District 1: Sangria Ashworth (18) Pov-
"Turn it just a little. No, the other way. Right there. Tilt it up for me."
Declan's hands move the mirror up and down, his movements so sudden that he almost drops the mirror. I reach into my pocket and snatch out the make-up I snuck into the private sessions from my dorm upstairs. I apply a quick coating of foundation and a bit of mascara before sliding the gloss over my lips.
"Sangria Ashworth of District 1, please report for individual assessment." Head Gamemaker Draymond Armidale's voice plays in my ears, sounding like he's right behind me. I swivel my head around, but he's not there. The acoustics of the training center are exceptional.
I shove the make-up back into my pocket and stroll slowly into the gymnasium.
An intense sort of tension closes its fist around the room. My eyes catch onto the glisten of a cart of daggers about ten yards away. Giving no shortage of flirty winks, I saunter toward the cart and snatch up the first two daggers I come across.
I pounce toward the dummy and bury my first dagger into its shoulder. A quick peek upward is enough to tell me that I've caught the gamemakers' attention. Draymond himself sits as cold as stone in the center of the crowd, his hard gaze set on me.
By the time my second dagger finds a home in the dummy's chest, I've managed to wrench out my first one, slamming it into the cloth less than a foot from its comrade.
At once, I yank both daggers from the dummy. They're planted in there well. When I finally pull them out, I stumble backward, landing on the tiled floor.
Pain wrings through me. A few of the gamemakers laugh, and I feel the color rise in my face.
I try to kick myself to my feet, very conscious of how the good twenty people are staring at me with their lips curled into amused smiles. But my feet slide too much across the tile and my back slams against the ground once more.
Once I finally get to my feet, I grab the cart of daggers. If I've already ruined the session I might as well go out with style. I bolt toward the dummy with the cart in front of me. The gamemakers are hushed. I let go of the cart. It wheels across the ground and collides with the dummy, sending the table and the several mannequins on top of it flying backward into the wall.
The buzzer rings, indicating that my time is up. With a flick of my blonde ponytail, I strut out of the gymnasium.
A look at the mirror tells me that my make-up is horribly smudged. My insides crinkle up inside of me as I struggle to remove everything before the next tribute is called.
District 2: Jaehaera Blackfyre (17) Pov-
After a lot of consideration, I've decided to play the role of a steadfast classic. My mentor's been telling me since the train ride that I have to play to my strengths, but who's ever heard of a District 2 girl who uses poisons? Swordplay is the way to go, even if it's not what I do best.
"Jaehaera Blackfyre of District 2, please report for individual assessment."
The gamemakers stare down at me. I stare back up at them. Coldly. Like I don't give a crap about any of these pre-games rituals. Like I'm above this whole thing.
Jaw set and lips formed into a solid line, I snatch up one of the longer and sleeker swords at the sword station. A trainer rushes into the gymnasium, grabs up a sword of his own, and pounces toward me.
The thrill of the battle courses through my veins, making my blood turn cold with excitement. The trainer slashes his sword to the left, aiming for my torso. I manage to knock his blade out of the way with a strike of my own.
His grip wobbles, and I only need one more strike to send his weapon flying out of his hand. It clatters to the floor about twenty feet away.
The trainer reaches for his backup weapon. Before he can grab it, I thrust my sword outward and place it gently against the back of his neck. He chuckles, as if impressed. I never let his gaze leave mine as he walks out of the room without his sword.
Figuring I might as well go through with the sword thing for the rest of the session, I ask for a dummy. An avox rushes in with one. The instant she disappears, I thunder toward the fake person, sword above my head.
With a heavy slice, I manage to lop off part of the dummy's head. The slab of silicon slowly slides off down the slope of the angled cut. I place my sword under it, splitting the chunk of material in half as it falls.
I'm eager to destroy the dummy the rest of the way, but the buzzer rings before I have time.
I walk backward out of the gym, casting my signature cold look at the gamemaker team until they disappear from sight.
District 4: Cyan Costas (18) Pov-
Pixel looks confident as she strolls out of the gym. Her arms are crossed in front of her, and she wears a smile that can only be described as smug.
"How many gamemakers are there?" I ask. "How much time do you have? What weapons can you use?"
I always ask questions when I'm nervous. Now, I'm more nervous than I can ever remember being in my life. My private session is next. In less than a minute I'll be standing in front of the gamemakers.
Pixel shrugs. "There's about twenty of 'em. You get fifteen minutes. You can show them whatever you want as long as you finish in the time limit."
I rest my chin on my knees. I just need more time to think! That's all I need.
"Cyan Costas of District 4, please report for individual assessment."
Shaking fiercely, I get to my feet and walk into the gym. If only I'd spent more time preparing for this!
I look frantically around. There are the throwing knives: I'm good enough at throwing knives. Then again, I only spent one training day practicing with them. I can start a fire well enough, but I'm not sure whether the station will have matches or not.
It must be thirty seconds before I finally decide to head for the fire starting station. I crouch down and grab the firewood. I try to form the image of the holographic instruction screen in my head, but I'm too anxious for the picture to be clear.
After I finish lining the firewood in a tent-like shape, I realize that I forgot to start with smaller pieces of tinder. Aw, shoot! Shoot, shoot, shoot!
Thankfully, the station provides a box of matches. Figuring I have to improvise if I want to impress Draymond and the other gamemakers in the time limit, I come up with something unique. I sprinkle the surface of the tent shape with small, dry needles and then drop a match onto the top. As the flame begins to burn, I pile more and more needles on top. By the time my supply runs out, some of the logs have started to catch fire.
I walk over to the throwing knives after stamping out the fire.
Deep breaths, Cyan. Deep breaths.
My first knife lands only a few inches from the bull's eye of the wooden target. I glance upward and see Draymond raise his eyebrows as if impressed. My next shot is not nearly as accurate. I barely hit the target, and the knife lands several feet from the central point.
Before I can throw another knife, my buzzer sounds. As I trek out of the gym, I'm not sure how to feel. On one hand, that could have gone a lot worse. On the other hand, it could have gone a lot better. I could have showed the gamemakers a variety of different weapons instead of just throwing knives. And I could have at least remembered to start with smaller fuel first and build my way up to a complete fire!
Maybe I'm worrying too much. But I just hope I'm not the weakest link in the outlier crop this year.
District 6: Lincoln Blitz (16) Pov-
When I think about it, my entire life has been a game of camouflage. Ever since I ran away from the orphanage, I've been trying desperately to blend into the crowd and keep from being spotted by the peacekeepers. More times than I can count, I've had to duck into the shadows to hide from the baker when he walks in one of my bread stealing escapades. Why stop now?
"Lincoln Blitz of District 6, please report for individual assessment."
The second I walk into the gymnasium, I set my eyes on the camouflage station. The table covered with brushes and inks is situated in the dead center of the gym. That means I'll hopefully have the gamemakers' undivided attention.
I sit down in the chair and immediately get to work. I grab a jar of paint that matches my skin tone and begin layering it onto my arm with a thick brush. I try to make the lines as uneven as possible, just as the underlying colors of a tree branch would be uneven in nature.
Once the entire arm is covered, I grab the dark brush and start tracing over the folds of my skin. Whenever I spot a vein through my flesh, I cover it with the brush. When I've finished, my arm has transformed into a web of dark strands crisscrossing over a light backdrop.
Finally, I snatch up the jar of grey finishing powder. I sprinkle the grey powder over my arm and gently blow on it. As it moves, it not only colors the skin but also lightly smudges some of the bolder inks.
According to the clock, I have just over seven minutes left in my session.
I quickly breeze through the edible plants station. I was expecting a high score, and I'm not let down. I pass the edible plants test with flying colors and a flawless score. I've had to eat a lot of plants and bugs on the streets.
To fill the remaining three minutes of the session, I head to the fire starting station. I'm not the best at fire starting, but I still have some experience from training… I think it was Day 2 that I practiced starting fires?
I'm not expecting to get through the whole thing, and this is proven true in minutes. My buzzer rings, leaving me with a half-completed pile of tinder and an untouched box of matches.
I picture tonight's television broadcast in my head. The name "Lincoln Blitz" comes onto the screen. But what is my score? I'm hoping for at least a six, but maybe the gamemakers won't be so generous to a District 6 tribute. Then again, scoring low might be an advantage. The stronger tributes won't make a low-scoring tribute a target. Maybe being a weaker tribute has its perks after all.
District 7: Cerise Yew (15) Pov-
I take a deep breath, feeling my chest rise as the cold air floods into my lungs. There's nothing I can do to stop my heart from pounding as hard as it is. But I suppose I can try to contain my uneven, shaky breaths.
"Cerise Yew of District 7, please report for individual assessment."
I tug in one more huge breath before walking into gym. The axes are just where they were when Erik and I trained together.
I tell myself that this is just another session of axe practice with Erik. I'm going to grab one of the axes and fight the best I can against the trainer. I'm usually good at controlling my emotions. But even so, it's hard to ignore the calculated and watchful gazes of the gamemakers from above.
The axe feels colder in my hands than ever before. My breath condenses on the metal blade as a trainer walks into the room, already holding one of his own.
Our axes clash in midair and it seems like the fight is won from the start. His axe is much larger than mine, so of course he would have the advantage, but he's also fast and agile. I'm pretty agile myself, but for the first few seconds I'm too shocked to deploy anything Erik taught me in training.
This reminds me of the bench press back in the school gym in District 7. I can't push the trainer farther away. I can just hold him where he is, swinging my axe in front of me and praying that some burst of energy will find its way into me.
Finally, I manage an edge. I spontaneously jump onto the table of the axe station. Blades clatter against the countertop as my footsteps rock them back and forth.
The trainer falls back a few inches, the slightest hint of shock in his gaze—just what I need to win the duel. Noticing how loose his axe grip is getting, I snatch the weapon out of his hand.
I trap him between the two axes, feeling my lips forming themselves into a smile of triumph.
The loud sound of the buzzer has me strolling out of the gym with my head held high.
Back in the waiting room, Erik gives me a small smile. I drop down next to him, returning a smile of my own.
"How'd it go?" he asks.
"Well enough," I respond. "Definitely better than I expected."
Erik takes a swig of water from his thermos. "Axes, right?"
"Yep."
"How long did the duel last?"
These questions are starting to overwhelm me. It feels weird spilling so many secrets to a fellow tribute, but hey. Erik is my ally! If I had to pick, he's the tribute I most trust.
"The whole session," I answer after a short silence.
He raises his eyebrows. "Did the gamemakers seem impressed?"
"Dunno. I wasn't paying attention.
"Good luck with your training score, Cerise," Erik says.
"Good luck." And I mean it. I'm grateful to have a friend in the games, and I'm grateful that I won't be entirely alone in the harsh weeks to come.
District 9: Luc Everett (16) Pov-
"Luc Everett of District 9, please report for individual assessment."
I feign absolute confidence as I stride into the gymnasium. I immediately head over to the camouflage station. But I have no intents of painting my arms. I grab one of the jars of paint and head over to the sickle station. Before I start using the sickle on the dummy, I dip the tip of the blade in the black paint.
My first slash creates a long line of dark paint across the dummy's chest. There's quite a bit of difference between fighting a stationary dummy and fighting a human, but I figure whenever I have to kill I can just pretend that I'm killing a dummy like I am right now.
The minutes trickle past. All the while, the gamemakers peer down at me from above. I can feel their gaze on me, like they're inspecting and analyzing every move I make.
When only five minutes are left in my session, I set down the sickle. The dummy is covered with dozens of crisscrossing black lines. Several puncture wounds also litter the mannequin.
Deciding that showing off as many skills as possible will increase my odds of earning a high score, I head over to the knife station. On the way, my eyes catch onto the edible plants station. I quickly pull them away. The survival stations kind of seem like a waste of time, especially considering that I already know a lot about them. It's not like I'll really need them if I get good sponsors and a bountiful turnout from the initial bloodbath.
I'm way more shocked than I should be that the knife station has tons of varieties of knives. There are short, stubby ones; curved ones the length of my arm; and ones meant for throwing. My fingers hover over the blades before finally scooping up one of the longer hunting knives.
A trainer walks into the room, already in possession of a knife of his own. I run toward him holding my long hunting knife in front of me. The trainer quickly shifts out of the way. My blade lightly touches his shoulder, barely drawing blood and likely not even inflicting pain.
My buzzer rings before I can do anything else impressive.
The walk out of the gym is much easier than the walk in. Well that's behind me. I wonder what score I'll receive. I don't think I was that impressive, but I don't think I put up a poor performance either. I'm hoping to be in the top half.
Here are private sessions! Once again I didn't include every tribute, but I hope that this gave you a rough idea of what the sessions are like for these tributes.
Before I start writing the training scores, I just want to put out a little disclaimer. Most of your tributes will receive scores equal to or very near what the submitters put in their forms. But some will receive lower scores than suggested and some will receive higher. I need lots of weak tributes and lots of strong tributes to help the story along. If your tribute receives a different score than you suggested, please do not take personal offense. As shown by past Hunger Games, tributes with low scores aren't counted out. Not by a long shot :D
Question 1: What is the current head gamemaker's full name?
Question 2: Which of the 23 other tributes does Cerise most trust?