowling ball into the rest of the trainers.
Strike! I think to myself.
"You're welcome," I tell the Gamemakers haughtily. As I leave, I grab a piece of chicken from the Gamemaker closest to me and sink my teeth into it. Ripping off a chunk like a beast, I toss the chicken back.
"De-licious," I drawl, swallowing the poultry. Once I'm in front of my fellow tributes again, I lick my lips and put on a fresh smile. These Games are mine.
Shear Casper- District 10
When Bull sits down heavily next to me, I try my hardest to give him a withering look. He simply laughs cruelly and smirks at me.
"What are you so happy about, Bull?" I spit, riled up for no apparent reason. Instead of waiting for a reply, I brush past him for my Private Session. I make sure to stomp on his toes on my way out.
What are you doing, Shear? You're making an enemy out of one of the most dangerous tributes! Knock it off! Still glowering, I step through the doorway, only to be met by commotion.
"He ate my chicken!" an old man shrills, waving his hands frantically. "He ate my chicken!"
"We heard you the first time," the Head Gamemaker hisses. "Now be quiet and eat something else."
"But I wanted chicken!" the man whines. The Head Gamemaker shuts him up with a harsh glance, and I find myself jealous of her ability to convey such hatred with only her facial expression.
Stop being silly, Shear. Focus on what's important.
"Shear Casper, Ten," I declare, trying to copy the Head Gamemaker's expression.
"Can I set the mutts on her?" one lady asks with a drunken giggle. A wave of anger rushes past me.
Control yourself, Shear, I internally warn myself, but it is no use.
"What did you say?" I demand, the tone of my voice becoming shrill. "What did you say?!" I take a deep breath and uncork my emotions.
"You're all a bunch of sick, twisted Capitolites who take pleasure in killing children! How dare you call this entertainment? These are people's lives we're talking about, and you're acting like we're toys. Well I have something to tell you! I'm not a toy, and neither is anyone else going in your sadistic arena! We're living, breathing humans! We don't deserve to be turned into homicidal creatures! In a matter of weeks, twenty-three children are going to be dead! How can you live with yourselves?" I scream.
Rage courses through my veins, temporarily held at bay by the sensible part of me that knows my temper will get me killed.
"You are dismissed," the Head Gamemaker announces curtly.
"I'm not finished!" I shout. As I start another rant, two guards grab me by the arms and roughly carry me outside.
"You're sick! I hate you!" I shriek at the top of my lungs. Several tributes turn my way, looking at me like I'm insane.
You are insane, Shear. You're as good as dead. But I don't care. I simply don't care. No matter what, I'm dead.
Plow Adams- District 11
"You're sick! I hate you!" These words ring through the hall, making each head swivel towards the source of the noise. Personally, I think that more than half of these tributes wish they could say the same thing. It doesn't matter, though. Whoever dared to voice that opinion will be dead within the first minute in that arena.
However, that is not the most pressing matter at the moment. It is my turn to display my skills and be evaluated. Since the boy from District One went, I've been contemplating what to do. I quickly came to the conclusion of setting traps.
As I walk past the struggling, wailing girl from Ten, I repeat the same word in my mind. Traps. Traps. Traps. That word becomes my mantra as I enter the room. My mentor had warned me that District 11 tributes hardly got any attention paid to them in the sessions, since the Gamemakers were usually drunk by that point. However, they are all wary and alert, actually looking quite shaken.
Traps. Traps. Traps. "I'm Plow Adams from District 11." Traps. Traps.
The one syllable rolls through my mind as I begin to build a trap for catching large birds. Twigs and leaves pile up, looking half-hazard, but actually precisely placed. I remind myself to test the trigger points as I build so no mistakes can be made. Traps. Traps.
The main structure is complete, so I begin camouflaging it. A few leaves here, some mashed berries there. When the trap is complete, I bring it right in front of the Gamemakers. What should I use to trigger the trap? I wonder. An Avox girl walks in with a large chicken perfect for this display.
Gathering my courage, I take the roasted bird right off of the plate as soon as it is set down, earning a startled yelp from an old man.
"If you don't mind, I'm going to need that," I say breezily. Carefully holding the chicken, I place it right at the mouth of the trap. Slowly, I nudge it with my foot, until the bird triggers the trap, and is enclosed in a sharp cage. The roast bird is cleanly sliced by the bars I've created, making a ready-made meal.
"Thank you," I tell them, bowing. "And here's you're chicken." I plop the entire trap into a dirty plate and leave hurriedly.
"They keep stealing my chicken!" the old man protests, sounding like a spoiled child.
"Deal with it, Caesar!"
Orchard Bentley- District 11
An encouraging smile from Fray is the last thing I see before I'm swept into the room with the Gamemakers. I remind myself that I am prepared as I bow my head respectfully.
"Orchard Bentley." I take three knifes and tuck two of them into the belt that is part of my outfit. I stand a good distance away from the target and let loose the first knife. A bulls-eye. A small smile appears on my face.
I then walk over to a fake tree and climb about ten feet high. Hanging on with one arm and both of my legs, I throw the second knife. It sinks into the ring surrounding the bulls-eye area. Not bad.
Finally, I seat myself in the tree as high up as I dare. Balancing precariously on a branch, I heave the last knife, slipping as I do. I manage to grasp the branch with my hands, dangling dangerously. I sneak a glance at where my last throw landed, to find that it was just shy of a bulls-eye.
Sighing, I swing along the branch until I'm attached to the trunk once again. Carefully, I descend, making sure not to lose my balance again.
A satisfactory performance, I tell myself grudgingly.
"Thank you for your time." I practically scurry outside, wanting to see Fray's smile more than anything.
Dust Zakowski- District 12
I have no talents. No skills. Nothing to keep me from dying in the Bloodbath. I am painfully reminded of that fact as I walk to my Private Session.
No skills. No hope. Just a lost, helpless boy, a little voice inside of me nags. The closest thing to work I've done is woven through the Hob to trade Mom's old silverware for some food. A blissful smile alights on my face as I recall the strong smells mixing with each other in the busy black market. Steam rises from pots and vendors clank pots together to draw attention to themselves.
Stop daydreaming, Dust. You're not in the Hob. You're in the Hunger Games, and if you don't focus, you'll end up dead.
My vision of the Hob acts as an inner compass, guiding me towards the obstacle course. This should be fun.
Taking a deep breath hit the button to reset the timer. I punch the button again, and blinking lights count me down. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
With an alarming blare, my timer starts. I jump onto the platform and take off running. Two pillars with an uncomfortably small space between them materialize in front of me. Just a couple of abandoned pots. I squeeze through them, only to be assaulted by spinning poles with foam-covered spines protruding from them. I dodge the spines, ducking and leaping without much grace.
The challenges go on and on, causing sweat to pour into my eyes. In the split second I take to wipe my eyes, a huge bar knocks me to the ground. Wheezing, I army crawl under another bar, almost hitting my head as I stand up. Finally, the finish line comes into view.
I sprint towards the sign, feeling the cramps in my body. I'm vaguely aware of the fact that the floor right in front of the finish has a fold down the middle. Almost like a hatch...
Right before the floor folds downwards, my instincts tell me to jump. I sail over the now-empty space and through the finish line.
I don't remember anything except walking out of the room in a daze.
Meadow Welsley- District 12
I don't recall standing up and walking, but all too soon, I'm in front of the Gamemakers. I, Meadow Welsley, the most untalented girl in the world, am standing in front of people expecting me to show them skills.
Feeling helpless, I meander over to the weapons station and take a large sword into my hands. Memories of my failed trial with sword fighting come back, but that was the only skill I tried to learn in the three days of training. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Weighed down with dread and a gigantic sword, I square up with the smallest, youngest trainer. She tosses me some gear, and swings offensively the second I buckle the last strap. Instinctively, I move my sword to block the blow. However, the awkwardly heavy weapon doesn't meet her blade.
Instead, I'm smacked in the chest with the trainer's sword. Dazed and confused, I clumsily swing my sword at the trainer, not coming even close to hitting her.
With a sigh, she disarms me and points her blade at my throat. My cheeks burn in shame, knowing that I will be lucky to score a three.
The trainer helps me up and takes off both of our gear. "Good luck," she tells me. "You're going to need it," the trainer adds with a murmur that I wasn't supposed to hear.
Without warning, tears prick my eyes. I leave the room, hoping that my death will be quick and painless.
Well, that chapter went from being "decent-sized" to being the longest chapter yet without me even trying. I don't know why, but the words just flowed so easily in this chapter. I think it was my best one yet, and hopefully you guys will think the same. Anyway, let's move on to the announcements.
ANNOUNCEMENT #1: A FF author by the penname of SleepingQueen17 has just posted a PJO/HG crossover. It's one of her first stories (she deleted her first), and she could really use some support. So please head on over to that story, A Strange Form of Entertainment, and leave it some nice reviews (after you review mine, of course :P) Favorite and follow if you want to! In case you're wondering why I'm giving her a shout out, it's because a) She was my 42nd reviewer and b) I'm beta-ing the story!
ANNOUNCEMENT #2: I will be posting a poll very shortly to see which characters you guys want killed off in the Bloodbath (wow, that sounds awful). We still have a few chapters before we get to the arena (I'm excited as you are), but I want to get that out of the way. So head on over to my profile and vote. And that reminds me, I actually have a third announcement. So please bear with me for a little while longer!
ANNOUNCEMENT #3: My 50th reviewer will get a shout out, and I will go check out one or more of their stories. Hopefully that number will come soon!
Sorry for all of those announcements! I know that this was a superlong A/N, but since I wrote you guys an extra-long chapter, I think it's fair. :P So if you skipped those announcements, please go back and read them because they're important. That's all for now (finally, right!)
~LT
P.S. I'm so glad to get these sessions done, and I hope I did a good job. Let me know! If you know what I mean ;) In case you don't...
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