Consus Anona, District Nine, Leo

Consus was beginning to wonder if the Capitol was completely allergic to stability. There was a pattern to the Games, as grisly as they were. Steps that were taken, traditions honored. But this mini quell seemed determined to completely derail everything in favor of novelty. If he'd been at home, merely watching, Consus would merely be annoyed. But as a participant, it filled him with a barely contained panic.

The decision to arrange private sessions by the order of star sign made sense, but it meant that Consus had far less time to prepare mentally than he'd like. He did best with a steady foothold and a firm foundation. But right now, he felt like he was scrambling to get any kind of grip at all.

There was barely any structure in the Capitol. They trained, but at their own pace. In exploratory they were given multiple rooms to access and no instructions. Now in the private sessions, Consus was given an open block of time. There were few things more dangerous than possibility and the thought that when he went in there he might not know what to do haunted him.

If he went towards the end of the procession, like someone from Nine should, he'd have more time to plan. He would erect his own orders and structures to keep himself grounded. But Leos were fifth, just a little before halfway. There was a part of him that resented the loss of four blocks of time.

Then again, perhaps he was just concerned with feeling sorry for himself. After all, it wasn't like he was first. There was time enough to calm his thoughts, and he'd already had the beginnings of a strategy before he entered the waiting room. Fear was not usually an emotion that overtook him, and he admonished himself for his moment of weakness.

Back at the care home, everyone knew him as the steady one. He was the person the younger children looked up to, the employee the Foreman praised for their work ethic. Even the Capitol recognized it to an extent, which is how he got a house in his home district. If he truly wanted to survive, he couldn't bend now. He would have to be as strong and steady as he always was.

Remembering home helped steel his nerves. He didn't have a lot to go back to, exactly. Consus was an orphan and had limited friends. But he did have a life that he made himself, a small quiet future that he desperately wanted to go back to. That's what he'd need to remember when facing the Gamemakers.

He heard his name called over the loudspeakers and Consus rose, entering through the Tribute door. The room for the private training was fairly large, and had a smattering of objects from throughout the training center. He spotted what he wanted sitting on a weapons rack- so, after a short introduction and a bow, he went straight for it.

In training, there was a large selection of weapons that he'd never seen before. Even the Careers remarked that it was a stranger mix than they'd been expecting. But among the swords there had been a monstrous blade that was larger than some of the tributes this year.

They had called it a zweihander.

Consus did not have a lot of experience when it came to combat, but he did work in the fields long hours with a scythe. It gave him strong arms and an instinct for what felt like a good swing. During training, he was one of the few tributes who was capable of wielding the enormous sword.

He demonstrated a few basic moves that he learned during training. Slashes, blocks, a particularly powerful thrust. His movements were steady and thoughtful. Strong, stable, efficient. Much like Consus himself.

Consus wasn't particularly sure he was a good swordsman, but his ally BV told him once that one of the great things about the sword is that your style was an expression of yourself. That was what he wanted to show the Gamemakers during his session. No matter what happened, he would make himself known.

He finished his sequence, then bowed again and left the room.

Valency Adamant, District Three, Sagittarius

Presentations always made Valency nervous. A part of her always thought that she'd get over it, but despite everything, she got a familiar pit in her stomach when they called her name. She'd been speaking in public ever since she was very small, when she'd created a patent for a more efficient insulation system. Her mother often trotted her out like a pony, a genius even among District Three.

Not that she terribly minded. It was always nice to meet new people. In fact she was a little disappointed to realize that the way the room was set up, she couldn't see the Gamemakers very well. They sat in a box very high up, protected by a tinted force field. She realized with some joy that it was her tinting method. She'd only just come up with that a year ago. This was a very high tech building.

"Hello!" she said, waving to the box above her, "I'm Valency Adamant! Valency is the capacity an atom has to form with other atoms and become a molecular compound. Because of this, I'm always trying to see all of the different things that I can combine together."

She stopped talking directly to the Gamemakers at that point, since she spied a couple of interesting objects off to the side at the trapmaking station. As she started working, she realized that her back was completely to them. But she doubted it muted her speaking that much. She was always told that her voice was very loud.

"Because of that, I want to combine my knowledge of all the stations and the things I just kind of know together when in the arena. Combat, survival skills, pop culture. All of it. It's all important!"

The more she thought about it, the more she realized they might want to actually see what she was doing. She shuffled in a circle so that she was towards the back and her contraption was no longer blocked by her body. It probably didn't look like much. Inventions rarely did, at least until someone explained what their function was. Valency ran to a few of the other stations for parts, using mud and grasses to combine stuff together. She learned this technique while exploring with Chenille the last day and decided that it was very useful.

"This is the survival machine!" she said finally, with a little flourish, "Or… it probably needs a better name. I was never good at names. But! This gathers rainwater so I can purify it, connects to a tripwire that will alert me if anyone comes into my camp, aaaaaand…"

Valency grabbed the top of the machine, which was built on a swivel, and pointed it to the far right of the Gamemaker's box. That was the thing about inventing something, you knew all of the little details and flaws. Her tinting was useful, but had a few uneven areas. Plus, if you had something to magnify your vision, such as a telescope, it was possible to see at least a little bit through the shield.

"I would just like to say that the person over there's purple hat is very lovely." She said to demonstrate that her telescope worked. Finally, more on a whim than anything practical, she found a training ball and took it to the camouflage station. She painted her hand red, pressed the imprint on the ball, then filled in the shape to make a face. Then she placed the ball-with-a-face on top of her survival machine, curtseyed, and left.

Joaquin Diaz, District Five, Aquarius

"Joaquin Diaz, final warning. If you don't respond we shall assign you a zero." A voice blared over the speaker, forcing Joaquin awake. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, exactly. But then again he supposed that at this point it truly was his fault. When visiting the Capitolite doctor, the man had given Joaquin a name for the odd twist of fate that made him fall asleep at moment few others did. Narco something. He only remembered the first part because it had made him giggle like a child. The doctor also gave him medicine that he said would reduce the episodes, at least until he went into the arena. Joaquin rather promptly dumped them into the toilet.

It wasn't that he was particularly against medicine. He firmly understood how most of them worked and their various advantageous properties. Ultimately he was just being petty. And he'd gone this long without medical help, so what use would it do to gain it for the few days before they threw him to the metaphorical wolves?

Still, he supposed that meant that any instance he dozed off at an inconvenient time or place was directly related to his refusal to accept help from his murderers.

"I'm coming!" Joaquin shouted, hoping that whoever was on the speaker could hear him, "I'm up now, just give me a minute."

He nodded over to the two other boys still in the waiting room then headed over to the training room. Given his star sign, he was fairly low in the tribute order. Joaquin wondered if that was a good thing, given it gave him more time to nap, or a bad one since that was probably why he fell asleep in the first place. Perhaps none of that mattered and he just had to get to the room on time.

Thankfully he was either very fast or the capitolites running private training were very patient, because they let him in without turning him away. Joaquin squinted a bit to try to make out the gamemakers, but for some reason he couldn't see through the force field. Not that it really mattered. Would knowing what the people staring at him looked like help his nerves or affect his overall score? He didn't think so.

Joaquin wasn't really aiming for a high score, anyway. After talking to Engle, he discovered that being underestimated was an advantage in itself. So he went over to the camouflage station and began to create some green and black patterns that would help him blend in with a jungle situation. Then he shifted colors to look more like a desert.

That last part was probably useless, they did a desert last year. But Joaquin thought it was pretty cool. He thought a lot of the things he learned in training were cool, such as water purification. Which was what he demonstrated next. It got him dangerously close to the Iodine, however.

It was a bit of a risk, but Joaquin decided not to show any of his poison capability to the gamemakers, or anyone aside from Bixby really. The less anyone knew, the better off he would be.

He finished with a lackluster bow and turned towards the door while fighting a smile. What would that sorry performance bring him, a 2? Maybe a 3? Joaquin doubted it was as terrible as a 1, but anything was possible. Ultimately it didn't matter to him. The Capitol wanted a show.

So, in the only form of true rebellion he knew, he simply wouldn't give them one.

Woodrow Stickman, District Seven, Pisces

When Woodrow was first ushered into the waiting room, the whole area felt cramped and unsettling. Twenty-four people was a lot for one room, and many of them insisted on pacing or practicing bits of what they intended on showing the gamemakers. But now, it was eerily quiet. As a pisces, he was the very last star sign in whatever bizarre order they'd decided on. Lustre was called up a few minutes ago, and like all of the others when he left it was not through the waiting room. He was alone.

It was an unfamiliar sensation for Woodrow. He'd always been surrounded by people, whether it was his family or his girlfriend or other firefighters. He wondered how the people he knew were feeling, watching him paraded about the Capitol like a show dog. Were his parents proud of him? Would Twiggy learn to move on if he didn't make it back?

He attempted to push the questions out of his mind. Woodrow's loved ones mattered, of course. But if he worried too much about them it would distract him from the Hunger Games. And if he wanted to come home to all of them, he needed to use all of his powers of concentration.

Eventually, Woodrow heard his name over the speaker and he stepped up to the door that every other tribute disappeared to. What if there were no private sessions, and the door merely opened up to a surprise arena, Games already started while he plotted his move?

Clearly his speculations were getting out of control. He took a breath and walked into a perfectly normal auditorium space with a sampling of things he'd seen from the training center. Woodrow introduced himself to the dark shimmering box above him, then began to think about what he wanted to do.

Before entering the room, he decided he'd show off his axe skills and perhaps some physical fitness related to his job as a firefighter. Except as he stood there, the last person to present, he realized that was probably what most people from Seven did. When their presentation slot was in the middle of the non-careers that probably wasn't an issue. But as the final tribute, Woodrow felt a pressure to catch the gamemaker's attention. In that moment he felt a deep amount of pity for District Twelve. They had to contend with this situation every year.

He made a decision rather impulsively and ran towards the obstacle course. Despite what many people thought, Woodrow was not a particularly strong person. He was generally fit and could perform the basic duties required of a firefighter, but he was fairly unlike most of his highly muscled coworkers. His greatest asset was that he was agile, which allowed him to get through the tangle of trees in Seven easier. Most likely the gamemakers weren't expecting that from him, so it was his best way to capture their interest.

The obstacle course gave him very little trouble. He scrambled up posts and swung through ropes so quickly that he wondered if he was flying. If he kept his eyes away from the box above him, he could almost pretend that he was merely at the fire station, training to make sure that he could save more lives in a future fire.

At the end of the course, Woodrow became bold and jumped off of the structure, flipping twice before rolling into a landing. Once he finished, the machine began to beep at him.

"Did I break it?" He asked a peacekeeper, who shook his head.

"Technically, I suppose." The peacekeeper said, annoyed, "That means you broke a record. Do you want to do anything else? You have time left."

He had time left? Woodrow knew he could go through obstacles quickly, but he was surprised that he managed to do that well. Perhaps it wasn't folly to volunteer. He just needed to stop doubting himself.

Now fairly certain that people were looking at him, Woodrow grabbed an axe and started to attack a dummy.

Nautilus Plume, Capitol

As the various gamemakers and government officials filtered out of the spectator box, Nautilus stayed in ser seat and waited for the room to clear. It didn't take long, as the private sessions were long and occasionally tedious situations. Once the ratings were decided, most people went to the bathroom then headed home. Nautilus serself had slipped away somewhere around the Gemini pair so didn't need to leave at the moment. Which made it a perfect time to meet President Thornewood.

"It's a good group this year." The president told ser, "Do you have any in mind?"

Se was fairly certain the question was rhetorical. One thing Nautilus was known for was ser impeccable organization skills. The president had given ser a task, so se did it. Thought to action was an easy road for Nautilus, as simple as breathing. Despite knowing the question wasn't malicious, se felt slightly offended.

"I have a shortlist." Se replied, "I will be able to narrow it down by the time it's needed. And of course I would like your input. For example, I imagine that you want me to add the boy you've been talking to."

"You never miss a thing, do you Nautilus?"

"That's my job."

President Thornwood smiled and nodded, "Yes, I'd like him. Also perhaps Eli Slater from Four, though he may be a little too unpredictable for our needs. And the boy from Five. Keep an eye on them?"

"Of course. I've also tagged Valency Adamant, Amber Black, Frazier Nelson and the boy from Site D."

"Do they still believe that we reaped him on purpose?" The president asked.

"Unfortunately, yes."

She sighed, "I suppose we should consider him as well then. My list of allies are quickly disappearing. Best to preserve those we can."

Nautilus agreed, though se weren't currently that concerned about the situation. They were Capitolite officials and held a large amount of power, but the Games were always politically neutral. No politician meddling. No explicit meddling, at any rate. That meant that even if ser and the president found the perfect candidates, they very well may perish in the Games. Se could nudge, of course. Keep a few of them as safe as possible using ser position as a Games administrator. But quite a lot of it was up to luck and the actions of the tributes.

"At this point," Nautilus said, "All we can truly do is wait."

"I hate waiting."

"I know, Madame President. But patience can bring valuable rewards. Just let your plans play out. I'm sure you'll be satisfied."

AN: Another chapter! And a purposefully obtuse capitolite pov. You've just got to love those, right? Ok, probably not. But things are moving at a nice pace and we're going to get to the games soon! Did you like the private trainings you saw? Do you have guesses as to what people are going to get? Let me know in the comments, and I'll see you soon.