The Tribute on Fire discussion
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Private Sessions
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Riva Edison, District TenRiva walked into the training centre, and sat down at the knots without being noticed by the feasting Gamemakers above. She did nothing. When they realised she had been there a while, she was dismissed. Riva left, satisfied with that small act of rebellion against the people who had ruined her life.
Ash Martinez, District TenThe knives glinted on a silver rack; the arrows laid on a stand, the bow held above it. The daggers were neatly presented. Whoever did this must have had plenty of time on their hands. Ash shook his head as he walked into the Training Center, grinning; of course they have time on their hands. They've made the Games. Ash was not towards the start of the line to show his skills but he reckoned that the Gamemakers might like to see what he's made of.
"Ash Martinez, District Ten!" He announced loudly, before walking over to the bow and arrows. He slung a quiver over his back and picked up the brown bow, quickly running his hands over the handle. So smooth and gentle for something so deadly. His feet carried him towards the dummies. He notched an arrow into place and shot, hitting the dummy in the heart. He slid to the right and stood in front of the next dummy, again, hitting it in the heart.
He glanced upwards to see the Gamemakers not paying attention. Ash carried on sliding, hitting, sliding, hitting, until he had one arrow left. He ran silently to the middle of the room, but still, they weren't looking at him. Quickly and smoothly, Ash placed the last arrow in the bow and aimed for the strings that held up the huge lights. If he stood in one position he could hit them all and knock the light down.. so he did just that.
It was like everything went in slow motion. His breaths rattling the string as he pulled his arm backwards; the arrow flying through the air and piercing the strings; the lights going off as they had been disconnected; the Gamemakers dismissing him; the loud smash as the light hit the floor and broke into tiny pieces.
message 4:
by
chloe ; a ghost, i can't stand unpunctual alien attacks.
(last edited Sep 25, 2014 04:29PM)
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Mod
Cia waited in the small room that connected to the training center. She wrung her hands, rehearsing lines of code that belonged to complex programs in her head. She also recalled on several knots, plants and traps that she could build during her session, even though she already had a plan. She just had to remember the code. And if she messed up, she had to remember that she couldn’t let the Gamemakers notice. Cia stood, beginning to pace back and forth. She did so for only a short while before sitting down again. Just some minor exercise to sharpen and clear her mind. It would help her focus in the center.
”Malencia Andserson, District Three” a female voice announced, signaling for her to enter the center. She stood, rubbing her hands together. Cia walked towards the doors, pushing them open. She took a few more steps until she was just inside the center. She waved to the Gamemakers with a sarcastic smile before sprinting as fast as she could, which was record breaking in Three, towards the knives. However, instead of throwing them, she tucked it into her belt and ran towards the plants. She grabbed three plants that were look alikes of the poisonous ones. She also requested a simple tablet for her demonstration. She pointed to the table she wanted the tablet at, and grabbed a small bowl from a rack on her way to the drinking fountain. She filled the bowl with water before coming back to the table where everything was set up for her. She took her knife and cut the plants, the juices leaking out onto the table. She picked them up and placed them in the bowl, the juices turning the water a deep red. Her attention turned back to the tablet. She left the plants to fuse in the water and set about removing the back cover of the tablet with the knife. When it fell off, she set about rewiring it, switching blues and reds and yellows and greens. When she was satisfied with her work, she reattached the cover and set about her simple and complex coding and decoding. She glanced up at the Gamemakers, who seemed to be on the edge of their seats, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen. She smiled at them and shook her head, continuing to type in series of numbers and letters. Finally, the screen she wanted came up. With a simple tap of a button, all the lights went out, and the power shut off. Throughout the entire Capitol. The Gamemakers screeched, and Cia just smiled.
“The power’s out. A common thing in the Districts, but I guess here it’s quite uncommon you power hungry monsters,” she snarled. “You heard me. I singlehandedly took out an entire city’s power. I could do all of Panem if I had more time. But I won’t, just because I’m nice.” She pressed the button and the power came back on again, illuminating the rest of the center. It was then that she held out the bowl.
"Anyone care for a drink?" she asked, holding the bowl out to the Gamemakers. When they all stared at her in silence, she shrugged and drank the liquid herself. It was bitter, but Cia knew that it wasn’t poisonous, even though it would appear that way for the Gamemakers. But they weren’t very intelligent, and she was.
“Not thirsty I suppose. What a shame. I would have thought gentlemen such as yourselves would have enjoyed such a thing. It appears I was wrong,” she lied to them. She had known all along that they wouldn’t drink it. She took another drink of the liquid, becoming more accustomed to it’s bitter taste. Her eyes flickered to her tablet again. Cia’s hands followed, lifting the tablet before beginning to type again. Her fingers flew across the screen, inputting one line of code after another. Malencia smiled as she typed the final line of code.
“Enjoy your evening gentlemen,” she said with a smirk before inputting her program and raising the light level in their observation room high enough to prevent them from seeing. She watched them for a moment, savoring the last bittersweet moments of taunting the Capitol she would ever have. Remembering she had set a timer for the lights, she sprinted silently towards the doors, slipping out without sound. She counted the last few seconds the Gamemakers had to endure without sight. Having completed her session, she jogged back to her room, eager to resume reading the Capitol Control Room Manual she had swiped from the train. It had taught her well so far, perhaps it could teach her even more.
((I private messaged this already, (and I've had it done for weeks) but I just thought I'd post it anyways... ;) ))
((Should I PM it to you, Chloe?))
Mod
((Oops. I haven't done Caesar's interview..))
Mod
((Um... It's too late to do it now, but the private session was more important anyways...))
(((I'm sorry, I didn't know! Thanks for being so understanding!)))
chloe...cx wrote: "Mel wrote: "((Oops. I haven't done Caesar's interview..))"((Um... It's too late to do it now, but the private session was more important anyways...))"
((Alright. Aha, no problem. I like my score anyways))
((So I submitted this to Chloe already, but this is Jago Private Session))
"Asher Jago Forrest. District 8."
Jago entered the large private session room. He had been trying to figure what to show the Gamemakers for weeks. He was considering showing off some knife skills, but he wasn't Career level, more like "Surprising considering he came from such a low District", but not Career level. Maybe he would do camouflage...? Or ropes...
The Gamemakers nodded at him, and he panicked. What would he do?
Jago cautiously approached the knives, and gripped them between each dinger. He held four at once, one between each finger. He threw them. Three got a solid stick vertically down the front of the dummy; neck, heart, stomach, though one teetered dangerously and one was a bit too close the the dummy's side. The third was solidly in the chest. The last hit right on the dummy's forehead, but didn't get a solid stick.
The Gamemakers were nodding slightly, though a bit unimpressed, and mostly expressionless. Jago had hoped for four solid sticks, but he hadn't achieved such a thing. He had only learned about knives from years of cutting cotton and wool. He hasn't done much throwing, so his aim was compromisable. He needed to impress the Gamemakers, though... What could he do...?
Then it came to him. He grabbed four more blades and walked quietly over to the camouflage section. It was seemingly untouched, with just a few splatters of paint here and there.
Jago had practically been born learning about fabrics and camouflage, dyeing and painting his whole life. For the longest time he had been in the pattern and dye section of the factory, dyeing the wool and cotton, tulle and lace and velvet, painting on tie dye on the expensive Capital shirts, flowers on the million dollar Capital dresses. He had spent hours smearing the cheap dull dyes that you could trade for--used for the dyeing of District 12s miner clothes-- across the side of the concrete alleyway. He had spent most of his Training Center time practicing with more expensive paints, so he knew he could do this.
Jago started by getting a visual of the room; gray and black walls, blue and white trim, white stage, black overhangings, white decorative tresses, a criss crossed metal platform on the ceiling.
He proceeded to find the respective paint colors. He laid the knives down, aware of the Gamemakers curious glances. He started smearing black over his clothes. Dusting his hair with white chalk. Graying his arms. Painting the criss-cross of the overhangs onto his pale skin, until, after a while, he was transformed into a walking version of the ceiling hangings.
He then grabbed a set of black, thick, knot tying rope. He then began climbing up the tresses to the ceiling,clutching the knife heads between his teeth. It was slow going, but easy. Jago hadn't climbed often, but the criss cross tresses and long hangings and hooks made it quite simple, with easy footholds. Jago finally pulled himself above the hangings, and positioned himself perfectly in place, keeping very, very still.
If he had done it correctly, he would be completely invisible to the Gamemakers. He knew he had, because they were looking around confusedly, muttering, having no idea where he was, and looking maybe, just maybe, impressed. Now was the time to use the knives.
Jago silently gripped the first blade, slow enough to not let the Gamemakers see him. He then threw it swiftly at the overhanging light fixture. It burst into a thousand sparks, causing the Gamemakers to jump about a foot in the air. It had been an easy target, seeing that Jago was some ten feet away. Next, he threw at the knife dummy, and the sandbag rope, sending the Gamemakers jerking back each time.
Next came the last shot, the one to really show them. Last was the hardest. He doubted he would make the shot, seeing as his aim needed improvement.
He aimed for the tub of ink black paint, hoping it would burst to his desired effect. He missed, but the blade collided with the mix of colorful paints, exploding in a mass of rainbow, that mixed, and then splattered everything with an unappetizing brown color. He was sure the Gamemakers still hasn't seen him in the low rafters.
He slowly tied the rope onto a black hook, and quickly slid down.
The Gamemakers looked surprised that he had been hidden there. Jago hoped, at least. He stood for a second, standing in the puddle of colors, and one man said, "Thank you, Mr. Forrest. Dismissed."
Jago gave them a shy smile, still painted black and white and gray, and exited the room, ducking his head, sprinkling the floor with white chalk. He didn't know whether, from below, his display had been impressive. He hoped, but he wasn't sure.
He took the elevator up the the eighth floor, and washed the paint down the drain.
"Asher Jago Forrest. District 8."
Jago entered the large private session room. He had been trying to figure what to show the Gamemakers for weeks. He was considering showing off some knife skills, but he wasn't Career level, more like "Surprising considering he came from such a low District", but not Career level. Maybe he would do camouflage...? Or ropes...
The Gamemakers nodded at him, and he panicked. What would he do?
Jago cautiously approached the knives, and gripped them between each dinger. He held four at once, one between each finger. He threw them. Three got a solid stick vertically down the front of the dummy; neck, heart, stomach, though one teetered dangerously and one was a bit too close the the dummy's side. The third was solidly in the chest. The last hit right on the dummy's forehead, but didn't get a solid stick.
The Gamemakers were nodding slightly, though a bit unimpressed, and mostly expressionless. Jago had hoped for four solid sticks, but he hadn't achieved such a thing. He had only learned about knives from years of cutting cotton and wool. He hasn't done much throwing, so his aim was compromisable. He needed to impress the Gamemakers, though... What could he do...?
Then it came to him. He grabbed four more blades and walked quietly over to the camouflage section. It was seemingly untouched, with just a few splatters of paint here and there.
Jago had practically been born learning about fabrics and camouflage, dyeing and painting his whole life. For the longest time he had been in the pattern and dye section of the factory, dyeing the wool and cotton, tulle and lace and velvet, painting on tie dye on the expensive Capital shirts, flowers on the million dollar Capital dresses. He had spent hours smearing the cheap dull dyes that you could trade for--used for the dyeing of District 12s miner clothes-- across the side of the concrete alleyway. He had spent most of his Training Center time practicing with more expensive paints, so he knew he could do this.
Jago started by getting a visual of the room; gray and black walls, blue and white trim, white stage, black overhangings, white decorative tresses, a criss crossed metal platform on the ceiling.
He proceeded to find the respective paint colors. He laid the knives down, aware of the Gamemakers curious glances. He started smearing black over his clothes. Dusting his hair with white chalk. Graying his arms. Painting the criss-cross of the overhangs onto his pale skin, until, after a while, he was transformed into a walking version of the ceiling hangings.
He then grabbed a set of black, thick, knot tying rope. He then began climbing up the tresses to the ceiling,clutching the knife heads between his teeth. It was slow going, but easy. Jago hadn't climbed often, but the criss cross tresses and long hangings and hooks made it quite simple, with easy footholds. Jago finally pulled himself above the hangings, and positioned himself perfectly in place, keeping very, very still.
If he had done it correctly, he would be completely invisible to the Gamemakers. He knew he had, because they were looking around confusedly, muttering, having no idea where he was, and looking maybe, just maybe, impressed. Now was the time to use the knives.
Jago silently gripped the first blade, slow enough to not let the Gamemakers see him. He then threw it swiftly at the overhanging light fixture. It burst into a thousand sparks, causing the Gamemakers to jump about a foot in the air. It had been an easy target, seeing that Jago was some ten feet away. Next, he threw at the knife dummy, and the sandbag rope, sending the Gamemakers jerking back each time.
Next came the last shot, the one to really show them. Last was the hardest. He doubted he would make the shot, seeing as his aim needed improvement.
He aimed for the tub of ink black paint, hoping it would burst to his desired effect. He missed, but the blade collided with the mix of colorful paints, exploding in a mass of rainbow, that mixed, and then splattered everything with an unappetizing brown color. He was sure the Gamemakers still hasn't seen him in the low rafters.
He slowly tied the rope onto a black hook, and quickly slid down.
The Gamemakers looked surprised that he had been hidden there. Jago hoped, at least. He stood for a second, standing in the puddle of colors, and one man said, "Thank you, Mr. Forrest. Dismissed."
Jago gave them a shy smile, still painted black and white and gray, and exited the room, ducking his head, sprinkling the floor with white chalk. He didn't know whether, from below, his display had been impressive. He hoped, but he wasn't sure.
He took the elevator up the the eighth floor, and washed the paint down the drain.
These will account for the largest portion of your tribute’s training score. Make sure you complete these, if anything. Your session should last approximately 15 minutes, and showcase as many of your tribute’s skills as you wish, though your training scores will affect your sponsor points, so I recommend trying to incorporate all their skills. It is important to keep your sessions realistic though, because you will be docked points if they aren’t. (For example, if your tribute is from a lower district, they SHOULD NOT be as talented with weapons and such as a tribute from a career district.)
((These can also be direct messaged.))