Beep...beep...beep!
"Uh, just five more minutes," England muttered groggily, flipping over in his huge, soft king sized bed. He looked at his alarm clock screen, it read 8:00 A.M, the time he had to get up and go to breakfast before the first day of training began. Sighing heavily, England clambered out of his fluffy bed, and slipped into his mint green bunny slippers. He stumbled into his bathroom, which inluded a bath tub the size of a small swimming pool, and a shower that was at least the as big as his compartment on the train going to the Capitol.
After taking a long, hot steamy shower, England changed into a pair of blue sweats and a plain white t-shirt for the day's training, along with a set of mint green sneakers. "Huh...I really am missing Mint Bunny," England murmered to himself as he rode the elevator down to the base floor. "I hope I can see him before-" England's statement was cut off when the elevator suddenly came to a halt on the second floor, and America clambered in.
The cocky American smirked when he saw England. "Oh, it's you, the one who's going to lose to me!'' he declared proudly, pumping a fist into the air.
"Yeah...whatever," England responded. America was always being the asshole of the world, and this didn't even change when he was preparing for a literal fight to the death. At this time, the elevator came to a halt on the ground floor, and England quickly strolled out, saving himself from further conversation with his rather arrogant 'younger brother'.
Breakfast and all other meals were served in a regal, sophisticated looking room with a red velevet carpet, gold walls, mahaogany tables, plush chairs, and golden lamps bathing the whole room in a rather warm and cozy light. A long table draped with white cloth was pushed against the back wall, holding many different silver platters of food. By now, most other tributes had already eaten, meaning England was late, not that he cared. Sleep was an important thing, and the amount of it he got often times dictated his mood. Grabbing a crystal plate, England loaded it with all sorts of food: bacon, eggs, toast, crumpets, and a large mug of lemon tea. The Brit hungrily wolfed down his food, and sipped his tea.
"Time for training then, I guess..." England snorted as he walked toward the large doors that read 'Training Center' in bold letters. As it turned out, the center was easily the size of the stadium England and the others had been paraded through the night before. A running track looped around the whole room, and different stations dotted the area. There were bows and arrows, spears, swords, kinves, and axes to practice with, accompanied by intructers for each. There were alos stations such as berries, which indicated all kinds of safe and dangerous berries, and fire making, were ttributes could practice building a fire from scratch. Weight lifting and running areas were also present, to build up speed and strength.
England turned to see Effie Trinket striding towards him. "You're late," she scolded, "but you're here. Well as you can see, there are different stations all around here. You can pratice at the ones you choose, and in ten days time you will have a private evaluation with the gamemakers to asses your skills and receive a training score."
"Right." England nodded. Training scores were a vital part in getting sponsers. Tributes were ranked out of twleve. High scores generally meant that one would get many sponseres, but also make them a target for other tributes seeing them as a threat. Low socres mean little to no sponsers, but other tributes normally left one alone until the end of the Games. "Now, where to start...how about swords?" He made his way to the sword station, where a large, bald man, the instructor, was showing another tribute, Hungary, England thought, how to properly grip a sword. England selected a medium sized, average looking sword with a steel blade and a wooden handle out of a steel rack filled with the weapons.
Five minutes later, the sword lay forgotten in a corner, the dummies which tributes were meant to practice their weapons on remained unscathed, and England was nursing a painful cut on his lower left leg, courtesy of his own horrendous swordplay. "Not the weapon for me," he groaned, wrapping a bandage over his cut. But Japan seems pretty good at it," Indeed, the Asian nation was effortlessly slashing apart dummies, using a long sword with a curved blade. "Maybe I should try another station."
Next, England decided to try archery. The instructory, a young, musclular women with long brown hair, seemed to grow tired of telling England the same things over and over again, as the Brit could barely even get the arrow into the bow. However, England was actually pretty decent with knives. While at this station, he saw Leichtenstein, who was simply amazing, The small girl was fast enough to get a stab in on moving dummies, and she had good accuracy with throwing knives. Her older brother Switzerland must've taught her a thing or two. England himselft was able to get close enough to the dummies to stab them, and had pretty good aim while throwing, at least he could use kinves better than swords or bows. For his last station of the day, England went to spears. He stumbled up a bit at first, but after a few pointers from the instructor, he could jab and hit dummies in the sides, and was even able to get a stab in the chest
"Okay," the instructor, a middle aged man with short black hair, began, "now try throwing your spear to get a hit in on the moving dummy," he said, pointing to a dummy that was shifting sideways and back and forth.
"Well, I'll try..." England trailed off. Thrwoing spears looked difficult, after all. Taking a deep breath, England pulled back his right arm, which he used to throw, and thrusted the spear forward. His eyes snapped shut just as he heard a pang. England opened his eyes. The spear was lodged right in the middle of the dummy's chest, where a person's heart would be.