Ultraviolence: The 78th Hunger Games

by the consulting marauder

The districts have survived 77 Hunger Games so far, but none of them are prepared for the divine horrors that they will face this year. The lights are blinding, the weapons are sharpened, and the Capitol is thirsty for blood. They're expecting something ultraviolent from these Games. Sequel to Born to Die, but can be a stand-alone as well. Closed SYOT, viewers can sponsor.

21. Training Scores

Callum Koche (18)- D1M

Today was the only time we've had to relax since arriving at the Capitol. Not that Passion can ever calm down, sauntering around the apartment with various pieces of Capitol jewelry around her neck and handing on her wrists, loud-mouthing the tastes of the stylists. "I should have full control over my outfit for my interview," she declared, dressed in a full-length leisure robe whose sleeves touched the ground. Eventually she settled down before our sessions, perhaps considering what she would display to the Gamemakers, before we returned for our lunch with Augustus, Lavish, and the escort. Lavish is starting to grow tired of her charge's finicky and snappy way of interacting with everyone, though they got along at first. Lavish, the winner of the 69th Hunger Games, has platinum blonde hair that contrasts Passion's jet-black locks, as well as her spacey personality when compared to Passion's fiery demands.

After a few hours of training with our respective mentors, Augustus and I finally retire to the dining room for supper, the affair tense as Augustus and the escort sip on white wine. I can tell they've started to grow tired of us, one of us hot-headed and the other with no special talents, both of us surprise volunteers. They probably can't wait to throw us at the Cornucopia.

Of course, this doesn't mean that they don't want us to succeed. Lavish speaks in detail about what our training scores mean for our chances, and the likelihood of being sponsored based on the scores. If any damage is done, we have only the interviews to restore our image before the Games begin. As we gather around the television, the escort's knee bouncing nervously, I can tell she's worried for our scores, already thinking ahead to damage control through Caesar Flickerman. Of course, Passion will be fine no matter what, but she's most likely noticed that I have no outstanding skills of my own. Even when talking to Augustus about the interview, our only objective was to come across as nice the best I can, instead of a "monotone robot".

As the Panem national anthem plays, the emblem of the Capitol appears on-screen, accompanied by Caesar Flickerman's familiar face. His wig is a shade of deep purple, easier on the eyes than last year's horrid yellow. He grins immediately before giving his usual speech about the training scores: "This evening we learn of the training scores for the tributes of the 78th Hunger Games. Scored from one to twelve, these scores are an estimate from the Gamemakers themselves of the likeliness of a tribute's victory."

I glance over at Passion, who is sitting pristinely on the sofa, her legs crossed and hands placed on top of them. Despite her best efforts to convince everyone otherwise, I know that Passion cares deeply about what others think of her. She must be nervous about being literally judged in front of the entire nation… on the other hand, I am not at all worried about the Gamemaker's opinions of me. All that matters is that I am in the arena to aid Passion.

"First up, our tributes from District One. Callum Koche… an eight."

An acceptable score. Augustus clearly seems to think so, clapping me on the back while the escort claps her hands rapidly in excitement. Augustus nods his head toward me, a small smile on his face. I turn to Passion again, but she's still staring at the screen, waiting impatiently for my face to fade into hers. I look away, remembering with a sting that it's her score that matters, not mine.

"And for Passion Mavros, a nine."

"That's very good, Passion," Lavish says with a dreary smile, and Passion sits back with a sigh, flipping her hair back.

"I knew I would get no lower than a nine. You all doubted me, I know you did." She fixes her eyes sharply on our entourage, particularly Lavish. "I will show you all what I'm made of."

She stalks away, not bothering to see the rest of the scores. I know she was hoping for a ten, but I hope she isn't too discouraged. A nine is still more than decent for a Career.

Leto Larston (18)- D2F

The pair from One get decent scores, but not remarkable, as predicted. Cyprian fidgets a little beside me when his face appears on-screen, hands twisting in his lap. He doesn't seem like the type to get nervous about things like this, but the longer we stay together here in this apartment I start to wonder if he's more anxious than he lets on.

"For Cyprian Clay of District Two… a nine."

I watch out of the corner of my eye as Cyprian's face falls. HIs mask flickers before he straightens up again, his eyes going blank once again. I can tell the escort is surprised, as are Celia and Cato.

"What happened, Cyprian?" Cato asks, glancing at Celia to see her reaction. "Got stage fright last minute?"

"Apparently the Gamemakers don't appreciate real skill," he says simply, dull eyes staring at the corner of the room. His expression is pinched, like he's not really here but somewhere far away from the Capitol.

I stay silent as I wait for my own score to be revealed. "And for Leto Larston… a ten."

"Oh, how wonderful!" the escort exclaims, clapping excitedly.

"Very good," Celia says approvingly, with a nod of her head and a rare smile at the corner of her lips. I feel a pleased smirk spread over my face despite myself. An eleven would of course be preferable, but a ten is respectable. A nine would be a bit of a let down, but I was fairly confident that that wouldn't happen. But I decide not to tell that to Cyprian, though males from District Two are known for achieving tens most of the time. He has always seemed so powerful in training at the Academy, so I wonder what happened during his session that caused a lower score… but it's none of my business.

"A nine isn't a bad score," I assure him, flashing him a short smile. "The Capitol will see how strong and determined you are. That's all that matters."

I'm not great at comforting people, but it's important that he's confident enough to go into his interview and make a good impression. The Capitol's opinion of him reflects on me as well as District Two as a whole. Not to mention that we will have each other's backs in the arena, and I need him to be as strong and confident as he was back in the Academy. I know I won't be able to go it completely alone in the Games, though I'm prepared for it eventually.

Cyprian simply nods with a furrowed brow. A shadow falls over his eyes, anger and disappointment and even a little bit of fear in his thundering gaze.

Dylan Bronze (16)- D3M

The Careers have all gotten high scores so far, as expected. From what I saw in training, the pair from Four will score just as high if not higher. What I'm really worried about is my own score. I know that I won't get a real "impressive" score; I'm only hoping for something that doesn't pin me as having no prospects. I'll need sponsors if I want to survive in the arena.

Caillou, on the other hand, doesn't seem too anxious. She's sitting leaned back on the sofa, twirling a curl of hair with her finger while absently nibbling on a cookie provided by the escort. "How are you feeling?" I ask her amiably, trying to seem calm myself. Compared to her, I might seem weak and anxious.

"Fine," she replies with a spacey smile. She shoves the rest of the cookie into her mouth at once and chews thoughtfully as the television screen fades to display my own face.

My back straightens up and my breath catches as Caesar Flickerman begins the announcement. "From District Three, Dylan Bronze… a five."

I lean back so my head is against the back of the pillow, somehow still more tense than Caillou who is lounging carelessly over two seats of the sofa.

"A five is respectable!" my mentor says with a clap on the knee. His smile looks forced, but maybe I'm just imagining it. He's right- it's certainly not the worst score possible, and several victors have won before with lesser scores, though it's not common. My chances aren't over- I just need to make an impression during the interview.

My own face fades on the television screen, and it's replaced with Caillou's distant grin. "And for Caillou Wight… a seven."

"Ah, great!" the mentor exclaims, leaning forward to shoot Caillou a bright smile. "It seems like what we talked about is working!"

I sit in sullen silence as Caillou agrees. It seems that my district partner has somehow found a way to seem special to the Gamemakers… but she doesn't have any allies as far as I know, always training along and only making casual conversation with the other tributes. Meanwhile, I've joined the most powerful alliance in the arena aside from the Careers. We'll see who has a better chance at winning once the Games actually start.

I spin my father's wedding ring around my finger as we wait for the District Four scores to be revealed. It's slightly too big for my ring finger, so I have to wear it on my pointer finger. I remember the words he said to me the day of the Reaping, about how I was one of the smartest tributes that the Capitol would ever see. I may not have the weapons skills of other tributes, but I've been working on my own way to win the Games.

Marlowe Bahari (18)- D4F

I yawn and spread out farther over the couch, my golden hair falling past my shoulders artfully and long tan legs crossed in front of me. I've perfected the mask of perfection over the years, hiding all of my flaws and insecurities behind it. Farhoud is practically the opposite, laughing loudly as he chows down on a peach beside me. The juice runs down his chin and he wipes it off with the back of his hand, chuckling again as the screen fades into his own face.

"What do you think my score will be?" he asks me with a grin. "Twelve, or eleven?"

I roll my eyes, but make sure there's no real heat behind it unless he takes offense. "Don't flatter yourself. What did you do during your session, just braid your hair?"

He roars with laughter, slapping his own knee. "I could ask the same of you." His eyes are glittering. I wish I could be as carefree and self-assured as him. Instead I feel my doubt and need for self-destruction simmering under my skin, boiling in my blood. I scratch at the palm of my hand with my long painted nails. I'll have to cut them down before going into the arena, but for now I like spending each night before going to bed painting them as a way to calm myself. I just have to hold on to my sanity until the bloodbath, when I can let myself go a little bit.

"Now onto District Four, Farhoud Pistris… a ten."

Farhoud pumps his fist in the air. "Hell yeah!"

"Thought you were hoping for a twelve," I say in a monotone, trying not to seem concerned about my own upcoming score.

Farhoud ignores me, and Finnick grins at him with his signature twinkle in his eye. "Great job, Farhoud. I'm sure your mother is so proud."

For a moment, Farhoud's face changes to something genuine,a glimmer of affection in his eyes, perhaps even a moment of regret. "I think she is too."

Caesar's voice issues through the television again. "And for Marlowe Bahari… a nine."

My mentor Annie claps loudly beside Finnick. "Wow, great job Marlowe! You're going to do so well!"

Finnick smiles fondly at her, and I give her a vague one as well. Though Annie was a victorious Career for our district, she's definitely changed since her Games. Not exactly the mentor I would have hoped for, but she does her best.

"Thanks, Annie. I was hoping for more, but…"

Farhoud laughs again. "Upset that I got a higher score than you? Pfft." He gets up with a groan and makes for the kitchen, grabbing a brownie from the counter and heading to his room. "I'm going to go do some push-ups!" he yells back with his mouth full.

I sigh and sit up in my seat. "He needs to work on his manners."

"I agree," the escort says with a grimace, but I can see her eyes following the line of his body. She's attracted to him, just like every girl in the Capitol will be after his interview. As much as I don't want to admit it, my district partner might be a great threat in the arena, and not just because of his training score.

Volt Halvorrson (18)- D5M

I laugh at Jabbock Darlson's joke as he smiles nervously, drink in hand. He's been drinking quite a bit since we've arrived in the Capitol, but he's managed to keep his wits about him enough to mentor me. He's mostly useless, but it's nice to simply have his expertise in the world of the Capitol. He's already been helping me with what angle I should go for in the interview, considering I could go in any direction. And though his twitchiness and general air of not wanting to be here can be tiresome, but I need to be on his good side.

"Excited to see your scores?" the escort giggles, shaking Rai's arm. Rai grins, seeming relaxed in a way that I've never seen her before. She usually tries her best to appear carefree and haughty, but I can always see through her mask. But it genuinely seems like she doesn't care about her score, sitting with her legs spread on the couch with the escort beside her.

"I don't care much what my score is," she says evenly. "I know I won't get anything terrible, so what's the point in worrying?"

"Very wise," the escort nods solemnly, as if Rai had truly said something sage.

"I, for one, am incredibly excited," I say with a smirk. But of course, the scores really only matter as far as deciding what angle to go for in the interview. If it's too low for my liking, no matter, I'll just go for a sweet boy whose weapon skills might be lacking, but who makes up for it in charisma. If it's high, I can be cocky and confident, but of course not enough to turn people away.

"And for District Five, Volt Halvorsson… a seven."

I smirk and lean back in my armchair, taking a sip of my whiskey. The Capitol does make very fine alcohol.

"Very good, Volt!" the escort exclaims. I've had her wrapped around my finger easily since we arrived in the Capitol. "The sponsors will see that!"

"Great job, Volt," Jabbock gives me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, but he's doing his best. The hand gripping his whiskey is shaking a little. I know he only wants the night to be over so that he can go to his room and talk with his lady friend back in Five.

"And for Raillen Harkness… a five."

A fairly low score, but I can't say I expected any better from her. But Rai doesn't seem too concerned, simply shrugging her shoulders and brushing a strand of hair behind her ears.

"That's not bad, Rai!" the escort says, gently touching her knee. "And you're so pretty… everyone will love you in the interview."

Rai smiles confidently. "I know."

Pagani Chevy (16)- D6F

We haven't spent a lot of time with our mentors since arriving in the Capitol, due to their obsession with the morphling. Their habit seems to be fueled even more fiercely here than in Six, where the drug must be easier to come across. My mother would love it here, with all of the available drugs, morphling or otherwise. I imagine the stress and horrible pressure of mentoring two tributes has something to do with their worsening conditions as well, but that doesn't make me any more sympathetic to them. I eye them suspiciously as they nibble on cheese together on the sofa. Logan and I are sitting beside each other in two plush armchairs as we stare at the television screen.

As Rai's face fades from the screen, I can see Logan in the corner of my eye shifting uncomfortably. "Our alliance is coming along great," he says with a pointed lilt in his voice, as if unsure if they were even listening. "We're the Careers' biggest rivals in years. Maybe even since that alliance in the Games that were in the swamp arena…"

"The 64th Hunger Games!" the escort exclaims. "Those were so exciting! I remember those like they were last year."

"The girl from District One won that year though, right?" I ask with a cocked eyebrow. I can see her smug, infuriating smirk in my mind.

"Cashmere, yes!" the escort claps. "One of my favorites, honestly."

I roll my eyes, and glance over at Logan. He looks a little conflicted. "We can learn from the other alliance's mistakes. We're strong, right Pagani?"

I try to smile at him, but my mouth simply isn't used to it. "Yes."

We don't have much more time to talk about it before Logan's face appears on-screen. "From District Six… Logan Wheeler with a seven."
The escort starts applauding again, trilling happily. "How wonderful, Logan! You're going to do so well in the Games!"

Logan smiles weakly, but I can see that he's a little disappointed. "Thanks."

"And for Pagani Chevy… a six."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise, but I'm not sure if I'm pleased or let-down. I have no idea what I expected.

"Not a bad score," Logan says gently. He smiles so much more easily than I do, his facial muscles accustomed to the strain. "Once you explain that you live on the street, people will know you've been surviving on your own all this time."

"I haven't exactly been doing it on my own," I say simply. "I had an alliance even then. That's why we need each other."

Raven Lavalée (17)- D7M

Since Johanna had sent for medicine from the Gamemakers, I've been amazed at the change I've felt. My thoughts are sharper, my body is stronger, the sound of my laughter reaching my ears more often than before. I can tell Sparrow has noticed as well, her smiles coming easier. Even now, as we sit waiting for the Gamemakers' judgements of us and our abilities to survive, I feel far more energized and optimistic than I have in ages. Capitolite medicine really works wonders.

I better enjoy it while I can. Delivering medicine to me in the arena will be expensive, and I'm not the one that's going to survive anyway. Sparrow needs to be the one that makes it out with that golden crown on her dark head of hair. As far as I'm concerned, this score is an estimate of how successful I'll be in helping her live, not my own likelihood of survival.

"I can tell you're feeling better," Johanna says passingly.

"Yes," I say with a grin. "I wish Seven had this stuff. Why don't they send this down to us?"

"Beats me," she says, but her set jaw tells me otherwise. "I recognized your symptoms since I had a cousin once who died from the swamp disease. Tuberculosis."

"I'm sorry," I offer genuinely.

"You must have been working down in the dangerous parts of the woods," she says with her eyes scanning me up and down, making me shift uncomfortably. "You take good care of your sister."

"I do my best," I say. For some reason I feel a flush rise on my cheeks and quickly look away. Sparrow is staring at the screen, where my face is appearing.

"From District Seven, Raven Lavalée… with an eight."

"Amazing!" the escort cries out. "That's great, Raven. You've been doing so well!"

Sparrow is giving me a rare grin, her eyes sparkling with pride. "Good job, Raven," she says softly.

"Not bad," Johanna admits. "And I know you'll do well in your interview."

I lean back with an exaggerated sigh, crossing my legs. "What can I say… I'm just so lovable."

Sparrow rolls her eyes at me and I laugh with a hand on her shoulder, shaking her just slightly. "You know that I'm right."

"Whatever. It's my turn now."

"And for little Sparrow Lavalée… a five."

"Not bad either," I say with a grin, ruffling her hair. She slaps my hand away, blushing.

"It's not good at all."

"Don't say that," Johanna says suddenly. "A five isn't bad, definitely not at your age. Twelve year olds are in the game now after that little fucker from Eight, don't forget that."

"Tag Nylon scored an eight," she mumbles, looking down.

"Don't put yourself down," I say. "We live in Seven, where we know all about how to survive. He grew up in dirty Eight, with no wildlife at all. And did you already forget what I scored, huh?"

She looks up at me, and for a second, I see a flash of awareness for a moment. The realization that only one of us will make it out of these Games alive. It's a sobering thought, but that's the reality we're in now.

Flux DuBois (14)- D8F

I remember all the times I spent sitting in the sitting room with my family as the training scores aired. I never cared much for the Hunger Games events, barely paying attention to the pageant as I never thought it would never really affect my life. The only training score I really remember are Tag and Sock's from last year, when the two twelve-year olds scored an eight and a seven, much higher than anyone in the district expected.

I glance at Tag, who is sitting beside Thimble in his own armchair, frowning at the television screen. His small frame is dwarfed by our other mentor, who is nearing thirty. It's strange to think that our mentor is younger than even me. I wonder if he will disown us if we score lower than he did.

Thimble's face appears on-screen, and he sits up straight with a nervous glint in his eye, breaking through his cold demeanor. The silver locket around his neck glimmers in the light. "From District Eight… Thimble Brier, with a six."

The escort nods approvingly. "Great job, Thimble. Not bad at all."

"A six is respectable," Tag says with a soft smile.

"Let's see what I get," I declare, leaning forward and jiggling my leg. "I bet I can score higher than you."

"Whoever wins gets the last piece of cake," Thimble says with a smirk. It's crazy to think he wouldn't be so open with me when we met a mere five days ago.

I stare intently at the screen. The Capitol makes great cake, with cherries, chocolate, and thick rich frosting. "For Flux DuBois… a six."

Thimble hits me lightly on the arm. "I guess we have to share."

"Fine," I huff, but I'm not upset. Training scores don't mean much, and I won't get all worked up about them. A six is just as high as I could have expected.

"I hear you guys are teaming up with the pair from Seven," Tag asks as Thimble gets up to retrieve the last slice of cake. As Thimble ignores him, he turns to me and looks intently in my eyes.

"Yep," I say.

"The twelve-year old and the sick one."

"You were twelve years old," I argue, preparing to tell him off the same way I did Passion during training. I don't care if he's my mentor, we know what we're doing.

"I'm not trying to criticize you," he backs off, a hand raised. Thimble returns with the cake split onto two plates, handing me one. "You know what's best for your alliance, trust me. Seb trusted Sock and I last year, and now here I am." He looks pained at the mention of his departed allies, but he quickly composes himself. "I just want to make sure you're making smart decisions."

"Raven and Sparrow are strong, both of them," Thimble says, spooning a bite of cake into his mouth. His eyes are bright with enjoyment, when once they were dull. "We'll all make it far."

"You know, there's an Avox staircase that connects the Seven and Eight floors," Tag says, looking pained. "Seb used it to come talk to us. I can show you where it is."

Alder Kasha (15)- D9M

The only thought in my mind as I watch the screen is that Kaia is watching at home. I think back to the kiss that we shared in the Justice Building, how fiercely she had grabbed my collar and pulled me closer to her. That can't be the first, last, and only time we share a kiss, but this night might make or break my chances of ever seeing her again. If the Capitol doesn't think me a strong contender for victor, I won't be receiving any gifts in the arena. And I know I wouldn't be able to survive without any extra food or water that I might need. It's a strange feeling- I usually don't care at all what other people think of me, always so sure of myself and what I'm doing.

"Blossom, why don't you go put on some shoes?"

The escort's voice brings me out of my reverie. I glance down to Blossom's bare feet, lying flat on the floor, moving back and forth to feel the plushness between her toes. The two of them have had this argument since training began, Blossom refusing to wear shoes to training as the escort scolds her endlessly. Yesterday morning, she tried to sneak out to the elevator without her uniform shoes on, but the escort caught her and practically forced them on her feet.

"Why do I need to wear them?" Blossom asks mildly, eyes glued to the screen.

"It's polite," the escort says primly, trying to remain composed. "Especially since you won't let me care for your feet. You could really use a pedicure, you know."

I understand what she means- Blossom's feet and rough and calloused from apparently wandering around barefoot all the time.

Blossom doesn't deign her with an answer, simply watching the television as my own face appears, nibbling on an apple covered in hard caramel, a monstrosity I'd never heard of before arriving to the Capitol, but Blossom has loved anything sweet that the Avoxes serve her.

"From District Nine, Alder Kasha with… a seven."

I let out a long breath. A seven isn't big, in fact it's quite good considering I have no practical experience with harvesting in the fields due to my age, only learning from proximity. I touch the brass pin that Kaia gave me, pinned to my shirt and close my eyes.

"Very good, Alder," I hear my mentor say. His voice is mildly impressed, but I can tell he's just as guarded with me as I am with him.

"Thanks," I mumble, peeking an eye open to see Blossom's score as well.

"And for Blossom Urakaka… a seven."

I turn to see Blossom's gently satisfied expression.

"Not bad," I murmur. She turns to look at me, her greenish-blue eyes reflecting just as much wariness.

"Thank you," she says politely. "Yours wasn't either."

We share one more glance before looking away. At least in a way, we understand each other.

Caiden Clawford (17)- D10F

I yawn as I watch Caesar Flickerman slowly- far too slowly- goes through the training scores. I tried to get the mentors to let me stay in my room alone instead of sitting here, but they insisted that I "sit still for once" and watch the training scores. They don't understand that this announcement doesn't mean shit to me. I know what score I'll get. I know what my strategy is- I don't need anyone to explain to me how to cheat the system of the Hunger Games. It worked for Johanna Mason a few years ago, not that I necessarily plan to fool everyone into thinking I'm a weakling. I'm sure they'll all be able to tell from one look that I'm not to be trifled with. But I'm not going to let these murderous idiots learn anything about me- my ability level or anything else.

"How do you think you did?" Jeremy ask me politely. He's always doing his best to appear the golden boy. To think of it, he reminds me of Panem's favorite son Augustus Braun from One.

I roll my eyes and focus on the screen, where his own face is appearing. "Do you really care? Now that you've joined the Careers you have everything set."

The mentors and escort beam brightly, all proud as ever to have a tribute who was skilled enough to team up with the Careers. They probably don't give a shit about me or what I'll score, not until I prove them all wrong in the arena.

"From District Ten… for Jeremy Caulfield, an eight."

"Very good!" the escort exclaims, but Jeremy only sits back and shakes his head. Apparently he was hoping for more, but I don't know what else he expected from a butcher's son with three days of training.

"And now for Caiden Clawford… a two."

I let out a contented sigh, but my mentor growls across the room. "What did you do, Caiden?"

"I showed them how I felt," I replied delicately.

"These scores affect your survival in the Games!" she scolds, like I'm a small child who doesn't understand basic math.

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think you are too proud to take advice, even if it might save your life."

I stand suddenly, fuming. "Shut the hell up! I know what's best for me, and you don't! The Capitol can force me to fight to the death, but you can't force to change how I act!"

I stomp away, ignoring the hushed murmurs behind me. They can say whatever they want, but I know myself better than anyone. They can coddle and fawn over Jeremy as much as they want, the stuck-up, tight-assed butcher's son. I don't need anyone but myself.

Thorn Guerra (16)- D11M

I lounge out over the couch, sipping on my blackberry peach lemonade. Though both these fruits are grown in Eleven, we rarely get the chance to taste them. I must say, they're quite good, especially here in the cushy comfort of the Capitol, with no pressure to go out in the orchards tomorrow. Instead, we can only look forward to being broadcasted to the entire nation to be judged.

I can feel Luna's tiny frame shivering beside mine on the other end of the couch, which we share with my body covering most of it. "Want a blanket?" I ask, reaching over to the armchair to pull out a plush cover. "You're shivering."

"Sure," she says quietly, reaching for it. I place the blanket around her, tucking it in under her thin legs, which are far too small for her age by Capitol standards. She smiles at me, and I strangely feel a strange sensation tug at my heart. I never had any siblings, but I imagine that this what it feels like.

"From District Eleven…"

Our heads both snap to the television.

"For Thorn Guerra… a six."

I lean back in my seat, satisfied. I don't really care about these scores, of course, but it's nice to know that the Capitol won't completely write me off as a weakling, but I guess the Gamemakers weren't impressed by my trapping skills.

"And for Luna Everett… a six."

Luna squeals and claps her hands, then flushes like she's ashamed of her reaction. I smile at her and pat her on the back. A six is an impressive score for a twelve-year old, clearly over-shadowing mine, but I'm not upset. Two sixes in an alliance are a yellow light for sponsors, neither good nor bad. We have the interviews to change their minds for the better.

"You two are doing good," Seeder says from her own seat, her lips pressed together. I can tell she's been trying to be more helpful and less explosive. "Thorn… you've really changed in these last few days. I'm sorry I yelled at you… and you too, Luna."
Luna's face is fierce and unsure, like she doesn't know how to respond. "Thanks…" she says. "You know, I'm not bloodbath fodder like you said."

"I know you're not," Seeder smiles tiredly. "You two need to make sure to take care of each other."

"I'll do my best," I say dryly. "I'm not afraid of death, Luna."
But even as I say it, my stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of dying, never seeing or hearing or tasting anything ever again.

Terra Flint (18)- D12F

The problem with being in District Twelve is that we're last for everything. By the time Rylex's face appears on the screen, I'm impatient to see our scores, rolling my head back on the couch with annoyance.

"Took them long enough," I huff, my knee bouncing.

"Nervous?" Rylex asks with a sly grin. "Not like you."

"I don't get nervous," I snap, frowning. "I just want to go to bed."

"Whatever." Rylex pulls his legs up to his chest and stares at the screen. He's the one that seems anxious, gulping as Caesar Flickerman clears his throat for the final district.

"From District Twelve… Rylex Steele with a seven."
"Yeah!" Rylex grins, letting his legs fall back to the floor. "Beat that, Terra!" he exclaims with a playful twinkle in his eye.

"It's not a competition," I mutter, but I feel my blood pulsing through my veins. I would never let anyone know, but I am... concerned about the training scores. I know they determine what the Capitol thinks of us, and the only thing I have to make up for it is my interview.

"For Terra Flint… a six."

"Great job, Terra," Rylex says, reaching to touch my arm.

A six isn't too bad, just average. No one will criticize me, but it's not a stand-out score either. A six has the same chances of dying in the bloodbath or ending up winning.

"You two are doing great!" Effie squeals, grinning at us."

"Do you think the Capitol will arrest me if I tell them I'm a pickpocket?" I ask sarcastically. "I know how to sneak around and how to use a knife."

Effie gasps, as if she didn't already suspect that was my profession.

"They'll see that in the arena," Rylex dismisses me with amusement, groaning as he stands up and offers a hand to help me do the same. I smile as I take it. I'm lucky to have a district partner who is friendly and capable of surviving. "Let's go to bed."

"Fine," I sigh, glancing around the room as we head back to the bedrooms. Haymitch is sitting in the kitchen, drink in hand and eyes half-closed. He hasn't been the most helpful mentor, but at least he leaves us alone and doesn't bother us. I've always lived independently, and I'll continue to do so until I die in that arena or make it out alive.

---

Thanks for reading! What do you think of the training scores?

I also have a sad announcement- the good news for me is that I'm going on a trip to Italy for six weeks. The bad news is that I don't know if I'll have time to write, or if I'll even have wifi where I'm going. In other words, we might have to go on hiatus for a month before the interviews come out. I know this sucks. On the other hand, if there is wifi and I do have time to write, then I might still be able to update when I have the chance. Essentially I just don't know. I'm really sorry about this but this might be the last update for a long time. Hope you all don't forget about the tributes during the hiatus, but maybe the interviews will help reintroduce them. Thanks again!