Practice makes perfect (Tori, Open)

I'm making my way into the training center, minding my own business, looking miserable and sniffly... I don't really care about the other tributes. Just pretend they're not there and survive, that's all... and while you're at it, look like you've given up on life. I'm good at the latter. Tear tracks glitter on my sad face and my hair is perfectly rumpled as if I hadn't bothered to brush it this morning. My shoulders are slumped and I'm wearing a neat, boring outfit that just enunciates how drooped I look.

I'm passing the archery station, something I have little interest in, because if my plan works I won't need archery skills. Besides, it took a long time to be able to fire an arrow well and I wasn't going to waste my time trying, when I could be doing something more productive. Well, I'm to busy making sure I look sad and depressed to keep myself coordinated, and I trip. I trip right at the feet of some boy who was talking heatedly to some girl tribute. It wasn't a hard fall at all, but I might as well milk it up for all it's worth. I'm supposed to be wimpy, right?

So I start to cry. Not to hard so that it's cheesy, but I cry, and there really are tears. It's a specialty of mine, making myself cry.