Public Training Sessions? D:

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Nofo
Career Tribute

[M:-201]

579 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
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I'm back.

Public Training Sessions? D: Jan 23, 2012 10:45:34 GMT -5

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Post by Nofo on Jan 23, 2012 10:45:34 GMT -5

So, I wanted to show my PTS off. I'm proud of it so I'd like to share it. You all can share too.

M A I Y A - L E I G H I A N A
C L A N D E S T I N E E

It’s early when Glitch walks into my room calling me out for my session. I assume it’s time to run over a few do’s and don’ts before I go out before the Gamemakers. I force a groggy smile to hide the fact that I’m terrified of a low score. I want something high or average, not a number guaranteeing my death. Glitch is dressed in only white but her outfit is mesmerizing and intoxicating. It’s not from my stylist, but her make-up and silver wig gives me the thought that she might be my guardian angel. I must be very tired, because that thought hangs with me as I move to put on the simple red and white jumpsuit laid out for me.

My room in the training center is a large white room, bigger than my room at home. The bed and everything else is more plush and comfortable than home. The money put into the show is comforting for the while and every once and a while I think that maybe death after paradise might not be so bad. Then the aches and nerves act up again and I cry myself to sleep. I wonder how hard it must be for my mother and father. I’m their only child, so I’m their only hope at a not-so-empty future and house. I must try for them and for myself. The odds are against me but they are for everyone equally now.

After getting dressed, I walk out into the rest of the floor arranged for Julian and I. There’s no sign of him right now, so I assume he must be getting a work-out in before we are forced down for our private sessions. The food here in the Capitol is divine and I help myself to as much as I can. Lots of butter and protein is caked onto my breakfast and I know I’ll need it to keep my strength up. Glitch hovers over my shoulder making sure I pace myself so I don’t crash from a sugar high in the middle of my Private Training Session. Glitch is a nice comfort for me now, she’s not a friend yet, but she’s the only sense of familiarity I have here. If I win, I’ll have to thank her for helping me through the crying spells by holding my hand on the train even if she’s very detached from it all.

We don’t say a word because I think she’s resolved to the fact that I’ll do better without her coaching, but I’m fired up and on edge with a building anxiety against the whole thought of it. We make it through the morning while I occupy myself studying the patterns in Glitch’s dress. Finally, she calls Julian and I together to go down the Elevator to wait for our sessions. I give him a delicate smile that I hope will persuade him we can be civil before we have to fight. It’s a battle of morals for me. I don’t want to do this and I’m not so sure I can. Maybe I should just run into a knife day one and get it over with. Maybe I could try and last as long as I can without seriously injuring or killing anyone. Or maybe I could suck it up and not be such a baby about the whole thing.

All twenty-four of us are stuck in the room together and I remember this is the closest we’ll ever be together before we’re forced to kill everyone else. I shudder and almost swallow my tongue as the boy from District One walks in for his session. How could I beat him? It’s going to be hard to outlast my fellow careers and quite a few of the others. I eye that Ethan guy from a distance and one word pops into my mind, feral.

After a good hour or so, I’m the fourth person called in and my heart skips a beat and there are butterflies crawling up my chest. I stand up and walk to the door rigidly like a robot. I hear a few stifled giggles as I walk and I fight back the tears. I’m a weakling and I have no idea how to convince anyone otherwise. I don’t have a plan yet, so I have to wing it entirely and hope they don’t notice but it’s unlikely considering they’ve done this thousands of times before.

There’s a nervous smile plastered on my face as a few greying faces come into view. Oh God, what am I supposed to do? Should I introduce myself? Should I just get to it? I walk to stand before them and remember to have good posture.

“Hello, my name is Maiya and I’m the tribute from District Two.” I speak clearly and loud enough to be certain they’ve heard me and are just too unconcerned about what I say they keep on reading and writing on notepads.

I look around at the hundreds of items tossed about the large area. Maybe I’ll start with a few of the things I learned from my training stations. Then I can show I know how to use a weapon at least. I notice a few logs and sticks I could use to start a fire. I could use a stone slab to control it so I don’t light the entire place on fire. I arrange the pile into a manner I can light and scrape the wood with a knife to get sawdust. I create good friction between the wood and I can smell the smoke coming off beneath my bloody scraped hands. I’m not that tough, but I’m driven enough to not quit with slight pain. I keep on going and start to see the faint glow of embers.

I smile proudly as the fire roars to life and look up to see that it at least got their attention. I take it that it must be a good thing seeing as they seemed to be ignoring me earlier. I could also set up a trap because I’ve learned that recently. I put out the fire and move the slab of embers out of the way for the avoxes to clean. The floor of the training center is too soft, so I have to use another slab to build my trap that might easily trap a rabbit or a squirrel if it can find one. I use grass and twigs that should be readily available in the arena to build my trap hopefully show that I can be resourceful and crafty. I don’t see anything around light and small enough to show that my trap works, so I slide the slab closer to the Gamemakers for a better look.

I’ve also learned how to know the difference between poisonous and edible plants, but that’s not really something I can show them without risking my life right now before the Games begin. So, I just state that I’ve taken that station and it might help me in the arena so they can take that into account.

I can use first aid, and I didn’t have to take that station. I already knew how to do first aid. Once again, I suppose I could tell them but I think I know how to show them without actually hurting myself or anyone else. I take a soft and white faceless dummy and cut a sliced open wound on the left arm of it. I take out a bottle of alcohol nearby and pour a cap of that over my hands and another softly over the inch of it. That should sterilize my hands and the wound, I think so I then get to work on sewing it up for it to heal. I don’t have much trouble threading my needle; I’ve taken up sewing at home. I have even less hardship sewing up the wound. All in all, it only takes me a few minutes to cut and sew the wound, but it’d taken even more in the arena when I’d actually have to deal with the pain.

That’s it for my stations, now I should just try out the weapons laid out for me. I don’t have anyone to spar with, so that’s kind of different. First, I take out a knife and line myself up with a standing dummy. I charge towards it with a weak and not very intimidating battle cry, I miss it entirely. That brings me to the verge of tears, but I can’t give up. I have to show that I’m not someone to count up, so now I bring myself to focus and charge again. This time, I’m a little calmer and stab the thing in the neck. I think to myself that I may have stabbed the thing in something that would be vital, but maybe that’s just a trick of my mind. The swords are heavy but I manage to sever and arm and cut a deep slash on it’s leg with a miss or two. I’m not used to the feel of weapons, but I try hard enough to give them a sense of what I can do.

I’m just picking up a flail when they alert me that I’m out of time, so I force a smile at them and wave on my way out. I’m thinking I must have failed, and I’m so nervous that I’m going to get a three that I don’t breathe on my way up to the District Two floor. Glitch is there waiting expectantly, and I sigh and run to order chicken soup and orange juice. With a mouth full of noodles, I tell my story with flushed cheeks.

“I don’t think I did very well.” Is all I manage to say before going back to my bowl. Tonight they’ll show our scores and I’ll probably have the lowest score there, but I’ll have the comfort of knowing I tried so hard.

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And you think you see me.

Devin
Merchant

[M:-200]

140 POSTS
last seen Feb 22, 2013 21:19:52 GMT -5

Public Training Sessions? D: Jan 23, 2012 11:45:19 GMT -5

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Post by Devin on Jan 23, 2012 11:45:19 GMT -5

When you're sad and when you're lonely
And you haven't got a friend
Just remember that death is not the end

Sometimes, just in the blink of an eye, your life could change into something that you'd never imagined. Just a few days ago Smokey had been sure that he would never be reaped. It was his final year and he'd make it out of this one alive. Never mind how the math worked out so that he had his name in that bowl more times than almost anybody else in District Twelve (between his age and tessarae he was sure that he was doomed from the start, now that he'd taken the time to be more intelligent about what had happened to him), he was going to make it through one more year so that he could set his mind to working and making sure that Bethany never had to take out tessarae. She ain't gonna have a choice now. Tessarae is the only thing gonna keep her alive if Daddy don't go back to work. I coulda done it next year. I'd be out of school... Bethany was never off his mind, and he already had the locket that she'd given him after the reaping tucked against his chest on a thin but strong chain that he had forged in the fires when she was a little girl and had first received the locket from their grandmother. It had her initial in the middle of it, and right now it was the only thing he had to cling to. I want to win. I never thought I'd say that, but I want to win. Want to or not, he'd been saying that (aloud) for the past two days.

"I want to win." The words were spoken quietly and quite a bit of breath in that way that people had when they'd bee working too hard for too long. Winded. Most of the activities that Smokey had done during his training weren't particularly active; he'd worked on edible and medicinal plants, and he'd worked on healing so that he could gain techniques to keep him alive in the Arena when there were parts of him that weren't in the best of shape. He'd been taught how to tie a good tourniquet and how to cauterize a wound. Neither had been pleasant and his stomach had been churning for most of the past two days. But the food has been fantastic. I've been eating like a king for the past few days and at least there will be a bit more meat on my bones going into the Arena. And I didn't even throw up! Goodness knows I thought I was going to throw up at least a few times! Alright, so right now he felt as though his stomach was about to empty its contents in the middle of the floor as though in a horrific effort to prove just how badly he'd done at the edible plants station which, let's face it, was my best station. I don't know how much good that's gonna do me in the Arena. Startin' to think I shoulda worked with blades while I had the chance, careers or no careers!

And all that you held sacred
Falls down and does not mend
Just remember that death is not the end

His hands were shaking, and he held them at his sides since there were no convenient pockets in his training uniform. The room was enormous and intimidating with the kind of fluorescent lights that were known for causing seizures in patients with epilepsy. Wouldn't that be funny, if I just dropped to the floor and started to have a giant fit right here? I might bite off my tongue like those avoxes like the one who was takin' care of me. Would they still make me go into the Arena or would I be a different kind of slave? A shiver went down Smokey's spine as he glanced around the room at the various stations. At the majority of them, the trainers had cleared out in one way or another, but there were several items still scattered around. At the blades station there were swords and knives, dummies meant for stabbing. Already torn up, pierced through, a mess everywhere. I could never do that. But there was a small voice in the back of his head saying, Oh, but you will. If it's your life or theirs, you will do to the people training with you what they did to that dummy, and you won't even think twice about it if it's their life or yours.

Still, if he could help it, Smokey's strategy for right now was simply to stay alive and to trust his instincts to allow him to improvise once he got into the Arena. There were various different items that he could use that would be at his disposal, most of them blunt objects, but he was already calculating how maybe he could find some vines and use them as ropes to kill by decapitation or at least strangulation. And once starvation started, well, ain't nobody more used to starvin' than District Twelve, so maybe I got an advantage there, huh? He'd already trained himself to cold weather if it was a cold Arena like last year, giving his coat and the extra clothing for Bethany rather than for himself. His body had adjusted and he could withstand quite a bit of cold now.

Somewhere in the balcony a throat cleared, and Smokey raised his head to look up at them, squinting against that hideous artificial light that seemed determined to numb his mind. They're bored by now. They've already seen twenty-two people by now and it looks like one of them up there is already beginning to fall asleep. What was it that we've been told? Impress them! But how? There was only one thing that Smokey had a talent for, and that was humor. Here, he could see none, no up-side to the situation that they were in, nothing to laugh about. There was no smile, as though his face was as frozen as his mind was. Get it in gear Smokey! Move yer ASS!

Not the end... Not the end...
Just remember that death is not the end.

"Looks like we got a great audience here tonight!" he called out to the gathered Gamemakers, none of whom seemed enthusiastic to see another tribute standing before them. His hands clenched at his sides. Several bored faces turned toward him, and at least for a moment he had their attention. Smokey flashed a grin. He opened his mouth to make some kind of a joke about how the lights were designed to make avoxes without the trouble, but the joke fell flat, even for him, and he gritted his teeth instead. "So I thought about showin' y'all about how I did at the edible plants station, but I done eaten so much of that rich food y'all got here in the Capitol, I'm thinkin' that it's more likely to look like I'm just gonna go on in that Arena an' poison myself. I ain't sure that's the kinda thing you're thinkin' you wanna see o'course." He swallowed. Well that was just about the flattest joke ever. Maybe I should go for the edible plants station. Not sure what I'd do there other than prove to them that I can tell what different kinds of plants are, and they're bored by now, so they aren't gonna be too interested in watchin' me pick around with some stupid fruits an' vegetables. 'Sides, I just ate an' my belly's full. No point in stuffin' myself. Save that knowledge for later. Suddenly it occurred to Smokey that he could go over to the station and all it would take was him downing a quick-kill poisonous plant to be out of the games and somewhere... Somewhere more peaceful, anyway.

"Yanno, havin' dangerous plants in a training center prolly ain't all that smart. If I wan'ned to go on over there an' pick up some of those nightlock berries, for example, all it takes is me just poppin' a couple of 'em in my mouth an' swallowin' 'em an' you wouldn't have me outta here fast enough to get me in that Arena. You really should think about having runners up." It wasn't even remotely funny, and Smokey found suddenly that he felt incredibly bitter, as though he just couldn't go on for another moment. Within days he'd be dead and it would all be worthless anyway. No matter how much he wanted to win, reality said there's no way that I can do this. There is no way that I can kill even one person and if I'm going to survive, I'm going to have to. And if I don't go home, how much do you want to bet that Bethany gets reaped? I swear they rig those things. The Capitol loves their sibling tributes. And maybe if I did eat some of those berries, it would spare her. But it could also be the opposite, and that was what kept him going as he stepped closer, glancing around the room. He'd not worked much on combat, which left him afraid of even touching one of the swords. The edible plants was worthless, and what was he supposed to do with healing? Prove how well he could tie a tourniquet? Well... There was that.

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When you're standing on the cross-roads
That you cannot comprehend
Just remember that death is not the end

They're already bored. I'm going to have to do somethin' to impress them. I been takin' care of Momma all this time, I guess healin's the way to go. I'll talk my way through it. "So when I was four years old my Momma had this big accident. Stupid thing really. In District Twelve we got all these potholes everywhere," Smokey began as he walked toward the healing station and then went down onto his knees. This would be easier, more relevant if there were people other than himself to heal, since working with a dummy in the training center was different than working on yourself in the Arena and he knew it. But he sucked it up, gritted his teeth and dropped down onto his knees, hauling the man-sized (and weighted!) dummy up to his chest so that he was cradling it as though it were a part of his own body, the legs covering the area where his would be if he was sitting with them outstretched instead of underneath him. "So one day when I'm four, she steps into this pothole in the middle of the road. She mighta just turned her ankle real bad, maybe broken it, but bein' my momma an' I swear to you the most melodramatic person ever, she felt like she needed to fall down. I was right there, mind you -- no joke, I'm not makin' jokes right now -- an' there was this giant rock right there. Well, wouldn't it just figure she done smacked her head right there on that rock?"

Not all of the dummies in the arena were particularly life like. Most were pretty simple. If you cut off a leg, they lost their leg and needed to be replace. A few had been rigged to spurt animal blood everywhere when an artery was severed, and the one that Smokey had chosen was one of those. He hated this. The blood reminded him of that day with his mother, the blood flowing from her temple, spilling onto the white snow and spreading out silently across the ground while he screamed and screamed. Now he swore that he could hear his own screams in his head. Thank goodness Bethany was at home with Daddy. I dunno what I woulda done if she'd been there. But what he had done was to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to the wound until it clotted. Regardless, that apparently hadn't saved his mother. Sure, but I'm not sure I believe she's anythin' but lazy, if you'll excuse me. He kept that one to himself and instead he cleared his throat.

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And all your dreams have vanished
And you don't know what's up the bend
Just remember that death is not the end.

"So there she was, blood pourin' outta this big hole in her head," Smokey went on talking as he used the sharp part of his finger nail to start a gash in the dummy's head. It didn't bleed well, at least not the way that a human would bleed from a cut on the forehead where the veins were prevalent and the blood was highly oxygenated and bright red. He pressed his lips together, agitated, but the icy fingers that gripped his heart told him that he was failing, and failing badly. He shot his head up, seeking the eyes of one of the Game Makers, and then flashed a huge grin. "So there I was, an' I was four years old, an' you'd think a four year-old was pretty stupid, right? I mean, sure. An' she's screamin' an' screamin' until she wasn't screamin' no more, an' the only thing I could think to do was to grab these huge hands full of snow an' shove them onto the head wound. I guess that's a good way to cause an infection," he said, forcing a laugh. "Well I guess you could say now I know better. I know plantain is good for infection, but cabbage leaves can help draw the infection out too. You just gotta layer 'em," Smokey said as he slapped one of said leaves on the (not so) bloody head of the dummy and bound it around. There wouldn't be any bandages in the arena and there were none here, but the mess and gore would help to attach the cabbage leaves to the head. "I guess the problem is that when you're out there, you're gonna have to be decidin' whether or not you wanna eat the cabbage or put it on your head!" he joked stupidly.

Right now they're thinkin' about what an idiot I am. Blatherin' on about... About my mother. Suddenly (and surprisingly!) there were tears burning in his grey eyes, and Smokey sniffed them back, clenching his jaw against the sudden surge of emotion. Whatever else she is, she's my mother, and I'm gonna miss her, wherever I'm goin' after the Arena. For just a moment Smokey couldn't breathe, which strangely gave him another opportunity to prove what he knew about defending himself and keeping himself healthy in the Arena; he put his head back to open his own airways, catching his breath and then coughing so hard that he nearly vomited. "Well that was clever," he muttered to himself, then shook his head. He had to get through this.

Not the end, not the end
Just remember that death is not the end.

How much time had passed? Smokey wasn't sure. It could have been seconds, minutes, even an hour, but he knew that it was running out. Runnin' outta time, runnin' outta time, runnin' outta time, became his mantra, one word for every beat of his heart until he was sure that he couldn't keep up at that pace any more because his heart was racing so fast. His cheeks were hot and, he realized wet. I'm thinkin' about Momma an' it's makin' my cheeks wet cause I'm cryin' like a stupid little baby in front of the Game Makers. Just what I needed. They're gonna think I'm the hugest idiot in the world. They know what I know. I'm gonna die.

"I ain't so good with blood," Smokey said quietly, then cleared his throat. "But yanno, it ain't other people's blood I'm gonna be seein'. It's mine. An' I figure that if you gotta do somethin', if you know that you either stop that blood or you die, you figure out some way to get lotsa pressure on that spot that's bleedin' an' make it stop. An' I'll tell you what else, cause... Cause..." Panic and hysteria were becoming too close to the surface and he thought that he was going to explode if he gave in to it. He swallowed it back, pressing his tongue hard to the roof of his mouth like when he drank cold water too fast in the summer and got a headache. Get. Control. Now. "I been watchin' these games for years, so I'm figurin' I'm gonna have to deal with some broken bones," Smokey said as he reached for a long wooden rod and secured it to the dummy's arm with some cord that could easily be replaced in the arena with thin vines. Times runnin' out, time's runnin' out, times' runninout, timesrunningout, timesrunningout! His voice was growing more desperate and panicked as the seconds ticked by and he couldn't think of another thing to do. He could heal infection, put pressure on a wound, splint a broken bone and... "Look. I don't wanna lose nothin' in that Arena. Not a limb, not my life, not my sanity an' we all know I'm prolly gonna lose all of it. So here's the thing: nothin' I show you is gonna make a single difference. Not to you an'... Well, maybe to me. But here's the thing; I wanna survive, gentlemen." With nothing more to say, Smokey rose to his feet. He hadn't shown his tourniquet, but he knew the time was up and that no matter how much he panicked, it really isn't going to matter one little bit whether you've got all the sponsors in the world once you're in that arena. Remember thinkin' about steppin' off your plate early? Yeah. Nothin' to send home to Bethany but at least... At least she wouldn't have to see you turn into some kinda an animal.

But in the end, they were all animals anyway. That's what we are. Every last one of us. If this is a game of survival, I sure as hell am gonna survive. Nothin' else to it. "Thank you gentlemen for your time," Smokey said as he saluted toward the balcony. "But since I'm dead anyway, I figure it's time for me to give Aisley her chance to impress y'all. May the odds be ever in her favor, cause they sure as hell ain't in favor of the boy from the Seam." With nothing more to say or do, Smokey turned and stalked out of the training center.

doin'
thinkin'
talkin'
others talkin'

WT
Retired Staff

2,134 POSTS
Pronouns: they
last seen Sept 10, 2021 1:50:54 GMT -5

time, gender, furbies, and other things that don't exist

Public Training Sessions? D: Jan 23, 2012 15:09:49 GMT -5

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Post by WT on Jan 23, 2012 15:09:49 GMT -5

~! Stop making me fall in love with Smokey. D: My goodness. I am going to sob when/if he dies, I swear to you.

I was planning to wait on this, but it's not like you're going to learn anything about her that isn't already obvious, so what the heck? Here's Yaron's. First training session I've been proud of, out of four (three here).

To be frank, Yaron was relieved when the avox came to touch her shoulder and bring her to the room where private training sessions were being conducted. She was bored. No one was talking, probably because there really wasn't anything to say--although, seeing as she had gotten lost for a while, it was entirely possible that she had missed some kind of debriefing in which the tributes had been instructed to not talk. (Storming off like that really had been stupid. She'd do it again, though, half for the look on her mentor's face when she threw her breakfast at him and half for the opportunity to flirt with a victor, even a disappointingly straight one.) Rather than put her shoulders back or cower away, she jumped enthusiastically to her feet, ~~gave Shrol's shoulder an affectionate squeeze [WT forgot that training sessions are males first, unlike interviews]~~, and said "Awesome. Let's get this over with." The poor avox had to almost fall over himself trying to get to the door before she did.

Once inside, Yaron completely ignored everything set out and stood in front of the Gamemakers' table, facing the judges. She had put a lot of serious thought into this, knowing perfectly well that a good score could be crucial to her plans and knowing equally well that she would never get a good score, not even if God himself poofed into existence in a sparkly rainbow cloud and told the judges what to do. For all that she had come a long way with a few skills, she hadn't truly mastered anything. There was no way she, a half-starved girl from District Eight whose survival skills primarily consisted of avoiding her eldest sister, was going to impress people who had already seen Careers. Or even moderately competent tributes. In fact, she probably wouldn't be able to impress them if the only tributes they had seen so far had laid down and taken naps.

So she didn't even bother.

"Hey, guys. So." She spread her hands for a second, then folded them, looking deceptively complacent. "I can't do a thing that doesn't have to do with sheep and annoying my parents, and I don't think you're going to bring any in for me. Basically, I'm useless. Oh-!" She held one hand up. "Actually, I fuck pretty well, if I do say so myself. Not with sheep. Either way, I doubt you want a demonstration, so I guess it doesn't matter."

No one said anything. Yaron didn't know if they weren't allowed to, if they were ignoring her, or if they just didn't have anything to say. She rolled her eyes and put her hands down, strolling over to the supplies. "I'm going to hang out here for a bit, if you lot don't care. Won't do me any good when the scores come in, but I figure a few hours of being able to pretend I did something impressive won't hurt." She picked up a slingshot-type weapon and played with it for a moment before tossing it over her shoulder and wandering on. "Might manage to use it to score with a cute girl or two. Again, they'll dump me when the scores come out, but what'ch'a gonna do? My life's being counted in days anyway, may as well make the hours count. Ooh, what's this?"

A variety of plants had been set out on a table. What had caught Yaron's attention was something shiny that lay underneath a few of them. Without bothering to take care with the delicate leaves, she brushed the plants to the side. In place of the weapon or trinket she as expecting, the shiny spot was only a piece of aluminum table shining through a hole in the tablecloth. "Damn. Not nearly as exciting as I was hoping. Pretty flowers, though." One of these, a light purplish one, she picked up. Straightening the petals she had bent, she tucked it into her hair and carried forward. After absently kicking over a few dummies and almost dropping a knife on her foot, she plopped herself down among some coils of rope and started tying knots, happy to find something that was, if not entertaining, at least familiar. All the while, she kept up her chatter to the Gamemakers. "I used to do this to tie up sheep. Real pain in the ass, sheep—the ewes like to wander off to have lambs, the lambs wander off because they don't know any better, the rams wander off because they need to keep their fucking testosterone at a distance or something, I don't even know. Male sheep are even worse than male humans sometimes. I don't suppose I'll ever have to deal with any of that again, though. I'd thank you, if it wasn't for the whole fight-to-the-death-now-and-oh-by-the-way-you-can't-help-your-little-brother thing. Fuck that, by the way." She yanked a complicated knot closed with a particularly violent flourish. "I mean, I'll do it, because I don't have a choice. But fuck it anyway. Bitchy thing to do to your tributes when you're already screwing us so badly. I love him. Even if I can't talk to him, I love him. I mean, I love the others and I'm not exactly talking to them anytime soon. In fact, not talking might help. Half of the time, attempting a conversation with any of them just makes me want to rip their heads off."

Having reached the end of her rope, Yaron surveyed the others in the pile and sighed in frustration. "Tangled. Hopelessly tangled. I don't have this kind of patience." She sighed again, this time in disappointment as she looked around her. "I never have self-entertained well. A shame, that. I might have pissed my family off less if I had learned." Pausing, she rolled to her feet and kicked a few clinging pieces of rope off of her shoes and ankles. "Anyway. My desire to look cool for a few hours has succumbed to my boredom. I'm out to go do something useful. Or someone, maybe. Whichever comes along first."

Aaaand I apparently forgot to finish it. xD 'S'okay though, she wasn't going to do anything else of any interest. Except for get a six, apparently.

Last Edit: Jan 23, 2012 15:43:45 GMT -5 by WT

'the way we lived' in stylized text, with 'character directory' as a subtitle underneath

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gamemaker kelsier
Graphics

6,077 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
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“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

Public Training Sessions? D: Jan 23, 2012 21:46:50 GMT -5

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Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jan 23, 2012 21:46:50 GMT -5

No nonsense voice
Talking
Doing
Deep thought
Hearing
Singing

You know when you’re standing on the edge of something very tall and you get that urge to jump? She was having it, as she waited for her training session to officially begin. Her toes were curled around the edges of the room’s small table as she stared down at the padded flooring. At home she liked to meditate every morning, but here it was as if they never heard of the word, so she was testing out spots. The judges stared at her quietly, sometimes jotting things down on their papers. They all looked like Aliens to Avon. Some had coloured skin, others strange coloured hair, and one even had cat whiskers on their faces. It was all so surreal, and freaky. Avon held a firm belief that whiskers belonged on cats, and white was always a poor choice because it got dirty looking pretty fast.

A side door opened softly, and then a man wearing a white uniform stepped in. His expression impassive as he walked to the judges table, bowed, and then turned to face her. Blinking at him, she studied his face, and saw the defeat in his eyes, although it did not affect his posture, marking him as an avox. Glancing up again at the judges table, she stepped off of the one she herself stood on, landing with a bit of a 'thump' onto the balls of her feet. Okay, so not that tall. She bent her legs as she left the small space, letting her knees take the tension in one easy movement. She positioned herself in front of the Avox, letting her eyes wash over his muscular body, and stature of a warrior. Maybe a rebel then. This was really going to hurt.

Squaring herself, she smiled softly, and beckoned at the man. "Hit me," She spoke quietly, but the room was so silent itself that her voice seemed to reach the edge of every wall. She couldn't tell if the Avox looked surprise or not, but she knew that they had to do what they were told. Whether the person asking them to do something was completely insane or not, it didn't matter. After a moment, the man drew his fist back, and Avon stared straight into it as it came at her from her right side, A right hook. and she saw where she could have dodged it. she saw the space where she could have thrown out her own arm, grabbed his wrist, and applied pressure to it. She saw the point where she might hit him with her own right arm. Saw it and watched it disappear as his fist connected with the side of her face, and her head turned with the force of it.

Pain blossomed like one of her roses upon her jaw line, sending a confused message of soft anger back to her brain. She managed to keep her feet, but the force of the punch had turned her head to face the judges. She sucked in a deep breath as she felt along her jaw. "Nice," she said, turning back to look at the Avox, who hid his expression as easily as she did. Running a hand along her lip, she smiled encouragingly, "Again." She heard a slight shift at the judges table as this time the fist came from the left, towards her midsection. If she threw her leg up, she could catch the Avox in the jaw, unaware. But once again, she watched it connect as if in slow motion, body moving with the shock of the hit.

It was glorious. She stumbled back this time as the pain yelled at her, screaming in annoyance. She swore that she could hear her organs rattling around somewhere inside her, but instead of whimpering, or crying out, she only laughed. A low rumbling started from deep within as she called for the Avox to hit her again. This time it was his left foot to her upper thigh. She could already feel the bruise spreading as she called for him to hit her again, like he was a bartender, and she was calling for shots. But her alcohol wasn't anything that could simply be bought. It was just what made her adrenaline rush away, calling after her in deep caramel tones as she doubled over with the pain of it. But once again, she simply laughed, and beckoned him forward.

She wanted to punch him out, to feel her fist against his fevered flesh and know that she had caused him pain. To drive her boot into his nose and hear a resounding crack. She grit her teeth as she got up from her knees and simply nodded, standing. She didn't watch where this one was coming from. This time it sent her to the ground fully. Warm liquid washed over her lips, and she licked at it. It tasted like dirt and sunshine, and it made her think of when she was ten and she had walked into a doorway while reading. or more recently when she had let Alphonse get a punch in and he had tapped her nose. It had hurt for weeks. It was funny though, the fact that she'd give anything for that particular pain again.

This pain was nothing close to it. Her body hurt, yeah, but she didn't. She was fine, she couldn't feel the pain, it didn't hurt her pride. She picked herself back up again. "...nygng" The next punch, slipped on her blood and caught her in the collarbone, pushing her down to her knees onto the floor that smelt of cleaner and sweat. She knelt in front of the Avox, bent over, and gasping for breath. Her hands curled into fists, but she made no move to raise them. The Avox had paused, so she took a moment to spit out a mixture of blood and saliva. Panting, she placed her hands on her knees and pushed herself up forcibly. It felt like trying to fight gravity, and was almost more painful than taking the strong Avox's punches. "That....all yah got? She almost wanted to groan, the pain of talking puncturing her lungs.

Shakily standing, she centered herself, and motioned for the Avox to come forward again, not even flinching as the Avox's knee came at her groin. Doubling over, she growled at the pain, and laughed right in the Avox's face, who seemed to finally be getting the picture, because as soon as she was stable, or near to it, he slapped her, reddening her cheek, and sending her wheeling. She couldn't stop laughing as her arms stayed useless at her side, as she took hit after hit, and did nothing. She didn't know why she was doing this, how she could even think that this might be a good idea. What was she trying to prove? That she could get the shit beat out of her, and stay standing? Or maybe the fact that she was showing the judges exactly how she was going to die.

"If you want me to stay down Avox, you're going to have to do better than that." One more time, she told herself, she would stand. She got up, and took stock of her body. Swollen left knee cap, bruise forming on thigh, bloodied nose (not broken), cut lip, hurt stomach, possibly a broken rib. not bad at all. Avon Lightwood could take a good punch, and she knew what pain was. This wasn't even close. "You're not even close!" she shouted it triumphantly at the Avox, and almost at the judges themselves. She reached out and slapped the Avox lightly on the left cheek. Not even close to a painful hit, more like she was trying to bait him. Was it working? The Avox pulled back his fist as his eyes clouded over in anger. What was it like to let emotion take you?

As he was about to continue the punch however, a judge held up her hand, signalling the end of the session. Aven saw the raised hand out of the corner of her eye, and as the Avox drew back, so did she. He wasn't expecting her to fight back, and a flicker of confusion alighted in his eyes. That moment of hesitation was all she needed. Pushing her right foot out, she took the punch, misjudged, onto the side of her head, making her ears ring. Probably ringing loud enough to be heard somewhere in Timbucktwo, and as he tried to regain his balance with his other foot, she slipped him up and the Avox fell flat on his back. Taking a moment to smile at first the judges, and then the Avox, Avon Lightwood limped, with surprising grace and slightly diagonally, out of her training session.

ooc: Avon received a six <3

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

Tsarashi 2.0
Merchant

205 POSTS
last seen Dec 31, 2012 23:55:02 GMT -5

"I've always wanted to use that spell!"

Public Training Sessions? D: Jan 25, 2012 11:57:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Tsarashi 2.0 on Jan 25, 2012 11:57:15 GMT -5

Relic Livewood

Relic was in a decent mood that morning. Sure, he was a tribute and he was going to be going into the games soon, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t enjoy life while he had the chance. It was a beautiful day outside, there was good food and it wasn’t much different from being home. Aside from the food, of course.

Back in his own District people hardly ever talked to him. It was the same at the training center ever since they learned that there would be punishment for making alliances. So Relic didn’t associate with anyone other than his personal team. He didn’t want to get any of the others in trouble! That would have been horrible! So it was best if he kept his distance for the sake of others.

That was why he sat silently against a wall away from the rest of the tributes as they each went in for their private session. As he sat there he thought about things. Mostly he thought about what he was supposed to do in there. They never showed what people did in their private sessions, but Relic knew that he was expected to show off the skills that he had learned from training.

He had taken first aid because it seemed like the right thing to do. Just because he was not allowed to ally himself with these strangers didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be able to save someone else in the last moments of his life. It could be his final good deed. Self defense was something that he probably wouldn’t use, but it could keep him safe from outside sources as he was on his martyr’s mission to save someone more worthy of survival.

Learning how to wield blades, however, he wouldn’t have done without the pushing of his stylist. If it wasn’t for Miss Lepi, he wouldn’t have ever wanted to take something so violent as blades. But she had reminded him that blades could be useful for things other than killing. Such as preparing food, digging, making notches in trees, and, most importantly, carving. Carving was something that Relic had become quite familiar with over the past few weeks.

It gave him something to do with his hands, to occupy his mind as he accompanied all of the other tributes getting battle ready. Relic smiled as he was called into the training hall. That skill was the perfect thing to show off to the Gamemakers. It wasn’t as if Relic worried about what score he would acquire. It was simply a number that didn’t matter to someone who accepted his future death.

When he walked into the large space the apathetic tribute from District nine walked directly to the blades station to grab a small knife, and then he seated himself next to the improvisational weapons station. He knew that there were blocks of wood there, he had been snatching them for days. Not once did Relic look over at the Gamemakers as he started working on whittling a bird.

He just barely finished it before time was up. Getting up from his cross legged position on the floor, Relic crossed the room, placed the small wooden dove on the first stool he saw and continued his journey to the door without a care in the world.

[/color][/justify]

(It's embarrassingly short! My Muse is all but dead. I hope my night English class tonight fixes that. Sorry T^T. He received a 5 for this trivial splat of words.)[/size]

Last Edit: Jan 25, 2012 12:04:51 GMT -5 by Tsarashi 2.0

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

Public Training Sessions? D: Apr 3, 2012 3:34:38 GMT -5

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Post by cass on Apr 3, 2012 3:34:38 GMT -5

So yeah I finally decided I would put this ~~rubbish~~ up! I'm not that proud of it, but eh.

| DISTRICT 3 MALE TRIBUTE |

I watched, I watched just like everyone else in front of me. But I didn’t pay attention. I just stared, glaring off into the distance. I had no clue. I didn’t know what I was going to do, all I knew was that he was going to do his best. I had been sitting there and for most of the time I had wanted to not go in there, I had wanted to just walk away and forget it all. But you can’t do that if you want to win. If you want to win you have to have hope, you must believe in yourself. I do believe. I know I can do this. I just need to prove it to everyone else, I have shown myself I can do this, I don’t need to be told again. I will show those Game makers everything I had.

If only I knew what to do.

I had no plan and no clue. All I had was my training scores and me. Great. I bit my lower lip trying to think, trying to be creative and think of something. I had nothing. Then it was my turn. I stood up numbly, I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t nervous. I had to do this and I was going to do it right. I move to the door and grab the handle. The handle that so many children have held before, and so many of them never returned. I would not be one of them. I was in this to win, or at least to fight to the very end. No matter the cost, no matter how many people had to die. I was going to win. The door opens on well-oiled hinges, there was no creak, it opened smoothly and easily at my touch. It was cool, cooler then the day outside which was very hot. The room had a slight breeze that made you smile. It felt pleasant and everything was calm.

I smile; it was time to turn things up.

I don’t pause or hesitate, the idea had sprung to my head and I wasn’t even going to think about it. I walk straight over to the Fire making station. There I grab a handful of light able stuff, but things like green plants and leaves that will create a lot of smoke. I move to the centre of the room, to a little clear area. The spot isn’t too far from the Gamemakers, but it is far enough. I litter the substance around myself, in a circle, so I am surrounded by the plants and leaves. I then pull out a stone and flint. With a small flick of my wrist the stone sparks. And the kindle that had been in my hand lights up.

The plants burn fast and very quickly I am covered in a wall of smoke I can so no one and no one can see me.

I walk out of the circle and over to a dummy, making sure I stay in the smoke, I guess my stealth lessons were helping. I grab some rope and tie it around the dummies neck. I then drag it to the Gamemakers table, well at least as close as the smoke and my Stealth skills will get me. I then loop it up so that it is hanging from the roof. By now the smoke is starting to clear, but I wasn’t done yet. I run silently over to the First aid section and grab a needle. First aid could be deadly as well as helpful. I run back straight to the dummy and drag the needle down its chest, going as deep as I can.

I then move right up to the Game makers desk.

[/color] “Boo!” I say.

I look over my shoulder as the smoke clears, it had taken me about two minutes. Less than a meter from the Game makers table was a dummy hanging from the roof. A long cut ran down its chest. I don’t look at the Gamemakers, I just wanted to leave. I nod to the Gamemakers not making eye contact. Then I walk out of the room.

Well, that was fun.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/size][/quote]

Lol he got a five for this xD

Last Edit: Apr 3, 2012 3:37:08 GMT -5 by cass

Lulu
Retired Staff

[M:2982250]

3,114 POSTS
last seen Nov 24, 2023 13:45:22 GMT -5

Public Training Sessions? D: Apr 12, 2012 11:14:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lulu on Apr 12, 2012 11:14:10 GMT -5

Figured I'd post it just cause xD

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
i'm gonna shake myself right out the door
i'm gonna take myself when it's finally over
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Kiara had never spent the night anywhere even remotely lavish before. Sure, her family was better off than the majority of impoverished District Eleven, but her small house was nothing to marvel at. Their loft served as her makeshift bedroom, and she slept on a mattress stuffed with straw. And then, of course, there was the fact that she actually spent the majority of her nights in the woods, up in a tree; there was nothing luxurious about that. No, Kiara Mason had never lived the good life, nor did she ever want to - so she hadn't taken well to sleeping in her frilly Capitol room where she could acquire food at the touch of a button, rather than having to chase it down with a knife.

The district officials already didn't like her - Tasmain had called her an 'unfriendly savage with a wire tongue' the previous day. She supposed she'd deserved the insult - after all, she'd done plenty to merit it, what with the way she mouthed off to every Capitolite she spoke too - but it still stung a bit. She didn't try to be so hostile all the time; it just happened. The pixie-like teenager really had no idea at all how to be nice; this was something that hadn't earned her many friends over the past couple of years. Or any at all, really. Only an idiot could assume that this would change as soon as she was shipped off to the Capitol to die, just as her brother had been.

What was the point of trying to be friendly at all, though? It wasn't like she would even be able to get all chummy with another tribute and ally - because this was a Quell, the president had announced at the Opening ceremonies that all alliances or truces of any sort were banned from the Games, and tributes who attempted to befriend others in the arena would be killed. This had actually pleased her; she was one who liked to keep to herself, Kiara, and if everyone else had to, too, then all the better. So throughout training she'd focused only on bettering herself and her skills as much as possible, showing off the skills she already knew because of years spent roaming the woods, as well as her ability with knives, and learning how to do new things. She'd spend a fair bit of time practicing with heavier weapons - axes, flails, spears - but try as she might, Kiara simply wasn't strong enough to work with them properly. Still, though, she gave everything her best shot; the sixteen-year-old had no intention to win the Games, but she was hoping she could at least make a name for herself before she was brutally murdered.

The day of private training sessions came up quicker than she had expected. Kiara refused to allow Tasmain to escort her down to the training gym with her district partner, Kwabena; instead, the tribute hurried to the elevator before them and went down by herself, preferring the solitude. Once there, she observed the scene; the majority of the other tributes were there already, seated in chairs along the wall in the order they would be going in to show the Gamemakers whatever the hell they thought would give them a fighting chance once in the arena. Some were on the floor, stretching. Some looked confident, others scared out of their wits. Kiara simply sat in her designated chair, third from the end - completely still and silent and appearing almost bored - until her turn came.

She paused for a moment outside the door, wanting to be completely sure of what she was doing before she went in. She supposed she could purposely screw it up to get a mediocre score so the other tributes would leave her alone, but the black-haired teenager wasn't entirely sure her pride could handle that. What would her greatest assets in the Games be? That wasn't difficult - she was fast. Kiara loved to run; she could spend hours on end just running through the woods with no location in mind, simply running for the fun of it and stopping only when she wanted to. In addition to this, she was a whiz with a knife; Colton had taught her basic skills before he'd gone off to the Games, and after that she'd practiced until she'd mastered the weapon. Speed and knives. Those were her strengths. District Eleven's female competitor walked into the gym knowing exactly what she was going to show the Gamemakers.

Without wasting a single moment to even look over at the Gamemakers, Kiara made straight for the table loaded with knives of every size and shape. After a moment of searching, she selected a particularly lethal looking dagger and gripped it tightly in her right hand, slicing it through the air a few times to make sure she could work with it. Deciding it would do, the tribute averted her gaze to the very back of the gym; her vision homed in on a particular dummy that she'd practiced with a few times that week. It was a favorite of hers, due to the fact that it had exact replicas of human vessels filled with fake blood; if you cut it in the right place, it bled just like a human would. Remembering just where it was positioned, Kiara turned and jogged back to the other side of the gym, close to the table set up for the Gamemakers; some of them looked at her curiously, but she ignored them and focused intently on her target until...

With a ridiculous burst of speed, the undersized teenager with the tiny body that was clearly built for such a thing took off, running straight at the dummy she'd picked as fast as her legs could carry her. She managed to cover the length of the gym in only a couple seconds; when she was about six feet away from the dummy she leaped without slowing a bit onto it, jabbing her dagger directly into its eye and pushing it to the ground with all her momentum. Her features turned feral as she stabbed viciously into the dummy's flesh; her knife jabbed into its heart, its lung, its jugular, all of the killing points she could remember learning about in target practice during training. Red liquid spurted up all over her, coating her hands, uniform, and even splashing her face. Before long, she decided she'd mangled the dummy enough; satisfied with her performance, Kiara let the dagger fall to the ground and jogged back to the exit of the gym, giving the Gamemakers the slyest of waves with her bloodied hand on the way out. The entire process hadn't taken more than three minutes.