Maybe Foxface Is The Real Opponent Here~

7-This isn't a talent show

One by one, tributes disappear into a room guarded by a large steel door for their private session with the Gamemaker, One at a time; the male preceding the female from each district, starting with District 1. During their session, they can work at any station they choose beforehand, but after fifteen minutes, or once the Gamemakers believe that they have seen enough, they dismiss the tribute and call in the next one. The scores are very important to us. Other tributes often use the scores to decide who will be a threat to them during the Games.

Most tributes desire the highest scores possible. This will make them appear strong and it also means they have a better chance of surviving odds-wise. Capitol citzens can then decide on who is best to bet on. However, sometimes tributes aspire for a low training score so they will appear anemic and frail, then catch the rest of the tributes off guard. Larissa told me of a vicious tribute called Johanna Mason who successfully used this strategy. 

Before entering, A man in a stunningly white suit with a smart haircut, ruined with green dye comes up to me. He hands me a blue fountain pen and clipboard with my name on it along with a list of stations. The top line reads 'Select less than three stations.'

Does that mean up to three, including three or not including three? 

Suddenly my mind whirls with the possibilities to show the Gamemakers.

Archery. Axes. Camouflage. Edible Insects. Edible Plants. Fire Making. Fishing. Hammock Making. Hand-to-Hand Combat. Knives. Knots. Ropes Course. Shelters. Slingshots. Snare-setting. Spears. Swords. The Gauntlet. Tridents. Weight-lifting. Wrestling. 

And instinctly, I start to mentally tick off stations that would be unsuitable. I can't aim straight, which ticks off archery, axes, knives, slingshots, spears, swords and tridents. I am not strong, and so out goes hand-to-hand combat, weight lifting and wrestling. That leaves camouflage, Edible insects and plants, fires, fishing, hammocks, Knots, the rope course and snares as well as the Gauntlet.

I can't fish, since we are nowhere near water (rivers, lakes) in District 5. I can easily identify edible insects and plants. I can start a fire and do a fair bit of camo. As well as tie a fairly handy knot and therefore hang a hammock, though I doubt that would impress the Gamemakers much. Snares I am fluent with and I know for sure I can swing effortlessly across the rope course. The Gauntlet is not my area of expertise, though looks somewhat straightforward, and I even consider it for a second before I remember what Cato told me. I wonder what he did. Pretty much anything and everything was considerable for him. My head is flooded with thoughts crashing into each other, and I don't know how long the man in the white suit has been waiting, but as quick as I remember his presence, my hand takes control and scratches off two boxes from the clipboard, and It is snatched out of my grasp, just as the two stations are uploaded into my subconscious memory.

Snares and the rope course.

And before I have the chance to slap myself for not listening to my unconscious thoughts, all I can say is 'That's brilliant.' I murmur it aloud without thinking, then blush. I'm more than good at these, and they'll give me an average score, depending on how well I 'perform'.

I watch District 1 part for their session, followed by Clove and Cato. I feel more and more alone as each person leaves. I fiddle with a string hanging off my clothing, and as Doran is called, I feel a tight lump in the back of my throat, and my stomach flutter with butterflies. I count down the minutes.

14. What if I get a low score?

13. What if I get a high score?

12. What if I just faint?

11. How long does it take to set a snare?

10. Will intellegence matter?

9. Will they speak to me?

8. Which station should I do first?

7. What would happen if I didn't do anything at all?

6. Will the Gamemakers like me?

5. Does it matter if they like me?

4. Maybe I'll get a 1 and get targeted straight away. 

And before I can count down a single more minute, I am called in ahead of time, meaning either Doran's done really well or exactly the opposite. I stumble into a room so similar to the one I've spent so much time training in recently, and it looks so lonely. Both stations are neatly prepared, waiting for my presence, and the patter of my feet echoes around the room nervously. 

They don't ask for my name and don't bother telling me I can start any time. I don't bother saying  my name since they probably have it on a sheet of pure gold paper or whatever. A man with a very strange beard nods towards me, and I pick up the ingredients for my snare. I do this first as I know it's important to know how to set snares in the arena, with food supplies low. I wiz through it and it stands on the floor, ready for a prey that doesn't come. I hear a voice in my audience say 'How do we know it works though?' I scowl. 

'Why don't you come try it out?' I growl impatiently. I hear the person make a short grumble and stay sat firmly where they are. The man with swirly facial hair chuckles almost inaudably at my reply.

The rest chatter boredly. They've had seven before me and some of them look like they're ready to take a nap. They sit, waiting for me to set off the snare, but I don't have anything to do so except my own body. I put a hand on my hip grumpily. I don't know what's set off my behaviour, but my little fan in the audience notices my waiting and stands up, thrusting a half-eaten apple straight into the jaws of my snare. The members of my spectators gasp and chatter at the apple, which sits trapped in my snare. I grin happily. I curtsey cheekily and move on to the rope course. I climb it effortlessly, and feeling my butterflies flutter away, I even dare to maneuver myself so I hang primate-like upside-down from the ropes. 

I hear a little clap at the back, which soon fades away as the others glare. One at the front says 'This isn't a talent show. There's no need to show off.' And folds her modified purple arms.

I drop down from the ropes, hurting the soles of my feet, but stand comfortably. I want their blood to boil. So I say something that isn't true, but will spark their anger off. 'It's not like there's anything better to do.'

I look to see the reaction of the crowd. They look offended, some dubious. A balding man wearing a black suit, who looks particularily normal compared to the other Gamemakers, stands up, and rubs his eyes. 'That's fifteen minutes. Off you go, sweet-cheeks.' I repress the urge to slap him across his smug face, and leave.

**

The night after the sessions, the scores are televised to all of Panem. Mine is seventh. 'A score of 5.' Says a man with Blue hair, that I recognise as Caesar Flickerman. I guess they didn't feel like giving me a chance, I think. I know it's entirely my fault, but I can't help but not care less.

Author's note : Hope you're enjoying ! Excuse the creepy gif of Seneca Crane over there. :O >

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