Hello again! Yes, you're right, for a little while I'll be uploading twice a week, usually on a Wednesday and a Sunday.

I don't know how long that'll go on for, but I'll let you know depending on progress. I'll say maybe until the first week of December? Who knows? I'll update you :o

It's time for your tributes to be scored and while I'm only giving an insight into three tributes' sessions, you can get a taste for what some tributes may have shown. In all honesty, I find the sessions kind of boring, so it'll be less on that and more on tribute interaction! Orion. Geoni. Aline. What are they going to show and how are things going with them? Let's check-in.

Thank you to Remus98 and contemporarydancer2 who reviewed!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, I only own the arena I have created.

"On closer scrutiny, it turns out that many of today's problems are a result of yesterday's solutions." ~Thomas Sowell

Orion Trent, Eighteen, District Four Male

Fragile facades always fall.

As stoic as I may be, I notice things. Landon's been almost restless all day and anyone can tell it's because of whatever he discussed with Vanity earlier. Speaking of the Two girl, she's Landon's complete opposite; calm, collected, careful. Then there's Austin, Aisha, and Adira. One cold, one confident, one conflicted.

Being a sheep has always been somewhat of a safe place for me. In my mind, there's no point in trying to take the lead because it never works out for you. Then again, I'm not here to be a coward, either. Burning flames, spiralling smoke…I can't help but feel that by fighting my way out of here I can prove to myself that everything that happened to me was for a reason and that it wasn't my fault.

Even now, waiting for my time to show the Gamemakers what I can do is almost too long for me to bear. That's good though. That's something, a feeling that I can hold on to and use to push myself forwards.

"What's with the sigh, big guy?"

I didn't know I'd made a sound, but Aisha's questioning eyes are watching me as if to find holes in a defence that isn't there. Clearly, even the slightest crack doesn't go unnoticed by the incredible Aisha Cain.

"It's complicated," I explain. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Then help me to." she responds, shrugging her shoulders.

She suggests this as if it's all so easy; as if just by talking about it everything will float away, like ashes and dust caught in a careless breeze. I wish it was that easy, I genuinely do.

So I try.

"I'm not a coward." I try, letting the words falling out of my mouth without much thought.

The idea of speaking without thinking is almost criminal to me. When you're often in your own head, you tend to keep your thoughts there instead of speaking them into existence. Aisha, however, seems unfazed.

"You're not a coward," she agrees. "You know what you're also not? A victim."

My eyes flit to her, confused, but she nods.

"Yeah, I know," she sighs, leaning back in her seat, looking up at the ceiling. "You're obsessed with that piece of wood you brought with you. I don't think I've ever seen so much pain in someone's eyes. Whatever happened, you're blaming yourself for it. Don't."

Am I that readable? Has my cool mask failed me? Or was it simply that I let my guard down around Aisha before I realised how much she'd learnt. Being lost in thought on the train had left me open, but I find that I don't mind it. There's no point in hiding secrets that you might take with you to the grave.

"I shouldn't," I whisper, hoping that none of the other tributes are listening. "But I do."

"Orion Trent, District Four. Please report to the training centre for your individual assessment."

A clinical robotic voice interrupts our conversation, but Aisha is quick to give me a sharp nod and a friendly punch on the shoulder.

"You'll rock it," she tells me. "Show 'em what Four's got!"

I reward her with a smile before I head through the door on the other side of the room. A couple of tributes glance at me as I pass, deep in conversation, but I pay them no mind. There's no point on getting distracted when I should be focusing on what I'm about to present.

As I enter the training centre, I look up and see the Head Gamemaker, Luca Fawkes, accompanied by the rest of his Gamemakers, all of them waiting for my arrival.

"Orion, you may begin to present your skills whenever you are ready," Luca informs me, his golden eyes watchful and waiting.

I take a second to survey the room, before locking my eyes on to the weapons station. I've never had a preference for any particular weapon, instead, learning all of them. Many of the trainers named me a jack of all trades, but unfortunately, that left me to be a master of none. As I clutch a nearby sword in my left hand, I spring into action, swirling and lunging, parrying and deflecting. I'm strong and fast, but I'm certainly no giant, so I doubt I'm wowing the Gamemakers out of their seats. Even so, when my eyes flicker over to them, they're impressed. Clearly, I've made my mark.

Even after all these years in training, I've always dismissed it as a way to strengthen myself and to put the missing pieces back together. But as I grew closer and closer to the Games, my old habits settled into a methodical, clear, graceful means of combat that didn't go unnoticed. I guess that's why I'm here. Despite it all, I've performed to a standard expected of me, a Career.

Finally finished, I stand to attention, awkwardly watching the Gamemakers until Luca finally speaks.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," he says.

"You're welcome," I respond politely, bowing before leaving the room.

I can't help but be reasonable with these people, even if they may end up killing me. My parents instilled a need for politeness in me before they passed and despite everything, it's still a part of me, almost as if they've been with me ever since that fateful day.

My friend, Abigail, has always told me to honour them in the best way that I can. She's always been by my side as a voice of rationality, ever since we were young. Training together hasn't changed that, besides her feelings for me. It would be nice to have someone, but…not yet. I'm not ready. I told Abigail that if I returned from the Hunger Games that maybe we could give things a go, but even now I'm still unsure. I don't know if I'm emotionally prepared to have someone special in my life at the moment. That's another one for the list of things to dwell on.

Exiting the centre, I climb the stairs and head towards the nearest elevator.

Haven't I got enough to think about after all?

Geoni Proctor, Thirteen, District Six Male

This isn't enough.

Standing in the middle of the training centre, I have nothing.

I've thrown some knives, and they've missed. I've tried to start a fire and barely succeeded. Now, I'm rattling off numerous facts about plants, and while I know they're all completely right, I can't help but be aware of how pitiful my skills must be.

Half of the Gamemakers have completely lost interest in me, while the other half look so bored that I'm surprised they're still listening. Does nobody have respect for statistical possibilities or quantifiable assets anymore? Does nobody understand that it was my Father who created the newest, most up-to-date transport that brings the tributes to the Capitol? Part of me is frustrated, and another part is grossed out. The centre was untidy enough when I arrived and the disorganisation of the centre now is enough to make me feel as if I'm spiralling.

This entire session is a mess.

I almost run out of the centre when the Head Gamemaker allows me to take my leave. Nearly tripping up the steps, I can't stop the angry tears that begin to spill from my eyes.

I'm angry at myself.

Surely I could have calculated the possibility that I could have done something right, but a part of me just froze up. Something told me that my surroundings were not sterile and that the weapons I held were not clean. Such small, insignificant details are no issue to anyone in particular, but already my skin is crawling, I am sweating and my heart is beating so fast that I can barely stop myself from simply collapsing.

Shower. Must shower.

My brain has been reduced to some kind of primal, unintelligible animal, so much so that when I enter the floor on Six, I dart right past Mona's bored expression and Leigha's composed demeanour. Both of them are so well put together, so pristine in how they present themselves and then there's me. I'm someone who should be immaculate, clean, perfectly tidy in every way, and yet I struggle to get out of my damp clothes, my glasses fogging up as I whimper to myself.

Finally. Shower.

I turn on the water and turn the dial to exactly forty-five degrees; enough to make the water as hot as I've come to like it. Several buttons later and I'm covered in a blend of my favourite gels. Half the smells are a mystery to me, but somewhere within it all, I finally calm down enough to know I didn't take off my glasses. Well, they need a clean anyway. Between the mixing scents of pine and lavender, I lean against the cold tiles of the shower, wincing slightly at the unexpected feeling, but too lazy to really move. I've had plenty of time to think about things over the past few days, but I've been too focused on rationality rather than emotion to really think about how I feel about it. Sure, I'm terrified, that's a given. I don't want to die. I don't want to feel the pain of being hurt by someone else. I don't want to worry about my survival.

Yet, these thoughts and feelings are inescapable.

I wish I was impervious to these things. I wish I could float away and work on my projects – I really need to finish off that robot with Jana. Even now, I long to hear her tones while we work together, or the sound of Lysander's whine at all the things he doesn't understand about our conversations. I wish for the feeling of Mom's arms around me. I want to go home.

Slowly, robotically, I finish my shower, get dried and get dressed.

I'm not emotionally ready to face the scores tonight, but I know I have to. I doubt the training sessions have finished yet, so I'm guessing that I'll have to wait even longer.

Several buttons and a comb of my hair barely prepares me for creaking open the door, but I force myself outwards, moving towards the lounge where a large TV is sat. Leigha and Mona are talking together, but I simply approach, catching their attention.

"You okay?" Leigha asks me shyly.

Leigha's never really interacted with me before this, mostly because I know that her and I wouldn't work in an alliance with her. In her eyes, I'm young, a liability. In my eyes, she's too judgmental.

"I did not foresee the possibility that my performance in my assessment would be as poor as it was." I declare, before sitting down on the edge of the sofa, sinking into the foam. The comfort that this action brings me is enough to relax my shoulders.

"Sometimes, you don't foresee anything," Mona responds.

Mona's always come across as somewhat bored, but now that I've spoken to her more, there's an undercurrent just beneath the surface. With her cool composure and perfect posture, I would have thought differently. It seems that everyone here has their surprises.

"I know," I answer. "I apologise for failing you."

"Don't," Mona answers, a little softer than usual. "The only way you could have failed is by not going in there and trying."

Mona's words make me smile, even if it is a little. Adjusting my glasses, I grab a nearby cushion and cuddle it. After everything today, I need all the comfort I can get before my scores. Why? Because my score will be bad. I wouldn't be surprised if I get a one.

No, I would. I did something. I engaged, and I tried, I showed the Gamemakers that I was of some use and more than they thought. I'm just another underestimated tribute, trying to find their way back home.

"You're right," I mutter. "Maybe it's not the end of the world."

"You still have the interviews," Leigha explained, trying to be positive. There's a note in her voice that makes me wonder if she's trying to keep herself in good spirits too. "If you impress the Capitol then they'll definitely sponsor you."

Oh Leigha, I really hope they do.

Aline Liu, Twelve, District Nine Female

I hope I'll do okay.

Being a twelve-year-old in the Hunger Games has never been easy, and everyone can agree with me when I say that I'm statistically the least likely to come out of this alive. Unlike everyone else before me though, I have an edge. I have traditions passed down for generations, unknown ideas that have led me to where I'm standing today. Am I strong enough to do this? How long can I keep fighting?

"Aline Liu, District Nine. Please report to the training centre for your individual assessment."

Geoni and Barric have both gone in before me, and I can only hope that they've done well in their sessions. Cleve, who's sitting beside me, is trembling like a leaf, but his face is resolute. Being scored on something you're not well versed in is anyone's worry. Fortunately for me, I know my way around a sword. Specifically, a butterfly sword.

When I first touched the sword on the rack, there was weight to them, so foreign to the familiar roughness of wood in my hands when I practised back in Nine. It was so strange to see such an unfamiliar place hold something that makes me feel at home, but it was at that point I remembered wude.

Perseverance. Endurance.

Two of my Father's teachings reminded me to remain strong. Being so young, my emotions are like wildfire, and I can feel them burning inside me, trying to break free. That's only natural; instead, I must remember to focus on the preservation of my mental space to remain calm. It's an easy lesson for me since it comes so naturally now. Nothing is ever in excess; instead, it's in moderation. When I trained with those beautiful swords and I danced my graceful dance, I only did it long enough for me to get a feel of the weapons in my hands.

The Careers saw me.

They're every bit as fearsome as people say they are. They're tall, lean or muscular, unforgiving, unrelenting, determined. I can't deny that their resilience matches mine. They want their glory or their prize, or whatever else they're looking for, and ultimately that's not something I can blame them for. I can only hope I'll survive long enough for them to take themselves out.

I feel a warmth on my hand; Cleve gives it a gentle squeeze with his own.

"You're young, but you know how to use those swords," he tells me. "You're going to do really well."

Cleve's confirmation of my own hopes is almost overwhelming in how they make me feel. I feel a surge of confidence in me, and it's almost too much. I offer him a sincere smile.

"Thank you," I tell him softly. "You'll do great as well."

"I don't think so," Cleve shrugs. "But there's always a chance."

I don't reply, but I offer him a small squeeze of his hand as I stand up and walk through the door, leaving him alone. I didn't have much else to say, so I didn't say it. All in moderation, after all.

The golden Head Gamemaker waits for me, so I simply wait for him, standing in one spot until he tells me to start. I almost glide over to the weapons station, picking out the familiar butterfly swords that lie there, just waiting for me to grasp them.

Then, I begin my dance.

It's almost like I'm back at home, following the steps that my Father taught me. Even now I can feel the sun bearing down upon my back, and the dusty backyard of the farm stinging my eyes as my hair sticks to me with sweat. A light breeze, like a mere whisper, caresses my forehead. Here, its air conditioning, they call it. It's fresh, but clinical. In Nine, it's hearty, smelling like damp earth and roasting grains, yellow fields rippling on the horizon.

I'm not the best with the swords.

I know my technique, but weapons are heavy, and so I'm a little off balance. I'm not overly clumsy, but I'm not particularly strong. My best ally is my speed, and I zip from dummy to dummy, demonstrating the techniques I have learnt in the best way I can. Once I'm done, I'm breathing hard, exhausted. I look up at the Gamemakers with wide eyes, bared completely to the world. In this moment, I am more than Aline. I am more than a practitioner of wude. I am the extension of my swords, a combination of metal and flesh.

"Thank you," Luca tells me with a small smile. "You are dismissed."

The return to Floor Nine is a pleasant one, even if I'm a bit of a mess. I put all of myself into that session and I didn't even realise it. If I get my hands on swords like those in the Games, I know for sure that I can continue my training to become stronger, not only for the practice and development of martial morality, but also for the purity of my integrity. I haven't thought about killing any of the tributes until now; it's more of a trivial consideration. My traditions have always told me that preservation of life is a priority. However, when all I have left is my life…

Would killing someone be so bad?

The elevator doors slide open and I stumble out. Across the room, Barric is pacing by the window, while our mentor Barli is half asleep on the sofa, a bottle of darkened rum in his hand. Barric turns to see me, his green eyes taking in my tired appearance.

"Aline!" he calls, rushing over to me. "How did it go? You look like you gave it your all."

"You know what?" I smile slightly. "I really did."

I really, really did.

So there's your sessions chapter, I hope you enjoyed :o

The scores are coming up next, and we're checking into our subplot with the fabulous Luca and the rest of the cast. The first couple of stories in the Fawkes verse are designed to merely introduce and familiarise yourself with the characters, but now that I've successfully begun to do that, I can start weaving in some subplot goodness.

If you're not a subplot kinda person, then hold on tight – you'll still get your tribute scores next chapter! We'll be jumping right back into the tribute interviews afterwards, so don't you worry ;)

Orion and Aisha are getting close. Do you think that Aisha's words can spur Orion on so he believes he's not a coward? Aisha's softer here too, thoughts on that?
Geoni's a mess, and he hates it. Do you feel bad for how his session went?
Aline kept her composure and gave it her all. Do you think that her skills were enough to get her a good score?
Do you have any score predictions for the tributes?

Over and out!
~Mental