And we are here, ready to see the tributes all together for the first time. You know, technically. And I know! This is surprisingly quick for me, but I had the time.
Reviews!
roses burning: That's really funny, I've never had that happen before! What am I thinking of now?
dreams and desperation: Glad you liked the chapter, I'll put down your Sponsorship.
ElvenRangerRysel: Thanks for the review, and the Arena ideas. I've got one pretty much set, I just keep adding things and taking others away. If you'd like, I can put you down for Aran, and you can change it any time between now and the Private Sessions.
Clis2339: I'm glad you liked it, I tried to make it different, considering that it's 75 years later. I'm sure we'll be hearing from Henry soon, not to worry. Thanks so much for the review!
Mystical Pine Forest: Thanks for the review! Don't worry about missing a few, it happens. And as much as people may not think it possible, I will allow just about anyone to win these Games, and most of my readers really love Cheyenne, so…
Feedback helps me to improve my writing! Drop a review!
Those who want to Sponsor, remember, you have to have your tribute selected by the PRIVATE SESSIONS! That means that you have this chapter, Training Day 2, Training Day 3, and the training scores. Once the first Private Session is up, it will be CLOSED! You don't have to be a submitter to Sponsor, and you don't have to Sponsor your own tribute. More info in my bio.
In TranscendentElvenRanger's Forest of Death: The 54th Hunger Games, my District One female tribute, Atalanta Bliss, is a confirmed survivor of Day 8, with 2 kills. She's made the Top 12, and she has made me so proud!
Tulle Salane, Age 15, District 8
District Eight Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
"The Gymnasium. Have fun training, tributes!" I think I hate that voice. I think as the doors open silently. A slight chill forces its way into the elevator, and I can feel goosebumps begin to take form on my bear arms. I shiver slightly, and someone behind me sighs in frustration before pushing past me, making his way to the other tributes waiting for training to start.
"Sorry!" Can be heard as a flash of yellow rushes past me, desperate to keep up with her District Partner. I look at the identical nines on their backs, and wonder how one elevator ride could possibly be so quiet, even if it's filled with four tributes and two escorts. I look back at my younger partner, at the apprehension on his face. I take his hand, squeezing it slightly. I'm not sure whether the reassurance is for him, or me.
Friga ushers us out, and I glare at her, noticing Nine's escort looking past me, disappointment written all over his face. Pretending I didn't notice, I lead Henry into the room, which is about the size of the factory that I submit my designs to. The comparison makes me feel homesick.
Most of the tributes are gathered around a tall, broad, pale man in a uniform similar to the tributes'. A tight top, one that doesn't inhibit flexibility, nor the ability to breath, with sleeves that reach a few inches past the shoulders, long enough so that the underarm isn't visible. The shorts reach just above a person's kneecaps, also made of the tight, stretchy material. The only difference between him and us tribute is that the trainers wear black, and they have a white picture of their specialty on their backs. Tributes are grey, with their District number.
Around me, I can see the Ones and Twos, who keep glancing at the weapons instructors and simulators with slight twitches in their figures. The Threes, Fives and Elevens, looking more at survival than anything. The boys from Seven and Nine seem eager to just get started, and the Sixes, Tens and Twelves don't seem to know what to do, though the Twelve boy seems to be standing closer to the Twos than a normal tribute would. It would seem as though we're waiting on…
Suddenly, a shout pierces the air behind me, and we all turn in the direction we all know doubt came from. A few snickers break out as the Thirteens finally arrive, the girl looking annoyed and the boy screaming at the top of his lungs. "Standing in the Hall of Fame!" He shrieks, a very insane grin on his face.
After reaching us, he calms down considerably, but the grin is still there. His partner walks around to the opposite side of the gathered, and we shift slightly in her direction. The boy's still muttering as the trainer speaks.
"Hello tributes, and welcome to your first day of training. For some of you, the stations here are no more than routine, something you've done before. For others, what you learn here could make the difference between life and death. My name is Eamon, and I'll be your head trainer. Me and my peers, who you see around the room, manning the stations, are here to help you in any way we can. No matter how skilled you are in any area, it's always wise to familiarize yourself with another. After all, knowing how to use a mace won't save you from a sandstorm, nor will a tree hut rescue you from the tribute who can use that mace.
"Today, you will have eight hours to learn everything you can. Halfway through that, there will be a half-hour lunch break, which may be used to continue at the stations. The same goes for tomorrow. However, on your third day, you will have a total of four hours, after which you will be presenting to the Gamemakers for your final score. Remember, the most skilled tribute at the end of the day is the most alive one. You may begin."
I take a good look around the room, trying to remember what Cecelia had said. She was in hiding for most of her Games, having taken only a small bag and a knife from the Cornucopia. Cecelia had suggested it to Yvonne Ghetto fifty five years ago, and she took it to heart and won. I suppose it's the best place to start.
Finding my destination, I confidently stride over to the camouflage station, not very surprised to see another tribute there. She's younger than me, with fiery red hair and pale skin. As I watch, she sticks her fingers into a bowl and withdraws them, now coated in a black substance. The trainer praises her abilities, demonstrating how to apply the poor camouflage to her face.
I decide to stand at the end of the table, away from the girl and the trainer. I'd rather see what I can do before he feel he has to tell me.
I take a look at the materials around me, thinking of what I'd want to blend in with. I decide a tree would be best, as most Arenas are comprised of jungles and forests. I begin to grab the ingredients I think I'll need. Some dirt, for the brown color, some dead leaves, some boysenberry juice, a handful of water. I carefully mix these together, careful to leave streaks of the lighter brown in the mix. Then I dip my fingers in, applying to my cheeks, chin, nose, neck, even my hair, until everything above my chest appears to be made out of wood.
The trainer gives a slight gasp, and I look over at him as he marches toward me. I can see his mouth moving, but I'm not paying attention. The girl he was working with has her back turned, and I see the thirteen on her back. She's staring at the girl from Four, who's approaching the table. She wears a smirk as she looks at Thirteen, and then her smile falters.
"What're you doing here, Four?" Thirteen asks impatiently.
"Just figured I'd have a little practice." She answers smoothly.
"The tridents are over there, Four, with your bratty Career partner." She hisses.
"Jasper is not with the Careers this year, girl." Four, who I vaguely remember to be called Esmeralda, sneers.
Suddenly the trainer's pushing me away to a back room, labeled Camo Cleaner. I fight only a little, suddenly quite interested in the event about to take place.
By the time I've finally scrubbed all the dirt off my face, the girls are on opposite sides of the room, throwing malicious glances at each other, but nothing else.
Marcus Caelum, Age 17, District 1
District One Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
I wish Mason would just hurry up, the sim hog.
He's in a room designed to simulate hand-to-hand combat, with robots or mutts or whatever you choose to fight, on whatever difficulty you select. Holograms could be used, but that wouldn't teach the impact of weapon to body, which we'll see in the Arena. Slicing a sword through thin air isn't going to save your life in there, after all.
Mason chose to go with muttations, humanoid slimy ones, with webbed fingers, sickly yellow skin, and fangs. Mason also elected to go with the Unlimited option, which will allow him to fight the creatures until he says he's tired. Hopefully that point is soon.
I swing the war hammer again, trying not to look stupid. I'm used to the weapon, of course, it's what I trained with. However, I don't feel very intimidating standing here with a weapon most of these tributes have never seen before. A polished block of iron, with spikes on one end for a truly gory wound. A metal handle, wrapped in leather. A mere extension of my arm.
In the simulator, Mason is visibly slowing, and I sigh in relief. He raises his sword to swing at an incoming creature, but he misses and takes its fangs to his sword shoulder. The lights instantly turn on, the mutts yelping as they vanish into various holes in the walls. Mason drops the sword at last, presses his hand into his wounded shoulder. Avoxes and training personnel alike brush past me, ignoring the deadly weapon in my grasp.
While the avoxes mop up any blood on the floor, the trainers escort Mason to the survival stations, where they apply a cream to his wound. Shrugging, I enter the room as a trainer assures me that it's ready. A keypad appears in thin air in front of me, and I put in the settings I had decided on while I was waiting.
Difficulty: Hard. Enemy: Muttation. Weapon Mode: War Hammer. Light Settings: Midnight. Climate: Rainforest. Time: 10 mins.
The room dims, the only light coming from up above, slight but bright enough to see a little ways in front of me. Suddenly, I hear the scraping of claws, the clatter of bones. I have a vivid picture of the skeletal mutts from the One-Hundred Fourth, and I close my eyes, listening.
I hear claws quickly scrape the concrete floor to my left, and I spin around, swinging the hammer into the skull of the creepy mutt. A barely audible misplacement of air, and I duck back as pure white soars over me. Without thinking, I through my arm up, and the rib cage shatters around my weapon. I'm already sweating, the heat of a rainforest already doing its job.
Suddenly there's a light beep, and the sound of running water meets my ears. My feet are instantly soaked as they're enveloped in warm liquid, and I am relieved to see the light reflecting off the ripples. Thin, dark shapes glide through the water, and I shiver. Reptilian muttations, the most dangerous of the bunch.
One slips between my legs, and I shudder again. The rough texture of the thing's skin is definitely not natural, but what did I expect, honestly? It's a filthy, slimy, ugly, horrific, terrifying mutt!
A long, silent shape rises out of the water to my left, and I catch a glint of fangs. I see them dart forward, and I bring the hammer up out of instinct. It connects, and an unearthly scream echoes around the room. Suddenly they're everywhere, the thick black snakes rising up, up, up, higher than I am tall. I can feel their glares, and I shake slightly. Did the room just get colder?
One lunges, and I frantically dodge it, my heart pounding. I don't recognize these mutts, and I'm not sure whether that's good or bad. There's another coming at me, and I knock it aside, toward the one I dodged. There's another scream, and I imagine the snake sinking its fangs into her sister.
Finally it's over, as the serpents recede into their holes or whatever, and the water is drained. I nearly drop the hammer, wondering what happened to my time limit. I had only said ten minutes, I must have been in there longer.
My answer is waiting outside the simulator doors, where a little boy is grinning broadly at me, his hands hovering over the keypad. He looks at my weapon, and I expect him to shrink in fear. He takes in the blood and flesh still attached to the spikes. He looks up at me, and I must have imagined the slight falter in his expression, because it's still there as he hollers, "KOWABUNGA IS THOR COMING!?"
The room goes silent, save for the long-range simulator and the Twos laughing loudly. I feel my mouth twitch, but I calmly ignore the boy, laying the weapon on the table where I found it. An avox hurries over, obviously trying to hide the smile on her face, and places it on a silver tray, hurrying back to a door underneath the Gamemakers' box. I suspect they're going to clean it.
Stalking over to the spears station, I pretend to not hear the boy skipping along behind me, humming softly to himself. The boy from Five is on the range, trying and failing to even through one of the projectiles near the dummies down range. As he reaches for another, I snatch it from under his hand, expecting him to wither in my presence. He doesn't. What is wrong with these tributes?
I settle into a throwing stance, gauging the distance carefully. Thirty meters. Easy enough, I suppose. I can hit a diamond ring from fifty.
I rear back, getting a last-second feel for the weight of the slender rod. Twisting my body around, I bring my arm forward, hurling the spear at the dummy at the other end of the range. It hits the center of the chest, right in the middle of the smallest circle.
I look around, seeing that Five has left, finally seeing that he had no real chance. I shrug at Malaya, who's stepping out of the long-distance simulator, a bow in her hand. She looks at me in confusion, before removing her quiver and placing it on the table, along with the bow. She strides over to me, sparing Thirteen a glance before picking up a javelin.
Willow Orchids, Age 13, District 11
District Eleven Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
"Remember. The venom of a Devil Snare Beetle is lethal moments after it gets into your bloodstream. If properly extracted from the insect, it must not be touched without the protection of a leaf, poncho, et cetera. It can seep into your skin, and you'll be dead within hours."
The trainer tells us this for what must be the fifth time in the last five minutes, and it seems to be the only thing he can say about the creature. He has one squirming around in a small bowl, for demonstration purposes. He shows me and the boy from Nine where to properly hold it, so that you may press a sickly smelling yellow liquid out of its pinchers, without actually getting struck.
There's a loud shout from the other side of the room, followed by a loud series of CRASHes, and the trainer, a big burly blond man, is distracted long enough to get himself bit by the beetle. He apologizes and runs off, worry etched into his eyes.
"Idiot Capitolite." Nine mutters beside me.
I shake my head and look over at the spears station, where the shout came from. The twelve-year-old from Thirteen has the man from One's arm, and he's laughing hysterically. One, apparently in the middle of a throw, is trying to free himself from the boy, a look of hatred on his face. To the right of the station, a rack of spears has fallen over, and I can see the girl from Twelve standing beside it, terrified.
"Again, again, again!" Thirteen screeches. The girl from One, finally jolted into action beside her partner, makes to grab the boy, and an automated voice reminds us that we're not allowed to harm the other tributes.
The boy won't let go though, and after a minute, multiple trainers abandon their stations, freeing One and restraining Thirteen. They take the insane boy to the elevators, probably to escort him up to his quarters.
"Maybe they'll lock him up!" A light-hearted voice calls from the sparring station. The girl from Four, a trident idle at her side, is laughing maniacally.
I look around the room, seeing that the other tributes are reluctant to get back to what they were doing. No doubt it only reminds them of what is to come in the next few days. Suddenly, I'm done with poisons.
I strip my rubber gloves from my hands, and survey the room again. Nine pays me no attention, as he's back to going through the books we have been provided with. My eyes land on a station where Thorn and another boy, from Four I think, are attempting to start fires with various materials. Not that they're succeeding or anything.
I approach them, but they ignore me. Four is trying to drill a stick into a log, to no effect. Thorn is attempting to light tinder with the sparks produced from two stones, struck against each other. I go to check it out.
"Hey Willow." Thorn mutters in frustration as I sit down beside him. He strikes his rocks again, and a few weak sparks leap out. "What's up?"
"Just figured I'd come try this." I say quietly, wondering whether or not it's really safe to speak out loud with Four nearby, regardless of if he's a Career or not. "May I try?" I ask.
He nods in frustration, handing me the rocks. I study them carefully, noting that the sides meant to be smashed together are, for the most part, flat and smooth. I hold the one in my left hand out, the one in my right close to my chest. I've watched many Games before, and tributes did this a lot. It can't be that hard…
As it would turn out, it is. I don't get my first sparks until ten minutes later, after Thorn and the boy from Four had decided to leave. After another half hour and a million tries, I light the dry twigs beneath me. I almost jump in delight, happy to see myself be good at something. The trainer gives a nod of approval, even as it flickers out.
I accidently drop the rocks onto my small flame, and I feel bad, but my arms sing in relief. While the stones weren't all that heavy, holding them out made my arms tired. Slowly, I reach down to pick them up, not at all surprised to see that the fire has died. It doesn't matter so much though, I can always try again.
Later.
Uncrossing my legs, I stand carefully, not wanting to get light-headed and fall over. I press my hands to my stomach, and arch my back until it pops. My vision darkens a little, and I release, blinking until I can see properly. Then I scan the room for what must be the hundredth time, trying to find something to do.
There are, of course, the weapons stations. Knives, axes, swords, all of which can be helpful and even life-saving in the Arena. But I can't kill anyone, at least, not with blood. That's why I was doing poisons earlier, to learn something lethal but without all the blood. I can't stand the sight of it, period.
But there aren't just weapons stations, or even survival stations. There's an obstacle course near the elevator, the Gauntlets, as Crysta had called them. She suggested that I try them, as Quarter Quell Arenas tend to be a little shifty, and the ability to swiftly cross terrain may save me from the Careers.
As I walk over to the series of platforms, I notice that the Tens are already on the course, both of them dodging around the trainers' foam bats in an attempt to reach the finish first. The girl is much farther ahead, and I remember the recaps of her Reaping, how she managed to evade Peacekeeper forces for half an hour. It's small wonder she's so ahead of her District Partner.
"Would you like to give it a try, Eleven?" A slight, elfish trainer asks me in a high-pitched voice. I nod, and she waves me toward the path the other girl followed. "You may begin."
Turns out, this is yet another thing I need to work on.
Henry Reynoso, Age 14, District 8
District Eight Male, Sixth Quarter Quell
The bell for lunch rings through the training room, and I wipe the sweat from my brow. I've been working on snares all morning, and I've just finished the one I've been working on for the last ten minutes. This trap is more deadly than your normal snare, as the nearly invisible twine and weights wrap around something before slamming it into the tree I based it around. It's good for catching larger game, like deer or monkeys.
Or people.
This is all still so surreal to me. Back at home, the Games were more a formality, there seemed to be no chance I'd be Reaped. Jessica and Paula made it through, after all, and so I hadn't really considered what might happen if I was Reaped. Sure there's the fact that we've dug one-hundred ten new graves in the last fifty-five years, but I wouldn't be one.
But I am one.
District Eight was actually pretty set before the turn of the century, with only seven Victors, sure, but at least we had hope. I don't want to die, but that revelation comes across my mind every day back home, it's nothing new. The Hunger Games should be terrifying, but this luxury is all so nice at the same time. It's like some bizarre dream.
I leave my snare, armed and ready. Nobody is going to come and trip it, after all, and I'd like to properly see how well I did before it's taken down. I head to the cafeteria with the other tributes, falling into line behind the girl from Six. The girl, though three years older than me, looks small and pale as she shivers, whether from the slight chill or fear of the girl from Two in front of her, I can't tell. After a moment, I get my lunch, steaming mashed potatoes and three slabs of gravy-slathered ham, and survey the room.
Velvet said that allies are a huge part of the Games, and that lunch time was the best time to find some.
I see Tulle sitting near the girls from Three and Seven, probably gathering the courage to speak to them. The Tens are sitting with the girl from Twelve. The boy from Twelve, is, surprisingly, sitting with the Careers. Trying to ignore my shock, I continue my search for possible allies. Not the Elevens or Thirteens, I need a protector more than someone I'd have to protect, and anyone younger than me pretty much fits the latter description. The boys from Five and Six look angered to the point of keeping everyone away, and I don't want to be babied by the mother from Five. I think I'd have to carry the Six girl around, and the boys from Seven and Nine terrify me.
Which leaves me with the mischievous-looking boy from Three, the non-Career from Four, or the Victor's sister from Nine.
Hoping I don't look as though I'm on the verge of screaming, I plop down next to the boy from Four. He looks up at me curiously for a moment, then goes back to his potatoes. I scoot a little closer along the bench, and he tenses, a mouthful of food halfway between his mouth and his tray. Slowly, he puts it down, turning to me.
"What do you want, Eight?" He asks, annoyed.
I push down the panic rising in my throat. Why is this so hard? "I saw you at the spears station today." I say hesitantly.
"Oh yeah?" He asks, "And I saw you spend most of the morning with the plants crap. What's your point, Eight?"
My spirits drop suddenly, and I have to take a moment to gather my thoughts. "I was thinking. You're not with the Careers, right?" He nods, rolling his eyes. I continue as though I hadn't noticed. "Well, allies can be essential in the Arena, and that means you don't have any. Back home, I'm one of the smartest kids in the District, and I know just about every plant and animal out there. I could help you survive, and you could return the favor by protecting me. Whaddya say?" I stop, amazed at my own straightforwardness.
Four looks me over, a smirk on his face. After a moment of consideration, he looks me in the eye. "Maybe." He says, and I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "However, you need to prove to me over the course of the next couple days that you'd be worth the risk. Deal?" He holds out his hand, and I take it. "Henry, right?" He asks.
I nod, and return with, "Jasper?"
He shakes his head. "Call me Blue."
We finish eating in silence, relief flooding through my body. He's less tense than he was, and I wonder if he feels the same. After the bell rings again, we dump our trays into the garbage and proceed to the training room. I head over to where my snare was, and Blue follows, looking closely at the artificial tree.
"So what's this supposed to do?" He asks, jabbing his thumb at the contraption. I hold a finger up, and grab a nearby dummy. I place it in the place a doomed tribute would stand, and trip the wire. Thick coils of rope drop out of the tree, encircling the dummy, and the weights drop down moments later, pulling the dummy into the tree. Hard.
Looking mildly impressed, Blue examines the dummy, whose grey foam shell is tainted red around the ropes, signifying injury. There's a big red blotch on the side of its head where it struck the tree, and Blue nods approvingly once he takes notice of it.
"I must say, Eight, that's quite the first impression. Maybe later you can show me something else, but I want to get some training in on the ropes course before today's over. I'll see you around, Eight." He gives me a small wave, before jogging over to the ropes course.
As I untie the dummy, I can't help but think, This is going better than expected.
Rebelle Sunflower Rine, Age 13, District 13
District Thirteen Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
This whole shelter-making thing is ridiculous, and surprisingly hard. I'm supposed to build a small hut out of these palm fronds, one big enough to hold two people and their supplies. Using only the stupid friggin palm fronds!
The trainer keeps looking at me expectantly, as though I were some dumb lumberjack who had done this before. Well guess what? My entire District is underground! I've never seen such ridiculously sized leaves outside reruns of my mother's Games, and nobody freaking made a shelter then! If the idiot trainer would provide me with some twine, I might be able to do this.
Sighing in frustration, I kick over the half-made shelter under me, and green flies everywhere. I'm on the verge of screaming in fury when I remember where I am, and why I'm there. I'm in the presence of all the Gamemakers, in the same room as my fellow tributes. I'm here to win the Games, so I can save future generations from their horrid brutality. As a Quell Victor, I'll have a lot more influence than a regular Victor. Too bad Soldier doesn't use that, then I wouldn't have to go through this whole ordeal.
I head over to the axes station, ignoring the shuffles of avoxes from behind me. There's no guarantee a trident will be in the Arena, and I really shouldn't have chosen to train with one, so I'll need to learn how to use a different weapon. Hatchets are fairly common, and easy to get ahold of. They'll be my secondary.
When I arrive, I'm slightly angered at the presence of the girl from Eight, who seems to be fairly good with hand-to-hand. She's combatting the trainer, and I ignore them in favor of the throwing range. Various tomahawks litter the table, many covered in dents from the failures of my fellow tributes. They can be so… Sad at times.
I pick one up, a single piece of metal, the flat handle about a foot long. I get a feel for it before standing at the range line and preparing to throw. I bring my arm back, whipping it forward and releasing the tomahawk. It sails through the air, flipping end over end, spinning randomly.
It clatters to the floor at the dummy's feet, the harmless handle tapping its foot.
Huffing in frustration, I select another random weapon and throw it. This one bounces along the floor before burying itself in the dummy's shin. I continue this, each throw worse than the last, until my anger finally sends one into the right shoulder.
Slow clapping erupts from behind me, and I turn to see her standing there, a malicious grin on her face.
"Very good, Thirteen." Esmeralda says patronizingly. "Maybe you could actually hit something, as long as it was asleep."
"Like you could do any better, Four." My words drip with venom.
"Oh yeah?" She grabs an axe from the table, staring into my eyes as she steps beside me. Without looking, she whips the weapon around her body and releases it. I follow its trajectory with my eyes, and I can feel heat in my forehead as it buries itself in the neck.
"You may have Volunteered, Thirteen, but you have about as much skill as a pig. And in the Arena, I'm going to slaughter you like a pig. Understand, little girl?" She smiles as she walks away, and I stare daggers into her back. She has no idea what is going to happen to her in that Arena. I can't wait to slide three feet of cold steel into her stomach.
Just you wait, Four.
Cassia Lyra Maurise, Age 18, District 2
District Two Female, Sixth Quarter Quell
I can't help but laugh as I wait for the long distance simulator to be vacated. The girl from Ten is in there with a bow, her partner and little friend from Twelve standing outside with me. I can feel their fear, but that's not why I'm laughing.
The girl from Ten, Cheyenne I think, has obviously never handled a bow before. She hasn't hit a single hologram with one of her arrows, which she reloads clumsily. A few of the holograms shoot at her, or throw things at her, making her dance around the platform like her life depends on it.
Technically, of course, that speed could potentially save her in the Arena, but her archery skills won't. Behind her, I see a holographic spearman rear back to throw, and the girl's friends pound on the glass in an attempt to warn her. She looks around wildly, and a spear sails through the air toward her. She can't dodge this one, though, and the simulator lights turn on, flashing red. She steps out, looking exhausted as she racks her bow and empty quiver.
"That was great, Chey!" They congratulate her, but I can tell by the look in her eyes that she feels differently. Deciding to ignore them, I set my specifications on the simulator, and step inside. I pat the knives in my belt and vest, assuring myself of my abilities.
The lights go dark, and I can't see through the glass of the door. I'm sure the Tens are watching me, though. Not that it matters. I turn around slowly, watching for my first target. In front of me, up on the catwalk, an archer appears, an arrow already nocked and being drawn. I imagine it's my ally from One, as she's the only tribute who can actually use a bow, as far as I can tell. I aim for a cast, and flick my wrist as I throw.
I can't see the knife sailing through the air, but the string dissolves, assuring me that it has, in fact, broken it. The hologram hops down from the catwalk, swinging the useless bow around wildly. I look around, having caught sight of another hologram out of the corner of my eye. It moves around behind me, a spear in hand. I roll back, laughing as the spear hits the archer in the throat. As I stand back up, I flick my wrist and send a ten inch blade into the hologram's throat.
The sequence continues, the holographic tributes appearing and me almost toying with them slightly as I throw, dodge and stab. At one point, I'm surrounded by no less than four swordsman and a mace wielder. I take out three of the swordsmen before the mace comes crashing down upon my head. The lights flash red, and I feel around my belt again, suddenly aware that I was out of weapons anyway, save for the dagger in my hand.
I step out of the simulator, covered in sweat despite the slight chill of the room. The other tributes are shuffling over to the elevators, and I realize that I was in that simulator for a good forty-five minutes.
"I'll see you tomorrow, tributes!" Eamon calls as he enters a door underneath the Gamemakers' box.
The tributes clustered around the elevator disperse as I approach, and I feel myself cackle quietly. These little pawns are going to stand no chance under my blades. Not if they don't have the nerve to stand up to me.
I look around for my allies, and notice that they left me. Those no-good idiots friggin' left me behind! Even Mason, and he seemed like an honorable Career. The Ones must have talked him into it.
I press the button on the elevator, and it opens up to permit me entry. I glare at the lowly outer District tributes before they close, and the girl from Twelve flinches.
Seeing my allies as enemies this early in the Games isn't very good, but I don't really care.
Here are the submitters who are Sponsors thus far. If I have your name down wrong, please let me know: (Remember. You can change who it is up until the Private Sessions, in three chapters)
ElvenRangerRysel: 120
Mystical Pine Forest: 110 (Cheyenne Bruno, District Ten Female)
dreams and desperation: 108 (Cassia Lyra Maurise, District Two Female)
Jaybird8101: 97 (Rebelle Sunflower Rine, District Thirteen Female)
faceless eater aka slendergirl: 70
HufflePuffleJay: 68
JaymanRepublic: 65
Rina-The-Fangirl: 64
caitiebug007: 64 (Devon Cynthia Rose, District Five Female)
MeganCK: 56
Wolfie McCoy: 56
Here are the submitters, who have points, but haven't confirmed whether they want to Sponsor or not:
roses burning: 76
Jotunheim Storm: 59
InfiniteDespair: 56
MushtcheNinja29: 56
CreativeAJL: 53
grimbutnotalways: 53
Alliances!:
Queens and a Pawn (108 points): Marcus (1), Malaya (1), Mason (2), Cassia (2) (108), Esmeralda (4), and Soot (12).
Reluctance: Infiniti (3), and Kenzi (7).
Sacrificial Lambs (110 points): Denny (10), Cheyenne (10) (110), and Keola (12).
Children of Amber: Thorn (11), and Willow (11).
Questions!:
Favorite POV?
Least favorite?
Who do you think we'll hear from next?
Favorite tribute of these 6?
Any other thoughts on training?
The Games?
Ta,
Lord Zagreus
