A/N: So I began writing this chapter, thinking I was going to be able to write all the perspectives for the private training sessions but then realized how arduous that would become, so instead I'm going to be doing a last thoughts before the games chapter directly after the interviews that will feature all twenty-four tributes. For this chapter, the perspective of six tributes will be shown, so it's still a lot but not a crazy amount. We're getting closer and closer and those reviews keep on flowing in. Thanks everyone, keep it up and let's get to 150 before the Games! (I know that's a long shot) So here are…the Private Training Sessions!
Leo Ventras- District Three
I can barely walk. I don't know why I thought I could come to the capitol in the condition that I was and hope to make a difference, because the wounds dealt to me by my mother and the strain training has put on my already battered muscles have combined into massive amounts of pain. The girl from Two just left, probably wowing the gamemakers with all her pretty little tricks and stunts. I've seen her in training, she can swing pretty hard. The confident smirk on her face when she returns tells me two things, she's done well and I'm next.
"Leo Ventras," the monotone voice of the trainer calls and I struggle to get to my feet. I make it look normal though, and the speed at which I rose sends hot sensations of pain up and down my spine and legs. I try my best to hide the involuntary grimace that paints across my face, but I think the trainer saw. Whatever, it's not like I'll be making much of a score anyway.
Once I'm inside the room, the gamemakers postpone their frivolity and set their drinks down to look at me. A striking woman who I determine to be the Head Gamemaker was already watching before I came in, setting herself apart from the merriment of the others. There is something in her eyes, the expression she wears and the way she looks out from the window instead of towards something in particular that makes me think there's some hidden emotion she must be feeling. She doesn't like this line of work.
Trying to hide any bruises and masking my limp with a painful stride, I decide I'll show them how deadly I can be with the axe. It's the only weapon I've got a true handle on, but I've never dealt with a double-sided one before. The second I touch it I can tell I've perked their interest; I'm willing to bet not many tributes go for this one.
"Leo Ventras," I say, holding the axe in one hand before making my way over to the black dummies. The way they are arranged tells me I'm going to do have to do some serious physical maneuvering, and I pray I'll be able to complete the routine. All I have to do is fight past the pain, no matter how bad it burns. If I do that, I can get a decent score and not become career-bait the second I set foot in the arena.
I can feel the bug-like eyes of the gamemakers burning into the back of my skull and it becomes clear that I have to make a move. Heaving the heavy axe over my shoulder, I'm amazed at how much heavier the weapon becomes with the addition of another blade. Putting the weapon into proper swinging position on my shoulder, I make sure the curve will come from the side. Putting all the remaining energy I have into this swing, I silently hope that I can bring the weapon back for some sort of theatrical display.
I still haven't begun, and the second I hear conversation pipe up from the gamemaker's box due to my negligence to perform I swing the weapon. It arcs across the air, coming down from shoulder and sinking into the shoulder of the first dummy. I have no trouble wrenching the weapon free in seconds, and I spin my body so the axe moves in the motion of a hurricane. I become a spinning blade, and the axe sinks itself into the stomach of the second dummy. Impressed that I actually brought the weapon back, I free it from the depths of the dummy and get ready to lodge the weapon into the face of the third and final dummy.
Then it happens, when I heave the weapon high above my head in preparation to bring it down, my back sears with pain and I drop the weapon. Doubling over, my chest is an inferno, and the wounds I have burst with a new layer of aching. I sink to my knees, trying to collect the rapid exhalations of breath that leave my system, but I'm already here so I might as well give out. Crumbling to the floor, I let the cool tile rest against my cheek, and with one last expulsion of breath I fade into blackness.
When I wake up, I'm lying in my bed in the hotel room. I don't know how I got here, and I wish I could know what the gamemaker's thought, if they laughed or if they cried. I'm going to go ahead and assume it was the former. The cool air in the room feels nice, and I lay back down in the bed trying to forget the horror-show that was my private training session. I'll be lucky if my score is higher than two. I don't expect it when Tesla walks in, so I sit up immediately, hoping he has nothing bad to tell me.
"How are you feeling?" The elderly victor asks, placing a wrinkled hand against my forehead. My forehead isn't hot and he gives me a warm smile, trying to placate my anxiety.
"What happened?" I ask, not remembering most of what happened after I prepared to execute the third dummy.
"You passed out," Tesla put it simply, "But not because you were exhausted, or due to nerves." He narrows his beady black eyes at me before asking, "How long were you abused for?"
I'm startled he knows, but then again he is from District Three, not much gets past people like him. I know I'm from there too, but it's different for me, I've never been the brainy type. My thoughts delay my answer for a few moments, so when I do decide to give him one, I say slowly,
"Too long."
"That's what I thought," Tesla says, methodically running his hands across my flat arms. He applies pressure to areas that aren't even bruised, but it still hurts. He can tell this is true by the way I twist my jaw, and he releases his hold.
"You're greatly weakened by this…setback," he murmurs, "It wouldn't seem fair for someone in your condition to take on the arena." His words kindle a spark of hope inside of me that perhaps I'll be able to go home, but then the thought comes to surface. Home is worse than here.
"Was my training score affected?" I ask with too much care in my voice.
"Undoubtedly," Tesla confirms, his fingers playing with the threads of the blanket that covers me.
"Perfect," I mutter.
"Yes," Tesla says, "It's not going to get any better from here." Those are his final words, and the man who I thought was coming to do something about my condition, leaves me sitting alone with one inevitable thought clouding my mind. There's no way I'm making it out alive.
Ula Ermin- District Four
As soon as Richard comes back, they call my name and he winks at me as we pass each other on the way in. Gross. I give my hair a shake and let it hang down completely, the sandy brown strands coming past my shoulder blades. My dark green eyes scan the available weapons and I decide that I'll use the throwing knives today, although I could easily do just as well with the shining silver trident that is hanging by the swords.
"Ula Ermin," I say, making direct eye contact with the woman I presume to be the Head Gamemaker. Her purple hair reminds me of Avery's eyes, and if that's any indication of personality, then I don't like this woman. How did Dory feel when she stood here, proclaiming her name to a host of diabolical schemers ready to kill her with the push of a button? How did Marlene feel? Did they know she would come home victorious that year? Did she know?
I've got about five or six knives on the table next to me, and one in my hand already. There are six targets, circle pads hung in various locations and differences all across the course. I take a deep breath, exhale, and lock my eyes right above the center of the target. Aiming right there, I quickly bring the knife over my shoulder and let it leave my fingers as soon as the arc crosses my face. The knife, sailing through the air, careens towards the intended location on the target. I don't wait until it hits.
I fire off another knife, and another. By the time I've thrown three the first one sinks into the target, that's how quick I am. I can hear someone clap, but he is quickly hushed by his cohort. Running my hands through the next few knives, I repeat the same method and before a minute has passed I've hit all six targets dead in the center. Light clapping emerges from the booth, and I give them a tiny smile before heading out of the room, knowing that was enough to satiate their scoreboards.
Richard is just beaming when I come back to the suite, and I give him a wink before pouring myself a glass of water. I've never seen him so happy, and inquire as to why he's nearly bouncing around.
"God Richard, people are going to think you've killed someone you're so happy," I frame the question into a statement, pretending I don't care. For some reason, the other careers pinned me as mysterious and alienated, so Richard and I have decided to run with that. Sipping my water, looking towards the window, I don't make eye contact with Richard as he replies.
"My score's going to be somewhere north of ten, I can feel it," he says, glowing like a puppy.
"I've never seen you this happy," I remark, taking another sip, "Tell me all about it." I give my sandy hair a flip and look at him.
"I hit the dummies so hard with my trident that they split in half," he brags, "They had to replace."
"Marvelous," I comment, not really wanting to hear all about it. Marlene and Aqua are sitting on the couch, fervently discussing with our stylists the ideas for the interviews. Deciding to join, I bring my glass with me and settle down on the couch next to Fantine, my stylist.
"It has to be blue," Metias, Richard's stylist, argues, "This is District Four for crying out loud."
"I never said it didn't have to be blue," Marlene scowls, shooting me a wink from the other side of the couch.
They're at it for quite some time before Richard decides to join us, face stuffed with food.
"Rip sweetheart," Marlene coos, "Could you bring the bottle of wine while you're still up."
"Sure thing master," Richard snaps and doubles back to the counter to grab the dark bottle Marlene requested. Dashell is sitting on the recliner, a plate of food resting on the arm of course. His chubby pink cheeks stand out against the white furniture, and the fat man smiles at me briefly before stuffing two or three shrimp in his mouth at once. A bit revolted, I turn away from him and watch Marlene converse with Metias and Fantine, while Aqua sits silent between it all. Watching Marlene, her cropped hair swishing back and forth and she tries to address both stylists, memories of District Four flood my mind.
Coral, Caspian, Mother, Father, Dory. All of them swirl together in my head; I have to go home for all of them. How would Coral react, losing two sisters to the games. It wouldn't be fair. But the Hunger Games isn't about being fair, the capitol isn't about being fair, President Snow doesn't play fair. Which is why I'm going to do everything in power to win, which means at some point down the road, the last person I want to annoy will become my enemy, Richard.
Caramen Fliess- District Five
I go in right after the girl from Four, and my heart is hammering in my chest. I have no clue what I'm going to do for the gamemakers, what if they hate me? My mind is racing with possible outcomes of this situation, how my painfully low score will bring shame to my mother, how I won't make it past the bloodbath in time for Uncle Romulus to help me out. I can see him, he's right there in booth, chatting with two other older men about something rather funny from the looks of it. Then his eyes settle on me and I can instantly see the melancholy creep up his face, embedding itself in his eyes and casting a pitiful look down at me.
I guess I can try using a sword? I have no idea what I'm doing in here. I've spent most of my time learning techniques, like knot-tying, fire-building, how to make a snare, how to identify what's safe to eat. But the private training sessions are all about physical prowess, which I have none of. I can feel their eyes, his eyes, on me as I lift the heavy metal weapon, barely able to keep it up. Turning to face them, I can already seen the disdain in their eyes, except for a few including Uncle Romulus and the purple-haired woman.
"Caramen Fliess," I state my name and proceed to make an attempt at using the sword. I try to hack into the dummy's chest, but the weight of the weapon forces the blade way downward and I end scraping its leg. Audible hoots of laughter rise from the gamemaker's box, and conversation picks up once more. I try again, but the swing completely misses and mirth spreads throughout the booth. I look up to Uncle Romulus, pleading for him to do something, but he doesn't bat an eye, he can't. He would look weak, sticking up for a tribute like me, and my heart sinks into my stomach when he shakes his head.
It's the ultimate sign of hopelessness, Uncle Romulus has seen what lack of talent I possess, and he's not willing to spend funds on me. It doesn't matter that I'm his nephew, I'm not his son. Uncle Romulus can't watch any longer as I feebly nick the dummy's knee and he rises up and briskly walks over to the purple-haired woman. Whispering something in her ear, he nods in confirmation and returns to his seat. The woman with the purple hair seems to sigh, and then taps the microphone resting on her ear.
"Thank you," she mutters, "You may go." That's it, I've been dismissed. Has anyone ever been dismissed before? If only mother could see her brother now, not lifting a finger to help me. It was Romulus who asked for my session to be ended, he couldn't bear to watch another second of my hapless maneuvers. I'm a fool, an outcast, I'll never win these games. I may have an alliance with Omri and Auric, but who am I kidding? It's not like we're strong with our numbers, if we bumped into one career it'd be three free kills. We've tried to get stronger, and Auric is a great motivator, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough, because we're young, we're weak, and we're going to die.
I don't look at Amerilia as the signal for her to go is given. She tries to look at my eyes, pick up some hint as to how I did but I keep my gaze steeled and walk right past her. I give Omri and Auric exasperated looks, trying to tell them I flopped, but they just give me reassuring smiles and act like everything is fine. Everything's not fine, what's wrong with them? Why can't they see what I see? I'm sure all three of us will get low scores, I'm sure of it. The only hope I had going into the arena was that if I survived the bloodbath Romulus would send me something, but now I don't know if that'll happen. Why would he invest in someone like me? Even if I am his sister's son.
I still don't know why he became a gamemaker; he's not malicious and bloodthirsty like most of them. But from the way she looked, neither is the purple-haired woman. The way she leaned over the banister, her superior expression and dismissal of everyone around her, together with the fact that Romulus spoke to her makes me think she's in charge. But if she's the one, the head of it all, then why would she be where she is?
These questions boggle my mind as I reach our suite, and I don't say two words to any stylists, mentors, or our escort. I just want to be alone, I want to think about my session and cry about how I don't have a chance. There's nothing I can do, faced by kids years older than me, bodies post-pubescent and toned to points. It's ridiculous that I thought even the mercy of Romulus could get me out of there, so what if he sent me a sword? I wouldn't know how to use it. The pillows and blankets surrounding me soon became soaked with the stains of my tears, and I don't come out until dinner, wishing the entire time things could just go back to the way they were.
Maple Starr- District Seven
I've been biding my time by reading the expressions of the tributes that have come back from the private sessions, witnessing mixtures of emotions. I've seen confidence, fear, doubt, promise, and hope. All of these I've seen, and now that Revolc's left, I'm next. I don't know what I'm going to do, if I'm going to sit and stare or if I can find some hidden talent to show them. I know how to hide, be stealthy, and swoop in from above. Those are things I can't show them, so what's someone with talents like mine supposed to do?
Revolc emerges, looking overall content with whatever he did in there. Is it me or has his aligning with the careers caused him to become more confident overall? As if this alliance has padded his chances at winning, which it probably has, but he's been glowing lately, and I can tell there's more than one trick up his sleeve. He is so easy to read. My name is called and I imitate the same pattern every other tribute has so far this morning. I walk along the black floor, making sure each step is carefully placed so I look confident when I arrive. The trainer ushers me into the room, his gloved hands barely nudging my shoulder. He closes the door behind me, and the sound resonates off of the high ceiling. The boom of the door lets the gamemakers know I have arrived.
"Maple Starr," I say, perhaps a little too soon. The one who immediately catches my eye is the woman with purple hair who leans over the banister, watching me intently. She must be in charge, because although the booth is filled with general merriment, each gamemaker gives her the occasional glance, each one mixed with obvious emotions. There is respect, admiration, fear, hatred, and envy. By saying my name, my routine has started, yet I've failed to think of anything to do. Then I see it, over by the east wall there's a rope, it's tied to the high beams to open the light fixture in case the bulbs need to be replaced. The rope runs up the ridges of the wall, and then once it hits the ceiling it splits off into attachments on various posts, ringing the room almost like a net.
That's not all though, my eyes scan the table and I catch sight of a slingshot, something I might be able to use. There are spiky pellets lying next to it that I notice as I approach the weapon, the point's deadly enough to cause death if lodged in the neck at high enough of a speed. Pocketing the pellets and grabbing the slingshot, I slip the weapon in my belt and run over to the rope. Grabbing the black cord with both hands, I embark on my mission to impress the gamemakers.
With my hands on the rope, I swing my feet around it and begin to shimmy up. This picks up their interest almost immediately, and the gamemakers that weren't paying any attention are now fixated on my movements. I reach the top of the rope in ten seconds, and swing over from there to grab onto its end, pulling myself up and resting on the miniscule space up top. I'm thankful for my tiny frame, because weighing near nothing is what allows me to do this. I test the rope that descends from my perch and realize that if I were to shimmy my way across it I could reach the high beams. Doing so, I reach my next perch in seconds and that's when I see the targets below. It's been about twenty seconds since I started climbing, so I quickly remove the slingshot from my belt and the pellets from pocket. I'm ready to really begin.
Aiming at the closest target, I release the spiked pellet and watch as it hits the dummy right in the forehead. I release a volley of pellets on the next few dummies, hitting them all in vital locations. If I were above a pack of careers like this with this weapon, they'd be dead in seconds. Taking out every single dummy, I allow myself to shimmy back down the rope and the event is over in under a minute.
"Very good, you may go," is all the purple-haired woman says and I am out of there in a heartbeat. I don't know if I did what they were looking for, perhaps it was too much? Too little? I don't know but my mind is racing as I go back to our suite, where Revolc and Rocky are chatting it up. Alfie's on the sofa with Verran and Deidre, our stylists. They're chatting about someone's party or something, and I'm instantly disgusted by the capitol talk. Their picayune lives bore me, it's all about parties and fashion and so many things that don't even matter. They don't have to worry about what they'll be eating for dinner, if there is dinner.
My head is pounding after the private session because I was over thinking the whole ordeal, and I intrude upon the trifling conversation to ask Verran for some medication. She happily fishes a tiny blue pill out of her bag and tells me to take it with water. I walk right past Rocky and Revolc; they've shut themselves off from the rest of us ever since Revolc joined the careers. I watched Rocky's games, that wasn't the approach he took, so his little brother being a career probably mesmerizes him.
"Maple darling," Verran calls from the couch, "Come over here and sit. The scores will be up by the hour and Deidre brought jollof with him, it's delicious." I comply to my stylists wishes and sit next to her, and she smiles widely, her beaming white teeth hurting my eyes.
"I'm sure you did fine sweetheart, there's nothing to worry about," Verran tries to mollify me, but I'm still nervous. What I did was such a brazen thing to do, I'm sure no one else even attempted it. I wonder if Amber's gone by now, and if so, what did she do? I'm thinking about so many things that I don't even notice Deidre offer me the red rice dish he brought, so it takes Verran's sharp voice to draw me from my thoughts.
"Maple darling you should say something when people talk to you," she chastises; I don't say anything to her but thank Deidre for the sample of his rice dish. It's pretty good, and Verran calls for champagne while Rocky and Revolc finally join us.
"They're on Ten, so the scores will definitely be up before the next hour," Rocky says to no one in particular, and I don't really care what he has to say. His job is to mentor both of us, and I know his brother is here but he could do a better job at teaching us. Verran makes the response comment once more but I pretend not to hear here, smiling on the inside because I know it's what she doesn't want me to do. My thoughts don't stray from Rocky though, and how I'm going to show him how wrong he was to ignore me once these games begin.
Roger Shimhill- District Ten
There's only six of us still sitting in this lowly lit hallway, and as the girl from Nine returns, I realize it's time for me to get going. I haven't excelled at training, but I haven't done horribly. I guess I'm just a run of the mill tribute, which disappoints me, because those kind don't usually return home.
Home is all of can think of. My mother, father, siblings, and my dog. Life on the ranch was plainly simple, and we'd never been affected by the Hunger Games before so when I was reaped everything seemed to slow down. It was like your entire life up until that point was being erased, and all you can do is sit and watch. Pain shoots into my heart at night, when I think about how I probably won't see home or my family again. I know they cling onto bits of hope that I will return, but I'm actually hoping they've come to terms with it, because I don't see how I'm going to get out of this mess.
Ruci won't say anything about our alliance, if it exists. I keep trying to drop vague insinuations towards our partnership, which our mentors recommended. I'm hoping I can key her in before the games start, otherwise I'll be left alone, which will make me an easy target.
Entering the room, I simply announce my name and try to impress the gamemakers with my skills with a knife, but some of my tosses aren't too accurate. What I spent so much time worrying about is over in a minute, and I'm dismissed after the last knife leaves my hand. I know I'll score low, one of the knives missed and only one was a fatal toss. My hands were trembling so bad, I just want to go home.
I walk out of the room and the trainer calls Ruci who makes eye contact with me. I can feel the tears stinging my ears and just by watching me she gets the message, I didn't do well. She gives me a reassuring smile, but I'm not reassured and step out of the dark hallway back to our suite, so I can watch my failure put up in lights.
Sasha Galem- District Twelve
Coming out of my private session I'm pretty confident, being the last tribute to go I quickly make my way back to the suite because I know the scores will be posted in minutes. Reaching the elevator, I push the button for the penthouse and the machine seems to crawl up there. I know they won't broadcast it until I'm confirmed in the room, but I just want to know not just how I did, but how we all stack up.
Breezing into the room, I plop down on the sofa and give Icarus a sour look. He's been acting so pathetic lately, trying to get sympathy from tributes like me, who have actually worked hard the past few days. I don't think I did phenomenal, but I know I did well enough to where I won't be discarded without a chance. I can't say the same for Icarus though, who looks completely downcast despite his prowess with weapons.
Esmeralda is chatting in a low voice with Cream and Wisp, our stylists.
"Effie's fine," she says, a bit louder now that I'm here, "She's turning four this weekend so that'll be exciting, I think we'll take her to the coliseum and get private box seats for the games screening. Won't that be exciting?"
"Oh how I'd love to have a private box," Cream says with adoration, her voice laced with obsequiousness. I can tell Esmeralda loves the affection of the other two, and Wisp opens his mouth to say something when the capitol seal blazons itself on the screen of the television. A man with shining blue hair pulled tightly into a ponytail is on the screen, and other than that his features are normal.
"Ladies and Gentleman," he begins, "It pleasures me to be hosting this event for the second year in a row now, I'm Caesar Flickerman and it's time for the private training scores. Twenty-four tributes, each valiant and strong, have had their mettle tested in front of the gamemakers, now it's time to see how they fare against one another. Who will soar to new heights, and who will hit rock bottom? Let's find out with this year's presentation of the scores."
Caesar talks smoothly, and I like how he isn't too tainted by the dyes and bizarre fashions of the capitol. He wears a crisp blue suit to match his hair and he begins to read off the first name while all of us scoot forward on our seats, except for Icarus that is.
"From District One, Avery Reid, with a score of…8."
"From District One, Allure Shine, with a score of…7." He reads off Allure's name like Jemima never existed, and for a moment a pang of hurt soars up my chest. Her existence can be chalked down to the girl who ran away, the coward who was shot for misconduct. It's really sad actually, but I snap my head back to the television to hear Caesar read off the next name.
"From District Two, Nero Lepidus, with a score of…11." There are murmurs amongst our escort and the stylists.
"From District Two, Cassia Lepidus, with a score of…8."
"From District Three, Leo Ventras, with a score of…4." The first low score sends ripples through me as Leo's face lights up the screen. What if I got a score like that? I can't possibly think how Leo feels right now, but I don't have time to worry for other tributes, I'm not like that.
"From District Three, Maud Perrin, with a score of…3." Another low score, it makes me nervous, but I hold my head up and swish my ponytail back and forth along with my head to clear my mind.
"From District Four, Richard Crevan, with a score of…11." Rip and Nero matched one another, which startles me. Good thing Nero isn't with them, or we'd be in serious trouble.
"From District Four, Ula Ermin, with a score of…9." Ula's pretty face comes on screen and her sandy brown hair shines in the video as her face pans by. That's a high score for a girl, and it makes me a bit envious.
"From District Five, Caramen Fliess, with a score of…3." Back to the low scores.
"From District Five, Amerilia Hesterfield, with a score of…8."
"From District Six, Loot Lewis, with a score of…6." The first of my allies is shown, and Loot's score is right in the middle, which is perfect. We don't want to draw too much attention to our little group of thieves, so although I hope my score isn't bad, I don't want it to stand out."
"From District Six, Aston Jeffries, with a score of…5."
"From District Seven, Revolc Undercity, with a score of…9."
"From District Seven, Maple Starr, with a score off…Ladies and Gentleman, we have a 12." I am simply stunned, that girl, the little one who disappears during training, she earned a 12? Targets have instantly been drawn all over by the careers, who were passed up by some tiny girl. The thought amuses me, and I turn back to the television to learn the rest of the scores. If Esmeralda and the others were excited before, they get really thrilled by the twelve, their whispers rising to conversation.
"From District Eight, Aden Hanran, with a score of…8." Aden's score is good, very good, and it's right along the line where we want to fall. Hopefully I'll get something like a 7 so I won't be the lowest scorer in the group.
"From District Eight, Daedrya Redwyne, with a score of 8."
"From District Nine, Omri Grain, with a score of…4."
"From District Nine, Cynthia Pratt, with a score of…7."
"From District Ten, Roger Shimhill, with a score of…2."
"From District Ten, Ruci Nonabi, with a score of…4."
"From District Eleven, Auric Zola, with a score of…5."
"From District Eleven, Amber Liefson, with a score of…7."
Here we go.
"From District Twelve, Icarus Cotton, with a score of…0." Esmeralda drops her champagne glass and the shards go everywhere. Cream and Wisp instantly look at Icarus, who does nothing in response. Caesar announces my score as 7, and I smile to myself before turning to watch this wonderful little scene unfold.
"Don't tell me you went in there and did absolutely nothing," Esmeralda threatens, but Icarus lifts his somber eyes at her.
"Just about," he whispers and rises, turning to his room.
"Get back here!" Esmeralda screams, "I'm not finished with you!" But Icarus is finished with her, and as he trudges off to his room, I realize what he's done. He's given up.
Wow. So, I know I said this would have lots of POVs and be very long but I wanted to save the 24-perspective chapter for the pre-games chapter and I wanted to be able to reuse the tributes for the interviews and not for this. I think everyone has had a perspective now, so yay! Furthermore, there are only, 3 more chapters until we reach the games, so the sponsor shop will open soon and the bloodbath will begin. Thanks for all the support, keep up all that reading and reviewing, you're making me feel awesome!
-AdmiralBobbery