Private Sessions
Bravura


Bravura: Marked by a dazzling display of skill


Baoba Pitblossom, 17
District One

Baoba tried to hide a yawn as he entered the room. Being the first tribute of the day had its advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, once he got this over with, it meant he would have the rest of the day free. Phoenix would probably want to do a bit of prepping for the interviews, but aside from that, he would have the day to himself – something he hadn't really had since arriving in the Capitol.

On the other hand … damn, it was early. Way too early. The Gamemakers looked almost as sleepy as he was, and he wasn't about to do anything to change that. He didn't exactly have any weapons skills to dazzle them with, so he'd decided on building a shelter. Being able to build a workable shelter in less than fifteen minutes had to count for something, right?

Baoba settled down near some of the shelter-making supplies and got to work. Even if it didn't count for much, it probably didn't matter in the end. He wasn't part of the pack, which meant there was no one he had to impress. His only ally was from Eleven, which wasn't exactly known for pulling high scores. As long as he didn't do too badly, there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing except the Games.

Okay, so there was plenty to worry about, but his training score wasn't exactly high on his list. Neither were the interviews, for that matter. As long as he didn't say anything outrageously stupid, the audience would be content with the fact that he was from One, his parents were good, upstanding citizens, and he hadn't formed an alliance with anyone who could be considered a problem.

So that meant nothing to worry about except the Games.

Which were tomorrow.

Shit.

Baoba took a deep breath as he stretched a rope between two of the dummies and threw a tarp over it. It had all seemed so far away, when training had started. Oh, the idea of being in the Games was horrible, but there had been so much time between him and the Games. Now it was barely more than twenty-four hours, and he wasn't ready. Could never be ready.

Baoba's hands were shaking as he secured the ends of the tarp as well as he could. There wasn't any sort of ground to hammer them into, so he picked several of the heavier weapons and tied the rope to those, hoping they would hold the tarp in place. Okay, plenty of time left. That meant he had time to camouflage the damn thing.

By the time the buzzer rang, both sides of the tarp were camouflaged – one side to resemble a more wooded area, the other in more urban greys and brick-reds. He hoped that would show he was thinking ahead – that he was prepared for any sort of arena they might throw at him. He wasn't, of course, but if it looked like he was, that might count for something. After all, all the Capitol really cared about was how things looked.


Quintus Delgado, 13
District Two

Quintus just hoped it would look like they knew what they were doing. As soon as they entered the room, they headed for where the dummies were set up and dragged twenty-three of them to the center of the room. As quickly as they could, they took some of the paint from the camouflage station and painted a number from 1 to 12 on each of the dummies – two of each number, but only one "2."

Once that was done, they grabbed the nearest weapon – a hatchet – stopped to consider for a moment, and then took aim at one of the dummies at random. It happened to be one of the ones with a "4" painted on it, but that wasn't important. What was important was that it looked like the order mattered. After they'd demolished the dummy, they selected another weapon – a spear – and went after one of the dummies with a 9. Then an 11. Then an 8.

One after another. Weapon after weapon. Quintus gasped for breath, hoping the fact that it looked like they were going in some sort of order would distract from the fact that they didn't really know what they were doing with any of the weapons. Oh, it was easy enough to chop the dummies into bits with pretty much anything, as long as the Gamemakers didn't think too much about the fact that they were avoiding bows and throwing knives and anything that actually needed to be aimed.

The weapons didn't matter. The order didn't matter. But if the Gamemakers thought they did – if they thought Quintus knew something that was helping them guess the order in which the tributes would die – then maybe that would be enough to earn them a higher score. Or maybe it would backfire if the Gamemakers decided to focus on their actual skills rather than the random order in which the dummies met their fate.

Well, not completely random, Quintus realized as they saw which dummies were left. They hadn't been avoiding the dummy with a 2 on purpose – or at least, they were pretty sure they hadn't – but now it was one of the only ones remaining, along with a 7 and a 10. Quintus grabbed a club and took out the dummy with a 10, then used a sickle to slice up the one with a 7.

They were running out of time. Quickly, they reached for a sword, and took the head off the last dummy – the one with a 2 – in a single stroke just as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of their time. Quintus dropped the sword to the floor, flashed the Gamemakers what they hoped was a confident smile, and headed out the door.

Octavia was standing at the door, waiting for her turn. She clapped Quintus on the back as they passed. "Looks like someone worked up a sweat."

Quintus smiled back, but quickly hurried off. Octavia wasn't being kind. Couldn't afford to be kind. Being polite to them was just part of the game they were all playing. The game the Careers always played – until they suddenly didn't. They couldn't afford to get attached – not if they wanted to survive. Not if they wanted to win.


Eddie Hyde, 14
District Three

He was almost there. Hyde could feel it, buried deep in the back of Eddie's mind. Eddie was fighting him; he always did. But he was getting emotional. Distracted. Frustrated. One more push would be enough for him to break free – for a little while, at least. Long enough to make an impression. Long enough to leave a mark.

I'm sure you'll really kill it in there, came a voice, as if from a distance. There. Yes, that was it – the last little nudge he'd needed. Hyde beamed back at Fermi. "Oh, I plan to," he hissed as he strode into the training room.

He headed straight for the weapons and chose a dagger. Instead of attacking the dummies, however, he strode directly towards the Gamemakers, only stopping once one of the trainers stepped in the way. Damn. He hadn't really expected to get to them, but for a moment, he'd gotten his hopes up. The trainer held a matching dagger, and blocked his first blow easily. And the next. But there was a hint of surprise in his eyes. He'd probably been watching Eddie during training, and Hyde knew Eddie hadn't gone anywhere near the weapons stations. He hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt.

That wasn't a weakness Hyde shared.

But it was a weakness the trainer shared – a weakness he could exploit. The trainers weren't supposed to harm the tributes. Everyone knew that, but how often had anyone thought to take advantage of it? Hyde ducked beneath the trainer's next blow, drawing him to one side. Making the trainer think he had him cornered.

The next blow came quickly. Eddie would have ducked. Eddie would have tried to get away. He always wanted to get away. He'd created Hyde to run away from his own insecurity, his own cowardice.

Hyde didn't run. Didn't duck. He charged right into the blow, knowing full well the trainer would pull away in time, not wanting to actually hurt him. If the blade had stayed where it was, it would have skewered him. It went against every impulse, every human instinct, to charge directly at the weapon.

Hyde lunged again, and again the blade was pulled out of the way. "What's the matter with you?" the trainer demanded. "You trying to get yourself killed?"

No. No, that would be easy. If he wanted to die, all he would have to do was turn the blade on himself. That would end the story. But that wasn't what he wanted. That had never been what he wanted. He wanted to live. But the only way he could live was if he stayed in control. And that wouldn't happen as long as Eddie was safe.

If Eddie was in danger, he would be scared. And when he was scared, it was easier for Hyde to take over. And maybe the Games would be dangerous enough, but he had to be sure. He had to be certain Eddie would be in danger.

Hyde launched himself at the blade, which the trainer turned aside at the last minute. In time for Hyde to grab the handle and plunge it into the trainer's chest.

Blood. Blood pooled as medics raced in. Two guards rushed over to restrain him, but Hyde could already feel himself losing his grip. Eddie was gaining control. But it was too late. Too late for Eddie to do anything but stare in horror at what Hyde had done.


Vicarys Flask, 15
District Six

At least things seemed to have gotten back on schedule by the time it was her turn. After the boy from Three, there had been quite a delay before they'd called the next tribute, but things had started moving at a better pace after that. Finally, Percy emerged from the training room, fiddling with something in his pocket, looking rather pleased with himself. Interesting.

Vicarys didn't have much time to wonder about that, however, because that meant she was next. She nodded to Percy as they passed each other, then made her way into the training room. Most of the dummies had been knocked over. Vicarys fought back the impulse to clean them all up. That's not your job. Percy wasn't her little brother or anything; it wasn't her job to pick up after him.

And she wasn't planning on using the dummies, anyway. Instead, she settled down near the fire-starting supplies and got to work. Sure, it wasn't weapons skills, but it was something that would be useful no matter what the arena turned out to be. If it was cold, fires were good for warmth. And even if it was warmer, they were still useful for cooking whatever food they happened to find.

Besides, it was something the Gamemakers would know she had to have picked up in the last few days. Tributes from Seven or Nine or some of the other districts probably already knew how to start fires, but there weren't exactly many trees in Six. So if she managed to get a fire going at all, that should count for something.

And even if it didn't … well, she hadn't exactly been banking on getting a high score, anyway. In fact, maybe it was better if she and Aura flew under the radar completely, if they didn't make themselves a target. Vicarys smiled to herself as she worked. Yes, she'd made the right choice teaming up with Aura. One other ally was enough.

So why was she making such a large fire?

Shit. Vicarys shook her head as she realized the fire she'd built so far was bigger than one tribute – or even two tributes – would need. And she was almost out of time; she would have to light it fast. Now how did this go? One stick went there, and then you rubbed the other one like that, and then...

And then it caught fire. Yes! Vicarys grinned as she slid the flames closer to the pile she'd constructed, then stood up and turned to the Gamemakers. "As you can see, it's plenty big enough to keep mutts away – and deter other tributes from attacking because they'll assume such a large fire was built by quite a large group." There. That would do it. Vicarys nodded, satisfied, as the buzzer rang.

Before she could make it to the door, however, she realized the fire was still burning. Was she supposed to put it out? Would they do that for her? But they hadn't cleaned up the dummies. Vicarys glanced around, grabbed a bucket of water from the fishing station, and quickly doused the fire, which sizzled and steamed and finally went out. Perfect.


Whisper Collins, 16
District Ten

Whisper drummed his fingers on his leg, hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He shouldn't be nervous, he knew. The three of them – he, Arti, and Ebony – had already agreed that it would probably be best not to try to score too high. Three older, stronger outer-district tributes would probably be enough to attract the Careers' attention; scoring high during training would simply put even more of a target on their back. Arti had probably done enough damage already by showing off her archery skills.

On the one hand, it was good to know that she know what she was doing. As long as there was something to hunt in the arena, they probably wouldn't starve, even if they didn't get much from the cornucopia. On the other hand, if some of the other tributes had been watching, they might have decided that Arti was a threat. And if she was a target, that made all three of them targets.

Whisper realized he'd been holding his breath when they called his name and he finally let it out. Okay. All he had to do was appear average. That couldn't be too hard. So why was he still so nervous?

Breathe. Just breathe. Whisper took a deep breath as he entered the room, then quickly chose a bow and a quiver of arrows. Just because they'd agreed Arti shouldn't show off didn't mean he couldn't do a little shooting. It wasn't as if he'd gotten that good.

His hands were still shaking as he chose an arrow and took aim. Okay. Keep your elbow up. That was what Arti kept telling him. He adjusted his posture a little, took a deep breath, and let the arrow fly.

Whisper barely held back a gasp as the arrow actually hit the target. Not the middle, exactly, but he'd hit the target. He took aim again – a little too quickly this time. The arrow flew past the target and skidded to a halt on the floor. Okay, not so fast. He shot a few more arrows, sometimes managing to hit the target, some of them a bit too far to the left or the right, or a little too high. But most of them in the right area.

Finally, when he reached for another arrow and found he'd used them all, he went and retrieved the ones he'd shot. He still had plenty of time left. Besides, he'd been getting into a bit of a rhythm. So he kept on shooting. After a few arrows, he took aim at a different target. Then another. Then he went and retrieved them again.

Halfway through his third round of arrows, the buzzer sounded. Whisper breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn't been so bad. Sure, he probably wouldn't get too high a score, but that was the idea, wasn't it? And at least he'd done something – something concrete, something he could be proud of. What had he been so worried about?


Aloe Brittle, 13
District Twelve

Last. Of course she had to be last. Not only was District Twelve last in line, but this was the one case where the boys went first rather than the girls. Everything else was always "ladies first." The reaping. The interviews. But not when they actually had to sit around in a room waiting for something. No, now the boys got to go first.

Not that going 23rd was much better than going 24th, of course. Aloe gave Lark a wave as he finally emerged from the training room, still breathing hard. He'd probably done his best to cram everything he could into fifteen minutes, if he was trying to score high enough to stay with the Careers. Although to hear him tell it, the Careers weren't too worried about who was going to score high enough to be worth keeping around in the pack.

Aloe quickly made her way into the training room as soon as her name was called. She didn't have anyone to impress, really, but Lucinda and Rose were counting on her to score high enough to … what? Make their group look good? Impress a few sponsors? Of course, Dario might help with that, but there was no telling how long he might stick around once they were actually in the Games. It was pretty obvious he'd only joined up with them for the look of the thing, to give the impression that he wasn't about to fly off the handle and pummel everyone the way he'd gone after his escort.

Aloe shook the thought from her head as she chose a weapon – a long, thin rapier. It wasn't her problem. He wasn't her problem. He probably wouldn't stick with their group long enough to be a problem. And right now, she didn't have to worry about anyone but herself.

Well, herself and the trainer who stepped out to join her, choosing a matching rapier and advancing quickly. Aloe ducked, easily avoiding the first blow. She'd gotten used to sparring with Lucinda and Rose, who were closer to her size. She dodged again, then sidestepped, then backed away, avoiding blow after blow.

Eventually, you're going to have to fight.

That was what the trainer had told Lucinda the first time they'd sparred, and it was still true. But 'eventually' meant exactly that – not right away. She would only get one chance to catch the trainer off guard by charging instead of trying to dodge, and she had to make it count. Keeping an eye on the clock, she led him on a chase around the room, dodging this way and that, weaving back and forth between dummies and other stations, keeping one eye out for things she might be able to get him to trip over.

He didn't. Of course he didn't. He'd been doing this for years; he probably knew all the tricks. He was probably just waiting for her to make her move. Less than a minute left.

She lunged, aiming for his legs. Instead of dodging, he simply kicked the rapier out of her hand. Aloe gave a yelp and sprang backwards as the buzzer sounded. Glaring, she picked up the rapier and hurled it at him, but he knocked it out of the air, shaking his head as he and the Gamemakers started to leave.


No alliance shifts this chapter, so I won't list them all again. Just a quick word about how scores are going to work. Once I get done posting this, I'm going to put some numbers in a hat. (Or a cup or bowl or something if I can't find a hat.) Switching it up a little bit from last time, the numbers are going to be one "1," two "2"s, three "3"s, four "4"s, five "5"s, six "6"s, five "7"s, four "8"s, three "9"s, two "10"s, and one "11." I'm hoping this might result in slightly fewer ridiculously high numbers than last time while still giving a good spread.

I'm going to draw a number for each tribute. For Careers - and I'm applying the broadest possible definition of "Careers" here - I'll draw two numbers and take the higher one. I'll put the number(s) back after each tribute, so it's still possible to end up with more than one tribute who scores an 11 (or a 1).

Lastly, just a reminder that these scores are pretty much just for fun (and obviously to give me something to write about in the next chapter). They do not determine who gets sponsors. They will have zero impact on who wins. They may impact a tribute's mood for a chapter or two - for better or worse - but that's it. Once the Games start, they'll have bigger things to worry about. So don't get too upset if your tribute doesn't score well (or too cocky if they score high).